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Harry liked that Sirius seemed to reject everything and anything Dursleyish.
He discovered this the first time they sat down for dinner together.
All afternoon, Harry had been nervous, swinging his feet on his new bed while twisting his fingers into his T-shirt.
The room—his room—was fine, luxurious even, compared to anything he ever had. But it was too big and the shadows in its corners seemed to elongate and darken as afternoon bled into evening. He hastily flicked the lamp by the bedside on.
He wasn’t afraid of the dark, not really.
But there was no place to tuck himself into. There wasn’t a cupboard or a wardrobe, just a chest of drawers that sat bare.
He’d been sent to “unpack” ages ago, but Harry didn’t want to put his dirty old castoffs into them.
“Harry! Dinner!” Sirius’s voice called, sending a jolt of nerves roiling in his belly.
It’s just Sirius, idiot.
He leaped off the bed, smoothing down his wrinkled T-shirt from where he’d squeezed the cotton between his fingers. He’d need an iron to get out these creases, Harry thought.
He slipped out of the room with a backward glance, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Sirius was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, a soft smile on his face like he was happy to see him.
Harry tried to mirror him, but couldn’t really get the muscles in his face to work. Not with his belly tightening.
“Everything alright with the room, Harry? It’s a bit bare bones at the moment, but we’ll go shopping soon, alright?”
Harry felt his heart sink into his stomach. “We don’t really need to,” he squeaked.
“Of course we do. We’ll get your room in tip-top shape. And then we’ll start tackling the rest of this forsaken house.”
“It’s fine—I mean, it’s great, Sirius.” Harry trailed down the hallway next to his godfather.
“I’m glad, Harry,” Sirius said, his expression disbelieving as he glanced at him sideways. “But we can make some improvements. We need to get you a desk and a computer and a stereo and whatever else you’d like, alright?”
Dudley’s second bedroom flooded into his mind. Harry remembered hoovering in there and managing to nick a few toy soldiers Dudley had forgotten about.
“And Arthur told me about those Japanese game-o things. I think we should get you one of those. And a telly! A telly in this house would be nice, hm? And maybe one in your room, if you’d like. Do tellies go in the bath? Isn’t that why they’re called soaps?”
Harry felt a sickening sensation prickle up his spine and crawl down his arms, like little spiders ravaging his limbs with their spindly legs and furry crawlies.
“Sirius,” he tried to sound firm but could hear the shake in his own voice, “I-I don’t need anything—it’s too much—you don’t need to go through all the trouble of—“ his mouth had gone bone dry. “You don’t have to bother with all that. It’s too expensive and I’m not—I’m not—“
He looked down, clenching his fists as his words suspended in the air between them.
“Not what, Harry?”
Grimmauld Place creaked and groaned if you so much as took a step, but when you stood unmoving like this, Harry could hear the wind whistling outside and the overgrown trees brushing against the windows. His own shallow breathing was loud in his ears, and he could even hear Sirius’ steady breaths alongside his rising chest if he really listened for it.
“Not worth it. Not worth all this trouble.”
They were standing in the darkened hallway in nothing but silence among the empty portraits and dimmed sconces.
Harry felt the carpet runner prickling through his socks, tickling the soles of his feet.
He felt like an idiot, as usual. Perhaps Sirius would send him back to his room, considering he had just thrown his kindness back in his face like it was nothing.
Poor orphan freak.
Or maybe he’d just throw him out altogether. Sirius was so excited, so happy, yet here Harry was sucking out any joy in this life.
“Look at me, Harry.”
Sirius’ voice was soft. Warm hands, etched with the markings of Sirius’ youthful rebellion, moved like molasses as they reached out to rest on Harry’s shoulders.
He shouldn’t have opened his stupid mouth, Harry thought.
Harry didn’t want Sirius to look at him like he wasn’t any better than the Dementors, sucking the colour out of life, darkening every doorstep that he was dumped onto, unwanted.
Harry stared resolutely at the dusty carpet. He felt detached from his body, and while he tried to will himself to look at his godfather, to obey him, his body didn’t want to cooperate.
“Harry, please look at me.”
Sirius’ voice was impossibly quiet.
“Please?”
Harry swallowed, grasping at whatever was left of his courage. He pulled his eyes away from the carpet and met Sirius’ gray eyes.
