*waves* hi

long time, no see eh? it feels like i blinked twice and three months passed by. truly, i couldnt tell u where the time went. i went through some major life changes so it makes sense but still, FoD was always niggling at me in the back of my mind and im glad to come back. i hope y'all have been well, and still remember this lil piece hehe

(if u dont: harry sirius finally met in the last chapter; talked; laughed. there were a few conversations with ron hermione the others, and capslock harry made a mini appearance)

to be entirely honest, ive been trying to finish this chapter for a long time now and i still think its an unsuccessful attempt. i dont feel great about what i've got here-its mostly filler and feels v disjointed-but i think maybe if i just get it done with, i can do a better job with the next ones? idk. i think the gap was a little too much, and i seem to have lost my grasp on this fic. im hoping it'll come back as i exercise my writing muscles some more but oh well, in the meantime u get this :p

i hope u enjoy it! harry is a lil cutie in this and sirius is, of course, perfect per usual.

Having Sirius in the house—changed things. Harry had known it would, of course, even before he knew the man wouldn't be there, but he hadn't quite anticipated to what degree.

Where before, Harry had point-blank refused to sit in any common space, he was now venturing out into the kitchen and the living room of his own volition. From not even being able to look his friends in the face to sitting in the same room with them- it was quite a development. Everyone realised it, too, because no one had said a word to his face about it as of yet. Of course, he knew the tentative peace wouldn't last (he could already see the silent working of Ron's mouth every time they were in the same place together), but he was gonna make sure to enjoy it while it did,

Turns out, being taken seriously worked wonders on one's temperament. Who'd've known?

It was the day after Sirius had come back, and he was sitting in the kitchen, just having finished breakfast. Sirius hadn't pushed when Harry told him that he needed time to fully confide in him just what he'd gotten up to in the last month. He'd told him that he'd done a lot of stuff, most of which would probably make him really proud as a Marauder, but he wasn't ready to divulge it just yet. Sirius had looked a little conflicted at that but ultimately backed down without a fight. A part of Harry wondered if it was because he felt so bad about basically icing him out. It was something Harry was happy for because if Sirius had poked, then he would've had to bring out the big guns-a guilt trip—something he had no wish to do but would if it was necessary.

He had a wonderful speech all prepared in his mind about how Sirius hadn't told him anything for the entirety of the last month but now he wanted to know all of Harry's secrets within a day of meeting him? Really?

Of course, he didn't want to say any of that- not least because they'd already gone over this, resolved it, and to open that wound again would be nothing more than childish. More selfishly, though, he didn't want to keep fighting with Sirius- it drained him something fierce. Those few moments when he'd had to hold himself back from the man to demand answers were hard enough, he had no wish to have a repeat of it if he could avoid it.

So Sirius swallowed his questions and Harry kept his meaner side leashed up and both of them were happy.

Everyone else, though, was a different case.

"So, Harry," Mrs. Weasley was bustling around, fixing breakfast for each member who walked in through the door. His own plate had been polished off and placed in the sink before she could get to it. "How was your summer, dear?"

Harry smiled politely, keeping his eyes fixed on the table. "It was fine, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh?" She paused in her actions, looking at him with furrowed brows.

"I mean, it wasn't much different from usual," Harry shrugged. He tamped down on the urge to add ' If you don't count the nightmares, and the trauma, and the isolation' knowing that wasn't the kind of answer anyone wanted to hear at the breakfast table.

Mrs Weasley opened her mouth, presumably to ask him to expand on that absolute non-answer, but he was in no mood to talk about the Dursleys, so he nipped that in the bud by getting his own question in first.

"What is this place, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked, "I mean, I know it's a Headquarters or whatever, but-where did it come from?"

"Ha—Oh," she stopped mid-word, not expecting his addition, "This house? Why, it's Sirius', dear."

Harry blinked, confused. Sirius' house? He turned towards his godfather, who was just making his way into the room, groggy and barely awake.

"Wha?" Sirius said when Harry wouldn't stop staring at him.

"This is your house? "

"Er- yes?"

"You didn't think that was worth mentioning yesterday?" Harry asked.

"You—didn't ask?" Sirius replied, his grey eyes open deliberately wide.

Harry snorted—that innocent act could work on someone who didn't know him. He got up, instead, to pull his drowsy godfather into the chair he'd just vacated, carefully navigating him around the floating cutlery and assorted members.

