Work Text:
He had first noticed it in the summer.
At first, Sirius had thought Harry to have a particularly strong affection for Crookshanks, a sentiment that Sirius only found wholly sensible and had not questioned further.
It had taken a few weeks to realise it was not the charming bandy-legged cat that Harry’s eyes were subconsciously following. Likewise, the cat wasn’t the recipient of an increasingly frequent number of silent, secretive shared smiles whenever someone was unfortunate enough to do something that garnered Harry’s amusement; no, the honour of that bestowment fell to the equally charming — and equally ginger — young lady who had devoted a great deal of her summer to entertaining Crookshanks.
Again, Sirius couldn’t find anything to disagree with in the object of Harry’s attention, indeed, his good opinion of Ginny had been formed immediately upon meeting her, when, one balmy evening, at the very beginning of summer, she had come bounding into Grimmauld Place’s dank kitchen, flashed a bright grin at Sirius across the old wooden table and declared, “It’s nice to meet you, but I don’t think much of your family’s choice in interior decoration.”
Sirius’ smile was no longer familiar to him, but it had risen easily at the sentiment. “Was it the house-elf heads that put you off?”
The girl's eyes had widened in alarm; her nose had wrinkled in distaste. “House-elf heads?”
“Ah, so you haven't taken a trip upstairs yet?”
With that scant piece of information, she'd turned on her heel and marched straight back out of the kitchen, a harried-looking Molly Weasley calling “for Heaven's sake, Ginny,” behind her, but Ginny had only continued striding her path, set on inspecting the most gruesome spectacles lining the hallways of Grimmauld Place.
Harry hadn’t arrived at the Order's gloomy headquarters until weeks later. By that time, everyone but Sirius seemed to have accepted the chafing captivity offered by his parents' old house with, if not good humour, a grudging attempt at it.
And then Sirius had found his already-conflicted emotions torn once more as he'd reckoned with exactly what the task James and Lily had charged him with really meant.
Protecting Harry, keeping him safe, giving him enough information to protect himself in the face of direct orders from Dumbledore and the teenaged ire being thrown at him across the dining room table from his beloved Godson; his guilt not eased by the scorn that was being directed at him from a perfect replica of Lily's eyes, ones that silently assured him he'd already failed, otherwise, he wouldn't be in this situation to begin with.
It wasn't a new guilt though, Sirius had been living with it for fourteen years now, and it was certainly a lighter burden than it had been all those interminable days locked up with the Dementors. Though he’d exchanged Azkaban for another prison, one he'd thought he'd escaped at age sixteen, at least there were moments of levity now.
There was the Weasley family's easy affection with one another, and their warmth which seemed to fill the frigid house despite its determination to remain unwelcoming. There were hearty dinners and good conversation, and a sense of community that, while welcome, made Sirius ache for the best friends he would never share a meal with again.
There was also Ginny's bright, unrestrained laughter and the way Harry seemed to seek it out. There was the way his Godson's eyes seemed to soften on the youngest of the Weasleys, an occurrence which accomplished the seemingly impossible task of making all traces of James disappear from his face, leaving only Lily.
If Harry was aware of Ginny’s effect on him, however, he did an excellent job of hiding it. None of Sirius’ thinly veiled attempts at suggestion yielded the desired results.
After one of Molly’s delicious — and uncomfortably filling — meals, Sirius had tried to broach the subject in as delicate a manner as possible.
“Ginny’s very funny,” he’d said quietly to Harry, leaning across the small expanse of table that separated them.
“Yeah,” Harry agreed absently, ducking to avoid the dessert bowl Fred had just summoned, and that had gone soaring wildly towards Harry’s head. “She’s a laugh.”
Without giving the matter any further consideration, Harry pushed his chair back from the table, apparently intent on following Ron, who was already heading for the door, and Sirius, who was glad to see Harry in a rare congenial mood where his friends were concerned, had no heart to try and stop him.
Yet Sirius was only deterred temporarily; house arrest did not offer many opportunities for entertainment, and he seized upon this one.
His next attempt to force the matter occurred just days later.
Molly, persisting in her crusade to wipe away years of rot and decay that Sirius privately thought was likely weaved into the very foundations of the house, had seen fit to direct Harry to clear out an ancient wardrobe in one of the guest bedrooms; Sirius immediately volunteered to join the endeavour.
