Harry Potter The Casanova Of Gryffindor Tower.... Sounds Great To Me! What Do U Think?

Trying to find Fanfic Author St Mean

Ok soooo if anyone wants a james potter fanfic from the Marauders era: James Potter Chronicles Year 1(-5 is posted yet)

But Mr. St Mean if you are on Tumblr I would request you to continue rhe fanfic....

And, others, I would like to urge you to read it. Its so underrated!!! Its canon n yk no slashes but still sorry to atyd readers but after reading this I really couldnt understand why atyd is more famous than jpc its way better!!!!

I am sorry for suddenly making you cry I cried about it too so should too... Sirius wanted to be the coolest godfather and just when harry was nearly old enough to get a tattoo sirius *sobs* dieeddddd!!!!!😭😭😭😭

officially submitting my first ever entry for @impishtubist ‘s Sirius & Harry Saturday: a headcanon about baby harry using his crayons to try and draw sirius’ tattoos on himself. (there’s also protective james and prongsfoot friendship and it’s all quite fluffy)

“Harry! What are you doing?” Sirius leaned forward with a laugh, trying to get a better glimpse of his toddling godson, who’d stripped down until he was clad only in his diaper.

“Lookit Siri, I’m you!” Harry squealed, finally losing the battle against gravity in his excitement and falling forward. Lucky for him, his godfather knew him enough to be prepared with outstretched arms.

Sirius dangled him mid-air in front of him, hands under his armpits. It was the best vantage point to scrutinise the new additions to his godson’s previously unmarked skin.

Because, somehow, Harry had gotten his hands on a permanent marker and had drawn all over himself. And not just anything, but very specific artwork that Sirius could recognise instantly, shaky as it was.

“You know your dad’s gonna kill me, buddy,” Sirius mused absently as he shifted Harry’s weight to one hand and ran one black-tipped nail against the runic figures on his pudgy chest and belly. Well, figures that were attempting to be runic, if he wanted to be accurate. Harry’s hand wasn’t steady enough for straight lines, yet, nor was his theoretical knowledge good enough to capture them perfectly even if they were.

“No, I you, Siri!” Harry repeated stubbornly, and by Merlin, what was the allure of Dark Magic in the face of his adorable godson?

He trailed his finger across the jagged lines on his flank, across his arms, up to his shoulders. There were some unrecognisable scribbles on his upper back, like he’d tried to reach back and color in but couldn’t. Of course, he couldn’t, Harry’s arms were tiny. But it was clear that he was trying to replicate the antlers on Sirius’ back. Unbidden, his gaze fell to Harry’s wrist and sure enough, there was a messy circle with shapes drawn inside it. It was a valiant effort to recreate his family’s crest. Sirius could feel his heart-melting out of his pores.

“Oh, Harry, you little troublemaker, you,” he cooed, bringing his godson into the circle of his arms to tuck him against his chest, biting his lip at how Harry instantly relaxed into him, head tucked under Sirius’ chin.

“You like my tattoos, huh? Couldn’t wait until you grew up a bit, had to have them right now, is that it?” He continued, slightly bouncing Harry in his arms as he walked back and forth.

“Siri pwetty, Hawwy also pwetty,” Harry babbled from his perch and Sirius’ heart melted.

“Dammit, sweetheart, I have a reputation to maintain. You can’t go around saying things like that,” he mock-scolded.

“Things like what, Padfoot?” James’ voice entered the conversation and Sirius had to suppress his laughter at what he’d say when he discovered the state his son was in.

“Oh, nothing much, Harry just wants to be pretty like me,” Sirius said, special emphasis on the ‘me’. “Guess being a carbon copy of his dad isn’t quite cutting it for him anymore.”

He turned to face James as he spoke and couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling in him at the expression on his face. Sirius’ words were already pulling a very strong deadpan from him but one look at his son, covered in black squiggles and smudges, and it immediately gave way to one of pronounced horror.

