Daylight - Part One (Sirius/Harry- AU Big Bang)

[traintracks]

Title: Daylight – Part One of Six
Author: traintracks777 / traintracks

Masterpost: On DW | On LJ
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Even before he opened his eyes, Sirius realized that he should be dead. He could still feel the caress of the veil. He could feel himself on that edge. And then he could remember hands – Harry’s hands – pulling him back.

He struggled to open his eyes now. He felt heavy and weak. But he couldn’t sense any harmful magic around – only a very still peace. He made himself open his eyes. Standing by his bed, for he was lying in a strange bed, was a woman in strawberry pink robes. Sirius tilted his head at her, as if to reposition her in space would cause her to make more sense.

“I’m your nurse. Hilda,” she said. “You had an accident. You blacked out.”

“’Blacked’ out,” he said. He found himself teetering on the edge of insane laughter. The nurse frowned at him. She did not seem to understand the humor in it. Blacked out. Harry, at least, would get it, would laugh.

Harry.

Sirius shot up in the bed and grabbed the poor nurse by the arm; she winced in pain. “Harry Potter! Where is Harry Potter! Where is my godson!”

“Two floors down,” Dumbledore’s voice said from somewhere. The nurse moved away, and Sirius let her go, trying to sit up further in the bed and grimacing at the pain in his chest – where the curse had hit him. “He’s going to be fine, and he’s safe, Sirius.” Dumbledore came close and sat in the chair beside the hospital bed.

“What happened to him, Albus?” Sirius said. “What happened?”

So Dumbledore told him how Bellatrix had escaped after she’d cursed him, and Harry, having believed Sirius to be dead, had gone after her. To torture her. To kill her.

“Torture…” Sirius breathed.

“Yes. It didn’t work. A fact for which I am glad. Using the Cruciatus…”

“Changes you…”

“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed.

“He was going to throw himself away,” Sirius breathed, feeling sick.

“In his grief over you, yes.”

Sirius laid back in the bed, blinking.

The rest of the story was even more disturbing. Dumbledore said that Voldemort took Harry over and that Harry had exorcised him, unskillfully but completely, with what Dumbledore insisted was love – only love. Harry’s love for Sirius.

“Voldemort suffered from that love, I think,” Dumbledore explained thoughtfully. “He was weakened by it so that he could no longer fight.”

“What of Harry?” Sirius asked. He studied Dumbledore’s calm face. “There’s something you don’t want to tell me. You’re quite sure he’s all right?!” He seized Dumbledore’s arm as he had the nurse’s.

Dumbledore removed his hand. “He’s going to be fine. The ordeal was painful, physically, psychologically. But he’s been awake for a day now, and he’s been wanting to see you.”

Sirius smiled. But Dumbledore’s face remained unchanged – repressing something.

“What is it, Albus? You must tell me.” Then, “He’s my godson.”

Dumbledore sighed. “After Voldemort left his body, before he passed out…”

“Yes?”

“He was angry with me, sick with anger, and he asked me, ‘Why? Why didn’t you just kill me?’” Dumbledore seemed to have to compose himself before continuing. “He said…’I just want to die. I just want to be with him again.’”

“Oh my God,” Sirius breathed. He laid back in the bed, closing his eyes on the pain of what he’d just heard.

“Rest assured he knows you’re alive, and his feelings are entirely different now,” Dumbledore went on. “But… Well, I thought you should know…what you’re dealing with in Harry.”

Sirius looked at him, puzzled. But he nodded. He wasn’t at all sure what Dumbledore meant. What he understood now was that the depth of Harry’s pain at losing him was far greater than Sirius had once imagined it might be. It hurt him to know how deep that knife must have gone into Harry’s soul. For him to want to torture someone – to murder them for vengeance. To want to die.

Sirius knew the feeling too well. He closed his eyes once more, seeing James and Lily there again, always. Always there. Always beyond his reach to save. The lancing pain had turned dull and awful over the years, but it had never died. He had not been saved from that grief.

Not until Harry.

Sirius opened his eyes. “Albus, how am I alive?”

“No one quite knows,” Dumbledore told him, now sounding almost merry. “It was the Avada Kedavra. It should have finished you.”

“Yes, I knew I was dying. I had let go.”

Dumbledore nodded. “All anyone can think – and I’ve been over this with the Order – is that somehow…it was Harry.”

“Harry? But no one can counter that curse. It can’t be done.”

“And yet it was.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. Like he had won a substantial bet on a long-shot. “I don’t think Harry knows what he did at all. It was a magic unknown even to me.” He shrugged.

“I don’t remember,” Sirius said. All he could remember was Harry’s agony echoing through the hall. He remembered his own name called out. And ‘no’. So many cries of ‘no’. He had felt Harry pulling him back from the veil, but then someone had ripped Harry away, and Sirius had “blacked out”, as the nurse so aptly called it, and now he was here.

“Can I see him?”

“I’ll send for him.”

“When?”

“Now, if you’d like.”

Sirius took Dumbledore’s wrist again, this time gently. “Thank you, Albus.”

“I didn’t save you.”

“No. You saved Harry.”

Dumbledore stood to go. “I fought Voldemort. Yes. But Harry…Harry saved himself.”

…

It was another hour before the doors to his room opened once more, and this time, Harry, dressed in a gray robe and fuzzy Weasley slippers, entered. He had a nurse at his side, and Sirius saw the large man in strawberry pink robes gently restrain Harry from running to his bedside.

He did yell, though. “Sirius!”

Sirius sat up, already holding his arms wide, the joy enlivening him at the sight of his godson, pale, gaunt, yet alive and smiling.

The nurse, Sherman, helped Harry to the bed, and he grasped Sirius hard in a hug. Sirius held him close and breathed into his hair. He smelled like lollipops. Lime lollipops. “Harry…” Sirius sighed.

