To Throw Up Confetti! Again!

“are you sure?”

Sirius pauses in front of the stove, pointing his wand at the flame to lower its intensity before turning to face Harry, who’s looking quite nervous. “You know, you’ve asked me that question so many times that I’m beginning to wonder whether you want to me to come to the match.”

Harry flushes. ‘I do want you there! I mean it. It’s just that, if you’re busy or have better things to do, it’s okay if you don’t want to come. Actually, I’m sure you have better things to do, you’ve only just been freed, and you probably want to.. I dunno,. go to the shops or something or-” 

“Can I cut in before your rambling cuts off your oxygen?” Sirius interjects gently. He glances back at the stew bubbling on the stove before returning his gaze to Harry. 

Harry gives him a sheepish smile. “I suppose so.”

Sirius laughs. “Thank you for your graciousness, Your Majesty. Now, it is precisely because I’ve just been freed that I want to come to your match more than anything. I’d much rather support you as a human in the stands as opposed to a dog by the forest. It’s a much better view, you see.” He gives the contents of the pot a quick stir before returning his focus to Harry, his tone turning a bit more serious. “I know we’re new at this. This you and me being a family thing. But I want you to know that I’ll be at all of your games because I want to be there, and I want to cheer you on. I’ve missed out on a lot of your life, and I really don’t plan on voluntarily skiving out on any more. I’m proud of you and want to see you be excellent. And trounce the Slytherins while you’re at it. Got it?”

Harry lets out a small sigh. “Okay. But if you ever have anything better to do, I won’t be mad or anything.”

“I’ll never have anything better to do,” Sirius promises. “You’re quite a brilliant player, mate. There’s not much better entertainment than that. I’d die of boredom if I didn’t come to your matches. You’re even better than your dad was.”

Harry blushes at the praise, but also straightens up a bit with pride. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” Sirius assures. “Now come over here and have a taste of this stew. It’s my secret recipe, and I swear you’ll love it.”

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 am sorry for suddenly making you cry I cried about it too so should too... Sirius wanted to be the coolest godfather and just when harry was nearly old enough to get a tattoo sirius *sobs* dieeddddd!!!!!😭😭😭😭

officially submitting my first ever entry for @impishtubist ‘s Sirius & Harry Saturday: a headcanon about baby harry using his crayons to try and draw sirius’ tattoos on himself. (there’s also protective james and prongsfoot friendship and it’s all quite fluffy)

“Harry! What are you doing?” Sirius leaned forward with a laugh, trying to get a better glimpse of his toddling godson, who’d stripped down until he was clad only in his diaper.

“Lookit Siri, I’m you!” Harry squealed, finally losing the battle against gravity in his excitement and falling forward. Lucky for him, his godfather knew him enough to be prepared with outstretched arms.

Sirius dangled him mid-air in front of him, hands under his armpits. It was the best vantage point to scrutinise the new additions to his godson’s previously unmarked skin.

Because, somehow, Harry had gotten his hands on a permanent marker and had drawn all over himself. And not just anything, but very specific artwork that Sirius could recognise instantly, shaky as it was.

“You know your dad’s gonna kill me, buddy,” Sirius mused absently as he shifted Harry’s weight to one hand and ran one black-tipped nail against the runic figures on his pudgy chest and belly. Well, figures that were attempting to be runic, if he wanted to be accurate. Harry’s hand wasn’t steady enough for straight lines, yet, nor was his theoretical knowledge good enough to capture them perfectly even if they were.

“No, I you, Siri!” Harry repeated stubbornly, and by Merlin, what was the allure of Dark Magic in the face of his adorable godson?

He trailed his finger across the jagged lines on his flank, across his arms, up to his shoulders. There were some unrecognisable scribbles on his upper back, like he’d tried to reach back and color in but couldn’t. Of course, he couldn’t, Harry’s arms were tiny. But it was clear that he was trying to replicate the antlers on Sirius’ back. Unbidden, his gaze fell to Harry’s wrist and sure enough, there was a messy circle with shapes drawn inside it. It was a valiant effort to recreate his family’s crest. Sirius could feel his heart-melting out of his pores.

“Oh, Harry, you little troublemaker, you,” he cooed, bringing his godson into the circle of his arms to tuck him against his chest, biting his lip at how Harry instantly relaxed into him, head tucked under Sirius’ chin.

“You like my tattoos, huh? Couldn’t wait until you grew up a bit, had to have them right now, is that it?” He continued, slightly bouncing Harry in his arms as he walked back and forth.

“Siri pwetty, Hawwy also pwetty,” Harry babbled from his perch and Sirius’ heart melted.

