[Podfic-TTS] Wolfstar Podfics Composed by BurningAurora

Sirius is almost asleep when he hears the Floo downstairs roar, which jerks him back to full consciousness. There are only a handful of people who are able to come through the Floo at Number Twelve, and it’s only supposed to be used in times of emergency. He grabs his wand and hurries down the stairs.

Ron and Hermione are standing on the rug in front of the hearth, and Sirius stops, blinking at them in confusion. He had secretly changed the wards around the Floo to allow Harry and his friends passage should the need ever arise, but he hadn’t imagined a scenario when they would need to make use of it.

“What’s going on?” he asks. He doesn’t know why either of them would be here without Harry, and dread coils in his stomach.

“We didn’t know what else to do,” Ron says.

“We thought that this would be the best place to bring him,” Hermione adds in a rush. “We had to sneak out of the castle--no one knows we’ve left--but they’ll start doing rounds soon, and…”

But Sirius has stopped listening. Instead, his bleary eyes finally catch up with what his sleep-muzzy mind is seeing, and he realizes Hermione is holding a child. A child with messy hair and glasses and bright green eyes. A child who can’t be more than three or four years old.

Sirius scrubs his eyes. The child is still there.

“Is that--”

“Yeah,” Ron says. “Yeah, it’s Harry.”

What the fuck. “Remus!”

He hears the tell-tale signs of Remus stumbling out of bed--something clatters to the floor, there’s a thud, a curse. Remus cannot even charitably be called a morning person. Sirius has no idea how he survived being a professor for a year. He eventually tromps down the stairs wearing his favorite worn cardigan and a pair of Sirius’s pyjama bottoms, rubbing his eyes.

“Sirius, if you’re having another fight with Kreacher, I’ll--” Remus stops at the sight of his two former students. “What’s going on?”

“Malfoy slipped Harry something at dinner last night,” Ron says, white with anger. He gestures at the child in Hermione’s arms, who still has not said a word. “Turned him into a kid. Only there’s no antidote! He’s stuck like this ‘til it wears off.”

“How long does it take to wear off?” Sirius knows he’s going to hate this answer.

“At least a month, Snape thinks,” Hermione whispers. “Maybe longer.”

“And why did you bring him here?” Remus asks.

Ron and Hermione exchange a look.

“We heard Dumbledore talking about what to do with him,” Ron says. “Can’t keep a baby at Hogwarts, you know.”

“They were going to send him back to the Dursleys,” Hermione says, and Sirius sucks in a sharp breath. “We couldn’t let that happen. They didn’t treat him right the first time around.”

“So you thought you’d bring him here ?” Remus asks incredulously. “To a house full of dark magic and cursed objects?”

“Well, it’s not like Sirius is going to lock him in a cupboard or deny him food, is he?” Ron says heatedly.

Sirius stops breathing. “What?”

Ron and Hermione both suddenly look panicked.

“Er - figure of speech,” Ron says quickly. “Look, will you take him or not? We’ve got to get back before anyone notices we’re out of bed.”

Remus and Sirius exchange a glance. Sirius knows already what Remus is going to say, and knows also that he’s going to ignore him.

“I’ll take him,” he says, stepping forward.

But Harry shrinks away from him, cuddling closer to Hermione, and Sirius freezes. A cold fist wraps around his heart. Harry is afraid of him.

“He’s not going to hurt you, Harry,” Hermione says gently, bouncing the little boy in her arms. “This is Sirius. Do you remember Sirius?”

Slowly, Harry shakes his head, his eyes wide and uncertain.

“As far as we can tell, he doesn’t have any of his memories,” Ron says. “Not anything after age four. That’s how old he thinks he is. He doesn’t know anything about...our world.”

“Harry,” Sirius says carefully, trying to make his voice as calm as possible, “my name is Sirius. I was a friend of your parents.”

That earns him a curious look.

“Mum and Dad?” Harry whispers, and oh, he’s so young.

“Yeah, Haz,” Sirius says. “Mum and Dad. They loved you very much and they--they would want you to stay with me and have me take care of you. Can I hold you?”

He holds out his arms, but doesn’t take another step closer to Hermione. This has to be Harry’s decision.

After a long, breathless moment, Harry finally nods. Hermione hands him over, and Sirius settles Harry against his hip. One of Harry’s hands fists itself into the front of Sirius’s shirt, and Sirius never wants to let him go.

“We’ll look after him,” he says to Ron and Hermione. Remus sighs, glancing down at himself.

“Let me go put some clothes on, and then I’ll escort you two back to the castle.” He grimaces and adds, “And then I’ll have a word with Dumbledore about all this.”

Once Remus disappears into the Floo after Ron and Hermione, Sirius glances at the clock--nearly six. Insomnia, his now-constant companion, had kept him up until dawn. There’s no way he’s getting to sleep now, and he doubts Harry will, either.

“What do you say, Haz?” he says, giving Harry a little bounce. “Are you hungry? Should we get some breakfast?”

It should be an easy question, but Harry looks uncertain again.

“Not hungry,” he whispers. Sirius frowns at him.

“Are you sure? You don’t want any food?” He pokes Harry’s belly, eliciting a shadow of a smile. “Not eggs or bacon or sausages or waffles?”

Harry shrugs. Sirius smiles at him, trying not to think about Ron’s comment about the Dursleys denying Harry food.

“Well, I’m starving,” Sirius tells him. “So let’s see what we can find in the kitchen.”

Remus returns as Sirius is making scrambled eggs. Harry wouldn’t answer his question about whether he had any preferences for breakfast food, so Sirius had figured that eggs were a safe thing to start with.

“He’s not pleased,” Remus says, and Sirius grunts.

“I didn’t think he would be. Oi!” Sirius smacks his hand away as he tries to steal a fluffy bit of egg from the pan. “Get a plate, you cretin.”

There’s a soft giggle behind them, but when they both turn to look at Harry, he claps a hand over his mouth.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Remus says gently, going over to the table. “You can laugh at us. Padfoot is quite silly, isn’t he?”

“Padfoot?” Harry asks. He barely speaks above a whisper.

“That’s my nickname for Sirius,” Remus says. “And he calls me Moony, but my name is Remus. I was also a friend of your Mum and Dad.”

“Really?”

“Really. We all went to school together.” Sirius hears a chair scrape against the floor and Remus settle his meager weight into it. “Padfoot and I can tell you some stories about your parents later. Would you like that?”

“Yes, please.”

Sirius fixes them each a plate and brings them to the table. Harry’s eyes widen as Sirius sets a plate full of food in front of him, like he can’t believe all of that is for him.

“Dig in, Harry,” he says cheerfully as he and Remus set upon their plates. Harry picks up his fork, but only stares at his food.

“Go ahead,” Remus says encouragingly. “I promise, Sirius is a very good cook.”

Harry’s eyes dart to them, then back to his plate. Slowly, he takes a small amount of eggs and eats them. When nothing happens, he takes another bite, and then another, shooting them both anxious looks all the while.

Like he’s afraid they’re going to take the food away from him, Sirius thinks, and the thought nauseates him.

He forces himself to look away from Harry, in case the lack of scrutiny will allow the child to calm down enough to eat.

“So,” he says to Remus, “what did the old man say?”

“After vaguely threatening me for a while, he finally caved,” Remus says. “Harry can stay here, but he must go back to Hogwarts the moment he changes back, and he’s not to leave the premises while he’s here. Not for any reason. He also has to go back to, erm, that family this summer.”

“Of course he does,” Sirius says darkly.

He wonders what Harry must make of this strange conversation, but Harry seems to be too focused on his food to care about what the adults are discussing. He finishes everything on his plate, and then sits there quietly until Remus and Sirius are done. When all the plates are empty, Harry hops down from his chair and starts clearing the table. He’s not quite tall enough for it, having to stand on his tip-toes to reach Sirius’s plate, and Sirius quickly intervenes.

“Whoa, kiddo,” he says, taking his plate back from Harry. “No need for that! We’ll take care of it.”

“But.” Harry frowns, confused. “But you cooked.”

“And I’ll clean up, too.”

Harry wrings his hands together. “What--what chores do I do?”

