Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Kismet	By : Reiko_k Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Sirius Views: 20541 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its characters. This is non-profitable fanwork.

Chapter List
- 1-Kismet
- 1
Title/Author: Kismet by Reiko K.
Pairing: Sirius/Harry
Summary: Sirius Black was expecting a miniature version of James Potter and Lily Evans. The reality was something else entirely.
Notes: Written for kink_n_squick's 2013 Christmas Fest. Thanks, xenadragon_xoxo, for the brilliant prompt. I owe my everlasting gratitude to my beta-reader, Christina. Title and verse are from the Elvis Presley song.

There are numerous names for it, various theories. Scientists have spent generations attempting to explain it, to prove it, to manipulate it. Each culture, each religion, each branch of scientific study, has created their own support for this phenomena. The magical world is not exempt; masters in astronomy, arithmancy, divination, apparition, alchemy, and necromancy have argued over its existence since the ancient days of Merlin.

Muggles have countless designations for it. They call it the multiverses; parallel, alternate, and meta universes; split realities; fork in the road dimensions. To magic folk, they are known as the many worlds.

Wizarding cultures believe that there are certain events in life that are so vital, so pivotal, that one reality alone cannot withhold them. As fallen water breaks off into rivulets, so do these moments. The possibilities taper away until they're completely severed, creating other fabrics of realities, other worlds.

When Harry James Potter, aged thirteen, looked down at the man who had betrayed his parents and lowered his wand, he did not know that at that precise moment the universe splintered, creating dozens of other Harry James Potters faced with the same quandary.

And of those many worlds created, one Harry James Potter, aged thirteen, did not lower his wand. He opened his mouth and screamed a spell that had his parent's betrayer hitting the wall with a sickening crack. In that world it was not Severus Snape to arrive at the scene but Albus Dumbledore, wolfsbane in pocket and portkey at hand. In that world Peter Pettigrew did not get away, Remus Lupin did not go feral, and Sirius Black's offer to give Harry James Potter a home was not stolen from them by circumstances out of their control.

This is the story of one Harry James Potter of one of the many worlds created by the endless possibilities of that day.

"The wheel of fortune spins, 'round and 'round it goes,
who will the arrow point to, only kismet knows.”

Harry Potter was not at all what Sirius Black had been expecting. Looking at the boy from over his crisp newspaper, he reckoned he shouldn't have been surprised. Harry was not, after all, a miniature blend of James and Lily (and oh, how it still ached to think their names) and it was foolish to expect him to be considering he hadn't been raised by them. But still he had imagined, he had hoped, there'd be a least something recognizable. A hint of mischief in his smile, an ever-burning calculating glint in his eyes, a deeper voice, a sharper tongue—something. All he'd heard these past few months was how much Harry Potter resembled his parents. Sirius didn't know what those people were talking about, because he couldn't see it.

Harry didn't care for pranks or mischief, like James, nor was he enraptured by learning, like Lily. He didn't have his father's charm and arrogance and didn't share his mother's temper and wit.

Even his physical appearance wasn't all that parallel. Sure, Sirius could see a bit of Lily in his eyes and a dash of James in his messy hair and chin, but that was where the similarities ended. James had been taller, bulkier, squarer. His hair had been longer, his nose wider, his lips thinner, his skin darker. As for Lily…well, Harry didn't carry much of her at all. Perhaps the shape of her eyes and ears, if he was being generous, but the color of his irises were in no way the same shade as hers, contrary to what everyone apparently thought. Sirius could remember all-too well how vivid hers had been, the color of moss. The only green Sirius could help but compare Harry's eyes to was the light of the killing curse.

It was as much disappointing as it was relieving. For as keenly as he wished for it, he didn't think he'd cope well with a little James or Lily running around the place (not that Harry was likely run around, mind). Sirius was barely coping as it was, but then thirteen years in Azkaban would do that to a person.

"Is something the matter?" Harry asked meekly. Neither James nor Lily had ever sounded meek for as long as he'd known them.

"Nothing, Harry," Sirius said, giving him a wide smile. Harry winced a little, and Sirius wondered if the smile had looked as deranged as it felt. He tried to tone it down some. "Just wondering why on earth you'd choose to eat that over eggs." And Sirius made amazing eggs, if he did say so himself.

Harry looked down at his porridge—bland, save for the teaspoon of maple syrup and a pinch of sugar—and shrugged.

"I don’t like eggs all that much," Harry said.

Both James and Lily had loved Sirius' eggs. He forced himself not to react.

"Suit yourself," he said easily, and went back to pretending to read.

No, Harry James Potter was not like his parents at all. Sirius didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

~*~*~

Days turned to weeks and the weather grew steadily warmer and dryer. It was July not before long, marking the end of another Hogwarts year. Sirius had finally been acquitted, full with compensation in the form of money and property (not that it was enough, it would never be enough), and Harry would be moving in with him for good. As nice as the weekend visits were, Sirius had been eager to finally have the boy all to himself.

His, and no one else's.

(Except Lily and James, but they were dead, so now just his).

Sirius caught sight of him the moment he stepped off the train onto platform 9 ¾, situated between Granger and Weasley, who were heatedly bickering over his head. Harry spotted him quickly, and the smile that broke across his face when their eyes met made Sirius want to fall to his knees and weep. He spread his arms wide and Harry all but threw himself at him.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed as Sirius lifted him into the air for a spin. Harry laughed as they twirled, and Sirius buried his nose in his neck and inhaled deeply. He smelled of wool and sweat and cinnamon, with an underlying scent of what could only be described as Harry. Merlin. It had only been two weeks but Sirius had missed him dearly.

"Harry," he said happily, finally setting him down again.

They stood there, beaming at each other, until someone cleared their throat to the right of them. Sirius glanced sideways and saw that it was the Weasley brood. He nodded tensely when it became apparent that they weren't going to leave.

"Sirius Black, is it?" The woman, Molly Weasley if he remembered correctly, extended her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, dear."

Sirius bristled a little. He doubted that's what she'd been saying three months ago. He had to remind himself that everyone had thought him a murderer then, even Harry. But Harry had only been a baby when he'd been arrested, certainly not old enough to inquire into matters and determine the truth for himself. What had been these people's excuse? Still, Sirius tacked on a genial smile and shook her hand.

"Likewise," he said.

He noticed Harry giving him an odd look from the corner of his eye. Of course the lad would pick up on it. Harry knew him like no other.

