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Chapter Text

In Cut the Strings Free the Boy, Sirius Black was freed from Azkaban and recognized as an innocent man on December 3rd in Harry’s first year at Hogwarts. The process was begun when Harry, with the help of the goblins of Gringotts, got letters to a series of strategic recipients to incite an investigation of the process surrounding his imprisonment. Peter Pettingrew was revealed through a scheme thought up by Harry in the weeks leading up to the trial date. Around the time of his freeing, Harry contacted Kreacher asking him to treat Sirius as his master even though the elf had grown closely attached to the boy in their time together. 

In the final chapter of Cut the Strings Free the Boy, Harry arrives at Grimmauld Place after completing his first year at Hogwarts.

This story begins sometime before that with Sirius lost in a haze. 

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It was without known cause or intervention that Sirius Black returned to his childhood home to find it well maintained by a not-so-miserable house elf one December morning. He could've sworn Kreacher would be trying to murder him. Maybe his food was being poisoned slowly?

It had been many long torturous years in Azkaban. Even after leaving the sun shone too brightly, the food and sounds too overwhelming. Somehow, the dimness that lived in Grimmauld Place was just what he needed. 

He pulled the heavy velvet curtains over the windows on those days, picked at simple toasts and teas, and sat. He would sit for hours without change. Maybe he was thinking. Maybe he was drifting away, as he had for all those years in Azkaban. 

Time… what a funny, fickle thing. 

It had a way about itself. Moving in silken, bodiless drapery that ran over your skin without sharing in your body’s heat. Sand which both crawled up your frame and slipped through your fingers. In time, he was simply motionless in a sea of movement. 

At least, that had been true while he was there. But now he was here. And it was not time that had him, but he who had it. 

He had time. He had the time. 

____

Living. He hadn't even allowed himself to imagine it in years. What was he supposed to do to live again? Where was he? He fought against the haze which let time pass by without his knowing. Blinking hard. 

He was in a chair. 

The air didn't smell damp.

The chair was made of crushed velvet. He moved his fingertips back and forth– feeling.

The room was dark. Some light was slipping under the heavy curtains over the windows. 

Something was sending soft shadows over his shoulder. A lamp? A candle? Best not to try to figure it out just yet. Looking into a light source might send time away again. 

He took a deep breath feeling his ribs expand and chest raise up. 

He moved one hand away from the chair and touched his face. 

His chest fell again and his ribs moved inward.

Long, wiry hair. He ran his fingers gently along the broad shape of his unruly beard. Why hadn't he shaved yet? Yet? How long had he had the option? Did the old house even have a razor? 

He’d been free… how long was it? He knew he'd been bathing. There were memories of him sitting in a warm bath only to come back to himself hours later with pruney fingers and gooseflesh. Yes, he was clean. He could smell the soap. 

But he didn't want this beard. He should get rid of it. He stood up from the crushed velvet chair and turned towards what had to be the door. 

Oh. 

Why was he in here? Did he bring himself here or did the elf? 

He stepped close to the wall and raised his hand. He followed the lines, so intricately woven into the tapestry. All the way to his rightful spot. A burn mark. His mother had done that herself. The bitch. He smirked. Just a few inches to the side– his little brother. Poor Reggie, if only they had been able to stay on the same path. Damned to be a follower by their brainless parents. He snarled. 

Enough of that. He had a beard to be done away with. 

____

He successfully rid his complexion of the ghastly tangle that had overtaken it. However, in doing so, learned why it had taken him weeks. 

It was the first time he was seeing himself in a mirror in over a decade. He surely had passed the mirror in the bathroom since his homecoming, but that had been in that strange place where time took away his thoughts. 

He wasn't there anymore, though he had nearly fallen back into its grasp when he had seen himself. 

Pale. Sickly. Gross. He couldn't recognize himself. 

He was older too, wasn’t he? How old?

Removing the excess hair both growing on his face and falling down his shoulders had helped. Though it also had helped his skin look thin and pulled taut over his bones. 

Food. He needed more of that. Maybe… he could venture out of his home? Was the sun still high in the sky? What time was it? What day was it?

“Kreacher,” he rasped.

Had he talked to the elf at all?

“Yes, Lord Black?” 

He turned slowly to look down at him. He looked good. Surprisingly so. What had kept him going for so many years without a household to serve?