“No chores,” Sirius says firmly. “Rule number one of our house. Harry doesn’t do any chores.”

He’s probably not setting a great example--aren’t kids supposed to have some chores?--but Harry’s going to only be here a month and Sirius suspects the Dursleys used the excuse of chores to treat Harry like a house elf. He doesn’t want Harry to feel like he has to earn his keep here.

Harry looks wary. “No chores?”

“No chores.” Sirius offers Harry his pinky finger. “I promise.”

Harry bites his lip, then cautiously wraps his own pinky around Sirius’s. Sirius beams at him.

“Come on,” he says, patting Harry’s chair. “Up you get. You and Moony can chat while I clean the dishes.”

He’s going to have to explain magic to Harry soon, but he doesn’t want to throw too many alarming things at the boy right now. He gets up and clears the table, then starts to wash the dishes by hand.

“Mr Moony?”

“You can just call me Moony.” Remus ruffles Harry’s hair. “What is it?”

“You knew my mum?”

“Yes, I knew her very well. She was one of my best friends.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Oh, yes, Harry. Very pretty. Would you like to see a picture of her?”

Harry nods quickly. Remus pulls out his wallet and flips it to the picture of Lily and James that he keeps there.

“That’s your mum,” he says, pointing to Lily. “And look, your dad looks just like you.”

He taps Harry on the nose, and Harry giggles.

Harry crashes soon after breakfast. Sirius puts him in his own bed, tucking the blankets around him securely. He feels like a child probably shouldn’t be going down for a nap at eight in the morning, but after an eventful night and morning, he’s sure that Harry is exhausted.

Besides, that gives him a couple of hours to catch his breath and figure out what to do next.

“We need to get him things,” he says to Remus, who nods.

“I’ll do it. You stay here with him,” he says, and Sirius is grateful that Remus phrased it like he has a choice.

“We need more food, and he needs clothes,” Sirius says, jotting that down on a piece of parchment he’s grabbed from his desk. “Toys, books, shoes. It’s still cold out, so he’ll need a coat as well. Some gloves, probably.”

“He’s not allowed to leave the house, Sirius.”

“He can go into the back garden, at least,” Sirius says.

“Sirius--”

Sirius looks up to see Remus’s disapproving look and rolls his eyes. “What? It’s just the basics, Moony. It’s what any kid would need. You expect him to spend a month in this place with no toys or books and only the clothes on his back?”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about. I’m worried about you getting...attached.”

“Attached? To my godson? Of course I’m bloody attached to him!”

“Attached to the idea of him being a child again,” Remus says gently. “This is only temporary, Sirius.”

“I know that,” Sirius says sharply. “I’ve got to cram fourteen years into a month, and by Merlin, Moony, I’m going to do it. Harry deserves that much.”

***

Sirius sends Remus off with a sack of gold and a list of purchases to make, then sets about keeping himself busy while Harry sleeps. Normally when he's left to his own devices in this house, he passes the hours in a Firewhisky-induced haze, but that's obviously not an option right now. At least with an entire house to wage war against, he has innumerable other ways to occupy himself.

“Mr Sirius?”

Sirius is cleaning out one of the bathrooms on the second floor when the soft voice reaches him, and he pokes his head out of the open door to see Harry standing in the hallway.

“Hey, squirt,” he says, mustering a smile despite the dread brewing in his chest--because at the end of the day, he has no idea what to do with a child, especially not a child who just a few days ago had been his fifteen-year-old godson. “You can just call me Sirius. Or Padfoot. Did you have a good nap?”

Harry nods shyly.

“Good. Listen, why don’t you come downstairs with me? I want to show you something.”

He doesn’t know much about Harry’s life with the Dursleys, except that it’s an unhappy one and Harry didn’t even know about magic until he got his Hogwarts letter. He doesn’t know much and he doesn’t press, but if Harry’s going to be living with him until the potion wears off, then he will know about magic. He sits Harry down on a sofa in the parlor, then takes a seat next to him and pulls out his wand.

“Watch this,” he says softly, and then murmurs an incantation. A stream of butterflies shoot out of the wand and swirl around Harry, flitting to and fro until they each disappear in a flash of colorful light. Harry’s eyes are wide, and he looks awed.

“What was that?” he whispers.

“That,” Sirius says, “is magic.”

He expected disbelief or confusion. He doesn’t expect Harry’s face to turn fearful, for him to shrink away.

“Not real,” he says.

“Yes, it is,” Sirius says gently. “Magic is real, Harry. I’m a wizard, and so are you.”

Harry shakes his head. He looks on the verge of tears. “No, no. Not real.”

“Did your aunt and uncle tell you that?” Sirius asks.

“Magic isn’t real.” Harry swipes at his eyes, refusing to look at Sirius. “Magic is bad.”

“Magic isn’t bad, Harry.” Sirius slips off the sofa to crouch in front of Harry, resting his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I’m magic, and your mum and dad were magic, and you are magic, too. You’re a wizard.”

At the mention of his parents, Harry gives him a tentative look. “Mum and Dad did magic?”

“Your mum was a witch, and your dad was a wizard.” Sirius rubs Harry’s arms comfortingly. “What do you know about your parents?”

“Died in a car crash,” Harry mumbles. “Freaks.”

Sirius feels his eyebrows climb towards his hairline. “Is that what your aunt and uncle called them?”

Slowly, Harry nods.

“Well, they were not freaks. That’s not a nice thing to say about anyone, and I’m sorry your aunt and uncle told you that,” Sirius says. “They didn’t die in a car crash, Harry. They were...hurt, by a bad man, and that’s how they died.”

He doesn’t know if he’s doing any of this right, but Harry absorbs all this quietly, his expression contemplative.

“Why did the bad man hurted them?” he asks finally.

“Well,” Sirius says, then stops. He’s fairly certain that discussing the prophecy and the war is beyond Harry’s ability to understand right now. “It’s complicated, Harry. We can talk about it more when--when you’re older. But your mum and dad loved you very much. They didn’t want to leave you.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment more, and then he nods. “Okay. Can I see more?”

He points shyly at Sirius’s wand, and Sirius huffs. “Sure thing, kiddo.”

Remus returns while Sirius is levitating various objects in the room at Harry’s command. He pulls a small parcel out of his pocket, flicks his own wand, and several shopping bags resize themselves. Harry’s jaw drops at the blatant display of magic, and Remus winks at him.

“Harry, look what Uncle Moony has brought for you,” Sirius says brightly, and he starts digging through the bags while Harry looks on, shy but curious. Remus has bought what looks like an entire wardrobe, complete with adorable little wellies that inexplicably make Sirius tear up, as well as plenty of books and toys and food. Remus apparently has no trouble spending Sirius’s money when it’s Harry he’s spending it on, which is good to know. “Oh, Rem, this is brilliant.”

He pulls out what proclaims to be a miniature Quidditch pitch, with tiny hoops and players and everything.

“Thought you might enjoy that,” Remus says, sounding amused. “Harry, too, of course.”

“Siri?” Harry asks tentatively, and Merlin, Sirius has always hated that nickname, but coming from his godson? He suddenly loves the hell out of it. “What is that?”

“This, Harry,” Sirius says reverently, opening the box, “is Quidditch.”

They pass a pleasant afternoon together, opening Harry’s new toys and trying them out, showing him bits of magic and telling him about his parents. Sirius doesn’t want to overwhelm him, so he only drops a few tidbits here and there, and Remus chimes in occasionally. Harry, as expected, absolutely loves the miniature Quidditch pitch, and they play several games together. Sirius wishes he could let Harry fly here, but the postage-stamp-sized garden out back isn’t large enough for even a toy broomstick.

But when the sun comes out just before dinner, Sirius gets an idea. Remus, who knows him far too well, says, “No, Sirius.”

“Yes, Remus.” Sirius pecks him on the cheek and holds out a hand to Harry. “C’mere, kiddo. I want to show you something cool.”

He takes Harry out into the back garden. It’s as heavily warded as the rest of the house, so it’s safe from prying eyes. Sirius sits Harry on the back step and backs up a couple of paces.

“Watch this,” he says, and transforms into Padfoot.