They made small talk up until the youngest girl started moaning about having to use the loo, and after weakly promising at least one visit to The Burrow during the break, they left. With them gone, it became abundantly clear that they were now the center of attention. Sirius grabbed Harry's hand and they fled the platform before anyone mustered up enough courage to stop them for another 'chat'. Sirius held onto Harry and apparated them directly in front of his (their!) house.

"You don't like Mrs. Weasley," Harry didn't ask. They were seated at the dining room table, a plate of chocolate scones between the two of them.

Sirius was careful in answering.

"I don't know her,” said Sirius. Being under Harry's scrutiny made him feel like he was underpetrificus totalus.

"You don't want to know her," Harry said.

Sirius dipped his head sheepishly. "It's silly, I know. They can't be faulted for believing what they did, considering. But…"

"It upsets you that no one had even questioned anything," Harry continued, and his tone was bitter, as if he were speaking from experience. "And that they'd allowed you to be sent to Azkaban without at least a fair trial."

Sirius blinked at him in surprise.

Harry gave him a thin smile. "I'm no stranger to people believing the worst of you without bothering to find out the truth."

Sirius thought about all Harry had told him about the Dursleys, and about all he'd been through at Hogwarts so far, and nodded.

"It's bleeding shite," he said cheerfully. Because people had been doing it for far longer than they'd thought him to be a murderer.

Harry looked startled, and then he threw back his head and laughed.

~*~*~

So perhaps Harry wasn't like he remembered James and Lily to be. But Sirius wasn't anything like the person he'd been back then either, so maybe it a was more of a good thing than he'd thought.

~*~*~

Sirius still had nightmares.

They were ghastly things that trapped him in memories he'd rather soon forget and released him only when he'd tossed himself off the bed, fully drenched in his own sweat, drool, and piss. It was just as humiliating as it was terrifying, which was why he tried his very best not to actually sleep. He spent his nights reading, drawing, and playing one-sided Wizard's chess while hopped up on coffee, black tea, and sugar. When he was desperate enough he consumed a pepper-up, though never more than one a day. He had enough that threatened his fragile guardianship over Harry without having to add potion addiction to the list.

He only ever ventured into his bedroom when he either needed a change of clothes or when he was about ready to pass out. At least his room was protected by soundproof walls, and when he woke there'd be no one around to witness his shame.

Sirius was really careful about not letting Harry catch on. He took one pepper-up in the morning, used glamours to conceal his fatigue, and did his very best to act as if he wasn't constantly a hair's breath away from passing out. It lasted all of two weeks and then he'd gone and fallen asleep on the sitting room couch.

He'd woken up with his heart pounding and his throat throbbing and Harry's face hovering uncomfortably close over his. Harry was petting his hair and murmuring things he couldn't understand because he was too focused on the way his body trembled and the stench of piss that permeated the air.

"Go away," he moaned, voice unnaturally raspy. One would think, after years of being in Azkaban, that his throat would be accustomed to all the screaming by now.

Harry narrowed his eyes and jutted his chin out stubbornly, and Sirius had never seen him look more like Lily as he did right then.

"No," Harry said.

"Please," Sirius begged. He was humiliated enough without having his godson witness to it.

"Bugger that," Harry snapped, helping him sit up.

Sirius barely registered the broken coffee table or the shattered glass on the floor.

"C'mon, then," Harry said, brushing Sirius' sweaty bangs aside before pulling himself up to his feet. He grabbed Sirius's hands and helped him up. Harry was about half his size and Sirius felt about as weak as a baby house elf. He honestly didn't know how they managed.

"You shouldn't have to see me like this," Sirius implored. They were all but standing in his piss and he was so mortified he could (and would happily) die.

Harry gave him a glare so fierce that Sirius flinched.

"Don't be stupid—," he started, and then shook his head, seeming to change his mind about whatever he'd been about to say. "I get nightmares too, you know," he said eventually, eyes not leaving Sirius'. "I don't even turn the lights off when I go to bed. Sometimes I wake up screaming. I…sometimes I even wake up covered in p-piss, too." Harry's face turned scarlet at his admission, and Sirius reckoned they both looked like tomatoes. "Do you think less little of me, knowing that?"

"Of course not!" Sirius blurted despite himself.

"Then why the fuck would you believe I'd think less of you?"

Sirius snapped his mouth shut.

"We've got to take care of each other," Harry whispered after a long beat of silence. "We've all each other has got. I want…I need for you to be able to trust me with stuff like this. I need for both of us to trust each other with stuff like this. Okay?"

Sirius' eyes burned as he nodded wordlessly. Harry stepped forward and hugged him, arms wrapping tightly around his back, seeming not to care about the filth on Sirius' clothes.

"I want us to be honest with each other, always," Harry murmured into his shirt.

Sirius' eyes spilled over.

"Because we're all each other has got," Sirius rasped in reply.

Harry nodded.

Somehow they made it to the bath. Harry pushed him down onto a chair at the corner of the room and helped him out of his clothes, flinging each dirty item onto the floor.

Sirius, for his part, just let him.

He let Harry shed him of his shirt, and undershirt. Let him unbuckle his pants and slide them off his legs. Barely noticed him doing the same to his pants.

It was…more than nice. To be taken care of. Sirius couldn't remember the last time someone had. Or, rather, when it hadn't been inspired by guilt.

Harry turned the water on, plugged the drain, and let it fill. He stripped out of his own clothes and Sirius blinked rapidly.

"Um," he said.

"The bath is big enough," Harry said evenly, though his flushed cheeks gave away his embarrassment.

"Aren't you a little too big to want to share bath time?" he said, only half-joking.

"I'll have you know that I never shared a bath with anyone," Harry replied snootily.

Considering how he’d been raised, it wasn't surprising.

"Not even with Ronald?"

Harry spluttered. "Why would I take a bath with Ron?"

"Why would you not?"

"It's not done!" Harry said.

Sirius snorted.

"But it's done to take a bath with a 35 year old man?"

"You're my godfather," Harry insisted.

Sirius quirked his brow. He idly wondered what that school of his was teaching kids those days.

"It's different with us," Harry said stubbornly, clad only in his underwear. They were dark grey boxer briefs and had a snitch making lazy eights on the side.

Sirius shook his head and sighed. Harry was still just a kid (never mind that Sirius also owned Quidditch underwear). He probably just wanted to experience a shared bath with a parental figure. Sirius wouldn't begrudge him that.

