History could shift when seen through the eyes of those who remembered

At Dumbledore's advice, Sirius took refuge in the old Black townhouse—12 Grimmauld Place. The house was a miserable, suffocating relic of his childhood, but it was safe. At least for now. He extended an invitation to Remus, who hesitated at first but eventually accepted.

The Order of the Phoenix had not officially been reformed, but its old members had been quietly informed of Sirius's innocence and Peter's betrayal. They were asked to keep an eye out for any unusual sightings of rats, knowing Peter would likely take refuge in his Animagus form again. Grimmauld Place, grim as it was, soon became the unofficial headquarters of a quietly growing resistance.

Dumbledore had been firm—Harry could stay with Sirius for the rest of the summer, but only after spending two weeks at his aunt's house. He hadn't offered much of an explanation, and Sirius hadn't pressed for one. The thought of having Harry under his roof, safe and away from the Dursleys, was reason enough to agree.

Throughout the summer, Sirius caught glimpses of Snape coming and going from Grimmauld Place. He never lingered, always moving with that sharp, purposeful stride, robes billowing behind him like a storm cloud. Sirius wasn't sure what business Snape had with the Order—or rather, what Dumbledore had entrusted him with—but he knew better than to pry.

He did, however, make an effort to be cordial. It was easier, he found, to ignore Snape's usual disdain when it was directed at him. He could brush off the sneers, the barely concealed contempt, the muttered insults. But it was much harder to ignore when Snape turned that same venom on Harry.

And he did. Constantly.

Sirius held his tongue more often than he'd have liked. He didn't want to return to old animosities. He didn't want to fall into the same reckless patterns. He was trying—truly trying—to be better. To keep the peace.

But Snape was making it damn near impossible.

One evening, after Snape swept out of Grimmauld Place with a particularly cutting remark about Harry's "inevitable arrogance," Sirius caught Remus watching him closely, eyes narrowed with something that looked almost like suspicion.

Sirius shrugged and forced a smirk. "Azkaban changes people."

Remus remained unconvinced but chose not to push the matter further.

Sirius had known—had felt it in his bones—that war was coming. It was in the way Dumbledore's eyes darkened, in the tension humming through every conversation, in the way Voldemort's name was spoken, not as a fallen monster but as a shadow creeping back into the world.

But the news from the World Cup made it undeniable.

He hadn't been there. Couldn't be. He was still a fugitive, still unable to move freely beyond his childhood home. But he had listened, jaw clenched, as Harry recounted the night—the chaos, the masked figures, the Dark Mark searing into the sky like a promise of something worse to come.

And then there was the meeting. Dumbledore called it the morning after, gathering those he trusted, speaking in that grave, measured tone of his. The talk of strategy, of preparation Sirius had expected. What he hadn't expected was for Snape to be introduced to the Order as Dumbledore's man on the inside.

Snape, the Death Eater who wasn't. The spy. The man who had walked into Voldemort's camp with his head bowed and his wand steady, only to pass on information that could tip the scales of the war while saving many lives.

It didn't sit right with Sirius—nothing about Snape ever had—but he wasn't a fool. He knew what it meant. He would be seeing a lot more of Snape in the days to come. They would be on the same side, whether he liked it or not.

And something had to give.

So after the meeting, Sirius took a steadying breath and spoke before he could change his mind.

"Snape."

The name alone was enough to make Snape freeze mid-step, turning slowly, his expression already set in stone.

Sirius exhaled. He hadn't planned the words, not exactly, but he knew what needed to be said.

"There's a lot I don't remember," he started, voice firm but not unkind. "But from what Remus has told me, James and I—especially me—were complete jerks to you back at school." A pause, then, with effort, "I'm truly sorry. For who I was. For what I did."

Snape's expression was unadulterated fury, and his grip on his wand tightened.

But Sirius pressed on. "I also respect the risks you've taken for all of us. The role you played then—and the role you'll be playing now. We're going to be seeing a lot of each other, and I just hope we can work together."

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.

Snape looked as though he was barely restraining himself, his emotions simmering beneath the surface. His eyes blazed with fury, nostrils flaring, and his wand hand trembled as if he were moments away from raising it against Sirius.

Then, without a word, Snape turned sharply on his heel and swept from the room, his robes snapping behind him like an exclamation mark.

Sirius exhaled slowly, only to find Harry watching him, his expression hovering between unease and curiosity, as though witnessing something he couldn't yet understand.

"Well," Remus murmured beside him, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "That went about as well as expected."