Before Mrs Weasley could, he went up to the counter and grabbed a plate for Sirius, adding just a little extra of everything for him. He hadn't had time to think - much - about this yesterday but he wasn't happy with how skinny Sirius was, at all. It'd been over two years since he'd escaped Azkaban and though he was on the run, that didn't mean he was without friends and allies. He shouldn't be this skinny and that he was- it meant that he wasn't taking care of himself, nor was anyone else.

No wonder, Harry was here for a month and he was going to do the job. He knew a little something about starvation, after all. That thought motivated him to increase the roasted veggies and fruit, and remove the bacon entirely. He placed the finished meal with a cup of light tea in front of his godfather, who was awake enough to be bemused.

"Er, Harry?"

"You need to eat properly," Harry said, briskly. "You're too skinny."

Sirius blinked. "I—feel like that's my line."

"Too bad, finders keepers." He took advantage of the confusion created by his words to tuck a fork into Sirius' hand and sat down opposite him so he could keep an eye on his eating habits. Since this was the first time, he didn't expect to know exactly what and how much Sirius ate and any future meals would depend on his current habits so it was necessary to understand those.

"Harry, dear, you didn't have to do that," Mrs. Weasley said kindly.

"I know, Mrs. Weasley. I wanted to." he shrugged. He turned back to his godfather. "So, your house?"

"I- yes," Sirius answered, deciding to skip over the events of the past two minutes. "I grew up here, the portrait is of my dear mother, and Kreacher over there changed my dirty nappies."

Harry cringed. "Was that last part really necessary?"

"What can I say, I like to get my kicks in where I can."

He rolled his eyes, half smiling at Sirius' antics. The silly grin on his face made it clear he was just messing with him. Harry was glad to see it- the lightness on his face, in his eyes.

"Speaking of the portrait, why hasn't anyone gotten rid of it? Or, I don't know, pressed its off switch yet?"

"Off switch?" Sirius asked, confused, but didn't wait for an answer. He speared a piece of melon on his fork while continuing, "Permanent Sticking Charm. We've tried our best but well, dear old mum was quite devious with a wand."

Harry grinned mischievously, unable to ignore the convenient opening. "Like you?"

The fork slipped out of his fingers in shock. "Wha-What?"

"I just mean, you've got a similar set of enchanted pictures pinned in your room, right? Your mum must've gotten the idea from somewhere."

After all, Harry hadn't spent those three days doing nothing. He'd done his fair share of…harmless exploring and one of the rooms he'd entered, initially by accident and then more often when he realised no one was there, had some interesting stuff. Clearly Sirius' childhood bedroom, with the information he had now. He had to admit, it seemed obvious that this would be his house, what with all the pictures that were pasted across the room but at the time, he hadn't made the connection. Something he was feeling incredibly embarrassed about now. It wasn't even that far-fetched that the place could belong to Sirius, but it was a testament to how cluttered his thoughts were that he didn't even consider the possibility. He had been more interested in seeing pictures of his young dad and godfather, the way they'd taken centre stage in all of them. It was a glimpse into the past that he didn't often get. He'd thumbed through his own picture album so many times that he'd memorised every single detail by heart and here he was, getting to look at new pictures.

That's not to say he'd gotten bored of it, of course not, but he'd analysed all of them to death. This—this was a different view, another perspective, and it was fascinating .

Sirius' jaw was slack as he looked at him. "I- You- pictures…my room?"

"I really liked the ones with Dad in them," Harry continued relentlessly. "Although the others were…enlightening, I must-"

"Okay, okay I get it, you can stop now," Sirius held his hands up in surrender. "I was a little shit back then, and you're punishing me for the last month, aren't you?"

"I haven't even started," Harry said, looking down at his nails and buffing them against his shirt. He felt something—soft and squishy hit him on the side of his head and looked up to see a grape rolling off the corner of the table. He shot Sirius an amused glance, as if to say 'Really?'. His godfather looked unrepentant as he ate his buttered toast.

"I don't think you can afford to projectile launch perfectly good food when you barely have meat on your bones, Sirius," Harry said, eyes opened wide and blinking rapidly. Though he couldn't quite hide the smirk on his lips, it was still a perfectly decent approximation of innocence.

