A/N Thanks as always for the reviews! Hope you are in the mood for a little angst today.
Evil, greasy haired, toadstool loving, black robed wearing, long nosed, dungeon dwelling, bat-like git.
Ron and Hermione stayed carefully far behind Harry as he stomped to the Great Hall for lunch, muttering under his breath with a vehemence that neither of them had ever seen before. After all, it was not as if it was the first time that Harry had ever been given detention by Snape. It wasn't even close to being the first time that he had been given detention for something completely ridiculous, either.
So why was he fuming so badly this time?
Harry pounded forth towards the dining hall so thoroughly enraged, he thought his head might explode from the pressure of mentally restraining himself from returning to the dungeon and beating Snape about his greasy head with one of his precious cauldrons.
After all they had been through this past summer, he had really thought, well hoped actually, that he and Snape may have found a common ground to proceed further on with each other without all the bitterness and snide attitudes of the past. Sure, it had been difficult at first, they really did dislike each other after all but, at the end, Snape seemed to have finally noticed that Harry was putting his best effort forth with the lessons and the snarky potions master had even grudgingly praised him on the odd occasion.
To the overwhelming surprise of both Harry and Sirius, Snape had even deigned to join them for lunch after Harry's last lesson of the summer. Of course, it had not been the most comfortable of meals for any of them, but progress was still progress, right?
As usual, Harry was mentally drained by the time the Occlumency lesson had ended. He was getting quite good at pushing Snape away and had even started to construct his own mental defenses that warded off the Legilimens before he had even had a chance to try and invade. It was still quite tiring but, seeing the pleased look on his godfather's face and the tolerating one on Snape's, Harry considered it a job well done.
Panting heavily, albeit a bit less than the last time, Harry sat in his chair in the library watching Snape gather his written materials together before he made his usual hasty exit. The last couple of lessons had included Harry studying Snape's careful notes outlining defenses. It was the last time they would meet as Harry would be on the train to Hogwarts in a few short days.
"That was not as bad as it could have been, Mr. Potter," Snape drawled in his usual sneering tone. Harry smirked. He was getting better at reading the compliment underneath the man's snarl.
"Thank you, Professor. I do feel better about it myself." His tone was slightly smug. He was trying to take to the mickey out of Snape while entertaining Sirius who, as always, watched the lesson from his enchanted wall in the study. Harry couldn't see it, but he guessed correctly when Sirius let out a laughing bark in the next room.
Snape turned to him with an indefinable look and Harry could almost swear that he had glimpsed the barest beginnings of a smile before it vanished from the man's mouth. Feeling invigorated from his success and just a bit giddy about the prospect of school starting again, Harry summoned up his courage to once more extend the invitation.
"Professor? Since it's our last lesson for the holiday, would you reconsider our invitation to join us for lunch today?" he asked as earnestly as he could.
Snape stared at him for what seemed like eternity, studying every line on his face, every muscle in his mouth, every movement of his green eyes. Finally, after the world's longest pregnant pause, the man nodded quite curtly, shocking Harry in the library and almost horrifying Sirius in the study.
When Sirius had recovered his senses enough to meet them outside the library, he repeated Harry's invitation and, to his surprise, Snape didn't take the opportunity to opt out. Ever the gracious host, he led them into the dining room.
The formal dining table at Celestial Court was long enough to seat twenty two people. Normally, these arrangements didn't present a problem in the household. Sirius sat at the end of one side, Harry always to his immediate right. With a guest as sensitive to ettiquette as Sirius expected Snape to be, the potions master should be seated in a place of honor at the other end. However, because of the sheer size, it would be rude to put him so far away. So, with flick and a swish of his wand, Sirius shortened the table so that it seated only four and Severus was given a place at the head that didn't appear to be a snub of banishment.
What followed was a painful thirty minute session of polite conversation and one word answers. After ascertaining that Snape like three lumps of sugar in his tea, had a small house outside of Hogwarts where he spent his summers, did not have any family to speak of and did not care to vacation at the beach, the tension in the air was so thick it could be cut with a knife.