The water was very nearly overflowing before Harry finally shut it off. He shot a quick (though thorough) cleaning charm at Sirius and then ushered him into the bath.

The water was a little hot, and he hissed going in.

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

Sirius slid down and watched, chin in the water, as Harry fumbled awkwardly before he shimmied out of his pants (Sirius pointedly looked away when Harry's penis swung) and sunk into the opposite end of the tub.

He sighed blissfully, as if unbothered by the temperature.

"This was a good idea," Harry said after a while, eyes closed. He seemed to be sinking without realizing it, so Sirius poked his foot.

"Don't fall asleep," he warned him. He could just imagine the headlines now: Boy-Who-Lived Falls Asleep in Bath and Drowns Under Ex-Criminal Guardian's Suspicious Supervision.

"'M not," Harry mumbled, clearly lying.

Sirius gave a fond snort.

"C'mon, kiddo. Let's clean up before you drown. You don't want your godfather to go back to Azkaban, do you?"

"You're not funny."

"I'm hilarious. Now come on! Don't make me splash you."

A glare. "You wouldn't."

Sirius just grinned at him.

His godson groaned and pulled himself upright. He grasped at the half-worn bar of soap from the rack and handed it over.

"You first."

Sirius rolled his eyes but did as he was told.

He ignored Harry's eyes on him as he slowly rubbed the thin bar over his skin, suds falling into the water and staining it white. He cleaned his neck, arms, and chest, pondered the point of washing anything lower, then did it anyway. He gave his cock a perfunctory squeeze before remembering that Harry was sitting but a few feet away from him and quickly withdrew his hands, cheeks pink. He hoped it could be blamed on the steam.

"Your turn," he muttered, handing the bar over. Harry nearly dropped it.

Sirius tried not to watch, he really did, but he was curious to know how Harry washed himself. James had hated cleaning himself with anything but a cotton towel, and he'd rub circles into his skin, starting from his feet all the way up.

He didn't know Lily's routine. Didn't really want to know, either.

Harry, much like Sirius, started from his neck. He rubbed the soap over his slick skin, then quickly went over the soppy area with his nails. He did the same with his chest, then his stomach, then his arms.

He returned the soap to the rack after a few minutes and Sirius figured he was done. He didn't expect Harry to stand up, reach for the soap again, and carry on his ministrations.

Sirius probably looked utterly stupid, staring with his mouth open as his godson obliviously washed himself. He watched, transfixed, as Harry bent over and began to clean his legs. He worked on one, then the other, and when he was done he still did not release the soap. Instead, eyes half-massed, he slipped his hand between his legs and began to clean his penis.

Look away, look away, look away! Sirius thought desperately. He could not, however. His eyes were riveted by the way Harry's hands roamed over his prick, lathering the small appendage with soap. He lowered his hands, slowly rubbed at his balls, and then once more stroked his cock.

Sirius' stomach clenched uncomfortably.

Harry then plopped into the water with a loud splash. "Are you alright?" he asked, head tilted to the side.

Sirius swallowed heavily.

"Yeah! Just, er, tired! Heat is probably getting to my head, so we should probably get out now."

Harry nodded. "Can you just do my back before we go? I never clean back there properly."

Sirius panicked a little.

"Is that really necessary?"

Harry frowned at him. "To clean my back? I'm pretty sure it is, yeah. I'll do yours next, if you want."

"Er. Right. Just. Uh."

Harry nodded as if he understood him perfectly. "I'll just scoot over there, alright?"

Sirius nodded. And then Harry's words registered.

"No!" he shouted.

Harry stared at him with confusion, already on his knees in the water.

"It would be better if we did this standing up, yeah?" Sirius asked weakly.

With a hesitant nod Harry got to his feet. He waited for Sirius to stand, then he treaded closer to him and turned around, giving him his back.

Alright. So maybe sitting down would have been the better option.

Merlin. What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked.

"N-no! Nothing! Just wishing I had a towel right about now."

"I know. I don't feel entirely clean without using one, myself."

Sirius wanted to say something like "Your father was the same," but he felt supremely uncomfortable bringing up James when Harry was standing naked barely two feet away from him and Sirius was trying really, really hard not to get an inappropriate erection. He desperately needed to find someone to warm his bed if this was how he reacted the moment someone got naked in front of him.

"Any day now, Siri."

"Sorry," Sirius said. He inhaled deeply and reached for the soap. Harry twitched a little when Sirius' fingers came in contact with his skin.

I'm probably the first person to have ever touched him like this, he found himself thinking. And then mentally backtracked because Merlin's balls, what was wrong with him? Did Harry slip something in the water? Perhaps all those sleepless nights were finally taking its toll. He'd read somewhere that sleep deprivation caused insanity. Could that have been it? It would be awfully pathetic if he were to go insane because of a little lack of sleep when thirteen years in Azkaban hadn't even managed to do the job.

(Hadn't managed to much, anyway.)

Inhaling deeply once again, Sirius quickly began to wash Harry's back. He forced himself to ignore the way the water sluiced down his smooth skin, and the tiny mole at his right shoulder, and the way his buttocks clenched when Sirius’ hands descended to swab his lower back.

"All done!" Sirius said, hastily.

Harry spun around, and Sirius absolutely did not glance down.

"Thanks, Sirius. Your turn!"

"Oh, that's really not necessary."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Don't be silly. We're already up. Just turn around."

Sirius tried to think of some excuse to come up with, but faced with his godson's expectant look and determined smile, all he could do was hand over the soap and turn around.

The first press of Harry's hand against his back felt like a shock. It made him jump in surprise.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just. Been awhile."

"Since someone washed your back?"

Sure, Sirius thought. They could go with that.

"Uh-huh."

"It'll feel nice, promise." Harry said.

Which was the problem.

Unfortunately, it really did feel nice. Harry washed his back the same way he'd washed himself; he lathered Sirius' skin with soap first, and then he raked his nails over the sudsy areas to make sure it was properly clean.

Honestly, "nice" didn't really do it justice.

Harry's fingers dug into the indents on his lower back and Sirius pressed his forehead against the wall and bit back a groan. He thought he heard Harry's breath hitch, but reckoned he'd imagined it.

Harry's hands had dipped so low that Sirius momentarily wondered if they'd reach for his arse. He was overwhelmingly disappointed when they didn't. And then he realized what he was thinking and tried to convince himself that what he was feeling was relief. It didn't work; Sirius had never been particularly good at lying—especially to himself.