"And I don't think you have the right to say that when you look like that , Prongslet," Sirius scowled, his own reluctant smile giving him away as well.

"Now, Sirius-" Mrs Weasley tried to interrupt, perhaps chastise Sirius for his comment, but Harry didn't give her the chance.

"Er-Prongslet?"

Sirius tilted his head to the side, forkful of eggs stopped mid-air. "...yes?"

"Where did that come from?"

"I mean, that's a bit obvious, isn't it? Prongs…Prongslet…?" The eggs made a slow descent back onto the plate. Harry did not like that. He got up, went around the side of the table, and physically stabbed a mouthful onto the fork before placing it in Sirius' hand. The conversation continued as if he didn't just manhandle a grown man.

"Isn't that a bit…stupid?"

Sirius tilted his head, chewing slowly. "I mean…I wouldn't use it if you don't like me to but-that was James' name for you and we all sort of picked up on it."

"We?"

"Yeah, Remus and me, mostly. Pete-er, the rat didn't see you too much anyway, thank Merlin, and Lily on occasion too, though she could never maintain a straight face."

"I bet," Harry snorted, thinking of his mum, what little he knew of her, and trying to match that with the image of her cooing 'Prongslet' at him. Hysterical.

"Mhm. James was calling you that from the moment we found out Lily was pregnant. Didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl but he was adamant they would be a Prongslet. And we kind of all started using it as well." Sirius shrugged casually, going back to his plate. He didn't notice the frown that crossed Harry's face at that.

"Professor Lupin's never called me that…" he mumbled under his breath, unaware Sirius could hear him perfectly well.

"Well," Sirius cleared his throat pointedly. "Remus hasn't done a lot of the things he should've, so."

Harry blinked, not expecting the sudden hostility before a small grin stole over his face. If he was reading this right then…Sirius was mad on his behalf and though he shouldn't, there was a part of him that was glad because he'd never…no one's ever done that before. It felt… good .

"Anyway, I'd switch between that and Pup for you, but again, no hard feelings if it makes you uncomfortable." It was a very obvious attempt at changing the subject but one Harry was much more interested in because his ears perked right up at that.

"Pup?" he echoed, leaning forward. His eyes grew wide as he saw a little red flushing making its way down Sirius' neck. Harry didn't even know his godfather could get embarrassed; he'd always been so-so self-assured and confident that this was…well. It was certainly interesting.

"Er-just, you know, because of Padfoot," Sirius shrugged, the movement looking unnaturally jerky on his frame, like he wasn't used to moving his shoulders that way.

"Oh?"

"Yes, it's…Wait, I've got something for you." He waved his borrowed wand-he told Harry that the Blacks had an attic full of old wands, exactly for moments like this. No more questions were asked after that-and instantly, they could hear the sound of something rattling and flying down the stairs. He waited, not so patiently, for whatever it was to finish its descent into the dining room.

"Aha," Sirius exclaimed in satisfaction when a bag flew into his hand. Unzipping it, he first retrieved a stuffed toy that he immediately handed over to Harry, followed by another, smaller one. Next came a…book? Sirius flipped through the pages, quickly at first before slowing down to a stop on one particular page. Harry used the pause to look down at what he'd gotten.

His lips parted as he brought the animal towards his face. It was a stuffed dog, and despite being battered and falling apart, it was obviously supposed to be a Grim. It looked uncannily like his godfather's animagus.

"Er-Sirius?"

"The moment you were born, your dad and I tucked two stuffed toys into your arms at the same time," Sirius said with a soft smile on his face. Harry had come to recognise it as his nostalgic smile, equal parts fond and sad, the one he had whenever he talked about the Before days. Before Azkaban, when he was still whole. "Neither of us realised it, but we'd gotten you a stuffed toy of the other's animagus form."

"The others?" Harry questioned. "I would've thought you'd buy your own."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Sirius winked. "The reason's a bit, well. It's not the happiest. After you were born, both of us had become…even more conscious about the War going on. The possibility of losing your friend was getting more and more real by the way, and both your dad and I were visible targets for the Light side. In case we…if anything had happened…I wanted some part of your dad to be with you always. Turns out, James had the same idea."