The nurse stepped away and left them alone. Sirius’ chest ached from the curse, but he didn’t say anything. Having Harry here and close was worth the pain. “How are you, kid?” Sirius asked.

Harry pulled back a little. “I thought you were dead.” On his face was all that Sirius knew he remembered – that Sirius’ being alive after all couldn’t erase.

“I heard you revived me,” Sirius told him. “What’d you use, those Muggle paddles?” He pretended to be zapped. He had thought to make Harry laugh, but his godson was solemn, unmoved by Sirius’ light-hearted efforts. He looked…older. “I’m sorry,” Sirius said. God, after what Dumbledore had told him, he goes and makes jokes? He pulled Harry to him. “I’m so very sorry, Harry.”

Harry’s arms tightened around him until he shook, but moments later, he sat back again. “I don’t know how it happened. I don’t even know that it was me.”

“Dumbledore says it was.”

“Yeah.”

“I believe it was.” Sirius cupped Harry’s face. He felt the young man swallow. His eyes were dark and disturbed like sea waves.

“I almost killed her,” Harry said.

“I know.”

“I couldn’t. Physically, I couldn’t.” Harry looked down at his own hands. “But I wanted to. I would have. I still…” He stopped himself, swallowed the words.

Sirius decided to be blunt with him. This boy before him wasn’t the one he’d last seen. Not quite. He had grown up in the time it took to lose Sirius, to lose himself in his pain and rage. Sirius sat up straighter, and took Harry’s hand, just holding it loosely. “I wanted to murder Voldemort after what he did to your parents. Hell, that’s an understatement. I wanted… pain for him.” Sirius looked into Harry’s eyes and saw the conflict, the deep well of confusion and anger – more. “What I would have done to him would have sent me to Azkaban legitimately, and I’d have been happy to go.”

“You loved them very much.”

Sirius breathed in and out measuredly. “I loved them very much.”

“I…” Harry began. He wouldn’t look up. “I love you, Sirius.”

Sirius felt his heart warm. “I love you, too,” he said.

“No,” Harry stopped him. He swallowed thickly. Then he looked up and straight into Sirius’ soul, and he said again, very deliberately, “I love you, Sirius.”

Sirius’ lips parted. He studied Harry’s face. He saw the fear and the power there. He felt the waves of intensity coming off the boy. Their hands had become very warm together. Sirius said, “Oh.” It was all he could think to say.

“Time’s up,” came Sherman’s voice from the doorway, his steps ever closer.

Sirius let go of Harry’s hand, and Harry stood, still staring at him, maybe imploring him. But Sherman was taking him by the arm. “Come on, Mr. Potter. You still need your rest.”

A pink flush stole up Harry’s face from his chest – something involuntary. He blinked at Sirius. And all Sirius could do was stare after him as Sherman led him away and finally out of the room.

It was a long minute before Sirius was able to find his voice, and he said softly to the empty space, “Shit.”

…

It was sunrise, and the flames of light came in over the sill and struck Harry’s face. He winced and pulled at his blankets, but Ron moaned from the bunk above him, “Son of a…” and Harry knew he wouldn’t be going back to sleep.

That was all right. He was tired of sleeping. Ever since Mrs. Weasley had sprung him from Saint Mungo’s, she’d been on him about getting enough rest. He’d been sent for a nap like a six year-old. Twice.

Not that he was complaining about getting to spend the last week before the start of school with his best friend’s family. He’d never eaten better, that was for sure. And it had been such a profound relief, such giddy happiness to see Ron and Hermione, too. She had spent the night in Ginny’s room last night, in fact, and they were all going to be heading to the train today.

Harry was still a little weak – something in his mind not quite firing as quickly as he would have liked – but everyone seemed to think he was doing remarkably well, considering all that had happened. And he was happy to be going back to school. He just wished he’d been able to take one day to go see Sirius again. He hadn’t seen him except for that one time; Harry had been released the next day and whisked off by the Weasleys, and when he’d asked about Sirius they just told him that the hospital was keeping him one more night and then he’d be at Grimmauld Place.

Harry wondered who Sirius had to take care of him there.

He wondered about a lot of things.

He got some of his questions answered when he found out that Dumbledore had been meeting with Sirius everyday at Grimmauld Place since Sirius’ release. What they met about no one knew, but at least Harry felt reassured that Dumbledore was looking after him. Someone needed to.

As they got ready to head to the train station, Harry couldn’t help the lump of sadness that sat in his throat and again right behind his eyes. He’d wanted to die when he’d lost Sirius. And now everyone was so concerned with his rest and whatever it was Dumbledore needed to meet with Sirius about that he’d not even been able to spend any time with the person who mattered to him most. As much as Harry wanted to get back to school, wanted to do whatever was necessary to learn enough to be able to fight Voledmort and his Death Eaters, it also meant not seeing Sirius for who knew how long. And what was the point of that?

It also meant not ever finding out how Sirius felt about what he’d said. Not for a very long time at least. Harry doubted Sirius would want to talk about it by owl. How ridiculous would that be?

Dear Harry,

Thank you for loving me inappropriately, but I don’t return your creepy feelings. Kindly bugger off, as you make me feel slightly nauseous now. But thanks for saving my life!

Regards,

Your GODFATHER (emphasis strongly emphasized)

And Harry quite feared that those would be precisely his feelings if not his sentiments. Not that Harry could take it back. He couldn’t. And he didn’t wish to. It was how he felt. How he’d felt for a long time.

After Dumbledore told him that Sirius was alive – after getting over the shock of it all – after recovering from wanting to die from the pain – Harry had a lot of time at Saint Mungo’s to sit with his thoughts and his feelings. He had stared out at the courtyard garden from his quiet room, at how the moon would strike the closed flowers and how a stray cat stalked night bugs, and everything just seemed to make sense. It didn’t take much reasoning out to understand how he was feeling and who he was feeling it about. The pain at losing Sirius had been too great. He couldn’t now lie to himself.