“Wha—“ James’ words were more of a strangled wheeze. “Padfoot, what did you do to my son?”

“Excuse you,” Sirius said, offended. “I didn’t do anything. This one’s all Harry. I didn’t even know what he was doing until he crawled into the room.”

That didn’t seem to help. “Oh, baby, I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with Sirius, he’s become rather forgetful in his advanced age, hasn’t he?” With an exaggerated frown on his face, James plucked Harry out of Sirius’ arms and settled him in his own. The kid was, as always, overjoyed to be reunited with his father.

Sirius tried hard to hold onto his outrage—how dare James call him old?—but it was hard, nigh impossible, when he could see Harry rubbing the top of his head back and forth against James’ jaw, like an adorable little kitten.

“So, what’s with-“ James ran a hand down Harry’s arm “-all this?”

“Harry’s trying to be like his extremely cool, not-old-at-all godfather.”

James raised a skeptical eyebrow. Sirius ignored him in favour of talking to his godson.

“Don’t you worry, love, when you’re old enough, I’ll be right there to take you for your first proper tattoo,” he tapped Harry’s little button nose, making him giggle.

It wasn’t enough to mask James’ shocked exhale. “What do you mean first proper tattoo?”

“Look at him and tell me he’s not interested,” Sirius pointed at the little bundle of joy in his arms. Absently, he wondered what kind of tattoo Harry would like, if any. Would he be the sentimental kind, like his dad who never put something on his body he hadn’t considered fifty times over? Or more like Sirius, who’d only needed the thought to pop it into his head to get it inked.

“He’s three and thinks colors, and shapes, on your body look cool. That’s- that doesn’t mean anything!”

“Well, I’m just saying,” Sirius shrugged, deliberately keeping his face clear of anything that could give him away. Of course he knew the reaction his words would elicit, that was part of why he said it. “The option’s there on the table if he ever wants to. With parents like you and Lily, and me of course, the kid’s on the right track for a few pieces of his own.”

“But—“

“And of course, no one except his godfather can be trusted with something like this, right? It’s basically my magic-given duty to escort him to the tattoo parlour,” Sirius finished with a flourish. One of his hands had travelled upwards to ruffle Harry’s hair, marvelling at the soft feel of the inky strands slipping between his fingers.

“No- That’s not- you are not torturing my baby like that!” James finally found his voice, and what a loud one it was too for Harry was startled out of his lazy doze against his dad’s chest by the deep rumble that vibrated through him. His green eyes were wide open, looking at his dad who so rarely raised his voice, and James immediately shrunk—literally, Sirius could see the transformation in real-time, the way his shoulders dropped, his face relaxed, and his nose came down from its high perch.

“Oh, Daddy’s sorry, honey, he didn’t mean to shout,” he whispered in between careful kisses pressed to Harry’s face. “Daddy’s gonna be more careful, okay?”

“Otay,” Harry replied, equally quietly, still staring at him with remnants of shock in his eyes.

Sirius broke the moment with a loud snort—accidental of course but this was too much for him—and immediately attracted James’ ire again.

“You—“ he started accusingly before darting a quick look downward to see Harry was alright. He was. “You can’t be—Harry’s not gonna get tatted, Padfoot! It hurts too much. I won’t have it.”

“You won’t have it?” Sirius repeated, amused. “May I remind you when you got your first tattoo? Or mine, for that matter.” That took the wind right out of his sails.

“Er, that’s not the point here,” James replied shiftily, dropping his gaze to Harry instead of looking at him.

“Remember the runic tattoos we etched into our skin? Could’ve literally blown ourselves inside out right there in the do—“

James slapped a hand against his mouth, effectively stopping him. “Okay, I think that’s enough, I get it.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, as if to say ‘Do you?’. Harry giggled at his father and godfather’s antics, happily oblivious to the pinched look on the former’s face as he realised the precedent his own actions had set. Sirius couldn’t wait to have this conversation all over again when he was all grown up and could add his own input. He was looking forward to tag-teaming against James, to be honest.

