I Mean Imagine Him Saying To Lucius "I Am Good At Escaping... Right Under People's _noses_" And Lucius

The brothers Black

It's late. He should go to sleep. He has Harry to look after now, he should set a better example.

The said teen is sitting on the floor beside him, and for a moment Sirius is caught in the nostalgia of just how much Harry reminds him of himself.

It's a bad thing, really. He wasn't the best guy around. Hell, Sirius thinks he was probably a menace to even think about. Harry, Harry is better. Sirius remembers picking up the newborn Harry Potter in his hands and hugging him. Sirius remembers closing his eyes and apologising to the ghost of a dead Regulus because Sirius had never hugged his baby brother as much as he deserved.

Sirius puts off his cigarette and runs a hand down his face. Fuck.

Reggie.

Beside him, Harry looks at him with worried eyes. "We don't have to continue, Sirius," he says, perceptive boy. "I can leave—"

"Not necessary, kid," he says, pulling out the last of photos from the shoe box. Harry shuffles closer, almost cuddling him. Sirius quietly points out the people he never got to see grow older. Marlene, her puns and her affinity for everything yellow. Pandora, her heart and her necessity to constantly have chocolates on her person. Dorcas, her loud army boots and bright sundresses.

The last photo in his hand doesn't belong in the shoebox.

It's Reggie and him, Sirius has his brother in his arms and his lips pressed to Reggie's head, eyes closed tight. But it's Sirius, he knows this moment.

Three weeks before Sirius started Hogwarts, Reggie was sure that Hogwarts would steal his brother from him.

(Didn't it?)

Poor boy had been promising to be the best brother in the world, begging Sirius to keep loving him.

Sirius doesn't know when tears blurred his eyes but the ache in his chest comes back full force at his brother's innocent face, still red because of crying and eyes scrunched up close behind Sirius' hand. Sirius was supposed to protect him. Keep his eyes closed, never show him the blood and death that was carved into their fate.

"Regulus." Harry breathes beside Sirius and even the boy sounds pained. He leans further into Sirius and Sirius. Sirius is a greedy man. He takes the opportunity with desperation and puts his arm around Harry's shoulder, pulls him in.

(Everyone he touches will turn out dead. But Harry can't be dead, no, that's his boy, that's his child, he can't, no, not his boy—)

As they've done with every other picture, Sirius turned the photo behind to read who clicked it and when, even if he remembers the dates like they're tattooed on his spine.

But the back of the photo isn't only that. It reads,

Dearest Siri,

I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am. For the first time in my life, words fail me. I've failed everything you've ever tried to teach me— all in for a blind wish that was always impossible.

I've heard your silence, I've heard your screams and it seems that it's all I can remember. I am your shadow, no matter how much mother and father try to force the fact to be false. I want your presence, brother. I do not know how to exist without you. It is the only demand I can still make from fate— for even fate will have to pry you from my dead hands.

You are my brother. You are an ache in my chest and nowadays, I only ever breathe to feel this ache. The letters you've written to me are in my room, you will know where. The letters I've never sent you will be there. Burn them, Siri. I am going down a path of betrayal— towards you, towards our name, towards James, towards the Dark Lord as well. Of all the betrayals I've committed, my biggest regret will be not seeing you before I walk towards death.

Remember me, Siri. Let me stay alive with you. Let me take a part of you as I die.

Yours,

RA Reggie.

Clicked by Andromeda, 18/8/71

Panic burns through Sirius and he's heaving— choking on his tears and sobs and gasps.

His brother. His baby brother. He clutches the photo tighter and cradles it to his heart and wails. Regulus.

The ache in his chest blooms anew and Sirius wants to claw at his chest and find that piece of Regulus that's always lived beside Sirius' heart. Brother. My brother. My only brother. My little brother.

Regulus. Regulus. Reggie. Reggie. Reggie. Baby. Reg. Ree. Reg. Reggie.

Sirius slams his fist on the floor and he welcomes the pain that comes with it, his sobs almost cover the thuds his fist is making and he doesn't want to live. His brother. An open wound in his chest, his brother. Sirius wants to burn himself alive, like Reggie wanted to burn those letters.

"My brother." He wails, not sure if anyone will understand what he's saying but he doesn't expect them to, no one will ever understand just what his brother is, was.

There's a hand on his shoulder and Sirius heaves again. He has failed everyone he cared for, and he failed his blood the most. His boy, his brave Reggie.

Harry doesn't speak but keeps his hold on Sirius' elbow and Sirius wishes he would choke him or plunge his hand in Sirius' chest and drag his heart out— Reggie died with a wish to see Sirius, his poor brother, his baby, his Reggie— he doesn't want to live knowing how Reggie suffered and sobbed.

Because even if his brother is dead, Sirius is alive and thus, so is Reggie. Sirius can feel the sobs that must have wrecked Reggie, he can hear all the whimpers Reggie had to subside because he couldn't wake Mother and he can feel all the bile in his throat that his brother must have thrown up during one of his panic episodes.