Something had happened to Harry – something that shifted matter around inside his body and energy in his soul – and that something didn’t leave any more room for adolescent mooning or shame or self-doubt. It left room only for two things: love and truth. And Sirius was both of those things to him. There was no denying it. Harry loved him with every part of himself. He loved him for who he’d been to his parents. He loved him for all the horrific pain he’d been through, all that he’d suffered for them and for Harry. And he loved him for the man that he was – the humor and the kindness and the daring and the passion and the wisdom and the strength.

He loved him. And he didn’t want to stop it. He didn’t want it to go away. He just wanted to know that it was okay with Sirius, or at least not abhorrent – that he wouldn’t be rejected. That his truth, however inconvenient, mattered. That he would still be loved in return, if differently.

Harry knew Sirius wouldn’t stop loving him. That wasn’t really the issue. It was whether he would then start avoiding him despite that love.

Not that it mattered at the moment. Sirius was far away at Grimmauld Place and Harry was here and Mrs. Weasley was currently plating pancakes and sausages while Mr. Weasley tried to get them all to pack their trunks as quickly as they could. Harry didn’t want to upset either Weasley; he rolled up a sausage in a pancake and made off with it to pack one-handed while he scarfed his food.

They were late to the train as usual, but Harry thought that kind of made it exciting. The excitement soon wore off when Hermione and Ron had to go sit with the other prefects, leaving Harry to his own compartment and his thoughts. As the train pulled away from the station, he remembered his last departure for school. He remembered Sirius showing up as Padfoot and risking his life to see him, though he couldn’t even say a proper good-bye. So much had happened between then and now. Harry felt like a different person.

He was shaken out of his pensive state when Luna, Neville, Dean, and Seamus all showed up right in front of the snack cart.

“Hello, Harry Potter,” Luna said in her way, and it made Harry smile.

“C’mon in,” he invited them. He felt suffused with well-being, if just for that moment, seeing the friends who had fought beside him last year – who saved Sirius with him.

They all sat down to sweet snacks and the long ride back to Hogwarts.

…

It was raining when their carriages pulled up to the front of the school. Everyone was fairly well soaked just getting from their ride to the door, the downpour was so heavy.

“Sodden first years,” Ron snorted, enjoying his double entendre. They would, indeed, be the worse off.

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t be an ass.”

“So ladylike,” Ron fake-admonished, but Harry saw how he blushed just because Hermione had said the word ‘ass’. And because of the elbow jab. Ron was easy. Harry smirked through the curtain of rain pouring off of his hair into his face.

Professor McGonagall was in the entrance hall, wanding everyone dry as they passed.

“I’m starving,” Ron complained. “Let’s cut past this.”

Harry agreed, and they left a dripping Hermione to get to the Great Hall. All of the candles were lit, and the dried-off students were filing in and finding their tables. The teacher’s tables were filling as well: Sprout and Flitwick were talking and laughing; Trelawney and Snape both sat dourly in their seats. Dumbledore was speaking with someone Harry couldn’t quite make out, but surely it wasn’t Hagrid since he wouldn’t be back with the first years yet and he’d be pretty easy to identify even with Dumbledore standing in front of him.

Harry and Ron took their seats, and though they were dripping wet, they smiled at each other, pleased to be back and already defying authority. It was with such a smile on his face that Harry looked up to see Dumbledore take his seat, revealing the person he’d been talking to.

And it was Sirius.

It was bloody Sirius!

Sirius was at Hogwarts! At the staff table!

No sooner had Harry thought it than Sirius looked up and saw him, too. Their eyes met, Harry’s wide and disbelieving, Sirius’…nearly unreadable. Harry thought he somehow looked apologetic and mischievous at the same time. Harry blinked, and Sirius raised a glass to him, acknowledging his dumbstruckness.

Harry stood. Sirius shook his head at him slightly, but Harry didn’t mind him; he started to walk quickly over to the staff table with Ron staring after him, finally fairly shrieking, “It’s not Sirius!” in a way that would have been funny if Harry weren’t so absolutely freaked out. In fact, as the hall filled, more and more people noticed his godfather and began murmuring excitedly as well. Harry just stayed the course, holding Sirius’ gaze as he approached.

Sirius cleared his throat as Harry, dripping, came to stand in front of his seat.

“We meet again,” Sirius said in a rather droll voice, his lips twitching underneath his mustache.

“What…why…how on earth are you here?” Harry exclaimed.

“Good grief but you’re soaking wet, Harry,” Sirius chided him.

“Who the bloody hell cares how wet I am?” Harry exclaimed as quietly as he could, now leaning over the table so that only Sirius could hear him.

Sirius leaned forward, too. “I’m sorry, Harry. Really. I would have told you, but…”

“Dumbledore. This is what he was coming to see you about. You’re…going to…” The realization dawned on Harry full force. “You’re going to teach here?”

“Against all odds and objections from parents who will undoubtedly still think I’m a murderer, yes.”

Harry just stared at him.

“Didn’t read the paper this morning, did you?”

“No. We were—”

“Late, yes, how very Weasley of you all.”

“What was in the paper, Sirius?”

Sirius leaned back, looking pleased. “My pardon. The Ministry officially acquitted me of my former charges. I’m a free man. I can go where I please now. No more fireplace chats. No more eating rats in caves. I’m free.” He sobered a bit at that last, and Harry couldn’t help but smile in return.

“That – That’s wonderful, Sirius!” Yet as quickly as it arrived, the smile disappeared from Harry’s face. “But…you’re here. You’re teaching here? You’re teaching…me?”

Sirius’ expression once more danced a line between apology and mirth. He shrugged. “Dumbledore didn’t exactly ask.”