“Kreacher, can you bring me a copy of today's Daily Prophet?”

“Yes, Lord Black.” The elf went away and reappeared quickly with it in hand. Sirius was confused. 

“Does the estate still receive the Prophet?” That would make no sense. He watched the elf. “Kreacher, I need money. Muggle money. Can you retrieve it for me?”

The elf’s lip curled up for a moment, “Yes, Lord Black. How much would the lord desire?”

“I would like to get some food nearby. I don't know if the costs have changed since I've been… Give me 20 quid for now. If it's more than that then I hope you have been poisoning my tea.” Hey, that was his first joke since… Well, he was rusty. 

Thankfully, the sun was lowering itself behind the buildings in the late afternoon. That's when he was. Thankfully, the streets nearest Grimmauld were not too busy. Thankfully, a sandwich meal from a nearby deli was only slightly impacted by whatever muggle economics had been up to over the past decade. 

As he chewed on the crusty end of the bread, he looked around himself again. The shop owner. The hum of the fridge. A construction worker. The bell over the door jingled. A woman with a baby in a pram. Cute baby.

A baby. 

Not as cute as his baby. Because he was supposed to be taking care of a baby. Not his. But his brother's in all but blood. That was supposed to be his job if they ever died. And they had died. He had to do his job. Why wasn't he doing his job? He frantically gathered up the sandwich paper and napkins and pushed the ball into the bin as he stumbled out the door. The bell rang.

Chapter Text

Three months had passed by under the haze of time, nearly four. March would soon arrive and spring would be at hand. Yule and the new year had both passed by without his knowledge. 

Had Harry received presents?

Surely. 

Remus would have been spoiling the boy- within his own sense of responsibility- his whole life. He had been raised by a patient and intelligent man who could tell him all about his parents. Sirius needed to calm down. They were the Marauders. If one made a mistake, the other would pick up the slack. Now he just needed to get a letter to Remus. No big deal. Just a quick “I forgive you for suspecting me of selling out to Voldemort. How is my godson? Please send all the pictures of Harry from the last ten years?”

He needed to get the letter sent today. Too often he would lose days altogether and come back to no progress. But at least the curtains weren’t pulled so tight anymore. More often, he would only cover the old windows with the gauzy inner layer, allowing light to diffuse kindly over the room. Kreacher had been feeding him regularly: three meals a day and tea ready whenever he gave the slightest indication of hunger. He was very good at making light meals for weary stomachs. Sirius didn’t even have to ask. The old elf was just full of surprises. He was starting to get suspicious. In fact, it was no longer a suspicion.

Kreacher had another master. 

He had to. He was far too healthy for an elf supposedly abandoned for a decade. No one should have been feeding magic into the estate or the bond with him. He should be dull, emaciated, and crueler than his dear mother could have ever hoped, but he was none of those things. 

And the estate. It was too clean. Too content. Without a family to feed it, it should have become derelict. While it wasn’t pristine, the wallpaper wasn’t peeling off in ratty shreds, water ran clear from the taps, and the curtains didn't send out dust and doxies with the slightest touch. The Daily Prophet arrived every morning, and Kreacher kept each copy in a trunk. For who? That had never been an order from his parents. The household had fresh foods and toiletries when he had arrived. Likely another reason he had stayed in the haze for so long– there was nothing he had to fix. His bedroom had been clean and free of dust. The water worked without showing the years of rust settled in the pipes. It had been the same day of his trial. Was the elf that eager to have a master? He hadn’t even asked for permission. 

Sirius shook his head. The letter first. 

___

He didn’t have an owl. Dammit. After agonizing over a handful of sentences for hours, he had done it. A very hopeful yet undemanding tone, short and sweet, ignoring a decade of betrayal and pain they would maybe one day have to acknowledge. And he couldn’t send it. 

Any other purchase he would just leave to Kreacher. Even if he couldn’t completely trust him yet, he was still alive, and frankly, quite well taken care of at the moment. He would have to venture into the wizarding world for the first time. Even in muggle London crowds were bad. Too many bodies moved around him as if he was suspended in an ocean. Too many sounds created one great big nothing that overtook every other sense. He shuddered at the thought. 

It was the end of February. He could go late in the evening just before the shops closed. He could ask Kreacher about the times. He could even ask Kreacher to scout out the crowds for him. He needed to go to Gringotts as well, start getting a hold on his economic standing. That was important, right? He looked around for a clock. 

