The Best Mistakes

Chapter 3: And a Well-Known Stranger

Unwelcome dreams haunted Sirius. Memories of her body entwined with his, her fingers in his hair, the stolen pleasure flooding his senses. He woke, as Padfoot, soaked in sweat and shivering in the December freeze.

Lurching to his feet, he transformed and had to catch the point of a rock to keep from falling.

"Shit," he muttered to the empty cave.

He should have left the memories hidden.

Better to continue on in ignorance. Except...

But no, it was impossible.

Lily had already been pregnant. She had said she was.

"It's much too early to know... But a woman can just tell."

What if...

No. Harry was James' son.

But what if he's mine?

Sirius closed his eyes and forced the thought away. Lily had been so certain. Of course Harry was James' son.

Sirius sighed and ran a hand down his face, hunching his shoulders as he stared out into the orangey light of the dawn. Having no destination in mind, he transformed once more and left the cave. A light snow was dusting the ground; his paws left prints as he wandered to the edge of town where the Express was waiting for its morning passengers.

Lying in the shadows of a well-tended bush, Padfoot watched as the house-elves prepared for the students. Seven times they had boarded this train.

Lily had been entwined with James the final time, but that hadn't mattered. She had kept up with them as she had all year; fitting in perfectly. Because she was always meant to be there--at James' side.

Just as James was meant to be at Sirius'.

Padfoot closed his eyes as grief settled over him. Missing James had always been uncomplicated. But now... For the first time in thirteen years, he didn't wish he could see his best friend, if only one more time.

The shrill whistle of the Express brought his eyes open. Gray smoke was just beginning to curl from the scarlet smoke stack. The conductor, the same witch who had been operating the train as far back as Sirius' first year, took a gold watch from her robes.

Padfoot could see the first groups of students approaching, laughing and talking as they made their way down the wide path in the carriages. Draco was among them, with yesterday's sneer as he thrust his trunk at one of the waiting attendants.

Barely suppressing a growl, Padfoot returned his attention to the path, restlessness finally bringing him to his feet when he saw Harry. He and Ron were deep in conversation, their heads bent close together as they jumped down from the carriages. Ron made an impatient gesture as Hermione struggled with her trunk, to which she responded with a frown and words Padfoot couldn't hear.

Harry finally brushed Ron aside and hauled the trunk to the ground; bringing up a swirling cloud of snow and dust. Coughing, Harry and Ron waved it away and then the trio plodded down the path together.

But before they reached the station, Harry said something out of the side of his mouth to Ron and slipped into the trees lining the lane. Padfoot narrowed his eyes, his muscles tensed as he waited for his godson to reappear. Hermione was speaking intently to Ron, who didn't look at all surprised by his friend's disappearance.

And when Harry didn't reappear, Padfoot slunk from his bush and melted into the dense trees, his nose to the ground. Picking up Harry's scent easily, he followed it and was relieved when there was no other to blend with it. Where ever Harry was going, he wasn't being followed by anyone else. The other tickling emotion in his chest was probably irritation. Something strange--and potentially dangerous--was happening at Hogwarts and Harry knew it. This was no time to go wandering.

The irritation drained away as he realized where Harry was going. Still confused though, Padfoot scanned the area. When he was certain he wouldn't be seen, he darted across the road and into the cave he had called home for the past few months.

Harry was peering into the dark recesses in the back, whispering, "Snuffles?"

Silently, Padfoot became Sirius. A smile rose to his lips as he watched his godson. After a minute he crossed his arms over his chest and asked into the quiet, "What are you doing?"

With a muffled yelp, Harry spun around. "Oy..." The light was dim, but Sirius could see the flush creeping up Harry's cheeks.

An unexpected pang squeezed Sirius' chest.

He looked just like James. Down to the spectacles.

Though as a baby, it had been the vivid green eyes drawing their attention. And Harry's dark hair, never lightening as a baby's hair usually does. It had stayed as inky as James'.

And Sirius'...

"Someone's going to think he's your son," James had remarked with a grin one night when Sirius had been crooning a song to his enthralled godson.

And more than once Sirius and James had been mistaken for brothers. Regulus looked less like Sirius than James had. Though the Black brothers had shared their mother's chin.

Harry's chin is too square to be James'...

Harry cocked his head, his brow creasing. "What?" he asked, and Sirius realized he was staring.

He cleared his throat. "No, nothing... What are you doing here?"

Harry shifted the book bag against his shoulders and flattened his fringe. "I asked Pomfrey how you were last night and she was being all dodgy..."

Another smile lifted Sirius' lips. "Was she?"

Harry nodded. "I mean, she said you were all right..." His eyes narrowed. "You are, yeah?"

"Haven't even got a twinge," Sirius assured him. Harry's shoulders relaxed.

"Good," he said, smiling, "because Hermione told me all sorts of things that might happen to someone with concussion, and--"

"Harry," Sirius interrupted gently, "I do appreciate you wanting to check on me, you've no idea, but the train isn't going to wait." He smirked. "And the Weasleys will probably be alarmed if you don't arrive with Ron."

Harry sighed. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets; fists bunched the fabric. "Not that the Weasleys aren't brilliant, but..."

"I know," Sirius murmured. He reached out and let his fingers comb Harry's fringe aside. "And if I didn't live in a cave..."

