Work Text:
July 1993
Padfoot pushed his nose through the leaves on the edge of the property so he could see the house properly. Twelve years and he recognized Harry's scent immediately. But it was faint, as if he hadn't been out here recently.
He cocked his head, considering. It was the first of July—Hogwarts' term was well over. Of course it was, since he had seen that photo days ago. And the description mentioned that several of the Weasley children were on holiday from Hogwarts.
Perhaps Lily's sister and her family had gone on holiday as well—straight from the station, perhaps?
But wait…
Padfoot pressed his stomach to the ground as an auto turned from the street and came to a slow stop in front of the ordinary house. His tail swept the dirt, and his heart sped against the canine ribs in anticipation. Twelve years since he'd seen—
But surely… that couldn't be…
A large boy lumbered from the backseat, leaving the door to be closed by… yes, that was Petunia. Padfoot recognized her scent as well, though he'd only met her once. Hadn't liked her much.
"Come along, Tuney, my dear," a big man said as he rolled out of the driver's seat. "Dudley and I are peckish, isn't that so, Didders?"
Dudley?
"I want cake," the boy said loudly.
"Of course you do," the man said, his smile nearly as broad as his face.
Padfoot leaned forward as much as he dared. But no one else emerged from the auto. Harry's scent didn't mingle with the others. The trio disappeared into the house and the door was closed firmly behind them.
Where the hell was Harry?
Did he not live here any longer?
The article had mentioned Ron Weasley as Harry's best mate—the best mate of the Boy Who Lived, rather. So Harry was alive and presumably well…
Impatience eating at his belly, Padfoot rose and slunk into the shadows creeping along the side of the house. A few more steps and he was in the back garden, a glass door the only thing separating him from the house. He could see Petunia in the kitchen. The boy came in a moment later, paused in whatever he was saying to Petunia as soon as he glanced at the back door. His eyes widened.
Padfoot did his very best imitation of lovable stray and only had to wait another moment before the boy was sliding the door open. "Look at him, Mum! He looks like he could eat someone in one gulp!"
"Dudders, darling, he's a stray—"
"Dad! Come look at this dog! I want to keep him!"
"Dog? What dog?"
The boy's father didn't appear though and with his tail still wagging, Padfoot slipped past the slight woman who protested shrilly, but neither Padfoot nor Dudley paid her any mind. Padfoot because Harry's scent was stronger in here. Odd… it was leading toward a small cupboard under the stairs.
"Not over there, Dog," Dudley complained when Padfoot pushed his nose against the wooden door. "Food, Mum! He needs food!"
"Oh, Diddykins, I don't know…"
"Dad! Mum won't let me have the dog!" Dudley shouted over his shoulder.
"Tuney, of course Dudders needs a dog," the man's voice floated through the room. "A boy should have a dog."
There was more scent leading up the stairs, as faint as it had been outside, but there all the same. Padfoot ignored that as well and scratched impatiently at the door.
"It's just a broom cupboard, you dumb dog," Dudley said, but he pulled the door open anyway. "See? There isn't any food. It's just the freak's old cupboard…"
Padfoot stared at the dingy cupboard—at the dust that clung to the single light bulb on the ceiling, and the tattered mattress that filled the space. A torn blanket… Two toy soldiers and half a piece of cheese, now encased in mold.
And all of it was covered in Harry's scent.
Padfoot's body began to tremble, the magic shaking from his core and before he could stop it, he was fully human.
Dudley's scream pierced the bubble of fury.
"Dudders, what—aughh! Vernon!"
"Where is he?" Sirius demanded as the frightened woman shoved her son behind her, the two of them trying to scramble away.
"Tuney!" Vernon, face flushed and sweaty, came to an inelegant halt just two steps into the kitchen. He immediately paled and his mouth flopped stupidly as he stared at Sirius. "What…. What…"
"Where is he?" Sirius demanded again, his voice unfamiliar and hoarse. He didn't even recognize it; hadn't heard it in years.
"Wh… Who?" The flabby man stuttered. "What… what do you want?"
"My godson," Sirius rasped. "Harry. Where is he?"