Eight o’clock in the evening. Oh, it wasn’t as late as he’d thought. 

“Kreacher!” His voice wasn’t as raspy as it had been a week ago, but it wasn’t back to what it had been. Maybe it would never be. Oh, the elf.

“Would the Owl Emporium still be open at this hour?”

“Yes, Master. Curfews are no longer in place. Most shops of the Alley stay open far later than they did during the war times.”

Ah yes, how times had changed since he was free. There was no war anymore. “Ah, well then. Do we have a cloak in usable shape? With a high hood?”

Without a word, the house elf left and returned with just what he needed. Again, nothing in the house should have been in such a state. It was clean, the fabric weighty. It even smelled untouched by damp. What was happening around him?

“I will be going to Diagon Alley. If I have not returned by midnight please contact the aurors.”

“Yes, my lord.”

That was another thing; most houseelves called their masters “master” even if only sometimes. However, Kreacher had not failed to call him only by his title. To call him master might be a betrayal the elf refused to commit. But first, he really needed to get this damn letter sent. 

Okay. Now just don’t splintch yourself. 

__

He twisted into existence in the entryway of the Leaky Cauldron. Quickly, he fixed the cloak and hood before he stepped out from behind the great fireplace. 

The pub had the low thrum of patrons, but nothing more than he could handle. No one was looking his way for more than a moment, so he passed through without interruption. He reached the brickwall. 

Shit.  

He… he didn’t remember it. How many up? How many to the side? How could he forget this? 

“First time?” 

He spun around. Tom stood with his wand in hand, one foot behind the other. Fighting stance. 

Shit. 

“Erm,” Sirius cleared his throat. “Haven’t been ‘ere in a while. Forgot the trick.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “A bank robber wouldn’t be stupid enough to be caught out here like this. I’m sure. But you’ve got that hood coverin’ you up pretty tight. You mind lowering it to give an old man some peace of mind. ‘Fore I let you in?”

Sirius swallowed. He glanced behind Tom. No one else was coming. He remembered Tom. Did Tom believe in his innocence? He lowered his head to slip the hood down his back. He kept facing the ground for a breath then looked up slowly. No fight behind his eyes. 

Tom’s breath caught in his throat. “Bless my soul.” The two stared at each other, neither moving. Slowly, the older man’s lips twisted into a kind smile. “It’s been a rough few years for you, kid. You take care. You will always be welcome in my pub, old friend?” He held out his hand. 

Sirius’ shoulders collapsed as he lurched forward to grasp the wrinkled hand. He held it reverently with both hands and bowed low as they shook hands. His first human touch. His first friend. He swallowed and blinked back tears, choosing to remain silent in such a vulnerable moment. 

“Well, let’s get you in the Alley?”

___

Sirius walked into the owl emporium first so as not to forget the purpose of his mission and his self-imposed deadline. There were many owls of different breeds all peering down at him from the eves. How to choose? He walked slowly trying to look at each. They were getting a bit antsy at this time of day. They’d want to be out hunting soon. Who could he give such a freedom to?

A white face with large eyes peered through the darkest corner. He titled his head at the creature in greeting. It flew down immediately to land on his shoulder. A barn owl. 

“Why hullo there. Are you eager to bust out of this joint?” He joked quietly. 

The owl nipped at the hair that poked out from under his hood. He nodded and began to gather the necessary supplies. 

__

He had yet to give his pretty new owl a name when he asked her to send off his first missive. They stepped out of the emporium and he already had the letter in hand. She seemed to understand his urgency and his trust for her to take such an important letter. Such a clever owl. He’d have to give her a good name. 

With his mission complete, he approached the white giant of the alley. Time to get some answers about who had been in his house while he was away. 

Chapter Text

Admittedly, being framed for mass murder and selling out his best friends to a genocidal maniac might have given him cause to be a bit paranoid. But this? Even the goblins were trying to skirt around him. Didn’t goblins love paperwork? Didn’t they want his money in their vaults? What was going on?

Sirius had been frantically shuffled into an office down the hall from the atrium and left to sit in a massive chair opposite an unmanned desk. 

He just wanted some bloody answers. 

The door to the left opened and two goblins walked out, one overloaded with rolls of parchment. Finally they reached the desk. Sirius stood to greet them. 