And now, Harry rises up on his knees and holds Sirius— as Sirius was holding Reggie in that photo. As Harry's hand covers his eyes, Sirius feels the darkness that must have been the last thing Reggie saw.

i think he would heal harry before the reprimand

“are you trying to make me angry?”

The question comes out as more of a demand, but Harry is surprised to hear Sirius’ voice as soft and firm instead of the loud and angry tone he would have expected with such a statement.

Regardless, it’s enough to render Harry silent and send his gaze to his shoes, which are dirty and splattered with stray flecks of blood.

“You don’t take curses for me,” Sirius states plainly, akin to saying the sky is blue or Blast-Ended Skrewts are dangerous. His eyes are steel as they flicker down to the side of Harry’s t-shirt, which is slowly turning crimson. “You don’t jump in front of any spell headed for me. I don’t care if it’s Avada Kedavra or Felix Felicis in some sort of miraculous charm form. You. Don’t. Do. That. Do you hear me?” Each word comes out short and punches Harry straight in the gut.

Harry can only nod wordlessly, his eyes fixed to the floor. Sirius takes a step closer and gently forces Harry’s chin upwards with his forefinger. 

“I protect you remember?” Sirius says softly. “That’s the gift I was lucky to receive when your parents made me your godfather. I look out for you. Not the other way around. You got it?”

Harry nods again, his own eyes burning as he looks into Sirius’ own grey ones. Behind the frustration, Harry realizes, he can only see pure love. 

Sirius sighs and releases Harry’s chin, instead slinging his arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“C’mon. Let’s get that side checked out.” 

im rusty. so rusty. and also extremely late for christmas. i may as well have waited 350 days until the holidays came around again, but im trying to write more this year, so hear you go? eek im nervous. please pardon any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes. enjoy! also tumblr doesn't seem to have line breaks so sorry if any time jumps are confusing.

also a warning for language and mentions of wanting to step in front of a bus as an extreme response to being embarrassed. i swear this is all fluff otherwise.

Harry doesn't know what to get Sirius for Christmas.

Well, to clarify, Harry doesn't know if he can get Sirius anything adequately worth a damn. Because how can a game (magical or not) or piece of art or trinket or any sort of anything say hey Merry Christmas and by the way, thanks for saving me from my horrible abusive household where I lived in a cupboard and for wrangling a fucked up wizarding judicial system so that it both exonerates you from a murder you didn't commit and lets you adopt a kid you only properly met six months ago.

Harry would also like the gift (if he ever manages to find something) to say also thank you for giving me my own bedroom and for making pancakes every Saturday morning and for letting me visit my friends and for playing two-man Quidditch with me and for ruffling my hair and for always letting me pick the film that we watch and for telling me stories about my parents and for always being just enough and for not pushing me when I have nothing to say and for calling me by my name instead of shouting boy angrily-

Harry figures that he should cut himself off there. Any more gratitudes and the gift will literally be impossible to find, lest it be the size of Hogwarts in an effort to cram any and all unspoken messages Harry doesn't have the courage to voice out loud.

So Harry does what he usually does in a sticky situation. He turns to his friends.

No clue mate, Ron writes. I normally get Mum perfume and Dad whatever Muggle trinket he's been obsessing over. So unless Sirius wants a rubber duck, I probably won't be much help. But you could probably give him one and he'd be ecstatic. You're pretty much his favorite person right now.

Ah bloody hell. Do you think I should get Sirius something as a thanks for Pig?

Even though he's sure Ron's right (although Padfoot might enjoy a rubber duck more than Sirius), Harry doesn't have time to add Ron's own gift conundrum to his list of problems, so he turns to Hermione, who ends up being a bit more helpful.

I know you said that Sirius was interested in curse-breaking and how it can be used to help with cleaning up Grimmauld Place, so maybe something pertaining to that? A book or starter kit? Or perhaps something a bit more personal, something he couldn't just buy in a shop. Don't worry too much, Harry. He'll love whatever it is you give him because it's you.

Harry disregards the book suggestion immediately. Sirius does read; over the holiday break the two of them have taken to sitting quietly on opposite sides of the couch in the sitting room, reading books from the Black family library and munching on the latest treat Mrs. Weasley has sent them while flames blaze in the fireplace, only breaking the peaceful quiet occasionally to share whatever interesting passage has just been read. But Harry doesn't want to give a present that reminds Sirius of the exhausting work they do every day trying to make Grimmauld Place a habitable home.

Hermione's other suggestion, however, gets Harry thinking. Something he couldn't just buy in a shop. That obviously eliminates all of the last-resort items Harry had on his mental list, as they were dumb things he had planned to frantically order by mail once he gave up on the idea of finding something good enough for Sirius. But it also opens up a new idea, something that Harry himself had appreciated when he had received it a few years ago.

He begins firing off letters and mail-in order forms with an efficiency Hermione would admire. The owls return in quick fashion, up to three or four a day. Sirius doesn't notice anything at first, but when Hedwig taps on the kitchen window for the second time that day during breakfast, he gets up and lets her in with a raised eyebrow at Harry.

"Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment?" he asks, somewhat incredulously, peering at the label on the package. "Harry, love, you know we can just go to Diagon Alley whenever you'd like. No need to rely on owl post if you're running low on supplies."