Vernon's face twisted. "Harry Potter," he spat. "That freak—"
Sirius stepped forward and that's all it took for the big man to shrink against the table. Sirius gripped his collar and wrenched him forward, ignoring the gurgled protest and the whimper from Petunia. "You have three seconds to tell me where my godson is," he said softly. "Three seconds before I snap your neck."
"He's not here," Petunia said, even as she inched further away with her son. "He's with them. At his school—his m… magic school," she whispered, still moving.
"Hogwarts?" Sirius demanded, Vernon still in his grip; he was turning purple. A sharp shake and he got a nod.
"They kept him," the man gasped out.
"He was hurt," Petunia explained. Sirius released Vernon's collar abruptly and had to twist around the bulk as it crumpled to the floor. With all three still frozen in fear, Sirius turned on the spot and left them behind.
He had to Apparate twice more before he could cover the distance to the Shrieking Shack… something he had managed in one go many times before Azkaban. He barely had the energy to transform into Padfoot once there. But at least the tunnel was still intact, longer than he remembered but intact.
He crawled from the Whomping Willow's tunnel and into the twilight. The castle sat, sedate in the waning light, just as regal as it has always been. He could see the Quidditch pitch in the distance—the lake and Hagrid's hut as well. If Hagrid was still the caretaker.
It was probably foolish to have come. But if Harry was hurt—
Alive and well was apparently too much to ask for.
Padfoot's teeth bared for an instant before he ducked his nose to the ground and made his way toward the castle, and the secret entrance that he desperately hoped was still there.
And it was. Just as he and the other Marauders had left it.
He kept low to the ground as he climbed, only stumbling twice through the winding passage. He made it to the castle's first floor fairly quickly, though he didn't emerge immediately, instead pressing his furry body flat against the alcove. But there were no footsteps, no overwhelming scents to indicate that anyone was nearby.
Wishing desperately for a wand, as he had numerous times since his escape, Padfoot had to rely on shadows again to hide.
He hadn't quite made it to the third floor when another familiar scent assaulted his nose. But before he could react, an equally familiar voice asked softly, "What is this?"
Padfoot kept his nose close to the ground, but allowed his tail to sweep the stone. Not quite the reaction from a normal dog, but if Dumbledore—
"How did you get in here?" the headmaster asked in a cheerful tone as he came closer. "I suppose Hagrid might know something about this," he said, amusement now in the soft voice. "Come along, then," he encouraged. "I suppose I might have something for a hungry pup."
How could he not remember? He'd seen all of the Marauders in their forms—
Dumbledore was suddenly crouching in front of him and without his permission, Padfoot was staring into intent blue eyes. "Sirius?"
Before he could bolt, magic that wasn't his own pushed him taut against the cold floor and then he was blinking up at Dumbledore through human eyes.
The headmaster had his wand out and was aiming it straight at Sirius' nose.
"Wait," Sirius croaked, his voice thinner now; one more moment and it would break. "Please…" he whispered, "… just… let me explain…"
"Explain?" Dumbledore's snowy eyebrows crept toward his star-strewn hat. "I am well aware of who you are. Well aware of what you've done—"
"No," Sirius gasped. "Please… I have to see Harry."
A flick of the sturdy wand and a silver bird erupted, skimmed away from Sirius' face and down the corridor. "To add one more victim to your list?" the older wizard murmured. "I think not, Sirius."
Sirius' saliva scraped his throat. He hadn't had water for two days. "You… don't understand."
"Oh, I believe I understand quite well. You've come to finish what you started twelve years ago."
"No—"
Running footsteps sounded farther down the corridor, but Sirius didn't even try to turn. Neither did Dumbledore look away. "Please," Sirius whispered again. "Please…"
"Albus! What in Merlin's name is the emergency?"
McGonagall.
"Remain where you are, Minerva."
A sharp breath and McGonagall said shrilly, "But that's—"
"Sirius Black, yes." The older man's gaze had sharpened, but the wand did not waver and Sirius felt certain his lips would meet a Dementor's within the hour.
