Remus Not Checking Up On Harry For 12 Years Because He Was Busy Being Sad In Wales And Sirius Not Breaking

Personal headcanon:

Sirius was Harry's dogfather (according to harry) and well... Sirius being Sirius never corrected him sooo when they met and sirius told him firsthand that he was Harry's godfather a memory surfaced in both of their brains and they both looked at each other

"You know when you were little you used to-"

"-call you my dogfather?"

"Well, yeah - how'd you remember that?"

And harry justs shrugs

I need a fanfic about this if you know any do tell me in the comments or reblogs or whatever

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.

love the ignorance of Peter😂

is this seat taken?

how the marauders sit around you

tags: james potter x reader,, sirius black x reader,, remus lupin x reader,, headcanon,, so soft

a/n: been super inactive!! so i offer this as peace offering <3

james would purposefully find seats meant for for one person. eagerly pulling you to follow him and plop down, patting his thighs. you’d look at him, eyebrows raised in question and he’d just offer a boyish smile, perfect dimples denting his cheeks. he’d spread his legs, pull you into him and sit you on one of his muscled thighs. he would keep a hand around your waist and the other intertwined with yours. he’d make you lean into him a bit more, only to pepper you with light kisses all over your jaw and neck. of course you’d wish to sit on a proper chair once in a while, and when you had said this out loud, he had gasped, utterly offended.

sirius would be sitting on a bench, he would have his legs on either side of the seat, his legs barricading you in place. his knees and the warmth of thighs touching yours and facing you. he’d be leaning to the table, an elbow prompt up supporting his head. while his other hand would be tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, exposing your pretty neck. he’d run his knuckle over the smooth skin and he’s just stare. looking at you and softly smiling. then you would you would offer him bites of your meal, kissing his lips each time he takes a bite.

remus would sit on the couch, grab your hand and slowly guide you to stand between his spread knees. he would kiss your hand, littering little kisses all over your wrist and forearms and the inside of your elbow, as he slowly let your arms rest on his shoulders. as he leans forward to hug your thighs close to his chest. he’d nuzzle your tummy, breathe in your scent - somehow always calming his nerves. you’d bury your hand in his hair, run your fingers through it and rub his scalp. he’d open his eyes, not knowing he’d close them and look up at you, sighing, looking content.

if i have already reblogged this idc

It was a funny twisty sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach and Harry wasn't exactly sure he had felt it before. An entirely new sense of dread or anxiety or both was churning around his insides alongside his breakfast as soon as the post arrived and went straight to Harry.

He knew what they were before he could open the post. Middle of July, Harry wasn't expecting anything else.

Ministry owl.

Ministry envelope.

OWL results.

Sirius pretended to make himself busy, fixing another cup of tea, wiping the kitchen counter, while Harry sat with the envelope in his hands trying to pretend he was totally cool and totally confident.

Because it didn't matter, right? Two years ago, Harry would've said it didn't matter, loudly and boldly and he would've been right. But so much had changed and now Harry had a home, with wallpaper and bookends and a godfather who had a conversation with him at the beginning of summer about study habits.

You're way behind, kid, and it's not your fault. But you know, maybe now since Voldemort isn't...breathing down your neck and you're not living with a sense of impending doom, we can think about school?

Harry had groaned initially. And had moaned even louder when after a failed History of Magic exam beginning of term, Sirius called him on the mirror to let him know he'd be keeping a closer eye on his marks and Harry had to endure a long "conversation" about actually doing his assignments and not just skating by on his good looks.

"It's not going to bite you, Harry," Sirius said from where he was leaning against the counter, cup of tea in his hands, "Nor is it going to open itself."

"Feels like it should."

"Like a Howler?" Sirius asked a half-smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Mhmm. Just shout them at us too," Harry told him and took a breath before breaking the seal of the envelope and opening the post. He scanned the results slowly, caught somewhere between feeling pleased and feeling disappointed. What was Sirius expecting?

"Well?"

Harry wordlessly stood up and crossed to Sirius, handing him the results. He shifted from foot to foot, watching as Sirius read the paper.

It didn't matter. Except now it did.

It didn't matter. Except when Harry came home for the winter holidays and got to tell Sirius how well he did on the Transfiguration midterm. Because his godfather would say I'm so proud of you and Harry got to choose where they went to dinner.