Harry gasps. Sirius doesn’t want to spook him, so he trots up to Harry but then sits down, panting happily and waiting for Harry to make the first move.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Remus says. “You can pet him, if you want.”

Harry puts out a careful hand and pats Sirius on the head. Sirius pushes his head into the touch, and Harry starts petting his nose and scratching him behind the ears. Remus joins in, and soon Sirius has flopped over on his back, four legs in the air, enjoying belly rubs from two pairs of hands.

Finally, he rolls to his feet and shifts back into his human form.

“Wow,” Harry says simply.

“Not all wizards can turn into animals,” Remus tells him, “but Sirius is special.”

“Oh, special, Remus, am I?”

“You know you are,” Remus says, and kisses him sweetly.

They go inside, where Remus makes dinner while Sirius entertains Harry. His energy starts to flag not long after the meal. Sirius carries him back into the parlor and distracts him with another toy that Remus bought him so they can figure out sleeping arrangements.

“Where do you want to put him tonight?” Remus asks while Harry plays with a miniature Hogwarts Express.

“Regulus’s room,” Sirius says, because it’s the safest one in the house. For all his dabbling in the Dark Arts, Regulus didn’t keep any harmful books or cursed objects in his room. Besides, that will keep Harry close to his own room. “Needs to be freshened up a bit, though.”

“I’ll do it,” Remus says, squeezing Sirius’s shoulder as he gets up. “He probably could use a bath, and I should be done by the time you are.”

Sirius remembers giving Harry baths back when he was a baby. He’s a lot less wriggly now, and utterly enchanted by the toy boats Sirius puts in the water for him. He finally gets up the nerve to play with them while Sirius washes his hair, and when Sirius has him out of the bath and wrapped in a fluffy towel, he seems reluctant to leave them behind.

“Don’t worry,” Sirius tells him, flicking his hand and having the toys line up around the rim of the tub. “They’ll be here next time you take a bath, too. They aren’t going anywhere.”

He dresses Harry in one of the pyjama sets Remus had picked out for him, which had little trains all over it, then takes his hand and leads him to his new room.

“You’ll be sleeping in here,” he says, pushing open the door to the room that once had been Regulus’s. “How does that sound?”

Harry peers around the room, and then says, “Mine?”

“Yeah, Harry. It’s all yours.”

Harry doesn’t seem to know what to do with this information, so Sirius walks with him over to the bed and lifts him onto it. Once he gets Harry settled under the blankets, he says, “Do you want me to read a story to you?”

“Story?” Harry looks up at him with such hope, and then quickly looks away again. “Stories are for Dudley.”

“No, Harry,” Sirius says. “You get stories, too. All good boys and girls get stories, and you have been so good today.” He tickles Harry’s ribs, and Harry giggles. “How about I read about the dragon and the prince? Would you like that?”

Harry does like the story, so much that he shyly asks if Sirius can read it a second time. He falls asleep halfway through the second reading, and Sirius tucks him in.

“Goodnight, Harry,” he whispers.

***

Remus shakes him awake in the middle of the night. Startled, Sirius grabs his arm, then immediately releases him.

“Merlin, Moony, don’t do that to a bloke.”

“Harry’s crying,” Remus says softly, and now Sirius is fully awake. “I thought it might be better if you went to him.”

Thank all the gods for Remus’s above-average hearing. “Thanks, Moons.”

Sirius snags one of Remus’s cardigans from the floor and pulls it on as he pads next door to Harry’s room. He raps his knuckles lightly on the door, then eases it open.

“Harry?” he says softly. “Everything alright?”

He hears a sniffle, and then Harry goes worryingly silent. Sirius goes over to his bed and turns on the lamp, and he sees at once what the problem is.

“Oh, Harry. It’s alright.” He resists the urge to reach out and brush the tears from Harry’s cheeks, not sure how his godson would react to touch right now. “Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

He retrieves his wand, then returns to Harry’s room. With a quick cleaning spell, he cleans up Harry’s accident from the blankets and Harry’s pyjamas. Then, he sits down next to the boy, who is still shedding silent tears.

“Please,” Harry whispers. “Please don’t s-send me back.”

Sirius’s heart breaks right in two. “Baby, I would never.”

“I’ll b-be good,” Harry says, voice wobbling. “I can c-clean, and d-do dishes, and--and--”

He’s working himself up into a state, so Sirius does the only thing he can think of, and pulls Harry into his lap.

“Harry,” he says softly, stroking Harry’s unruly hair and cuddling him to his chest, “you are never going back there. Not to those people. I promise you. You don’t have to cook or clean or even be good. I won’t send you away for anything.”

Not even, Sirius thinks, when Harry is back to normal and Dumbledore tries to send him back to the Dursleys once the term is over. It’s not happening. He’ll take Harry and flee the country if he has to. He’s done it before. For Harry, he’d do it again.

Sirius holds Harry until the boy is nearly asleep again, then carefully tucks him under the covers.

“If it happens again,” he says, “just come into my room and get me, okay? I promise I won’t be mad at you.”

“M’kay.” Harry rubs his red eyes. “Sorry, Siri.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Sirius crawls back into bed with Remus and immediately plasters himself to his partner’s back. They rarely sleep like this, tangled up in each other--Remus tends to run too hot for Sirius’s tastes and Sirius thrashes around too much at night--but right now, he needs this.

He thinks Remus is asleep until the other man murmurs, “What are you thinking about?”

Sirius sighs. “I’m thinking about how, if the situation had been reversed and the Dursleys had been the ones to die, Lily and Prongs would’ve raised Harry’s cousin like their own son. They would have loved him as fiercely as Harry.”

“Oh, Sirius.”

Sirius swallows hard. “I can’t stop thinking about Harry in that house, Rem. No one to hug him or cuddle him or comfort him. He was terrified just now. I think--I think he thought I was going to hurt him, just for wetting the bed. He’s a baby. ”

Remus brings his hand up to cover Sirius’s, lacing their fingers together.

“You can’t change his childhood, Pads,” Remus says gently. “But you can give him this, even if it’s only a month. I promise you it will still make a difference.”

***

Sirius has loved Harry from the moment James placed the red-faced and squalling infant in his arms on a humid July night.

No, even longer than that. He’s loved Harry since December of ‘79, when James first sat him down and told him he was going to be a godfather. At first, he’d loved only the idea of Harry, and then he’d loved Harry as the baby of two of his best friends.

But it wasn’t long before he loved Harry for Harry, loved his smiles and his laughs and his baby babble and his emerging cheeky personality. Loved how Harry used to shout “Pads!” whenever Sirius walked into the room, loved how Harry grabbed his nose and his hair, loved his shrieking laughter whenever Sirius kissed his tummy or tickled his sides.

That happy, bubbly child is gone now, replaced by a boy who flinches if they move too quickly near him and who eats his meals like he expects someone to take his food from him at any moment. He doesn’t light up anymore when Sirius comes into the room, but instead watches him warily. The wariness usually vanishes once Sirius sits down to play with him, or leads him into the kitchen for a meal, or carries him up to bed, but in the moment before Harry knows what Sirius’s intentions are, he’s afraid.

Harry has never been afraid of him before.

He creates a routine for Harry, rousing him at eight each day and cooking breakfast for all of them before settling into a morning filled with games and activities. Then there’s lunch, which becomes Remus’s job because his duties for the Order usually keep him away in the evenings. Harry goes down for a nap sometime in the afternoon, but when he’s awake, Sirius tries to run off as much of his energy outside as possible. Harry frolics with Padfoot in the garden, and it’s the happiest Sirius can ever remember being in this house of horrors. Sirius takes care of dinner in the evenings, and before Harry goes to bed, there’s a bath and storytime. They trade off when Remus is around--if Sirius bathes Harry, then Remus will read him a story, and vice versa.

It’s a routine that works well for them, and as Harry settles in and becomes more comfortable around them, Sirius can’t help but wonder what might have been.

He tries not to, because that way madness lies. He tries not to imagine the life they might have had, the life he would have given Harry if he hadn’t gotten himself locked up in Azkaban. They’d have had a cottage by the sea, with plenty of empty land around them so that Harry--and Moony--could run free. He’d have raised Harry in both the wizarding world and the Muggle one, to make sure he never lost his connection to the world Lily had come from. He’d have spoiled Harry rotten, giving him mounds of presents at his birthday and Christmas. Maybe he and Remus would have had a couple of sprogs, too; given Harry some siblings to grow up with.