"It wasn't," he gurgled, and then coughed violently. "Not me," he tried again and instead of silencing him, Dumbledore cocked his head. "James… was my brother—" His voice cracked and only a whimper would emerge after that, "Harry… never…"
"Silencio," McGonagall's voice, sharper now and only air curled over Sirius' teeth. "How dare you," she trembled. "That poor child—"
Dumbledore raised his hand, and she fell silent. He leant forward, his wand no longer touching Sirius' skin. The blue eyes were deeper somehow, his voice melodic as he whispered, "Show me what you know, Sirius…"
Knowing instantly what he wanted, Sirius surrendered his thoughts. Memories he had held close for twelve years collided and swirled away. Secrets went with them, but Dumbledore swept them away, seeming only to care for that night. That wretched, horrible night when Sirius had done the unthinkable.
He'd let Hagrid take Harry away.
James' dead face mingled with Lily's fiery hair. Whispered words joined the fray, a plan to make Peter the secret keeper. On the night of the full moon so that Remus was unaware—a grave mistake that would haunt Sirius forever.
Peter taking the responsibility without rousing even an iota of suspicion amongst them.
Harry's heart-broken squalling as Hagrid flew out of sight, leaving Sirius standing in the Potters' garden, his robes flapping hopelessly in the biting wind.
I need to find Remus. Dumbledore…
Sirius' thoughts that night collided with his own desire now to find Harry until he could no longer separate them. Harry's name was stamped over Peter's harsh taunts as they fought in the Muggle neighbourhood near Remus' home.
Harry sat nearby, playing happily with his toys as the thirteen innocent bystanders were ripped apart by Peter's spell. A single word from Peter's lips and his pinkie was severed at the knuckle. The leering smile and Sirius' mind fell silent as his former friend's wand was aimed at his chest.
"Harry…"
The name was past and present as the world stopped spinning and Sirius could see Dumbledore again, this time through a haze of tears.
The silence was broken with Dumbledore's gruff order, "Transform." The wand was withdrawn.
"Albus, what are you doing?"
"Minerva, I assure you I am quite sane. Sirius, quickly."
"Harry…"
"He is in the infirmary," Dumbledore said as he gripped an elbow to help Sirius sit. "If anyone sees you, I cannot guarantee they will allow you an explanation. You must transform."
Struggling to gather strength enough, it took far longer than it usually did for Padfoot to appear. And then he had to stand, on legs that wanted to collapse. He blinked in bleary confusion at his former Head of House, who had her wand in hand, though it was trained on the floor.
"This way," Dumbledore said in clipped tones. "To my office. Minerva, send for Poppy, if you would. If she can leave Harry."
If she can leave Harry…
Padfoot's steps faltered at the grim words, and if he hadn't been absolutely certain that the headmaster would stun him, he would have veered off toward the infirmary. To follow along after the silvery cat, which was sprinting around a corner just ahead.
The trek to Dumbledore's office took far too long, and by the time they were safely inside, it took everything Sirius had to transform. He steadied himself on one of the walls but still slid to the floor to land in an undignified heap on the carpeted floor.
"Albus, what on earth?"
"Quite simply, Minerva," Dumbledore said, though he made no move to scrape Sirius from the rug, "Sirius is innocent."
"But—"
Dumbledore tapped his temple, smiling slightly. Minerva sighed and deflated. He called softly for one of the elves, a bulbous-eyed fellow, who took no notice of Sirius. "Tea, Barny, if you would. And perhaps… soup?"
Sirius didn't answer; couldn't manage another word. Except another entreaty for his godson. Dumbledore sighed once the elf disappeared. "I will leave it up to Poppy to explain Harry's health. I believe, however, that I should attempt to locate the Weasleys. If indeed Ronald's pet is Peter Pettigrew, as you believe, we cannot allow him to remain free."
Sirius stared, having had no idea that Dumbledore had gleaned quite that much from the Legilimency spell.
"I left your—" Dumbledore coughed delicately. "—more private thoughts alone."
Sirius didn't have the energy to be embarrassed. Dumbledore's next words were cut off as the Floo came to life and a slightly-rumpled Pomfrey stepped from the flames. "Albus," she sighed as she stepped onto the rug and flapped the soot from her apron, "I only have a moment."