His godfather’s expression was clouded - his dark eyebrows were tightly drawn together, mouth turned down. Sirius’ proud, patrician face darkened under the warm light of the sconces behind them.
It was all wrong.
Harry felt his fingers reaching up to instinctively wind his T-shirt tightly until he could cut the circulation off.
Sirius opened his mouth before shutting it with a click of his teeth. Harry watched as he inhaled once, dispelled any air, before opening his mouth again.
“Harry, that bedroom is yours for as long as you want it. And even when you decide you don’t want to live with me anymore, it’ll always be here for you.” He paused, giving Harry a sort of desperate look. “I know you understand that, Harry. You just don’t believe me yet.”
Harry made a noise of protest from his throat but Sirius powered through.
“Harry, you’re my godson. Do you realize how much I—“ he broke off, and Harry felt all ten fingers flexing on his shoulders. “I’m meant to keep you safe and happy and I haven’t been able to until now. You’re not a bother. You’re never a bother,” Sirius said fiercely, tightening his grip on Harry’s shoulders.
Warmth flared in Harry’s chest, like kindling just thrown into the barest flicker of a flame.
“And you deserve nice things, Merlin knows you do. But I don’t—“
He broke off again, and Harry berated himself internally for saying anything at all.
“And you need to know Harry, everything’s probably going to go tits up with me as your godfather—” Sirius barked a laugh.
“—Sirius, no—you’re the best, I don’t deserve—“
“Don’t you dare, Harry. I swear to Merlin, I’ll transfigure you into a doorknob if I hear this stuff about not deserving anything ever again. I know things could be much better, considering I’ve got you holed up in this sorry excuse for a house–” he gestured vaguely at the ceiling, “–but the point is, I’m going to do my best to remind you how loved you are. By me, by so many people.”
Harry ducked his head, exhaling a puff of air.
Sirius sighed heavily, dropping his hands from Harry’s shoulders.
“You’re not a bother. Never. Alright?”
Harry nodded jerkily.
“You don’t have to believe me. I can tell that you don’t. But it's the truth, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” Sirius raised a hand to cup Harry’s cheek and Harry fought the instinct to jerk away. Sirius’ hands were calloused and rough but impossibly tender against his cheek.
“I’m mucking it up,” Sirius muttered, mostly to himself. “Let’s table the discussion for now. One thing at a time. Dinner first.”
Sirius dropped his hand to Harry’s back, gently steering him into the lower levels of the townhouse.
But instead of leading him into the stuffy old dining room with even more portraits of Sirius’ relatives, he was pushed into the parlor instead.
“I hope this is alright,” Sirius said uncertainly. “I don’t really fancy eating in the dining room with great uncle Theseus eyeing us. Bit of a perv, that one.”
Which was how Harry came to the conclusion that Sirius was Aunt Petunia’s worst nightmare.
Sirius flung the cushions off the sofas, tossing them on a plush rug he had conjured. A fire crackled in the hearth because the lower levels of Grimmauld Place were perpetually freezing, even in the summer.
Sirius had ordered enough Chinese takeaway to feed a small army. The white styrofoam containers were stacked on every surface and a few even hovered a foot from the ground.
Harry’s eyes widened comically. He copied Sirius and sat crossed-legged on the cushions strewn on the floor.
“Sirius, you must’ve ordered for about thirty people!”
With a flick of his wand, the lids of the dishes popped off simultaneously. Harry was immediately overwhelmed as he surveyed the spread before them.
“Might’ve gone a bit overboard,” Sirius agreed, eyeing a tray of noodles interestedly. “But it’ll keep with a good stasis spell. Not to worry, mate, eat as much as you want.”
The smell was intoxicating and Harry’s stomach grumbled loudly. Sirius had ordered everything on the menu: a litany of beef, pork, and chicken dishes drowning in glistening sauces of all types - black bean, sweet and sour, Szechuan, and many Harry didn’t recognize. There was an endless supply of spring rolls and prawn crackers. One container revealed a mountain of still-hot salt and pepper chips, though he stayed clear of the bits of sliced chillies that were bright like confetti.
There were trays of noodles, and fried rice - all uneaten and untouched, waiting for Sirius and Harry to take the first bite.
