well look who it is coming thru with a promise to update early haha most of this chapter has been completed in a manic writing haze, and i cannot guarantee if such performances can be repeated, but let's all enjoy it while it lasts, okay?
i'm so excited to present this chapter because it is entirely focused on sirius harry, truly emblematic of what this fic was supposed to be (not that i'm complaining at the direction it took haha)
you guys' response to the previous chapter made my entire day, week, month! it warms me so so much to see the amount of love this fic gets so thank you so much for sticking around despite everything and for all the well wishes 333
that said, i hope you enjoy this chapter just as much, and even more to boot. as always, thoughts in the end notes and let me know what you think?
Harry sighed, closing the door behind him with an oddly final click. Or maybe that was just his mind projecting meaning where there wasn't any, because his thoughts were certainly racing in a whirlwind.
Sirius was turned towards the fireplace, the bright flames dancing in ominous shadows across his face.
"I'm sorry for leaving you alone in there," he started, before Harry could get a word in. He didn't look up from the fireplace. "but I didn't think you'd…appreciate me barging in the conversation."
Harry stared at the scene for a second longer before nodding slowly. "You're right, I wouldn't have. They would have pounced on you instead and then neither of us could've escaped."
He received a snort and a pat of the empty spot of the sofa in return.
When he's made himself comfortable, though the fire doesn't entirely take away the chill-but then how could it, when it goes far beyond the temperature of the room-Sirius spoke again.
"How was your trial?"
It hit Harry, suddenly, that this might've been the only time someone had asked him that so earnestly, without any judgement. He very resolutely doesn't think about that fun fact.
"Oh, it was great! I-," he faltered, suddenly, remembering exactly how it all went down and realising how it would look to an outsider. "Er-that is, it was…it was okay. I got off."
"Now why do I think that's an understatement?" Sirius hummed, a knowing glint shining in his eyes. "You were going to say something else, weren't you?"
"...maybe," Harry said, cautious, "But not if you're going to scold me for it."
"Had enough of that, hm?"
"You have no idea," Harry muttered under his breath, rubbing one hand across his face. Slowly, he could feel the tension leaving his shoulders, his body relaxing, drooping , trying to be one with the sofa. A combination of the warmth, quiet, and company, perhaps, but he'll take what he can get.
"Sirius," he called softly, "I know I shouldn't, and you deserve to know what I've been doing behind your back, but would you mind terribly if I made a request?"
His godfather's face tightened in concern, nodding almost as soon as the words were spoken.
"Today has been…a day , and the inquisition outside didn't help. I promise to tell you everything but I think it would be better if I did it with a clearer mind. Could we please have this conversation tomorrow?" Harry didn't even have to fake the exhaustion in his voice, the way his eyes drooped slightly, and the slump to his shoulders. He really was drained. It didn't help the guilt he felt at asking this of Sirius, though.
"Oh, baby, of course ," Sirius' voice was almost embarrassingly fond, making Harry's ears burn bright red. "You don't have to ask, Harry. I wouldn't want you to wear yourself out for something that can always be done tomorrow. Or the day after that. We're in no rush, you hear me?" That last bit was said sternly, brows coming together in a severe frown. Harry couldn't help but smile in response.
"Thank you." As if his body was just waiting for the permission, he barely got the words out before nodding off into unconscious.
Strange, though. He could've sworn he felt fingers running through his hair, gentle and comforting in an entirely unfamiliar manner.
Harry woke up to the smell of perfectly cooked bacon and buttered toast. The ideal breakfast.
He opened his eyes, still crusty with sleep, to see a plate hovering just above his line of sight. Behind it, Sirius was sprawled over an armchair with a book in hand, reading spectacles perched on the edge of his nose. Almost as soon as Harry got up, however, his eyes snapped towards him.
"Keeping me hostage in your study, Padfoot?" Harry joked, wishing he was closer to a toothbrush to get rid of the fuzziness in his mouth.