Her gaze found Sirius then, and in the same octave as Petunia's, her shriek pierced the air.
The cry stabbed Sirius' breastbone and he scrambled back without meaning to, away from her terror.
The screams ceased abruptly and when Sirius looked up from the cocoon he'd drawn himself into, he had no idea what had quieted her. Dumbledore was standing beside her, leaning close as he spoke words that Sirius couldn't hear.
But she was watching him, the horror draining slowly from her face, and in that moment, a new fear travelled up Sirius' throat and locked his tongue. Is this how Harry would see him?
Did he know?
Had they told him that his godfather was a murderer? A traitor in every sense of the word?
His arms and fingers were numb, his ears buzzing so that he only realized Dumbledore was speaking to him when the older wizard's face was centimeters from his own. "Sirius? Are you quite all right?"
"Of course he isn't," Pomfrey said crisply, moving the headmaster from his perch; she aimed her wand straight at Sirius' face. "He's been with Dementors for twelve years. He's obviously quite mad."
"No, no," he croaked, needing her to understand this. "I'm all right… tired… haven't eaten…" He sucked in as much breath as his lungs would allow. "Need to see Harry."
She drew back, her frown an iron fist to Sirius' chest. "You would frighten the poor child half to death, Sirius. Have you seen yourself?" She tutted and shook her head. "I assume Albus hasn't told you of Harry's injuries? Hold still, if you please. You are severely dehydrated and delirious from hunger, I should think... Albus, you need not remain if you have things to attend to. I am quite capable of caring for two patients."
Dumbledore said something before he left, but Sirius paid no attention. Pomfrey started as he curled his fingers about her wrist. "Injuries," he whispered. "What happened to him? Is he…?"
She blinked several times and before she answered she summoned the hot tea waiting patiently on Dumbledore's desk. "Drink it," she commanded. "All of it. Slowly. And I shall explain. But you really must remain still. You have a large gash down your left side. I have no idea how you made it here alive."
"Had to see Harry," he muttered before slurping back a tiny mouthful of tea.
She considered him with narrowed eyes, and then she nodded and began to ply him with potions and elixirs—spells as well; all while explaining how Harry came to be burned in some rotting chamber in the bowels of the castle.
"But…"
"The headmaster didn't explain more than what I've just told you, I'm afraid," she said as she lifted his shirt and smoothed a second coating of healing balm across the deep gash. "Not that he ever does."
"Poppy," Minerva chided.
"It is rather difficult to treat a patient," Pomfrey retorted, "when I am given no information as to how he was injured."
"How did he…?" Sirius began but Pomfrey shook her head.
"We don't know. Ginny Weasley—the Weasley's youngest—was with him in the chamber, but she wasn't seriously injured. Harry saved her from something, but I have no idea what it might have been. I do know her magic was tampered with and there were traces of dark magic on both of them, more so on Harry. His magic was completely depleted… overrun, the headmaster did say."
Sirius stared at her. Overrun…
Pomfrey nodded. "Something invaded his magical core, possessed him, from what I can tell, but he won't talk of it. I've tried to coax it out of him several times. Even Albus doesn't seem to know the extent of what happened. Or perhaps that is simply what he wishes me to think. " She sighed. "Harry was too ill to return to his home in Surrey; too ill now. He was burned by dark magic, and without his own magic intact, his recovery is progressing very slowly."
"But, he'll recover?"
"Yes," Pomfrey assured him. "Given time. He will be able to move from his bed tomorrow, which he couldn't a week ago." She smiled. "And he is quite tired of his confinement, which I have always counted a positive sign."
"I…"
"Yes, I heard you," Pomfrey chided. "I understand you want to see your godson, but not like this. Not without a proper wash. And we must do something with your hair; you are filthy. A shave wouldn't go amiss either. And," she added in a sharper tone, "you are a convict."
She tutted at his wince.
"The other teachers have left the castle for the summer holiday, but we cannot risk someone seeing you. You will need to be discreet."