Harry's lips quirked, but it didn't disguise the distress in his eyes. "There's always next year, yeah?"

"The moment I'm free," Sirius promised softly. Harry's smile wavered, but then he pressed his lips together and nodded.

"Right," he said, sounding no more confident that Sirius felt. He gripped the straps of his book bag, his shoulders sagging under its weight. "I reckon I better go."

"Yes," a new voice said from behind them. Dumbledore's white eyebrow rose expectantly as they turned. "I do believe the conductor would like to be on her way."

Harry grimaced, his shoulders squaring. But Dumbledore simply smiled at him, his blue eyes without ire.

"Hermione informed Hagrid that you were missing."

Harry darted a glance to Sirius, returned his gaze to Dumbledore. "I knew Ron would crack."

"Hermione is rather persistent, isn't she?"

Harry returned the headmaster's smile. It faded as Dumbledore brought his hands together and said, "Though I know you would like to stay, Hagrid is waiting outside to escort you back to the train."

Harry nodded reluctantly. "Yes sir." He scrubbed a hand over his cheek, his eyes studying Sirius as intently as Sirius had studied him. "Maybe... there's somewhere you can stay?" He attempted a smile. "I know you don't come here for the rats."

Chuckling softly, Sirius put an arm round Harry's shoulders and pulled him in. "I'll think of something... I don't want you worrying about anything; except what Molly is making for Christmas dinner. I hear she's a brilliant cook."

"She is," Harry mumbled into his tattered cloak.

Sirius squeezed Harry's upper arm before releasing him. "Thank you for the present..." It was still safe in his pocket.

"Don't open it until Christmas," Harry said, doing a fair imitation of McGonagall with his one-eyed glare; Sirius smiled.

"Wouldn't think of it, mate."

"Best be on your way, Harry," Dumbledore prodded gently. Sirius raised his fingers in farewell, not trusting himself to speak. With a gloomy smile, Harry ducked his head, dug his fists deeper into his pockets and trudged out of the cave.

Sirius listened to Hagrid's greeting and Harry's mumbled response. With his stomach tied in knots, he strained to hear the rest but only Hagrid's rumbling voice met his ears. And when even that faded away, Sirius sat heavily on one of the tall rocks, his gaze on the floor.

"Perhaps I have been blind..."

Sirius lifted his eyes, having forgotten he wasn't alone. But it took too much energy to speak so he simply waited for the headmaster to go on.

Arranging his orange paisley robes carefully, Dumbledore sat on the rock nearest him. "I know you are aware of Harry's family situation... at least a little?"

Sirius studied Dumbledore's face, finally nodding. "He hasn't said much... enough though that I know they don't treat him as they should."

The headmaster sighed. "I see so much of you in him."

Sirius head jerked up. But Dumbledore's gaze was placid, and Sirius' heart settled. Of course he hadn't meant that.

"It was only recently," Dumbledore went on, "that I became aware of his family's treatment of him. Arthur Weasley met them this past summer..." He shook his head, his eyes clearing. "The rest I had to surmise as well. And I did attempt to speak with Harry about them, but he insists that his aunt and uncle haven't hurt him... as you used to claim about your own parents."

The knots in Sirius' stomach coiled tight. Anger flushed his skin. "They hurt him?"

"Not physically, or at least from what I can guess. But they do not love him."

Sirius' fingers clenched, his jaw tautening as he turned his eyes back to the floor. He knew very well what it was not to be loved by your own family. And then he had gone and fucking destroyed the memory of the people that had loved him as family should.

"If I may, Sirius... You seem ill at ease."

Ill at ease?

Sirius almost laughed. If only it was that benign. He imagined Harry's expression if he knew that Sirius had betrayed his father. Betrayed Lily too.

"I did not realize that Harry looked upon you as family."

Once again, Sirius' head came up. Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"I should have done," he admitted, "knowing Harry as I do, but he has had very little time to get know you."

Gruffly, Sirius murmured, "He has always been my family."

"I know." Dumbledore's head dipped a nod. "I had no doubt about your affection for him. I know you would have loved him as a son."

Sirius closed his eyes.

"I apologize, Sirius, for not giving you that opportunity thirteen years ago," Dumbledore said, his voice full of soft pain. "My only thought was for Harry's safety."

Grief clogged Sirius' throat and he could only nod. Mine too, he would have said, but Dumbledore seemed to understand his silence.

"If you are amenable," Dumbledore said softly, tentatively, "I see no reason why Harry should not spend at least part of the holiday with you--"

Sirius straightened so quickly, he gasped in sudden pain. "But..."

"I know you do not have good memories of your family home," Dumbledore said while Sirius tried to find his tongue, "but it does afford great protection, especially to its master. And if I was to add the Fidelius to its wards, you would both be well-protected there."

The thought of going back to Grimmauld Place made Sirius' skin prickle, but to spend the holiday with Harry--to leave this godforsaken cave and have a proper holiday...

It would be worth it.

oOoOo

"It isn't any wonder you never invited us here."

Sirius smirked at Remus, at his friend's wrinkled nose. "It isn't that bad..."

"It's worse. Christ, Sirius, there are heads..."

"All the Black family house-elves for generations... back to the days of Merlin."

Remus stared at him, and Sirius chuckled. "Genealogy is very important in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," he said with a grand nod. "I can name all of them for you if you'd like."

