This chapter wasn't quite as long as I wished it to be. Harry's Point of View for this chapter. On what Sirius has to say about being "his new Daddy." So, I hope that you all like it, I'll start my next chapter soon and attempt to start working with some of my other stories also. I've had a few questions about updating some of them.
And, once Winter Break starts, I will have tons more free time. So, I plan on doing more updates around them. Until then, I have exams, homework, papers, and tons of fun with all of my classes until the end of December.
Fun. Right? Right, thought so. (And great... now I'm talking - or texting or whatever - to myself... just excellent).
So, read, review, enjoy, etc... etc... etc...
Harry glanced back down quickly, fumbling with the edges of the dress ("robes," Sirius had pointed out), absolutely refusing to look up at Sirius. He'd hate him now, Harry just knew it.
He didn't know what possessed him to ask that question, and he didn't know why he repeated himself, but Sirius sounded so sure… Sirius sounded as though he wouldn't care about anything Harry asked him… and Sirius hadn't said anything yet.
Harry felt tears prickling his eyes.
But he could not cry. Only babies cried, and he was not a little baby. He'd cried too much already. His godfather would hate him even more…
Godfather. Sirius had told him that he was his godfather. Wasn't the godfather supposed to be Daddy once the Daddy had gone away? Like – like… Harry scrunched up his nose, attempting to ignore Sirius' sputtering and his suspiciously wet eyes – like that substitute that he'd had for school once before. His teacher hadn't come in so they had another teacher come in.
Was Sirius his Daddy since his Daddy wasn't here?
"I– I…" Harry stubbornly turned his gaze to the quilt, not looking at Sirius as the man finally started to speak, "A– a godfather is – erm…"
Sirius shifted beneath him, and Harry made a sound of protest when he was set on the bed, moving as though to jump into Sirius' arms again before he saw his godfather kneel down in front of him, and (unwittingly) Harry met his eyes.
He let out a small sob.
"Harry…" the man rubbed a hand through Harry's hair, and shuffled through his old, large, musty clothes and held out a small handkerchief up to Harry's nose. "Blow," he ordered.
Harry dutifully blew his nose.
"Boo…" his godfathers voice trailed off, and Harry stared at him, another dry sob escaping him. "A godfather is… a godfather does what a father is supposed to do… if the father dies."
"So you're my new Daddy," Harry heard himself ask, pleadingly, before he could stop himself.
He saw his godfather fumble slightly, and open his mouth and close it once more. Harry held in another sob.
"I–" He didn't turn to look back at Sirius, "I – I'm not your biological father." Harry looked back up at him, confused and hurt, and Sirius, seeing Harry's expression, seemed to continue talking in a hurry, "I didn't help err…. Make, you."
The man looked remarkably awkward by this point.
"We're not related per say, err… well, James' mother was a Black, but, well – that's beside the point – I… err…"
Harry's nose prickled and he looked down, sniffling slightly as he shoved another sob down in his throat.
He was not a baby.
"I – erm… I could be," came the hesitant response. Harry's head shot up to stare at his godfather. "I– um… I– I promised your father, years and years ago that I'd take his place if anything ever happened… and–"
"You want me," Harry's voice didn't break, he wasn't crying, he wasn't a crybaby. "You want me?"
Harry stared at his godfather's unusually serious expression, "I wouldn't even contemplate choosing anyone else to be my heir."
The child, of course, had no idea what an heir was, but, nonetheless, he threw himself at his godfather.
He actually had a Dad now.
Just like everyone else did.
It took Harry a moment to realize that he was actually crying. And he tightened his hold on his godfathers – on his Dad's dress (erm… robes) as he buried his face in his Dads shoulders.
It felt oddly liberating to say 'his Dads' – he wasn't the little orphan boy any more.
His Aunt Petunia's friend (Yvonne) used to call him their own little 'Oliver Twist' – or that 'little orphan boy'.
He felt Sirius – his Dad he thought in wonderment, he'd never ever ever had a Dad before (that he could remember at the very least) – run a hand through his hair. Harry made a face. He hated when Sirius did that.
"Hare," he heard his Dad, clear his throat, "I – c'mon, let's find that deck of exploding snap cards, huh?"
Harry nodded against his Dad's shoulder, but didn't make any move to sit up.
Turns out that it didn't seem to matter since the man merely wrapped his own arms around him and hefted him up – Harry was quick to tighten his hold on him to keep from falling.
"My old room is a bit musty," his Dad continued, walking him out of Regulus' old room. "But there should still be an old pack of Exploding Snap cards in there – at least, there was some when I last checked, but who knows what my mother did with them when I left."
Harry swallowed heavily, sniffled, and pulled slightly on Sirius' hair in an attempt to grab his attention, "Do they really explode?" he asked quietly.
He felt, more than saw, his Dad chuckle, "If you don't play the game right," he said, "but it won't hurt in the least."