Harry sucked in a breath, trying to keep his face straight. There was a…strange burning in the corner of his eyes and he didn't want to have to deal with that. But what Sirius was telling him-it was. It was a little too much. Every time Harry was confronted with the fact that he was loved, so loved by his family, it was a baffling experience. He couldn't reconcile that knowledge with what he'd always known.

And to know his parents and godfather were preparing, right from the beginning, for a future where they might not exist…it didn't help. The sadness and confusion mixed with rage in the world's most confusing cocktail of emotions.

"What I wanted to show you, though, was that one." Sirius nods towards the other stuffed toy in his hand that he'd, frankly, forgotten about. Looking down, he couldn't quite hide the confusion at seeing a smaller version of the dog. "It's a baby Padfoot."

"Huh?"

"Do you know, Harry, I don't cry easy," Sirius said, out of nowhere, further confusing the heck out of him. "Never have, really. But almost every single time I have-there's a Potter involved."

"Er… I'm sorry?"

That earned him a deadpan look in response.

"This was…we were out in Muggle London one day, a few weeks after your first birthday. Your parents were, well, frankly, they were going a little insane being cooped up in the house. You weren't any better, really, but you had the excuse of being a baby. They didn't. We had to go muggle because anything else was out of the question," he continued before adding, in an undertone, "not unless we wanted our bodies to decorate the next day's Daily Prophet front page."

"Sirius!" Mrs. Weasley, who'd been sitting remarkably silent so far, started again. "Harry's a child , he shouldn't be hearing things like that."

The 'child' in question turned to stare incredulously at her. She couldn't be serious, right? One look at her face, though, and it seemed like she was. "Mrs. Weasley, it's fine . I don't expect wartime to be full of daisies and sunshine."

She tsked. "It's not a conversation one has at the dinner table, Harry."

Before he could answer that, Sirius cut in, a faint air of annoyance around him. "The war isn't even the point of this, Molly, you needn't get your wand all twisted." He turns towards Harry, physically dismissing her from both mind and sight.

"Anyway, we were in this huge toy store in London-Timothy? Morad? Benjamin?-and you were obsessed with the stuffed toy section. Of course, we can't blame you, since your mum wasn't any better," he winked. "James left with this money pouch significantly lighter that day, not that he was complaining."

"Where does this one come in, though?' Harry asked, giving the smaller dog a bit of a shake, too curious to let it go now.

A soft smile spreads across Sirius' face, eyes taking on a far-away look, as if he was thinking about it and accidentally got lost in the memories. Harry can't help the growing warmth along the back of his neck when that smile is directed towards him.

"We came across the…canine section, if you will. And there were a bunch of these baby toys-tigers, lions, leopards, cheetahs, you name it. Somewhere in the back, though, almost hidden, there was this little guy. One of its kind. I still don't know how it caught your eye, to be honest, but the moment it did…" Sirius huffed, shaking his head in disbelief, "You let out this massive yell while at the same time divebombing for the ground. Scared the life out of your father. No one quite expects their child to jump out of their arms on a suicide mission, yanno?"

Harry stuck his tongue out at his godfather, giggling at the way he fell back against the chair in mock-offence.

"Somehow, you led your father, and us, to the toy. Second we get there, you turn towards me and go 'Pa'foo! Pa'foo! And I think you want me to hold you, right? So I'm standing there, taking you from James, smiling smugly, when you suddenly say 'baby!'"

Oh.

Harry thinks he can understand where this might be going now, and the blush on his cheeks had begun spreading towards his face at a rapid pace.

"We all turn to look, of course, and what do we see but this"-he nodded towards the toy-" and you can't stop saying baby. Now we're a little confused, of course, and Lily's trying to correct you, getting you to say puppy instead but you are not budging. Barely a year old and already the most stubborn creature this side of the Thames," Sirius said fondly, leaning forward to ruffle Harry's hair. He tried to bat him away half-heartedly but he wasn't convincing anymore.

"And then, then you look at me, straight in the eye, and in the most serious toddler voice I'd ever heard, you say ' baby Pa'foo' ." Harry could see Sirius' eyes glossing over a little, and averted his own gaze, feeling uncomfortable at the show of emotion. "And we try to, Lily's telling you it's not, yeah? Every black dog isn't the same, right, and it's good for you to know that so you don't go toddling up to the next one you see. But then you just go 'no!" with this violent little shake of your head and hold onto my shirt…right here." He touched the front of his collar with his index finger, absentmindedly rubbing little circles over the area.