Snape spoke briefly of the struggle he had in choosing a career after school. "Death Eater?" Sirius suggested helpfully. "Potions," Snape sneered back.
Sirius talked about where he had wanted to move to after finishing Auror training. "Azkaban?" Snape inputted. "Derbyshire," Sirius glowered.
Then Harry asked Snape what he did for his previous vacation. "Bath," Snape stated. "Bubble?" Sirius inquired. "City," Snape spat.
Trying desperately to bring up something neutral, Harry mentioned that they were having trouble with pests in their garden. "Fleas?" Snape simpered. "Moles," Sirius growled.
The two men sat quietly for a few more mintues. Neither one of them really paying attention to the boy banging his head softly against the table.
After small dishes of fruit sorbet, Snape expressed appreciation for the invitation, which he really didn't feel, Sirius extended another one for the future, which he really didn't mean and Harry went upstairs with a headache that he really did have.
However, before Snape had left, there was a sincere flicker in his eyes as he repeated his approval of Harry's progress over the summer and told him to be sure and keep practicing.
So why exactly had Snape acted like such a complete prat during his first class back?
For the first time, Harry had felt really good about the potion he had brewed. All of his tutoring over the summer had taught him patience and attention to detail as well as honing a technique when handling ingredients. Well before the class period had ended, his cauldron was bubbling merrily with a liquid that had the right consistency and the proper shade of puce.
So when Neville's cauldron started to smoke ominously, Harry had rushed over to try and help salvage the brew. What occurred after that though was completely unfair.
Snape had billowed over to where the two boys were working feverishly to minimize the damage only to have the git potions master banish the entire mess with a lazy flick.
"Longbottom, you will certainly kill us all one day. Fifty points from Gryffindor for putting our lives in jeopardy. Potter, for being an insufferable little cheat trying to let Longbottom pass off his work as yours, you have detention with me, Tuesday night at seven o'clock," he seethed.
As he stomped back to the front of the room, the sleeve of his robe "accidentally" caught on Harry's cauldron spilling its contents everywhere. Glaring at the boy, he banished the contents of Harry's cauldron as he had Neville's.
"Mr. Potter. Nothing to present today, then? Pity. Zero for today's work." Then he turned his back and left the room.
Harry was so angry with the over-sized bat he couldn't even think straight. He had really hoped that this year would be different. Apparently, he was wrong.
He didn't taste the food he had at lunch. He was too upset over what his godfather would say when he had to tell him that he had gotten detention already. Harry's track record was not looking good right now.
Fighting in the halls, spells horribly gone wrong, a crippling essay, a near smacking for insolence, a zero in Potions and now detention. It was only the second day for Merlin's sake!
If this kept up, surely his godfather would drag him home by the ear and ground him until he turned of age, while teaching him at home for the next four years. Assuming, of course, that his backside sufficiently healed enough to allow him to ever again sit at the table in the library at Celestial Court!
It was no wonder that he unwillingly dragged himself to the first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that had all of the other students buzzing with excitement.
Constant Vigilance!
That was the harsh echo that was reverberating through Harry's mind as he and his friends made their way down the stairs from DADA class. He was trying very hard not to show it, but Moody's little impromptu demonstration of the Unforgivables had affected Harry more than he would have liked.
Keeping a neutral look on his face, he didn't say anything as Hermione fretted over Neville who had gone absolutely pale during the example of the Cruciatus. Harry watched in horror as his roommate whimpered and shuddered while the poor hapless spider writhed in agony in front of him. For some reason, the normally affable Gryffindor boy seemed to be affected more than most during the show of pain.
Harry didn't notice the other students around him milling about as they walked to their next class. His ears were buzzing with static as he kept his head down and strode determinedly through the corridors. His thoughts kept returning him unwillingly to the lifeless spider, rendered as such by the harsh green glow of the killing curse.
Was that how it had been for his parents? Did they suddenly just drop in place without preamble? Just stillness and quiet without fight or movement? It didn't seem right somehow. Surely there should be more acknowledgement when a life was taken unwillingly.