Sirius smiled wryly. "If only I could, pup. You seem to have a knack for getting into the stickiest of situations."
"Tell me about it," Harry muttered, finally getting the strength to push himself up to a sitting position on the sofa. As he was stretching his arms above his head, a gentle wave of magic floated in his direction and as soon as it touched him, he could feel all remaining hints of sleep leave him. Including the morning breath.
"Oh, that's brilliant," he breathed out in wonder, "Really need you to teach me that one, Siri."
"As my godson commands," Sirius performed a shallow bow, "Now, time for breakfast, and then I've got something for you."
Harry blinked, arms stretching out to pull the plate towards him. "What is it?"
"You'll find out when you finish the entire plate."
A slow smile grew on his face, both at the response and the food he was currently shovelling into his mouth. Say what you want, but Mrs. Weasley's cooking really was impeccable.
Six minutes later, he stood up with a perfectly clean plate.
"Done. Will you tell me now? Pleaaaase?"
Sirius merely smiled mischievously before turning to walk out of the room. The plate zoomed off in the kitchen's direction, and he took off on the other side. Harry trotted behind him obediently, curiosity building in him with each step they took. They entered a part of the house he hadn't seen before, which wasn't saying much considering how massive the place seemed to be. Harry wouldn't be surprised to find out that it regularly collapsed and grew new rooms just for the heck of it.
"Okay, so, technically , I shouldn't be doing this. Albus and Molly, even Moody, would almost certainly have my hide if they found out but I think this would be really good for you." Despite the words, Sirius didn't seem all that concerned about the others. If anything, he looked more alive than ever before.
He stepped up to a door to the side, dramatically looking both ways before opening in.
"Now, this is an extremely well-guarded secret. I think even the dragons of Gringotts are better known than this part of Grimmauld—"
" Dragons ? In gringotts ?"
Sirius waved it away with a careless flick of his wrist. "Yes, yes, it's a bit of an open secret that they keep an abused dragon in every location. Supposedly to protect their deepest vaults, but it's clearly a power play. It's kept creature activists frothing for years ."
Harry could only blink in surprise. Half of that didn't make sense to him and the other half…he didn't want to think too much about it. A power play? Creature activists ? What even?
Sirius didn't let him dwell on it, though, because he finally stepped into the mysterious room and let him in. Harry's mouth dropped right down to his trainers at the sight in front of him.
"Welcome to the Black Family Quidditch Room, Haz." Sirius' arms were spread wide in a grand welcome, a pleased smirk playing on his lips, keenly watching Harry's reactions. "It's a family secret, only Blacks are ever allowed to know about it. Of course, since you are an honorary member, you get the privilege as well." Harry barely heard him as he was still struck dumb by what he was seeing
A full sized Quidditch Pitch, with the hoops on either end, a small shed that was probably a broom closet, and what looked to be a set of showers. Gendered . Somehow, that detail is what really got Harry. It was hysterical . A space untouched by time, nothing like the general gloominess of Grimmauld Place. There was not a blade of grass out of place, with each Quidditch hoop glinting like it was brand new. It was as if he'd stepped through the door and entered another universe, entirely.
"How—What—?"
Sirius grinned. "My family believes in putting us on a broom before we can even walk. It's some weird wixen pride thing, I believe. Ties neatly into the whole 'we Blacks must be the best at everything' nonsense. It's uncouth to fly in public, but it's downright unacceptable to not know how to do it well. My mother, if you can believe it, was the fiercest beater I've ever seen."
"Your mother was WHAT ." Harry's only slightly ashamed at how his voice rose in pitch and cracked at the last syllable but can anyone blame him? Imagining Walburga Black, as he's seen her in the portrait, on a broom, pitching bludgers at the rest of her family, was such a mind-boggling image that he didn't know what to do with it.
