Quick A/N: This is another Sirius POV fic. Haven't had one in awhile, and it worked with this chapter.

Sirius expected to have some difficulty with "making" Harry take it easy for the rest of the day, but to his relief, his pup (as he'd affectionate called him since the beginning of the summer) had made no objections to taking a pain reliever potion for his headache. Nor had he objected to taking a nap on the oversized couch, once Sirius suggested that he might be more comfortable in his pajamas than in his casual robes. Harry had readily agreed to both, and now, Sirius sat next to him, a book in one hand, and hadn't realized he had begun stroking the boy's hair until Harry had let out his trademark sigh of contentedness. Chuckling a bit, Sirius continued long past Harry had fallen asleep, finding it as soothing as his teenage godson must.

Now, he reflected on the events from earlier. Neither of them had been prepared for what would happen when Sirius was planning to enter his mind. The term "entering his mind" still sounded invasive, but it was slightly more innocuous than "invading his mind" or "attacking his mind." Besides, Sirius was under no false illusion that what he was doing, what he would continue to do, merited all of those terms. The wizarding world might have more access to memories than the muggle one-Pensieves and Veritaserum were evidence of this-but an outright attack was something most witches and wizards saw as something no one should ever be subjected to. Really, if dark wizards like Voldemort had not excelled in Legilimency, Sirius would not have to duplicate such an attack to help his pup protect himself.

Well, at least, it hadn't been as bad for his pup as Harry had expected. Reflecting on this only made Sirius shiver at what Harry had gone through with Snape. He was certain that the greasy haired git was on their side, but he was equally certain that the Potions master had enjoyed violating Harry's privacy and seeing him squirm. Dumbledore would not have been much better, in all honesty, since there might have been some trust on Harry's end, but the imbalance of power was too strong.

No, everyone should have told Harry about Voldemort's plans and the prophecy from the start. If an eleven year old Harry had wanted to know why he had wanted to kill him, he damn well should have been told. It would have prevented the lessons, the fiasco at the Ministry, and a good deal of pain from the last year. Sirius didn't think Dumbledore was a meddling fool, exactly, but he took people's blind obedience for granted.

Sirius hoped he would reflect on this during the summer holidays.

In an effort to calm himself, he wordlessly summoned the Potions book Harry would use for the next two years, and quill and ink. Another advantage to nonverbal spells was that he wouldn't risk waking Harry.

He had made notes as far as he had gone with brewing potions-Harry had made eleven so far-but he wanted to go through as much of the book as he could in case the class progressed further than what they got to. His goal was for Harry to be able to make changes on his own, as his additions tended to be fairly consistent once you got the hang of it, but Harry wasn't there yet. Not that Sirius expected it. It had taken him and James the better part of their sixth year, and they hadn't been traumatized by Snape as a teacher. It was no wonder kids like Neville frequently failed his classes.

Sirius didn't realize how much time had passed until he heard Harry stretching and making his "waking up" noises that Sirius was all too familiar with. Turning away from the book, he grinned.

"Hello, pup. Feel any better?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah, loads," Harry agreed, sitting up. "Say, is that my Potions book?"

"It is. Making more notes for later on," Sirius explained, with a smile. "We're unlikely to make it through the first year in the next two weeks, so I wanted to give you some more help. Of course," he added, "if you'd like to continue our lessons during the Christmas holidays, perhaps just a few, we can make a bit more headway. Up to you."

Harry frowned. "Two weeks? Term doesn't begin until nearly four."

"You're right," Sirius agreed, doing the mental calculations. "More like a week and a half of lessons left." At Harry's raised eyebrows, he explained, "Well, pup, I don't want you to spend the entire holiday studying. You need a break before the next term starts."

"Even Occlumency?" Harry pressed.

Sirius hesitated. "Given that's once a week, I suppose we can make an exception, there."

Harry nodded a bit. "Well, all right. Not that I don't like our lessons, Sirius."

"Good, then it's settled," Sirius said, with a smile. "Are you hungry?"

Harry took a moment to consider. "Not really, are you?"

Sirius shook his head, then beckoned Harry to come forward. Placing his hands on his shoulders, he began to massage the young boy's back. He asked Harry if he could remove his pajama shirt, and the boy agreed.

Had Harry been wearing robes, the material would have light enough that Sirius could do a decent job through the material, something he and his friends had learned rather early on. Between Remus's injuries and his own parents's idea of discipline, back (and foot) massages were hardly uncommon occurrences.

Harry leaned forward, nearly falling off, and Sirius gently adjusted himself and his godson so they were facing the side, rather than the front, of the couch.

After awhile, Harry put his shirt back on, and leaned against Sirius. Sirius, of course, placed both arms around him.

"Thanks for that," Harry murmured. "How'd you get so good at this?"

Sirius answered carefully. "After we found out the truth about Remus, we found that they helped. He reciprocated-insisted on it, and even then, he was too good at hiding his pain. And, well, my parents certainly didn't treat me nearly as well after I was sorted into a traitor house."

Harry stiffened visibly, then turned to face Sirius. "What did they do?"