“Good evening, Lord Black. Apologies for the tardiness of your service. Shall we?”

Without waiting for his response the two goblins settled at the desk sorting the scrolls into stacks and procuring knives and seals and waxes from the desk. He nodded just for good measure. 

“It was when the heir to the Black name, Harry Potter, came to Gringotts upon receiving his Hogwarts letter we discovered a lacking in documentation surrounding the Potter and Black vaults. In such light, the letter which led to your trial and exoneration was sent to the necessary parties. As a result of the findings of our investigations on behalf of the Potter Heir, we also suggest going through the entirety of the Black family holdings to ensure there has been no undue tampering by one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. What say you?”

“Dumbledore?” was all he could manage. What? Tampering? Had Harry’s vaults been tampered with? Remus would have known. Right? 

“Yes.There was an obvious neglect of his duties of guardianship and thus any withdrawals were flagged as fraudulent. Due to Heir Potter’s listing as your heir as well, we took the liberty to search for any similar issue within your own records. Nothing of note was found due to no guardianship clauses being active. However, we strongly suggest hesitating to allow any access to the noted suspicious individual.”

Guardianship? But Remus was suppose– Neglect?

“Wait, what do you mean Dumbledore was Harry’s guardian?”

“Now that your name has been cleared and you are the trusted guardian of Mr. Potter, I will explain. As the boy was placed with his muggle relatives, a custodianship was elected by Dumbledore witnessed by one Elphias Dodge. Dumbledore was listed as responsible for the management of Heir Potter’s accounts and the raising of him in a safe and healthy environment, and allowing him regular access to the custodial account to which he will gain access upon his seventeenth birthday for the purposes of feeding, clothing, schooling, and healthcare. Due to the custodian’s failure to achieve any of the former, we revoked such status.”

“Failure? To- to raise him in a safe and healthy environment?” Sirius felt like reality was fracturing around him. 

The goblin looked supremely uncomfortable at his impending breakdown. “It may please Lord Black to know that the boy is well adjusted and since discovering his vaults has gained access to every care he could need. In our numerous interactions he has shown significant growth.”

Sirius bit his tongue at the sarcastic scathing that wanted to whip out of him at the goblin’s comment. Oh you’ve seen significant growth. Let me just enjoy this reassurance. It felt as if he was burning from the inside out. Blood was rushing to his skin and his stomach making him feel queasy with anguish. How? Dumbledore? Where was Remus? Muggle relatives? He needed to calm down. He needed to calm down. There was so much he didn’t know. How could he find out?

“Where was it you said he was staying?” Muggles. He could go and find out from them. 

“He was raised by muggle relatives for whom we have no records, however after discovering his heirships upon his first visit he did show interest in the properties available to him. He is currently in his first year at Hogwarts.”

“I know that,” Sirius snapped out, “Wait, what properties did he see? You said he was also shown documents of the Black inheritance, right?” 

The damn goblin looked smug. “Yes, his heirship was shown all properties in both the Potter and Black holdings. We, at Gringotts, would not be aware of any further details. Now, shall we take a look at your accounts. I believe you will require keys and means of withdrawal.”

Sirius left Gringotts shouldering both an intense loathing and appreciation for the goblin way of business. He had his owl, vault keys, and years worth of estate records to take back and immediately drop to interrogate his house elf. 

___

“Kreacher!” Finally, his voice didn’t splinter. 

“Yes, Lord Black?” the elf stood at the opposite end of the entry hall. He knew. Sirius knew that he knew something. 

“Who is your master?”

The elf sneered, “You are sir.”

“No, who have you served before I returned here?”

Kreacher hesitated as if he would rather find a punishment. 

“Tell me, Kreacher,” Sirius had a dangerous edge. He wasn’t a whole man. This situation could show that in detail if Kreacher didn’t respond correctly. 

“Heir Black.” 

“Heir Black? Do you mean Harry James Potter?”

He hesitated again. 

“Stop stalling!” Sirius shouted, “Have you met Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Was he here?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?” his voice cracked.

The house elf squared his shoulders and stood tall, “Master Harry arrived in the first days of July and stayed until September first.”

“He’s your master?” July through September, but where was he before?

“Yes.”

“Do you swear allegiance to anyone else?”

“No, Kreacher serves Master Harry. Before him, Master Regulus and Mistress.”