“I think your mum had a hoarding problem,” Harry informed him, removing a sinister-looking, ghostly white Venetian mask from one of the shelves and tossing it unceremoniously into the rubbish bag awaiting at their feet.
Sirius hummed in agreement. “You know, Ginny made a similar observation — she wasn’t very taken with the decor.”
“I’d think there was something seriously wrong with her if she was.”
“But you don’t,” Sirius prompted with forced nonchalance.
“Don’t what?” Harry frowned down at the pair of ancient — and hideous — buckled shoes he’d just collected from the wardrobe floor.
“You don’t think there’s something seriously wrong with Ginny.”
“No,” Harry replied, brow still furrowed as he turned to look at Sirius directly. “Do you?”
“No, of course not!” Sirius waved away the accusation. “I think she’s a charming girl.”
“Right,” Harry discarded the shoes and began flicking through the dusty garments hanging from the rail.
Sirius waited a moment but no other thoughts came forth. He swallowed a sigh. “And you already agreed she’s funny.”
Harry’s only response to this reminder was a noncommittal hum and Sirius was forced to forge ahead without any assistance from his impervious Godson.
“The prank she played on Ron last night with the fake spider was very amusing.”
In truth, Sirius was being generous with this compliment. While he appreciated Ginny’s dedication to the bit, and her willingness to provoke her mother’s ire, he had some notes on how her practical application could be improved that he planned to share with her later.
“Ron didn’t think so,” Harry replied, giving away nothing of his opinion on the matter. “He made me check every inch of our room three times before he’d go to bed.”
“He needn’t be so worried,” Sirius replied. “Crookshanks is dedicated to the task of keeping the house pest-free.”
Harry shook his head, whether at Sirius’ reassurance or the ghastly acid-green lace robes he’d just removed from the wardrobe, it was impossible to say.
There was no opportunity to ask, for at that moment Molly’s voice came calling from the corridor outside the room, beckoning them down to yet another dinner where Sirius was forced to watch Harry’s eyes wander to Ginny with painful obliviousness.
This pattern continued for the rest of the summer holidays, a period that was woefully short and allowed Sirius no further chance to help Harry reach the obvious conclusion. Indeed, any attempts he did make were met with little more than teenaged grunts and abrupt changes of subject and before Sirius knew it, Harry was boarding the Hogwarts Express, Ginny was swallowed by a group of her friends on the crowded platform and even this simple self-given mission had evaded success.
After that passed interminably long, lonely months locked up in the drafty old house with nothing but the fleeting company of Order members flitting in and out; Sirius’ only constant companion was Kreacher, possibly the only being he considered worse company than a dementor.
Undoubtedly, Sirius had not considered himself overcome with festive spirit in the run-up to Christmas. Nor could he find himself cheerful at the circumstances that brought house guests to him for the holidays, but once it was ascertained that Arthur would survive the terrible attack he’d sustained at the hands — or rather, fangs — of Voldemort’s snake, Sirius could not deny himself glad of the company provided once more by Harry and the Weasley’s.
By the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, Sirius was in a rare state of high spirits.
Grimmauld Place remained stubbornly bleak but the festoons of holly and glittering ribbons he’d draped from every available surface — helped by Ginny who certainly proved she had more of an eye for decoration than most of Sirius’ relatives — went some way to brightening the place up; as did the spectacularly impressive fireworks Fred and George had set off around the house well before the clock had begun to approach midnight.
By chance, a small party had gathered in the kitchen owing to Remus and Tonks’ unexpected early return from a mission, and Kingsley’s appearance with a collection of bottles of Ogden’s, which were quickly passed around the adults.
“I’ll have mine to go,” Sirius said as Kingsley poured him a generous measure of the amber liquid. “I really should make sure Buckbeak’s settled before things get too raucous.”
“I can go,” Harry offered from beside Sirius as he leaned to collect one of the bottles of butterbeer Kingsley had brought for the kids. “I haven’t seen him much since I’ve been back.”
“We’ll come with you,” Hermione offered, popping the cap on her own bottle of butterbeer.
Before Harry could think to respond, he was cut off by a groan from Ron who had been surveying the platter of mince pies, sausage rolls and various other finger foods Molly had just set out on the table. “I was just about to eat,” he protested.
Hermione’s lips pursed in unimpressed exasperation but Sirius was already formulating a plan, prepared to seize an opportunity that had not presented itself since the kids had returned from Hogwarts.