"No thank you," Remus said with a little sniff. He took a large step back from the wall. "Are you certain you want to bring Harry here?"

"What? You don't think he'll like it?"

"I think he will run screaming in the other direction."

Sirius' grin faltered.

"He won't," Remus amended quickly. "He will be thrilled to be with you. It is just a bit..."

"Creepy," Sirius finished with a sigh. "Always thought so. My mother could never understand why I didn't like to have my lessons in here with the tutor. Though honestly... the rest of the house isn't much better." He gripped the back of his neck, grimacing. "Maybe you're right, though. This isn't exactly the sort of place a kid would dream of visiting."

"Harry isn't going to care," Remus said, all humour gone from his tone. "He isn't coming to see your house, Padfoot."

"Don't call it mine so loudly," Sirius said with a dramatic shudder. "It might get ideas."

Remus laughed. "It's just a house. Four walls and mortar."

"Not this house," Sirius said as they passed the family crest on their way out; an enormous winged serpent devouring a lightning bolt. He closed the door behind them. "I swear to you it has a mind of its own. When Reg and I were little, the doors were always moving or disappearing all together. Can't tell you how many times we would get stuck in whichever room we were in. And I tell you, the walls would laugh at us. Damn house did it on purpose."

"I think wizards refer to it as magic," Remus said, smiling as they entered the library.

"Creepy," Sirius repeated, nodding gravely. The sentiment was punctuated as the sconces along the walls flared to life. The glare momentarily blinded Remus and he stumbled. He muttered an oath as his knee smacked into the desk.

"See what I mean?" Sirius said as Remus rubbed at the knee cap. Remus froze as a low rumble echoed through the room.

"Bloody hell..."

Sirius shrugged at his friend's gaping. "Laughing, like I said."

Remus traversed the house much more carefully as they went through the rest of the lowest level, his eyes flicking into dark corners. Creepiness notwithstanding, it wasn't as awful as Sirius had been dreading. He was used to this place at least. And it did have four walls, unlike the cave.

And it was clean... or as clean as Dumbledore's house-elves had been able to manage in two days' time. And if they kept to the lower levels--

"Filthy traitor," a dark voice muttered as soon as they stepped into the kitchen. Blinking to adjust to the scattered sconces--again the house mocked him--Sirius grimaced as soon as he saw Kreacher.

"Is that...?"

"Yes."

Remus peered down at the scowling elf. Memories flooded Sirius then and it was an effort to force them away. Kreacher had once delighted in carrying out torments that Sirius' mother had been too busy to bother with.

"Traitor to his own blood," Kreacher mumbled, his eyes wet in the flickering candlelight. "Disgrace to his memory..."

"Just ignore him," Sirius said, though Remus was scowling himself now, no doubt remembering stories that had horrified him at fifteen. Though it seemed the years had rendered the elf relatively calm. At least he wasn't screeching. Or hurling hexes.

"Dishonors Kreacher's master..." the elf said belligerently, glaring backwards at them as he wandered up the short flight of stairs.

"Does he mean your father? His master?" Remus asked, still frowning.

But Sirius had already moved on to the cold cupboard; peering into its recesses. "I've no idea. I think Dumbledore's elves thought there were going to be a dozen people living here..."

"They probably just remember how much you liked to eat," Remus said over his shoulder. "You and James raided the kitchens often enough."

The familiar pang that was beginning to go along with any thought of James gripped Sirius heart. Forcing a nonchalant snort, he let the door close. "You act as if you weren't right there along with us."

"Under duress."

Sirius let that go. He put his hands to his hips, surveying the space. "You realize Harry is going to miss a homemade Christmas dinner..."

"So you will make one together."

Sirius dropped his hands and glanced back at Remus. "You're joining us. Don't bother arguing." He didn't mention that this would be the first Christmas that they had spent together in thirteen years. Remus didn't either.

"For dinner," he conceded.

A tinny bell sounded; loud in the cavernous room. Sirius' stomach swooped. He gestured to the small brass bell by the doorway. "Front door," he explained as he pivoted. He took the set of stairs at a leap and jogged down through the labyrinth of corridors.

Footsteps echoed from the darkness and Harry emerged a moment later. A grin split his face as soon as he saw Sirius. Sirius, grinning himself, held out his arms. Without hesitation, Harry launched himself forward, nearly bowling Sirius over. Chuckling into his godson's tangles, Sirius hugged him tight.

"Can't believe I'm really here..."

Sirius gave him another squeeze before letting him step back. Harry's cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright. The grin hadn't diminished at all.

"Been having trouble believing it myself," Sirius murmured. He smiled at Dumbledore lurking in the shadows behind Harry. "I can't thank you enough."

"There is no need," the headmaster assured him. "Besides, Harry has already thanked me." His eyes sparkled. "At least a dozen times."

Harry's shoulders lifted in a sheepish shrug. "Mrs. Weasley was upset," he explained. "She yelled at him."

"Spoke sharply," Dumbledore corrected with a smile as he smoothed his fingers over the broad plum edging on his ivory robes. "She was a bit surprised to learn that you are, in fact, not a murderer."

Considerably less cheerful, Sirius nodded.

"She was more upset about losing Harry as a house guest, I imagine?" Remus asked, coming from behind Sirius. "Hello Harry."

"Hi Professor! I didn't know you were going to be here."