Madness, indeed. Sirius blinks rapidly to clear his blurred vision. That’s a life that will never come to pass, now. He threw it away the moment he let Hagrid take his godson from his arms.

“Siri?” Harry’s tentative voice pulls him from his morose thoughts. “Snack, please?”

Sirius beams at him. Harry’s slowly starting to learn that he can ask for things, that Remus and Sirius will never scold him for it.

“Of course, love.” Sirius takes Harry’s hand and leads him toward the kitchen. “How about some strawberries, do those sound good?”

“Yeah!”

Sirius will never have that imaginary life, but for one short, glorious month, he can have this.

***

Remus has spent every full moon away from Grimmauld since he came to live here, and Sirius hates it. He hates that Dumbledore keeps sending Remus on these useless missions to the packs, hates that Remus feels like he has to complete them. He hadn’t been successful during the first war; what makes him think it will be any different now?

So on the first full moon after Harry’s accident with the de-aging potion, Remus kisses both of them goodbye before dinner and Apparates to the nearest pack. He’s been spending time with them these past couple of months, hoping to persuade at least some of them to remain neutral in the war. And Sirius, instead of spending the whole night tied up in knots like he normally would have, has to look after Harry.

After those first few days of wariness, Harry has warmed up to Sirius surprisingly quickly for a child who has suffered so much trauma at the hands of adults who were supposed to protect him. Part of Sirius wonders if there are memories buried in the back of four-year-old Harry’s mind, memories of playing with Sirius and Padfoot when he was a baby, that make Harry trust him now. He’s still quiet and shy, but he’ll happily climb into Sirius’s lap whenever Sirius reads him a book, and he’ll take Sirius’s hand when they go up the stairs, and he giggles in delight when Sirius tickles his ribs. He loves watching Sirius do magic, slowly growing comfortable with the idea that magic is real and not bad.

That isn’t to say that there are no bumps along the way. That night, not an hour after Remus leaves for the pack, Harry accidentally knocks his glass of milk off the table. It shatters on the floor. Harry freezes, and the color drains so rapidly from his face, Sirius worries he’s going to pass out.

Sirius moves to pull his wand out of his pocket so he can clean up the mess, and Harry startles so badly, he falls out of his chair and lands on the glass.

“Harry!” Sirius kneels by him. “Don’t move, kiddo, just stay still for a moment--”

He tries to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, to hold him still so Sirius can clean up the glass and check him for injuries, but Harry flinches and throws up his hands to protect his face.

For a moment, the silence in the kitchen is absolute. Sirius is pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Harry,” he whispers. “Baby, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“S-sorry!” Harry gasps, drawing in a shuddering breath. “Don’t--p-please--!”

Sirius waves his wand, cleaning up the milk and repairing the shattered glass. Harry lets out a startled gasp as the tiny shards of glass that had been embedded in his skin vanish, and Sirius quickly heals the tiny cuts left behind. Then, he swiftly gathers Harry into his lap.

“You are not in trouble,” he says. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was an accident, Harry. And I will never, ever hit you. Not ever.”

He holds Harry until his sobs taper off, rubbing his back and stroking his hair, and after what feels like an age, Harry relaxes against him.

Sirius takes him upstairs for his bath. He charms the soap bubbles to pulse different colors and spells Harry’s bath toys so they float through the air, and Harry is sufficiently cheered by this. Still, when it’s time for him to go to bed, Padfoot curls up next to him on the mattress and snuggles with him until he falls asleep.

***

Remus returns from the pack the following afternoon. Thankfully, he stumbles into Grimmauld while Harry’s down for his nap, so Sirius can get him settled in bed without alarming the little boy. The moon was hard on Remus, and he’s in rough shape. Sirius can only do so much with healing spells and dittany. Beyond that, Remus’s body will need to knit him back together.

Harry knows that Remus is due back today, so when he wakes from his nap, that’s the first thing he asks Sirius.

“Yes, kiddo, he came back,” Sirius tells him. “He’s sleeping right now.”

Harry looks out the window, and then gives Sirius a comically scandalized look. “But it’s daylight.”

Sirius stifles a laugh. “Sometimes adults need naps during the day, too, just like you.”

Harry looks up at him with wide, imploring eyes. “Can I see Uncle Moony? Please?”

“He’s not feeling well, squirt.” Sirius puts a hand on Harry’s head. “How about we go out to the garden for a bit? You can play with Padfoot.”

Normally, Harry would agree to this instantly, but instead he bites his lip.

“But Uncle Moony will be all alone,” he says finally.

“Uncle Moony needs to sleep,” Sirius says. “He doesn’t mind being alone for a bit.”

Harry shakes his head firmly. “We stay here.”

Sirius persuades him to at least go down to the parlor, which has become a de facto playroom. He manages to effectively distract Harry for a couple of hours, playing with his train set and enchanting his drawings to lift off the page and fly around the room, before Harry starts begging to see Remus again. Sirius hates denying him--there’s something about Remus’s absence that is obviously distressing Harry, more than he feels is normal, and the poor kid’s getting worked up about it.

“Okay,” Sirius says, unable to bear Harry’s teary eyes for another moment. He crouches so they’re eye-level. “But listen, Harry, Moony is pretty sick, okay? He’s going to be fine, but we have to be gentle with him.”

“Soft touches,” Harry says solemnly.

“Yeah, Haz. Soft touches only. And we can’t stay for very long. Moony needs his sleep.”

Harry hurries over to the bookshelf, pulls a book off of it, and brings it back over to Sirius.

“Read to Moony,” he says, and Sirius’s throat inexplicably tightens.

“Yeah, okay. Maybe he’d like that.” Merlin, how did this kid turn out so good and kind when all his life, he had only known cruelty? Sirius takes his hand, and they start up the stairs together.

Remus is still asleep when Sirius eases open the bedroom door and comes inside, Harry trailing a half-step behind him. Sirius leans over his partner and brushes the hair off his forehead. Remus comes awake at the touch, bloodshot eyes meeting his in silent question.

“Hey,” Sirius says softly. “You have a visitor who’s been very worried about you. Can he say hello?”

Remus nods, and Sirius lifts Harry onto the bed. Harry sits very still, careful not to touch Moony.

“Hey, Sprog,” Remus rasps. He manages to lift a hand and place it on Harry’s head, ruffling his hair gently. “I’m okay.”

“Did you get hurted?”

“A little bit,” Remus says. “But I’ll be fine.”

“Siri’s gonna read,” Harry says. He pats the space on the bed next to him. “Read, Siri!”

Sirius huffs. “Squirt thinks that you need a story read to you, to make you feel better.”

The corner of Remus’s mouth lifts. “I think that sounds like an excellent plan.”

So they pile into bed, sliding under the blankets, Harry cuddling up to Remus while Sirius cracks open the book. He doesn’t even get through the first page before Remus falls asleep, and Harry makes it halfway through the story before dropping off as well.

Sirius closes the book and stares down at the two of them, a knot forming in his chest. This is what he could have had, if he hadn’t been so stupid fourteen years ago. If he’d only insisted that Hagrid let him take Harry--or, hell, if he’d just done it anyway, Dumbledore and Hagrid be damned. If he’d only stopped to think, Harry wouldn’t have grown up in a cupboard and Remus wouldn’t have been all alone and they could have been a family.

He leans down, pressing a kiss first to Harry’s forehead and then to Remus’s, and watches over them while they sleep.

***

“Siri, what are these?” Harry pokes the dark ink that covers Sirius’s arms. They’ve got the fire going to stave off the chill that always seems to permeate Grimmauld, and it’s warm enough that Sirius is wearing an old band t-shirt Remus had brought him from the flat they used to share. Sentimental bastard. Sirius can’t believe he’s held on to the place for all these years.

Someday. Someday, when his name is cleared and Voldemort is cold in the ground, he’ll return to the home they had once shared with Harry in tow.

“Tattoos,” Sirius says. “They’re like drawings, but on your skin.”