For a moment, only the soft footfalls were heard as Sirius crossed the hallway and opened his old room's door. It creaked ominously.
But Harry didn't have enough time to ponder on that as he felt his feet hit the solid wood flooring as Sirius bent down. He glanced up at the dark haired man in confusion, but he merely gave him a smile and nodded to the room.
"We've got to search some, and I've already cleaned my room out, so we're good – even if it does smell, we won't be attacked."
Harry furrowed his brows, "What would attack us?" He asked, voicing his thoughts (rather boldly in his own opinion).
"You never know," his Dad said, waving one of his hands around as if it didn't matter, "I think that I saw a Boggart in my Dad's old drawing room a few days ago. Then again, I know for a fact that there are some doxies in some of the curtains. Nasty buggers they are."
He blinked slowly, watching the gaunt man peer into his old dresser and frown. What were boggarts? Doxies?
Gathering his strength, Harry ventured with asking, "What's a bogert?"
"Boggart," came the correction. "It's… erm…" His Dad pulled his gaze away from his search through his dresser drawers and stared at him, "It's a creature," he said slowly, "Who can turn into your worst nightmare…"
"Like the bogey man?" Harry asked, horrified, reeling back and glancing around him as if expecting the bogey man to pop up out of nowhere.
His Dad laughed at him, "Don't you worry," he said, and Harry looked back up to him (just barely missing what would have been an uncomfortable trip over a tennis ball – why it was in Sirius' room, he didn't know). "They're ridiculously easy to get rid of, I'll tell you that."
He scrunched up his nose, and (even bolder, louder) asked, "How?"
Sirius hummed thoughtfully, and picked up an old bag from the bottom of the drawer before recoiling back and tossing it in the drawer as if it were on fire – he'd quickly closed it.
And, seeing Harry's confused gaze, grinned. "Dungbombs," he explain, "They smell horrible new – just wait a few years and they'll smell even worse. I'm not really keen on discovering how bad they smell after seventeen years."
"Like stinkbombs?" Harry asked, having had experience with stinkbombs more than a few times in his life. They smelt horrible.
"Those little muggle glass things, right?" his Dad asked, and Harry nodded. "I suppose so then, sort of like that at least. Dungbombs smell worse though, believe me."
Harry nodded, although, considering the description, he wasn't sure that he wanted to risk smelling a dungbomb (stinkbombs were horrible as was), and glanced back up at his Dad for an expansion on his earlier question.
A couple moments later, with Sirius rummaging through another drawer, Harry loudly cleared his throat.
His Dad jumped and looked over at the child bewildered.
Harry suddenly blinked at him shyly, "How do you get ride of a boggart?" he asked softly.
"Oh, Merlin, right!" His Dad straightened up, gave the dresser a dirty look and turned around to sit on the bed. "Like I said, easy as pie. All you've got to do is point your wand at it and say riddikulus. But you've got to think of it as something funny… Say… say you were horrified of me," Harry gave him a dubious look. "Just think of me in a dress, point your wand, and say riddikulus, and wallah – you're laughing."
"How would that get rid of it though," Harry asked, slowly moving towards the bed. He didn't make a move to sit down though.
His Dad smiled at him though, appearing to have another idea as he patted the space beside him.
Harry crawled up next to him.
"It makes it funny," he said, "less scary, and Boggarts are all about scaring people. You would be laughing hysterically instead of screaming, and they'd just go 'boom' – bye-bye. They can't take it I suppose."
"Why do they like to scare people?" Harry was, if anything, insistent. And, this was the first time in a long time that he was allowed to ask questions without repercussions.
His Dad, rather unhelpfully, shrugged. "I'm not sure, but, I guess it's the same as how you and I like to eat – why do you like to eat?"
"Cause people get cranky if they don' eat," Harry said knowledgably. His cousin used to get really upset when he didn't get his snack. They usually have to stop somewhere and pick something up for him.
"True I suppose," His Dad shrugged once again, "I guess they just like to scare people."
"Like the Bogeyman," Harry said, nodding.
"And, speaking of food," his Dad grinned at him, ignoring his comment, "How about we go get those Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches? I'm famished."
Harry tilted his head and gave him a slow look.
"Hungry," came the correction.
The boy nodded. "I don't like the crusts though," he said finally, voicing his opinion on the subject for the first time in years.
His Dad nodded at him, "Should've said something earlier," he said, and Harry grabbed his hand before scrambling off the couch. "I wouldn't have given them to you in the first place, and I'm sure Padfoot won't mind eating some extras."
Harry saw him give him a smug grin.
He, in response, pouted. "I want to turn into a dog," he told him.
"One day, maybe, we'll see."
"Why can't it be now?" He asked.
"One day," his Dad repeated, "I'll teach you to become an animal – promise."
And Harry slowly blinked up at him before "Can we have some soda pop with the Peanut Butter sandwiches, and I don' wan' jam either."
His Dad laughed at him.