Chapter Text
Sirius was already in the Astronomy room preparing when Margaret and Aurora joined him.
The room was on the fifth floor, at the end of a long corridor lined with portraits of old astronomers and star charts that had faded to sepia. The door was heavy oak, bound with iron, and it swung open on silent hinges.
Upon entering, the room was much like any other in Grimmauld Place—grand, dark, furnished with serpent motifs, imposing. The furniture was carved with serpents and stars. The walls were paneled in black oak, the floor was polished stone, and the air smelled of old parchment and older magic.
But as soon as one lifted their eyes, it was no longer a room. It was the whole Milky Way galaxy, open in front of them.
The room had no ceiling. The enchantment was ancient—centuries old, layered, powerful. The ceiling had been charmed to open directly to the night sky, and not just to the sky as seen from London, but to the sky at a height. Closer to the stars. The view was the kind that only the most expensive and rare telescopes could provide—a window into the universe, unobstructed, unfiltered, vast.
All the stars twinkled. Thousands of them. Millions. They were scattered across the darkness like diamonds on velvet, some bright, some faint, some clustered together in constellations that Sirius could name in his sleep. The moon hung in the far corner, clear and full. No clouds. The moonlight falling on the stars was the only light in the room. But it was enough.
The room looked dreamy. Ethereal. Like something from a story.
It was much colder than the rest of the house as well—the temperature of the highest place the enchantment was charmed to replicate. The air was crisp, clean, with a bite that made the skin prickle.
Kreacher had made arrangements. Six beddings had been prepared on the floor—soft, thick pads covered in fabric, arranged in a loose circle so that everyone could lie down and look up at the sky. Blankets were folded at the foot of each bedding—not thick, but very soft, warm enough for a cozy night under the stars.
Margaret entered the room and stopped.
She had seen many wonderful things in her life. The palaces of France. The cathedrals across Europe. The gardens of her father's estate in the spring. But she had never seen anything like this.
So beautiful. So unreal. And yet the ultimate reality of the universe. The space and the sky and the stars that connected all humans, all animals, all species. Everything.
She was lost in watching it. A tug on her hand broke the spell.
Aurora was bouncing on her feet. Her small body vibrated with excitement, her dark hair flying, her dragon clutched under her arm. She had never seen anything like this. She was spellbound.
Margaret smiled.
"Maman," Aurora said, her voice high with wonder. "Look. There are stars. Are they real?"
Margaret looked up at the sky. At the millions of points of light scattered across the darkness. "Yes, Aurora," she said. "They are all real."
Aurora's eyes widened. Her mouth fell open. The oldest reality of the world was dawning on her young soul, its beauty capturing her young eyes. She jumped. Higher and higher, using all her strength, as if she could launch herself into the sky. "Maman," she said, "I want to touch the stars."
Margaret smiled at her child's innocence. "Ma chérie, it only looks close. The stars are very high up in the sky. You cannot touch them."
Aurora was not having any of it. Her lower lip jutted out. "I want to touch the stars, Maman. I will ask Sirius. He is the tallest person ever. He will hold me."
She ran to Sirius without waiting for her mother's reply.
Margaret heard her daughter. The amount of faith she had in Sirius was astounding. In her eyes, there was nothing he could not do. Margaret hoped she never lost that trust in him.
She followed her daughter into the room.
Sirius was sitting on the floor in one of the beddings. Soft. Comfortable. Designed for lying down and looking at the stars.
He was not looking at the stars.
He was busy with his papers—Black family books and notes, old journals, star charts, handwritten observations from generations of Blacks who had lain in this very room and looked at this very sky. He was making notes, cross-referencing, preparing to make this the best experience for the kids.
Aurora called him twice.
He was so engaged that he did not hear her.
But Aurora was not the one to give up. She made her way through the scattered papers—stepping carefully, avoiding the stacks—and slipped into his lap.
Sirius automatically adjusted his papers to give her space. He did not even lift his eyes from what he was reading. The response was automatic, that of a parent. Not pushing her away. Not rejecting her.
Aurora settled against his chest, her dragon between them. "Sirius," she said.
Sirius finally registered her presence. He looked up from his papers. "Yes, Aurora?"
She pointed at the sky. "Sirius, lift me. I want to touch the stars. I cannot reach them."