Sirius placed an arm around Harry's shoulders. The boy accepted the comfort, thank Merlin.

"Do you really want to know? I don't mind telling you, pup," he assured him.

Harry nodded, curling in a bit.

"They didn't hit me, or do anything that could leave a scar. Plenty that left marks, but they faded over a few days," Sirius began. "It was beneath them. Since I didn't come back to Hogwarts bearing visible scars or broken limbs or anything, it would be easy to miss."

"D-did they use the Cruciatius Curse?" Harry asked, his voice wavering.

Sirius sighed a bit, expecting this question. "Not often, but yes. Mostly," he added, quickly, "strong stinging hexes, depending on the severity of my 'disobedience.' The occasional full body binds with an elf guarding me. They could undo it if given permission. Lots of verbal abuse, not unlike what you suffered from your aunt and uncle. They enjoyed screaming about how I was a disgrace, an abomination, that sort of thing. As though you couldn't tell from my dear mum's portrait." Sirius shivered.

"But didn't they get in trouble for using an Unforgivable on you?" Harry choked out.

Sirius pulled him close again. "Not if you're a rich pure blood. Besides, who would believe me?"

Harry huddled closer against Sirius, shivering a bit. Sirius then remembered that Voldemort had performed that curse on Harry. While he imagined that Harry had suffered far more under Voldemort than he had under his mum (his father had refused to participate, but he had never stopped her), it had hurt like crazy, but his mother had always told him she could make it worse.

Well, until the night he had run away to James's house.

"Hey, it's okay, now," he reassured Harry. "It's all over. Ancient history."

He summoned some of the chocolate, and handed a piece to Harry.

"Here, you'll feel better," Sirius said, taking a bite of the other bar.

Harry took a bite, and his face changed from pale to back to normal almost immediately.

"Thanks," he said, upon swallowing.

Sirius smiled. "You're welcome. So, you want me to massage your back a bit more?"

Harry nodded, and then turned around, still munching on the chocolate. Sirius moved slowly, carefully, earning several contented sighs for his effort.

Dinner was more quiet than usual, and when it came time for the Pensieve, Harry asked if they could skip it for tonight.

"I'm a bit tired," he explained, a bit sheepishly.

"Of course. Shall I read with you, instead?" Sirius asked.

"Sure, that would be great." Harry moved his hand to brush some stray hairs off of his face, which is how Sirius noticed the lines on the back of his hand.

Forcing himself to take deep breaths-he knew all about blood quills, he spoke softly.

"Pup? Can I see your hand?"

Harry extended the other hand, and Sirius raised his eyebrows. "The one you had up."

There was a resigned look on Harry's face when he extended the first one. Turning it over carefully, Sirius saw the words, faded but all too legible.

I must not tell lies.

He composed his face, forcing himself to look calm. "I suppose that toad did that to you?"

Harry nodded. "Her idea of writing lines."

Sirius sighed, then extended his arms. Harry walked right in for the hug, and Sirius held him until he let his arms drop. Sirius could have held his godson for at least and hour, but it wouldn't do to force hugs on him.

"I didn't want..." Harry paused, then started over. "She was doing it on others. Not just me."

Sirius nodded. "They're illegal, except for stuff like signing documents at Gringotts. Use of one on an adult earns you eighteen months in Azkaban. Three times that on a minor. Six times as long if the minor is under eleven. Of course," he added, practically, "seeing as she's Fudge's undersecretary, or was, she likely wouldn't have faced consequences. Well, unless it was on a Slytherin."

Harry barked a laugh. "They were her favorites."

"Well, there you go," Sirius snorted. "Can I see it again?"

Harry nodded and, much less reluctantly, held out his hand. Sirius ran his fingers over the words and surrounding area, asking on occasion if it hurt, but Harry said no and his face did not indicate otherwise. It would scar, had scarred, unless Sirius could find an antidote. Blood quill scarring was dark magic, but that didn't mean it would be impossible.

"I can try to find a potion or salve to erase the scar. Maybe. Want me to look?" Sirius asked. "I can't promise anything, but my family had quite the dark library, including antidotes to dark magic that you wouldn't find at Hogwarts."

Harry's face brightened. "Yeah, I'd really like that."

Sirius chuckled, albeit a little darkly. "I'll check the library with a locating charm while you read the next chapter."

"Locating charm?" Harry echoed.

"It's a bit like the muggle index of textbooks. You say the word you want with the charm, and you'll get the books and the page opened automatically. Bit messy, but far easier than reading everything in the library. It's partly how we learned how to become animagi so early," Sirius explained. "Technically second year spell, but rarely taught."

"Want to make things harder for us, you think?"

"Most likely," Sirius chuckled. "I'll teach it to you tomorrow."

Then, they settled onto the couch once more, and curled up together, Sirius began to read the next chapter.

A/N: The Black family struck me as too aristocratic to leave evidence of their abuse, but I have no doubt that Sirius suffered it beyond the verbal kind. I also don't think that Sirius saw Harry's scar from the lines until now-it would have been covered in the fifth book, and Harry likely would have gone to some length to hide it, in order to protect Sirius from doing anything rash.

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