Sirius nodded, pinching his nose. He waved the elf away and shuffled up the stairs to his room. 

Sirius lost his hold on time after that. The cushion under him went away. The fixtures around him liquified in the edges of his vision. Harry had been here four months before he was freed. Harry had been neglected. Dumbledore had allowed it. Not only had he allowed Harry to suffer for years, if he had read between the shaky lines the goblin was drawing, Dumbledore had kept him in Azkaban. He wanted him there so he could have control over Harry. Nothing was... No. It all made sense. That was what was so awful. It all was making sense. 

He melted away.

Chapter Text

May had come; June would soon arrive. As the winter frost gave way to spring so had Sirius’ days warmed. After he had learned what he had, a new determination had taken root in his soul. 

His new lease on life was all for his godson. In the months leading up to Harry’s presumed arrival he had put on weight and started working out as he had in auror training a long, long time ago. For the first time in his life, he stuck his nose into all the books his family had gathered on wizarding politics. Most importantly, he had spent weeks scouring the family records to ensure Dumbledore had no players in his home. 

Remus only answered him after three letters. The first had been barely coherent in his desperation to hear about Harry. The second had been lengthier, he knew Harry wasn’t with him, he begged for anything, he said he was worried, he asked if Remus still believed he was guilty. The third didn’t mention Harry at all. It had very few words which formed coherent thoughts, but it called on their oldest most vulnerable memories. That part was brief. It was mostly expletives. 

They met in a muggle pub. Sirius showed up an hour early because he was jittering out of his skin for the entire day leading up– entire week really. He was trying to not drink, he would have a child in his care soon. He remembered how James had told him the same plan. Lily had been anxious about it; she never was one for much firewhiskey but once she found out she was pregnant she became terrified of the slightest threat to the baby. She made Jame clear the house of any drink that could harm a fetus. Even with all the reassurances that magical medicine brought, she kept saying a wartime was bad enough for a healthy pregnancy. James, the sap, swore to stay sober the entire pregnancy so she wouldn’t feel left out. He stopped whining about seven months in. 

Sirius ordered a Shirley Temple: bubbly and sweet. Not bad. Definitely not enough for the impending conversation, but at the very least he was huddled in a corner booth that sat far from the doorway and had a clear view of the entire pub. Half-an-hour out his hands were still shaking. His drink napkin was shredded to bits and he had resorted to picking at his nails. That made the salt and vinegar crisps sting a bit once he had the mind to order something. 

After fourty-five minutes Remus arrived, and Sirius thanked all the gods he hadn’t started with alcohol because he was already three Shirley Temples in and desperately needed the loo. Despite that, he stood to greet his only surviving friend. His knees felt weak. He felt weak. Had he accidentally been drinking this whole time? Was there alcohol in his system to make everything feel so unsteady? No. It was just the most terrifying situation he could imagine. Well, he was actually far more terrified to meet his eleven year-old charge. Anyways. 

Remus didn’t take more than a second to spot him watching from the back of the pub. He didn’t look good. His scared face was pale and tired, his clothes drab, and his expression closed off. Sirius gulped. He approached the table in steady calculated strides. Before either knew it, they were standing opposite each other in a muggle pub in London on a wet spring night. 

“Moo– Erm, Remus,” Sirius cleared his throat. His voice was raspy again. “I, erm, I have been– well, I got here a little too early and have been… hydrating.” The two looked at the line of empty glasses with cherry stems tied into knots and shredded napkins. “Erm, I’m just going to run to the loo. If that’s alright?” 

Remus looked as if a rug had been jerked out from under his feet but he nodded, and Sirius spun on his heel to get away. 

After relieving himself and staring in the mirror for far too long, Sirius shuffled back to the table. He was still there. Remus was sitting in the booth swirling an amber colored liquid in a squat glass. Sirius’ mess had been cleared away, a glass of water in its place. When he was one step away, his friend finally looked up at him. Oh, good. His eyes weren’t so dead now. 

“You gonna sit?” Remus’ voice was rough too. 

He nodded and sat quickly. 

“Are you drunk?”

“No, those were Shirley Temples.”

Remus barked out a laugh and kept laughing for longer than was sane. Sirius joined in a bit. The two sounded hysterical. They were.  

“You– Sirius Black binge-drinking Shirley Temples? You’ve changed, old friend.” 