Sirius dropped his papers. He looked at her face—completely intense, her dark eyes blazing with certainty. She looked just like her mother. She was absolutely sure that Sirius could make it happen.
He smiled.
Margaret reached them and sat on the other side of Sirius. She watched, amused.
Sirius looked at the child. "Aurora," he said, "you cannot touch those big stars."
Her face fell at once.
Sirius smirked. He lifted her hand and touched her index finger to her own cheek. "But," he said, "you can touch a little star."
He watched as Aurora's face broke into a smile as realization dawned. Then into giggles. Loud. Bright. Margaret smiled next to them.
Aurora's voice was high with delight. "Yes, Sirius. I am a little star."
Sirius hugged her. "You are," he said. "You are my little star."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the room. They stopped in the doorway. All three teenagers were left stunned.
The beauty was overwhelming. The open sky. The stars. The moon, far in the distance but bright enough to cast shadows. They had expected a magical view—Sirius had told them about the Astronomy room, had promised them something special. But this was somehow even better than they had imagined.
Even for Harry, who had been here once, in the morning, when the sun was rising and the stars were invisible. It had been nothing like this. They stood fixed in the doorway, fascinated.
Hermione recovered first. She shrieked—loudly, breaking the boys' stance. "This is far better than what they showed us in Astronomy class!" she announced.
Ron seconded her thoughts. "Blimey. It is so real that it is almost unreal."
Harry only nodded.
Hermione was carrying a bundle of books and notes. Her focus was entirely on turning this into an educational project. She had her quill tucked behind her ear, her parchment ready, her mind already cataloging.
Harry and Ron had slept through most of their Astronomy classes, paying only enough attention to scrape through and relying entirely on copying Hermione's notes. They were also taken aback. If only Hogwarts had ever shown them something like this. Even if they had, neither of them had paid attention to anything other than Quidditch to know.
Maybe Sirius could develop an interest for them.
Harry's eyes moved to Sirius and stopped there.
Sirius was sitting with his head in papers and notes. Margaret was on one side. Aurora was on his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, asking questions that Margaret answered softly. It was a picture of domestic peace—a father, a mother, a child.
Hermione walked into the room. Ron walked into the room.
Harry did not follow.
He watched. His chest felt tight. His heart burned with feelings he could never name, never untangle. He knew they were unpleasant. He knew he had made a promise to give Aurora a chance. But it was not easy. Saying something and doing it were completely different things.
His mind slipped back to the Sunday picnic. Aurora running with Padfoot, happy and bouncing, flying with the wind. Having the best time with Sirius. Coming back to rest with her mother and Sirius. A family together. Laughing. Talking.
Harry watching from the outside. Alone.
The same dark thought paraded back into his head. What if I am left alone, standing in the back like this? I will always be the outsider. Not their family.
A voice inside his head berated him. Sirius has told you so many times that you are included. That you are family.
Harry knew that intellectually. But how did one cross a distance physically? How did he go and ask Sirius? I want to be part of the family too. How did one ask to be loved, to be included—when all his life he had been excluded, made to watch from the side?
His eyes tingled. He stood rooted in the doorway, watching Sirius's back as his daughter rested on him and his wife sat beside him.
It was as if Sirius heard his thoughts. His head shot up. He turned around at once. He found Harry looking at him. With teary eyes. Alone. Standing at the door.
It took only a heartbeat for Sirius to understand.
His heart broke for his child. His child, standing alone, watching. Is this how Harry looked at the Dursleys as a kid? The thought punctured a hole inside his heart.
He could not look at Harry like this. All he wanted was to go and grab Harry, to cage him in his arms, to never let him feel alone again.
But he stopped himself.
No. He had to take tough decisions. He had to push Harry to speak. He had to make sure Harry knew how to ask. He had to make sure Harry knew that he belonged—and that he should be ready to claim that, too.
There was silence.
Ron and Hermione were busy in their small fight in the corner—Ron telling her that bringing all the books here was unnecessary, Hermione defending her choices. Margaret was answering Aurora's questions about the sky, the moon, the stars.
Sirius and Harry looked at each other. A loud silence rang between them.
Harry wanted nothing more than to be called in. Sirius wanted nothing more than to include Harry.
But neither moved. Harry did not ask. Sirius did not call.
Sirius controlled all his urges to pull Harry toward himself. He took a very steady breath.