“Are they magic?” Harry asks.

“Some of them are.” Sirius lifts the t-shirt high enough to show Harry the tattoo of the moon on his chest, the one that changes with the phases. As he does so, a pair of canine paw prints dart across his chest, down his ribs, and disappear behind his back. Harry gasps.

“Where did they go ?”

Sirius chuckles. “They’ll be back, just give them a second.”

Sure enough, the paw prints return, scampering across his chest before disappearing again, caught in an endless loop of frolicking across his body.

“I want tattoos!” Harry declares just as Remus comes into the room, carrying three mugs of hot chocolate with him.

“You’ll have to wait until you’re at least Padfoot’s age, my dear,” Remus says, passing out the hot chocolate. Sirius notes gratefully that he’s put Harry’s in a mug that’s been charmed to be un-spillable, so the hot liquid doesn’t slosh over the sides when Harry takes the mug too enthusiastically.

“But Siri is old.”

“Oi!”

“How about I show you some more magic?” Remus asks, which they have quickly learned is an effective way of distracting Harry.

“Yes, please!”

Remus sits down next to Harry, who immediately plasters himself to Remus’s side, and Sirius hides his smile behind the rim of his mug.

Of all the Marauders, Remus had been the one who was the most apprehensive about Harry’s birth. Sirius remembers the night Harry was born, how Remus had hung back while the baby was passed around, how reluctant he had been to hold Harry. James had finally pried it out of him that he was terrified of hurting Harry, that he was afraid that there was something innate in him that would make him harm the child. James would hear none of it, and had stuck Harry in Remus’s arms despite Remus’s vehement protests.

And of course baby Harry and Uncle Moony had taken to each other almost instantly. Fourteen years later, Sirius is gratified to see that hasn’t changed in the slightest. Harry watches in wonder as Remus casts a series of spells for him, clapping in delight at each one.

Eventually, Harry ends up in Remus’s lap while Remus reads him a story. But Harry’s attention soon wanders, and he gazes at Remus contemplatively while Remus pulls funny faces and does exaggerated voices for each of the characters.

“Moony,” he says abruptly, and Remus stops reading. Harry reaches out to touch his face, gently running one of his small hands over the scars that slash through his cheeks and nose.

“Yes, Harry?” Remus says softly.

Harry touches his own scar. “We match.”

Sirius watches as Remus visibly swallows.

“Yeah, baby.” He kisses the lightning-bolt scar. “We match.”

***

Between Remus’s duties for the Order, the full moons, and Sirius’s spiraling depression at being trapped in this horrid house again, they’ve had precious few moments of intimacy over the past several months. They share a bed whenever Remus is at Grimmauld, of course, but it’s rare anymore that they do more than simply sleep next to each other.

The universe seems to have aligned itself in their favor tonight, however. Harry falls asleep promptly at bedtime, Remus isn’t out on patrol, and Sirius’s mind is free of the fog that seems to crowd in whenever he isn’t occupied with taking care of Harry.

“Sirius.” Remus laughs against his mouth as Sirius tries--and fails--to quietly close the bedroom door behind them while also trying to peel Remus out of his clothes. They both stumble into the wall together, laughing, and Remus finally gets the door closed. Sirius immediately attacks his neck while his hands slide under Remus's cardigan. “Sirius, wait --”

Remus pulls Sirius’s wand out of where Sirius had hastily stuffed it in his back pocket and casts a quick locking spell, along with a one-way silencing charm.

“Oh,” Sirius says sheepishly. “Wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“I know,” Remus says. He tosses Sirius’s wand aside, and it rolls under the wardrobe. “ Now you can ravish me.”

Sirius does just that.

Well, he tries. They’ve finally--finally!--made it out of their clothes and to the bed when a soft knock on the door causes them both to freeze.

“Siri?” The door handle turns, but Harry is stopped by the locking charm. When he calls out again, his voice is softer, but more panicked. “Siri?”

Sirius lets his forehead drop onto Remus’s chest. He takes a steadying breath, and then reaches for Remus's wand (which he's sensibly left on the bedside table). Once Sirius cancels the silencing charm, he calls out, “I’m here, Harry. One minute.”

Slowly, they extricate themselves from one another, and Sirius takes his time gathering up his pyjamas and pulling them on again to give himself a chance to calm down. When he’s reasonably composed and Remus is dressed again as well, he opens the door. Harry looks up at him with wide, scared eyes.

“Hey, little one.” Sirius drops into a crouch. “Did you think I’d left, when I didn’t answer?”

Harry nods vigorously.

“I’m sorry. I promise that even if I don’t answer you right away, it’s not because I’m gone. Sometimes I’m just...a little busy.” Sirius ruffles Harry’s hair. “Now, what’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?”

Harry shakes his head, and then says a little shyly, “Wanted some water.”

“Ah, well, that’s easily fixed.” Sirius stands up and takes Harry’s hand. “Come on, let’s get you some water.”

Later, once Harry’s had his water and is tucked into bed again, Sirius curls up against Remus and says, “The mood’s gone, isn’t it?”

Remus rolls over and takes Sirius into his arms, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Sorry, love.”

“Now I know how Prongs and Lily must’ve felt.” Sirius sighs, burrowing closer. “They’re probably laughing at us right now.”

“Probably,” Remus says. “But I think they’re also very proud of you.”

Sirius snorts. “For what?”

“For looking after Harry while he’s like this.” Remus’s fingers find their way into his hair. “For taking such good care of him.”

Sirius doesn’t think that anything he does now can possibly make up for how utterly he had failed James and Lily--and Harry, and Remus--all those years ago, but Remus is already halfway to sleep, and this isn’t an argument worth dredging up again.

“Night, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the underside of Remus’s jaw, and Remus falls asleep with a smile on his face.

***

Sirius is dressing Harry one night after a bath when the little boy says, “Siri, are you my daddy now?”

“Er,” Sirius says, eloquently. “Well, um. It’s a bit complicated.”

Harry fiddles with the hem of his shirt, looking down at his feet. “You play with me.”

“Yes, I do,” Sirius says, bemused at the non-sequitur.

“And you give me baths and you buy me things.” Harry rubs his eye. “And you read me stories, and you hug me, and that’s what mums and dads do.”

Sirius has to draw in a sharp breath to hold the tears at bay. His throat is burning. He puts his hands on Harry’s tiny shoulders and squeezes gently. “And I love you.”

Harry meets his eyes carefully, as though to gauge whether Sirius is joking or not, and then he says, “Love you, too, Daddy.”

And that right there is what undoes him. Sirius pulls Harry into his lap, burying his face in that unruly mop of hair and letting the tears fall. He doesn’t deserve to be dad, especially not when he’s been absent for most of Harry’s life, but he thinks-- hopes --that James would forgive him for this.

It will be different now, James, he vows, believing with all his might that somewhere, his brother can hear him. Harry comes first. Nothing else matters but him. I promise you that.

Remus doesn’t hear the name until a few nights later, when Harry crawls up next to him on the sofa and says, “Uncle Moony, look what Daddy and I drawed.”

“Drew,” Remus corrects absently, raising his eyebrows at Sirius, who can only shrug helplessly. He takes the piece of parchment from Harry and says, “It’s lovely. Where should we hang it?”

Harry taps his chin thoughtfully, and then says, “Your room!”

“What an excellent idea,” Remus says, his eyes sparkling now with mirth as he looks at Sirius. “This is much better than what your daddy already has hanging on the walls.”

“Oi,” Sirius protests half-heartedly, because while he couldn’t remove the pictures of the bikini-clad girls, he at least had charmed them all to be pitch black so Harry wouldn’t see them whenever he came into the room.

The three of them go up to the bedroom, and Harry spends several minutes looking for the perfect spot on the wall to hang his drawing. He eventually chooses the spot next to where Sirius had hung the picture of the four Marauders, and Remus uses a Sticking Charm to keep it affixed to the wall.

“Daddy?” Remus murmurs to him as they make their way back downstairs, Harry hurrying ahead of them.

“He asked if he could use it,” Sirius says. “It felt cruel to tell him no. I--I don’t think James would mind. Do you?”

“No,” Remus says after a moment. “I don’t think he would.”

