Chapter Text
Harry Potter didn’t have a mother or father, so Sirius Black was determined to be the best of both.
He sang lullabies and read bedtime stories, making funny voices and silly faces. He filled the bathtub with warm water and mounds of fluffy bubbles and played submarine until every last bubble popped. He got on his hands and knees to shine a flashlight under the bed and set traps for monsters, just in case. He baked double chocolate cupcakes with homemade buttercream and extra sprinkles. He pressed cool flannels to a feverish forehead and wiped boogers and caught puke in his hand. On Halloween he was the Robin to Harry’s Batman, the Captain Hook to Harry’s Peter Pan, the Elsa to Harry’s Olaf. He quizzed spelling words, science vocabulary, and countries of the world. He clapped his hands pink at every school play and was the classroom parent every year. He sold his motorbike. He bought a Volvo, for god’s sake.
And he never, ever dated.
It was not for lack of options. To bastardize Jane Austen, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a hot single guardian in possession of a good fortune and an adorable godson with a tragic backstory must be in want of a wife. Or, in Sirius’s case, a husband.
Sirius discovered this the first time he took baby Harry out to the grocery store. He was still walking around in a grief-filled haze after the death of his best friend, James, and James's wife, Lily, and getting custody of his godson when he finally realized he had a baby to feed and should probably get dressed and buy some food besides beer and takeout. He pushed Harry through the frozen foods aisle, contemplating the unfairness of life and the benefits of tater tots versus French fries and trying not to cry when Harry started giggling. Sirius turned to find a woman bent over the grocery cart and playing peekaboo with his godson.
“He’s so cute,” she cooed, catching Sirius’s eye. “How old is he?”
“Fifteen months,” Sirius replied groggily.
“Does he look more like you or your wife?” she asked.
Had Sirius not been so deliriously tired and sad he might have noticed the leading way she asked this question or the gentle touch of her fingers to his bicep. As it was, he did not notice, and sputtered out, “He’s not mine. He’s my godson. His parents are…are…”
And she was only too happy to fold him into her arms as he dissolved into tears in front of the freezer case and slip him her phone number once he’d gathered himself again.
This scene and others like it (though with far less crying, thank goodness) played out again and again throughout Harry’s childhood. It happened when Sirius pushed Harry on the swings, chaperoned field trips, took Harry to swimming lessons, and coached Harry’s football team. It happened in the pizza shop, the chip shop, the flower shop, and the auto shop. It happened at the eye doctor’s office and the pediatrician’s office. It even happened at a cemetery.
But most of all, it happened at school. Parent pickup time was, Sirius soon learned, a minefield to be navigated carefully and quietly. He had to come armed with a book or his mobile phone (he’d employed fake coughs and sneezes a few times, too) to avoid the onslaught of single (and sometimes not-single) parents, and even the occasional teacher, who hovered around him as they gathered outside the school waiting for their children to emerge at the end of the day. Perhaps these people were lovely in their own, boring, annoying, vulture-like way. He just didn't really care to find out. He had more important things to attend to.
That’s not to say he had no social life. Although moving to Godric’s Hollow from London hadn’t been in his life plans before becoming Harry’s guardian, he grew accustomed to the slower pace and made friends with some of his neighbors and other parents of Harry’s friends, and by the time Harry was 11 years old, they’d become like family to Molly and Arthur Weasley and their seven children, including Harry’s best friend Ron. They spent time with the Longbottoms, the Lovegoods, and even dotty old Bathilda Bagshot, and Sirius even managed to keep one foot in his old London life, working as a freelance photographer and staying close with his editor, Marlene, and her wife, Dorcas.
All in all, Sirius was quite content, and as his 34th birthday approached, even Molly had stopped trying to set him up with people like “the sweetest man you’ve ever met from Arthur’s office” or “a very cute new guy selling peaches at the farmer’s market.”
Harry was happy, too, Sirius thought proudly. Harry was the very best of James and Lily rolled into one incredible and totally unique person. He was funny and kind, with a huge heart and a well of compassion as deep as the ocean. He was the kid who’d never let anyone sit alone at lunch or get bullied on the school bus. He boasted a rebellious streak that was offset by charm and genuine sweetness that disarmed even the strictest teachers. Sirius thought he was simply marvelous.
Harry was also a pretty good student. He wasn’t at the top of his class, but he worked hard, got good marks, and generally got along with his teachers.
That seemed to change one day when Harry was 14 years old.
Sirius was editing a few photos before sending the files to Marlene when Harry came storming through the kitchen door, flung his backpack onto the floor, and dropped face-first into the couch.
“Bad day?” Sirius asked.