"Harry," he said. "What do you want?"
Harry watched him silently. His mind was a battlefield. The shame of wanting to be loved. The fear of being denied. They fought with each other, clawing for dominance.
And then Sirius's words from two days ago took over.
Harry, you are loved and wanted. Give a chance. Make a demand. Speak up.
Harry knew that Sirius was aware of what he felt. He also knew Sirius was waiting for him to make the move. And he also knew Sirius would not budge unless Harry made the move—unless he spoke his mind.
He felt small. Unsure.
Sirius spoke again. His voice was heavy, controlled, but hardly so.
"Love."
The endearment cast a spell on him. His favorite word ever. Spoken only by his favorite person.
Harry felt all the encouragement he needed in that word. In that voice. In the eyes that were staring into his soul, full of love.
His voice was small. "Sirius. I want to sit with you."
Sirius smiled as if he had won the world. He opened his arms wide. His eyes were shiny.
Harry moved first—slowly, and then with big steps. He kneeled in front of his godfather. He hugged Sirius tightly, crushing the little girl already sitting in Sirius's lap without meaning to. He did not feel it. He just wanted to hug Sirius and be close. And he did that.
Sirius hugged him tightly. "Harry, my child," he said. "This is your seat. Only yours."
Harry relaxed. It had been difficult. But it had taken only a moment of courage—and it was worth it.
He melted into Sirius's arms. And then he felt a small arm on his shoulder. Aurora, crushed between them, was hugging him back. She thought Harry had come to hug her. Harry did not push her away.
Sirius kissed Harry's forehead.
Margaret watched them. She had not understood what had happened, but she did not interfere. She did not say anything to break their moment.
Harry withdrew after a moment. He looked up at Sirius, who was smiling now. He smiled back. Sirius raised his free hand and patted Harry on his cheek. Lightly. With love.
Their eyes spoke words that did not need to be spoken.
Aurora broke the moment. She was excited.
"Harry, look up!" she said, pointing at the night sky. "There are real stars!"
Harry looked. "I know," he said. "It is beautiful."
Sirius asked Harry to sit properly. Harry moved to his side. Margaret immediately shifted to give him space, moving the blanket aside. As Harry settled into the bedding, she pulled the blankets up around him, tucking them in. She did it without thinking, as if it were nothing. But for Harry, it meant everything.
He smiled and settled in.
Margaret made small conversation. "I have never done stargazing beyond school."
Harry could see she was excited too. "Me neither," he said. "I am very excited."
Sirius, who was listening, spoke. "Liars."
Both Harry and Margaret looked at him, confused.
Sirius said, "You both see me. Every day!"
He laughed at his own joke, too loud, without waiting for anyone to join.
Harry and Margaret shared a look. Sirius had probably decided that today was dedicated to all the bad jokes. He was getting worse as the day passed.
Their lack of response irritated Sirius, but it could not entirely ruin his mood. Because Aurora had heard him. She took a long moment to get it—but she did get it. She joined him with her own giggles.
She announced to the room, loudly, "Sirius, you are funny!"
Sirius's bruised ego softened. He smiled. He shot a side-eye to both Harry and Margaret, who were still not impressed. "I am funny," he said. "Very funny." More to convince himself than them.
Harry and Margaret were unmoved.
Sirius moved Aurora out of his lap to the bedding between him and Ron and covered her with blankets. He looked around. Everyone had arrived.
"Alright," he said. "It is time. Lie down, all of you."
Margaret, Harry, Aurora, and Ron complied immediately. Hermione refused. "Sirius, I cannot lie down. I am making notes."
Ron sighed. "There she goes."
Hermione was about to say something when Sirius spoke. "No, Hermione. You will ruin your experience. Lie down and watch."
Hermione argued. "No, I want to make sure. I have to get all the details right. It will help me with the classes."
Ron and Harry looked at each other across the space—two friends who knew how stubborn and studious their friend could be.
Sirius's reply was firm. "Hermione, this is not a class, nor am I a teacher. Some things in life should only be treated as experiences, not as academic endeavors."
Ron and Harry were taken aback by his strict tone. Even Hermione was.
"You will always have the books to study at school," Sirius continued. "But you will not have this again. So enjoy it. I am sure you will find something here for your soul—not just your brain."
