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The morning began like any other.
The alarm went off at 6:15.
It took exactly five minutes for his head to orient itself in time and space.
Sunday.
"Damn it", Harry thought.
Once again, he had forgotten to turn off the alarm for the weekend.
He pulled the covers back over himself and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. Even if he tried hard to close his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again and only will end up feeling frustrated
So he decided to just stay there, savoring the day that hadn’t quite begun yet.
The sky was still dark.
The city, asleep.
He didn’t feel like staying in bed much longer. The sheets were too warm, and he needed to use the bathroom. But existing right now outside his room was unbearable.
It wasn’t time to start.
So he simply turned on his phone screen and began mindlessly scrolling through apps: Messages, notifications, unanswered emails.
The mere thought of interacting with the world made him nauseous.
Then, suddenly, an image caught his attention. A simple illustration: a man hugging a child.
Below, in ornate lettering, it read:
Happy Father’s Day.
Millions of comments flooded the post. People tagging their dads, dedicating sweet words to them.
Harry’s heart shrank a little. He turned off his phone and set it aside on his pillow.
"Dad," he said aloud, to the empty room.
The thing was, even though he had never been particularly enthusiastic about celebrations, there was something in the air that twisted his stomach into knots.
Harry Potter had lost his father when he was just a baby. He had been the most wanted, the most loved child—and he didn’t even remember what it felt like to be held by his dad .
And yet, his life hadn’t been bad.
Sirius Black—his godfather—and Remus Lupin—his parents’ best friend—had taken care of him since he was one year old.
He had grown up in a home full of love and happiness.
But as the years passed, his mind kept circling back to the same question: What would his life have been like if James and Lily had never left?
Would you have liked the person I am now?
Would you have scolded me a lot?
Would you have taught me how to ride a bike?
Sometimes, if he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel his father sitting at the edge of the bed.
A tear threatened to escape, but Harry held it back.
He rummaged through the drawer until he found his headphones, picked a random video and just lay there, trying to fall back asleep to the background noise.
Before he knew it, he had drifted off.
At ten-fifteen, Remus knocked on the door.
"Hey! You still alive? We want breakfast, and you haven’t come down."
On any other day, Harry might’ve grumbled back or stumbled out immediately—hair tousled, a mischievous grin on his face. But that morning, there was only silence.
"Harry? You okay, love?" Remus pushed the door open slowly.
The room was dark. Clothes littered the carpet, along with scattered notebooks and markers.
Harry lay curled up in bed, asleep in a fetal position. One earbud dangled off the side, the other still tucked in his ear. Remus noticed his face was damp, as if he’d been crying.
"Sweetheart? You feeling alright?" he whispered, brushing Harry’s forehead the way he used to when he was little. Harry frowned, then blinked his eyes open.
Seeing Remus, he smiled. "Hey, Dad. I’m starving."
It had been years since Harry started calling him and Sirius "Dad." But it never failed to catch them off guard—the warmth of that word on his lips.
It always gave Remus this fleeting freshness, as if the little boy from before were still right there.
And above all, as if, despite everything, Harry knew he had a family.
"Let's go downstairs ok? Before your papa begins with his dramatic scenes."
Harry chuckled
Remus took his hand, and they headed downstairs together.
The kitchen already smelled of toast and coffee. Three steaming mugs waited on the table.
Sirius stood with his back to them, stirring eggs in a pan with slow, almost meditative movements.
Harry slid into his usual seat, his hair still mussed, pillow creases marking his cheek.
"Sleep alright, pup?" Sirius asked without turning, his voice still rough with sleep—that gravelly morning tone only they ever heard.
Harry shrugged.
"Sort of."
Remus pushed a warm mug toward him.
"Did you put sugar in it?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer.
"Always do." Remus smiled and ruffled his hair, the gesture automatic by now, tender in its familiarity.
Sirius set the eggs on the table and sat across from him, serving himself.
They ate quietly for a while. Only the clink of silverware and the faint hum of the radio—left on low, playing some half-forgotten tune—filled the space.