It seemed wrong.
He hitched his book-bag further up his shoulder as he plowed ahead with his face determinedly watching the ground in front of him. He was only half aware of Ron making excited conversation about the upcoming Astronomy lesson. As much as Harry wanted to be enthused to see Sirius teach an entire class as opposed to just himself, he was too focused on what had just happened. The flashes of images and sounds brought on by the presence of the Dementors were the only memories he had of his parents' deaths. He found himself needing, more than ever, a better idea of what had happened that night.
On any other day, Harry would have been overwhelmingly impressed with what Sirius had done for his classroom. Astronomy was a class usually done on paper and in theory when it was held during the day. Stacks of maps of constellations to be studied, massive textbooks to be referenced, dry boring practical instruction.
Not anymore, it would seem. The classroom had been transformed into the universe. Well, part of it anyway. The part they would be studying today. Instead of sitting at their wooden desks listening to the professor drone on and on about this planet and that pathway, Professor Black submerged them into a virtual world that they were allowed to explore as they wandered about the room, interacting with the galaxy they were expected to become familiar with.
Sirius' voice was confident and authoritative as he instructed them with impressive knowledge and reverence for the topic. Harry couldn't help but be surprised by the enthusiasm his godfather had for the subject. It was obvious that he was thoroughly enjoying sharing his passion for the subject with students who were happily taking in everything he had to say.
On any other day, Harry would have stood, in rapt attention, both enthralled by the subject matter and jubilant over his godfather's happiness. Unfortunately, today was not any other day. Try as he might, he could not get the DADA demonstration out of his head and it led him to just wander aimlessly around the brilliantly charmed classroom with disinterest and apathy. Even as his friends nudged him, trying to get him to pay attention, he just ignored them and kept to his own thoughts.
Something that did not go unnoticed by the new professor.
When the rest of the class was dismissed for the day, Harry was slowly packing up his bag when he heard the terse voice of his godfather addressing him.
"Mr. Potter, stay after class please."
Ron and Hermione threw him sympathetic looks as he groaned in realization that his new professor was, quite probably, suitably miffed with him.
Yanking the fastenings on his bag shut, he watched his mates walk slowly out of the room, almost fearful of leaving him behind. He gave them an encouraging nod to assure them that he would be fine and they reluctantly left for the dorms. Sighing, he turned and slowly made his way to where Sirius stood waiting for him, a frown on his normally handsome face.
Keeping his gaze down to the floor, Harry stood in front of the displeased man, knowing that he was about to get a telling off for his lack of participation in class.
Great, just great. Exactly what I needed after everything else.
"Did my lecture bore you today, Mr. Potter?" Sirius demanded in the tone of an affronted professor.
Harry winced from the rebuke. "No, sir," he whispered, feeling extremely badly for disappointing his godfather who had probably been trying very hard to make Harry's first Astronomy lesson with him special.
Immediately, affronted professor turned into concerned godfather. He knew that tone in his child's voice. Something was very wrong with Harry. Walking over to the small hunched figure, Sirius put out a hand and cupped Harry's chin, gently lifting the miserable face up. Harry's eyes were dead looking. He was obviously very pained about something.
"What's the matter, little one? What happened?" he asked, worry evident in his voice.
Harry lowered his gaze back down to the floor. He didn't know how to explain what he was feeling to Sirius. He didn't understand it himself. So, he settled on telling him what had happened in Moody's class instead.
Sirius reeled from the information. He was having a very hard time wrapping his head around the idea that Alastor would find it appropriate to do a demonstration of the Unforgivables to a group of fourth years. Especially considering that this particular class held his godson and Neville, the two children most horribly affected by the vile curses in the school. What on earth was he thinking?
No wonder Harry was walking around like a zombie. It was extremely cruel to show him, in graphic detail, just exactly how James and Lily met their ends. Inwardly seething, he vowed to have a heated conversation with his former mentor. While it had been rumored that Alastor had lost a fair bit of grip on reality, Sirius planned to bring the man crashing back down to Earth for the pain he had inflicted on his child today.