He looked at Hermione for a moment. Hermione looked back, taking in his words. Sirius lay down between his kids. Leaving Hermione to decide for herself.
Sirius's words landed on Hermione. Somewhere deep. Maybe he was right. Maybe she could find something for herself. She put her notes and quills aside and lay down next to Ron.
Harry and Ron watched, shocked. Hermione putting her books away was huge.
Sirius looked around. "Is everyone ready?"
They said yes. He began.
He started with the history of the room and the charms—at least two hundred years old, layered by generations of Blacks. He explained how the enchantment worked, how the room maintained the temperature of the sky it was connected to, how the stars were not illusions but the actual sky, visible as if through a telescope.
He gave a brief overview of the stars, constellations, and planets. Hermione and Margaret already knew most of it, but they listened. Aurora knew nothing—she listened with wide eyes. Ron and Harry, somewhere between those two ends, also listened.
Sirius showed them the stars and the constellations. He traced the lines with his wand, highlighting them against the darkness. He explained their cultural importance in different parts of the world—the myths, the legends, the century-old beliefs.
Hermione asked questions. He answered all of them, briefly. He did not let this turn into something academic.
Then Sirius moved to another constellation. He turned to Harry. He pointed at a star—bright, unmistakable, the brightest in the sky. "Harry," he said, "name that star."
Harry failed. He had taken no interest in Astronomy before this. After this session, he wished he had. But he could not name it.
Margaret answered. She was next to Harry, and she kept a hand on his elbow. "That is Canis Major," she said. "The Dog Star. Sirius. The brightest star in the night sky."
Harry watched.
Aurora jumped excitedly. "Sirius, that is you!"
Sirius said nothing. He only smiled.
Harry had known that Sirius was named after a star. It was information that had been in the back of his mind, never used to form anything else. He looked at Sirius. Sirius smiled back.
Sirius told them about his family's naming traditions. The Blacks had a centuries-old tradition of naming their children after stars and constellations. He pointed to his father—Orion—and then the constellation, drawing it out with his wand. He explained the myths behind it, the stories, the significance.
All the kids watched and listened. His knowledge was extensive. His interest was evident.
And then Sirius's voice faltered.
He pointed at one particular star. The heart of the lion. The brightest in the constellation Leo.
"Regulus," he said softly.
His entire body froze.
It was difficult to say that name now. His brother.
How many nights had he lain in this same room, on this same floor, with his brother as a child? Pointing to the stars, naming the constellations. Siri, that is me, Regulus would say. Sirius would smile. They would search for each other's stars, naming them, claiming them, connecting themselves to the heavens.
Harry could feel Sirius going stiff.
Margaret moved her hand over Harry toward Sirius, putting it on his chest. Sirius held it immediately for comfort.
Harry, caged between them, watched. He did not understand much. But he realized something—something that was always meant but never spoken aloud in this house.
Sirius loved his brother.
He moved his own hand and held Margaret's and Sirius's.
Sirius looked up at the star and closed his eyes. He wished. That his brother might find the rest that he had never gotten in his short life. He wished on the star Regulus—may his namesake be at peace.
Sirius was not the only one who was taken aback.
In the far corner, Hermione had stopped too. She knew Regulus the star. But somehow this felt different. Watching it felt different.
She had no idea why. But she knew she had seen this constellation drawn somewhere. She had read or opened or gone through so many books in the past few days. She could not remember where.
She just watched in confusion—at seeing it before, at the unsettling feeling reaching her bones.
She did not know.
The session continued. Sirius kept pointing at the stars, telling their histories, tracing their constellations. His voice was steady now, but softer. The pain of Regulus lingered in the air, unspoken but present.
Harry lay between Margaret and Sirius. Aurora was on Sirius's other side, her small hand resting on his arm. Ron and Hermione lay on Aurora's side, their faces tilted toward the sky.
The stargazing session came to an end after a long time, only because Sirius called for it.
The kids were not done. They wanted to see more stars, listen to more stories, trace more constellations with Sirius's wand. Ron's eyes were still fixed on the sky, his mouth slightly open, his freckles standing out in the moonlight. Hermione had stopped asking academic questions, she had given in to wonder.
But Sirius looked at the yawning teenagers, the already sleeping little girl curled in the bedding, and the very tired wife beside him, and decided to wind up.