***

Sirius opts out of the next Order meeting--it’s not like anyone is going to let him do anything useful, and besides, he has Harry to look after. If anything comes up that he needs to know about, Remus will tell him. He also knows that the Order is being informed tonight about Harry’s predicament, and he doesn’t feel like answering any questions about it, or having anyone try to gawk at the little boy.

He should have taken Harry upstairs to play in his room. Instead, they’re playing in the parlor, and Molly Weasley pokes her head in after the meeting lets out.

“Oh, Sirius,” she sighs as she spots Harry on the floor. “Why didn’t you tell us what had happened?”

“We don’t want too many people knowing,” Sirius says. He shudders at the thought of what might happen if word gets back to Voldemort that Harry is a literal child right now.

“But we could have taken him in!” Molly cries. “He could have been looked after properly--”

“Properly?” Sirius gapes at her. “I am looking after him properly!”

“I’m sure you’re doing your best, dear, but really, you’ve never raised a child, and--”

“So what if I haven’t? I know how to look after my own godson.” Sirius gets to his feet and lifts Harry into his arms. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s past his bedtime.”

He sweeps out of the room, but she catches him before he reaches the stairs.

“Sirius,” she says gently, “this house is no place for a child. You know that better than any of us. There’s plenty of room at the Burrow with all of the children off at school, and there’s nothing dangerous in the house. Arthur and I can take him, it’s no trouble at all--”

At that, Harry bursts into tears.

“No, Daddy!” he wails, wrapping his thin arms around Sirius’s neck and burying his face in his godfather’s shoulder. “Don’ wan’ go!”

“You’re not going anywhere, Harry.” Sirius shoots Molly a murderous look while he rubs Harry’s back. “I’m not sending you away. You’re staying here.”

But Harry cannot be consoled--and then, of course, Walburga’s portrait wakes up.

“HALF-BREEDS AND BLOOD TRAITORS, DEFILING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS-- ”

Harry sobs and clings tighter to Sirius. Remus and Arthur, drawn by the commotion, come hurrying up from the basement kitchen.

“Deal with this, Remus, please?” Sirius asks tightly, and then takes the stairs two at a time up to his bedroom. He kicks the door shut and throws up a silencing charm, then crosses the room to set Harry on the bed. Harry’s hiccuping around his sobs now, and Sirius is afraid he’s going to start hyperventilating.

“Harry, Harry, listen to me,” he says, taking the boy’s small hands in his own. “I’m not giving you away, okay? I’m never letting anyone take you from me. You’re staying right here. You aren’t going away.”

He’s babbling, repeating himself over and over, but he needs Harry to understand. He sits on the bed and gathers Harry to him, rocking him, wishing he could convey by touch alone that he isn’t leaving Harry, that he never will.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he says, over and over and over. “You’re staying with me.”

Harry slowly starts to calm. Tears still leak out of his eyes, but his gasping sobs taper off. Sirius continues to rock him, murmuring reassurances while Harry clings to him.

Remus opens the door, which breaks the silencing charm and causes Harry to jump, but the house beyond is blessedly silent. He must have silenced Walburga and got the Weasleys to leave. Thank all the gods for Remus.

“Harry.” Remus crawls onto the bed with them, presses kisses to Harry’s tear-stained cheeks. “No one’s taking you away from Siri. You’re staying right here. I promise.”

Harry reaches for Remus, and Sirius hands him over. Remus hugs him close, which gives Sirius a moment to wipe his own cheeks and compose himself. He can only imagine how Harry had felt, terrified that he was about to lose the family he had just started feeling comfortable with.

There’s no way Sirius is sending Harry to bed in his own room tonight, not after all that. After lots of cuddles from both of them, he finally calms down enough for Sirius to help him wash his face and change into pyjamas, and then he tucks Harry into bed with them. Remus starts to read him a story, but the afternoon has exhausted him so thoroughly that he falls asleep almost instantly.

Sirius and Remus settle down on either side of him, facing each other. Sirius rests a hand on Harry’s back, which rises and falls with his breathing.

“I can’t believe she’d--”

“I know.” Remus covers Sirius’s hand with his own. “She truly does mean well, Sirius, but I agree that it was completely inappropriate, especially in front of Harry.”

“Does she truly think so little of me? Does everyone else?” Sirius swallows a lump in his throat. “Do you?”

“What?” Remus’s hand tightens on his. “No, of course I don’t. You’re wonderful with him, Sirius. Anyone can see that.”

“I think I’m better with him as a four-year-old than I am when he’s a fifteen-year-old,” Sirius admits.

“That’s not true,” Remus says firmly. “I know that he’s your whole world, Sirius, but you’re also his. He adores you, at any age.”

“He hasn’t used the mirror,” Sirius says quietly. Remus knows that Sirius had given it to Harry after the Christmas hols, but Sirius hadn’t yet admitted to him that Harry hadn’t used it.

Remus is quiet for a while.

“It’s not that he doesn’t love you,” he says finally. “Or that he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Sirius can’t admit out loud that that’s exactly how it feels.

“I think,” Remus goes on. “I think, in his mind, he believes he’s protecting you by not using it.”

Sirius frowns. “How would that be protecting me ?”

“You know how Umbridge has been this year,” Remus says. “He’s probably afraid that she might be able to monitor the mirror, somehow. That she’ll trace it to you, and you’ll be caught. You know that he’s terrified of that, right?”

Harry has never said as much, but Sirius suspects it, yes.

“I should be the one protecting him,” he mutters miserably.

Remus runs a hand over Harry’s unruly hair while the boy slumbers on.

“You are, Padfoot,” he whispers.

***

They’re stretched out on the parlor floor one afternoon, coloring on spare bits of parchment with some Muggle things Remus picked up called markers. Harry’s drawing an elaborate picture full of unicorns and dragons and flames. Sirius thinks he’s managing to draw a passable cat.

“Siri?” Harry asks. “Why do you kiss Uncle Moony?”

“Because I love Uncle Moony,” Sirius answers promptly, smiling as he watches Remus go pink. “That’s what you do when you love someone.”

“Like how Dad loved Mum?”

“Exactly.”

“Are you and Uncle Moony married, too?”

“Not yet,” Sirius says cheekily, and now Remus turns bright red. “Someday.”

“I didn’ know boys can get married,” Harry says as he colors in one of the dragon’s wings.

“Yes, we can,” Sirius says, figuring simplicity is the best tactic here. He doesn’t think it would be useful to get into the differences between Muggle and wizarding laws with a four-year-old.

“Okay,” Harry says. “Can I come?”

“To our wedding?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course you can.” Sirius scoops Harry into his arms, eliciting a bright laugh from the boy. “You can even be my best man.”

“Sirius, you haven’t even asked me yet!” Remus complains, tactfully choosing not to mention that Sirius isn’t even a free man yet.

Sirius ignores him and peppers Harry’s face with kisses. Harry squeals and tries to squirm away from him.

“Itchy!” he cries between giggles.

“Itchy?” Sirius exclaims in faux outrage. “Did you hear that, Moony? Sprog doesn’t like my beard!”

“You could use a shave, Pads,” Remus says.

“ I could use a shave?” Sirius asks. “What about you and that thing you’ve got on your lip?”

“Two years I’ve had this, and you’ve never complained about it before,” Remus points out, sounding far too smug for his own good. “In fact, the other night, I distinctly remember you saying--”

“Oi, there are tiny ears here!”

Later, after Harry’s gone down for a nap, Remus corners Sirius in the kitchen.

“For what it’s worth,” he says in a low voice, fingers toying with the collar of Sirius’s shirt, “I would marry you in a heartbeat.”

“Oh?” Sirius manages.

“Mm. But I expect a proper proposal, Mr Padfoot.”

Sirius grins, wrapping his arms around Remus’s waist and thinking they might be able to put Harry’s naptime to good use after all. “Of course, Mr Moony.”

***

Sirius wakes when his bedroom door creaks open. Beside him, Remus snuffles in his sleep and turns over. Remus has been on guard duty every night for almost a week straight, and he’s exhausted. Otherwise, he likely would have woken at the sound of Harry leaving his bed and tip-toeing down the hall.