But first, he had to see to Harry.
He put a comforting arm around the boy and led him downstairs to his quarters. It was almost dinner time anyway and he didn't want Harry to go off by himself to sit and stew. Harry didn't object. Wordlessly, he allowed his godfather to steer him, first to the living area, then to the dining table.
Harry barely spoke, he didn't really eat and only half heartedly responded to his godfather's attempts to comfort him. Every few minutes he shot furtive looks towards his room in Sirius' quarters and, eventually, his godfather insisted that he stay for the night.
Harry didn't resist. He wanted to stay. He felt a need to be close to Sirius tonight. He needed to be close to the one person who might have some understanding of the pain that he was feeling right now. He didn't protest when Sirius sent him to bed right after the failed meal and he held onto the man longer than usual when receiving his bedtime hug. He didn't care that at his age he shouldn't be feeling so needy. As a small boy, he had never allowed himself to feel so grief stricken over his parents' demise.
Sirius, for his part, was sick with worry. He didn't know what to do to help Harry through this. The boy looked so tired, so he had insisted on him going right to bed. Scribbling a note to Ron letting him know that Harry wouldn't be returning to the dorm tonight, he charmed the parchment into a small bird and it took flight whizzing its way towards Gryffindor tower.
Keeping one ear open, he agitatedly settled himself on the sofa, not really reading the book he had in his hands.
The visions were assaulting his mind brutally.
Daddy was bouncing him on his lap. They both had rings of smeared chocolate around their mouths. A product, no doubt, of the rapidly diminishing pumpkin shaped bowl of chocolate frogs. Mummy was standing next to them, her green eyes full of laughter as she snapped photo after photo of them.
"Say 'trick or treat' Harry!" Snap, snap, snap.
Every few bounces, Daddy would dip his leg down really far and send Harry flying for just a second, his little giggles pealing merrily through the room.
Then the door exploded, sending splinters of wood in every direction. A thick black fog-like cloud rushed towards them and scared the baby. Harry began to cry.
"It's him, Lily! Take Harry and run!" Daddy yelled.
Mummy pulled him out of Daddy's arms and ran up the staircase. Harry looked back over her shoulder. Daddy wasn't coming with them. Why wasn't Daddy coming too? Frantically he reached out his arms crying for his daddy, his little face buried in Mummy's neck, her familiar floral scent not comforting him as it usually did. As they reached the top of the stairs, he heard yelling and saw a flash of green light. Where was Daddy?
Mummy carried him into his room and slammed the door closed. He grabbed her neck tighter, wailing for his daddy. Another explosion. Another door in pieces.
"Stand aside, silly girl!" A deep voice. A bad voice. Scary red eyes on a man in a black robe.
Mummy was crying now too. "Not Harry, please not Harry. Kill me instead."
The bad man yelled again. Another green flash and he and Mummy fell to the floor. His head hurt now, really bad. He cried harder. He wanted Mummy to pick him back up but she was on the floor and she wasn't looking at him, she was looking at the ceiling.
"Mummy!"
"Mummyyyyyy!" he cried over and over and over...
"Mummyyyy!" the fourteen year old Harry screamed repeatedly as he shot up in his bed and cried hysterically. He couldn't snap himself out of the nightmare scene of his demolished nursery room in the cottage in Godric's Hollow. Any minute now Mummy would sit up and take him into her arms, soothing him with her soft voice. Any minute now Daddy would come crashing through the shattered door and take both of them into his strong embrace and make them feel safe again. Any minute now.
In his haze, he could finally feel a set of strong arms around him, rocking him gently and shushing him. Harry closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace. It was his Daddy. Finally Daddy had come upstairs after them. He would make it all better now.
"It's okay, little one. I'm here."
The voice. That wasn't his Daddy's voice. He knew that voice. It was comforting and familiar, but it wasn't Daddy. After a moment, he willed himself to open his eyes. In the soft moonlight, he could barely see who it was that was holding him, but the shoulder length curly black hair didn't belong to his Daddy.