Sirius huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Could've been worse."

Harry didn't say anything. Just glanced toward the door where Snape had vanished, his brow furrowed, like he wasn't quite sure what to make of what he had just seen.

The room grew heavier, thick with unspoken words. The meeting was over, Snape was gone, but now another storm was brewing—one Sirius hadn't foreseen.

Harry stood with his arms crossed, his jaw tight. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know the answer, but he had to ask.

"What did you mean when you said you and my dad were jerks to him?"

Sirius felt a prickle of unease and glanced at Remus, who met his look with equal discomfort.

"Well…" Remus started, attempting a lighter tone, "They played a few pranks on him. You know how school rivalries can be—"

But Harry wasn't fooled. "You mean they bullied him."

The accusation hung in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

Sirius opened his mouth, then shut it again, words failing him. He had prepared to admit he had been a git, but hearing it about James—from James's son—was another matter entirely.

When no denial came from Sirius, Harry's gaze snapped back to Remus. "And where were you in all this?"

Remus inhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I knew it wasn't right," he admitted quietly. "But I just stood by. I didn't help them, but I didn't stop them either."

Harry's hands balled into tight fists. "So you were an enabler."

Remus flinched. Sirius opened his mouth again, ready to jump in—to say something, anything—but Harry wasn't done.

His breath caught, his face pale with something like fear, but he forced the words out anyway. His voice shook.

"What about… my mum? Was she…"

Remus and Sirius froze. If they had been uneasy before, now they were borderline horrified.

Sirius had never seen that look on Harry before—like he was bracing for a truth he didn't want to hear. And for the first time since the topic came up, Sirius truly hated himself.

Remus exhaled slowly. "Your mum wasn't friends with us, not at first." His voice was careful, like he was choosing every word with the utmost caution. "She… she tried to intervene. More than once."

Harry's shoulders relaxed the smallest fraction.

Remus hesitated.

Sirius could see it—he knew what was coming, knew exactly why Remus was choosing his words so carefully.

"She only started spending time with us after…"

A pause.

Harry's gaze sharpened. "After what?"

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it. There was something flickering in his expression—something restrained, uneasy.

He had been about to say something else. Sirius knew it.

The truth was right there, hovering on the edge of his tongue. That Lily had only started spending time with them after she and Snape had their falling out—and, at first, it had been out of spite. That she had been angry, hurt, and that James had taken full advantage of it, acting all contrite and understanding.

But saying it out loud would make it real. And how could he tell Harry that? How could he make him question what he thought he knew about his parents?

So instead, Remus inhaled sharply, glanced away, and said:

"After James appeared to mature."

Harry's frown deepened. "What does that mean?"

Sirius and Remus exchanged another look—one of those long, silent conversations built on years of knowing each other too well.

Sirius could see the battle in Remus's eyes. The temptation to tell the truth. The temptation to hold it back.

And Harry saw it too.

Remus shifted uneasily, fingers tightening around his sleeves as if for reassurance. "He… stopped playing so many pranks," he said finally, but his voice lacked conviction.

"He became a better person," Remus amended quickly, his voice steadier than before.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "That's it?"

Remus nodded, too hastily. "That's it."

Sirius could feel the tension in the air—thick, suffocating, pressing down on all of them.

Harry wasn't naive; he knew there was more to the story than what they were willing to share. And for a moment, Sirius thought he might push harder, demand the real answer, demand the truth that Remus had so clearly swallowed down.

But instead, Harry just looked at them both, his expression unreadable.

Then he let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "Right," he muttered, every syllable dripping with skepticism. "Of course."

He didn't believe them.

And Sirius had a sinking feeling that this conversation wasn't over.

However, Harry didn't press for more. He's not sure if he really wanted to know more. Instead he let out a bitter, humorless laugh and shook his head. "Now I understand why Professor Snape hates me so much. Why he hates all of you so much."

The honorific didn't go unnoticed. Sirius shifted uncomfortably, and Remus's brow furrowed slightly, but neither of them commented on it.

Harry dropped his gaze to the floor, staring at the tips of his shoes as if searching for answers there. He thought back to how he had disliked Malfoy the instance he reminded him of his spoiled cousin. He couldn't imagine how he would feel if Malfoy was strutting around Hogwarts wearing Dudley's face. "I'm not sure I could keep my cool if I had to face someone who constantly reminds me of Dudley—even in many years from now."