"The stars will still be there tomorrow," he said. "And the day after. And every night after that. You have time."
Ron sat up reluctantly. "Blimey. I never thought I would say this, but I could look at stars for hours."
Hermione nodded, her eyes still on the sky. "It is beautiful. Thank you, Sirius."
Sirius smiled. "You are welcome."
They gathered their things—Hermione's books, Ron's jumper, the empty cups of hot chocolate that Kreacher had brought up sometime in the middle of the session. They filed out of the room, their footsteps soft on the stone floor.
Margaret was about to pick up the sleeping Aurora from the bedding when Sirius spoke.
"I will put her to bed, Margaret."
Margaret looked at him. "I can—"
Sirius put a hand on her arm. "Go to bed. You are very tired, you painted an entire wall. I will join you after putting the kids to bed."
Margaret nodded. She was tired. The day had been long—the case files, the painting, the demonstration, the stargazing. Her shoulders ached. Her eyes were heavy.
She turned to Harry, who was standing next to Sirius, waiting.
"Good night, Harry," she said.
"Good night, Margaret."
She walked out.
Sirius picked up Aurora.
She was light in his arms—lighter than she should be for a six-year-old, but she had always been small. Her dark hair fell across his arm. Her dragon was clutched to her chest. Her mouth was slightly open, her breathing slow and even.
Harry walked with him.
He watched as Sirius climbed down the stairs carefully, his footsteps light, his body angled to keep Aurora steady. He did not jostle her. He did not rush. He moved like someone who had done this a thousand times—and probably had, in the time since they had all come to live in this house.
They reached Aurora's room. The door was open, the nightlight already glowing—the crescent moon, casting soft blue shadows across the walls. The dragon mobile spun slowly above the bed.
Sirius laid Aurora down. He adjusted her pillows—there were many of them, arranged in a particular pattern that Aurora insisted upon—fluffing them, positioning them, making sure her head was comfortable. He pulled the duvet up to her chin, tucking the edges around her shoulders. He smoothed her hair back from her face, wishing her a quite good night.
And then he kissed her forehead. Soft. Long. Full of love.
Harry watched from the doorway. He watched how soft Sirius was with her. How loving. How affectionate.
There was no performative aspect to it. He was doing it because he loved her, because she was his daughter, because putting her to bed was not a chore but a gift.
Sirius straightened. He looked at Aurora for a moment longer, then turned and walked out of the room. He closed the door carefully behind him—a soft click, not a slam.
Harry was waiting for him. Sirius put an arm around Harry's shoulders. They walked in silence.
Harry's room was the same as they had left it—except for the painting on the wall. Both their eyes drifted to it as they entered. The painting caught the light from the window, the moonlight silvering the surface. Harry diving, pulling up, catching the snitch. The movement was eternal, looping, never ending.
Harry looked at it and felt something he could not name. Not pride—not exactly. Not happiness—not entirely. Something closer to wonder. That someone had done this for him. That someone had spent hours learning about something she did not understand, because he had asked.
Sirius patted him on the back, it broke the staring. "Come on, big guy," he said. "Time to sleep."
Harry climbed into the bed. Sirius moved the covers, and Harry got in. Sirius tucked him—the way he always did now, the way that had become a ritual in itself. He sat on the edge of the bed and took off Harry's glasses, folding them carefully and placing them on the nightstand.
He put his hand on Harry's hair. Smoothed the wild strands.
Harry watched him. The room was quiet. The city hummed beyond the window. The painting moved on the wall.
Sirius spoke after a while. "Harry," he said. "I would like to talk about what happened in the Astronomy room. Do you wish to?"
Harry stayed silent for a moment. His mind was still full—of stars, of constellations, of the way Sirius's voice had faltered when he said Regulus. Of the way he had stood in the doorway, watching, wanting, afraid to ask.
He moved. He shifted to the side, creating space on the bed. He lifted the covers. "Yes," he said.
Sirius's face lit up with a genuine smile. He moved from the edge of the bed and lay down next to Harry. He turned toward him immediately, resting his face on the pillow. Harry turned toward him too.
They stayed silent.
And then Harry spoke on his own. Without any prompt, without any question from Sirius. "Sirius," he said. "Remember the Sunday picnic? When you took Aurora for a run after I said she could not play with us?"
Sirius nodded. "I remember."