His body lurched at being called a friend, at hearing his name, at finally getting to laugh with someone. He nodded. “I’m going to finally be a godfather soon enough. Can’t have my head in the tankard with a kid running around,” Sirius spoke in barely a whisper. Terrified to hear someone tell him how illqualified he was for such a position. 

“So you’re planning to find Harry?” Remus was searching his face. 

“Find him? You don’t know where he’s been living?” He couldn’t hold back all of the anger bubbling up. 

His friend sighed, “Sirius, you know… my condition, children aren’t safe around me.”

“Who the bloody hell told you that? Did you not make it through all of Hogwarts with your furry friend and the only time you ever came anywhere near harming anyone was entirely my and James’ fault.”

“Sirius, it’s too–”

“I want you to be absolutely certain whatever you are about to say is enough of a reason for you to leave Harry to be abused and neglected for a decade before you speak, Remus.”

The werewolf jerked up. “What are you talking about? Harry’s been fine, I’m sure.”

“No.” Sirius grabbed Remus’ napkin and began to shred it. “He didn’t know about magic until he got his letter. He didn’t know anything about James and Lily until the damn goblins read their Will. As soon as he found out what an heirship was he found a property he could run away to and did that. Dumbledore appointed himself a custodian of his accounts and has been withdrawing artifacts and money for years without Harry ever receiving anything from it. They wouldn’t tell me much but they said the role of the custodian had not been fulfilled in any measure. Meaning he had not even been raised in a safe, healthy environment. No money had gone towards his clothing, feeding, schooling, or healthcare. He found one of my family properties and Kreacher cared for him until he was ready for Hogwarts. Kreacher said he was very nearly emaciated but was much better by September. Said his haircut was awful, though.” Sirius had gone away while speaking of such horrors. His mouth kept moving, his fingers ripping strips of damp paper, his face void. Every time he thought about Dumbledore's calculated betrayal, he wanted to be the murderer everyone suspected him of being for so long. Maybe Dumbles had wanted to let Azkaban make him into such a man. He shook himself out of such thoughts. 

Remus had readjusted to bend over the table with his head in his hands and fingers gripping tightly to his hair. The two men sat in silence for many breaths. At some point tears began to drop from the tip of Remus’ nose onto the tabletop. Sirius pretended not to notice. 

“You said Dumbledore did that?” his voice was hardened.

Sirius nodded. 

“How are you going to find Harry in June?”

"Kreacher said he’ll be picking him up from the station. I’ll be waiting at the house for when he comes back. Gringotts told him he’s no longer the one holding the Black estate duties so… From what I’ve heard he’s got the cunning and smarts of both his parents. A bit worried he’ll start laying into me like Lily if I mess up.”

The two chuckled at that. 

“She sure had a temper, didn’t she?” Remus finally looked up. 

“You know what they say about those redheads. Tried to warn James in first year.” 

From there they were able to talk about more. What Remus had been doing for the past ten years. The trial. Sirius’ recovery and how he was grooming himself to be the best guardian Harry could ever need. After his first drink, Remus switched to Shirley Temples with Sirius and they joked about looking a right pair: sitting in the corner booth with Shirley Temples crying for hours on end. Remus walked Sirius to Grimmauld Place when they finally left late in the night. Sirius shared the secret location with him and invited him in. Remus declined the offer but asked to return soon. 

Sirius accepted. 

Chapter Text

“Do you think this is too much?” 

“Sirius, it's sandwiches and tea, I am sure everything’s going to be fine.”

“What if I changed the house in a way he didn’t like? What if he doesn’t like this kind of tea?”

“Kreacher said it was his favorite.”

“Remus, what if he’s scared of me?”

At that the werewolf stood up and walked over to Sirius who was fiddling with the napkins. He grabbed the shaking hands. 

“Sirius,” Remus made him look into his eyes, “Kreacher is picking him up and letting him know, but it sounds like he already knew you would be here after the trial. Kreacher obviously cares for him and would not be doing this if he believed it would harm Harry. I say you should be more worried about what kind of kid makes Kreacher so smitten. He could be a little brat like you were.” He smirked. 

Sirius snorted and looked away. He nodded, “You’re right.” His eyes caught the mantle clock. “You need to get going! What if they’re early?!”