"Potter has seen the news of your escape in the Prophet," McGonagall added quietly. The words sent a chill down Sirius' spine. "He has no idea that you are his godfather—or that you were best man at his parents' wedding..."
"But your appearance like this would still be a shock," Pomfrey concluded.
Sirius nodded, the relief making a delay easier to accept. Harry hadn't been told his godfather was a traitor. Hope, brighter than he'd felt in many years, began to seep into the chilled muscles. At least he'd be able to talk to Harry—that was more than he could have wished for.
But there was something else. He gripped Pomfrey's arm again, to still her ministrations. "His relatives."
"Yes, they are aware of the situation," Pomfrey said, "and—"
"No," he interrupted softly. "I was there."
"In Surrey?"
Sirius glanced at McGonagall, nodded in response to her sharp question.
"There was a bed," he told them, grateful the tea had taken some of the rasp from his voice. "In their broom cupboard. Full of Harry's scent. They called him a freak," he said when she only stared at him.
"Lily's sister?" Pomfrey asked in surprise.
The women shared a glance.
"Perhaps," Pomfrey said tentatively, "you simply misunderstood. After everything you've been through…"
"No, that isn't—"
"Now, that is enough of this nonsense," McGonagall tsked. "I can't imagine Lily's sister is anything but in love with that boy. If she is anything like Lily."
"I need to return to Harry before he wakes." Pomfrey said before Sirius could protest that Petunia was everything Lily Evans was not. "Minerva, may I leave Mr. Black to your care? Albus' private quarters seem just the place for a bath."
--
Sirius straightened the sleeves of the new grey shirt, wondering at the feel of clean linen against his skin. His boots felt odd, almost claustrophobic in the way they choked his feet.
McGonagall hadn't said where she'd found the clothes, and she'd waved away his gratitude. Even though Sirius had ranted at her for the sleeping potion Pomfrey had slipped in amongst the rest. She'd listened patiently and told him the half a day's sleep had done wonders for his state of mind.
He hadn't been certain if she'd been joking, but he stopped going on about it anyway and allowed the Headmaster's private elves to cut his hair, though he'd insisted on shaving on his own.
He'd always found it creepy that his father allowed Kreacher so close to his throat.
"Well?" McGonagall's amused voice interrupted the finicky grooming. "No matter how many times you straighten your shirt, Harry will still be able to recognize you from that photograph."
Sirius glanced at the newspaper in question, which had been mocking him from the bed for the past hour. Insane was the first word that came to mind. He looked absolutely mad in the picture. Just like a man who could betray his friends and then murder thirteen people as an afterthought.
"If we could believe you innocent," McGonagall added, handing over a long, flat box, "then Potter certainly will. He has no reason not to."
Swallowing, he nodded. "It's just…"
"You've been waiting to see him for twelve years." She nodded. "I do understand. I think he will be quite happy to meet someone who knew his father so well." She tapped a finger against the box. "I thought you might need this. It was my father's, nothing like your own, but it will do for now."
Sirius glanced at her once the top was pulled off, and was only able to manage a hoarse, "Thank you."
She smiled one of her pressed smiles and patted his arm. "I suspect you will feel a bit more like yourself with a wand in your pocket."
He weighed the dark wand in his palm, marveling as the magic from his core rushed up to greet it. It was impatient, it seemed. He half-smiled as he waved the wand in a small arc and commanded, "Lumos."
"Very good," McGonagall approved, in the teacher's voice best suited to her. "Off you go now," she added, ushering him toward the Floo before he could even end the spell.
"Nox," he said hastily as she handed him Dumbledore's box of Floo powder. He gazed at his old Head of House and wanted to thank her again but she stepped back and shook her head.
"It was the least we could do," she assured him. "After what you have endured. After believing you were capable of such heinous things. I do apologize for that."
Sirius' smile didn't quite make it. "It wasn't your fault."
"No," she said softly. "But I can't help but think we should have done something anyway."
He doubted very much that she could have helped, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. He stepped into the Floo. "Thanks," he said again and then called for Pomfrey's office. McGonagall's regretful features were masked by the green flames as he was whisked away.