“Igoa terb grd,” Harry grumbled into the couch cushion.
“Want to try that again in English?” Sirius asked. When he got no answer, Sirius walked over to Harry and ruffled his already messy black hair. “What’s up?”
Harry dragged himself to a sitting position and sat, slump-shouldered, staring at the scuffed toes of his trainers.
“I got a terrible grade on my Jane Eyre essay, and now he says he needs to meet with you,” Harry mumbled.
“Who needs to meet with me?” Sirius asked, sitting down next to him.
“My teacher,” Harry replied. He handed Sirius a piece of paper with an email address and a short note asking for a meeting.
Sirius put the paper down on the coffee table and flung an arm over Harry’s shoulders.
“You know, one bad grade doesn’t usually call for a parent-teacher conference,” Sirius said. “Or a personal apocalypse. In fact, some say the occasional bad grade builds character.”
“No one says that,” Harry said, looking at him darkly. “I’ve only ever gotten A's in lit. It’s my best subject.”
“Well, you’re entitled, then,” Sirius said. “Besides, I remember Jane Eyre being painfully boring.”
“No, it’s brilliant!” Harry said. Sirius cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him.
“If it’s so brilliant, why did you do so badly on the essay?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said. His hands fidgeted a little and one toe tapped nervously. He shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to ask him.”
Once again, he handed Sirius the piece of paper with his teacher’s email address and once again Sirius put it onto the coffee table. Harry stood up.
“Can I go to Gin…I mean Ron’s house?” Harry asked.
“Do you have homework?” Sirius asked.
“Just reading,” Harry said before adding, “and not Jane Eyre.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Sirius said. “Just be home by dinner and leave some time to stop by the shop for some bread on the way home, if you don’t mind?”
“Love you, Sirius,” Harry said, giving his godfather a quick hug, and Sirius smiled. He hoped Harry never outgrew saying “love you” before leaving the house, hanging up the phone, or saying goodnight.
“Love you too, kiddo,” Sirius said. “Tell Ron I said hi…And Ginny too.”
He gave Harry a knowing smile.
“OK,” Harry said, his cheeks turning pink. He pointed to the piece of paper sitting on the coffee table. “And don’t forget to email.”
“Don’t worry,” Sirius said, pointing to his already open laptop. “I’ll do it right now.”
Harry left and Sirius picked up the piece of paper. It felt strange to not know any of Harry’s teachers anymore. When Harry was little, Sirius knew every one of his teachers quite well and spent a lot of time volunteering at school events. But teenagers didn’t want their parents hanging around their school or their friends, and as a result, Sirius hadn’t properly met a single one of Harry’s teachers in several years. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, to write to this one, and decided to keep it short and to the point.
From: [email protected]
RE: Harry Potter
Hello!
My name is Sirius Black and I’m Harry Potter’s guardian. Could we please meet to discuss his grade on his Jane Eyre essay?
Thanks very much,
Sirius Black
Sirius went back to his editing and had just sent the final photos to Marlene when a reply popped into his inbox.
From: [email protected]@sch.uk
RE: Harry Potter
Hi, Mr. Black,
I’d be happy to meet about Harry. He’s a wonderful kid and a great student. I’m available to meet tomorrow after school. Please feel free to come by my office at 3:30, if that works for you.
Sincerely,
RJ Lupin
Huh, Sirius thought. Not exactly the reply he’d been expecting, but then again, this bad grade was an anomaly, he supposed. Harry was a wonderful kid. He replied that he’d be there tomorrow at 3:30 pm, added the appointment to his calendar, and set about to start peeling potatoes and chopping onions for dinner. He’d make Harry’s favorite, shepherd’s pie. It was a little time-consuming for a Wednesday, Sirius knew, but he thought Harry would need some cheering up.
But Harry seemed oddly cheerful already at the news that Sirius would be meeting with his teacher, and when Harry arrived home from school the following afternoon, his good mood hadn’t abated.
“Better day, today, then?” Sirius asked him.
“Much better,” Harry said in a chipper voice but frowned slightly when his eyes landed on Sirius. Harry looked his godfather up and down. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
Sirius looked down at himself. He had on jeans, trainers, and a baggy hooded sweatshirt, which he considered the perfect uniform for a busy, work-at-home-godfather.
“What’s wrong with this?” Sirius asked.
“I mean you look…comfortable,” Harry said.
“Wow,” Sirius said. “That’s cold.”
“You just…you have so many great clothes. Like what you wear on work assignments,” Harry said, walking into Sirius’s bedroom. He opened the closet and started riffling through the hangers.
“No, no, no,” Harry muttered to himself as he examined each shirt or pair of pants and pushed it aside. Finally, he landed on something he deemed acceptable. “How about these?”