He heard a faint popping noise, and then the sound of rushing water. He didn’t turn around to look. He kept his forehead on the wall and willed the proof of his (idiocy, insanity, perversion) excitement to calm down.

"Sirius? Are you…okay?"

"Yeah, Harry. Just. The steam, I think. I just need a minute. Why don't you go get dressed? I'll be out in a moment."

"And leave you to pass out and drown?" he asked, dubiously.

"I'll be fine, kiddo. I just need a moment, alright?"

"If you're sure…" Harry trailed off.

Sirius didn't know what he was sure of at that point.

"Yeah."

"Okay."

Sirius listened as he stepped out of the bath, his feet slapping heavily onto the tiles. There was the sound of wood clattering—Harry undoubtedly picking up his wand—followed by the murmuring of a drying charm. The drain continued to guzzle down the bathwater and was in the process of making gurgling noises when Harry's footsteps pattered out into the hallway and the door to the bathroom snapped shut.

Sirius wasted no time in dropping to his knees, taking his cock in hand, and stroking it.

As he tugged on his engorged flesh he did not think of Harry's flaccid penis, swaying with the movements of his body. He didn’t think of Harry's dark, fuzzy balls, nestled between his legs. He didn't think of Harry's dust colored nipples, or the black curls at the base of his cock, or the way his buttocks clenched when Sirius trailed his hand down his slick spine.

Sirius had barely fisted himself a dozen times before he lurched forward and came, his lips gasping nonsense against the wall. He twitched as he pulled at himself, stilling his hand over his sensitive cock only when it became too painful to continue.

After a few shuddery moments, Sirius leaned forward and flicked the shower on, letting the water wash away the evidence of his guilt.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" He whispered.

There was no one around to answer.

~*~*~

Sirius was rarely home the next few days, and his excuses to Harry were endless: he had to get his robes tailored, he needed new boots, he’d been called to the Ministry, an examination of his Gringott's accounts was in order, he was visiting a friend…

It gutted Sirius every time Harry asked to come with him and he denied him. Watching Harry play with his breakfast, clearly too upset to even eat, made him feel as if he deserved Azkaban.

Harry couldn't possibly understand that Sirius was doing it for him; for them. And he couldn't understand because Sirius would rather die than reveal to him (to anyone, but especially him) that he'd gotten off to thoughts of his thirteen-year-old godson. So Sirius held his tongue and prayed that some time away from Harry would help clear his mind and rationalize his sudden madness.

He'd been gone barely twenty minutes on his random excursion on the fourth day when he realized that he'd forgotten his wallet.

"I swear I'll be back no later than a half-hour to pay you for this," Sirius apologized, embarrassed.

Florean Fortescue laughed and clapped him roughly on the back.

"I trust you," he said. "Though I recommend you eat that first," he pointed at the quadruple-chocolate flavored ice cream cone in his hand, "before you consider apparating anywhere."

Sirius shot him a cocky grin.

"I'll be fine!"

Fortescue rolled his eyes.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Mr. Black!"

"Duly noted," Sirius said, then promptly apparated.

He landed on the driveway in front of his house, his robes fully splattered with ice cream.

"Well, bugger." He'd been capable of doing it when he was younger.

(He pointedly did not think about his first wand having worked better. It’d been snapped, and there was nothing he could do about that now.)

Sirius flicked his wand at the door and walked in. Harry was luckily nowhere in sight.

Probably sleeping, he mused, climbing the stairs to his bedroom. He'd discovered early on that if no one were around to prevent it, Harry would just go right back to sleep after breakfast if you let him. A consequence of always staying up so late, he supposed.

Sirius reached the second-floor landing and made his way across the hall. He was just about to reach Harry's bedroom door when a loud, drawn out moan resounded from within it, freezing him in his tracks.

The sound came again a moment later and it shot straight down to his cock.

Oh, Merlin. Harry was getting himself off.

Sirius leaned forward, arms braced against the door to support himself. He hadn't expected it to fall open. He caught himself before he could topple into the room and held his breath, ears straining for any sound. He heard another moan and knew that Harry hadn't noticed.

Walk away, an insistent voice in his head was urging. Just walk away.

Sirius couldn't. Instead, he found himself inching forward. He moved his face over the creak of the door and he almost cursed because he couldn't see.

That's a good thing! The voice tried to implore. Step away and forget you heard anything. If not for yourself, then for Harry, whose privacy you're invading! He knew he should listen to it. Particularly because it sounded a lot like Remus, and Remus had always been the voice of reason (before he'd betrayed him, and thought him capable of deceiving his best friends and murdering a bunch of muggles, and their relationship was irrevocably damaged). This was wrong for a number of reasons. Harry was his godson, for fuck's sake. He was only thirteen. It was wrong and it was illegal and if Harry ever found out he'd be so disgusted with him, and the last thing he ever wanted was to have Harry hate him—

"Oh god, please, oh god…" Harry moaned.

Sirius stifled a moan against his fist.

He waited for a long moment before daring to push the door open wider. He held his breath after each inch; nerves, excitement, and dread making his heart race. But Harry didn't notice. The door was nearly halfway open when Sirius decided to cast a disillusionment charm on himself and peak inside.

The sight nearly had him coming on the spot.

"Merlin," he breathed. He palmed his aching dick through his trousers and willed himself not to come. He was certain to be heard if he did.

Harry was spread out on his bed, not a stitch of clothing on his person. He was rapidly fisting his cock with one hand, and Sirius could almost see the pre-cum glistening on the head of his dick.

His other hand—Gods. Sirius had to close his eyes for a moment when he saw what it was doing. What Harry was doing to himself.

Harry held the very tip of his wand at the opening of his bum, the tip glowing an entirely too familiar pink.

The vibration charm. A charm that no student with sexual interests left Hogwarts without learning.

The thought of Harry in his dorm, huddled behind hid bed curtains with his wand up his arse, nearly drove Sirius to his knees.

"More, please…" Harry moaned loudly. The glow turned brighter and Harry thrashed on the bed, his mouth spilling curses and pleas as he thrust his wand into himself. The hand on his cock quickened and he began to whimper urgently.

He's going to come, Sirius thought desperately, reaching inside the front of his trousers. He wrapped his hand around his own aching cock and had to bite back the groan that rose to his lips. He sobbed a breath as he stroked himself in time with Harry's jerky movements.