Harry flushes and snatches the small, soft package from Hedwig, stuffing it under his armpit and looking determinedly at his porridge. He hopes he doesn't have ACTUALLY IT'S PART OF YOUR CHRISTMAS PRESENT written all over his face.

"It's fine," he shrugs, aiming for casual nonchalance with his tone. "It's just a small thing. No point in going all the way down to Diagon Alley. Besides, the crowds would drive you crazy. They'd probably give you a concussion trying to get a picture."

Sirius grimaces, probably thinking of their last attempt to go for an ice cream at Fortescue's shortly before Harry had left for the fall term. They'd returned to Grimmauld Place ice cream-less and with a giant tear down the front of Harry's robes.

"Nothing a Glamour Charm wouldn't fix," he responds, grabbing his own empty bowl and bringing it to the sink. "Anyway, it's not fair for us to be shut up in this damned house because some people can't behave themselves in public. You just let me know whenever you want to go out, alright? I promise I won't breathe down your neck while you look at potions ingredients and whatnot. Even if they all suspiciously happen to be ingredients for an Enlarging Potion."

He manages to ruffle Harry's hair before the boy squawks out a "Sirius!" and darts out the kitchen, cackling in response to Harry's sputtered "I'm not... I wouldn't... SIRIUS!"

As Christmas approaches, Harry begins to stay up later and later into the night, working frantically to finish Sirius' present. One late night (or early morning, really), he hears a gentle knock on his door. He jumps and shoves the half completed project under his comforter.

"Come in!"

Sirius peeks his head through the cracked open door. "Are you alright? I was getting a glass of water and noticed your light was still on."

Harry nods, trying to convey a casualness he doesn't feel beneath the stress of wanting to have the present ready by Christmas morning. "Yes. Fine. I was just... reading." He reaches for his nightstand and holds up the latest book he's knicked from the Black family library for this exact purpose.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "You sure? I've read that one before. Couldn't last more than thirty seconds at a time without falling asleep."

Harry glances at the cover. He hasn't even cracked it open yet. "It's actually quite interesting. I've always been fascinated by... the evolution of wizarding legalese from 1500 to 1800." He internally winces as the subject matter is finally made apparent to his sleep-deprived brain.

Sirius pauses, clearly sensing that something's up. He must decide that now's not the time to probe further because he says, "Alright. You're stronger than me, then. Let me know if you need anything though." He begins to retreat and close the bedroom door but stops right before he actually does. "I forgot, " he murmurs, opening the door wide and stepping fully into Harry's bedroom. He approaches Harry where he's sitting on his bed. Harry tries to discretely shove the half-finished present further under the covers. "You had a letter downstairs. We must have missed it earlier. I only saw it when I was getting water." He hands over a rather thick envelope to Harry, who flips it over, notes the name of the sender, and smiles, relieved.

Sirius lets out a small puff of air, and Harry looks up at the sound. Sirius pastes on a rather strained smile. "Do you often write to Mrs. Weasley?"

Harry's brain scrambles for a response. "Erm. Not really."

He doesn't say anything else, unsure how to explain away the situation convincingly. A rather awkward silence settles between them. Sirius looks as if he's summoning the courage to say something.

Sirius takes a deep breath. "I'm here if you ever want to talk, Harry. I know the Weasley's have always been great to you, and I never want to feel like you're getting that taken away. But, I just want you to know that I'm also here, in addition to them. For anything. No questions asked or judgement cast. Alright?"

The letter slips out of Harry's grip, as he frantically waves his hands in front of him, desperate to correct Sirius' perception of the situation. "Oh, no, Sirius, I know! I swear it. We were just... planning Ron's birthday present this year. They wanted to throw him a party." The fib comes easily.

Sirius visibly relaxes. "Oh. Ron's birthday's not until April though."

"Yes," Harry's brain scrambles for an explanation. "But you know how Mrs. Weasley is. Always trying to stay ahead. She's already starting to plan the menu. Fretting between bacon sandwiches or chicken legs for the main course."

Sirius shakes his head, a genuine smile starting to form on his face. "Well you know my vote is always for chicken legs. Assuming I'm invited of course."

"You know you're always invited. Mrs. Weasley always wants an opportunity to make sure you're feeding me properly," Harry rolls his eyes. "And Ron thinks you're pretty cool too. Even though you broke his leg."

Sirius gives him a mock scowl. "Hey now! I wasn't in my right mind that night. And I gave him an owl to make up for it! Even though I was probably doing myself more of a favor than him. That damned owl was driving me mad."

Harry giggles, and Sirius' smile grows wider at the sound. He lets out a dramatic sigh and leans over to ruffle Harry's hair, ignoring the sounds of protest that come in response to the action.

"Alright then, love. I'm off to bed. Shout if you need anything, and I'll be here in faster than you can say chicken legs. You hear me?"

Harry nods. "Yes sir."

Sirius scowls for real this time. "None of that now, remember?"

Harry nods again, this time rather sheepishly. Sirius bends over to kiss his forehead before heading out of the bedroom, shouting a "Good night!" over his shoulder before he closes the door behind him.