“You—you don’t think he’ll do something like that, do you?” James asked hesitantly, glancing between the two of them.

“He is your kid,” Sirius pointed out. “And Lily’s. And a tad bit mine.”

“He’s all yours, especially when he pulls stunts like this.”

Sirius grinned, wide and uncontrollable, at that, unable to help the warmth that spread through his entire body at those words. He knows James was trying to take a shot at him but it didn’t take away from the fact that Harry was his too, has been from the day he was born—no, since the day James flooed into his house, pale and shaking, telling him that ‘We’re having a kid, Padfoot! An actual baby! Can you believe it?!’

For all the jokes and potshots and snippy back-and-forths they had, Sirius knew he would never be able to thank Jamie for allowing him into his life—into Harry’s life—like this. James had always been free with his affections, sharing heart and home without a second thought but Sirius knew that there were many who’d have put their foot down at the level of involvement he assumed in his godson’s life, and that James and Lily didn’t, wouldn’t, do that. He didn’t know where he’d be without the Potters today, and imagining such a world—it was chilling, to say the very least.

“Pads?” James’ soft voice interrupted his morose thoughts and he snapped his eyes up to meet concerned hazel ones. There was a silent question in them.

Sirius shrugged wryly. Silently raised his hands for Harry, needing to hold him close, and after another searching glance, James passed the now peacefully sleeping child over. Something loosened in his chest when he felt the familiar weight resting against him. He immediately buried his nose in Harry’s hair, taking a deep breath, letting the scent of baby powder and blueberry shampoo fill his lungs, ground him.

“I’ll be the coolest godfather there ever was,” he whispered, feeling a knot in his throat where more words should be. He wanted to say that he loved Harry more than life itself, that he’d always be there for him. The world could tilt off its axis but Sirius’ love for the Potters wouldn’t wane. It couldn’t, really, not with how deeply they were entrenched in his life—in his very being.

“Of course, you will. No one would ever doubt that.” James placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “But you’re still not allowed to take my baby to a tattoo parlour, no matter how old he gets.”

if you liked this, i have an entire thing on my ao3 about tattoos and harry and sirius bonding over them postwar >.<

While movie harry being a clueless awkward thingie... He was literally how he was potrayed after drinking felix

Lily's temper once they find and reseat her

Poor Lily

Cop: You’re receiving a ticket for having three people on one motorcycle.

Remus: Shit.

Sirius: Wait, three?

Cop: Yeah?

James: OH MY GOD LILY FELL OFF!!!

what do you think we’d do, let them starve?

Just a little drabble based on this line in OOTP, cause it always makes me think, "well, that is pretty much what you did to Harry..."

“And as for who’s going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,” said Lupin, smiling slightly, “what do you think we’d do, let them starve?”

Mrs. Weasley smiled tremulously.

As Mrs. Weasley mopped her eyes and muttered that she was being silly, Lupin’s words washed over Harry.

“What do you think we’d do; let them starve?”

That’s what they did to him, Harry thought bitterly. They’d dropped him off on his aunt and uncle’s doorstep and left him there for ten years. Nobody had cared about the days and nights he spent in his cupboard with his stomach grumbling, hoping that he could sneak out to steal food from the kitchen after the Dursleys fell asleep.

A sharp feeling of hurt shot through him as Lupin continued to comfort Mrs. Weasley, and Harry abruptly turned on his heel and left the room. He climbed the stairs two-at-a-time, desperate to get away from the others before they noticed that something was wrong. He climbed the stairs until there were no more stairs to climb, ending up in the attic. It was cluttered with furniture, trunks, boxes, and other knick-knacks, but Harry found a clear spot and squished himself in between a battered steamer trunk and a side table that had legs carved to look like snakes.

He tucked his knees up, wrapped his arms around his legs, and buried his face in his knobby knees. He was not going to cry. He was not going to get upset. He was going to sit here and breathe until all of these stupid emotions stopped stirring around in his chest, and then he was going to go back downstairs with no one the wiser.