"And you say, again, 'baby Pa'foo… Pa'foo-"

"Like'm your baby," Harry blurted, biting his lip at once to shut up. Sirius stopped, looking at him in surprise, before a slow smile took over his entire face.

"Yes…exactly like that." His hand extended out, touching baby Padfoot's fur, stroking lightly along its side. "We didn't get it at first but you were…persistent."

"A little genius right from the start, huh," Harry joked weakly, unable to do anything but as his mind raced, trying to figure out how to react to such a story. It didn't matter that it happened so long ago; it might as well have been another universe; All he knows is that he feels terribly vulnerable right now, like there's something itching under his skin, begging to get out.

He doesn't know how to let it.

"You really were. Lily didn't stop teasing me for bursting into tears in the middle of a muggle store for weeks afterwards." Sirius' tone was unnervingly sincere, not letting him laugh it away. It made him jump out of his seat, reaching around the table to take Sirius' mostly empty plate. It had been lying untouched for some time now, so he felt comfortable taking it to the sink for a quick wash. It also gave him the convenient excuse of not baring his entire soul via eye contact.

"Er-Sirius?"

He jumped at the sound of Ron's hesitant voice, having forgotten that they weren't alone in the room.

Sirius cleared his throat, making Harry think he might not've been the only one who got too caught up, before responding. "Yes, Ron?"

"What's with the book?"

Right, he'd forgotten about that. Understandable, of course, but now his curiosity was piqued again. Also, it was a good change of topic and he latched onto that with both hands.

"Oh, uh, it's a photo album." Sirius stroked the front of it with his index finger, teeth digging into his bottom lip as his eyes stayed fixed on the page he'd opened earlier. "Baby's first year," he read aloud, holding up the cover for all to see. "We wanted to, to er, maintain one for…every year…"

There were a million emotions tucked away in the way he trailed off and Harry's heart hurt , not just at the look on his godfather's face, but also at the implications of what he said. That seemed to be the theme of the day so far, alternating between happiness and unspeakable sadness, mainly the latter because life was just one big tragedy, wasn't it? Harry had it tough, he knew that and it was a fact of life, but his godfather's experiences…

It made him want to tear something to the ground and burn it to high hell and back. Rage at the injustice of this universe for not just giving him a good life but taking it away in the worst manner possible. Harry had given up on himself, accepted his circumstances with a steely heart-it was the only way he could survive. He'd grown apathetic, cold and unbothered. It didn't escape him that people whispered behind his back, that his own friends looked at him with concern more often than not. He knew why, but he couldn't change it, because protecting himself was more important than soothing their sensibilities.

And it was a good system-it had worked so far, kept him sane but more importantly, alive . It was now, however, after everything that happened at the Graveyard, that he was finding it hard to keep the same facade up. It was not as easy now, to bottle everything up in a box and push it out of sight and mind. His emotions refused to stay down now, rising to the surface, hungering for acknowledgement, demanding attention.

Harry had sneaked into a cinema theatre one time. He can't remember the name, but it was a movie about war. He'd walked in just as the penultimate scene had begun-a large bomb being dropped on an innocent population, the consequent explosion, the burst of lights and sounds and movement-it was overwhelming and disorienting; his eyes were blinded and his ears ringing and he couldn't keep his gaze on any one place because something was happening everywhere. Not five minutes in, Harry stumbled out of the theatre with his eyes squeezed shut and hands clenched over his ears.

His life now feels somewhat like that. Constantly being assaulted with his reality, without the ability to distance himself from it like before because the box has been opened, the inside unearthed. Hard to stuff his intestines into his body after they've spilled out and all that. So now he walks around with most of himself exposed, vulnerable.

Hearing about his godfather and parents didn't make it any better-Harry was constantly worked up with impotent anger these days. It was all quite confusing.

"Anyway, this uh…" Sirius spoke, cutting through his torrential emotions, causing him to look up. The album was turned his way, open to about midway on a page with two photos. Harry leaned forward, lips pressing inward at what he saw. "You were just shy of a year in this. Hanging off of Padfoot and sitting between Prongs' antlers was your favorite pastime in the world."