“Oh God…” Harry said. He felt faint. What he’d said… Oh holy fuck. He’d confessed his love. He’d confessed his love not just for his own godfather; he’d goddamned professed his LOVE for his would-be teacher. Harry felt sick.

“You look like you ought to sit down, Harry. You’re pale.” This was Dumbledore.

“Yes, young man, take a seat now,” Sirius admonished.

Harry shot Sirius a look, and he just shrugged. Then Harry, totally flummoxed, made a sopping wet path back to his seat, squishing in his shoes and mortified beyond belief all the way.

…


“Defense against the Dark Arts!” Ron had said back in the Gryffindor common room. “He’s teaching bloody Defense against the Dark Arts! I mean, holy shit, this year is going to be a blast, Harry!”

The entire school, except for many of the Slytherins (but even some of them, too), seemed ecstatic to be taught by the recently almost-dead, the heroic, the possibly murderous, the definitely bad ass, Sirius Black. It was only Harry who thought it might be a right terrible idea, and he was reluctant to share his reasons. He should be happiest of all. And he was happy. Most of him was deliriously happy, getting to see Sirius everyday as he would. But the part of him that wasn’t happy was very much freaking out – confused, scared, embarrassed to be precise.

It was the first day of classes, and he, Ron, Hermione, and Neville, along with Draco, Pansy, and Cho, had DADA first thing after breakfast. At least they could get it over with. Harry wasn’t even exactly sure why he was as upset as he was. Sirius was a masterful wizard. Who better to teach them all about fighting Death Eaters and even Voldemort himself? Excepting Dumbledore, there wasn’t anyone more fit.

So why was Harry so nervous? He knew Sirius better than anyone. He’d spent time with him, laughed with him.

Been held too briefly in his strong arms…

“Get a move on, Harry! Just because he’s your godfather doesn’t mean you can be late,” Hermione said. She was already standing – so was Ron – leaving him sitting there with a porridge spoon halfway to his slack mouth.

“Of course that’s what it means,” Ron objected. “What good is having your godfather for a teacher if he doesn’t give you a free pass?”

“Harry doesn’t even need a free pass in Defense, or don’t you remember that he taught us last year? Besides,” Hermione went on as Harry followed them out of the Great Hall. “Sirius isn’t going to give him a free ride. If anything, I’d bet he’ll make Harry work harder than any of the rest of us.”

Harry didn’t really feel good about either option, but he wouldn’t have to wait long to find out how Sirius planned to deal with him as they’d reached the classroom.

Sirius wasn’t inside, but all the desks had been removed so that the space was completely open. It seemed much bigger this way, certainly bigger than Harry could remember it being. It reminded him of when Professor Lupin had taught them how to use the Ridikulous spell on the Bogart.

Harry and the others stood awkwardly against the walls, their books clutched to their chests like shields.

And then Sirius strode through the door. He looked as Harry had never quite seen him: He was in a fitted black coat over black pants, not his usually flashy olive-colored suits with their vests and such but definitely not the requisite robes that all the teachers wore either. It was really somewhere in-between. Harry swallowed. He was also rather…handsome. Cho and Pansy seemed a bit at a loss, too, gaping noticeably.

He came into the room swiftly, immediately commanding it. But instead of taking his place at the front like a teacher should, he stood in the middle of the open space, clapped his hands once, and said, “How’s everybody doing today?”

Harry blinked at him. Everybody else responded in kind. No teacher, not even Remus Lupin, who had been friendly and wonderful, had ever begun with “How’s everybody doing?”

“All right,” Sirius said. “We can try it again. I realize it’s early. You may not have had your proper doses of caffeine. How are you all doing today?” He looked around the room. “Harry? We can start with you.”

“Um…” He looked around at his peers, all waiting for him to simply talk to his own godfather, something he’d done plenty but was now, for some reason, scared of. He blinked back to Sirius. “Pretty well. I guess.”

“’Um pretty well I guess’ works.” He winked. “Cho? You’re looking particularly smart this morning. Two sugars in your tea, yes?” She hid an embarrassed smile behind her hand. “Pansy, am I right?” he went on. Pansy Parkinson nodded, looking torn between hating anyone who was so obviously aligned with Harry and succumbing to her new professor’s charms. “Is that the new Helmsington wand? The one with the snake’s venom in the tip?”

“Y-yes, Sir,” she stammered, and Draco gave her an incredulous stare, as though she had just consorted with the enemy in an unforgivable way. Harry couldn’t help the slow smile that had begun to spread over his face.

“Don’t start in with the ‘sir’ rubbish,” Sirius said, waving his arm dismissively. “Mr. Black will do, since there ought to be some effort at decorum, I suppose. Nice robes, by the way. Violet is definitely your color.”

Pansy blanched first, which made the blush that stole over her cheeks next all the more conspicuous.

“Draco Malfoy,” Sirius said then, and to Harry’s surprise his tone didn’t at all change. “I heard you can throw a silencing hex thirty yards. That true?”

Draco puffed up like a peacock. “That’s right,” he said, obviously expecting to be challenged or mocked.

Harry expected it, too. Draco’s father had been one of the Death Eaters to attack Harry, to have used Sirius’ peril to coax Harry into danger. Surely Sirius hated them as much as Harry did and maybe more. Draco would certainly hate Sirius. Harry knew he blamed the Order and Harry and his friends for his father being in Azkaban.

But Sirius didn’t mock him. He didn’t even dismiss his small triumph. He congratulated him. “Excellent work. We’ll double that this year, all right?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in sheer disbelief. It had been fun watching Sirius dazzle the others with his charm and swagger. It was altogether maddening to see him extend the same courtesy toward Draco Malfoy of all people!