Off in the distance, he could hear another set of footsteps climbing the stairs. He waited for them to stop off at one of the floors, but they kept coming and coming until the attic door creaked open. Harry didn’t move. He didn’t even lift his head. Maybe if he stayed squished here in this spot, whoever it was wouldn’t notice.

“Mind if I join you?”

Harry didn’t want to see anyone. But of all the people who had come after him, he was glad it was his godfather. Harry shrugged awkwardly, still not looking up. Sirius picked his way through the clutter, pushed the steamer trunk aside, and sank down beside Harry so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder.

Sirius bumped his shoulder gently. “Are you all right, Harry? That boggart scared me, seeing your dead body laying there.”

Harry slowly raised his head to look at his godfather. Sirius looked even more pale and drawn than he usually did. Harry hadn’t even thought of how the boggart would have affected him.

“I’m all right,” Harry muttered.

Harry was grateful when Sirius didn’t push him to say more. They sat in a comfortable silence for a long while, with Harry slowly slumping and leaning into Sirius’s side. Sirius tucked one long, skinny arm around Harry’s back and pulled him closer into his side.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m happy to listen,” Sirius said gently.

“Talk about what?” Harry asked grumpily.

“About why you ran off like there was a Hungarian Horntail on your tail,” Sirius replied. “Was it just the boggart?”

“No,” Harry admitted after another long silence. “It was something else.”

“Thought so,” Sirius said. Harry wanted to roll his eyes at his godfather’s smug tone.

“It was what Lupin said after,” Harry said.

“What Remus said after?”

Harry tilted his head to look up at his godfather, who was looking down at him with a furrowed brow.

“Mrs. Weasley was worried about what would happen to Ron and Ginny if she and Mr. Weasley died. And Lupin said that they wouldn’t let them starve,” Harry repeated.

“And that upset you?” Sirius asked curiously.

Harry shrugged and looked down at his hands, twisting the edge of his t-shirt.

“It didn’t matter when it was me,” Harry mumbled after a long silence. “I – I was hungry all the time growing up. And nobody ever checked on me.”

Sirius swallowed hard and tucked Harry even closer into his side. Harry buried his face in his godfather’s shoulder to hide the tears that he could feel prickling in the back of his eyes.

“I used to sit in my cupboard and dream about someone coming to save me. But no one ever did. Not until Hagrid brought my Hogwarts letter. And even then, I still had to go back. I always have to go back.”

“Oh, Harry,” Sirius whispered into his hair. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you then. But I’m here for you now. And I’m not going to let you go back.”

Harry didn’t want to get his hopes up. He had before, and they had been torn away from him as fast as a hippogriff could fly. But as he sank into Sirius’s comforting embrace in the dusty old attic of Grimmauld Place, he so badly wanted to believe that this could be it: this could be the day that he was finally saved.

Thats literally me! Sounds narcissistic (no pun intended)!

Sirius Black is that kid who claims he’s dumb and doesn’t know anything and then does amazing in all of his exams because he just remembers stuff. Remus gets a bit jealous.

why don’t we talk about muslim kids in hogwarts during ramadan? imagine waking up at 3 every morning and walking down for suhoor, to find the house elves have prepared a feast for them. imagine the kids having an extended curfew, so they can go and eat iftar at 10, where the house elves once again provide a ten course meal, topped with dates and traditional delicacies from around the world. imagine the kids being allowed to go into the kitchens in the middle of the night if they were still in the mood to eat. imagine the kids being allowed to leave class to do their prayers, and spending lunch times to read the quran. we need to talk more about muslim kids in hogwarts.

gave me this fuzzy feeling

Shy!reader who's brain is running a million miles per hour and Sirius who notices and decides to pull her into a secret room for doting kisses and sweet compliments???

thank you for your request lovely! <333

sirius black x fem!reader

You don’t know how Sirius has managed to weasel you out of the thick of the party and into his friend’s bathroom, but here you are, alone with Sirius in Remus Lupin’s bathroom and trying not to act like this is exactly what you wanted.