Sure enough, the picture on the right had Padfoot taking up most of it with his huge bulk. Harry, in the form of a tiny toddler, was lying face down on top of him, though he could see his body sliding off the side. Before he could fall, though, a pair of slender arms entered the frame to right him once again on his perch atop the comically large Grim. It was truly obnoxious. Even lying down, Harry was barely a third of Padfoot's entire length, and it looked like one large widening of his maw could swallow the baby. His fur was so thick that half of his picture self was swallowed up by it, though he looked quite happy giggling around on his seat, looking for all the world like he was rolling in a patch of warm grass. Harry had to hold in a wince when he saw his baby self grip a fistful of canine hair and pull, knowing that had to have hurt . Of course, Sirius being Padfoot, he didn't so much as twitch a muscle.

A finger tapped on the other side of the page, drawing his gaze to the second picture, the one he had been-perhaps subconsciously-avoiding so far. Another prodigiously large animal, both familiar and not at all, staring straight into the camera. There was…an expression on its face, one of exasperation and adoration, and Harry would jump into the Black Lake in January before admitting out loud that he was attributing sentience to a damn animal.

Even if it was his father.

Prongs was…standing in the middle of the living room, looking so ridiculously out of place, it was almost normal. A flash of red hair could be seen entering and exiting the frame in the background, and Sirius was standing off to the side, bent over in hysterical laughter. The loop belied the alertness in his eyes, the readiness to move at a moment's notice as his sharp gaze was fixed on baby Harry sitting astride his father's lightly furry head, right in between his massive antlers, infamous toddler grip strength concentrated on holding onto the support structures on either side of him.

Harry, for his part, looked very pleased with his high perch. He couldn't stay still, eyes darting this way and that, remarkably similar to an emperor gazing over his empire. Adult Harry suspected a sticking charm or two, because falling off a fuck-off huge stag was quite different than gently sliding off a hairy canine.

He stared at the image with hard eyes, feeling moisture growing in the corner of his eyes the longer he did so. With a rough clearing of his throat, he looked away and straight into the knowing eyes of his godfather.

"You didn't-weren't you worried-? Mum…?" He couldn't imagine any parent being pleased about their child, or godchild as it were, dangling off an animal's skeletal structure.

"You can't see it, but there's a nice industrial strength Sticking Charm on your bum right there." Ah, he was right then. "It was one of your mum's most used spells with you around. In fact, she's the one who put you up there."

"Mrs. Potter used the Sticking Charm on Harry? Is that-is that common?" Another voice cut in, full of wonder. Hermione. Harry rolled his shoulders back at another reminder that he wasn't alone, and turned to Sirius expectantly for the answer as well.

Sirius waved his hand back and forth, in a 'so-so' motion. "Not…exactly, no. I imagine parents everywhere would've been quite giddy if it was. Lily was, well, she was an incredibly creative witch. Could take your average, run-of-the-mill spell that no one's given a second thought to in centuries and manufacture a completely novel use for it."

"Oh," Hermione breathed, eyes shining in a way Harry'd seen a hundred times before. Despite what was happening between them at the moment, he couldn't help but smile at seeing the familiar look of curiosity on her face. "That's so-Can you tell us more, please, Sirius?"

Sirius sent a quick glance towards Harry, as if ascertaining whether he could go on, and it seemed like whatever he saw on his face was encouraging enough for him to continue. "Of course, yes, I've got stories for a lifetime and more. Lily was…well, she never considered any of what she did to be particularly revolutionary, and James was always besotted so he was of no help but I'd always thought it was because she was Muggle-born."

"How's that?" Hermione's brow furrowed, an instinctive defensiveness rising within her at the remark. Sirius paid it no mind, however.

"Being around Magic all your life is…a bit of a double-edged sword, I'd say. Sure, we might have an advantage in knowing more or having a better intuition, but we'll always be constrained by the rules ingrained in us since birth." Harry watched in awe as Sirius' face seemed to light up the more he kept talking, something he was slowly coming to notice: Magic was a charged topic for his godfather.

"Muggleborns and some Halfbloods, though?" He shook his head in awe. "They don't have any rules…well, unless you count-what was it, foosiks? feesikc?-and so they look at Magic in a completely different way. I was told that Lumos gives you a little light to lead the way and nothing more. It's a simple, weak spell. Lily, however? She thought it looked remarkably similar to disco balls, and was the first person I'd ever seen who could change the colors of the Lumos spell, often in quick succession. It was mind-blowing, really."