Sirius greeted all of them. He was friendly and personable toward everyone. Neville looked like he might faint dead away when Sirius actually shook his hand. Ron drooled on himself. Even Hermione lost all composure and giggled. Harry had never quite heard that sound come from her before. She sounded like bloody Lavender Brown on love potion. Harry couldn’t stop watching Draco, though. He wore a look of confused humiliation, as though he had been prepared for a fight but could now only smolder uselessly in his opponent’s wake, defeated by something he couldn’t control.

Harry could maybe see the point of Sirius’ approach after all. Maybe.

“All right then,” Sirius said finally, having met everyone and left them reeling. He clapped his hands again once. “Let’s warm up with some Patronuses.”

Ron looked aghast and whispered to Harry, “Warm up with Patronuses?? Is he mad? I can hardly finish with one yet.”

Harry shrugged. He looked back at Sirius who caught his gaze and, once more, winked.

…

When the class let out, everyone practically melted into the hallway, exhausted. Hermione’s hair was frizzed from Cho’s fog inducement, Ron’s eyes were still nearly swollen shut from what Sirius had referred to as “the onion cutter”, and Draco and Harry were still out of breath from hitting each other with multiple five-mile-run spells. They’d each thrown four and each dodged one from the other, so they both now felt like they’d run, full-bore, for no less than fifteen miles.

None of the spells Sirius had taught them had come from any book Harry knew of. More importantly and impressively, they hadn’t come from any book that Hermione knew of either.

“What…” Harry huffed, his hands on his knees as Neville, looking ready to puke, barreled past him. “Are you…saying that…he…made them up himself?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Hermione said.

Ron blinked tears out of his red and puffy eyes. “Your godfather’s a genius.”

Harry looked back into the room where Sirius was using his wand to right spells gone awry (mostly Neville’s). “Yeah,” he said. And his heart swelled with pride. “Yeah, I think he may be.”

He and his friends went to exchange their books from their rooms before Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, but Harry picked up his Charms textbook instead by mistake. In Herbology, he over-watered his baby whomping willow and took an upper cut to the jaw. And at lunch he forgot to eat his pudding.

He kept seeing Sirius in his mind, dressed all in black, commanding the class with something like affectionate cheer, teaching them unheard-of spells – treating Harry equally (except for the two winks).

Indeed, the whole rest of Harry’s day was spent just like that: enraptured with a man he could never have, forgetful of anything else, and perfectly incapable of changing a thing.

…

Sirius had thought teaching, despite seeing Harry every day, would be a fantastic bore. When Dumbledore had approached him about it – ambushed him in his own home was more like it – Sirius’ first response had been to laugh in his face and suggest that the old wizard was drunk.

“I’m no teacher,” Sirius had barked. “You do remember my own stint at Hogwarts, don’t you, Albus? I terrorized the teachers! I was bloody awful. I was a terrible student. I –“ He’d trailed off, sobering quite a bit. “I did things I’m not proud of. What kind of teacher would I make?”

Dumbledore had just smiled in that sage way and said, “One who has learned more than most from his own mistakes.”

Sirius had stared at him for a full thirty seconds. Then he said, “You’re insufferable.”

“One of the many things we have in common, isn’t it, Sirius?”

Sirius had thrown up his hands.

What had won him over, of course, was Harry.

“You’ve always wanted to be able to be closer, to watch over him,” Dumbledore had wheedled. “You have so much to teach them all, Sirius. So much. But especially Harry. Especially him.” He sipped his Firewhiskey slowly. “This is good.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said dispassionately.

“And Harry or no, wouldn’t you like to get out of this horrible house, Sirius?” He leaned forward and drove the sweet knife home. “Wouldn’t you like a new adventure?”

Sirius had stared into his own fireplace, feeling caught. How ironic. Out of Azkaban, escaped from death, a free man, and he was caught like a fish on Dumbledore’s line – on his godson’s. He stared at the fire, and he ached. What he wouldn’t give to be near Harry….

He sighed. “I bet nobody else quite knows what a manipulative prick you can be.”

On Dumbledore’s rich chuckle, Sirius had tossed back his whiskey. He turned then and said, “Bugger. I’ll do it.”

Now he was here. In Hogwarts. And the memories were cascading over him like dreams upon waking – so close he could almost touch them but so very ephemeral all the same. James used to slide down that banister. There was Remus’ favorite place to read. That was where Sirius had asked Diane Pritchard to the dance, knowing all the while it was only because he’d lusted after her twin brother, Dane.

There’s where James had met Lily.

There’s where Sirius’ heart had broken into a thousand pieces.

That step – right there – was where James had told him in a whisper, “No one can ever replace you, Sirius.” Right there. That fifth step. The squeaky one.

And now here he was back, and there was no James and no Remus and no Lily.

But there was Harry.

Sirius had lost his best friends. He had lost his innocence in more ways than one at this school. And he’d gained things, both wonderful and horrible (sometimes the very same thing) since leaving it. He hoped Dumbledore was right – that he had, indeed, learned from his mistakes. That he had something of value to give to these kids. To give to Harry. This was his chance. To do the right thing. To become the man he’d seemed to lose along the way. To shape the man Harry was already destined to become.

And, as it turned out, teaching was rather fun. Sirius had decided to teach them some of the spells and hexes that he and James had made up back in their seventh year days and even after they’d graduated. He decided not to try to be Remus (who he had owled for advice right away upon taking the position). Remus had actually cautioned him against being anything other than himself, too.

“Dumbledore hired you,” he’d written. “You’ll be most successful if you don’t try to change who you are at the last minute.” He’d finished with, “Drinks at Hogsmeade first change you get, you scoundrel! (But not this weekend, because, well, you know.)”

So Sirius was taking his advice. And his first classes had gone quite well if he did say so. It was remarkable fun. Almost like being a kid again and playing at spells like his gang used to.