“Sirius,” you say, breathless as you watch him close the door and then spin round to face you, grinning. “What are you doing?”

Sirius shrugs. “Just trying to get some alone time with my girl. Sue me.”

My girl. You try not to buckle at the knees. “Alone time? I thought you liked parties.”

“I only like whatever you like.”

You glare at him. He’s being awful on purpose. “Don’t you want to go hang out with your friends?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Sirius says, moving towards you. You know he’s gonna grab you before he does, hands hot at your hips as he pulls you towards him. “I was watching you out there, you know. You looked like you weren’t having a good time.”

“Did I?” You ask, horrified. “Sirius, why didn’t you tell me earlier?” You push at his chest as if that’s gonna do anything. He’s much stronger than you. In more ways than one. “I don’t want Remus to think I’m a priss.”

Sirius laughs. “Dove,” he says, chiding and amused. “He doesn’t think that. The only reason I noticed is ‘cos I know you so well.” He strokes your cheek with his thumb as if to say, yeah, I know you, and I love you all the same. “You’d’ve looked completely lovely to everyone else.”

“Ugh,” you say, as if you’re grossed out by his fondness rather than totally enthralled. Your burning cheeks say otherwise.

“Ugh,” Sirius copies agreeably. “You’re okay, though? We can leave if you need, babe. I swear I don’t mind.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his sentence. “No, I’m okay. We can stay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you having an awful time.”

“I’m not,” you say honestly. You were overwhelmed earlier but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t have handled it for Sirius’ sake. He’s handled a lot worse for your sake.

Sirius raises his eyebrows, looking incredibly handsome. “Promise?”

You smile at him. “Promise.”

Sirius smiles back, all pearly white teeth and the dusty pink lips. You’re not surprised when he ducks in to kiss you. You let him because you like him a lot and you could really use a kiss right now. He’s right of course, you had been having a hard time out in the living room. You’d just been beginning to spiral when Sirius had appeared out of nowhere and whisked you away like he could read your mind. Now, he kisses you with all the care of someone who knows you like the back of his hand, and all the electricity of a boy in love.

He backs you up against the sink, hands firm at your hips, kissing and kissing, but pulls back just when you think he’s about to really get carried away. You’re grateful because you’d hate to be discovered like this by one of his friends and you think he knows that.

“I love you,” he says, ducking in for another quick kiss that’s brief but sweet enough to leave you reeling. “Promise you’ll let me know if you want to get out of here, yeah?”

“Okay,” you nod, frazzled by his kissing and his sweetness.

Sirius smiles a dizzying smile and chucks you under the chin. “C’mon, lovely girl,” he takes your hand and tugs you towards the door. “Wanna help me win poker?”

He knows you’re no good at card games — he just wants you in his lap as his so-called lucky charm. Lucky for him, you can’t think of anything else you’d rather do.

The brothers Black

It's late. He should go to sleep. He has Harry to look after now, he should set a better example.

The said teen is sitting on the floor beside him, and for a moment Sirius is caught in the nostalgia of just how much Harry reminds him of himself.

It's a bad thing, really. He wasn't the best guy around. Hell, Sirius thinks he was probably a menace to even think about. Harry, Harry is better. Sirius remembers picking up the newborn Harry Potter in his hands and hugging him. Sirius remembers closing his eyes and apologising to the ghost of a dead Regulus because Sirius had never hugged his baby brother as much as he deserved.

Sirius puts off his cigarette and runs a hand down his face. Fuck.

Reggie.

Beside him, Harry looks at him with worried eyes. "We don't have to continue, Sirius," he says, perceptive boy. "I can leave—"

"Not necessary, kid," he says, pulling out the last of photos from the shoe box. Harry shuffles closer, almost cuddling him. Sirius quietly points out the people he never got to see grow older. Marlene, her puns and her affinity for everything yellow. Pandora, her heart and her necessity to constantly have chocolates on her person. Dorcas, her loud army boots and bright sundresses.

