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It was late in the day, and Harry stood outside the door to Sirius’ room. He felt itchy with—something. He didn’t know how to explain it, and for that reason he was hesitant to enter the room: he didn’t know where he would start.
But he was here and Sirius was here—what Harry had been dreaming of since he was thirteen!—and Harry wanted to—to—be with him, talk to him, sit at his side. And ask him—something, anything…
Since the door was cracked open, Harry peered through.
The sun was trying to light up the room, but the window was so covered in dirt and grime—inside and out—that little light appeared. What light did make its way in revealed Sirius, settled on his bed with his back to the wall, reading by the light of a small lamp.
He studied his book with a quiet, calm focus that looked almost alien on him. Harry hesitated, worried that he would interrupt a rare peaceful moment. However, figuring that if he waited until the time was perfect he would never talk to Sirius at all, he pushed the door open wider.
“Hello, Sirius,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice soft.
Sirius looked up, and seemed a bit alarmed at the intrusion. “Hello,” he said carefully, closing the book.
“Could I… um, could I join you?” Harry asked.
“Er…” Sirius blinked and shook his head as if to clear it. “Of course. Do come in, Harry, and close the door behind you.”
Harry did as was told. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“You can ask anything you’d like,” Sirius said slowly, “But I think you should be aware that I’m not actually Sirius.”
“What?” For an alarming moment, Harry thought an intruder had forced his way into the house, but he looked again at the man next to him and realized where he recognized that quiet, calm focus. “Professor Lupin?”
Sirius—or, rather, Lupin—smiled apologetically.
“Polyjuice?” Harry guessed next.
“Quite right on both counts, Harry,” Lupin said, closing the book.
“But why are you…”
“Oh, Sirius, er… well, he wanted to step out for a bit,” said Lupin lightly. “I offered to stand in for him, so that nobody would ask questions.”
“Where did he go?” Harry asked, sitting up straighter. “Is he—”
“He’s perfectly fine, Harry,” Lupin said. “Your godfather is quite a bit more competent that most people in this house realize.”
Harry thinned his lips, still more than a bit worried.
“And he had good reason to go,” Lupin added. After a moment’s deliberation, he nodded for Harry to sit next to him on the bed.
Lupin settled the book carefully on the bed next to him. It was odd to see Sirius acting with such calm and deliberate mannerisms.
“Today is the anniversary of your grandfather’s death,” Lupin said. “He died of dragon pox, quite suddenly.”
It took Harry a moment to relate that to their present circumstances. “Did—did Sirius know them very well?”
Lupin laughed softly. “Did Sirius tell you how he ran away from home?”
Harry nodded.
“Then I’m sure you know that he went to live with James. But it wasn’t as if he was… oh, he wasn’t just some sort of guest,” Lupin said. “From what I gather, the Potters were to Sirius what Sirius is to you.”
The thought of Sirius suddenly passing away, like the Potters apparently had, was so violent and unpleasant that Harry’s stomach turned in sympathy for Sirius. “How old was he?”
“Monty or Sirius?”
Harry assumed Monty was his grandfather’s name. “Er, both, I guess.”
“Sirius was nineteen, Monty was… oh, in his seventies, I believe.”
“What about my grandmother? I mean—did she die recently?”
“The anniversary of Euphemia’s death was a few weeks ago,” Lupin said quietly. “I… regret that the date slipped by me, but it certainly did not slip by Sirius.”
Harry looked around the room and could not help extending the comparison of his life to Sirius’: he imagined the idea of Sirius dying, and then Harry being sent to live in Privet Drive again… the thought of it made him shudder instinctively. And that this was already what Sirius was living, coming back to Grimmauld Place…
“Where is Sirius?”
“Visiting their graves,” Lupin said. He smiled halfheartedly at Harry. “Nothing quite reckless…”
“No, of course not,” Harry said. “I’m glad you’re helping him get out.”
Lupin sighed quietly. “I only wish I’d done more.”
“You still have time,” Harry said. It was late in the day.
Harry sat with a textbook next to Lupin, thinking he would wait for Sirius to come back. He studied without really reading any of the words, and eventually, he found himself falling asleep…
“...been worn out,” was what he heard, consciousness fading back in.
“Mmph,” he mumbled, turning over. A door closed, someone sat on the bed next to him, a hand stroked through his hair; it felt very nice, like the sort of thing Aunt Petunia would do for Dudley…
“Tired, kid?” he heard someone say with a chuckle. It was Sirius, Harry realized, and opened his eyes.
Sirius smiled down at him, looking fond, but not quite happy. His eyes were red, and he carried a distinct air of misery.
“Sirius,” Harry said, waking up. He blushed, realizing he’d fallen asleep on Sirius’ bed. “Sorry…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sirius said, grinning. “I hope that didn’t alarm you, me running off like that.”
Harry shook his head quickly. “I trust you.”
Sirius smiled, and as always, the genuine smile seemed to soften all his features. He looked so different, so bright… Harry thought that he was seeing Sirius in the worst world possible, in the worst circumstances and the worst place. No matter what Hermione or Mrs. Weasley thought, Harry thought there was much to admire in him.
“Professor Lupin said you went to see my grandparents,” Harry blurted out.
“I did,” Sirius replied readily.
“Do you miss them?” Harry said, like an idiot.
Sirius didn’t laugh, though. His smile only grew softer. “Every day, Harry.”
“Do you… do you wish you had run away to live with them earlier?” Harry asked.
Sirius gave him another fragile smile. “Every day.” He sat against the headboard next to Harry. “James offered it for years. Effie and Monty always said they’d be happy to have me. And I… I didn’t take them up on it. For a lot of reasons. And I regretted it so much, in the end. James always said not to live in the past…not to think about regrets so much. But he… he never had so much to regret.”
“Did it surprise you?” Harry asked. “When they died, I mean.”
“Honestly… honestly, no.” Sirius took a deep and long breath with effort. “The Potters… they were… it just felt too good to be true. And once I knew it was true, I was certain that it was too good to last—that something would happen, to make it all fall apart… because… well. I was never the type to keep hold of… and so I wasn’t surprised when they died.”
Harry wondered if Sirius thought the same thing even now, about Harry, about everything: that it wouldn’t last, that he was not the kind of person who got to keep nice things.
Something welled up in Harry, deeper than only sorrow on Sirius' behalf (though he was sorry). He felt more than ever that they really were alike.
“Do you think I could… sleep here tonight?”
The question left Harry's lips without permission. Sirius grinned, though. “Of course.”
Sirius eased down in bed next to him.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” Harry said.
“Meh.” Sirius waved his hand, and held open his arm, bringing Harry close like it was nothing, but it felt like everything.
“What were they like?” Harry asked. “My grandparents?”
Sirius’ eyes softened. He began to talk, to tell Harry stories about wonderful breakfasts and reading by the fireside, gardening and stories, and Harry laid next to him and soaked it all in. It seemed silly, with Sirius next to him, to worry that Sirius would not want him around next summer. It seemed absurd. Harry didn't want to think about the past, and he had little hope for the future. But there was now. Harry put his head on Sirius' shoulder. It was almost midnight—the day was nearly over.