"Just for a brief tour of the house," Remus said with a gesture for the dingy walls. "And since I am no longer your professor, Remus will do."

"Oh right," Harry said with a quick nod. "Yes sir."

His humour restored, Sirius exchanged a glance with an equally-amused Remus and gave his godson's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "I'm glad you're here."

Harry grinned up at him.

"Remus," Dumbledore said, nodding at the other man, "I have some lovely new peppermint tea in my office if you would care to join me?"

"Absolutely," Remus agreed. He smiled at Harry as he fastened his cloak. "Enjoy your visit."

"Thanks. Are you having Christmas dinner with us then? Sirius said you were supposed to share a pie."

Remus smirked. "Did he? I think I could have done better than that, but yes, Sirius did invite me."

"Brilliant," Harry said. His brown eyes warm, Remus squeezed Harry's shoulder before joining Dumbledore.

"Have a very happy Christmas," the headmaster said and he and Remus disappeared down the corridor.

"So," Sirius said, meeting Harry's gaze, "this is my parent's house."

Harry squinted down the corridor. "You grew up here?"

"Unfortunately," Sirius said with grimace. "No one has lived here in nearly two decades though. I'm afraid everything is a bit manky... and my parents were rather fascinated by the dark arts so it isn't the most cheerful sort of house..."

"I think it's brilliant."

Sirius furrowed his brow, his lips caught in perplexity.

"I've only been in one other Wizarding house," Harry explained as they walked down the twisting corridors. "The Weasleys; it's amazing as well. They built it themselves, did you know that? And this one just appeared--out of nowhere like it was squeezed in between the other houses. I can't really believe magic sometimes, you know? And look, this one even has portraits. I still get startled sometimes when one of them starts talking to me at school..."

Unable to still his smile, Sirius didn't interrupt Harry's chatter, content to listen, only shushing him as they neared his mother's portrait after Harry asked to see Sirius' old room. "Don't want to wake her..."

They tiptoed past the curtains, thankfully with no sightings of Kreacher.

"What will she do if you wake her?" Harry whispered once they were clear.

"She was very colourful, my mother, and had a foul mouth like you would not believe. She and I didn't get on. Especially after I was sorted into Gryffindor. I was the first Gryffindor in the Black family for generations."

"Oh. They were Slytherins, weren't they?"

Sirius glanced at Harry. "Someone told you that?"

Shrugging, Harry said quietly, "Someone mentioned it once... when they thought you were a traitor."

Sirius pressed his lips together and decided not to comment on that. "My brother was a Slytherin; my parents were very proud of that."

"Where is he?"

"My brother?" Sirius paused with his hand on his bedroom's doorknob. "He died before you were born; Regulus was his name."

"Oh," Harry said softly. "I'm sorry."

Sirius half-smiled. "No need to be; we weren't close. Reckoned I was a traitor for siding with Dumbledore in the war."

Harry tilted his head. "Was he...?"

"A Death Eater." The affirmation was easier than he would have suspected. But then he hadn't thought of his little brother for years. But even so, perhaps it was senses dulled by memories of his own betrayal of James that made thoughts of Regulus mild.

Harry didn't respond and Sirius could see the questions swirling in his green eyes. "The family's house-elf told me Reg was poisoned." Sirius said.

"By Voldemort?"

Sirius shrugged, regret beginning to tinge his voice as he answered, "I never knew for certain, though I assumed as much." He opened the door with a bit of flourish. "My room," he announced. Harry grinned, the melancholy topics put to rest.

"Wow... you have loads of pictures; can't even see the wallpaper."

Sirius rested his shoulder against the wall, smiling as he watched Harry wandering along the walls. "My parents hated anything to do with Muggles... so of course I loved them."

"Is that why you had that motorcycle?"

"How did you know about that?"

Harry glanced back at him. "Erm... well, I heard I guess."

Sirius' eyebrow went up; Harry flushed.

"I might have overheard Hagrid talking about it once..."

"Might have?" Sirius echoed, his lip quirking. "You were eavesdropping, then."

"Er... yeah. Nobody would tell me anything and they wouldn't let me go to Hogsmeade." He tripped over the words. "Mr. Weasley told me a few things but that didn't really help..."

Sirius sat on the bed, nodding as Harry chewed on his lower lip. "You must have been frustrated, only being told bits and pieces."

"I'm used to that; people not telling me things."

"People?" Sirius slid over and after a brief hesitation, Harry sat beside him. "Do you mean your relatives?"

"Them as well... they always told me my dad was a drunk--"

"What?!"

"Yeah," Harry said, giving the affirmation with the ease of too many lies accepted, "and they said both of them died in a car accident."

Sirius stared at him, his mind reeling over that. "Your dad was not a drunk."

"Hagrid told me he wasn't," Harry said with a nod. He folded his legs up, his fingers playing with his laces as he continued, "The Dursleys don't like magic, so they just made up the bit about the car accident, but actually I don't even know if Aunt Petunia knew about Voldemort... Dumbledore never explained any of that either."

"Any of what?"

Harry shrugged. "He told me some things about Voldemort, but most of it I just sort of learned on my own, or with Hermione and Ron. And since he has tried to kill me twice now..." He smiled. "Well, seems I ought to know as much about him as I can."

Sirius didn't say anything for a long moment. Remus had filled him in on Harry's misadventures over the years; as much as he had known. And Dumbledore had told him the rest in the cave. He had already had his moments of outrage. And that wouldn't help Harry now.