"Sirius?" he asked in a strangled voice.
"I'm here, Harry. You're okay," his godfather soothed as he held him tight.
Then it all came back to him. His parents were gone. They were murdered and they were never coming back. Ever. Gripping his godfather tighter than he ever thought he could, he screamed and raged and then shook with deep guttural sobs as he finally allowed himself to fully grieve his dead parents. All the memories he had kept pent up inside, all the dreams of someday having them show up, telling him that they were back, all the fantasies of him rescuing them from death. Gone. He sobbed as his heart shattered into a million pieces, his entire body racked with misery. With his godfather providing the firm embrace of a lifeline, he released all of his emotions and finally let his parents go.
Sirius was sitting on the edge of Harry's bed, his back pressed against the headboard, his legs crossed and stretched out in front of him. His godson, significantly calmer but still emitting the occasional sniffle or hiccup was snuggled against his chest, his thin arm snaked across Sirius' stomach, the hand firmly grasping his godfather's shirt. Sirius had both arms tightly encircling the boy's small frame. He needed Harry to know that he was safe, that Sirius was alive and well, and that his godfather would always love him and protect him.
He was having a hard time getting Harry back to sleep and Sirius really couldn't blame the boy. If he had been forced to relive the worst moment of his life in a nightmare so realistically vivid that he could barely be released from it, he wouldn't have wanted to go back to sleep either. As he gently rubbed Harry's back in the most soothing way he could think of, he sat and inwardly seethed.
Alastor had a lot to answer for, and Sirius was going to make sure that he did just that.
"Sirius?" Harry whispered, his voice scratchy from crying.
"Yes?" Sirius shifted a bit and held the boy tighter.
"Did..did my parents regret having me?" Harry asked in a very small frightened voice.
Sirius took a sharp intake of breath. He looked down at Harry in horror and saw real fear in the watery red rimmed emerald eyes that stared up at him pleadingly.
"Why, Harry? Why would you even ask such a question?" Truly, Sirius was gobsmacked by the inquiry. Why on earth would his godson even think of such a thing? He felt Harry fidget a little in his embrace nervously. The boy lowered his head back down and burrowed it into Sirius' chest.
"I ruined their lives," Harry said quietly. "You always talk about how happy they were here at school and then after they left, before the war. If I hadn't been born, they wouldn't have had to go into hiding," he said miserably. A small sob escaped from his small chest and pushed against his godfather's ribs. "If I hadn't been born, they would still be alive."
Sirius was drowning. The despair was rolling off of his godson in waves and he didn't know if anything he could do or say would be enough to convince the boy that he had been everything to James and Lily. Desperately, like a man clinging to a life preserver, he grabbed Harry even tighter into his arms and pressed his face into the messy black mop of hair.
"Your parents loved you, Harry James. Every minute of every day that they had you. They never regretted a single second that they got to have with you. Honestly, I don't think that they were ever really truly alive until they had you. You were everything to them, little one. When Albus told them that the time had come for them to go into hiding, they went for you. They didn't care about themselves."
He felt Harry shudder at the thought. I'm phrasing this all wrong, he though angrily to himself. Clearing his throat, he tried again.
"Your parents were two of the bravest people I ever met. They would have willingly marched to their own deaths long before they were killed if it hadn't been for you. If anything, you kept them alive longer than they probably would have been."
Harry jerked his head up, his eyes wide with surprise. "What..what are you talking about, Sirius?" he stammered in shock.
Sirius frowned. Surely Harry knew the reason why he was chosen as a target? "Harry, your parents had already fought Voldemort off three separate times. They were marked high on his list of enemies. He wanted them dead more than most on the side of light. They were an offense to him. A prominent blood traitor and his Muggle born wife? Their deaths would be a badge of honor for him, a strong warning to other wizarding families to not take him lightly. It was only when your mum got pregnant and they went into hiding to protect you that he couldn't kill them as quickly as he wanted to."