He threw a pair of tight black jeans onto the bed behind him.
“And this,” he pulled out a red and white David Bowie t-shirt.
“And this,” Harry tossed Sirius’s black leather jacket onto the bed.
“And these,” he said, bending over and leaning deep into the back of the closet to lift out Sirius’s old Doc Martens. He tossed a black leather belt and a couple of silver rings onto the bed for good measure, too.
He turned around and looked up at his godfather with an eager and expectant look.
“This seems like a strange ensemble for a parent-teacher meeting,” Sirius said.
“I just want you to be yourself,” Harry said. “That’s what makes the best impression.”
When Sirius didn’t answer, Harry just looked at him with those bright green eyes that Sirius couldn’t ever say no to.
“This is my academic future,” Harry implored. “It’s important.”
“Fine,” Sirius sighed, shutting the bedroom door to change. When he emerged a few minutes later, Harry jumped up and surveyed him approvingly.
“Much better,” he nodded before nearly pushing him out the door. “Oh, take this.”
“A breath mint?” Sirius asked, looking down at the little white candy that Harry had placed in his palm. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
“Nope! It’s just that you should always have clean underwear and minty fresh breath when you leave the house,” Harry insisted. “You know the old saying?”
“No,” Sirius said.
“Oh. Well, it’s a saying,” Harry said. “Love you, bye!”
And he slammed the door in Sirius’s face. Sirius shrugged, got into his very practical car, and drove to the school. A few minutes later, he was knocking on a classroom door with the nameplate RJ Lupin.
“Come on in,” a voice said.
Sirius pushed open the door. A man was sitting at a desk with his head bowed low over a stack of papers.
“I’ll be right with you, I’m just finishing a thought,” the man said. Sirius stood in the doorway and could only see the top of his brown curls and the shoulders of his gray jumper. He scribbled furiously for a few more seconds, put his pen down, and looked up.
Goddamn, Sirius thought.
The man was—there was no other word for it—bloody gorgeous. He was tall, with broad shoulders, warm skin, and a smattering of freckles. He wore a white Oxford shirt and narrow black tie under a soft gray cardigan. He gave Sirius a slow smile and stood up, leaning across his desk to shake Sirius’s hand. Sirius took it and couldn’t help noticing the very firm grip and very big palms.
“Mr. Black?” the man said. His voice was low and a little raspy and Sirius felt warmth lick up his spine when he spoke.
“Sirius,” he replied. The man nodded hello.
“Remus Lupin,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He gestured for Sirius to sit in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk as he retook his own seat and looked at Sirius expectantly. When Sirius didn’t say anything, Remus spoke.
“You said you wanted to talk about Harry’s Jane Eyre essay?” Remus asked easily, as though he wasn’t the most ridiculously, unselfconsciously handsome person Sirius had ever seen.
“Um, yeah,” Sirius said. “Yes. The essay. I was surprised when Harry said he got a bad grade. He said he loved the book, and this has always been his best subject.”
Remus’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head.
“Harry didn’t get a bad grade,” he said. “In fact…”
Remus leaned down, opened his desk, and pulled out a few pieces of paper that were stapled together at the corner.
“I asked him if I could make a copy of his essay and use it as an example in my other classes,” he said. He handed the papers to Sirius who read the title:
The Use of Nature Symbolism in Jane Eyre
By Harry James Potter
Scrawled below it, in what must have been Remus Lupin’s handwriting, was a note: “This is excellent work, Harry! What an enlightening essay. Bravo!”
Sirius looked up at him, unsure of what to say.
“But Harry said he got a terrible grade,” Sirius said, sounding dumbfounded. “He said you wanted to meet with me about it.”
“I think you’ve been had, Sirius,” Remus said with a small smile, taking Harry’s essay back and putting it into his desk drawer again. “Harry’s doing really well in this class, wrote an excellent essay, and I never asked to speak with you.”
“Oh,” Sirius said. “Well, great, I guess.”
Remus shrugged. “Thanks for coming in. It was still nice to meet you. Harry’s a great kid.”
“Yeah, you too,” Sirius said, standing up to leave, a little reluctantly, he realized. He’d have liked to spend more time with Remus Lupin.
“Have a good night,” Sirius said, looking back at Remus one more time.
“You, too!” Remus smiled and Sirius felt his stomach do a little summersault. Sirius had just put his hand on the doorknob when Remus spoke again.
“Oh, and I love your shirt,” he said. Sirius turned around to look at Remus, who was giving him a cute half smile that seemed shy and a bit mischievous all at once. “I love David Bowie. Play him all the time in class.”