It didn't matter. Except now, because Harry finally had an adult who actually cared how well he did in school. Who cared if he was learning. Who cared if he understood magic and could use it to protect himself. Who cared at all.

"Can you say something?" Harry asked, suddenly irritated though he was looking down at their bare feet. Sirius had the hairiest feet Harry had ever seen, and a big toe twice the size of his others. Harry made fun of him for it when they went to the seaside.

They're flippers Sirius. I think your ancestors forgot to follow through and gave you the ugliest feet in the world...

Harry felt Sirius's hand gently lift his chin up so he could meet his godfather's eyes.

"Well done, my love."

"But there's an A!" Harry nearly whined, unable to stop himself. "How is that good"

"Did you try? Did...you do the very best you could in History of Magic? In all your classes?"

"Well, yeah."

Late nights.

Revision guides.

Actually reading the textbooks.

"Then well done, my love," Sirius repeated and the twisting feeling in his stomach shifted into something that glowed. Warm. Shining. Bright. He watched as Sirius waved his wand to stick the OWL results to the fridge, and grabbed a quill from the counter to doodle tiny hearts around the margins. Harry laughed. Harry rolled his eyes. But Harry couldn't help but stare at the scores for a bit longer.

Well done.

yeah why hermione?

Harry: why was six afraid of seven?

Hermione: I assume it's because seven is a prime number and prime numbers are intimidating

Ron: ..... It's because seven ate 9....

Harry: Hermione why??

Now @zazima be a dear and pls write the scene where sirius went to hogwarts with the dmle folks too😊

“dear harry,”

read “dear sirius” first

Hey kiddo, relax. I’d be quite the hypocrite if I got mad at you for losing points. Just be careful next time, please. Maybe stick to smuggling items on Filch’s banned list as opposed to fire-breathing, sharp-toothed illegal magical creatures. Also weren’t you wearing the cloak? How’d you get caught?

Does McGonagall still wear that tartan dress robe? If so, please tell her to upgrade her wardrobe to the 90′s.

I cannot wait to see you at the Quidditch match. Is the new broom holding up well? Either way, I know you’re going to smash it!

Love,

Sirius

Dear Harry,

One “Defending Yourself and Others- the Practically Perfect Way” is enclosed, my studious child. You owe me five Sickles by the way- I told you he’d be nuts. And no, I have no desire to learn what that crackpot’s favorite colour is. I’d much rather have one-on-one tutoring with Snape for the rest of my life, which is something I never thought I’d say.

Love,

Sirius

Dear Harry,

Do I need to get you a Remembrall? Slip is attached, although I’m not sure you even need it. Didn’t you memorize all of the secret passageways by the time you were 9? I would like it on the record to that you did that of your own volition; I had nothing to do with it. 

And I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sugar Quills? I don’t touch the stuff. It’s bad for the brain, you see. And my brain needs to be extra sharp in order to keep up with you and your shenanigans.

(Although if you happen to see them, I’m sure the extra-long lasting ones would be excellent. Just to see what they’re like, of course).

Love,

Sirius

Dear Harry,

Not to worry my young worrywart, we will wait to open presents, drink hot chocolate, and make my famous Christmas pancakes until you get home. Father Christmas normally waits for no one, but this year he’ll wait for you- I’ve put in a good word (although I’m tempted to take it back as payback for calling my decor horrid).

Now for the Ball, it’ll probably help to not refer to any possible date as “stupid”. They’re much more likely to say yes that way, you see. Other than that, I suggest asking someone (boy or girl, doesn’t matter who) that you generally get along with and enjoy speaking to. It’ll make your night at least a little less painful. Perhaps one of your Quidditch teammates? Or someone from your classes?

Don’t ask someone only because you think they’re attractive. It may lead to awkward conversation, awkward dancing, and awkward excessive butterbeer consumption that leads to a night spent on the toilet. Not that I’m speaking from experience, of course. But if I was theoretically recounting my experience I would like it to be known that it was not me who ended up on the toilet. It was my theoretical date. 

As for dancing… I’m quite pants at that even with the forced childhood lessons. Maybe ask your date to give you a tutorial? Or at least a practice dance to make sure you don’t muck up the opening.