"Yep. You wouldn't think it looking at her, but she had more strength in her fingers than most manage to develop in their entire body. Not just magically, but physically as well." Sirius' hands rubbed at his shoulder as he said that, as if he was remembering this grip strength used against him. "She was the picture of the perfect Pureblood Lady. Outside of this room, you would never see anything like it. But in here? All bets were off."
Harry tried to process that, dazed, and he didn't entirely succeed before Sirius came back to him with two nondescript brooms hauled over his arm.
"Now, enough of the family lore, you've had enough chatter to last a lifetime. It's time for something I've been looking forward to since I saw you flying in your third year." Sirius rubbed his hands together eagerly, a glint in his eye that only slightly freaked Harry out. But he wasn't a Gryffindor, and the youngest Seeker in a century, for no reason, so he quickly squared his shoulders and marched up to grab one of the brooms. Before Sirius could say a word, he'd mounted and kicked off the ground.
"Last one around the tallest hoop is a Blast-Ended Skrewt!" He yelled, already leaving Sirius in the (literal and proverbial) dust.
An exclaimed "A fucking what?" reached him a second before his godfather, equally a Gryffindor. Harry could only grin back in response, his lips stretched wide against the wind hitting his face. He let out a loud whoop as he circled the hoop, feeling the calmness that only came with flying settle in his very bones, settling him in a way he'd only ever felt this high up in the air.
He felt, more than heard, the vibrations of Sirius catching up to him, before a blur cut him off.
"Care to wager, Potter?"
Harry's grin, impossibly, widened. "You're on."
It didn't matter that they didn't specify terms, or even what they would do to win. As long as they flew, pushing their brooms past all its limits, chasing each others tails, gaining and losing and winning and dropping, it was enough. With each loop, each rotation around the field, Harry could feel every single one of his worries leech out of him, leaving him dangerously boneless, hundreds of feet up. If he wasn't so used to it, or if he were less comfortable on a broom, he would've definitely plummeted but as it stood, Harry could guide a broom like it was an extension of his self. He had no fear, no apprehension. He let instinct and intuition guide him, trusting his magic to keep him safe.
And in return, his magic soared . For the first time in a month, it was free to leap outward, travel as far as it wished. It felt like something unfurling within him, a tightly coiled spring gently releasing. Pressure he didn't even realise was pressing down on him slowly fizzling out.
Harry didn't know how long they were up there, could not even begin to put into hours and minutes what the whole thing felt like, but he knew it had been a long while since breakfast. His stomach made damn sure of that.
Almost as if he'd read his mind, Sirius immediately dove to the ground with a sharp 'Kreacher'. The ancient house elf arrived with two plates in hand, surprisingly free of vitriol for once.
Harry eyed Sirius suspiciously.
"Oi, don't look at me like that."
"Do you blame me?"
Sirius grumbled under his breath for a few seconds before sighing. "I bribed him for the day. Blissful silence for the price of Mother's portrait being un silenced today."
His eyes widened at the thought, frantically imagining the situation. Despite being nowhere near the late Lady Black, he could feel himself wincing back in fearful anticipation. "Sirius, that's—How is that less painful than Kreacher? Now we have to listen to her whinging about all that blood purity rot."
His godfather slanted a sharp grin towards him, glinting like a knife's edge, twice as sharp. "Why do you think we're here all day?"
Harry's mouth dropped open in fearful awe. He pictured the rest of the inhabitants of Grimmauld having to put up with the portrait and immediately resolved to not piss Sirius off if he could help it.
It really didn't bode well for him today, considering everything he was planning on telling the man. For the second time that day, he convinced himself he was a Gryffindor and could do this.
With resolute determination, he made his way through the entire plate, even asking for seconds, for once. (And no less surprised at Kreacher's silent acquiescence).
When they've polished off all they could, Sirius conjures a blanket for them. It's big and fluffy, soft like silk, and it was all he could do to keep himself from burying his face in the fabric. As it was, an embarrassingly long sigh of pleasure is wrenched out of him when he lies down.
"God, this is the dream , Sirius," he groaned, eyes falling shut immediately. "Thank you so much for today."