Sirius flinched. Remus's eyes briefly fluttered shut, pained by the comparison, before he shook his head, regaining composure. "Harry, listen to me. No matter what happened between your father and Snape in the past, it's not right for him to take it out on you."

Harry let out a hollow laugh. "Maybe not. But I can't exactly blame him for it either, can I?" He glanced between them, his expression unreadable. "I remind him of my dad, and my dad was one of his worst memories. All those things he said. Now I get it. I really do."

Sirius parted his lips to speak, but hesitation held him back. He wanted to argue—to remind Harry that Snape had never been some innocent victim, that he had given as good as he got, that he had thrown just as many curses, some of which were dark, that he had called Lily that word. But after what Harry had just learned, after seeing the anger and disappointment in his eyes, Sirius knew it wasn't the right time.

Remus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he studied Harry's expression. "You can't judge a person solely by the mistakes they made in their youth," he said gently. "Your father… James was always a great friend. He was loyal, brave, and he cared deeply for the people he loved. And as he grew older—especially with Lily's influence—he became a good man."

Harry made a vague humming sound, neither agreement nor disagreement. His gaze flickered away, unreadable, and for a moment, Remus wasn't sure if he had gotten through to him or if Harry was simply too polite to argue.

Then Harry's gaze refocused on Sirius, sharp and searching. "Earlier, you said Professor Snape plays a role in the war." His jaw tensed. "What did you mean by that?"

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look.

Remus hesitated before answering, his voice measured. "That's something Dumbledore will have to explain. We can't."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Can't, or won't?"

Sirius sighed. "Both."

The frustration on Harry's face was clear, but he didn't press further. Instead, he exhaled sharply and stood up. "I think I want to be alone for a bit."

His voice wasn't angry, but it wasn't exactly forgiving either.

Sirius and Remus watched in silence as he turned and walked away, leaving an uncomfortable weight in the air between them.

The next time Snape arrived at Grimmauld Place for an Order meeting, Harry was waiting for him. He hadn't planned on saying anything—not just yet—but as Snape swept through the doorway, black robes billowing behind him, the words left Harry's mouth before he could stop them.

"Professor Snape."

Snape halted mid-step. His dark eyes flicked to Harry, narrowing slightly at the title. Then, without a word, he turned his full attention to him.

Harry swallowed hard. "I just—I wanted to apologize."

Snape remained motionless, his dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on Harry. There was no sneer, no biting remark, just an expectant silence that felt heavier than if he had snapped at him.

"You were right about my dad, at least some of it…" Harry trailed off, still struggling to come to terms with what his father had been like. He wasn't sure what to say about it. Hell, he wasn't even sure how he felt about it.

He started over, voice steadier this time despite the tightness in his chest. "I am sorry that I never thanked you when you saved my life. And that I suspected you for… you know, in my first year."

Snape remained silent, his piercing, unreadable gaze locking onto Harry's emerald eyes. It wasn't just a glare, Harry realized, it was an assessment—a quiet, deliberate scrutiny. As if Snape were searching for something in the green depth, weighing how much of him was James Potter and how much was Lily Evans.

Harry fidgeted under the intense stare. And he hesitated, debating whether to add one more thing—to apologize for his own disrespect over the years. But then, his jaw tightened. Snape had never exactly made it easy. If anything, he had started it.

So he let the apology stand.

The silence stretched, thick and tense. Then, finally, Snape gave a slow, measured nod. Not a word, not a sneer—just a nod. Then, without another glance, he turned and swept into the kitchen where the Order was gathering.

The moment Snape vanished, Sirius let out a low whistle. "Well, that went so much better than my apology." He smirked, nudging Harry lightly with his elbow. "He didn't even pull out his wand this time."

Harry chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Yeah, I was half expecting him to hex me."

Sirius grinned. "Give it time." Then, with a dramatic sigh, he rolled his shoulders and strode toward the kitchen. "And now I get to spend the next hour in a room with him. Joy."

Harry watched as Sirius followed Snape inside, leaving him alone to deal with a strange mix of satisfaction and lingering uncertainty. He had no idea if his apology had changed anything, but for the first time, Snape had looked at him like he was something more than just James Potter's reincarnation.

And that, at least, was something…

Notes:

Poor Sirius—he's so clueless

I really really really want to write from Severus's perspective, but doing so would spoil too much. Just keep in mind that he'll never be intentionally malicious, at least not in the plotting revenge kind of way, in this story; he's simply reacting. But yeah, he's a complicated bastard, and we love him for it ❤️