He felt Harry shaking with realization. This conversation was getting too dark and too deep. He needed to soothe his godson, not make him more upset. Wildly, he racked his brain for a way out of this. He lowered his head and kissed the top of the black hair still pressed against him.
"Your parents loved every minute they spent with you in Godric's Hollow," he began, hopefully. Disregarding his own bleeding heart, he forced his voice into as calming a tone as he could and proceeded to spend the next hour telling Harry all manner of silly little stories about James and Lily experiencing the joys of parenthood. He vowed that Harry would have more happy memories than bad ones of the last few months of his parents' lives.
Harry laughed as Sirius told him all the names that Lily called James during labor, he cringed when he heard about Lily hiding James' broom until he agreed to change a particularly foul nappy, he smirked about Lily threatening a then nine month old Harry with nothing but mashed carrots if he didn't stop throwing his food in her hair.
"Why carrots?" Harry asked. Sirius barked out a laugh.
"Because she didn't have time to wash her hair six times a day and at least the carrots wouldn't show as badly as the strained peas you couldn't get enough of," he informed the snickering boy.
He told Harry about the little family's first Christmas together when James had bought his six month old son a complete set of professional Quidditch balls. Harry fell into a fit of the giggles as his godfather described how his mother had chased his father around the house, scolding that Harry would choke on the little golden snitch.
"She didn't really have a sense of humor about your father's Quidditch obsession," he sagely informed the boy.
Sirius' voice grew soft and melancholy as he told Harry about how Lily would play peek-a-boo with her year old son for hours. How baby Harry would cover his eyes with his chubby little hands and bury his face in the pillows on the couch, certain that if he couldn't see his Mummy, then Mummy couldn't see him either. He talked about how Harry liked to cut his teeth on the sleeve of his father's robes, preferring it over the frozen rubber rings James gave him. How one look from his mother's matching green eyes would put an end to the start of any tantrum. How Harry wouldn't let anyone but his father put him to sleep.
Harry poked his head back up from his godfather's chest. "Why? Why Dad and not Mum?"
Sirius snorted and brushed stray hair from the boy's forehead. "Well, although your mum vehemently denied it, your dad and I always thought it was because he sang you to sleep."
Harry looked up at him, a surprised and confused look on his tired face. "Why wouldn't Mum sing to me, then?" he asked innocently, watching his godfather's face contort into a mischievous grin.
"Oh, she tried singing to you, but it didn't seem to have the same effect." He paused. "When your dad sang, he...he had an interesting song for the task. You loved it. Never failed to put you right out. Of course, considering what it was, your mum was positively livid about the whole thing. She tried to stop your dad, at first. But a week of a screaming tired baby finally convinced her to let you and your dad have your way."
Harry was positively intrigued now. Cocking his head to the side, he raised his eyebrows and looked inquisitively at his godfather.
"What was wrong with the song? Why did she get so mad?" he asked with a small smile.
Sirius thought for a moment, his eyes flashing with mirth. Why not? he thought. Harry could use a good laugh.
"Your father sang an Irish drinking song to put you to bed at night. Your mum was less than amused at the idea of her baby boy being sung to sleep with the same song that was wailed off tune down the pub," he said with a laugh.
It worked. Harry leaned against Sirius' shoulder, snorting for all he was worth.
"Why did he pick that song? Didn't he know any others?" Harry finally asked when he had gotten himself under control.
Sirius ran his fingers through the back of Harry's hair, debating for a moment whether or not to tell him the whole story. It was amusing, but it was so painful to remember these things. Some of the memories were still too raw for the man to deal with them easily but Harry was waiting for an answer. Collecting himself, he decided that his godson's peace of mind was more important than his bleeding heart.
"It was special to him. Right after your parents got married, they had a very big fight. James was still a bit immature and, frankly, we didn't help matters any. He was the only one of us to ever get married. We were still very young, you have to understand." He paused as Harry shifted a little, trying to get comfortable again leaning against his godfather. "He was spending a bit too much time out carousing with us boys for your mum's liking. She had a point. They were married now and sometimes James still acted like a young boy."