He could hear the smile in the man's voice as he replied, "Think nothing of it, pup. You, we , needed something like this."
Harry hummed, fully agreeing with that. He gave himself exactly fifty seconds to bask in the comfort, the feeling of a full, sated belly, the contentment of his godfather sitting stoic, constant, beside him.
When his time was up, he opened his eyes and sat up, looking Sirius in the eye as he did. He could see the moment the older man realised where he was going with him. His own expression shifted, relaxing into a curious, but closed off mask. He took a deep breath and nodded.
And so, with the wind running through his hair, cooling the sweat covering his skin, and heart feeling lighter than it had in months , Harry took a deep breath and started his tale.
It took a long time; he kept going off on tangents entirely unrelated to the issue at hand. He talked about Nagnok's calm support and Oscar's ruthless efficiency, described every single piece of clothing he bought on his self-growth shopping trip, couldn't help but throw in his wonder at how much clearer the world is when you're looking at it with a lens fitted to you, the greens and browns and blues so much more vivid than he could've imagined. He brushes over the Dursleys, though he's sure to add a bit about Aunt Petunia's weird, uncharacteristic reticence. Finally, he can't not talk about how insane this entire summer has been, play acting at being an adult and somehow succeeding most of the time.
It took a long time, longer than he'd anticipated, and by the time he finished, his mouth had dried up like the Sahara. He hadn't dared to look at Sirius for the last few minutes, not wanting to see his rightful anger at being iced out, especially when it affected him the most.
To be fair, Sirius had been the perfect audience. He hadn't interrupted, let him talk to his heart's content (which is probably why he felt comfortable enough to rant about the Dursleys, not to mention all the other unnecessary tidbits), and did not let go of his hand once, which he'd picked up three minutes into Harry's tale. It grounded him, feeling him squeeze it tightly when certain things came out, like Harry mentioning Sirius to random strangers, or the Dementor attack.
For a while, there's only silence. Only their breathing can be heard in the wind although Harry's heart is pounding loud enough to compete. He waits with bated breath for a response. And when he got it, it was like all his nightmare had come to life.
"I would've…really appreciated a heads up about all this, Harry." Sirius' voice is quiet, a little hesitant and oh , Harry is such an idiot, isn't he? He was so concerned about finding the right time to tell Sirius everything that he hadn't even thought about the fallout, hadn't considered how Sirius might feel about being a pawn in someone else's game of chess. Of course, that's not what Harry had intended-if anything, his godfather was the central component of all his machinations-but didn't he know better than anyone that intent does not always justify impact? Has he not been in this very position himself? Harry is well aware of what it's like to have your fate in another's hands; it was, in fact, the trigger for his behaviour this summer.
And yet, it hadn't made him stop to think, not for a single second, how it could seem to Sirius.
While Harry was busy beating himself up over his decisions, however, it seemed like his godfather had interpreted his silence another way because he suddenly started babbling.
"Oh, no, Harry, I-I don't mean to say…that is, I'm sorry, I sounded so ungrateful, didn't I? I swear, that was not my intention-I only wish to…that is, I'm—"
"No, Sirius, no ," Harry said, aghast. How could this have gone so wrong so quick?
"It's all my fault, I didn't even think—"
"I shouldn't have said that, I wasn't thinking—"
"Even though I know how awful it feels to have people hide things from you, I don't know why I—"
"I didn't mean it that way, pup, I'm so grateful to you—"
"God, I'm so dumb, you deserve so much better—" Turns out that was what broke their babbling stalemate because Sirius suddenly cut him off, much louder than before.
" HARRY ." It's only the shock of it that shuts him dumb. Sirius had never yelled at him before, never so much as raised his voice in Harry's direction and it was jarring to hear it now.
"Harry," Sirius repeated, softer, so soft , reaching over to cup Harry's face, thumbs rubbing circles over his cheeks, under his spectacles. His voice was a fierce whisper when he said, "Listen to me. I don't want you to think for a second that I'm upset with you. That is the farthest thing from what I'm feeling right now, okay?"