"Oh please, oh please, oh p-please!" He cried out, and Sirius gasped when Harry came, his orgasm shooting out of his cock in milky white stripes. His hands fisted the bed sheets, pulling them, as if his pleasure was too great to bear.

And then Sirius looked down at the wand, still glowing pink and protruding from Harry's arse, and could hold himself back no longer.

Sirius came with a whine that bordered on animalistic. His mouth fell open and he dropped to his knees, unable to support his unbearable weight. The intensity of his release was too much and heneeded to close his eyes for a reprieve but he couldn't bear the thought of removing them from the magnificent sight before him.

Harry was still lying there, his head tipped back and his mouth wide open, his body undulating with the aftershocks of his messy release, which pooled on his stomach and splattered on his chest.

Sirius, whose pants were damp, was hardly faring any better.

"Shite," he breathed, trembling. He lost the battle and closed his eyes. After a few long, shuddering breaths he pulled his hands out of his pants, skin sticky with his cum, and sighed. He looked up.

Harry was watching propped up on his elbows, watching him.

The horror that seized Sirius was staggering. He clumsily flew to his feet, mind whirring with panicked excuses and half-arsed explanations and lies to tell. He opened his mouth, desperate to say something, to say anything that might justify his presence and salvage the situation.

Salvage their relationship.

However, before he could get so much as word out, Harry's voice cut in.

"Instead of watching, you're free to join me, next time."

Sirius didn't even think—he just fled.

~*~*~

Sirius all but shipped him off to the Weasleys the next day. Harry just watched him make arrangements with Molly Weasley with wry amusement curling at the corner of his mouth. They were at The Burrow by noon, five days’ worth of Harry's belongings crammed messily into a trunk.

"I'll see you in a week then," Harry said simply, as if Sirius (as if they) hadn’t done something so horrifyingly unforgivable just the night before. "Take care, Sirius."

"You too, Harry," Sirius said awkwardly. He gave him a quick pat on the shoulder, thanked Molly profusely, and apparated back home.

Sirius spent the first day in a haze of booze. He considered it a success as, by the end of the day, he could barely remember his own name let alone the fact that he'd gotten off to his thirteen year old godson masturbating (and then been invited to participate at a later date).

The only downside was that he'd woken up the next morning with a hangover so bad that not even a potion could cure it fully. He spent half the day introducing his vomit to the toilet and nursing a headache that seemed to surpass human endurance.

When he was well enough to walk around without feeling as if he were going to keel over and die, he cleaned up the house a bit. There really wasn't much to do as Harry was a considerable neat freak. There were three floors, and it took him less than thirty minutes to determine it a loss cause. The place was too bloody clean.

With nothing else to do, Sirius situated himself on the sitting room couch and opened a half-empty bottle of Odgen's Old.

He’d had never been one to learn much from his mistakes.

~*~*~

Sirius spent the entirety of the third day at Gringott's arguing with the Goblins over his assets and inquiring after his properties. By the time he'd left the sun had already started to set, the sky darkening in its departure like a room with a dying candle. His eyes ached from the strain of reading what he was sure was purposefully tiny fine print and so he made his way home still seeing spots. Once there he collapsed onto the couch in a flurry of scrolls and wrinkled robes and fell asleep within moments.

He awoke three hours later, on his back on the floor, lying in an all-too familiar puddle. For a moment he'd considered fire-calling Harry, but then he remembered that Harry was with the Weasleys (and possibly better off for it) and that he was a grown man who shouldn't be relying so heavily on a thirteen year old boy, anyway.

So Sirius cleaned himself up and spent the rest of the night reading tacky muggle crime novels, the dredges of his nightmare like a deafening echo in his mind.

~*~*~

He was a terrible mess on the fourth day. He was too tired to do anything but his listlessness only contributed to the boredom that was, quite frankly, making him go batshit. Not really knowing what else to do, he opened up a cookbook (one of the many he'd acquired when guardianship of Harry had been transferred over to him) and started to bake.

He baked well into the night and only stopped when he feared his arms might fall off. Beating dough and whisking flour mixtures was surprisingly hard work. He stared at the collection of goods on the table—rhubarb pie, arctic rolls, treacle tarts, flummery, trifles—and his good mood plummeted like an unconscious troll the moment realization set in.

These were all Harry's favorites desserts, not his. Sirius didn't even like sweets that weren't iced or drenched in chocolate.

With an aggravated sigh he placed a preservation charm on each, shoved them to the bottom of the fridge, and went to bed.

He wasn't surprised to wake up on the floor a few hours later.

~*~*~

On the fifth day, Sirius thought.

He laid on Harry's bed, eyes trained onto the ceiling, and just…thought. Thought about alternatives, and gains, and consequences. Thought about every reason why he shouldn't take his godson up on his offer and every reason why he should.

He thought about everything that had happened so far and everything that could—the good, the bad, the in-between.

He thought of what life would be like ten years down the road for each decision. He imagined every possible outcome, weighed the pros and cons of each.

He left Harry's room only to eat and use the loo, then resumed his place on Harry's bed and continued to reflect.

By the time the sun set on the horizon, seeping the sky of its light and casting the world into endless darkness, he'd already made his decision.

Sirius closed his eyes and dreaded what tomorrow would bring.

~*~*~

Harry was due to arrive by floo at noon.

Sirius waited on the sofa and pretended to read the Quidditch magazine on his lap.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. It read 11:46 A.M.

He went back to his reading his mag.

He glanced at the clock again. 11:47 A.M.

He'd been doing this for the past two hours.

Sirius hadn't been so nervous about anything since…well, since ever. He hadn't even been nervous about going to Azkaban—his guilt, and grief, and fury had left little room for anything else.

Even meeting Harry for the first time, or offering to share a life with him, or sitting in front of the Winzengamot waiting to be exonerated hadn't been so nerve wrecking. Now it felt as if pixies were fluttering around his stomach and making mincemeat of his insides.

11:50 A.M.

Harry wouldn't react well. Sirius knew he wouldn't. The way he'd so calmly gone off to Weasleys, as if he didn't have a thing to worry about, was a huge indicator that he was pretty damn sure things would go in his favor.

If nothing else it'll teach him not to count his mandrakes before they sprout, Sirius thought sourly.

11:52 A.M.

Sirius nibbled at the corner of thumb, playing with the pink flesh and pulling at the torn nail.

Would Harry be so angry with him that he'd want to leave? Find someone else to live with?

11:54 A.M.

