Work Text:
That night, Sirius woke with a start. He jumped out of bed and ran into the hallway. Through the open doorway he saw Harry in his bed, lying on his side, sobbing.
“No… no… no…”
Sirius entered the room and sat down on Harry’s bed. The boggarts materialized almost immediately, and he waved them away with a flick of his wand.
“I won’t do it again… I’m sorry…”
Sirius lay his hand gently on Harry’s shoulder, but Harry’s arms jerked upward to shield his face.
“Harry, it’s just me. It’s Sirius. Your godfather.”
He leaned over to kiss Harry on the forehead. In the moonlight he caught a glimpse of dark oblong marks on the side of Harry’s neck. His stomach turned.
“Harry… Harry. I’m right here. The boggart can’t hurt you anymore.”
Harry blinked. Those green eyes of his really were striking, Sirius thought, a warm bubbly feeling pulsing through his chest. It was as if they emitted a light of their own.
“Sirius?” said Harry faintly. “Did I wake you up?”
“No,” said Sirius, “I think the boggarts did.”
He hesitated, but decided his next question was worth a try.
“What were you dreaming of?”
Harry looked straight at him, his face unmoving.
“It - it was nothing, sir.”
Sirius sighed. “You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ remember? I’m your godfather. I’m supposed to take care of you and make sure you are safe and happy. Kind of like your dad, or uncle - “
“Not uncle,” Harry interjected.
“You’re right, not your uncle,” Sirius agreed, wishing he could kick himself in the shins for that slip-up. He really was terrible at this child-rearing thing.
A current of images came so suddenly to his mind that it took him a second to register them as foreign. Except they weren’t just images, but a hodgepodge of blurry pictures, emotions, tastes, and sounds.
A slap that stung his face and left a handprint on his cheek. Pitch darkness and a bladder about to burst. The rancid taste of a mouth that hadn’t tasted food in days -
Sirius vaguely remembered that James’ mother had mentioned something about this aspect of wizard parenting, once. It was a kind of reverse Legilimency without the forced entry. The mind of a magic child would at times burst forth with emotions and memories with the subconscious hope that a caregiver would receive them, and understand.
“Harry,” said Sirius, “I might not know anything about being a godfather. I might say the wrong thing or burn the eggs or even set the laundry on fire. But I will always treat you as my son. I will never hit you, or hurt you. And I will never abandon you.”
Harry looked up at Sirius with such unmistakable adoration that Sirius had to close his eyes to compose himself.
“Sirius?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“I’m glad you found me.”
“I am too, Harry. I am too.”