The last photo in his hand doesn't belong in the shoebox.

It's Reggie and him, Sirius has his brother in his arms and his lips pressed to Reggie's head, eyes closed tight. But it's Sirius, he knows this moment.

Three weeks before Sirius started Hogwarts, Reggie was sure that Hogwarts would steal his brother from him.

(Didn't it?)

Poor boy had been promising to be the best brother in the world, begging Sirius to keep loving him.

Sirius doesn't know when tears blurred his eyes but the ache in his chest comes back full force at his brother's innocent face, still red because of crying and eyes scrunched up close behind Sirius' hand. Sirius was supposed to protect him. Keep his eyes closed, never show him the blood and death that was carved into their fate.

"Regulus." Harry breathes beside Sirius and even the boy sounds pained. He leans further into Sirius and Sirius. Sirius is a greedy man. He takes the opportunity with desperation and puts his arm around Harry's shoulder, pulls him in.

(Everyone he touches will turn out dead. But Harry can't be dead, no, that's his boy, that's his child, he can't, no, not his boy—)

As they've done with every other picture, Sirius turned the photo behind to read who clicked it and when, even if he remembers the dates like they're tattooed on his spine.

But the back of the photo isn't only that. It reads,

Dearest Siri,

I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am. For the first time in my life, words fail me. I've failed everything you've ever tried to teach me— all in for a blind wish that was always impossible.

I've heard your silence, I've heard your screams and it seems that it's all I can remember. I am your shadow, no matter how much mother and father try to force the fact to be false. I want your presence, brother. I do not know how to exist without you. It is the only demand I can still make from fate— for even fate will have to pry you from my dead hands.

You are my brother. You are an ache in my chest and nowadays, I only ever breathe to feel this ache. The letters you've written to me are in my room, you will know where. The letters I've never sent you will be there. Burn them, Siri. I am going down a path of betrayal— towards you, towards our name, towards James, towards the Dark Lord as well. Of all the betrayals I've committed, my biggest regret will be not seeing you before I walk towards death.

Remember me, Siri. Let me stay alive with you. Let me take a part of you as I die.

Yours,

RA Reggie.

Clicked by Andromeda, 18/8/71

Panic burns through Sirius and he's heaving— choking on his tears and sobs and gasps.

His brother. His baby brother. He clutches the photo tighter and cradles it to his heart and wails. Regulus.

The ache in his chest blooms anew and Sirius wants to claw at his chest and find that piece of Regulus that's always lived beside Sirius' heart. Brother. My brother. My only brother. My little brother.

Regulus. Regulus. Reggie. Reggie. Reggie. Baby. Reg. Ree. Reg. Reggie.

Sirius slams his fist on the floor and he welcomes the pain that comes with it, his sobs almost cover the thuds his fist is making and he doesn't want to live. His brother. An open wound in his chest, his brother. Sirius wants to burn himself alive, like Reggie wanted to burn those letters.

"My brother." He wails, not sure if anyone will understand what he's saying but he doesn't expect them to, no one will ever understand just what his brother is, was.

There's a hand on his shoulder and Sirius heaves again. He has failed everyone he cared for, and he failed his blood the most. His boy, his brave Reggie.

Harry doesn't speak but keeps his hold on Sirius' elbow and Sirius wishes he would choke him or plunge his hand in Sirius' chest and drag his heart out— Reggie died with a wish to see Sirius, his poor brother, his baby, his Reggie— he doesn't want to live knowing how Reggie suffered and sobbed.

Because even if his brother is dead, Sirius is alive and thus, so is Reggie. Sirius can feel the sobs that must have wrecked Reggie, he can hear all the whimpers Reggie had to subside because he couldn't wake Mother and he can feel all the bile in his throat that his brother must have thrown up during one of his panic episodes.