Harry sighs in relief, pulls the present out from underneath the comforter, tears open Mrs. Weasley's letter, and gets back to work.

The morning of the 25th is bright and cold.

Harry is a ball of nerves as the breakfast plates get cleared away and the two of them prepare to go to the sitting room to open presents. Padfoot had barged into Harry's room at half past seven, barking loudly and leaping onto the bed, nearly giving Harry a heart attack in the process. He'd only finished Sirius' present in the wee hours of the morning and had barely managed to shove it into his desk drawer before he'd fallen asleep.

Sirius had dragged Harry into the kitchen for special Christmas chocolate chip pancakes and hot chocolate but had only allowed Harry to start eating once he agreed to don a ridiculously oversized Santa hat that matched the one Sirius had on his own head.

"If I'd known you liked Christmas so much, I'd have taken you to the Muggle mall to get a picture with Santa," Harry grumbles only half-heartedly as he watches the milk heat up on the hob. Sirius was adamant about making hot chocolate the old-fashioned way.

Sirius laughs loudly and hooks his arm around Harry's neck, pulling him close and planting a kiss on his forehead with a loud smack. "It's our first Christmas together, kiddo! First of many. You can get past your anti-morning attitude for that, can't you?"

"I gueeeeeeees," Harry mock-whines, drawing out the word as he adds the chopped chocolate to the steaming milk. He's secretly pleased that Sirius seems to somewhat enjoy his company. It shows he's not such a terrible charge.

"Thank you for your sacrifice," Sirius states dramatically. He gives Harry one last squeeze before releasing him. "Now come on, let's get to presents. I call going first!" He darts off to the sitting room where, overnight, a large pile of presents has piled in front of the eight-foot tall tree Sirius had dragged home one afternoon (with lots of swearing).

Harry gulps nervously as he pours hot chocolate into two mugs and tops them both with a handful of marshmallows. His hands are slightly shaking as he brings them both to the sitting room. Sirius is poking around the heap of gifts as he enters the room, and Harry spots the hastily wrapped, lumpy package he completed only a few hours ago.

Please like it, please like it, please like it, he silently begs as he sets the mugs on the coffee table. The sight of the gift is almost nauseating, and he keeps his eyes fixed on the hot chocolate.

Sirius turns at the sound to spot Harry and grins. "Alrighty, kiddo, what do you want to unwrap first? I did go a bit overboard this year, you'll have to forgive me. But there's plenty here from your friends!" He's practically vibrating with excitement.

Harry straightens his back and clears his throat. "Actually, do you mind if you do the opening first?"

Sirius pauses. "Are you sure? I swear mine are quite good."

Harry nods vigorously. "Yes. You can start with mine. It's right on top. The green wrapping." Let's just get this over with, he thinks.

Sirius picks up the package and shakes it gently. It makes no noise, and Harry can't help but let out a chuckle despite the knots in his stomach. Sirius grins at him and begins to carefully unwrap the gift.

Harry's legs suddenly feel like treacle tart filling. He lowers himself onto the couch so he doesn't pass out.

The wrapper paper gently falls to the ground, revealing a mound of knit material. Sirius unravels the pile to reveal a rather lumpy, oversized navy blue sweater with a slightly misshapen black dog woven onto the front.

Sirius doesn't say anything.

Harry's heart drops to his stomach. He opens his mouth, desperate to explain away the situation. "It's uh... it's... erm... it's a sweater? I made it?" As if that wasn't fucking obvious, he internally snarls at himself. He shakes his head, trying to organize his thoughts. "Yes, I, um, I made it. That's uh... that's Padfoot. On the front of it. I knitted it."

Sirius doesn't say anything.

Harry's words start coming out faster and faster, hoping something comes out that remedies this clusterfuck of an event. "Mrs. Weasley helped me. She sent me instructions. And the patterns? That 's why she was sending me so many letters. I didn't know how to do it. They aren't throwing a party for Ron."

Sirius still doesn't say anything.

Oh fuck! Harry thinks wildly. He's probably livid I lied. Oh fuck fuck fuck. "I'm sorry I lied to you! I just wanted it to be a surprise," he manages to get out. "That's why I was ordering so much through owl post. I had to get the yarn and the needles. And I kept having to order more yarn because I kept getting frustrated and messing up a lot. I didn't want you to know. Until now, that is. Obviously."

Sirius. Still. Doesn't. Say. Anything.

Harry wants to crawl into a hole and die. But for some stupid, idiotic reason, he keeps speaking. "I wasn't sure if you'd like the color? I actually realized that I don't know what your favorite color is. But whenever Mrs. Weasley makes one for me or for the Weasley kids, she usually does our favorite color. Or house colors. But I figured you have lots of things in Gryffindor colors? Like your wand holster. And then I noticed that you wear a lot of navy. So I thought that might be nice."

If Sirius doesn't say anything, Harry just might call the Knight Bus so he can step in front of it. He decides to get everything off of his chest before he has to do so.