“Daddy?” Harry’s voice is so, so small, and it cracks with tears.

“Come here,” Sirius whispers, pulling back the blankets. Harry hurries across the room to the bed, and Sirius helps him onto the mattress. He’s got his dragon stuffie under one arm, and he latches onto Sirius’s t-shirt with his other hand. “What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?”

Harry nods against his chest. Sirius holds him tighter.

“Can you tell me about it?”

Harry is quiet for a long while, his face hidden in Sirius’s shirt.

“Uncle Vernon,” he whispers finally.

“What did Uncle Vernon do?”

“He hitted me,” Harry says. “And then--and then he put me in the cupboard. It was dark, Siri.”

“You’re never going to see him again.” Sirius rubs Harry’s back. “And we don’t put people in cupboards here. Not ever.”

“Promise?” Harry asks in a small voice.

“I promise.” Sirius presses a kiss to his messy hair. “Do you want to stay with us tonight?”

Harry nods vigorously, so Sirius settles him in the middle of the bed and pulls up the blankets around them. Remus, still dead to the world, slumbers on, but he shifts closer to Harry in his sleep as the wolf catches the scent of its cub. The two of them form a cocoon around Harry, and he snuggles happily into Sirius’s pillow.

“Try to sleep, baby,” Sirius whispers to him. “We’ll keep you safe.”

***

Remus gets home late from patrol one night, weary down to his bones. Usually Sirius waits up for him on nights like this, so he’s surprised when he climbs the stairs to see that the light is off in their room, but Harry’s is still on.

He eases open the door and lets out a soft, involuntary laugh. Sirius is sprawled face-down on Harry’s bed, fast-asleep, and Harry’s quietly flipping through one of his picture books by the light of his dragon lamp. When he spots Remus in the doorway, he grins.

“Moony!” he says happily, and Remus presses a finger to his lips.

“What are you still doing awake, little one?” he whispers, coming over to the bed.

“Siri fell asleep,” Harry says, “but he didn’ finish the book. Moony can finish?”

“Not tonight, darling,” Remus says. Much as he hates to deny Harry anything, he’s about three seconds away from falling asleep on his feet. “Tell you what. If you go to sleep right now, Siri and I will both read you a book each tomorrow night before bed.”

“Two books?” Harry looks like Christmas has come early. “Okay!”

“Do you want me to wake Siri, or do you want him to stay here?”

“Stay,” Harry says.

“Okay. Come on, let’s get you tucked in.” Remus sets Harry’s book aside and arranges the blankets around both him and Sirius. He kisses Harry’s cheek and says, “Goodnight, love. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Daddy needs a kiss,” Harry whispers, and Remus stifles another laugh.

“You’re absolutely right.” He leans over Harry and kisses his partner’s forehead. Sirius doesn’t even stir. “Goodnight, Padfoot.”

As exhausted as he is, Remus only manages a few hours of sleep. Dawn finds him in the basement kitchen, making himself a cup of tea and wearily resigned to the persistent dull ache in his bones. He’s still a couple of weeks out from the next full, but he feels the effects of it earlier and earlier as he ages.

He hears when Sirius wakes up and slips out of Harry’s room. His heightened senses pick up Sirius’s quiet footsteps as he walks down the hall to their room and then, finding it empty, pads down the stairs in search of him.

“So you were just going to let me sleep with the four-year-old all night?” Sirius grumbles as he slips his arms around Remus’s waist from behind, and Remus huffs.

“You looked comfortable. Besides, Harry wanted you to stay. Wore you out, did he?”

“Kids are exhausting,” Sirius agrees happily. “I want another one.”

Remus pauses with his cup halfway to his mouth. He sets it down carefully, then turns in Sirius’s arms so they’re facing each other. Sirius’s expression is painfully earnest.

“A child,” he says.

“Yes.”

“With me.”

“That’s the idea.”

Remus settles his hands on Sirius’s chest. He can hear Sirius’s nervous, rapid-fire heartbeat; feel the thud of it beneath his fingers. There are so many reasons to say no--legally, he’s not allowed children of his own; they’re in the middle of yet another war; they’ve got to keep Harry safe and alive--but he finds himself nodding instead.

Sirius kisses him, and Remus feels the curl of his smile against his mouth. And then he hears the patter of much smaller footsteps down the stairs, and Harry bursts into the kitchen.

“Siri, I’m hungry!” he announces, and Sirius releases Remus to scoop Harry into his arms. How far he’s come in only a few weeks, Remus muses. He’s not even asking for what he needs anymore, but telling them outright. It’s refreshing.

“Breakfast is coming right up,” Sirius says, kissing Harry’s cheek before setting him on the countertop. “Let’s see...how about some fish?”

“No!”

“No? Alright, then we’ll have some asparagus.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “No!”

“Hm.” Sirius puts his hands on his hips. “I’m running out of ideas here, kid. Broccoli?”

“No, Daddy, eggs! And bacon!”

“Of course!” Sirius makes a show of smacking his forehead. Harry giggles. “Eggs and bacon, how could I forget? Stay right there, you can help me crack the eggs.”

Remus watches their banter from the table with a smile tugging at his lips. He sips his tea and thinks he could get used to a life like this.

***

At the first crack of thunder, Harry jumps, but gallantly tries to return to his coloring as though he’s completely unbothered by the springtime storm gaining strength outside. The second boom startles him so badly that he botches a line on the unicorn he’s drawing. The third rattles all the glass in the room, and Harry hastily wipes a hand across his eyes.

“Harry.” Sirius slides off the sofa to join Harry on the floor. “Honey, are you scared?”

Harry shakes his head vigorously, even though his eyes are watery. “No, ‘m not a baby.”

Another crash of thunder, and Harry lets out a whimper.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Sirius assures him. He puts his hands under Harry’s armpits and plucks him off the floor. Harry wraps his arms around his neck, hiding his face from the lightning in Sirius’s shirt. “Even adults can be afraid of storms. I don’t much like them myself. Come on, let’s go see what Moony is up to.”

The sound of the storm is muted in the basement kitchen, where Remus is puttering around the hob while the wireless murmurs at a low volume. He looks up as they enter.

“They say the storm’s going to last all night,” he says, correctly interpreting the source of Harry’s distress. “I thought some hot chocolate would help. How does that sound?”

Harry is still hiding his face in Sirius’s shirt, and he shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

Sirius’s heart tugs. Harry never turns down hot chocolate. “What would make you feel better?”

Harry looks up at him hopefully. “Make the storm stop.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Even magic can’t control the weather,” Sirius says. “Do you want us to read to you?”

Harry shakes his head. Sirius racks his brain for something else.

“Erm...we could build a fort?” The abundance of sofas and armchairs in Grimmauld Place means an excess of cushions, and there are plenty of blankets from the unused beds to use for a fort. “Play with your Quidditch set?”

“No, Siri.” Harry’s voice takes on a hint of a whine, and Sirius feels a bit of pride that Harry’s now comfortable enough with them to actually act like a child. “Um...Dudley got to watch telly.”

“During storms?” Sirius asks, rubbing Harry’s back, and gets a nod.

“Yeah. Aun’ Petunia an’ Uncle Vernon let him watch telly in their room.”

Sirius casts Remus a helpless glance. There’s nothing remotely Muggle in Grimmauld Place, let alone a television. Remus looks equally unhappy for a moment, and then his face lights up.

“Hold on,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

Sirius tightens his hold on Harry as Remus hurries out of the room. Now all he can think about is his godson, his baby, being locked in a cupboard and terrified out of his mind while his cousin received comfort and cuddles and love.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he says. “I promise.”

Harry looks up at him, green eyes full of nothing but trust. “I know, Daddy.”

The kitchen door opens, and Remus sticks his head back in the room. His eyes are gleaming with mischief. “Come upstairs.”

Sirius follows Remus up to their bedroom, still holding Harry. The storm outside continues to rage, and though Harry remains completely silent, Sirius can feel him trembling.

When they enter the bedroom, it takes Sirius a moment to understand what he’s seeing, and once he does, he laughs in delight.