And now, Harry rises up on his knees and holds Sirius— as Sirius was holding Reggie in that photo. As Harry's hand covers his eyes, Sirius feels the darkness that must have been the last thing Reggie saw.

(wrote this for all the sirius + harry fans who were having rough days yesterday ((more than one??? y'all good??)). have some fluff? maybe? i don't even know anymore.)

-

"Budge over," Sirius said as he sat down on the edge of his godson's bed, Harry currently laying in it with a hooded sweatshirt pulled over his head in the dead of summer, and as far as Sirius knew, this had been the outfit of choice for a few days now.

Since Harry had come home from a date and retreated to his bedroom, some melancholic record playing loud enough to signal to Remus and Sirius that something terrible had happened.

The first night Harry had cried.

The second night Harry had shouted at the both of them.

The third night Harry had decided the silent treatment was the best course of action and he was going to stay in his bedroom no matter how many times Sirius offered to buy him anything under the sun or Remus tempted with heartbreak dessert.

"I don't want to talk, Sirius," Harry mumbled, scooting over a minuscule amount to allow his godfather to join him in bed. Sirius took the space though, moving so he could lean against Harry's headboard, one arsecheek on the bed, the other hanging half off.

"Okay, you don't have to," Sirius said, clasping his hands together and resting them on his stomach. "Thought you might like some company though."

"Why would you think that?" He asked roughly, rolling to his side to avoid eye contact or interaction.

"Because you're sad. Because I raised you and know that when you get hurt, you want someone to stay with you. Like when you fell off your bike down that hill?" Harry twisted his neck slightly so he could look at Sirius, "Went too fast...fell so hard. I don't think I've ever ran so quickly in my life to get to you."

"I was fine though...nothing was broken."

"Oh no, but your knees had some bad scrapes on them, a few bruises. I didn't know having something physically broken was the threshold for injury."

"I just mean it wasn't that bad."

"At nine it was. And the whole day you just wanted to be around one of us. Slept in our bed too."

"I'm not nine," Harry muttered, though he moved so he could mimic Sirius's position, sitting up slightly and folding his hands over his stomach, Harry's pointy elbow touching Sirius's.

"You're not, I don't even wish you were anymore, you were a little hellion."

"What? No, I wasn't."

"You used to hang upside down off the third floor, do you remember that? Climb over the railings and hook your feet in and just drop. I'm actually shocked I'm still alive after witnessing that a few times."

Harry cracked a small smile, "Well that was the fun part..."

"Mhmm, I know it was. See? Nothing but trouble," Sirius nudged Harry with this shoulder, noticing that his godson had moved closer to Sirius as he spoke, their elbows overlapping. "But...thing is, even if you had fallen off the railing, or the banister collapsed and you came with it. We'd bandage you up, figure it out, fix the railing. It gets a bit harder when the hurt isn't physical. Nothing's broken, not really, right now and yet..."

"Fucking sucks."

"Broken hearts really fucking suck," Sirius responded, nodding.

"It...just sucks to feel like he didn't want me anymore. What do I do about that?" Harry asked and looked up to Sirius, their shoulders now pressed together. Sirius took a chance, moving one of his arms off his stomach and wrapping it around Harry.

Harry didn't pull away or fidget under the touch. Not a single eye roll.

"You...sit here, and you listen to all the sad music," Sirius started, deciding to leave out the moment in time where he thought he was going to charm Harry's record player off after hearing "I Had a King" for the 30th time, "and you...let someone sit with you until it doesn't hurt so much. Scrapped knees heal, so do hearts."

"You sure?"

"Well the alternative is you being heartbroken for the rest of your life and never leaving your bedroom and I'm okay with that too," Sirius said, "I'll still hang out with you. I'll grow a long white beard sitting here with you."

Harry put his head on Sirius's chest, and Sirius's hand went to the back of Harry's head, resting on messy black hair. "I...I don't think it'll be that long. You know?"

"Yeah."