He stepped out into the tidy office a moment later. Pomfrey looked up from several potions she was measuring into vials and smiled. "Perfect timing, Mr Black. Harry just woke."
The nervous tingles returned to Sirius' stomach as his eyes went to the open door.
Pomfrey joined him after capping one of the vials. "Your colour is much improved," she said. "You feel better, I assume?"
"Yes, much," he murmured, his eyes still fastened to the door. With Harry so close, he seemed to have lost the use of his legs. Pomfrey solved that problem by taking his arm and walking firmly toward the main room.
She released him once they were out of the office. She crossed the room with hushed swishes of her skirts. "How are you feeling, Mr Potter?"
Sirius stood there, chained to the stone, as he stared at his godson. Twelve years. Twelve year, and everything had changed. His heart sounded loud in his ears as he watched Harry blinking at the matron in sleep-soaked confusion. "Tired," he said in a muzzy voice.
"Well, of course you are," she tutted. "You are taking several potions. And your core is working harder than it should. Any aches?" she asked. "How does your chest feel?"
"Hot," Harry mumbled. Sirius' throat ached as he found his feet moving. No longer a toddler; this teenager was his godson. Not quite a teenager, he amended silently. It was nearly a month until Harry's birthday.
Harry was here. He couldn't seem to make his eyes believe that truth.
His godson sitting right here. With the same wild, black hair he'd been born with. The vivid green eyes that he'd inherited from his mother. Even the face he was making belonged to the toddler Sirius had cradled in his arms.
Twelve years.
He'd lost so much. And yet, Harry was here. Only a few footsteps away. Sirius' dreams had never allowed him to imagine this scenario. Only another two steps, but Sirius was afraid the fragile scene would shatter, so he didn't continue forward.
He simply stood there, unable to look away.
There were bandages covering most of Harry's left side—Sirius could see them as Pomfrey folded the blankets down.
Sirius pressed his teeth together to still the unwelcome tears climbing his throat. Harry was alive. He was whole—and those bandages on his face would be gone soon.
Harry coughed and the healer immediately sent a spell over his chest. "There we are. Your lungs have healed well," she said, "but we still have some progress to make, don't we?"
Harry didn't answer and somehow that eased the way for Sirius to start moving again. Harry caught the movement and he shifted his eyes toward Sirius.
Sirius froze.
There was no recognition in the gaze however, only confusion as Harry squinted.
"Be still," Pomfrey admonished and Harry sighed and settled his gaze on the healer.
"I'm tired of being still…"
The muttered complaint brought a smile to Sirius' lips.
"None of your cheek, Mr Potter. There now," she said crisply. "I won't need to give you another treatment until morning. That should satisfy you." She folded her hands on her pristine apron, waiting for an acknowledgement. Harry finally nodded.
"Yeah, I guess."
Pomfrey sighed and turned finally turned to Sirius. "He is a worse patient than you were. Worse even than his father. I don't believe I've had a more stubborn patient since the two of you."
Harry's gaze flew back to Sirius. Grief pierced Sirius' chest as the fringe fell away from Harry's forehead—the scar was still there. The one that had appeared the night Voldemort had been killed. Not as angry as it had been that night… nothing was the same.
Harry's squint intensified. "You knew my dad?" he asked quietly, the edge of excitement in his voice making his fringe quiver.
Sirius found his voice with difficulty; it came out unnaturally high. "Yes," he finally answered. He cleared his throat. "Very well."
Harry shifted, a brilliant smile lighting his face. Sirius smiled slowly and closed the space between them.
"Mr Potter," Pomfrey said, stepping to the side of the bed, "you remember the article you read about the escaped convict? In The Daily Prophet yesterday?"
His eyes still on Sirius' face, Harry nodded. "Yeah."
"It appears the story was false," Pomfrey explained in a matter of fact tone.
Harry glanced at her, looking confused again. "He didn't escape?"
"He did," Sirius answered for her, and Harry's eyes were on him again. Sirius tried to clear his throat again but it didn't make his voice any less foggy. "He didn't kill anyone, is what she means. And he," he said softly, "is me."