He turned towards Hermione more fully now, a foot tucked under his other thigh, hands starting to move animatedly as he kept talking.

"And it was always such a delight seeing how others reacted to it, too. We'd gotten, not used to it perhaps, but the element of surprise was gone, you know? Everyone else who didn't know Lily and her antics, however…" The sheer glee on Sirius' face was enough to make everyone else in the room grin along with him, it was that infectious. "They were always gobsmacked, without a doubt. It was quite fun."

"Do you-do you think I can…that others can do the same?" Hermione's eyes were fixed on the ground in front of her, an uncharacteristic timidity in her voice that softened his godfather's countenance.

"Of course you can, Hermione. Anyone can, really. It's a matter of looking past rules and authority, after all, and one can train themselves to do so," he said with a meaningful glance at not just Hermione but Ron as well. Harry couldn't help the soft snort that escaped him at how not subtle that was, turning it into a cough at the last second.

"Lily's strength lay, not in the fact that she was academically gifted, but in how she consistently thought outside the box. She was endlessly curious and made it everyone's problem. Couldn't get a break from her if you tried." Though the words were harsh, the expression on his face was anything but. It was soft, layered with adoration and grief, worn like a second skin on top of Sirius' worn features.

Harry tucked the look into his heart, deep inside where no one could touch it, so he could bring it out and bask in its warmth. Hearing about his mum was a rare affair; people tended to skip past her often, and for Sirius to give Harry a part of her (and he knew it was for his benefit, even if Hermione had kept the conversation going) meant a lot to him.

Judging by the knowing smile on Sirius' face, he knew it too.

It was in the middle of dinner that Hedwig flew into the dining room and landed on Harry's shoulder with a graceful swoop.

"Hey, girl," he rubs down the back of her head with the back of his fingers, smiling lightly at the way she leans into it. "Long flight, huh?"

She yipped in agreement and he traded the letter tied to her leg for a small piece of chicken off his plate. Hedwig nipped at his ear in a quick movement before taking the meat and flying off to a high perch. She'd never liked eating in front of company, for some reason. A proper lady, his companion.

Deliberately ignoring the curious eyes hooked on his actions, he carefully ripped the wax seal-Oscar's-open, opening the letter he'd been waiting for.

Dear Harry

I apologise for taking so long to get back to you, I think I was in shock for the first two days after receiving your correspondence. I've never, not in all my decades of practice or before that, heard of something like this happening. I would apologise to you, but I'm not sure on whose behalf-there's a long line of people who bear the onus of it at this point.

In the days since, I've been preparing an ironclad case for you. I think you'll agree with me on the fact that the Ministry doesn't deserve to get off so cleanly on this, especially not if we want to springboard your furry friend's trial off yours (which is my recommended course of action). While there are…certain merits to not showing our full hand right from the beginning, my opinion is that going in strong will discombobulate them enough to give us a lasting advantage. They won't be expecting it and well, you know what the Goblins say-shape when the Forge is hot and you'll get a blade for eternity.

I hope the situation with your relatives has been okay; I can't imagine they were best pleased with all that happened and it disgusts me to say that I can see why that may be so.

Please do not hesitate to contact me if something else arises.

Yours

Oscar

By the time he'd gotten to the end of it, Harry was grinning from ear to ear. He'd gotten close enough to Oscar by now that the old man had given up on his initial rigid professionalism-though the vocabulary stayed-and he was letting more of his personality through in their communication. Oscar had a dry, almost cutting humor and his reactions never got old for Harry, who wasn't exactly used to an adult putting him on the same level as themselves. Seeing the casual concern about his relatives was just the cherry on top of a still surreal cake.

A loud voice broke through his thoughts. "Hey, who's writing you letters, mate?"

He looked up to see Ron looking at the parchment in his hands with confusion lining his face. Harry had to violently step down on the urge to make a snide remark-it was a low-hanging fruit and he was better than this, he chanted mentally.

Instead, he said, "A pen pal," and left it at that. A part of him meant to be genuine, truly, but a larger part knew the kind of shit the answer would start so he got comfortable in his chair, waiting for the storm to hit. It took a second, because the initial response was just silence, the satisfyingly shocked kind, where Sirius sent him a Look. Harry ignored it.