"Mrs... uh... Mrs. Weasley made me one," he explains softly. "My first year. And every year after that. It means a lot to me. I think it was probably the first gift I ever got. And it kind of made me feel like part of their family? A little bit at least. So... so I wanted to give you one. Not from her, of course. But from me. So you could feel like a part of... our family?" His sentence embarrassingly ends like a question, so he hastily tacks on, "If you want to, of course."

Sirius finally moves, and Harry shuts his mouth. He gently sets the sweater down on the armchair next to him, walks over to where Harry is sitting, and pulls him up into the tightest, fiercest hug Harry has ever experienced.

Neither say anything for a few moments. Until Harry can't deal with not being able to breathe and squeaks out, "Uh? Sirius? I can't really inhale."

Sirius releases him quickly and takes a step back. "Sorry."

Harry feels awkward again. He clears his throat, hoping to fill the silence with something. "I hope you like it. But I know it's not done very well. So I can take it apart if you'd rather that. The shop said they'd take the yarn back as long as it wasn't too worn."

Sirius' head snaps up. "What? Harry, my love, I don't not like it. I love it."

Harry's mouth goes dry. "What?"

Sirius gives him a small smile. His eyes look suspiciously glassy. "Harry. You made this for me. You made this for me! It's my favorite color, and it's got me on it! Of course I love it. Not just because you took the time and the effort to make something for me. Because, my goodness, how do you even start with something like this? It must have taken you ages. But also because, well, you said it yourself. I mean, I already felt like part of the same family with the whole adoption bit and knowing you since you were a baby and whatnot, but it's always nice to know you feel the same. And I'm so honored to be a part of your family. Always will be. You have to know that, alright?" Sirius presses their foreheads together. "Alright?"

Harry nods, feeling a little something catch in his throat. He nods.

"Thank you for my gift," Sirius says softly. "I love it. No talk about talking it apart. I'll be proper mad if you do, you hear me?"

Harry nods again. Sirius releases him. He grabs the sweater from the armchair and pulls it over his head. The hem is uneven and the dog looks more like a cat once the sweater settles on his body, but Sirius only looks down at it and grins.

"Now come on, it's your turn to open presents. I don't think any of mine are as good as a handmade sweater, but I hope you like them anyway. And that's got me thinking, we ought to do a Christmas card no? Especially now that I've got a nice sweater on. Mrs. Weasley might tear up at the sight of a photo of the two us. Come on, come on, pick a present."

Harry rolls his eyes without any real heat behind the action. And he doesn't say anything later when he feels a burst of pride when he sees the photo they take in front of the Christmas tree that afternoon, Sirius wearing the sweater with the biggest, proudest smile Harry has ever seen.

He just bottles the feeling and hopes to remember it forever.

how come this has no reposts!? I am about to fart glitter and throw up unicorn confetti with rainbows!!!!!

Headcanon

Sirius always feared that James will become his normal friend. He always feared that someday James will always call him 'Sirius' instead of Padfoot or worse he will call him 'Mr. Black'

But, his all fears vanished when James unknowingly started introducing Sirius as his brother instead of best friend. He realized that their friendship was a lot more than that. He realized that they were siblings they wished to have, but never had.

no thoughts just james potter, quidditch whiz, worried out of his mind chasing after his toddler who’s riding a baby broomstick— while his wife laughs at him in the background

(sirius, somewhere on his order mission: *cackling his head off*)

To throw up confetti! Again!

(wrote this for all the sirius + harry fans who were having rough days yesterday ((more than one??? y'all good??)). have some fluff? maybe? i don't even know anymore.)

-

"Budge over," Sirius said as he sat down on the edge of his godson's bed, Harry currently laying in it with a hooded sweatshirt pulled over his head in the dead of summer, and as far as Sirius knew, this had been the outfit of choice for a few days now.

Since Harry had come home from a date and retreated to his bedroom, some melancholic record playing loud enough to signal to Remus and Sirius that something terrible had happened.

The first night Harry had cried.

The second night Harry had shouted at the both of them.

The third night Harry had decided the silent treatment was the best course of action and he was going to stay in his bedroom no matter how many times Sirius offered to buy him anything under the sun or Remus tempted with heartbreak dessert.

"I don't want to talk, Sirius," Harry mumbled, scooting over a minuscule amount to allow his godfather to join him in bed. Sirius took the space though, moving so he could lean against Harry's headboard, one arsecheek on the bed, the other hanging half off.

"Okay, you don't have to," Sirius said, clasping his hands together and resting them on his stomach. "Thought you might like some company though."

"Why would you think that?" He asked roughly, rolling to his side to avoid eye contact or interaction.

"Because you're sad. Because I raised you and know that when you get hurt, you want someone to stay with you. Like when you fell off your bike down that hill?" Harry twisted his neck slightly so he could look at Sirius, "Went too fast...fell so hard. I don't think I've ever ran so quickly in my life to get to you."

"I was fine though...nothing was broken."

"Oh no, but your knees had some bad scrapes on them, a few bruises. I didn't know having something physically broken was the threshold for injury."

"I just mean it wasn't that bad."

"At nine it was. And the whole day you just wanted to be around one of us. Slept in our bed too."