“Go on, Harry. A little bit of everything, then?” Sirius said, pressing a plate into Harry’s hand. Harry couldn’t help noticing how the plate was a lot like the china Aunt Petunia never allowed even Uncle Vernon to use. They were always reserved for dinners with Uncle Vernon’s clients.
“I’ve never had curry sauce before,” Harry said, eyeing the thick sauce Sirius was pouring over his plate.
Uncle Vernon had been a fan, but there was never any left by the time Harry got to eat.
“I quite like it. I don’t think it tastes much like a real Indian curry but I don’t think it’s meant to, per se.”
Harry mimicked Sirius and poured it over his plate before taking a bite.
“Not bad,” Harry said, nodding.
They sat in companionable silence on the floor cushions, balancing their plates on their laps. Sirius Accio’d two goblets and filled them with pumpkin juice.
It was probably the best takeaway Harry had ever had, mostly because they weren’t discarded scraps he’d looted from the Dursleys’ plates.
“One summer, your grandparents took your dad and me to the seaside and we ate fish and chips and mushy peas that came wrapped in newspapers,” Sirius said sometime later as he twirled noodles on his fork.
Harry could picture it. He’d been to the seaside once for Dudley’s birthday. It was one of the more enjoyable outings.
He could hear the waves rolling up to the wharf and the cry of wheeling seagulls. He imagined his dad and Sirius, just two normal teenagers. It was odd to think about how his dad had been his age once.
“Did you spend a lot of time with them?”
“They took me in,” Sirius said, his voice going soft. “After my parents disowned me.”
Harry dared a glance at his godfather’s face. His gaze was distant, like he was not quite in the room with him. “I wish you had gotten the chance to know your grandparents, Harry. They would’ve adored you.”
Harry had wondered what his grandparents would’ve been like. In primary school, he was tasked with drawing a family tree but ended up shoving the worksheet at the bottom of his backpack instead. He didn’t have the faintest clue about his extended family.
“There’s nothing to know.” Aunt Petunia said flatly when he tried to ask about his grandparents.
It was easier to simply not hand in the worksheet.
“Do you have any photographs of them?”
“Good shout. There has to be a few somewhere.” Sirius said, thoughtfully pointing his fork speared with a piece of chicken at Harry.
“They had your dad later on, you know?” Harry didn’t know, but didn’t want to interrupt.
“They spent a lot of their life traveling all over the place and I don’t think they really expected to settle down with a son. They had a story for everything – they spent months trekking around India, Egypt, Peru, and Merlin knows where else. It was exactly the life I wanted.”
Travelling the world was exactly the type of cool thing Harry expected Sirius to do.
Harry chewed a piece of broccoli slowly. Were his grandparents Indiana Jones types?
A thought wormed itself into Harry’s brain. “Do you still?”
“What’s that, Harry?”
“Want that? That life? Do you still want to trek around the world?”
“Yeah, someday. Maybe we can start smaller. If you want, we can go to France during your Christmas hols. Or somewhere warmer like Mexico? If you want to, that is.” Sirius tacked on hastily.
“Oh–yeah. If—yeah, if you’d want me to come along.”
“Harry,” Sirius didn’t say anything for a while, giving him a long, meaningful look.
Harry didn’t know what it meant. Are you just slow or stupid? Aunt Petunia would ask him.
“I’d love for us to travel together,” his godfather finally said so sincerely, it made Harry’s ears hot.
“Okay,” Harry mumbled, tearing away from Sirius’ intense staredown to scarf down the remnants of his chow mein.
“You know, I was the first person to hold you when you were born – after your parents that is. You were so small. I nearly dropped you when your dad told me I was going to be godfather. The twat didn’t even ask me. He just sort of demanded it.”
Sirius stopped chewing, swallowing hard. Harry imagined his food had suddenly turned into ash in his mouth as well.
“But Harry–” Sirius’ voice caught. Harry knew he was about to say one of those embarrassing but nice things again.
A tattooed hand reached out to rest on Harry’s knee. His father’s knobbly knees, his mind supplied unhelpfully.
“You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, you know?”
Harry ducked his head, warmth travelling up his neck and ears and cheeks.
“Sirius…”
He heard Sirius huff a laugh before the fingers around his knee gave him a gentle squeeze.
“Get used to it, kid. I’m going to remind you every day.”