Harry was the one who broke the silence.
"It’s Father’s Day today, right?"
Sirius didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to his plate.
Remus was the one who nodded.
"Yeah."
Another small silence settled, like a held breath between words that weren’t quite ready to be spoken.
Harry set his fork down and inhaled, as if bracing himself before a dive.
"I saw a picture this morning… a drawing of a dad hugging his kid. It made me feel… weird."
Remus looked at him with those eyes of his—the ones that always seemed to know everything, yet never pried where they weren’t invited.
"Weird how?"
"Dunno."
"Guess I just thought of him. Of James." He said the name softly, as if speaking it might summon him back.
Sirius reached across the table and gave Harry’s wrist a brief squeeze.
"Thought about him today too," he admitted.
"I dreamed about him last night," Harry added, the words spilling out before he could second-guess them.
"Think he was in my room, like he’d sat on the edge of the bed."
Remus brushed a careful hand over the nape of his neck.
"Maybe he did."
Harry smiled faintly, unsure if he wanted to believe it—but Remus’ touch was enough, for now.
"Didn’t wanna say anything because… you’re my dads too. Just wasn’t sure if it was okay to bring it up."
Sirius let out a quiet laugh—that laugh of his that always seemed to hover between joy and tears.
"Harry, we never wanted to replace him."
"Not him, nor your mum," Remus added softly.
"We just wanted to make sure you always had someone who loved you as fiercely as they would have." Harry looked down, but he was smiling.
Small.
Sad.
Full.
"Thank you for keeping them."
Remus blinked.
"Keeping who?"
Harry smiled.
"Me. Their memories. Their story. Their friends. Their son. Thank you for keeping us all... and not running away."
Sirius stood and pulled him into a wordless embrace.
After breakfast, Remus went to shower, leaving Sirius and Harry to clear the table.
"Da?" Harry asked, a little hesitant, as he sat back down to finish his juice.
"Can you tell me about James again?"
Sirius smiled and took the seat across from him. "James Potter..." His voice warmed like sunlight. "He was brilliant. The kindest, most loyal person I ever knew. Would’ve given his friends the world without a second thought."
He sighed
"And when you came along—God, you should’ve seen him. The day they told us they were expecting, Remus and I sobbed like babies. Never been happier." His face lit up completely with the memory.
He took Harry’s hand and traced idle circles over his knuckles. "We never asked you to call us 'Dad.' But one day, you just did."
"And I think—I know—James is bloody thrilled you’ve got three fathers now instead of one." He pressed a kiss to Harry’s fingers. Harry felt his heart settle, those words like a soft blanket wrapped around his ribs.
"Now go shower," Sirius said, tapping his shoulder. "Or we’ll be late."
Two hours later, as they gathered their things to leave, Harry’s voice wavered: "Pa... I—I was wondering if we could stop by..."
He didn’t finish.
Remus pulled him into a tight hug before the words could falter.
He knew.
"You want to visit your parents?"
Harry nodded against his shoulder.
"Now, or later today?"
Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and—after a pause—whispered:
"Now, please?"
The three of them spoke little on the way.
Sirius drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on Remus' thigh, as if he needed the physical reassurance that they were still three, still whole in some fundamental way.
The cemetery was nearly empty.
An evening breeze stirred the treetops, and sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting soft shadows over the headstones.
They walked in silence.
Sirius carried a single flower wrapped in brown paper. Remus held a candle, that he was going to lit if the wind permitted.
Harry walked between them, hands in his pockets, each step heavy yet grounding.
"We okay?" Sirius asked, half to the air, half to himself.
Harry took his hand—just like he used to as a child, afraid of getting lost in a crowd.
A few minutes later, the headstone came into view.
A pot of lilies adorned the marble.
Harry stopped before it.
James Potter & Lily Potter
"Why can't we give love that one more chance?"
Remus hung back a few steps.
Sirius moved forward and carefully laid the flower on the stone, It wasn’t much.
But James had never needed much.
Harry crouched and traced the engraved letters of his father’s name with his fingers.
As if touch could bridge the years.