"I'm not nine," Harry muttered, though he moved so he could mimic Sirius's position, sitting up slightly and folding his hands over his stomach, Harry's pointy elbow touching Sirius's.

"You're not, I don't even wish you were anymore, you were a little hellion."

"What? No, I wasn't."

"You used to hang upside down off the third floor, do you remember that? Climb over the railings and hook your feet in and just drop. I'm actually shocked I'm still alive after witnessing that a few times."

Harry cracked a small smile, "Well that was the fun part..."

"Mhmm, I know it was. See? Nothing but trouble," Sirius nudged Harry with this shoulder, noticing that his godson had moved closer to Sirius as he spoke, their elbows overlapping. "But...thing is, even if you had fallen off the railing, or the banister collapsed and you came with it. We'd bandage you up, figure it out, fix the railing. It gets a bit harder when the hurt isn't physical. Nothing's broken, not really, right now and yet..."

"Fucking sucks."

"Broken hearts really fucking suck," Sirius responded, nodding.

"It...just sucks to feel like he didn't want me anymore. What do I do about that?" Harry asked and looked up to Sirius, their shoulders now pressed together. Sirius took a chance, moving one of his arms off his stomach and wrapping it around Harry.

Harry didn't pull away or fidget under the touch. Not a single eye roll.

"You...sit here, and you listen to all the sad music," Sirius started, deciding to leave out the moment in time where he thought he was going to charm Harry's record player off after hearing "I Had a King" for the 30th time, "and you...let someone sit with you until it doesn't hurt so much. Scrapped knees heal, so do hearts."

"You sure?"

"Well the alternative is you being heartbroken for the rest of your life and never leaving your bedroom and I'm okay with that too," Sirius said, "I'll still hang out with you. I'll grow a long white beard sitting here with you."

Harry put his head on Sirius's chest, and Sirius's hand went to the back of Harry's head, resting on messy black hair. "I...I don't think it'll be that long. You know?"

"Yeah."

james and sirius

Ron and harry

Oh and also lily and sirius

Write in the tags: who of your OTP / BroTP is the one who lifts the other on their shoulder so that they can see?

if i cry you cry with me too

The brothers Black

It's late. He should go to sleep. He has Harry to look after now, he should set a better example.

The said teen is sitting on the floor beside him, and for a moment Sirius is caught in the nostalgia of just how much Harry reminds him of himself.

It's a bad thing, really. He wasn't the best guy around. Hell, Sirius thinks he was probably a menace to even think about. Harry, Harry is better. Sirius remembers picking up the newborn Harry Potter in his hands and hugging him. Sirius remembers closing his eyes and apologising to the ghost of a dead Regulus because Sirius had never hugged his baby brother as much as he deserved.

Sirius puts off his cigarette and runs a hand down his face. Fuck.

Reggie.

Beside him, Harry looks at him with worried eyes. "We don't have to continue, Sirius," he says, perceptive boy. "I can leave—"

"Not necessary, kid," he says, pulling out the last of photos from the shoe box. Harry shuffles closer, almost cuddling him. Sirius quietly points out the people he never got to see grow older. Marlene, her puns and her affinity for everything yellow. Pandora, her heart and her necessity to constantly have chocolates on her person. Dorcas, her loud army boots and bright sundresses.

The last photo in his hand doesn't belong in the shoebox.

It's Reggie and him, Sirius has his brother in his arms and his lips pressed to Reggie's head, eyes closed tight. But it's Sirius, he knows this moment.

Three weeks before Sirius started Hogwarts, Reggie was sure that Hogwarts would steal his brother from him.

(Didn't it?)

Poor boy had been promising to be the best brother in the world, begging Sirius to keep loving him.

Sirius doesn't know when tears blurred his eyes but the ache in his chest comes back full force at his brother's innocent face, still red because of crying and eyes scrunched up close behind Sirius' hand. Sirius was supposed to protect him. Keep his eyes closed, never show him the blood and death that was carved into their fate.

"Regulus." Harry breathes beside Sirius and even the boy sounds pained. He leans further into Sirius and Sirius. Sirius is a greedy man. He takes the opportunity with desperation and puts his arm around Harry's shoulder, pulls him in.

(Everyone he touches will turn out dead. But Harry can't be dead, no, that's his boy, that's his child, he can't, no, not his boy—)

As they've done with every other picture, Sirius turned the photo behind to read who clicked it and when, even if he remembers the dates like they're tattooed on his spine.

But the back of the photo isn't only that. It reads,

Dearest Siri,

I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am. For the first time in my life, words fail me. I've failed everything you've ever tried to teach me— all in for a blind wish that was always impossible.

I've heard your silence, I've heard your screams and it seems that it's all I can remember. I am your shadow, no matter how much mother and father try to force the fact to be false. I want your presence, brother. I do not know how to exist without you. It is the only demand I can still make from fate— for even fate will have to pry you from my dead hands.

You are my brother. You are an ache in my chest and nowadays, I only ever breathe to feel this ache. The letters you've written to me are in my room, you will know where. The letters I've never sent you will be there. Burn them, Siri. I am going down a path of betrayal— towards you, towards our name, towards James, towards the Dark Lord as well. Of all the betrayals I've committed, my biggest regret will be not seeing you before I walk towards death.