“You still have this thing?” he says, going over to the bed and settling on it with Harry. The television Remus has set up in the room was one of the first things they’d bought after moving in together, an extravagance they couldn’t really afford after spending most of Alphard’s gold on their flat, but it had felt right that Sirius’s first purchase of his new life had been something so Muggle. The hours he and Remus had spent curled up together on the sofa, watching all the fascinating programmes Muggles came up with…

“I’d honestly forgotten about it until now,” Remus admits. “After you...went away, I put it in the spare room with the rest of your things. Couldn’t bear to watch it alone. But we got it to work in the flat, so I thought it’d be worth a try here.”

They’d lived in one of the wizarding districts in London, so their flat had been drenched in magic and it had been notoriously difficult to get anything that ran on electricity to work there. It had been a fun challenge, inventing the right spells that would allow Muggle appliances to run on magic alone. They’d managed it with the television, though, and Remus is right--it’s worth a try.

He taps it with his wand, and the screen comes to life immediately. Harry gasps.

“A magic telly?”

“You can get any programme on it you want,” Remus tells him. “What would you like to watch?”

They find some cartoons for Harry, and he watches them from the safety of Sirius’s arms. Every time he’s about to nod off, it seems, there’s another deafening crash of thunder and he jumps, but he’s no longer shaking or crying. The distraction seems to be helping.

When Sirius finally carries Harry to bed, it’s nearing four in the morning and the storm has finally blown itself out. Harry fell asleep ages ago, but Sirius hadn’t wanted to put him in his own bed until the storm had passed, so that there wasn’t a risk of Harry waking up in the middle of it scared and alone.

Sirius tucks Harry into bed with his dragon stuffie.

“I love you, baby,” he whispers, brushing the hair back from Harry’s forehead so he can kiss the lightning-bolt scar. “Now and forever.”

***

Harry opens his eyes, and knows immediately that the potion has worn off. He’s fifteen again. He’s got gangly limbs and spots on his face and the fate of the entire wizarding world riding on his shoulders. The realization sinks like a stone in his gut. This past month with Sirius has been one of the best he’s ever had. He isn’t ready for it to be over.

He glances at the clock. It’s nearly eight. Sirius or Remus will probably be by to wake him soon. Sighing, Harry swings his legs over the side of the bed and takes stock of himself. His Snitch-patterned pyjamas magically resized themselves, so they still fit him perfectly. At least he will be able to take this piece of the past month with him, as proof that it had been real.

He pauses for a moment outside Sirius’s door, but Moony’s already heard him.

“Come in, Harry,” Moony calls, in that gentle voice reserved for Harry’s four-year-old self, and it’s absurd how that alone can make his eyes prickle. He’s going to miss that voice.

Harry eases open the door and steps into the room. “Um. Hi.”

Both his guardians’ eyes widen in surprise, but they recover quickly.

“Hello, you.” Sirius sets aside his crossword and pats the bed. “It finally wore off, I see. How do you feel?”

Harry goes to sit on the bed next to Sirius’s feet. “Fine, I think.”

“Yeah?” Sirius reaches for his wand. “Mind if I do a couple of diagnostic spells?”

Harry shakes his head, so Sirius scans him.

“Well, Poppy will probably want to do a more thorough examination, but you check out fine to me.” Sirius puts his wand back on the bedside table and then settles a hand on Harry’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb in small circles. His eyes search Harry’s face. “You okay?”

The most Harry can manage is a shrug. He doesn’t know how he’s feeling, not really.

“I’ll get us some tea,” Moony says, and he slips quietly from the room. Sirius swings his legs over the side of the bed so he’s sitting next to Harry, their shoulders pressed together.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

“It was nice,” Harry admits. “You, taking care of me. I’m sad that it’s over.”

“Oh, love.” Sirius reaches up and runs a hand through Harry’s hair. “Who said anything about it being over? Sure, you might not need me to give you baths anymore, and you’re definitely too big now for me to carry up to bed, but I’m still going to take care of you. The way I should have been doing since your parents died.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Yes, I do,” Sirius says firmly. “And more than that, I want to. I take it you have all your memories from this past month?”

Harry nods.

“Then you should know how much I mean that,” Sirius says. “I want to take care of you, I want to look after you. This past month wasn’t a hardship, Harry, it was a joy. I’m not going to lie: I’m sad it’s over, too. But that doesn’t mean we’re going back to how things were before.”

“What do you mean?”

“For starters, you’re not going back to the Dursleys. I don’t care what Dumbledore says.”

Harry’s heart soars, but he forces himself to tamp down on the excitement. He’s been offered hope and had it snatched away too many times in his life already. “Okay.”

“And,” Sirius says, a stern note creeping into his voice, “we need to talk about the mirror.”

Harry looks away. He doesn’t want to talk about this. “Yeah.”

“I want you to use it.”

“Yeah, okay, I will,” Harry says, trying to infuse sincerity into his voice. It clearly doesn’t work, because Sirius takes his chin gently in his hand and forces Harry to look at him.

“Once a week,” he says firmly. “I want you to call me once a week. Promise?”

Harry can’t promise that, and he can’t lie to Sirius, so he says nothing. Sirius sighs, dropping his hand.

“Harry, I don’t understand. Why won’t you call? Your dad and I--”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m less like my dad than you thought,” Harry snaps.

Hurt flashes across Sirius’s face, and then he looks supremely guilty.

“Knew that was going to come back to bite me in the arse,” he mutters, and then he sighs. “Harry, it was wrong of me to say that to you. I don’t have an excuse for it, except that I’m trapped in this Merlin-forsaken house and utterly useless to the Order--well, useless to everyone, really--”

“Not to me!” Harry interrupts vehemently, and Sirius falls silent. “I need you, Sirius. You came back into the country and lived in a cave and ate rats just because I said my scar hurt! What if--what if you go off and do something else reckless because of something I say? I don’t want you to get hurt! Or worse!”

Sirius scrubs a hand over his face.

“Bloody hell, Moony was right,” he mutters. “Right, listen. I want you to call me using the mirror once a week. If I don’t hear from you, then I will storm the castle and to hell with the consequences. But as long as you use that mirror...I promise not to leave this house. For any reason.”

Harry considers this. Letters from Sirius are nice, of course they are, but being able to actually talk to him is loads better. He’d love to use the mirror once a week to chat with his godfather, without having to worry about what Sirius will do afterward.

“I promise I won’t do anything reckless,” Sirius implores. “I intend to stay alive for you, Harry. Good?”

“Good,” Harry says.

Sirius puts a warm hand on his shoulder. “Anything else you want to talk about before I tell Moony it’s safe to come back?”

“Um.” Harry picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. “So I can remember everything from this past month.”

“Yes?”

“And I, um, was wondering…” Harry trails off. Get it together, Potter. You’re a Gryffindor! “I was wondering if--if I could still call you Dad. Sometimes. If that’s okay.”

Sirius doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Harry quickly panics, and he opens his mouth to take it back, but then suddenly Sirius’s arms are around him and he’s being hugged within an inch of his life.

“It’s okay,” Sirius says into his hair, and Harry lets out a relieved breath, hugging Sirius back just as tightly. They stay like that for a while, until finally Sirius pulls back. His eyes are suspiciously bright, and he clasps the back of Harry’s neck fondly. “Right. Let’s get some breakfast in you, and then Moony’s going to escort you back to school.”

Harry feels himself deflate at that. Of course he knows he has to go back to Hogwarts, but the thought of having to face Umbridge again--not to mention Snape and Occlumency--is almost unbearable. As much as Sirius hates this house, for Harry, it’s a refuge. He spent a happy month here with his godfather. He doesn’t want it to be over.

“We’ll bring you back here for the summer,” Sirius says, rubbing his thumb over the back of Harry’s neck in a soothing manner. “Even if I have to kidnap you from the platform myself.”

Harry bites his lip. Then, he holds up his pinky finger. “Promise?”

Sirius laughs and wraps his pinky around Harry’s. “Promise.”

And then Harry used the mirror instead of running off to the Department of Mysteries, and then Sirius got his name cleared, and then he and Remus adopted an orphaned werewolf cub named Teddy, and then they got married and Harry was Sirius’s best man, and then Harry defeated Voldemort and the four of them lived happily ever after, the end.