A Sirius Father

Sirius Beginnings

Sirius adjusted his hair nervously in front of the mirror. His curls had already been messy before Azkaban, but it was a true disaster after it. No matter what he had been through, his hair would always be by his side... perhaps that was a bit narcissistic. Gritting his teeth, he ran a comb through his scalp with a grunt. Discretely, he winked at himself in the mirror. For a former Azkaban prisoner, he cleaned up pretty well. Or at least, that's what he thought.

Remus groaned and took his head out of his copy of Hairy Snout, Human Heart, a heartbreaking account of one wizard's struggle with lycanthropy. "Sirius, he's seven years old. I hardly think he's expecting Chuck Norris."

Sirius frowned. "You have to make a good first impression, Moony. I seem to remember you struggling with your hair the day before your first class with Professor McGonagall."

"That's... different. She was younger back then and, plus, she was a teacher, I was just being polite— "

"MOONY AND MINNIE, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S—"

"Not here!" Remus looked frantically around the St. Mungos waiting room to make sure no one had heard. "And what about your "incident" with Professor Sprout?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"I may have seriously misread some signals there."

"She was twice your age!"

A brief of silence passed as both men glared at each other. A nurse glanced over from the other side but decided to leave them be. Sirius knew, though, if they got into a fight, he wasn't going to be in better shape than Remus by the end.

"You really ought to stop watching those muggle movies."

"They're not that bad," Remus defended, haughtily. "And didn't you watch Star Wars?"

"Everyone watched Star Wars— "

Their argument was interrupted by the agonizingly slow opening of Hospital Room 27. Sirius and Remus froze, ready for the first sighting they had had of Harry Potter in more than five years. A small, raven-haired boy with bright green eyes ('Lily's,' Sirius muttered) stepped out of the room, timidly clutching the hand of a matronly-looking healer. "C'mon, darling," the nurse urged. "Meet your new family."

Sirius surged forward, only to be pulled back by Remus. 'What?' he hissed.

'Take a good look at him,' Remus whispered back.

Sirius did and, not for the first time, he felt a deep burning hatred for the Dursleys. Harry looked no more than four, which said a lot about the amount of food he was getting. He was as skinny as his father, but you could tell it wasn't by choice. Harry's haunting green eyes were filled with caution, as if he hadn't met anyone new before.

'Hi, little guy,' said Sirius, slowly moving forward. 'My name is Sirius. I used to know your parents a long time ago.'

Harry meekly stood in front of Sirius, not saying anything. This really brought him back—

"C'mon. Say it."

"Moony."

"No, no—P-A-D-F-O-O-T."

"Moony."

"Work with me here, kid."

"P-p.."

"Yeah?"

"Prongs."

"James!" shouted Sirius. "Your child is broken and needs to sort out his priorities!"

Ah, those were the days, thought Sirius. Sirius was snapped back to the present by Harry finally speaking. "Yes?" Sirius said, gently.

"D-did you know my mum and dad?"

He crouched down to Harry's height, which was a stretch, put one hand on his shoulder, cautiously, and said, 'Yes, we were great friends. Mind you, your parents didn't always get along. In fact, I remember one time . . .' Sirius launched into a fascinating story involving James, Lily, a toilet seat and a two-sickle bet, as Harry listened, his head tilted.

"So you really knew them?"

"Know 'em?" Remus grinned. "We were the best of friends."

Sirius and Remus led him back to their seats, two rickety, old, little things (the Ministry really was cheap, even with all those bribes they took) and continued spinning old yarns until finally Harry said, 'So are you going to be my g-guardians?' He stumbled on the words.

Sirius and Remus exchanged looks. 'Yes, Harry,' said Remus, taking a deep breath. 'Yes, we are.'

To their immense surprise, Harry broke into a buck-toothed grin. 'T-that's great!' He said.

TWO MONTHS had passed and the little family of three was just starting to settle in to Number 12 Grimauld Place. Remus had made a weak argument for staying at his house ("I won't take charity, you hear me?") and Sirius had challenged him to a domestic court case, with Harry being the judge with his little gavel that he banged once every two minutes for no apparent reason. Eventually, Harry had pronounced that Sirius had won, because Number 12 was 'wicked.'

Sirius wouldn't let Harry set foot in Grimmauld Place before he did what he called 'a little interior decorating.' By this, he meant putting a silencing charm on his mother's poster, ripping down the family tree and hiding the house elf heads up in the attic. The house, of course, was still damp, dark and infested with unimaginably creative magical creatures (creative with tortures anyway). But a little sweeping and clearing would probably solve that. The house finally felt like a home.

At first, Harry had tried to do the cooking himself, to the shock of his guardians ('He can't even be taller than the stove!'). Harry was told that the cooking was the job of the family house-elf, Kreacher, a grumpy old thing that was always complaining about 'bringing another half-breed into the Black ancestral home.' But, Kreacher's sullen demeanour soon wavered. Harry, familiar with mistreatment, had befriended him and Kreacher started to treat him with grudging respect, although whenever Kreacher started talking about the 'Dark Lord' and "mudbloods", Sirius told him to go sweep up the attic.

Sirius, with much thought and consideration (something Remus called an 'anomaly'), had given Harry his boyhood room, as well as a photo album that, in another world far away, would have been given to him by Rubeus Hagrid. Harry was known to spend hours just staring at the walls, wondering about his parents.

After the stories Harry had gobbled up upon meeting them, Sirius and Remus had tried their best to lead him away from the topic of Lily and James Potter. Not discard it, but leave it for another day, when he was older. Indeed, the most Harry had gotten since was a tale about how the gossips of Hogwarts called his parents 'Jily' but they had coined the nickname 'Lames.' At the end, Sirius was in tears and Remus chuckled, 'I have to admit, I wonder why no one else thought of that. It was right under our noses!'

Yes, things were going well. Then, one fine August day, just after supper, Albus Dumbledore took it upon himself to visit. With a whoosh of air and a flash of green flames, he popped out onto the living room floor. "Why, hello, there," he said to the family of three.

"Dumbledore!"

"Albus!"

"White beard!" Harry tugged at the long white beard flowing from his chin.