“Dammit, sweetheart, I have a reputation to maintain. You can’t go around saying things like that,” he mock-scolded.

“Things like what, Padfoot?” James’ voice entered the conversation and Sirius had to suppress his laughter at what he’d say when he discovered the state his son was in.

“Oh, nothing much, Harry just wants to be pretty like me,” Sirius said, special emphasis on the ‘me’. “Guess being a carbon copy of his dad isn’t quite cutting it for him anymore.”

He turned to face James as he spoke and couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling in him at the expression on his face. Sirius’ words were already pulling a very strong deadpan from him but one look at his son, covered in black squiggles and smudges, and it immediately gave way to one of pronounced horror.

“Wha—“ James’ words were more of a strangled wheeze. “Padfoot, what did you do to my son?”

“Excuse you,” Sirius said, offended. “I didn’t do anything. This one’s all Harry. I didn’t even know what he was doing until he crawled into the room.”

That didn’t seem to help. “Oh, baby, I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with Sirius, he’s become rather forgetful in his advanced age, hasn’t he?” With an exaggerated frown on his face, James plucked Harry out of Sirius’ arms and settled him in his own. The kid was, as always, overjoyed to be reunited with his father.

Sirius tried hard to hold onto his outrage—how dare James call him old?—but it was hard, nigh impossible, when he could see Harry rubbing the top of his head back and forth against James’ jaw, like an adorable little kitten.

“So, what’s with-“ James ran a hand down Harry’s arm “-all this?”

“Harry’s trying to be like his extremely cool, not-old-at-all godfather.”

James raised a skeptical eyebrow. Sirius ignored him in favour of talking to his godson.

“Don’t you worry, love, when you’re old enough, I’ll be right there to take you for your first proper tattoo,” he tapped Harry’s little button nose, making him giggle.

It wasn’t enough to mask James’ shocked exhale. “What do you mean first proper tattoo?”

“Look at him and tell me he’s not interested,” Sirius pointed at the little bundle of joy in his arms. Absently, he wondered what kind of tattoo Harry would like, if any. Would he be the sentimental kind, like his dad who never put something on his body he hadn’t considered fifty times over? Or more like Sirius, who’d only needed the thought to pop it into his head to get it inked.

“He’s three and thinks colors, and shapes, on your body look cool. That’s- that doesn’t mean anything!”

“Well, I’m just saying,” Sirius shrugged, deliberately keeping his face clear of anything that could give him away. Of course he knew the reaction his words would elicit, that was part of why he said it. “The option’s there on the table if he ever wants to. With parents like you and Lily, and me of course, the kid’s on the right track for a few pieces of his own.”

“But—“

“And of course, no one except his godfather can be trusted with something like this, right? It’s basically my magic-given duty to escort him to the tattoo parlour,” Sirius finished with a flourish. One of his hands had travelled upwards to ruffle Harry’s hair, marvelling at the soft feel of the inky strands slipping between his fingers.

“No- That’s not- you are not torturing my baby like that!” James finally found his voice, and what a loud one it was too for Harry was startled out of his lazy doze against his dad’s chest by the deep rumble that vibrated through him. His green eyes were wide open, looking at his dad who so rarely raised his voice, and James immediately shrunk—literally, Sirius could see the transformation in real-time, the way his shoulders dropped, his face relaxed, and his nose came down from its high perch.

“Oh, Daddy’s sorry, honey, he didn’t mean to shout,” he whispered in between careful kisses pressed to Harry’s face. “Daddy’s gonna be more careful, okay?”

“Otay,” Harry replied, equally quietly, still staring at him with remnants of shock in his eyes.

Sirius broke the moment with a loud snort—accidental of course but this was too much for him—and immediately attracted James’ ire again.

“You—“ he started accusingly before darting a quick look downward to see Harry was alright. He was. “You can’t be—Harry’s not gonna get tatted, Padfoot! It hurts too much. I won’t have it.”

“You won’t have it?” Sirius repeated, amused. “May I remind you when you got your first tattoo? Or mine, for that matter.” That took the wind right out of his sails.

“Er, that’s not the point here,” James replied shiftily, dropping his gaze to Harry instead of looking at him.

“Remember the runic tattoos we etched into our skin? Could’ve literally blown ourselves inside out right there in the do—“

James slapped a hand against his mouth, effectively stopping him. “Okay, I think that’s enough, I get it.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, as if to say ‘Do you?’. Harry giggled at his father and godfather’s antics, happily oblivious to the pinched look on the former’s face as he realised the precedent his own actions had set. Sirius couldn’t wait to have this conversation all over again when he was all grown up and could add his own input. He was looking forward to tag-teaming against James, to be honest.