“Ginny can go with you,” he said quickly, eyes fixed on Harry even as he raised his voice loud enough for Ginny to hear from the opposite side of the kitchen where she was presently occupied ensuring Crookshanks didn’t burn his paws as he attempted to bat at the still-whizzing fireworks. “Ginny, could you go and check on Buckbeak for me, please?”
Her response was immediate. She scooped Crookshanks up into her arms as she stood, nodding enthusiastically at the suggestion.
“I can go alone,” Harry protested sullenly. “No one is going to attack me between here and the landing.”
“Of course not,” Sirius agreed, waving away his protests with the hand still clutching his whiskey glass. “But you don’t want to be alone on New Year’s, do you?”
Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “I think I’d survive for ten minutes.”
“Yes,” Sirius continued as Ginny’s form grew closer in his peripheral vision. “But Ginny is excellent with Buckbeak — she’s very good with animals, have you noticed?”
Harry shrugged again. “I suppose.”
Ginny paused her approach to deposit Crookshanks into Hermione’s waiting arms.
“Well, that’s settled then.” Lightly, Sirius nudged Harry towards her. “The two of you will go together.”
Ginny joined them just in time to hear this conclusion; her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I didn’t realise it was a two-person job.”
“Apparently Sirius thinks I need supervision,” Harry informed her.“
“And he chose me to supervise?” Ginny frowned in horror. “I’m disappointed in myself for giving a false impression of responsibility.”
Right on cue, Sirius watched as her eyes met Harry’s and identical smirks bloomed on both their faces.
“Come on,” Harry inclined his head towards the door. “We‘ll try not to get into too much trouble on the way upstairs.”
“Maybe you will,” Ginny countered, already following him out of the room. “I never made any such promises.”
Sirius watched them go with a self-satisfied smile of his own. His triumphant mood, however, did not last long before being quickly burst by the pointed sound of a throat clearing behind him.
He turned to find Remus and Tonks staring at him in amusement.
“What was that about?” Remus asked, his arms folded expectantly over his chest.
“What was what?” Sirius asked innocently.
Remus shook his head wearily. “Need I remind you I’ve witnessed that exact manoeuvre before, minutes prior to the Great Venomous Tentacula Debacle of 1976.”
Sirius huffed dismissively. “This is nothing like that,” he disagreed. “I’m quite confident neither Harry nor Ginny are going to attempt to feed the other to Buckbeak.”
Which was almost exactly what had happened when Sirius had schemed to have Lily and James partnered in Herbology at the beginning of their sixth year. Of course, Lily had assured Professor Evergreen that she had meant no harm to James when she’d shoved him into the awaiting jaws of the predatory plant; she had only meant for it to ‘take a few bites out of his over-inflated head’.
“That’s not what I meant,” Remus disagreed with his practised look of weak disapproval that was so easy to ignore. “As you well know.”
Sirius sighed, chancing a glance over his shoulder to confirm no one was nearby before stepping closer to Remus and Tonks and saying in a voice too low for anyone else to overhear over the revellers of the night. “They simply need a nudge in the right direction, one that I’m more than willing to provide.”
Remus’ frown deepened. “A nudge in which direction?”
“A romantic one,” Sirius responded imploringly, surely that much was obvious to anyone with eyes. “Don’t you see it? They’re perfect for one another.”
“Harry and Ginny?” Remus attempted to clarify, his voice dripping with scepticism.
Any answer Sirius might have made was abruptly drowned out by Tonks’ unbridled laughter.
“What?” Sirius demanded, immediately disliking the smug shake of her head. “What’s so amusing?”
“Oh, nothing,” Tonks replied as she brought her laughter back under control. “Only that you’re obviously completely out of the loop.”
“I am not,” he protested at once, indignance flaring at the suggestion he might be uninformed. “Out of the loop regarding what?”
“So many things,” Tonks replied, sighing with superiority. “But, in particular, Ginny’s boyfriend and Harry’s preferred choice of snogging partner.”
“Harry’s what?” Sirius demanded, feeling rather as though one of Fred and George’s fireworks had just struck him directly in the face. Surely, if Harry was seeing someone, he would at least bother to tell Sirius as much.
“Sounds like you have all the teenage gossip,” Remus said, encouraging Tonks to share the details while Sirius reeled from the revelation that he, apparently, knew nothing.
“I only know what Ginny tells me,” Tonks replied, shrugging as she took a sip of her firewhiskey. “Six brothers haven’t really left her with much in the way of female influence, and Hermione’s always off with Harry and Ron, she gets quite lonely, not that she’d ever admit as much out loud.”