"If there is anything you still want to know about Voldemort," he said seriously, "I will tell you as much as I can. And that goes for any other subject."

"Any subject?" Harry asked, his eyes sparkling though even through the mirth, Sirius read the pleasure in his face.

"Yes indeed," Sirius said, keeping a solemn face. "Quidditch, History of Magic, motorcycles, girls." He waved at the pictures of the scantily-clad Muggle girls adorning his walls; all of which he had stuck there in anticipation of his mother's screeched ire.

Harry's cheeks immediately lit on fire as he gaped. "Er..."

"Or boys," Sirius amended. Harry shook his head.

"No, that's not... I mean, girls are..." His face, already impossibly rosy, darkened.

Sirius leaned forward, his eyebrows waggling. "Girls are?" he prompted. "Any girl in particular we're speaking of?"

"Oy!" Harry said, straightening indignantly. "We weren't speaking of girls."

Sirius smiled. "Weren't we? I am fairly certain you were about to tell me the lucky girl who has stolen your heart. Not Hermione, I think; since Ron fancies her."

Harry's eyebrows scrunched, the blush beginning to recede. "Hermione?"

"Hadn't you noticed?"

"Hermione?" Harry repeated, shaking his head. "Ron barely tolerates Hermione half the time, and the other half they're arguing."

"Yes, I know. They remind me of your mum and dad." As soon as Sirius said it, he wished he hadn't. But it wasn't Harry's fault that thinking about James was impossible. "It took Lily years to realize she loved your dad," he explained quickly. "I think Hermione and Ron will realize it eventually."

While Harry mulled that over, Sirius stood and hooked a thumb at the door. "I have a box of pictures downstairs if you'd like to see them."

Harry grinned as he popped up. "Hagrid gave me a picture of my parents, but that's the only one I have."

"I have quite a few," Sirius said as they went down the stairs together. "I thought we would sleep in the lower levels so we wouldn't risk disturbing my mother. And Dumbledore's elves could only clean so much with such short notice--"

"Filthy traitor!"

Sirius sighed as Harry cringed at the hoarse cry. Kreacher was standing in front of the portrait of Sirius' mother. She had already begun her litany of insults.

"Heir of my blood you are not!" she raged. "And that foul little Mudblood, how dare you! I should have left you to rot!"

The words continued, but Sirius grabbed Harry's arm with one hand, pulled his wand with the other and shot a spell to send her into silence as they jogged down the stairs. Behind them, they could hear Kreacher muttering, "... brought that vile boy here..."

"Sorry about that," Sirius murmured as he pocketed his wand and shoved a lock of hair out of his eyes. "That was my family's house-elf, Kreacher. I'm afraid he isn't very fond of me either."

Harry slid his hands into his back pockets, the same frown on his face that Sirius had begun to associate with Harry's deepest pondering. "It must have been really hard for you," he finally said. "Being different I mean."

"The Blacks are a very old family," Sirius said, brushing aside a cobweb and guiding Harry ahead of him into the library where he and Remus had transferred two of the beds. "To them, blood is the most important thing, along with family loyalty. My parents, my mother especially, taught my brother and me to despise anyone who wasn't pureblooded." He cracked a smile. "It never stuck with me, much to my mother's chagrin."

Chagrin, rage... What difference was there?

"It was the same with the Dursleys?" Sirius asked.

"They wanted me to hate magic I think."

Sirius nodded. Watching Harry closely, he said, "My mother punished me for anything she considered to be beneath my breeding."

Harry's eyes darted to Sirius. "Sometimes," he said quietly, his gaze going back to the books lining the towering shelves, "strange things would happen--things they couldn't explain like my teacher's hair turning blue--and they would punish me for it."

Wishing he could inflict a painful series of curses on Petunia and her husband, Sirius said, "It's perfectly normal for a Wizarding child to perform magic accidentally. Petunia would have known that. They should not have punished you for it. You didn't do anything wrong."

Harry nodded.

"Did they hurt you?" For a moment, Sirius was afraid he had pushed too far, but Harry simply shook his head.

"Uncle Vernon is all bluster."

Sirius peered at his godson's face, undecided whether or not to believe him. But Harry's fidgeting signaled to Sirius that it was best to move on for now. So he led them over to one of the beds where a dusty box was waiting for them.

"Dumbledore secured my personal affects for me; the ones that were confiscated. Mostly pictures, a few letters--"

"It's my dad!" Harry scooped up the first frame. He laughed. "What were you doing?" James and Sirius were making faces at the camera, both caked in mud.

"Had a bit of a wrestling match on the way home from Hogsmeade," Sirius remembered with a smile. "It was raining."

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen. It was our first trip to Hogsmeade."

"He's not wearing his spectacles," Harry mused. "Did he always have them?"

"Since I knew him; think he lost them in the mud..."

Harry had moved on to the next picture, and didn't protest as Sirius took the first. James had his younger self in a headlock, while Sirius made a face as if he was being strangled. Without the black frames, the resemblance was startling. Sirius' automatic smile was cut through by the remorse building in his chest.

Why in bloody hell had he asked Pomfrey to release the memory?

He didn't need to know. And now he was destined to go through the rest of his life swimming in guilt every time he--

"Look at this one, Sirius," Harry said eagerly. He waved one of the photographs as if he had just won the grand prize. "It's their wedding day. I wish Hagrid had had one of these. Your hair was really short," he mused, glancing between the picture and Sirius' face.