Remember me, Siri. Let me stay alive with you. Let me take a part of you as I die.

Yours,

RA Reggie.

Clicked by Andromeda, 18/8/71

Panic burns through Sirius and he's heaving— choking on his tears and sobs and gasps.

His brother. His baby brother. He clutches the photo tighter and cradles it to his heart and wails. Regulus.

The ache in his chest blooms anew and Sirius wants to claw at his chest and find that piece of Regulus that's always lived beside Sirius' heart. Brother. My brother. My only brother. My little brother.

Regulus. Regulus. Reggie. Reggie. Reggie. Baby. Reg. Ree. Reg. Reggie.

Sirius slams his fist on the floor and he welcomes the pain that comes with it, his sobs almost cover the thuds his fist is making and he doesn't want to live. His brother. An open wound in his chest, his brother. Sirius wants to burn himself alive, like Reggie wanted to burn those letters.

"My brother." He wails, not sure if anyone will understand what he's saying but he doesn't expect them to, no one will ever understand just what his brother is, was.

There's a hand on his shoulder and Sirius heaves again. He has failed everyone he cared for, and he failed his blood the most. His boy, his brave Reggie.

Harry doesn't speak but keeps his hold on Sirius' elbow and Sirius wishes he would choke him or plunge his hand in Sirius' chest and drag his heart out— Reggie died with a wish to see Sirius, his poor brother, his baby, his Reggie— he doesn't want to live knowing how Reggie suffered and sobbed.

Because even if his brother is dead, Sirius is alive and thus, so is Reggie. Sirius can feel the sobs that must have wrecked Reggie, he can hear all the whimpers Reggie had to subside because he couldn't wake Mother and he can feel all the bile in his throat that his brother must have thrown up during one of his panic episodes.

And now, Harry rises up on his knees and holds Sirius— as Sirius was holding Reggie in that photo. As Harry's hand covers his eyes, Sirius feels the darkness that must have been the last thing Reggie saw.

Voldemort not crucio-ing severus for criticising him!!?! Lets make a new ship!

Okay so this has been my shower thought for the past couple days…what’s the Death Eater initiation process like?? And why do I keep imagining it like some kind of bad PTA meeting?

I mean surely you don’t have to go hunt down Voldy himself to ask to join, so I can only imagine it’s more of a secret club type thing. Somebody pulls you aside and super casually goes “so we get together like twice a month, usually on a Saturday but sometimes during the week, it’s whenever the Dark Lord decides really. It’s mostly at the Malfoy Manor but one time we got summoned to some random graveyard a couple years back?? Now THAT was a meeting for the ages, lemme tell ya…bloody hell. Thirteen years we don’t meet and then within the first two minutes he has the nerve to chew us all out for being disloyal or some shit like that! Crazy. ANYWAY…it really just depends, ya know, where and when we get summoned, so make sure you have your Death Eater attire ready cause Voldy really hates it when you show up in street clothes, and “it’s in the wash” isn’t a good enough excuse, believe me. It’s always potluck style for dinner, so A-M bring a side dish, N-Z bring a dessert…Severus Snape’s allergic to tomatoes so might wanna avoid those. Oh, and here’s the best part!! If you join, you get this wicked tattoo!”

Which brings me to my next thought…is Voldy an amateur tattoo artist and does the Dark Mark tattoos himself? If so, I gotta think that his drawing has gotten better over the years from the first time he tattooed one of his followers.

Voldemort: *tattooing Lucius’ arm* Alright, you’re done!

Lucius: What…is it supposed to be?

Bellatrix: It’s clearly a snake, Lucius!

Narcissa: *pointing* Yeah, but what’s that odd shaped lump above it??

Voldemort: It’s a skull!

Snape: *looking over Lucius’ shoulder, bored AF* Looks like a severed head with its tongue out to me—

Voldemort: OH FUCK OFF SEVERUS

OR…if Voldemort doesn’t give the tattoos himself, then where do they get them? Is Voldy all *claps hands* “Okay, you’re IN! Once we get done with all this paperwork of you swearing your allegiance to me, yada yada….you’re gonna go to this tattoo shop in Knockturn Alley and ask for the Dark Lord Special. Severus said my drawing was shit so I’ve decided to have someone else do the tattoos…” *side eyes Snape*

New Death Eaters showing up to the shop and the tattoo artist being all like “…Dark Lord Special, huh? I’ll throw in a Nagini tattoo around your bicep for an extra 10 galleons, whaddya say?”

GGSB Fest 2024 - The Honor of a Name

@goodgodfathersiriusblack

Prompt Harry's kids

Harry worries about being a parent, but Sirius is there to support him as a good godfather and an even better grandfather.

AO3

***

Harry had been a nervous wreck throughout the pregnancy, even though he wasn’t the one pregnant.  His wife, Luna, assured him that they would be good parents, even if they hadn’t quite been raised by good parents.  Yes, Luna had her father around, but he was … not the greatest, loving though.  Harry technically raised by the Dursleys (who sucked), with some support by Sirius but between being on the run and dying and coming back later… well, there wasn’t consistent parenting.  