But without the bullying. Without the thoughtlessness and the cruelty and the flippant and hurtful curses flung at all the weakling Hufflepuffs, at the studious Ravenclaws, at the vile Slytherins – at Severus Snape.

Snape had avoided Sirius as though he carried a new kind of contagious disease since they’d arrived at Hogwarts. They had no more than traded glances across the Great Hall a couple of times. Sirius could just imagine how he must feel – having to share the school with someone who once tormented him on a near daily basis – someone who now taught the subject he’d been dying to teach since Dumbledore took him on.

Sirius wasn’t sure he wanted to apologize. Or rather, he knew that he probably should. Certainly should. But he wasn’t at all sure how, and the one thing he was sure of was that Snape would never accept it anyway. He’d look for the ulterior motive, the edge, the angle. And maybe he’d touch on it: Sirius’s love for Harry, his attempt to get Snape to ease up on him and treat him fairly. And it wouldn’t even work. It might only open up a new weakness for Snape to exploit.

It gave Sirius a pounding headache to think of it.

And he shouldn’t be thinking of anything now except the fact that Draco Malfoy had Neville Longbottom on the ground, had de-wanded him, and was pelting him with mud bombs.

“Stop, Draco,” Sirius called.

Draco sent one more ball of mud into Neville’s face for spite, but before Sirius could give him a night of detention, a streak of what looked like lightning crackled across the room and hit Draco between the shoulder blades, sending him flying twenty feet to the other side of the room where he collapsed onto the floor, groaning.

And there Harry stood, wand raised, seething through gritted teeth.

“Hermione,” Sirius said, “see to Neville,” and then he walked briskly over to Draco on the floor. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll kill you, P-potter!” he snarled weakly, and Sirius accioed his wand.

“No. You won’t. You both have detention.” He looked at Harry and accioed his wand, too. “Because you both let your hatred get the better of you.” He stood. “Class dismissed.”

Well, that would teach him to ruminate on the nature of compassion rather than teach it, Sirius thought. And the look Harry gave him as Ron tugged on his arm to get him to leave the room could have broken a much harder man’s heart.

…


Detention. Sirius hated the very idea of it. And that wasn’t solely because he’d suffered through hundreds himself. He really believed it was the most ass-backward way of teaching a lesson ever invented. He was shocked to hear the word come out of his mouth, honestly. Detention. What a crock of shit.

And now he’d given it to his own godson – for sticking up for Neville Longbottom – something Sirius would have done – something for which Sirius was actually proud.

Sirius struggled to figure out how to handle Harry in his classes. It was a very sticky issue, both because he was his godson and because of…well, of what Harry had said at Saint Mungo’s.

And not just because of what he’d said – but of how that had…felt. Sirius sat behind his desk in his new office and put his head in his hands. God, what he wouldn’t do for a drink with Remus right now. He needed sorting out. Because he hadn’t just been proud to see Harry use such a highly advanced spell on a bullying kid. He’d been…titillated. Harry had looked beautiful, standing there, enraged, his arm out like justice itself, strong and unswerving. His green eyes had glinted fiercely, his breath coming fast, fairly trembling, and the entire rest of the class, for just one moment in time, had disappeared for Sirius. There had been only Harry.

And now he’d given him detention for it. Sirius was the one who deserved the punishment; it was the first borderline impure thought he’d allowed himself for Harry, and Sirius deserved some kind of punishment to see that it didn’t happen again, didn’t get out of hand.

No, it wouldn’t get out of hand. Sirius loved Harry, but not like that. He could blame the spell. For it had certainly felt like that lightning bolt had struck him. Sirius ran his hands through his hair and took a deep cleansing breath, forcing that image of his godson, vengeful and passionate – powerful – firmly from his mind.

It was mere moments before Harry and Draco appeared in his doorway, looking sullen and crabby, which was certainly a different image indeed. It was almost comical. Sirius bit back a smile. It was very nearly like looking at James and himself back in the day.

Sirius cleared his throat. “I bloody hate detentions.”

The boys blinked at him.

Sirius stood up and came around his desk. “Follow me then.”

He left the office, and they trudged behind him, down the hall, up some stairs, and to the classroom where everything was dark and closed up like a tomb. Sirius lit the candles with a flick of his wrist, shut the doors behind them, and took a deep breath. “We’re going to work on control.” Yes. Control was what everybody in this room needed, Sirius thought. So he got out his wand and began. “Draco. Do you hate Harry?”

Draco looked like Sirius had hit him with a stunning spell. “I —”

“You can be honest. I’m sure he’s already quite aware of it.”

Harry blinked and swallowed audibly.

Draco opened his mouth to speak. He looked conflicted for just an instant. Interesting.

“Yes. I hate him.”

“And Harry,” Sirius began.

A look of panic came over Harry’s face, and Sirius hurried to let him off the hook. “Do you hate Lord Voldemort?” Sirius didn’t miss the sneer that swept over Draco’s lips at the gall Sirius had to say his name.

Harry’s answer was full of resolve. “Yes.”

“Then you’ve both lost,” Sirius told them. He turned away from them and walked all the way to the other side of the room, lecturing as he walked, feeling better, more centered, already. “You cannot understand what you hate, and it takes understanding to defeat your enemy. You cannot control hate, and when you are out of control, you give power to the one you fight.” He turned on the boys, who now looked stricken and pale. “When you hate, you lose yourself.” He pictured Harry chasing Bellatrix through the Ministry of Magic, intent on her pain and suffering, his own devouring him from the inside. “There is nothing worse to lose than yourself.” Sirius looked at Harry. “Disarm me on the count of three. One, two, three!” And Harry pulled back his wand, but Sirius flicked his own and swiped Harry’s feet out from under him first. Harry lay there aghast, struggling onto his elbows. Sirius walked over to him. He looked down on his godson. “I understand you,” he said.