Harry's brow crumpled. "You're Sirius Black?"
"Oh," Pomfrey said. "You haven't your glasses." She plucked a pair from the table beside Harry's bed and handed them over. Harry fumbled with them, having only one usable hand at the moment. Sirius reached out and Harry stilled as he very gently hooked the wire around his ears.
"There we are," Sirius murmured. He smiled softly. "Better? I didn't know you wore glasses… just like your dad."
Harry straightened the spectacles with a knuckle from his un-bandaged hand and finally, understanding seeped into his face, but he didn't mention the papers again. "You were friends with him? My dad?"
"We were in Gryffindor together," Sirius answered with a nod. "I was best man at your parents' wedding."
"You were?"
"Mmhm… it was a lovely wedding; never saw your dad as happy as he was that day. Well," he amended with a smile, "not until you were born, at least."
Harry's eyes popped and he shifted again as if he wanted to sit up but couldn't. "You were there when I was born?"
Sirius hooked the nearest chair with an ankle and sat carefully for his sore muscles. "Paced for hours in the parlour," he said. "Another of our friends' was there—Remus Lupin—and he and I were finally allowed to go upstairs once you were cleaned and properly examined. Your dad was so proud—couldn't stop smiling."
Harry was grinning.
"I was terrified to hold you," Sirius went on, the grief gathering hold of him again, though Harry's smile kept his voice even. "I thought I might drop you."
"Did you?"
Sirius laughed. "Not even once. I took my duties as your godfather very seriously."
Behind his glasses, Harry's eyes were enormous, and it took that long for Sirius to realize what he'd revealed. "You're my godfather?" Harry finally asked.
Sirius swallowed past the sudden knot in his throat. "Yes."
"Are you really?"
"They asked me as soon as they found out they were expecting you. They… named me your guardian as well; in their wills. If I hadn't—" Sirius gouged his fingertips into his knees and forced his voice to steady even as he gazed at his hands. "—been imprisoned all this time, you could have lived with me."
"You would have let me live with you?"
Sirius' head came up, startled at the deep surprise. "I wouldn't have had it any other way," he said quietly. "Not a day went by that I didn't miss you."
"You missed me?"
The tears claimed Sirius' vocal chords and since he couldn't speak, he reached out a tentative hand. Harry's tracked his movements, stilling again when Sirius brushed his knuckles over a cheek. "You've no idea," he whispered. He blinked, not allowing the tears to fall and said gruffly, "May I show you something?"
Silently, Harry nodded.
Smiling gently, Sirius dipped his fingers into his breast pocket. "Your mother sent this to me just after your first birthday."
He very carefully unfolded the photograph that he'd kept next to his heart—the letter along with it. It had faded with the years; lost its crisp edges, but that didn't matter. It was just as perfect as the first time he'd seen it. With James chasing after little Harry on his broom and Lily laughing.
"It's you," he explained as he passed it over. "And this is the letter your mum wrote to me… would you like me to read it to you?"
Harry cupped the small photo, his eyes ravenous as he nodded. Sirius had to swallow twice before he could begin, though he spoke from memory instead of actually reading, "Dear Padfoot, Thank you, thank you for Harry's birthday present. It was his favorite by far. Only one year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself…"
By the time he whispered, "Lots of love, Lily," Harry's eyes were shining.
"You gave the broom to me?"
"Godfather's privilege…"
Though it seemed impossible, Harry's smile grew. "You really are my godfather?" he asked again, a tremor in the question now.
"Yes."
"And my parents wanted me to live with you?"
"Yes," Sirius echoed. "And the moment I'm free…" He faltered at Harry's frown and finished rather lamely, "That is, if you want to…"
"But you said they were wrong about you… that you didn't kill anyone."
Not expecting that as the reason for Harry's frown, Sirius fumbled again. "I didn't," he said as firmly as he could manage, though he imagined he sounded too desperate. "But only Dumbledore knows that; and Pomfrey, of course. McGonagall…"
"Then you did escape?"
Oddly, Harry didn't sound alarmed; only disappointed.