"Since when did you have pen pals? " The way he said it, it sounded more like a curse word. With that, Harry's desire to be better died a quick, painless death and he decided to pounce.

"Since my friends stopped writing to me," he shrugged casually, ignoring the defeated sigh from his godfather's direction. "Went looking for new ones."

A sharp intake of breath to his left caused him to turn just in time to see the tail end of George's flinch. Huh. A little too mean, perhaps? Maybe he wasn't as above it all as he had been trying to convince himself.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley scolded, "That's not very nice."

He just shrugged again, not knowing what he could say that wouldn't make this worse. "Not writing wasn't very nice either, Mrs. Weasley."

"That's not true and you know it!" Ron again.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry smiled mockingly, lips folded over his teeth. "Writing me greeting card pleasantries as if I'm a distant relative you barely tolerate, then. That wasn't very nice of you."

"You-" Ron's splutters were cut off by another person entering the conversation. Mr Weasley's calm voice had an undertone of concern, visible to everyone in the room.

"Harry, I know it might be upsetting to you, but we're just concerned about your safety. Letters aren't the safest mode of correspondence-"

"I heard," he muttered bitterly under his breath.

"-especially when we don't even know who's on the other side of it," he ended reasonably. Harry appreciated Mr. Weasley; the man had always looked out for him and he could never forget that this was the only person who deemed it necessary to inform Harry about the risk Sirius had posed to him in his third year. For that reason alone, he respected him far above anyone else, and why he was willing to carry on this conversation.

"I understand, Mr. Weasley, but just because others don't know who's writing to me doesn't mean I don't either. I'm perfectly aware where my mail comes from, and that's why it's Hedwig who delivered it." He nodded in his familiar's direction who, sensing she was being talked about, looked up from her meal to give an imperious hoot to the entire room.

The action brought a helpless smile to most faces, including Mr Weasley who sighed in defeat. "We can't control your mail, Harry, nor do we wish to. I just hope you're being careful with yourself and the information you give out, that's all."

Harry nodded again, this time in agreement. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley."

Without looking at anyone else, he quickly shovelled the last of his curry rice into his mouth before setting the plate in the sink. Once he was free, he turned around to stare pointedly at Sirius who'd been aimlessly moving the food around on his plate.

"And you." Harry pointed accusingly, the sudden exclamation startling Sirius off his seat.

"Me?" He gestured to himself in question.

"Yes. Don't play innocent, mister." Harry wagged the finger in his face. "I can see you barely ate anything."

The confusion slowly turned to bafflement. "Wha-Harry, I don't understand why you're monitoring my eating habits. I'm fine ."

"No you're not," he shot back, arms crossed over his chest. He only had to look down, at his godfather's skeletal structure peeking out through his skin, to know how badly things were going. This was before he even saw the pictures hanging in his childhood room. At 16, Sirius Black was stunning . Harry could distinctly remember needing to sit down for a second before he focused on anything else because the person he was looking at-he couldn't bear to be in that presence when it was a photograph ; he wondered how the population of Hogwarts handled themselves at the time.

He'd gotten his precious album out after that; compared it to the pictures of his parents' wedding where Sirius was the best man and though he'd seen them before, now it was in a completely different light. The man had only gotten more attractive as he'd aged. Not just physically, but from the way his face was glowing in all the pictures, Harry could tell happiness looked good on him.

Perhaps selfishly, he wanted that version of Sirius back, though he'd never known him. His father wasn't here, and Harry knew that fact weighed on Sirius every minute of every day, but he was, and he could try to do a little of what James Potter did without even trying.

Harry wasn't quite ready to tell his godfather where he was coming from. Not only was it embarrassing to admit he wanted to baby a grown man, but he also didn't want to admit where his own knowledge came from. Sirius was entirely too observant when it came to him, and he didn't want him asking questions Harry wasn't ready to give the answers to. But, that didn't mean he couldn't take care of him at all.

"Harry…" Sirius' voice trailed off, eyes fixed firmly on his face.

Harry averted his gaze, feeling like he must be projecting entirely too much. "Sirius. Please."

Sirius kept looking at him, the seconds stretching to feel like minutes, hours before finally, mercifully, he went back to his plate with a nod. Harry could see the gears turning in his head but he chose not to say anything else on the issue. "Alright, okay. If you want me to."

It wasn't enough but it was a start, and Harry would take it.