Harry’s gaze met his own, and something warm and intense passed between. He turned and stalked back to the other side of the classroom. “Mr. Malfoy, please help Mr. Potter up.”

“I don’t want his help!” Harry shouted.

Sirius turned back to them. “But someday you may need it. Help him up, Draco.”

Seething, Draco extended his hand, and, with an equal amount of revulsion, Harry took it. They each actually rubbed their hands on their pant legs once they’d let go. Sirius’ lips twitched.

“Harry,” he said. “Tell me something good and honorable about Draco Malfoy.”

The look his godson gave him then was full of anger, maybe even rage, and Sirius fought multiple reactions, some bordering on hysterical laughter and others…well, not. Sirius took a deep breath, controlling himself as he was asking them to do with their own feelings.

“Go on. Something good. I don’t want to be here all night.” Which wasn’t exactly true.

Harry cleared his throat. If his eyes could have melted rock, the ground beneath them all would be molten. “He…”

“Don’t tell it to the floor, Harry, look at him.”

And that’s when Harry seemed to remember who Sirius was, because he turned on him and spat, “Just give me bloody lines, Sirius, and be done with it!” Their gazes had locked again, and that invisible lightning flew through the room.

Sirius calmed his heart with great effort. “Do it,” he said.

Harry blinked three times. He swallowed. And then he turned to Draco and said, haltingly, “He… He can throw a silencing hex thirty yards.”

“Good,” Sirius said. He walked closer. “And doesn’t he also love his family? Wouldn’t that be an admirable trait in Mr. Malfoy?”

Harry just looked at him.

“Mr. Malfoy, would you do anything to protect your family, to show your loyalty to them?”

Draco spat his answer at him. “Yes!”

“See?” Sirius said to Harry. “An honorable thing, this.”

“But—”

“No. No but. This is something you have in common. Something you should understand. The more you know and understand about Voldemort, the better you will fight him in the end. Both of you.”

Draco turned on him. “I’ll never fight the Dark Lord!” he shouted. “I’ll die first, you—” And then he drew back his wand.

Sirius stole it easily and held it on Draco. “Loyalty,” he said, “is very powerful, indeed. We should all be careful where we place it.” He handed Draco back his wand. “Now,” he said, walking back to his place on the other side of the room. “Let’s start with something that seems easy and is absolutely not.” And he proceeded to teach the both of them, his godson and his godson’s sworn enemy, what Remus Lupin had taught him.

He did not say, “This helped me survive Azkaban.” He did not say, “This could help your father, Draco.” He did not say, “It was the breath of your mother, the last of her breath to vow her love for you, that saved you, Harry.” He just taught them how to breathe.

They spent over an hour on it, and by the time they were done, both Harry and Draco had lost that trembling rage at one another. They weren’t happy, but they certainly weren’t about to kill each other anymore. Sirius chalked it up as a success.

He started to dismiss Draco. Then he called out to him, “Hey!” Draco turned. “Twenty points to both your houses.”

Draco frowned. “Don’t you mean ‘from’, Professor?”

“No. To,” Sirius said placidly. “You may go.”

Draco blinked. Then he turned and left.

“Harry, stay please,” Sirius said. Harry walked over to him. Sirius used his wand and shut the door behind Draco.

They just stood looking at each other for several long moments. Sirius sighed. “I’m so bloody proud of you,” he said finally.

This seemed to shock Harry, and that made Sirius laugh. Sirius’ laugh made Harry smile. Harry’s smile made Sirius want to pull him into a hug. He hesitated. He remembered….

I love you, Sirius…

He swallowed.

He grabbed Harry and pulled him in, feeling that ecstatic heart beating against his own chest. Harry no longer smelled like lime lollipops. He smelled like warm musk, fresh sweat.

Sirius pulled back. “When’s the first outing to Hogsmeade?” he said.

“You’re the professor, Sirius, don’t you have some kind of schedule?” Harry smiled.

“Probably.”

“Well, why? You wanna buy me a Firewhiskey?” The twinkle in Harry’s eyes was infectious. Sirius tried not to be pulled in too deeply by it. There was a pleasant tingling throughout his whole body now.

“Fat chance, you fledgling reprobate,” Sirius said. “But there is something I want to show you. It’s in the men’s bathroom at the Hog’s Head.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and his smile was coy, shocked, delighted, bashful.

“No!” Sirius said quickly. Oh fucking God. “It’s – It’s not – I wasn’t- ” He took a breath. He scratched his head. “It’s something about your father, actually.”

Now Harry looked puzzled.

“I’ll get the schedule from Dumbledore,” Sirius said. “And you can go with your friends, still; I just want to borrow you for an hour, all right? It’ll be nice to be there and not have to be a dog.” Not much for damage control, but there it was. Sirius sighed, his hands on his hips, looking at his godson warily.

“I’ll go with you anywhere, Sirius. You know that,” Harry said. “And you can have me for more than an hour.”

Oh Merlin.

Sirius ran his hand over his mouth and beard once; he turned away, waving Harry off. “Just get out of here, Harry.”

“See you tomorrow,” Harry said, and blast, but Sirius heard the cheeky smile in his voice.

The door opened and closed, and Sirius let out all his breath in a rush. “Fuck me…”

…

Harry had counted the days until Hogsmeade. He posted the school schedule up by his bed and circled the first trip in red. His days moved as though jinxed – sometimes quick as a river, other times standing perfectly still as though they’d never end.

His life seemed, for the first time in a great while, easier. He was getting good marks in all his classes. He even scraped by with an Acceptable in Potions at the first nine weeks’ end. Their first Quidditch match was two days after the Hogsmeade trip – which was tonight.

Harry had been busy getting the team ready for their first game against Slytherin, such that when he wasn’t studying, he was often drilling Ron on saves or perfecting his own dives or cheering on his Chasers until right before dinner.