“Okay, okay,” Remus raised his hands as he started for the door. “Just take some deep breaths, Padfoot. Everything is going to be fine, okay?” 

They heard the door downstairs open. Shit. Were they already here? It was too early, they were supposed to have a fifteen minute cushion! Remus wasn’t supposed to be here. Could it be someone else?

“Kreacher, is that you?” Sirius called out but the elf didn’t come. “Kreacher!” He pushed authority into his voice hoping his tone wouldn’t scare Harry if that was who was at the door.  

“Kreacher, Harry’s arrived early, yeah? Take Remus outside without Harry knowing? We don’t want to overwhelm him.”

The three all nodded hurriedly as Kreacher grabbed Remus by the arm. 

“Hello?” a weak voice called out from downstairs.

Sirius nearly collapsed at the sound. In the split second before Kreacher disapparated, Sirius looked into Remus’ eyes and saw nothing but comfort and finally felt himself take a deep breath. He rushed out to the landing and leaned over the railing. 

“Harry?”

His godson stood in the threshold of his home. He was small, dwarfed by the owl cage and trunk next to him. His clothing was nice enough but his hair was a mess like Kreacher had said. It was shaggy and covered his forehead down the back of his neck almost to his shoulders. He looked up at him through his round glasses on his small face. He wanted to run to meet him but the boy looked terrified– he hadn’t moved a muscle in the minute they stared at each other. 

Taking deep breaths, he took the stairs one at a time trying to center himself before he reached the end. 

Once they were on the same level he paused. Should he go closer so Harry could see him up close? Would that make him feel cornered? He stayed where he was. 

“Hi, Harry. My name is Sirius. I’m your godfather.” He was getting choked up as he stood carefully at the opposite end of the hall. He shrugged his shoulders and fiddled with his shirt. Was he standing too tall– was it intimidating? He didn’t want to slouch. 

.

.

.

.

Sirius was standing right in front of him. He was shuffling around obviously not sure what to do with himself. Harry felt the same way. 

He looked good. Healthy. His clothes were new– he didn’t get the chance to go shopping in Harry’s past life, did he? He had filled out in a way he never got to. He was in a comfortable home all his own. So much was different. 

But the same love, the same safety, the same overwhelming joy was washing over his entire form that still stood in the foyer of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He had changed, both in himself and the life that he would lead now. That life felt like it was truly starting now. 

“Hi, I’m Harry, but I guess you knew that. It’s nice to meet you.” He shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry I moved into your house while you were away.” Kreacher had briefed him on the story the marauders believed. He could roll with it. Again, lying had become second nature at this point. 

Finally, Sirius broke away from his spot. “There is no need to apologize, Harry. I am just glad that Kreacher was here to take care of you. He didn’t give you a hard time did he?”

“No,” Harry smiled, “I like to think we’re friends, actually. Erm… is it… can I stay the summer here?”

“Of course, Harry. Let’s get your stuff moved in. Did you have a room you were using before?” 

Finally, they were close. Sirius was right in front of him offering to move his trunk. He was within reach. Without realizing it, Harry leapt forward to wrap his little arms around his godfather. 

Oomph. Sirius swayed back but quickly steadied them both. 

He was trying so hard not to lose it. His chin was trembling uncontrollably; his eyes felt hot. 

“Harry?” Sirius’ voice cracked. “You okay, kiddo?” He ruffled Harry’s hair at first. He seemed to want to look at Harry’s face but all Harry could manage was nuzzling into his shoulder deeper. Finally, he felt those strong arms hold him back just as tight and Harry melted. 

“I think we have some things to talk about, kiddo, but I don’t want to overwhelm you before you get settled in.”

Harry felt all of his muscles tense at the thought of them having something to talk about. What could possibly be an elephant in the room between the two? It couldn’t have anything to do with why an eleven year-old would run away into an unknown part of the country to stay with a creature he didn’t know existed. It couldn’t have anything to do with his strange comfort level around a man he had never met. Truly, Harry couldn’t think of a solitary thing his godfather might want to know about.   

Chapter Text

They held each other for a long time, each soaking in the hope for their future together. Each with their own desperation, their own need, their own starvation. 

Sirius didn't move a muscle until Harry finally loosened his hold around the man's waist. Had he been staying for Harry's sake or his own? Harry looked up and met teary eyes staring back. Both. 