"I used to wear it shorter back then..." He cleared his throat. "You may keep it if you like..."

Harry flashed him a grin. "Yeah?"

At Sirius' nod, Harry set the picture aside carefully and continued to dig through the box. "Hey, this is me!"

"Ah," Sirius murmured, a slow smile spreading without his permission. "That," he said, his finger tapping the photograph, "I had with me all the while I was in Azkaban." He patted his breast pocket. He ignored the grief and guilt as they surged up. Harry's smile was much more important.

"The letter was written by your mum."

"You gave me my first broom." Harry's eyes were sparkling again.

"It was my duty as your godfather," Sirius said, rumpling Harry's hair. Harry grinned and returned to the letter, reading it over and over as far as Sirius could tell.

And when he finally looked up, he said, "This is brilliant you know."

"The letter?"

But Harry shook his head. "Well, yeah that is brilliant but I mean being here. This is the best Christmas I've ever had."

Sirius laughed. "It's not even Christmas until tomorrow, nutter. But speaking of, we do need to trim the tree. Dumbledore brought us a tree to rival Hogwarts'."

Harry's face lit up. "You have a tree?"

Sirius grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him up. "We have a tree."

oOoOo

Truth be told, Sirius had never enjoyed trimming a tree quite so much. Not even at the Potter's. Probably because he and James were usually scolded by Mrs. Potter for their improvements. Mr. Potter had been considerably more impressed, of course.

He and Harry were watching the tree's candles flickering shadows against the walls, both of them nursing mugs of cocoa. Harry was laughing at Sirius' insistence that Father Christmas was a wizard.

"He was not, Sirius."

"Of course he was. How else do you think he managed to deliver presents to the entire world in one night? And elves, Harry?" Sirius made pointed eyebrows and Harry finally began to look thoughtful.

"Where is he now then?"

"Well, he would have died by now, of course. Pity he didn't have any children to succeed him..."

Harry snorted. "He's not the king."

"Right," Sirius agreed, "but he could have trained an apprentice at the very least. Imagine the response he could have got if only he had put up an advertisement in the Prophet."

"You're mad," Harry said into his cocoa. He eyed Sirius over the rim. "But I can't decide if you really believe it."

Sirius waggled his eyebrows, his smile mysterious. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Is there anything special you would like to do tomorrow?" Sirius asked as he set his mug aside, all seriousness now.

Harry's forehead wrinkled in thought, but he shook his head.

"We have a goose for dinner... and the elves filled the cold cupboard with more pies than we could eat in a week." Sirius smiled. "I've never actually cooked a goose, so we might need that pie."

"The Hogswarts' elves make a brilliant mince-meat," Harry said, grinning along with him, "so you aren't going to hear any complaints from me."

"You are remarkably easy to please," Sirius said, nudging his godson's chin with his knuckles. "I don't suppose you will protest even if I say it's nearly half-ten and I'm knackered?"

"Oy, you mean I have to go to sleep as well?"

"Yes," Sirius said, smiling at the mischievous question. "Though I hope you won't mind sharing the library; don't think I snore..."

"You can't be worse than Neville," Harry said, standing and taking in a wide yawn. "And Ron talks in his sleep."

"Well if I start chatting with you, just cast a Silencing Charm."

Harry smiled. "I'm not allowed to use my wand out of Hogwarts. I'll just hit you over the head with a pillow."

Sirius smirked. "Fair enough. And not that I am suggesting you break the rules, but--" He winked. "--the Ministry can't detect a wand being used here. There are too many privacy wards. As far as anyone else besides Dumbledore and Remus knows, this house doesn't even exist."

"Because of the Fidelius?"

"That made the wards even stronger, yes, but when this house was built, it was cast with so many protection charms no one could detect it then either. And my father added even more. Blacks are notoriously paranoid."

"When was it built?" Harry asked. He had opened his book bag and was rummaging for pyjamas.

"1824," Sirius answered automatically, the history of the ancestral home drilled into him since before he could even understand the lessons. "Here," he said once Harry had wadded his night clothes into a fist, "there is a toilet right here in the library; the house has seven, though I never understand why we needed so many."

He undid the buttons on his shirt while Harry was ensconced in the loo, the first formal shirt he had worn in longer than a decade. And though it was his father's, it was infinitely better than the rags.

His father's pyjamas were an improvement as well, though he felt a little silly in the broad stripes. Harry grinned at him as soon as he emerged. "Did you steal those from Mr. Weasley?"

Sirius sighed dramatically. "Oy... I knew they were awful."

"No, they aren't," Harry said, still smiling. "I didn't say I don't like Mr. Weasley's pyjamas, did I?" Unsuccessfully dodging Sirius' finger to his ribs, he laughed. "Which bed is mine?" he asked once his mirth had drained.

"Whichever one you like."

Harry dropped onto the one closest and wiggled under the covers, pausing to pull his glasses off. His gaze darted around the room when he found no table on which to deposit them. Sirius held out a palm. "I'll put them on the desk."

"Thanks..."

Once the glasses were safe and Sirius was under his own quilt, he waved his hand and the sconces turned down, leaving only a low glow along the farthest wall.