He could hear Harry snort at that image. After hearing many stories about James as a teenager from Sirius, it was easy for Harry to believe that his father would still act immature.
"One night we wanted to take him out to the pub. They had been having words about it. James was going to give in and stay home but your mum had had it. She was already pregnant and her mood swings were crazy. She tossed him out and told him not to come back until he could prove that he loved her more than he loved us." Harry didn't see the wistful smile on his godfather's face.
"James was miserable all night. We all got completely piss drunk and then got the great idea that he should stagger home and serenade her. So...that's what he did. He sang her one of his favorite songs that he had always told us reminded him of her and, even though he sang drunkenly and off key, she was touched enough to let him back in the house. Once you were born, he would sing it to you at night. I asked him once why he did it and he told me it was to remind him of how lucky he was to have a wife and child that he loved more than life itself. How close he might have come to throwing it all way."
They were both quiet for a while. Finally, Sirius felt Harry burrow his face into his chest and whisper to him. "I wish I could remember it," he said sadly.
Sirius sighed, the pain in his chest getting stronger as he fought to keep the memories at bay. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to think about these times. They were precious and he held on to them like treasure. He tightened his arms around the small frame of James' son, conscious of the way slumber was evading the boy. His mind whirled back to those days spent visiting Godric's Hollow.
How many times had he stood in the doorway of Harry's nursery as James rocked his baby boy to sleep? He closed his eyes and remembered picture perfect the look on his best friend's face as he gazed adoringly into the little green eyes. The way he carefully kept the hand knitted blue blanket wrapped securely around his child so he never felt the draft. The unabashed love in his voice as he crooned to the little person who had changed him in every way, from juvenile marauder to adoring responsible father.
Without realizing what he was doing, he found himself caught up in the past. Clearing his throat and gently rocking the boy who was no longer an infant, he began to sing softly.
Come over the mountain, my bonnie Irish lass
Come over the mountain to your darlin'
You choose the rose love, and I'll make the vow
And I'll be your true love forever.
In his reverie, he could hear Harry laugh softly, but it was a comfortable sound and it soothed both of them. His voice getting stronger, he continued.
Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows
Fair is the Lily of the Valley
Clear is the water that flows unto the Boyne
But my love is fairer than any.
In his mind, Sirius saw so many happy images of his younger days with his friends. So many that he had been denied during his years of imprisonment, cursed by the Dementors that had surrounded him revelling in his state of loneliness and despair. Like a gift, they seemed to be returning to him tonight as he softly sang Harry to sleep.
Down by the sea on a cool summer evenin'
With the moon rising high o'er the heather,
The moon it shown fair on her head of reddened hair
And she vowed she'd be my love forever.
Snuggled in his godfather's warm embrace, Harry felt his eyes grow heavy as his head pressed against Sirius' chest which was vibrating from soft melody he was singing. Subconsciously, the lilting notes and words were comforting and familiar to the boy and were lulling him into a peaceful state. The horror of his night terror was falling away from him, leaving him with only happy fuzzy images that he couldn't quite define.
Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows
Fair is the Lily of the Valley
Clear is the water that flows unto the Boyne
But my love is fairer than any.
Sirius could hear Harry's deep even breathing as the boy finally slept curled up against him. In his mind's eye, he could see them clearly now, James and Lily. His brother in all but blood, his carefree manner as he tousled his own ebony hair. Beautiful Lily with her mane of fire and flashing emerald eyes. His heart ached to see them again. They and Remus (he firmly pushed images of the rat out of his mind) had been his first true family. For them, he would march into Hell itself to keep Harry happy and safe. Tears flowing freely from his silvery eyes now, he bent his head down and buried it against the messy mop scrunched tightly against him, his voice cracking as he finished the tune.
It is not for the loss of my own sister Kate,
It is not for the grieving of my mother,
It is all for the loss of my bonnie Irish lass
That my heart is breaking forever.
Holding his precious boy as close to himself as he could, he pressed a kiss on top of the slumbering child's head.
I'll take good care of him for you, James, Lily. I promise I'll love him enough for all three of us.