He couldn't reply, mind still stuck on his godfather's stuttering words from earlier. He'd never heard Sirius sound like that and it was him , Harry, his godson , who'd reduced him to such a state. Harry felt awful, chest bubbling with fire that's spilling into his veins, his trembling hands, into knees that feel as unsteady as his emotions right now. He wants to— He can't— He didn't want—
"Harry, my love," Sirius' fingers tighten on his face, nails almost digging into his nape, bringing him back to the moment. Harry's eyes catch on regretful grey and he only has a moment to wonder before his godfather is speaking again. " Please . I need you to hear me out. Tell me, say it out loud, that you will."
Harry blinked, about to refuse—because how could he, he didn't want to, he fucked up, he fucked up and this was his penance—when Sirius made a whining sound eerily similar to Padfoot and the words tumbled out of his mouth without permission.
"Okay. I'll listen."
His voice was small but it didn't deter the sigh of relief that came from Sirius. He drew his hands back, slow as if it pained him to break contact, and took a step back. His shoulders were painfully stiff, hands clenched in fists at his side. He looked like a man preparing for war, a man ready to walk to his doom.
It did nothing to ease Harry's conscience.
"First, thank you. I know I don't deserve to ask it of you after how I behaved but thank you. Second," he pointed a menacing finger towards Harry, "I better never hear you say something like that about yourself. That's my godson you're disparaging right there and I won't stand for it."
Harry reluctantly smiled at the admonishment. It was nice to know that no matter what happened, what he did , Sirius would still be, well, Sirius .
"Third, and this is really what I should have said first, at the very beginning before that load of dragonshite I spewed, is thank you . I know it's not enough, not even close, for everything you're doing but it's all I can give you right now." Sirius' grey eyes were shining, not just with unshed tears but so many emotions, it sent shivers running down Harry's back.
That's a lie , Harry wanted to refute immediately. Sirius had done so much for him, it wasn't even possible for him to list it all out. That he thought he hadn't, or couldn't, it was just another thing Harry added to his mental to-do list to deal with.
"You've done something that no one, not my friends, not my professors, not the legal system, and not Dumbledore, has once tried to do." He could hear the strain, the grief, in Sirius' voice as he talked about how everyone he knew gave up on him, without a seeming second thought. "It cannot have been easy, I know that, because nothing that goes through our Ministry ever is, but the simple fact that you even thought about this, about me —" he broke off then, looking away from Harry in an attempt to get himself together.
"That's enough , Harry, it's more than enough," he ended softly.
Surprisingly, the denial was out of his mouth before he could stop it.
"Fuck no , Sirius," he snapped, "It's really not."
Sirius stared at him in shock.
"I know everyone really dropped the ball on you, the first time around when you shit went down, and even now, but that doesn't make what I'm doing anything less than the bare minimum, okay?" Harry whirled around, agitated, and started pacing. "I've been so mad for the last month, Sirius, god, I can't even tell you—Oscar didn't need my anger and the Dursleys would've kicked me out if they had to hear it so I couldn't, I wouldn't—but god, god . Not only did they throw you into Azkaban, let you rot there, but that they could believe you- you— UGH ." He threw his hands up in impotent frustration.
Harry wasn't exaggerating. He had spent the entirety of the last month in a state of simmering anger without any way to let it out. The more time he spent with Sirius' case, every time he discussed it with Oscar, it only became worse just because of how awfully his godfather was treated. Every single legal misstep, each blatant violation of procedure, finding out just how many people had to fuck up, consistently, almost deliberately, for Sirius to be kept where he was. It's enough to send a man round the bend; he has no idea how his godfather managed not to. And he's only known Sirius for two years, barely, but he couldn't, even in his worst nightmare, imagine the man betraying the Potters. He couldn't even picture Sirius accidentally doing something to hurt James Potter, let alone something as heinous as give him up to Voldemort. But apparently, no one else thought of it like that. They were only too happy to believe the worst, the impossible , of Sirius.