“You—you don’t think he’ll do something like that, do you?” James asked hesitantly, glancing between the two of them.

“He is your kid,” Sirius pointed out. “And Lily’s. And a tad bit mine.”

“He’s all yours, especially when he pulls stunts like this.”

Sirius grinned, wide and uncontrollable, at that, unable to help the warmth that spread through his entire body at those words. He knows James was trying to take a shot at him but it didn’t take away from the fact that Harry was his too, has been from the day he was born—no, since the day James flooed into his house, pale and shaking, telling him that ‘We’re having a kid, Padfoot! An actual baby! Can you believe it?!’

For all the jokes and potshots and snippy back-and-forths they had, Sirius knew he would never be able to thank Jamie for allowing him into his life—into Harry’s life—like this. James had always been free with his affections, sharing heart and home without a second thought but Sirius knew that there were many who’d have put their foot down at the level of involvement he assumed in his godson’s life, and that James and Lily didn’t, wouldn’t, do that. He didn’t know where he’d be without the Potters today, and imagining such a world—it was chilling, to say the very least.

“Pads?” James’ soft voice interrupted his morose thoughts and he snapped his eyes up to meet concerned hazel ones. There was a silent question in them.

Sirius shrugged wryly. Silently raised his hands for Harry, needing to hold him close, and after another searching glance, James passed the now peacefully sleeping child over. Something loosened in his chest when he felt the familiar weight resting against him. He immediately buried his nose in Harry’s hair, taking a deep breath, letting the scent of baby powder and blueberry shampoo fill his lungs, ground him.

“I’ll be the coolest godfather there ever was,” he whispered, feeling a knot in his throat where more words should be. He wanted to say that he loved Harry more than life itself, that he’d always be there for him. The world could tilt off its axis but Sirius’ love for the Potters wouldn’t wane. It couldn’t, really, not with how deeply they were entrenched in his life—in his very being.

“Of course, you will. No one would ever doubt that.” James placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “But you’re still not allowed to take my baby to a tattoo parlour, no matter how old he gets.”

if you liked this, i have an entire thing on my ao3 about tattoos and harry and sirius bonding over them postwar >.<

GGSB Fest 2024 - Let Me Take Care of You

@goodgodfathersiriusblack

Prompt - Sick Harry

When Harry gets sick, Sirius has to convince him to let him take care of him.

AO3

***

If there was one thing that stuck with Harry even six months after he’d been rescued from the Dursleys and Sirius was given custody, it was that – he should try to be the least burden that he could be.  That meant that he should help out around the house and not let Sirius feel like he has to do too much for him.

Which is why when he wakes up sick as a dog that he does his best to hide it.  He couldn’t let Sirius think that he had to take care of him.

Unfortunately, Harry was too miserable in his sickness to fake being fine for more than a few minutes.  Especially when he attempts to cook breakfast side by side with Sirius and sways a bit too much on his feet.  

He would have fallen over if not for Sirius catching him and helping him to a nearby chair.  “Harry, are you alright?”

“Fine, fine – no worries about me.  Promise.”

Apparently, Sirius can see right through him.  “Kid.”

Harry sighs and groans, his head throbbing.  “Fine, I’m sick, but it’s fine – I can still help around the house and cook breakfast and –”

“And I don’t think so.  You’re going straight to bed.”

“No, I can’t,” Harry states.  “I need to help… I need to not be a –”

“Not be a what?” Sirius states.

“A … nothing.”

Harry’s ashamed and ill, but he’s not going to admit the real problem.

The look on Sirius’ face tells him that he doesn’t need to finish.  He knows.

“Alright, kid, let’s get you upstairs…”

“I’m fi –” he’s not fine.  In fact, he starts coughing so much that he could barely breathe.  

“Come on, Harry, let me take care of you.”

“Fine.”

***

Sirius leads Harry upstairs, and tucks him in.  The kid falls asleep in moments.  

He’s relieved and spends the day making sure that the groggy Harry is taken care of and reassures him every time he wakes that he is not a burden and that he needs to be resting and taking care of himself.  

Around lunch time, Sirius makes him some soup in bed, has him drink some water and take some potions before going back to sleep.  

Sirius makes sure that he’s comfortable and reads him back to sleep.  

***

It takes a few days, much to Harry’s annoyance, but once he’s all better, he makes breakfast in bed for Sirius and says, “It’s just a thank you for taking care of me.”

“Oh, kid.  You don’t have to thank me – I love you, it’s my job to take care of you,” Sirius says, love in his eyes.