Once he’d spied Sirius in the empty stands, watching a scrimmage. It had been at dusk, the clouds sweeping in to blot out the last of the sunset, so he couldn’t see his face, but when Harry had looked, Sirius had waved a hand and then stuck his fingers in his mouth to whistle. Harry had felt his insides go warm as honey, and he’d shown off, taking his next dive from a hundred feet and not lifting the nose of the broom until he was just fifteen feet from splattering himself all over the field.

When he’d looked up, Sirius was gone. Ron saw it, at least, and whooped enthusiastically.

Harry couldn’t figure Sirius out. The classes were great. Usually. Sirius did have a tendency to pair him with Draco more than half the time, and that had been frustrating at first, although not so much anymore. To his amazement, it was even becoming sort of ordinary. He no longer looked at Draco and saw pure evil. But maybe that had more to do with the fact that Draco seemed too preoccupied with trying to get his marks up this year to commit as much of his time to being a git.

They were well-matched, and their hatred of each other had seemed to transform over the first nine weeks into something more like rivalry. It could not be said that they liked each other, not one bit, but neither was out for blood anymore, and Harry was forced to admit that working with Draco in Defense against the Dark Arts was making them both stronger wizards.

He just wasn’t sure he wanted Draco Malfoy to be a stronger wizard.

Harry wished Sirius had a better way of pushing him. He was rather sick of seeing Malfoy’s pointy face, even if it was Harry standing over him in victory, having cast the perfect spell. Even if neither one balked any longer at having to offer the other one a hand up.

Sirius seemed pleased by it all. He seemed happy with Harry. And seeing his look of pride at a spell well-placed was always a bit thrilling. Sirius was a fine wizard – the Muggle word Ron had taken to calling him was ‘kick-ass’. Honestly, he was better than Harry had even dreamed (and sometimes he dreamed that he and Sirius flew through the night together, the wind at their necks, no brooms, just Sirius’ sturdy arms and his potent magic.)

It all seemed effortless for him. Harry supposed, after the real fighting he had done, accioing someone’s wand without using your own was probably a piece of cake.

And, frankly, it was hot.

The only times Harry got below an Outstanding were when someone would hit him with a spell or hex when he wasn’t paying attention to them.

He could hardly help himself. Sometimes Sirius would strip off his black coat and roll up the sleeves of his shirt and his tattoos would peek out of the arms and neck. Sometimes he’d push his hair back out of his face, and a line of sweat would show along his throat, and that’s always when it happened – POW! Harry would find himself on the floor, his legs glued together, doubly painful because he’d often have the beginnings of a little problem between them, and Sirius would come to stand over him, smirking a little, and he’d undo the hex and slam Harry with an Acceptable.

Then after class he’d be sure to hold Harry back and say in a quiet voice, “You realize it’s not acceptable, don’t you?”

And Harry wouldn’t quite know if he meant getting cursed or the reason he’d gotten cursed. It was hard to tell.

Harry had a hard time figuring Sirius out. But it was sort of awesome trying.

Despite the fact that Harry had the schedule memorized, it felt like the Hogsmeade trip had come up rather suddenly. Harry had planned to go with Hermione and Ron and meet up with Sirius around two at the Hog’s Head. As they got their coats on, ready to go, and Ron stared after every flick of Hermione’s hair, and then conversely Hermione got that longing look at Ron when he wasn’t paying attention (which was usually), Harry began to wonder if he shouldn’t have agreed to meet Sirius sooner. He was feeling a bit like a third wheel, and they hadn’t even gotten off the grounds.

It was freezing cold, and they wound up trudging through foot-deep snow most of the way. By the time they got to Hogsmeade, they were all ready for a hot chocolate and a thermal blanket.

They’d had a good time until they realized just how many shops had closed due to Death Eater run-ins.

“No wonder Fred and George are raking it in at Diagon Alley,” Ron commented as they passed the closed-down joke shop.

Harry checked the time – 1:45. “I’d, uh, better be off. Don’t want to keep the professor waiting.”

“Just a minute,” Hermione called. She dragged him under an eave, leaving a frowning Ron out in the middle of the road, yelling, “Hey!”

“What’s up?” Harry said, but he had a funny feeling in his stomach; apparently, it already knew something he didn’t.

“Be careful,” Hermione told him.

“Of what? Death Eaters?”

“Well, always, but… No. Harry…you both could get in a lot of trouble.”

“What are you on about? It’s just a drink at the Hog’s Head,” Harry said, but he was blushing and could hardly look at her.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him. Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone else has yet. But…Harry, you could get in trouble. You could get Sirius in a lot of trouble.”

Harry swallowed hard. He looked down at his black boots in the dirty snow. “Hermione,” he started, thinking for a moment of denying it. But he didn’t. “Do you think it’s…wrong? The way I feel?”

She hugged him, then, and she whispered in his ear, “No, I don’t think it’s wrong. Love isn’t wrong. But acting on it…with Sirius being your teacher and all…that would be, Harry.”

She pulled back and looked at him like a worried older sister. He forced a smile. “It’s not that bad, you know. It’s not like I’m Ron, moaning, ‘Hermione,’ in my sleep!” The moment it was out of his mouth he regretted it.

Hermione went pale and wide-eyed. She took a step back. She cast a wary glance at Ron who was now jumping up and down trying to stay warm. She looked back at Harry. “Harry, does he really?”

Harry felt pulled in half. “Well…you know…sometimes. He moans about that slug curse, too, though.” Harry winced when Hermione frowned deeply. “Look, I really have to go.”

But she had already turned her full attention back on the spasmodically hopping Ron. “Okay…” she said. And Harry slipped away and off down an alley toward the Hog’s Head, his blood hot all through his body. And he thought, So this is what anticipation feels like.

END PART ONE
Continue to Part Two: On DW | On LJ