He let out another muted sound of rage at the thought.
"Merlin," Sirius said, dazed. "I think that, right there, was the most James-like thing I've ever heard you say or do. And that's really saying something after some of the things I've seen."
That caught Harry off guard, piercing through his rage. He hadn't expected to be compared to his dad. That…had to be a good thing, right?
Sirius continued, smiling a little now, "James was, god, Harry, he was so protective. Could never stand by while one of his people were in danger or hurt. Hell, sometimes he didn't even need to know someone to stand up for them. At least half his detentions came from him not being able to stop himself from stepping between an idiot and a hex."
Harry snorted at the description. "An idiot and a hex?"
"Your father thought he needed to protect the entire world," Sirius waved a hand dismissively, though it was clearly too fond to mean anything else, "Even if some people don't need it, or didn't deserve to be saved."
There was a darker undertone to his words, matched by the look in Sirius' eyes. It puzzled Harry, just a little, because he didn't think his godfather thought like that. He never seemed to have the kind of prejudices others had, hadn't ever spoken about Slytherins, for example, the way everyone else seemed to. He wondered…
"I can't tell you how many chances he gave me," Sirius said, laughing bitterly and oh . Suddenly, it made perfect sense.
"James never gave up on his friends. It didn't matter what we, I, did, he'd stand right beside us, holding us up. Opening his home and his arms and his heart without a single thought for himself." He bowed his head, in prayer, remembrance, guilt, shame . Harry didn't think about it, he simply leaned forward to wrap his hands around Sirius' fisted ones, pressing their foreheads together. He could see red beading around his fingernails, could feel the knuckles pressing against his skin. Still, he did not say a word, knowing, understanding, that Sirius needed to get this out.
"And now you stand here, and all I can see is how you have the very best parts of your father in you." It's uttered in anguished whispers, barely audible over the sound of their breathing, but it was enough . "And I don't know what I did to deserve it, not the first time, nor now. I don't know ." Harry doesn't think he was meant to hear that last part, it's said in such a small voice, directed inward like a lance meant to pierce, so he pretends like he hasn't. It's easy enough because his heart is breaking in that moment.
He doesn't even know what hit him so hard—being compared to his father, the man he knows Sirius still mourns and worships in equal measures (he knows there isn't a higher compliment he can receive and it's so bittersweet ), or Sirius saying something like that about himself. ( or , the part of himself he keeps locked up in the farthest corners of his mind whispers, maybe it's the fact that Sirius' words mirror Harry's thoughts almost a little too closely )
Harry was helpless to do anything but press closer to Sirius. It was almost a futile hope, wishing he could make it better with his very presence but it was the only thing he could do.
It took a few minutes but Sirius' muscles finally loosen up, his jaw not as tightly clenched anymore. He took a few shuddering breaths, letting a bit of the tension out with each exhale. It doesn't take long after that for him to step back and look at Harry. A moment of stillness before a sudden snort cuts through the tense atmosphere and before they know it, both of them have broken down into hysterical giggles.
It takes a long time for them to calm down, for the laughter to fade away into a comfortable sort of stillness, so unlike before.
"Kiddo, you have to be patient with me, okay?" Sirius suddenly spoke, wry and deprecating. "I haven't talked to anyone except shadows for a very long time. Words are…tough. And I—"
"Sirius," Harry interrupted him, not wanting his self-flagellation to continue, he feels guilty enough already. "I'm the one who should be sorry, not you. I…I overreacted. I've been freaking out about all this for so long now that when you said—when you got upset, it just spilled over."
His godfather looked at him for a long minute. He must've found what he was looking for because he nodded, chuckling lightly as he said, "What a pair we make, huh?"
Harry poked his ribs in response.
Sirius yelped. " Harry , you little demon. I'll get you back for that."