Sirius ran his hand roughly over his face and sniffed, “Ugh, there's tea in the parlor upstairs. You hungry?” His chin trembled as he looked down at him in askance. 

Harry nodded. “Kreacher!” he called, “Can you please put my things away?”

The elf popped into existence and left with a solemn bow to his favorite master. 

“You'll have to tell me your secret,” Sirius joked watching the exchange between the two. 

Harry's back tensed like a bowstring. His stare betrayed a moment of fear. Sirius dropped to kneel in front of him. 

“I was just kidding, kiddo. I- I haven't seen that old elf work this hard since my dear old mum was living. Thought you could give me some pointers.” He ducked even further to catch Harry's avoidant eyes. His tone changed from playful to solemn. “You don't have to tell me anything you aren't ready to. I-” he cleared his throat, “I can only imagine what led you to finding this place all on your own. You're safe here. From whatever it is you want to get away from. Now that I'm here, I'll make sure of that. You have my word as your godfather.”

With Harry's nod at that, they set off for tea.

___

He hated being so small. His feet dangled above the floor as he sat across from his godfather. His cup sitting on his opposite hand in his lap, warming the flesh of his wrist. He could feel Sirius’ eyes on him every time he broke his own staring. Apparently, neither was Gryffindor enough to face the other while all of their emotions boiled so close to the surface. So many questions. So many fears. So many hopes. 

“I made the quidditch team,” he spoke to the still surface of his tea. 

“As a first year?” Sirius was leaning in and his countenance had brightened. “What position?”

Harry smiled brightly back, “Seeker! Apparently, I’m the youngest in a century!”

“I’d believe it. Damn. James would be so proud, but how did you even get the tryout? Have they started letting firsties have a go?”

Harry looked back down at his tea, a new motion took over the surface. “Erm, well, there was this guy who took my friend’s Rememberall in our first flying lesson and I caught it in the air. Professor McGonagall saw and put me on the team.”  Please let it go. Please. He didn’t want Sirius to try to get involved with Malfoy. He couldn’t account for that. Please just trust me. We don’t know each other well enough yet. Just let it go. Just let it go. He looked up slowly. 

Sirius’ mouth was held in a grim line. “That sounds like a very noble thing you did, Harry. If you ever want to talk about anything, about your… friends at Hogwarts I’d be happy to lend an ear.” He grabbed a sandwich from the tray in between them. “I’m just about full so I’ll leave you to it. I do have one question before I let you get settled in for the night: Another of your father’s friends, my friend Remus, has been visiting me since I moved in. Would you be uncomfortable if he continued to come over? No worries if you are. It's only two months until you’re back at Hogwarts, there’d be no bad blood if we waited to see each other until then. If you want my undivided attention this summer you have it.” 

If he weren’t so well adjusted, Harry might’ve felt burdensome after such a speech, but he knew Sirius. He was only offering Harry control of his home. Awkward words as they were. 

He smiled just a little at the man across from him, “Maybe next week? I think it’ll take me a bit to get used to having anyone else in the house.”

“Of course, Harry.”

Two ghosts. One his own father figure, lost to the veil. Another, the father of a newborn, his godson he’d never even met. A body that lay in the Great Hall for eternity in his mind’s eye. Best get used to the first one before summoning another. 

___

Kreacher arranged everything for Harry's nighttime routine as Sirius paced the landing below. Harry knew he was down there by the tell tale squeaks and creaks of the floor boards. 

He had taken his time in the bath allowing his worries to pass by– not settle in his belly. There they would turn over and over at the thought of how everything he had gained could be lost by the smallest slip. As best he could, he acknowledged them and they went by so that he could settle on them at a time when he wasn't so blindly terrified of their possibilities.  

With still pruny fingers and toes, Harry paused at the stairs and looked down at his godfather. “Good night, Sirius.”

The man's head snapped up and he froze under the child's gaze. 

“I'm really glad you're here. I can't wait to spend the summer with you,” Harry kept the words he so desperately wanted to say inside. 

“Good night, Harry. I'm glad as well. Let Kreacher know if you need anything. And I'm just on the floor below. You can wake me for any reason or no reason at all.” He pursed his lips as if he would cry without the steadying pressure. 

Harry unknowingly mimicked him, and as the two turned away from each other to their separate rooms, whispered what he couldn't hold in any longer: “I love you.”