Sirius would explain, though. Explain why it just couldn't ever happen. And perhaps he'd apologize, too, for inflicting his own madness onto his innocent godson.

There was a name for such a thing, wasn't there? Folie à deux, or something like that? That must have been what happened. There was no other explanation. All those years in Azkaban had messed with Sirius’ head more than he’d thought, and apparently madness was contagious, like a virus, and Harry had caught it…

12:00 P.M.

Merlin, what was he going to do?

~*~*~

It was 2:32 P.M. and Harry wasn't there. Oh, who was Sirius kidding? Harry wasn't coming back.

He'd spent nearly a week at the Weasleys, who were a perfectly normal, happy, and functional family. A proper family. Hell, Harry had already told Sirius how much he adored Molly and Arthur and wished Ron and the twins could be his brothers. If Harry stayed with them he'd get a mom, a dad, and more siblings than anyone could hope to have. And what did Sirius have to offer, exactly? Money? Harry was wealthy in his own right. A shiny house? The Burrow, while not as large or elegant as Sirius' home, was perfectly habitable. Home cooked meals? Harry could just as well get a house elf.

Sirius was a crazy thirty-five year old who'd spent thirteen years in a Wizarding prison, was prone to having flashbacks and nightmares, and who was probably clingier than a newly mated veela. He was a pepper-up potion away from being an addict, could barely go outside without being hounded by the paparazzi, and was constantly doing things that made Harry worry about him.

To add icing to the cake, Sirius was now, apparently, a pervert, too.

It was a wonder Harry hadn't jumped ship and made a break for it sooner.

Sirius moaned and buried his face in his hands. His head was buzzing with thoughts that made his stomach violently churn and bile rise painfully in his throat. Indeed, he was so busy panicking about the many ways he'd buggered up and pushed Harry into leaving him that he didn't even hear the flare of the floo activating, or see the person stumbling from the fireplace.

It wasn't until there was sharp pressure on his shoulder did Sirius finally realize that he wasn't alone.

He looked up, startled to see Harry hovering over him, his eyes furrowed in concern.

"I've been trying to get your attention for ages. Are you alright? By the way, I’m really sorry about being late. See, the twins were experimenting again and used Ron and me as guinea pigs—but it wasn’t dangerous or anything!—anyway, it took them forever to find a way to get us out of the wall and bloody hell, I didn’t think Mrs. Weasley would ever stop screaming—”

Sirius could only stare. He took in the sight of Harry—his Harry—and let out an overdue exhalation of air. Sirius' gaze roamed over Harry's newly tanned skin and wide, green eyes. He stared at his wild, messy hair and downturned lips. Observed the smudge of floo powder that dusted the swell of his cheek.

Sirius lifted a hand and brushed some of it off.

"—Er…Sirius…?"

How stupid I'd been, Sirius thought, continuing to stare, to do anything to push this boy away.

It was illegal. James and Lily would no doubt be rolling in their graves. If anyone ever found out, Harry would be taken from him and Sirius would once again be whisked off to Azkaban before he could probably utter the word "Dementor". Moreover, it was quite possible that Harry would grow up to regret it—and to resent him.

Those thoughts, rational as they were, were inconsequential compared to the sudden need to claim Harry as his own. To make Harry his, in every sense of the word. To take everything Harry had to offer. To claim another part of Harry's heart until Sirius occupied every cell, every nerve, every vessel.

Mind hazy with need, Sirius cupped Harry's cheek with his hands and pulled him in closer; reeled him in.

Harry's eyes widened, and then a small, satisfied grin stretched across his face.

"Does your offer still stand?" Sirius asked, voice sandpaper rough.

Because if Harry changed his mind, if Harry said no, Sirius would leave well enough alone. He was only in this if Harry was in it. Only wanted it if Harry wanted it, too.

"Yes," Harry breathed against him. Their noses brushed.

Sirius closed his eyes. With a shaky breath he leaned forward and captured Harry's consent with his lips.

It was electric, like lightning snapping the sky in half in the midst of a storm. They kissed for what felt like eons. The way Sirius probed his way into Harry's mouth, licking and sucking everywhere his tongue could reach, was nothing short of a full onslaught; a thorough exploration. Sirius was fascinated by the unevenness of Harry's teeth, the heat of his tongue, the slickness of his flesh. The way Harry keened and moaned against his mouth made Sirius want to devour him until there was nothing left. He couldn't remember anyone ever tasting so good before. Didn't think anyone else ever would.

Harry whimpered "Sirius, bed, please," like a broken record that was ready to burst and Sirius removed his mouth from the delicate arch of Harry's neck and stood.

The fact that the top of Harry's head barely reached his chest was disconcerting but Sirius pushed the thought aside like the dampener it was. Harry would grow in time, but for now he'd take advantage of his slight stature. There was a lot to gain from having a partner so small. Case in point, Sirius was easily able to place his hands beneath Harry's thighs and lift him up. Harry gasped and frantically wrapped his legs around Sirius' waist, and Sirius took the opportunity to squeeze his arse and press Harry more firmly against him.

"Oh god," Harry breathed, flinging his arms around Sirius' neck. He bore down on him tightly as if Sirius was clay and with just a little pressure the two of them could be melded together, fused into one. "C'mon Sirius, hurry up, let's go, Sirius, please."

Sirius was quick to obey. He apparated up to the bedroom and wasted no time in depositing Harry onto the bed. Harry landed onto the mattress with a bounce and clumsily inched his way backwards. Sirius climbed onto the mattress and crawled towards him.

Harry was all but trembling when Sirius reached him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

Sirius brushed his bangs to the side, then traced the lightning bolt scar with his thumb. He had a curious urge to run his tongue over it, perhaps nip the edges with his teeth, but refrained. Harry looked like he was going to faint from the touch of his fingers alone.

"Harry, it's not too late…" he trailed off, carefully. His cock felt like newly formed iron in his trousers and his heart was ready to burst out of his chest but Sirius would stop if Harry needed him to. All Harry had to do was say the word.

Harry shook his head fretfully. "I'm just nervous," he admitted, his earlier coyness now absent in the wake of what they were about to do. "But I want to, Sirius. More than anything."

If Sirius were a better person he'd ask the question again. He'd reassure him that nothing would change between them if Harry wanted to back out. He'd convince him that none of this was necessary—that Sirius would always be Harry's, and that Sirius would never, ever love anyone more.