As if it might finally let him say all the things he’d carried since memory began.
"Hi, Dad." "Hi, Mum."
He stayed like that a moment, eyes closed.
"I’m okay… or trying to be. Woke up thinking about you today. Don’t know why." —A faint smile.— "Well. I do know why. You know what day it is."
Remus stepped closer, a hand on Harry’s shoulder.
Harry didn’t shrug it off.
Remus lit the candle.
"I wonder about a lot of things,"—Harry whispered.— "If you’d have taught me to ride a bike. Or throw a proper punch."
"If you’d have yelled at me for breaking the living room window."
"If you’d have told me to stop talking with my mouth full."
He sighed
"If you’d have liked the person I’m becoming."
His voice broke up a little.
"If you ever doubted how much I loved you—even if I don’t remember you right."
Tears started to fall out Sirius knelt beside him, an arm around his shoulders.
"He’d have loved you stupid, Harry," he said, firm but tender. "You’d have been sick of how proud he was. The kind of dad who brags to neighbors about how his kid breathes."
Harry laughed—a wet, fractured sound, more tears than mirth.
"Thanks for bringing me," he said at last.
"Thanks for wanting to come," Remus replied, stepping closer.
They stayed like that a few minutes longer, unhurried, unafraid.
And just before leaving, Harry bent once more, pressing his forehead to the cool stone. He closed his eyes, as if memorizing the moment, tucking it into his heart for when he’d need it again.
"Happy Father’s Day, Dad."
Then he stood.
And the three of them walked back together, under a gray sky but with souls a little lighter.
That night, after an evening of pizza and movies, Harry had retreated to his room. "I'm fine, just a bit of a headache," he'd said before vanishing up the stairs.
Neither of them pressed further.
Sirius was finishing the dishes while Remus prepared two cups of tea.
"You think he's alright? Should we check on him?" Sirius asked, rinsing the last plate.
Remus smiled. He loved when Sirius slipped into his role of anxious father. It suited him—made him look so endearing.
"Relax, love. He's just tired. Today was... a lot."
Sirius sat beside him in silence, stirring his tea absently as if searching for answers at the bottom of the cup.
"I miss James too," he finally confessed, the pressure in his chest making him close his eyes.
Remus took his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "I miss them both. Lily's smile... James's chaos," he replied with a quiet chuckle.
Sirius wiped his tears with a napkin. "That bastard left us the hard part. Brings a child into the world and we're the ones stuck doing school projects on Sunday nights."
Remus laughed and playfully shoved his shoulder. "You loved helping Harry with homework. Don't pretend you didn't live for those ridiculously elaborate dioramas."
"Thanks to me, our son never turned in a mediocre assignment. You're welcome," Sirius shot back, grinning.
The comfortable silence returned, though now it felt... heavier.
The kind of quiet that settles when words no longer suffice.
Then Remus noticed something on the coffee table—a carefully folded sheet of paper. He rose and picked it up gently.
As he unfolded it, his eyes welled with tears almost immediately.
"Dear Dad and Papa:
You know I'm not great with words. Sometimes I get stuck and can't say what I really mean. So I'm writing it instead.
I just wanted to tell you I love you. More than anything. You're the best fathers in the world, and I'm so grateful you chose me as your son.
I promise I'll never let you down. I know you never wanted to replace James, my dad... but you've always felt like family to me.
You're my fathers here on earth, and he's my father in the stars.
I know I'm not the perfect son, but I'm trying my best.
Thank you for loving me so much.
With Love,Harry"
Remus stood motionless, reading it again and again. Sirius came up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting his head on Remus's shoulder.
"What would we do without him?" Remus whispered.
"No idea," Sirius murmured, holding him tighter.
"And I hope we never have to find out."
They placed the letter in the memory box —the one that held life's most precious, wordless treasures.
The one with Harry's baby curl.
The one with Lily's letter that still faintly smelled of flowers.
The one they only opened on special occasions.
And that evening, without saying it aloud, they both knew—this was the greatest Father's Day gift they could have ever received.