"I did," Sirius said regretfully, "but Dumbledore is working on finding the real murderer… and once he does, I hope they'll pardon me."
"But who was it? The real murderer?"
Sirius sighed. "A very good friend of ours, I'm afraid." With a deep breath, he explained Peter's treachery to his godson. Harry's face was stiff when he finished.
"He betrayed them?" he croaked. "Just like that?"
Sirius rested a hand on Harry's head and brushed his thumb lightly over the dark strands. "I'm afraid so."
Harry had shifted his gaze and he ceased the tiny movements against the pillow.
"Dumbledore knows where to find him though," Sirius assured him. "He won't get away with what he did."
After a long consideration, Harry asked, "And then they'll let you go? Won't they?"
Absolutely uncertain of that, Sirius nodded anyway. "They will have no choice."
"Five minutes, Mr Potter!" Pomfrey's voice floated out from her office; Sirius hadn't even noticed she'd drifted away. "He needs his sleep," she added when Sirius glanced over his shoulder at her. He nodded before turning his attention back to Harry.
Harry had turned his head so that the bandages stared straight at Sirius. Keeping his features still, he asked, "Does that hurt? The burns?"
Harry lifted one shoulder in a shrug—the one that wasn't encased in white. "Not really. Pomfrey's potions taste awful, but they work."
Sirius smiled. "Her potions have always been foul. Best you keep taking them, though. And you'll be able to leave before you know it."
Harry turned his gaze to the ceiling. "Yeah."
Tangling and untangling his fingers, Sirius searched for something to say. "I met your relatives in Surrey… I didn't like them."
Harry's lip quirked and he glanced at Sirius. "Me either."
Smiling, Sirius leant forward, capturing his godson's worried look. "If Dumbledore is successful…" he said clearly, "… if he finds Peter and they pardon me, you don't have to live there any longer. Not if you'd rather live with me."
Harry stared at him, the strangest mix of emotions clamouring for space on his face. "Are you serious?"
"As my name."
Harry beamed. "Yes," he said, crumpling the letter in his excitement. He immediately flushed and rushed to straighten it. "Sorry," he breathed. Once it wasn't so mangled, he shoved it at Sirius with another apology.
Sirius curled his fingers over the smaller set and pushed Harry's hand back to his chest. "They're yours," he said softly; squeezed Harry's fingers. "I don't need a picture; not when you're right here."
His eyes shining, Harry whispered his gratitude, and his gaze went immediately back to the photograph. His intent study was interrupted by a wide yawn. Sirius chuckled and unfolded the blankets so that fell across Harry's chest once more. "Pomfrey must be a seer. That was nearly five minutes to the dot."
Harry shook his head. "She always tells me I'm not sleeping enough."
"Then you're probably not," Sirius reasoned. "Your core heals better when you're asleep, so you best do as she says, eh?"
Harry nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, all right." He pulled the letter and photograph to his chest. "Will you…" His forehead wrinkled as he searched Sirius' face. "Will you come back?"
Sirius smoothed the blanket and then couldn't pull his hand away from where it rested over Harry's heart. "I have nowhere else to be."
Harry smiled, wrinkling the letter as he pulled it closer.
"Sleep now," Sirius said quietly. "I'll be right here."
Harry didn't immediately close his eyes though. His gazed at Sirius for a long time, even as the lids struggled to stay open. He yawned twice more, blinking rapidly each time and finally lost the struggle. He was still smiling as his breathing evened out.
Pomfrey bustled in soon after, waving her hand and tsking for no apparent reason. And then she graced Sirius with a smile. "That is the first smile I've seen on his face since he's been here," she said.
Sirius smiled as well, though his heart ached as he watched the rise and fall of his godon's chest.
And when the owl came from Dumbledore hours later, announcing that Peter was in custody, Sirius felt the vice loosening from his chest. Twelve years he'd waited for this. Twelve years and Harry had never had a proper home, or a proper family. He didn't even realize how loved he was.
Sirius leant forward to ghost a thumb over the pink scar. He was Harry's family; had always been. And as he sat there, watching Harry sleep, he vowed that he would do anything to make certain his godson knew that.