But Sirius was selfish. He wanted Harry in this way. Wanted him writhing beneath him, gasping Sirius' name, holding onto him as if Sirius was his salvation and it would kill him to let go.

As long as Harry offered it, Sirius would take. If there was anything Azkaban had taught him, it was that happiness was fragile—fleeting. It was better to grab onto what happiness you could before it was wrestled from your fingers and taken away. Because it would be, there was no doubt. That was simply the way of the world.

Sirius allowed the last remnants of doubt to filter out of his mind like a retrieved memory. He leaned forward, caged Harry in with his arms, and then captured Harry's lips once more and reveled in it.

When he'd gotten his fill (temporarily, because he'd never get enough of Harry's mouth, not ever) he sat back—shamelessly admiring the flush on Harry's face and the redness of his lips—and grabbed his wand. With an elaborate flick he banished their clothes. Next time he'd divest Harry of his clothing slowly, would unwrap him piece by piece like the very gift he was, but right now Sirius couldn't wait. He needed to see Harry naked, needed to touch his bare skin, like he needed to breathe. He thought that he'd die if they dragged this out any longer.

Harry yelped in surprise the moment his clothes disappeared and Sirius couldn't help but smile at him fondly. His godson was really too endearing for words.

"A bit of a warning would have been nice," Harry grumbled petulantly, his blush spreading from his face all the way down to his chest. Sirius travelled its progress hungrily, and then further still, until his gaze had finally reached the hardness that lay between Harry's quivering legs.

Sirius' mouth watered. He forcefully tore his eyes away, knowing that he needed to take some things slow. He'd never forgive himself if he frightened Harry away and put him off this for good. He cleared his throat.

"It's more fun this way," he rasped, placing a hand over Harry's thin chest.

Whatever Harry had been about to say was cut off with a gasp as Sirius caught one rosy nipple with his hand.

"Oh," he gasped, as if surprised. His back arched off the bed as Sirius tweaked the taut bud beneath his fingers, his fascination growing as it hardened and the once-smooth flesh rippled with bumps. "Please!" he cried, twitching as Sirius drew the other bud between his fingers and pinched. Flicked. Pulled. "Sirius, please!"

"Please what?" Sirius teased breathily. He made a mental note to hunt down a pensieve. This was a memory he'd be certain to revisit often.

"Touch me!"

He pushed both nubs into Harry's body and moved them in rough circles. Harry closed his eyes and whined.

"Touch you where, Harry?"

"You know where!"

"Say it. I won't do a thing until you say it."

He twisted one nipple for emphasis.

"My prick! I want you to touch my prick!"

Sirius abandoned the two buds, reddened and swollen from his abuse, and gave a shaky grin. Harry was panting up at him, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes looked cauldron black. His face was scrunched up in desperation, as if he'd die if Sirius continued to neglect the places that needed his attention the most.

Fingers splayed, Sirius slowly brought his hand down Harry's stomach, enjoying the way the muscles and skin tightened and trembled the further he descended. When Sirius reached the thatch of curls above his cock and Harry jumped, he had to close his eyes and imagine Dumbledore fucking Flitwick to keep his orgasm at bay. It was almost ridiculous how responsive his godson was.

When Sirius' fingers finally wrapped around Harry's length, they both groaned with pleasure. Sirius gripped his hand tighter and began to pull.

Sirius didn't know where to look as he stroked him, for everywhere was enticing. Harry's eyes were fluttering as if he desperately wanted to keep them open but the sheer pleasure of being touched made it difficult for him. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, as if it were trying to keep up with his beating heart. His hands grabbed onto everything—the pillow under his head, the sheets beneath him, the flat of his chest. His stomach clenched, making his pelvis bone protrude enticingly and emphasizing the shape of his abs. His hips bucked and his thighs quivered from the strength it took to keep them restrained. His toes curled into the mattress, evidence of how good Sirius' careful ministrations must have felt.

Each twitch, each shiver, each shuddered breath—it was exhilarating. Intoxicating. Sirius devoured Harry's responsiveness like a starving man. He used every trick in his (admittedly dusty) book to make Harry writhe and moan his name. No detail went unobserved in his goal to see his godson come undone. When Sirius pressed his thumb into the bulging vein on the underside of Harry's cock and Harry groaned, when he circled the leaking head and Harry twitched, when he fondled his smooth balls and tugged them up towards his cock and Harry wailed—Sirius took note of it. He found whatever movements made Harry respond the most and repeated them again and again until Harry was a sobbing, thrashing mess.

It didn't take long for the boy to come. Sirius knew it was coming, had seen and felt it in the way his thighs shook and his balls tightened, and acted quickly. He'd wrapped his hand over the entire length of Harry's small cock and twisted—once, twice—until Harry had stilled. It lasted but a moment before the thrashing started. The choked-off screams.

Sirius groaned as Harry spurted his release, painting his stomach and chest with lines of white. Sirius held him through it, and even afterward, when Harry had little else to give but beads of spunk. He held his softening cock in hand as Harry panted and trembled, splayed out on the bed with both hands fisted in the sheets as if he'd been afraid of floating away.

Even when the trembling subsided and the panting ceased, Sirius did not let go. He never wanted to let go.

"Alright?" Sirius asked softly, pointedly ignoring his own straining cock.

Harry nodded shakily.

"I think."

"You think?"

"Trying to determine if I'm alive or not."

Sirius stroked him once, lightly, and bit back a smile when Harry hissed and tried to turn away.

"Definitely alive, then," Harry gasped, dropping his arm and looking down at Sirius. Harry's face was entirely flushed and his bright eyes stood out all the more for it. His lips were spread into a small, blissful smile—confirmation of his contentment.

"That was bloody amazing," Harry said after a while. And then softer, "I knew it would be."

Sirius finally released his spent cock, crawled forward, and pulled him up for a kiss. Despite how desperate he was to find release he kept it measured, slow. With each nip of his teeth, each swipe of his tongue, he tried to show how much Harry meant to him. Tried to convey that regardless of how things turned out between them, Sirius would always be grateful for what Harry had given him today. That Sirius would always look back on it as his fondest memory and would never, ever forget it.

The message must have gotten across because Harry held him tightly and whispered against his lips, “I love you.”

Sirius couldn’t even begin to speak, so he simply kissed him harder. Kissed him until they both had to pull away just to catch their breaths.

“You haven’t come,” Harry panted.

“I’m fine,” Sirius lied.