Harry flushes.  “It’s just – I know you say that, but … growing up, I was always told that…”

“You were a burden,” Sirius guesses.  “I realize after fourteen years of being told that it would take longer than six months for you to accept that you are not a burden, but you aren’t.  They are terrible people for making you believe that, and I want you to know that you are never a burden to me.”

Harry flushes.  “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” Sirius assures him.  “Do you believe me?”

Harry nods, shyly.  “Yeah, Pads, I do.”

“Good, then why don’t we spend the day celebrating that you’re all better and away from those people.”

“Sounds great.”

“Good.”

this is true! fight me!

A Tale of Two Sisters

The day Lily Evans joined the order of the Phoenix was the day Molly Weasley became an older sister for the second time, and the day Lily gained the older sister she missed dearly. Fabian and Gideon Prewett had died a couple months before Lily joined. Petunia Evans rejected Lily the moment her letter came.

When Molly first met Lily and James, she saw her and Arthur reflected. A young couple straight out of Hogwarts, happy and deep in love. It didn't take long for the two women to become close friends.

They confided nearly everything with each other. They cried when their friends fell in battle, they fought together, and they rejoiced together when James finally popped the question.

In 1979, Lily and Molly became pregnant around the same time. The only difference was that this was Lily's first and Molly's sixth. So, Molly guided Lily through her pregnancy and they supported each other.

Lily was there when little Ron was born in March, Molly was there when Harry was born four months later, and the two lost sisters found a home in one another.

They cried once more when Lily, James, and Harry had to go into hiding. No letters, no visits, no nothing. Their family was at great risk, and Molly knew that. Still, she hugged Lily tight.

Three months of total radio silence nearly drove Molly mad.

August, September, and October came and went with no news. More members of the Order of the Phoenix died. They were getting desperate. The Ministry had fallen long ago.

Then, came the first of November.

News reached Molly and Arthur by mail. YOU-KNOW-WHO DEAD, BOY-WHO-LIVED ONLY SURVIVOR, greeting them. At first, they celebrated. With You-Know-Who dead, their children could continue to grow safely, without the threat of a Dark Lord.

Later that night, when all of the celebrations had died down and the little ones had all been tucked in, Molly took the time to read the whole article. It wasn't perfect, and had clearly been written in a rush, and it quieted her nonetheless.

Then, Molly wept for the little sister she used to have, for the brother-in-law she cared for, and for their son, who would grow up without his mother and father.

When she learnt that her youngest son had befriended Lily's son, she cried bittersweet tears, for the could-have-beens and the friendship that was always meant to happen.

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.

While movie harry being a clueless awkward thingie... He was literally how he was potrayed after drinking felix

Trying to find Fanfic Author St Mean

Ok soooo if anyone wants a james potter fanfic from the Marauders era: James Potter Chronicles Year 1(-5 is posted yet)

But Mr. St Mean if you are on Tumblr I would request you to continue rhe fanfic....

And, others, I would like to urge you to read it. Its so underrated!!! Its canon n yk no slashes but still sorry to atyd readers but after reading this I really couldnt understand why atyd is more famous than jpc its way better!!!!

GGSB Fest 2024 - Perfect First Day

@goodgodfathersiriusblack

Prompt - First Day of School

Sirius isn't ready for Harry's first day of primary school, but it turns out it's perfect.

AO3

***

Despite the fact that Sirius had gotten to spend the last few years as a stay-at-home parent and knew that this time was coming, he’s still sad even as he packs Harry’s bag for his first day of school.  They had gone shopping the day before to make sure he had all of his school supplies.  He’d picked out a nice outfit for the first, and once he’s packed, it’ll be time to tuck Harry in and before he knows it – they’ll be at the school… for Harry’s first day.

“Pads?” the small voice of his godson says from the top of the stairs.  

“I’ll be up in a minute to help tuck you in, just change into your pajamas.”

“Okay!”

It only takes a few more minutes before he steels himself and goes upstairs.  Tonight was the last night before everything would begin to change.

“Ready for bed, kiddo?” Sirius asks, a smile – only slightly forced – on his face.  He has no idea what he’s going to do without his kid for hours every day.  

“Yeah!” Harry cheers.

“What kind of bedtime story are you looking for tonight?” Sirius questions.

“Will you tell me about your first day of school?” 

Sirius let's out a little laugh as he sits beside Harry’s bed.  “Well, your dad and I didn’t go to primary school – only Hogwarts, and I’ve told you about meeting your mum and dad on the train ride to school, but your mum did go to primary school.”