“Evidently not that lonely if she’s cavorting around with this secret boyfriend you mentioned,” Sirius replied haughtily.
Remus and Tonks’ eyebrows rose in surprise at his uncharitable tone and Sirius took a sip of firewhiskey to burn away the faint pang of guilt surfacing within him.
“She’s not keeping him a secret,” Tonks disagreed. “She’s just protecting herself from meddling big brothers—“
“And interfering godfathers,” Remus added.
Tonks nodded in agreement. “At any rate, I don’t think they’re cavorting — which, by the way, isn’t a word anyone has used in the last century — by her own admission, she’s quite fed up with Michael.”
“Michael,” Sirius repeated brusquely. “Of course she is, how could anyone not be fed up with someone named Michael.”
Even with Sirius’ limited knowledge, it was entirely evident Harry was superior in every way that could possibly matter.
“Michael Corner?” Remus asked, ignoring this last pointed remark, his expression still perfectly, annoyingly genial. “I remember him from teaching — he seemed a perfectly pleasant young man.”
“More pleasant than Harry?” Sirius demanded, failing to see how that could possibly be true.
“Of course not,” Remus replied evenly. His eyes wandered to Tonks and they both shared a look of amusement not unlike the smirks Sirius was now used to witnessing pass between Ginny and Harry.
Sirius took note of the moment to question both Remus and Tonks about later. Separately.
“Anyway,” Remus said abruptly, tearing his eyes away from Tonks as a red flush worked its way across his cheeks. “It sounds like Harry has his sights set elsewhere.”
At the reminder, Sirius looked to Tonks expectantly. “What do you know?”
“Like I said, only what Ginny tells me.”
“Which is?” Sirius asked, schooling his features into a look of mild interest. Clearly, Tonks was enjoying holding the information over him, and he simply wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of having him beg for it.
“Just that Harry was kissing some Ravenclaw girl on the last night of term — she didn’t elaborate further, other than to say Cho’s whispering skills left a lot to be desired.”
“Cho?” Sirius directed the question at Remus.
“She’s in the year above him,” Remus replied at once. “She plays seeker for Ravenclaw — she was very popular from what I remember.”
Sirius shook his head in vehement denial. “Harry’s not going to marry a Ravenclaw.”
“He’s fifteen,” Tonks reminded him through a laugh. “I don’t think marriage is his main priority right now.”
Before Sirius could argue, a course he was quite set on taking, the door to the kitchen opened and a flash of bright red caught his eye.
Ginny re-entered first, closely followed by Harry; the two of them were deep in conversation, both of them smiling at one another in a way that, in Sirius’ opinion, proved his point for him.
He, Remus and Tonks, all fell silent, watching the young couple intently as they grabbed fresh bottles of butterbeer.
Ginny headed over to the table, eyes surveying the spread laid out upon it; Harry remained at her heels. She paused not at the food, but at a pile of glittering red and gold party hats Fred and George had laid out earlier, the ones which had caused quite a stir when the one resting jauntily on Kingsley’s head had started to sing loudly and woefully out of tune.
Ginny picked up one of the hats and beckoned Harry closer with a crooked finger. His weak attempts to refuse her obvious demand did little to deter; Ginny took a definitive step forward; Harry made no attempt to duck away as she rose up on her tiptoes and secured the eye-catching hat to the top of his head where it sparkled brilliantly in contrast with his dark hair. Upon seeing Ginny’s triumphant smile, an identical one bloomed upon Harry’s face.
Sirius was also grinning victoriously as he turned back to Remus and Tonks.
“I’m not telling you you’re right,” Remus said stubbornly, but the stiff manner in which he knocked back the remainder of his firewhiskey was confirmation enough for Sirius.
Tonks sighed, her eyes still glued to the pair, watching as Harry attempted to force a hat onto Ginny’s head and she stubbornly — and speedily — ducked out of his way.
“I’m sure they’ll figure it out eventually,” Tonks said, a small smile appearing on her face.
Sirius nodded, unable to stop his thoughts from wandering, as they so often did, to James and Lily and the many occasions upon which he’d been forced to watch them refuse to see what was plainly right in front of them.
He cleared his throat against the sudden emotion that swelled within, a strange mixture of longing for what had already passed and what was still yet to come. “They always do in the end.”