Sirius propped himself up on an elbow, smiling at Harry, who was gazing at him across the space. "Wake me if you need anything. And don't break your neck just so you don't have to cast a Lumos." Harry's smile was easy to detect even in the dim light.

"I won't."

"Good. And," Sirius added, "if you hear any footsteps on the roof or bells ringing in the night, we'll just assume Father Christmas found that apprentice after all."

Harry grinned. "I'll be sure to wake you then. Night, Sirius."

"Night, mate."

Sirius lay awake for a long time, long after Harry's breathing evened out in sleep. And though insomnia often plagued him--had since his days in Azkaban--he didn't mind at all.

He didn't want to dream of Lily again.

oOoOo

Sirius was awake long before Harry, having giving up on sleep after waking up several times in the middle of memories he wished he could forget. Except that this time, James had been in those dreams, his face haunted and fully betrayed.

"Morning..."

Sirius looked up from the book he had chosen from the shelves, one he had never had the chance to read as a child living here.

"Happy Christmas," Sirius said, smiling as he closed the book. Harry's hair was wild, reminding Sirius even more of James. Harry gave him a drowsy smile.

"Happy Christmas," he mumbled. His lip quirked. "Didn't hear any reindeer..."

"You slept right through it. An entire herd was up there just before dawn."

"I'm beginning to think you actually do believe it," Harry said as he threw back the covers. "But don't worry; I won't tell anyone. Don't want someone to think you're mental."

"The Weasleys and Hermione are the only people you could tell and I reckon they already think so."

"What about Lupin?"

"Remus," Sirius corrected as he stood. He gave Harry a little nudge toward the toilet. "And he knows all about St. Nicholas, so you haven't a hope of convincing him I'm mental. Now jiffy up so we can open gifts. I've been waiting for ages."

"That's right!" Harry said, flashing a grin before he ducked into the loo. He was out again in record time. The tree, its tiny candles still winking, greeted them. Harry scooped up the small parcel that Pomfrey had given to Sirius.

"It's a bit silly," Harry said, his fingernail running under the edge of the newsprint wrapping, his gaze fixed to the ink. "But Hermione said you might like it and I didn't really have a chance to buy anything..."

"I'm certain I'll love it," Sirius said with a soft smile and Harry looked up. Sirius held out a palm.

"We had to shrink it so you would be able to keep it in your pocket," Harry explained as he gave it over.

"Clever of you," Sirius said. Harry settled back on his heels, his fingers caught together as he watched Sirius peel the wrapping back. A slow smile spread over Sirius' face.

"It's the Firebolt you gave me," Harry explained, though there wasn't any need to. "One of the other Gryffindors took the picture."

Harry, with his hair slicked back from the wind, was riding the broom mid-flight. As Sirius watched the scene, there was the slightest glint of gold and then Harry was grinning as he held up a Snitch in triumph.

"That was our last match last year... The Firebolt was brilliant."

Sirius nodded, not trusting himself to speak yet, though he had no idea why the simple gift should make his throat swell. "I was there... you were brilliant."

"You were?"

"I watched all of your matches," Sirius said with a smile. "That's how I knew your Nimbus was destroyed. Thank you very much for this," he murmured as he ran his thumb down the wood frame. It was the only recent picture he had of Harry. He smiled at Harry's pleased grin and said, "Open one of yours."

There were half a dozen gifts for Harry under the tree, but he chose Sirius'. "It's tradition to give a wizard a watch when he's seventeen," Sirius said as Harry lifted the gold watch from its nest of delicate paper, "but my father gave Reg and me ours when we went to Hogwarts and that was one of the only Black family traditions that actually made sense to me. And when I noticed you didn't have one..." He shrugged, but Harry was smiling so he thought he had made the right choice.

"Hermione is always telling Ron and me that we need one. Ron says that he'll be on time seventh year," Harry said with a snort.

"Exactly my father's point," Sirius said, smiling. The memory of his father giving him the watch was a rare pleasant one. Of course, the scathing letter he had received once Gryffindor had claimed him had rather obliterated any lingering good feelings.

Harry had already put the watch on his wrist and was watching the second hand tick its way round. Sirius leaned back against the stiff sofa, smiling to himself. "Would you like to open the rest?"

Harry made quick work of his other gifts, smiling over Mrs. Weasley's jumper and Hermione's book. Ron gave him a bag of dungbombs.

"Filch will love those," Sirius muttered, wrinkling his nose.

Harry laughed as he closed up the sack and they could both breathe again. "What would you like for breakfast?" Sirius asked after he had tucked the picture of Harry in his pocket.

"Eggs, I guess," Harry said with a shrug.

"Eggs? It's Christmas," Sirius chided. "We need something festive?" he insisted as he pulled Harry along with him toward the kitchen.

"Do you know how to make anything festive?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"I know how to read a recipe..."

"It's a start."

Sirius slung an arm round his shoulders and they went down to the basement kitchen together.

They were still there when Remus arrived several hours later for dinner, both of them elbows-deep in flour.

"What's this?"

"Happy Christmas," Sirius and Harry greeted him in unison. "We discovered we like to bake," Sirius said, holding up his white hands. "We're making cookies."

"Cookies? You?"

"Yeah," Harry explained, "once we managed waffles this morning, Sirius wanted to try sticky buns. And he said my mum used to make a crescent-shaped cookie with walnuts inside so we made that one up." He pointed to a stack of misshapen crescents. "They're good," Harry insisted. "Sirius should have been a house-elf."