“Will you tell me about her first day, then?”

Sirius hums.  “Well, she always liked to say that she met her best muggle friend on the first of school.  She had sat in the wrong seat and another classmate of hers had said that it was her seat – they were arguing as much as five-year-olds can argue and it turns out her name was Lila and with your mum’s name as Lily – they were so close it was easily mistaken.  The teacher thought they should separate the girls, but they became friends instead.”

Harry’s looking at him like that wasn’t much of story – which makes sense, his own story about meeting on the train and James pulling an imaginary sword had been far more entertaining.  

“Do you think I’ll make a friend like mum did?” Harry asks, eyes wide like he’s worried about that.

Sirius smiles softly at him.  “I’m sure you will, but not if you’re grouchy from lack of sleep.  So, get some sleep – big day tomorrow.”

Harry pouts a bit before he yawns.  “Night, Pads.”

“Night, kid.”

***

In the morning, Sirius packs Harry’s lunch before helping him with his backpack and taking him by the hand to walk him to the school down the street.  His kid is happily chattering on and on about what school might be like and not at all noticing that Sirius isn’t nearly as ready for this as he pretends to be.  

He knows that this is what Lily (and James) would’ve wanted, but after so long of never being away from one another, Sirius can’t help freaking out a bit.  

He’s just not ready for this – Harry’s not ready for this – maybe … maybe it would be better to hold him back a year … or homeschool him…

But they reach the school before Sirius knows it and he’s … disappointed.

He’s not ready for this.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t matter as they enter the school and Harry happily finds his classroom rather quickly for his age.  The teacher greets Harry and says, “Mr. Potter, please go ahead and help Harry find his desk – you can stay until class starts.”

“Thank you,” Sirius says.  He doesn’t correct her.  James’ parents had practically adopted him, and he hates the Black name, so when they moved, he simply decided to go by Potter, made things easier. 

He helps Harry find his desk next to a little boy, whose name plate reads Dean Thomas, and he smiles at the mother beside him.  

“Look Dean, here’s your deskmate,” the mother says.  “Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

The little boy – Dean – smiles and introduces himself, and Harry smiles and does the same after a quick nod from Sirius.  

Then, in his excitement once Dean shows him what he’d been drawing, Harry turns to him and says, “Look, Paddy, I made a friend.”

Sirius barely stifles his laugh as he says, “You sure did.”

Before anything else could be said, the teacher calls for last goodbyes and he hugs Harry tight, like he doesn’t want to let him go, and barely contains his desire to cry.  Another parent – not Dean’s mother – says, “Don’t worry, the day will go by faster than you think.”

Sirius nods, and let's go, telling Harry to be good and learn lots before following the other parents outside the classroom.  The one that had spoken to him, introduces himself as Holly’s father, and says, “First one?”

“And only,” Sirius says.  “He’s technically my godson/nephew.  I won’t have kids of my own, but I’ve been raising him since we lost his parents.  I was a stay-at-home parent and now… well, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Holly’s father gives him a small smile as they leave with Dean’s mother.  “Well, I’ve got a small shop that works on motor vehicles.  You know anything about that?”

Sirius grins.  “I built my motorbike from scratch.  I love motor vehicles.”

“Maybe we could go out to eat and talk about it?”

“I’d like that.”  

“Then, let’s go.”

***

Sirius could admit that he rather liked Holly’s father and Dean’s mother (who had come along as well, purely because she also expressed an interest).  Their outing had helped pass the day (which did go quickly) before they arrived to pick up their kids.  

As soon as he sees Sirius, Harry takes off at a run and straight into a waiting Sirius’ arms.  He’s already babbling about his day and his new friends Holly and Dean.  

“I made new friends, too,” Sirius teases, gesturing at Holly’s father and Dean’s mother.  The adults laugh, but Harry cheers and it’s wonderful.  

Holly’s father claps him on the shoulder and Dean’s mother smiles.  “I’ll see you both tomorrow?”

“We’ll be here.”

“Good.”

With that, they all wave goodbye and start to head home.  

Harry reiterates his entire day all happy and excited and honestly, there’s nothing better than this. 

He’s so thrilled that it’s all worked out – they’re both happy and they’re off to brighter future. 

The perfect first day of school.

@impishtubist

We neeeed u to write this

About Sirius always having Harry’s back.

Sirius: “MY godson would NEVER punch your… kid….”

Harry: *aggressively shaking his head*

Sirius: “Unless YOUR kid deserved it. Because to me it looks like he did”

Carla when I tell you I almost sent this EXACT scenario to @impishtubist two hours ago 😂😂😂 CACKLING