"You can try," he teased back in return before jumping back from Sirius' revenge-seeking hands and onto the broomstick, leaving his godfather stranded behind for the second time that week. He could see a fist being shook in his direction and couldn't help cackling at the sight.
He was so glad that they'd had this talk, barring the hiccup in between, it went so much better than he could've imagined. With that, almost all his cards were on the table and Harry was done . And now wanted no more of these stifling, heart wrenching, soul bearing conversations. He'd talked more in the last few weeks than he had in his entire childhood, combined, and he was so over it. All he wanted to do now was raise his appetite, put some weight on so he could bulk up, fly to his heart's content, and try to sleep beyond 7am for once (his body automatically wakes with the sun, as has been beaten into him, and he would consider it a personal accomplishment the day he doesn't do so).
For the first time since the graveyard, nay, since his name came out of the Goblet, Harry felt light and unburdened. Like a regular fifteen year old back home from school. Nothing extraordinary or murderous happening, just a boy and his godfather, along for the ride.
What heavenly bliss .
well.
that's that hehe we've finally got sirius caught up, there were some serious conversational fumbles, even more intense saves, and everything comes together for our young hero. intense sigh of relief huh?
now, per usual, here's my promised yaps:
-god, the walburga black nonsense came out of nowhere but i am so obsessed with quidditch player (but only in secret) walburga so bad ok? in my head, it's not even a woman thing but just. being seen playing the sport in public, fighting for points on a team, is seen as gauche. but not knowing how to is equally bad bc you're snubbing magical culture and that's unacceptable for purebloods. there"s a delicate balance and walburga believes she has struck /
- i decided to go about it this way because we've already had one retelling and also, we *know* what's happened. harry's basically summing up the last few chapters into an hour or /
- listen. listen. if newt scamander in the 30s (40s?) could have a suitcase that opened up into an animal reserve and national park, then magical townhouses in london could damn well have an outdoor quidditch pitch inside okay?br /
- i know that things took a weirdly intense turn there but like, be honest, any of u who"ve read my stuff before—are you REALLY surprised? i sneak breakdowns in like BAMbr /
- on that note, sirius might seem a bit OOC here but like, this is a man who's genuinely had no human interaction on top of the massive amounts of trauma he was enduring 24/7; he absolutely cannot be a suave charmer, especially not around someone he's so comfortable with. maybe he can put on a front for a while, esp if it's something he views as necessary, but around harry? nope. mans gonna be an absolute /
-the james bits were also rly important for me, on both ends, and not just because i always have james potter on my mind but because. he is so fundamentally tied to sirius' character. before azkaban, yes, absolutely and that is what everyone focuses on, but even more so after azkaban. that line about him grieving and worshipping him essentially sums it up for me, i /
- i know the conversations and actions are pretty similar to other stuff i've written before (and possibly even bits in FoD) but oh well, i am but one mortal with very specific interests hehe ofc they'll repeat 🙈br /
- one thing that's going to become increasingly obvious (and something i used to actually warn for in fics in the beginning lmao what even was i thinking) is the affection between sirius and harry. they will be there touchy and there will be a lot of sappy pet names and that is because i firmly believe both of these touch starved idiots need some unconditional love. this is one of my oldest headcanons.
hm. that's…largely it, i think. i would also like to open this fic up to some audience suggestions for scenes in the next chapter. i've already got one arc in place, but i'm a bit stuck on what else i can bring in. is there anything you guys would like to see in particular? the outline is pretty loose and i'm constantly adding/shifting things around so feel free to make any suggestions. if it can't fit in the main fic, i've already got an outtakes folder going for the numerous scenes i need but am not able to work into this.
y'all have followed along with this, you know this fic as well as me, so i would love to hear your thoughts on it :")
coming up: harry's done with the Conversations but it seems like the remaining two thirds of the Golden Trio did not get the memo. Some tough truths are laid bare and ron hermione must take a decision.