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Dumbledore stares at him from above his glasses, but his eyes are not kind and benevolent as usual. Sirius feels a pang in his chest as he is reminded of the cold expression the man had held when he had first gotten sentenced.
"Are you sure that is what you want?"
The black haired man blinks confusedly and then frowns.
"Am I sure that I want to see my godson? Yes, I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he answers roughly, as if challenging Dumbledore to take away one of the only good, pure things he has left in his life.
"Need I remind you, my dear boy, that little Harry has built a life in the muggle world far away from the tragedies that have tainted our own?" The man says slowly, his eyes boring holes into Sirius's.
But Sirius doesn't care about any of that. He just wants to hold his little godson once more. Hell, if the kid agrees, he plans on having him living with him.
"I don't care. It's not like I'm going to break into their house and kidnap the kid, Albus. I just want to see him, get to know him. Reckon he will want to come live with me? Us?"
He turns to Remus with a hopeful smile, which quickly fades as his friend's expression doesn't reflect his own. In fact it's quite the opposite - the werewolf looks doubtful, worried, even sad.
Remus notices Sirius's lips pursing, a look of betrayal crossing his face for a split second which only serves to tighten the thorns digging into his very soul, but he can't help it.
"Sirius…"
"Moons." Sirius says in a whisper, and the endearing nickname rips away at his mangled heart. Sirius clears his throat before speaking loudly. "Is there something wrong with him?"
Lupin swallows thickly.
"I wouldn't know."
One more thing that heavily weighs on him. In the past nine years, he has made no effort to connect with the son of his dead friends, and it's another damn thing that eats away at him.
He made excuses for himself at first. He was too grief-stricken, he couldn't bear to see the little baby, he was too dangerous, he was too sick, he was too injured, he was too busy… but the truth is that he is too terrified. He blames himself at least partly for not being able to protect any of his friends - not James or Lily or Sirius or even Peter. He had been the only survivor, and it was an ever-weeping injury, forever causing him agony, forever seeping self-loathing. Not only is he a disgusting creature, dangerous and violent and incapable of maintaining a normal life, but he is also a coward.
And little Harry is so much better off without him. He is sure of that.
He doesn't voice his horrible feelings, though. He simply stares back at Sirius with agonized eyes, once again drowning in the longing of apologizing until he dies.
"You… you've never visited him?"
The question is spoken with so much pain and naked betrayal that Remus has to look away.
"No." He admits.
"Not once?"
"Sirius, this is not a matter to be taken lightly." Dumbledore speaks up, intertwining his fingers. "We need to discuss in more detail. You need to settle into your new life. I want to arrange a Mind Healer for the both of you. After you are both in better shape, we can discuss visiting Harry."
"What?! What?" Sirius exclaims, anger boiling inside of him. "No! I've waited nine years to see my pup, I won't wait a second longer!"
"Padfoot…" Remus attempts, but Sirius stands up from his chair aggressively.
"NO! I am a free man now! I will see my godson!"
Dumbledore stands up, too, much more gracefully but with equal rage, and also raises his voice.
"You will not get near Harry Potter until I have no doubt that you will bring him no harm! That is the end of this discussion."
"How dare you?!" Sirius is surprised by the tears that spring to his eyes. "I would never do anything to harm him!"
Dumbledore hesitates and then resumes his usual calm demeanor, sitting down again.
"Sirius, please." He says, softly. "I am only veiling for Harry's life. You have just spent nearly a decade being exposed to horrors that most wizards can't even fathom, and while I don't have any doubt that you are innocent, I need to make sure that those years have not shaped you into something else. Can you tell me with absolute certainty that you are the same man that gifted Harry his first broomstick?"
The memory catches in his throat, and despite the anger and helplessness that invades him, he can see the point in the headmaster's words. No one can spend time in Azkaban and not change. He doesn't know how the last years have damaged him, and he is suddenly scared to find out.
He sits down, defeated.
"So after I go to this… this Mind Healer, and get better, you will let me see Harry?"
Dumbledore smiles, looking every bit like the role of the caring grandparent that he so often plays.
"Of course, my dear boy. I have nothing but you and Harry's best interests at heart. I long to reunite you with your pup."
.
The next day is a blur for Harry. He wakes up in pain and immediately starts crying, his brain unable to process what has been done to him. The sight of the bloodied belt makes his heart pound faster but he can't move away from it. Someone bangs on his door a few times but he is too far gone in his agony to make out what is happening so he simply continues crying and fading in and out of consciousness.
Towards the end of the day, his Aunt opens his door and places a cold plate of chicken noodle soup and a bottle of water in front of him, along with two small white pills before shutting him in the dark once more.
Despite still being in immense pain, Harry manages to crawl to the plate and gratefully wolfs down the food. He swallows the painkillers and falls asleep not long after.
The following day, his Aunt wakes him up later than usual, if the smell of takeout for lunch is any indication. She glares at him without saying anything and he cringes, still slumped on his stomach and unable to move around much. Petunia doesn't ususally physically harm him much apart from the occasional slap or flying frying pan to the head, but he is still terrified of being so vulnerable.
"I hope you learned your lesson." She says coldly.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He answers softly.
She nods and offers him a hand, which he hesitantly takes. She is a bit more gentle and patient than usual, waiting for him to rise shakily to his feet and not shushing him when he yelps and sobs at the pain of his ravaged back. Then she helps him out, letting him lean on her as she guides him to the bathroom.
"You have fifteen minutes."
He nods, the action causing a lance of pain to run down his mutilated back, but he doesn't let any sound come out. Fifteen minutes is more than what he usually gets, and he knows he is supposed to use part of that time to attempt to clean the blood and heal himself as much as he can with the medical supplies below the sink.
Once he is done, he walks out and returns to his cupboard, trying to bite back tears and gasps now that he has no support. He gathers every drop of courage and determination he can and puts his shirt back on, grabs the bloodied belt with a hitch in his breath, shuts off his emotions, and makes his way to the kitchen with a blank face. His aunt is sweeping, and he knows she is doing part of the chores because she knows he can't move very well, but Harry doesn't feel grateful, or sad, or angry.
He feels nothing.
He grabs a rag, runs it under warm water, and cleans out the belt, his hands shaking but his head swimming away.
"Vernon was very displeased when he left for work this morning. I can't believe you would dare hurt Dudley." she comments behind him while he keeps trying to remove his own blood from the buckle. "You're lucky he didn't break a toe, or your uncle would've gladly returned the favor."
Harry shudders. Half of his mind tells him to talk back. That baby-whale had it coming.
But he simply remains quiet, wishing nothing more than to be allowed back into his cupboard so he can curl into a little ball and drown in his own misery.
After he has placed the belt back in his Uncle's wardrobe, he walks down again to clean the carpet as best as he can.
By the time he is done, the pain has renewed, the tears are back, and his injuries have started to bleed again and stain his shirt. He tries to be stoic and brave, but when his Aunt drags him back to the cupboard and shuts his door, and he hears her welcoming her adored son from his friend's house, kissing him and praising him and offering him food, he can't help the heartbreak that tears through his very being.
The longing becomes unbearable, the pain of being hated and unwanted by the only people who should love him growing inside his ribs like fire burning through a forest. That hurts so much more than his back.
And he can't help it, he starts crying, begging hopelessly that someone, someday will love him, comfort him and kiss him and feed him and protect him and… and… want him.
He lays down on his stomach, exhausted and still sobbing, and as the smell of dinner wafts into his nose and his stomach growls painfully, he finally falls asleep.