Harry continued. "I was angry with you that day. Because you took Aurora running with you, and then you, her, and Margaret stayed together on one side, laughing. Leaving me alone."
Sirius nodded, understanding. "So that is why you were keeping distance the entire day? And why you chose to sit with Ron for the chess match and then avoided me entirely?"
"Yes," Harry said at once.
He had made enough progress with Sirius to know something very well in his heart—that Sirius would not get upset if he spoke how he felt. Not anymore. Not after the nights of tears and shouting and confessions.
Sirius considered it. He went through the happenings of that day in his head, replaying the moments, seeing them through Harry's eyes. "Harry," he said, "why do you think you were angry?"
Harry's eyebrows scrunched. "What?"
"You just said you were angry. Why do you think you were angry at me?"
"Because you took her for a run."
Sirius tilted his head. "Are you sure?"
Harry stayed silent. He did not understand.
"Let us do one thing," Sirius said. "You and I will go through that day again, alright? You tell me how everything made you feel."
Harry asked immediately, "Why? I just said I was angry."
His voice was defensive.
Sirius's voice was calm. "I know you said it. But I would like to know everything. One word about you being angry is not helping me understand. So can you help your godfather, love?"
Harry was confused.
Sirius continued, "I know something was wrong. But I want to know what. So tell me—what happened that morning? Every little detail. From your perspective."
Harry considered this. He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes moving, his mind going back.
"I woke up," he said. "I went flying with Ron. When we came down, you were not present in the pitch, as you always are. I got upset. That you left me alone."
He stopped, watching Sirius.
Sirius considered this. "Harry, about that—what do you think you felt in that moment? Was it anger? Or did you simply miss me?"
Harry went through that day in his head again. The empty chair where Sirius always sat. The bare table beside it, no cup of tea growing cold. The sky without someone watching.
"I thought you forgot about me," he said. "Now that my friends were here."
Sirius nodded. "What happened after that?"
"I waited for you with my friends at the breakfast table. You were late. And then you came in with Aurora." Harry's jaw went tight. "Wearing matching clothes. I got even angrier. That you were with her." He paused.
"But then you said you had overslept, so I was okay. I mean, anyone can sleep, right?" He said it casually. Too casually.
Sirius was watching him intently, listening to every word.
"Harry," he said, "you were waiting the entire morning for me. And then I arrived late and only told you I was sleeping. And you forgave me, just like that." He paused. "Now consider everything again. Do you think you were upset with me? Or were you simply wanting my company?"
Harry thought about it again. It was true. As soon as Sirius had said sorry and explained, Harry's anger had vanished. He had not even minded the matching clothes anymore.
If he had been truly angry—truly, deeply angry—he would have demanded answers. He would have asked why Sirius had spent the morning with Aurora and not with him.
But he had not.
He said softly, more to himself than to Sirius, "Sirius, I think I missed you. Because you watch me fly every day. I thought maybe I was angry, but maybe I was not. I just wanted us to continue our morning routine."
Sirius smiled. "That is a good realization, Harry."
He put a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"Let us continue. What happened then?"
Harry watched Sirius's face. He had no idea what Sirius wanted from him, but he continued anyway.
"When you asked us to join for the picnic," he said, "I was very excited. I had never been on a picnic. But then Aurora wanted to play with us. I got angry. I shouted at her. You took her away, and you both went for a run. And after that, you were all together, and I watched."
He paused.
"I was angry at you because you ignored me."
He said it at once, as if it were a fact he had memorized. A fact he had told himself many times.
Sirius watched him—not just his words, but the way he had spoken. The set of his jaw. The way his hands had clenched. The way his eyes had gone hard.
"Harry," Sirius said, "I am going to say something. Just consider this. Once. Alright?"
Harry nodded.
"Maybe—and I am not saying this is the truth, just a possibility—maybe you were not angry that day. Maybe you were scared."
Harry's brow furrowed. Confusion.
Sirius continued. "Harry, you grew up having nothing at the Dursleys to call your own. Am I right?"
Harry nodded.
"And then you got your friends. And then you met me."
Harry nodded again.
"Maybe you were scared that Aurora would take away your friends because she wanted to play with them. Or that because I was spending time with her, I would forget to love you."
Harry spoke too soon, "So you also think I am jealous of Aurora? And that is why I get angry with you?"