At least he’s trying now.

Throughout Harry’s many, many nights of waking him up and telling him about how he couldn’t do this.  He hadn’t wanted to worry Luna because he knew that Sirius would be able to calm him down, but now, she’s in labor and he’s freaking out and he can’t breathe and it’s –

“Hey, I’m here, Harry.”

Harry looks up from where he was sitting outside her room – she said he was freaking her out and he needed to calm down outside.

“Oh, Sirius, thank Merlin – I can’t – I can’t do this.  I’m not ready to be a father!” Harry practically yells, earning looks from the people in the vicinity.  

Sirius sits next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders.  “Listen to me, Kid.  No one ever thinks they’re ready and I get it.  You haven’t had the best examples for parents when you were younger, but – but – you are an incredible young man and you and Luna will make wonderful parents.”

“How can you say that when you don’t know –”

“I do know, though, because I know you and you are an incredible young man that has been through a lot – you manage to adapt to any situation and thrive – the same will be true for this, I promise.”

Harry looks up at him and sees sincerity in his eyes.  “I can’t do it alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Sirius says.  “This baby is going to have two wonderful parents, two grandfathers and a whole bunch of Weasleys to help you out.”

Harry grins and lets out a chuckle.  “Yeah, yeah, you’re right, of course.”

“Now, go in there and keep your wife calm – it’s what she needs from you right now.”

“Of course.”

Harry gives him a hug and says, “You’ll stay?”

“Of course.  Anything for you, kid.”

***

Two hours later, a very tired looking Harry appears in the doorway.  “Would you like to meet my son?”

Sirius grins.  “Naturally.”

He follows Harry into the room, where Luna is looking just as tired, but happy.  She’s holding a little boy that looks remarkedly like Harry – those Potter genes are something special.

“We have someone we’d like you to meet,” Luna says, “Would you like to hold him?”

“Of course, of course.” 

He takes the baby in his arms and can’t help thinking about Harry when he was born.  “He looks just like you, Harry.”

Harry grins.  “And like his grandfather, James.  Who he’s named after.”

“Baby James,” Sirius says, looking up to spare them a smile.  “I love it.”

“You’ll love his middle name even more,” Luna says.  “Harry, would you like to…”

Harry clears his throat nervously, causing Sirius look up.  

“We’d like to name him after you – James Sirius Potter,” Harry says, looking at him hopefully.  

“Oh… oh, Harry… Luna… really?” Sirius says stuttering.  “That’s such an honor…”

“An honor that you deserve.”

Sirius looks down at the baby in his arms, and smiles, nodding.  “Thank you.  I only hope that I continue to do the honor right.”

“You will.”

***

James Sirius Potter is the light of all of their lives, and Harry can’t help grinning at seeing Sirius so full of grandfatherly cheerfulness.  It’s a blessing and a curse.  

There’s a part of him that wishes he’d gotten that with Sirius, but he loves what he has with him, too, it’s different, but lovely.

Just as he’s about to call them in for lunch, Luna comes out of the house where she’d been resting.  Heavily pregnant and meant to be on bed rest, Harry immediately worries, “Is something wrong?”

“I am in labor,” Luna groans.  

Harry nods.  “Better get you to the hospital,” she nods and wobbles away to the car.  “Sirius!”

Sirius turns at the yell and can immediately see the stress on Harry’s face.

“Luna’s in labor, will you –”

“Take care of my grandson?  Yes.”

Harry lets out a relieved breath.  “Thanks.”

“Just worry about your wife, I’ve got everything handled here.”

“You’re the best,” Harry says before disappearing after his wife.  

Time to have another baby.

***

Sirius is grinning as he holds three-year-old James in his arms, and looking at the happy, yet exhausted Harry and Luna.  

The pink bundle in Harry’s arms looking remarkedly like Luna.  

“So, what’s this one’s name?”

“Lily Pandora Potter,” Harry says, grinning.  “We weren’t sure which should go first, but Luna insisted.  

Sirius smiles.  “She’s beautiful.”

“But she’s early, so she and Luna are going to have to stay a few days, would you mind…”

“Watching my favorite grandson – I can say that, ‘cause I only have one – while you’re gone?  Not at all.” Sirius states before turning to James in his arms.  “Jamie and I will have all sorts of fun, right, Jamie?”

“Yeah!”

“There you have it,” Sirius states.  He reaches out his free arm to squeeze Harry’s shoulder.  “I got this; you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

***

Harry smiles as he sits beside Sirius in his backyard a few years later.  Sirius had been a delightful godsend.  Always there with advice, willing to listening about Harry’s woes, or just to give Harry (and Luna) a break – the perfect grandparent. 

“You’ve done well with them, you know,” Sirius offers as he watches Luna chasing them around.  “In a few years, they’ll be off at Hogwarts, and everything will be great.”

“Everything is great – partially thanks to you,” Harry says, smiling.  “Best grandfather ever.”

Sirius grins.  “Thanks, kiddo.”

“Anytime.”