Also I checked for your dress robes- they’re not here. Are you sure they’re not buried at the bottom of your trunk?

Best of luck, kiddo. Don’t forget to send pictures at the Ball- I’m running low on blackmail material.

Love,

Sirius

Harry-

I’m coming to see you and bringing DMLE folks. Be in Gryffindor common room in half an hour. 

Don’t worry, I’m on my way.

Sirius

P.S. Thank you for telling me. I’m proud of you

Idk y hes stealing Molly's lines but I do know i love this

“have you gone from me?”

Sirius voice is soft, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of Harry’s pale face as he lets out a groan. The boy’s thin limbs twitch from the lingering effects of the Cruciatus.

“No, I’m here,” Harry mutters. “Fuck. This hurts like hell. No wonder they call it an Unforgiveable. I sure as hell won’t be forgiving Bellatrix any time soon.”

Sirius doesn’t crack a smile. “I’m gonna call Pomfrey. The potion shouldn’t be letting you feel anything.”

“No wait,” says Harry through gritted teeth. “I think that’s the last of it.” Indeed, as soon as he’s done speaking, his arms and legs still.

Sirius lets out a sigh of relief. “You hurting anywhere else?”

“No. I think Pomfrey gave me enough to knock out an threstral.”

Sirius’ lips twitch. “Then should I be concerned that you’re still conscious?”

“Nah. I’m always an anomaly when it comes to healing.” Despite his words, Harry’s head starts to loll to the side and his breathing begins to slow. Sirius reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” Sirius says quietly. Harry cracks one eye open.

“I’d be concerned if you did,” he responds. 

Sirius’ face darkens. “Next time I see her, she’s dead.” 

“Good,” Harry breathes, the word barely intelligible as he drifts into unconsciousness.

“Have you gone from me?” Sirius whispers, eyes locked on the still face of his child. There’s no response. Sirius leans forward and kisses his forehead. He rises up out of his chair, untangling his fingers from Harry’s now-lax hand, and moves towards the door.

“Not my kid, you bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he strides out of the hospital wing, wand in his hand.

Lucky you! I mean I have a few friends best ones at that but none like _that_

My fav dynamic in marauders is the complete and slightly unhealthy codependency James and Sirius have on each other

Like I’m positive when they left hogwarts instead of living with their partners they just owned a seperate house where they could live together

Sure they stayed with their partners sometimes but other times they just needed to be alone together

love this

posting an untitled drabble saved in my drafts about Sirius calling Harry by his name most of the time in their little cottage and Harry being very 🥰 about it — words: 305 summary: He didn't have a name, not really. It was boy and child and idiot and freak.

Harry didn't quite know his name before kindergarten. When he'd heard his name called out for attendance, he'd felt as if he was a stranger happening across treasure. An imposter. Harry Potter—that wasn't his name. He didn't have a name, not really. It was boy and child and idiot and freak.

He cradled it in his hands and twisted his tongue around that name in the dark of his cupboard, stitched it to his mind and imagined frequently how his parents—Mr and Mrs Potter—would have named him. Harry. Maybe they'd sifted through name-books before deciding on Harry, or maybe it was recommended to them by a neighbour, or maybe it was an ancestral name. Whichever it was, this was his now; Harry Potter was his name, and it was the only thing that really belonged to him that had never been the Dursley's before.

Harry doesn't know why it feels so different now, hearing his name all the time in Sirius' cottage. Even though he hears it at Hogwarts too, but it's different in the way it's Potter or Harry followed by an awed Potter, or a stern Mr Potter—and it's not like how this is.

It's not pronounced with so much affection and warmth in long corridors, the way Sirius says it, eyes crinkled and a smile dimpling his cheeks, and Sirius says it so much around Harry:

Calls him from downstairs, "Harry, love—!" Wishes him, "Good morning, Harry!" "Harry, pass me the turmeric, please?" "What would you like for dinner, Harry?" To sleep, "Good night, Harry."

I love you, Harry.

It's always Harry, spoken in that rich, quiet voice of his, coated in love and soaked in warmth and Harry notices and his heart flutters and squeezes. He smiles every time and can't help but love it and Sirius.

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.