Sirius swatted Harry's head gently, leaving a dusting of white over the dark hair. "What?" Harry demanded. "They would be a hit at Hogwarts."

Remus smiled as he shed his robes. "How can I help?"

"Dressing," Sirius said, gesturing with an elbow to the waiting cubes of bread. "For the goose."

Remus rolled up his sleeves and set to work. The three of them worked quite well together, the easy atmosphere keeping unwanted thoughts at bay. It wasn't until Kreacher limped in as they were sitting down to dinner that Sirius even remembered he was in his parents' house.

"Foul traitors," he muttered as he trudged past, his liquid eyes lingering over Harry. "Staining the great name of the Blacks... Mistress is most distressed... A Mudblood..."

Sirius was about to order the elf silent but Kreacher disappeared into his self-appointed quarters before he could.

"Maybe you ought to give him clothes," Harry suggested.

"I tried that as soon as we arrived." Sirius shook his head. "He refused them because he didn't want to leave my mother."

"Oh."

"Best to ignore him," Sirius sighed as he took a carving knife to the goose, which looked perfectly delicious. "Look at this goose," he said, gesturing with the point of the knife. "Wouldn't even know we had never made one before today. Let's tuck in, shall we?"

For a first attempt with most of the dishes, dinner was quite good; judging by the amount Harry ate. And once they were finished and the dishes put away, they curled up with spiced eggnog in the parlour listening to carols on the enchanted gramophone while they played Sirius' favorite game as a child, Six and Half Knuts.

"And that's six," Sirius said, grinning as he plunked his coin on the towering stack in the middle of the table. "Anyone have enough for a half stack?"

Remus and Harry shared a glance. Sirius chuckled at their morose expressions. "I win, I'm afraid. But it was a lovely attempt."

"You always won when we were children," Remus sighed. "I'm still convinced he cheats," he said to Harry.

"Don't be a sore loser, Moony," Sirius chided. "You'll set a bad example for the kid."

Harry laughed and poked the coin tower, sending them in a cascade over the table's surface.

"Well," Remus said, still smiling, "I had best call be on my way. It's late."

"I'll walk you out," Sirius said. He scooped up a knut from the carpet and tossed it to Harry, who was already yawning. "Don't fall asleep... you'll get a crick."

"Won't," Harry said lazily as he stretched out. "Night Remus."

"Goodnight Harry," Remus said from the doorway. "You gave him a lovely Christmas," he said to Sirius as he fastened his cloak at the door.

"I hope so." Sirius gave him the parcels of food that Harry had insisted Remus take along.

"You did."

Sirius smiled.

"Happy Christmas," Remus said, squeezing Sirius' shoulder. "I will see you at the new year," he added before he slipped out into the darkness.

Smiling to himself, Sirius trekked back down the corridor. Harry's eyes were closed. Sirius pushed his fringe away from his forehead, gaze tracing over the thin lightning bolt scar; Harry opened his eyes.

"Bedtime," Sirius said with a soft smile. His godson yawned.

"But it's all the way down the corridor," he complained under his breath, but he stood anyway, padding after Sirius to the library. Foregoing pyjamas, he flopped onto the bed, his face half-smushed in the pillow.

Drawing the quilt over Harry's stocking feet and up to his shoulders, Sirius pressed a kiss to his the messy hair. "Happy Christmas," he murmured.

Harry, not quite lost to sleep, smiled. "Thanks..."

Sleep was easier that night.

oOoOo

Harry was already up and the bed made when Sirius woke the next morning. Once he was dressed, Sirius went to find him, calling for him when he found the parlour empty.

Farther along the corridor, one of the doors was open. Harry glanced back at him when Sirius stuck his head in. "What are you doing?" Sirius asked.

"Sorry, I was just wandering."

"No need to apologize." Sirius smiled. "Such as it is, I want you to feel at home here."

"What is this?" Harry asked, gesturing to the fabric covering all four walls.

"Family tree," Sirius said as he came forward. "Have you ever seen one?"

Harry shook his head.

"My great, great, great grandmother wove the tapestry and the magic into it--" Sirius' hand ghosted over the oldest name, "--when they built the house, adding the names as far back as the middle ages. And since then, the tapestry has added the names as new generations are born, along with the marriages as they happen."

"On its own?"

"Yes, though my mother regretted that. See here," Sirius said as he nodded, "my mother's brother had three children and one of them, Andromeda, married a Muggleborn--as soon as his name appeared, my mother burned it off; Andromeda's as well because as far as my mother was concerned she was a traitor. Later when Andromeda had a daughter, she was blasted off as well. You can still see their names though."

Harry squinted at the charred pictures, his finger tracing along one of the upper rows of names. "That's your mother?" he asked, finding Walburga's name, connected by a thin thread to Sirius's father, Orion. "And there you are. But..."

Harry trailed off and Sirius moved closer, scanning to find what had caught Harry's attention. He froze, ice filling his veins.

Woven into the tapestry, as clear as the rest of the names, Sirius Orion Black in black thread, the same as it had always been. But now....

He steadied himself with a palm against the wall, his heartbeat erratic. Lily Evans Potter was connected to his name by a thin thread. And below that, connected by another line in the same way Sirius' name was connected to his parents', was Harry's.