Sirius's forehead scrunched. "Also?"
Harry replied at once. "Ron and Hermione think I am jealous of Aurora. That is why I keep getting angry."
Sirius listened. He did not react. He simply filed the information away. "So that is why you and Ron fought?" he asked.
Harry watched, surprised that Sirius had picked that up. "Yes," he said. "He said I was ungrateful to you."
Sirius's voice was immediate, sharp. "That is a bad word. You will never speak that word again, alright?"
Harry opened his mouth to argue.
Sirius stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Harry, listen to me."
He shifted closer. His voice was low, meant only for Harry.
"I am not going to tell you what you are feeling. Emotions are not one word. They are complicated." He paused. "But I want you to understand something."
Harry watched him. Waiting.
"Fear is not the same as anger," Sirius said. "Anger wants to push things away. Fear wants to hold on."
He let the words settle.
"When you shouted at Aurora, you were not trying to push her away. You were trying to hold on to something—to me, to your friends, to the place you have finally found. You were scared of losing it."
Harry's eyes glistened.
"And when you were angry at me for taking her running," Sirius continued, "you were not angry at me. You were scared that I had chosen her over you."
"I—" Harry started.
"Let me finish." Sirius's voice was gentle but firm. "You have been alone for a very long time, Harry. You learned to survive by expecting the worst, by not hoping, by not asking. But you are not alone anymore. And that is terrifying, because now you have something to lose."
A tear slipped down Harry's cheek.
Sirius did not wipe it away. He let it fall.
"I think you are not jealous of Aurora," Sirius said. "You are scared. And there is a difference. Jealousy wants to take something away from someone else. Fear just wants to keep what is already yours."
Harry watched him. His voice was small. "Sirius, I don't understand."
Sirius moved Harry's hair away from his face. "Love, the human body is capable of feeling many emotions at once. You cannot categorize them so easily as anger or not anger."
He continued. "The same thing happened today in the Astronomy room, but you did not get angry. You could have, but you chose not to. The two situations were the same, but your reaction was different."
He paused.
"I want you to consider everything in your head—what I just said, and the two situations—and answer me this: were you angry that day, as you said? Or were you just scared? And did you choose, on your own, to turn that fear into anger?"
Harry thought about it. The Sunday picnic. Today. The two situations. Too many feelings. Too many emotions.
He said, defeated, "Sirius, I cannot do it on my own. Help me."
Sirius's face split into the widest smile possible.
Harry was confused. "Why are you smiling?"
Sirius's voice was warm. "I will tell you. But first, let us go through it together. Alright?"
Harry nodded.
"On Sunday," Sirius said, "you watched me sitting with Aurora and Margaret. How did you feel?"
Harry considered. "I had shouted at Aurora, and you both took her away. I thought you would not love me anymore. And then I got angry."
Sirius nodded. "And today, love? How did you feel today?"
Harry considered. "I wanted to join. I knew you would not push me away, but..." He waited. "I hesitated. I was ashamed to ask."
Sirius put his arm around Harry and pulled him closer. "So, love, according to your own words, you did not get angry today."
Harry shook his head.
"Why do you think that is?" Sirius asked.
Harry had no reply. He watched Sirius. He had not felt even a trace of anger today. Not at Aurora. Not at Sirius. He did not know why.
Sirius's voice was soft. "Maybe, Harry, my child, you were never angry. Maybe you were scared of losing me on Sunday. Scared that you were replaceable. But after we talked about it, after you knew that you would not be pushed away, you had no reason to be afraid. And all that was left was, for you to make a move and that made you ashamed as you said it but not angry."
Harry looked thoughtful. He stayed silent for a long moment, considering everything.
Sirius said, "Maybe this has never been about Aurora. Maybe this has always been about you and your fear of being forgotten. A fear that you consciously chose to turn into anger. I am not saying that it is right or wrong. I am just putting out a possibility for you.!!"
The words hit Harry straight into his heart and his brain churned as it always happened with Sirius. He had no reply for it. "Maybe you are right," he said. "I am not sure."
Sirius smiled. "You do not have to be sure now. There is no rush. We can take our time. I just ask for you to take sometime to understand your emotions, before putting a label of anger on it. Alright!!"
He opened his arms. Harry came into them at once. Sirius hugged him. He nodded against Sirius's chest. Resting. Sirius's words had power but he doesn't have to make it right today. Today had been long. Maybe sometime later.