Harry snorted disbelievingly. As if to prove his point he reached between them and brushed his fingers along Sirius’ cock. Sirius gasped.

“Thought so,” Harry said, smugly. He pushed Sirius up until they were both sitting.

“What would you like me to do?”

Everything, Sirius refused to beg.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Sirius said instead.

There was a speculative glint in Harry’s eye. He hummed thoughtfully, and Sirius’ eyes almost rolled to the back of his head when he imagined how that sound would feel over his cock.

“Perhaps,” Harry started slowly, “you could fuck me.” He said it easily, like Sirius wasn’t dying just from hearing him say the words alone.

He wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to do it, too. To fuck Harry open with his fingers and tongue, get him stretched and relaxed and wet, and then, when they were both mindless with need, push into him—slowly at first, until his body adjusted, and then so fast the bed would skid.

Sirius knew he couldn’t, though. Not now. He was too impatient, too close to the edge, and he doubted he’d be able to hold off long enough to get Harry relaxed and open properly, never mind last long enough for him to start feeling good once inside. Harry deserved so much more than for his first time to be a quick, careless fuck, and so Sirius banished the thoughts from his mind. Next time. And there would be a next time, if he had anything to say about it.

“Not now,” he settled on saying. “I’m too close.”

Harry looked disappointed for a moment, but then he got another gleam in his eye and his expression brightened.

“It doesn’t have to be my arse,” he said, tone once again coy.

Sirius’ swallowed heavily as Harry spread his legs and started rubbing the inside of his thighs. “Here,” he said breathlessly. “You can fuck me here, can’t you?”

Sirius shut his eyes and groaned. He cast around for his wand and almost shouted in victory when his fingers brushed wood.

“Accio lube,” he rasped, and caught the small bottle that flew into his palm at the command.

“Where would you like me?” Harry asked.

Sirius groaned again.

“On top of me. Lie on top of me.”

Harry rolled over and Sirius took his place, back pressed to the bed. Harry moved over him and maneuvered himself until their cocks were touching, sliding wetly against each other. They both moaned.

Sirius clumsily uncorked the bottle. Half its contents spilled onto the bed, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that his was hand slick enough to coat his cock and the juncture between Harry’s legs. Once thoroughly lubed, he urged Harry’s legs together, positioned his cock, and slid in.

If there’s a heaven, Sirius thought, half delirious, then this must be it. The feeling of being squeezed between Harry’s thighs was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was hot and soft and slick, and he could feel everything—the clenching of Harry’s arse, the shaking of his legs as they struggled to keep closed, the strain of him sliding to get friction for his own cock. It was indescribable.

They moved against each other recklessly, grappling and squeezing and scratching. Sirius, for his part, couldn’t keep his hands from roaming. He gripped Harry’s arse, pulled the cheeks apart and then together again. He slid his hands up and down Harry’s trembling arms, his quivering sides. He traced his ribs, the length of his spine. He clutched his hips and thighs, maneuvering them to make his glides better. He buried his fingers in his hair to pull him down for a kiss.

Sirius’ orgasm came far too quickly. He tried to hold it off for as long as he could but it caught up with him eventually, somewhere in between indulging in short, jerky thrusts and long pulls that squeezed the head of his cock. He came still buried between Harry’s thighs, his cum pooling the crease between his legs. It was as if each spurt of release pulled out everything in him, more than he had to give, leaving him reeling from it and feeling as if he’d been squeezed dry. That he didn’t pass out was a miracle. More so the fact that he had enough strength to flip their positions and crawl down.

He barely heard Harry’s cry of surprise, so intent was he on taking Harry into his mouth. He slid his mouth down to the base on his first try and relentlessly slid up and down, sucking and stroking with his tongue as he moved. He pushed his tongue against the vein on the underside of his cock, licked where the base met the head. He suckled on the leaking tip, lapped at it, while he used his fingers to roll Harry’s tightening balls.

Harry was practically sobbing above him, crying his name like he was the best and worst thing in the world. He screamed when he came, body arching off the bed as he squirted into Sirius’ mouth, his cock pulsing in time with his release. Sirius swallowed the cum effortlessly, not minding in the least the bitter taste. He suckled the softening prick until Harry started twitching, and then dragged himself up so that they were side by side.

A very long time passed before Harry could say anything.

“H-holy fuck,” he wheezed.

Sirius laughed. He nestled Harry up against him until they were lying chest to chest, nose to nose.

Harry brushed Sirius’ sweaty bangs aside, swept a wayward curl behind his ear, and cupped his cheek. Gave him a smile so sweet that the room seemed to brighten several shades.

Sirius leaned forward and kissed his forehead, lips tingling as they brushed against the cursed scar.

“I’m t’red,” Harry mumbled, closing his eyes. His hand fell away to rest against Sirius’ chest. Siriusaccio’d a blanket and brought it up over the two of them.

“Sleep, then,” he said, covering Harry’s hand with his own.

“Love you,” Harry whispered. It didn’t take long for his breath to even and his face to slacken in some semblance of sleep.

Sirius stared at him for a long moment, memorizing. He closed his eyes only when sleep’s pull on him became too relentless to keep them open.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, drifting off. Darkness captured him moments later, and he did not fight it.

For the first time in months, Sirius was visited only by good dreams.

There are many worlds, and as such many Harry James Potters. The only thing these Harry James Potters have in common is greatness. Egyptian sorcerers called children such as he, the ones favored by the gods and goddesses of the universes, Gildlings. The name represents their brightness, their valuableness, in as much as it describes the very lie within. For to gild is only to cover objects in gold, to hide the rot and undesirability underneath. It is a name chosen wisely, for to be loved by the universe is as much the highest blessing as it is the bitterest curse.

In countless universes, Harry James Potter does not get to save Sirius Black. The ways in which he loses him are endless. His soul is lost to a kiss in one, his body to a veil in another. There is no end to it. Be it by war or illness or accident, on land or in air or at sea, Sirius Black will meet his demise, and Harry James Potter will suffer for it.

There is one world, however, that is different. The anomaly. The aberration. In this world, Sirius Black does not die a premature death. Harry Potter does not ever mourn him. In this single world, like a sole star in the deepest realms of space, Harry Potter is granted a lifetime with his godfather—their days filled with peace and happiness and more love than any two people can hope to have.

For the gods and goddesses are as benevolent as they are cruel. And sometimes their favored children—the Gildlings, the bright ones—do get rewarded the happiest ending.

THE END
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