Sirius spoke carefully after a long moment, "Harry, I want to have a small ritual with you."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "What ritual?"
"Every night, when I put you to bed, you and I will go through the happenings of the day and how they made you feel. Discuss them like we did today."
Harry considered this. "Why?"
"Harry, you see how complicated emotions can be. You and I do not always understand the same thing, and when we do not talk about it, things get piled up, and we become distant. I hate that. I want to know how my child is feeling."
Harry hugged Sirius. Sitting down with Sirius, naming emotions, talking through the day—it always felt good. Always.
"You want to do this because I get angry?" Harry asked.
Sirius shook his head. "No, love. I think you feel many emotions, and you do not express them. And it ends up hurting you. I cannot let that happen. I want to be part of it."
Harry was quiet for a moment. Then: "Alright."
Sirius's smile was bright. "Good. I am proud of you, my child. It is difficult to let anyone into your emotions and feelings. You trust me with that. That is very brave."
Harry's face shifted. "That is why you were smiling. Because I asked for your help."
Sirius chuckled. "Yes, my smart boy."
He kissed Harry's forehead.
Harry smiled. "Yes, Sirius. We can do that."
Sirius hugged him tight. Harry hugged him back.
They stayed like that for a long moment.
Sirius looked at the wall—the painting of Harry doing the Wronski Feint.
"You asked Margaret to draw a painting for you," he said, smiling.
Harry nodded. "Yes. I asked many times. Only if she had time, or if she wanted to. She said yes. I did not force her."
Sirius chuckled. "Believe me, Harry, you cannot make her do anything she does not want to. I am sure she wanted to. That is why she said yes."
Harry smiled. He knew that too well. Margaret was not a pushover.
Sirius's voice was soft. "Is there anything you want? Or anything you would like? Anything, love. You can ask."
Harry thought about it. He knew what he wanted. He had wanted it for a while now. He thought, maybe this was the time.
He said softly, "Sirius. Will you take me to a movie?"
Sirius blinked. "Movie?"
"Yes. Hermione told us how she has seen a new movie every week since the summer holidays. I have never been to the movies. I would like to go."
Sirius was confused. "Harry, what is a movie?"
Harry looked up from where he was resting his head on Sirius's chest. "You do not know what a movie is?"
Sirius was offended. "I know I am a genius, but even I miss some things."
Harry smiled. He explained what a movie was to his pureblood, magical-upbringing godfather. Moving pictures. A story told on a screen. A dark room and a big screen and popcorn.
Sirius's face lit up. "Oh, you mean mimemas. I know that."
Harry watched Sirius and then he rolled into laughter. "Sirius, that is cinemas. Not mimemas."
He was laughing too loudly, with an open heart.
Sirius waved his hand. His cheeks going pink. "It is the same thing."
Harry shook his head. "No, it is not."
He was still chuckling.
Sirius gave up, defeated. "Alright. You can have your laugh."
Harry teased, "Sirius, will you take us to the mimemas?"
He burst into laughter again. Sirius felt the vibrations across his own body. He laughed too. Giving the up the act of being offended.
"Alright," Sirius said. "I will. I will take you all to the—cinemas." He said the word carefully, enunciating each syllable.
Harry smiled. He closed his eyes. His body relaxed against Sirius's chest.
Sirius held him. He listened to Harry's breathing slow, deepen, become the rhythm of sleep. He looked at the painting on the wall. At Harry diving, pulling up, catching the snitch. He smiled.
The night was quiet. The house was still. And Harry, wrapped in his godfather's arms, slept peacefully.
Sirius stayed for a long time. He did not move. He did not want to wake him. He kissed Harry's hair. "Good night, love," he whispered.
He rose slowly, carefully. He pulled the duvet up to Harry's chin. He turned off the lamp. He walked to the door and looked back.
Harry had not moved. His face was peaceful. His hand was still curled where Sirius's arm had been. Sirius closed the door softly behind him.
He walked down the stairs to the master bedroom. Margaret was waiting, her eyes half-closed, her hand reaching for him.
He climbed into bed and pulled her close.
"Everything alright?" she murmured.
"Yes," he said. "Everything is fine."
He kissed her forehead.
The night was dark. The stars were bright.