#so hes like...a godfather in a way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

padfootastic · 2 years

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okay so ik @impishtubist’s sirius & harry saturday has already turned into sad sirius sunday and i’m v late but i’m stubbornly posting this still (does the little bit of grief in between count for the latter?) set in my kiddie harry universe. sirius as an overly attached, overprotective dad & harry as the cutest kid on earth.

The first time Harry asks to go to a friend’s house, Sirius damn near has a panic attack.

It’s not like he keeps the kid locked up like a prisoner, okay? Harry goes to a primary school—he’s made friends there and everything—and they have regular visits out into the muggle world,, along with the occasionally wixen day trips, preferably abroad because the English counterparts still treated Harry like a character out of a book rather than a human and that was the last thing he wanted for him.

It’s just that…all of those are supervised trips. Sirius is always there, and in the event that he’s not—like school—there’s people who’ve been thoroughly vetted and approved who are. So he’s a bit paranoid, sue him. It’s not like he doesn’t have good cause for it. Harry’s just a baby, couldn’t even protect himself yet, how was he supposed to be safe out there—all on his own?

So when he comes home from primary one day, bouncing excitedly on his feet, a piece of paper clutched in his chubby fist, Sirius has no reason to be concerned at first. He can only smile at the excited display in front of him.

“Whatcha got there, Harry?”

“Is an ivitashun!”

“A what?” Sirius blinks, looking closer at the paper.

“Ms. Kate said you call people with it.”

“Call…people…” Sirius mutters under his breath, trying to figure out where Harry was going. Sometimes his interpretation and the general meaning of a word was, well, vastly different, “Oh, an invitation!”

“That’s what I said, silly Siri,” Harry giggles, booping Sirius—who’d crouched down to his level—on the nose.

“Sure you did, baby.” Sirius runs an affectionate hand over his messy hair. “Where’s the party?”

“Emma’s house!”

Oh.

Emma’s house.

Sirius didn’t realise there was an actual party. He was under the, apparently mistaken, impression that it was a school event and they were making it a thing. To hear that it was at someone else’s house, no matter a classmate, was…jarring, to say the least.

“Is it her birthday, babe?”

“Uh huh! She’s turning six,” he says in a tone of wonder, the way kids do sometimes where they whisper things a little too loudly.

“Oh wow, that’s so cool,” he replies in the same tone. “Can I see the invitation, please, Harry?”

The paper is thrust in his face and Harry goes running out the living room, presumably in search of a snack. Sirius doesn’t pay it much attention, mind more focused on the ‘Your kid…Harry…is invited to Emma’s supercalifragilisticexpialidocious—‘ what in merlin’s underpants did that mean? ‘—sixth birthday bash! Bring yourself and a smile’ Well. That was appropriately cheesy for a kid’s invitation.

But, and this was important, it didn’t say anything about things of actual importance—like what was the security going to be like? How many people would be there? Was Sirius invited along with Harry and if he wasn’t, how rude would it be to just barge his way in and stay there? Because it wasn’t…he didn’t think he could just leave his kid like that, not in a way he hadn’t had a chance to thoroughly examine.

Okay, if Lily was here, she’d probably tell him he was being too ridiculous and this was just a kid’s party and you can let him go five feet away from you, Sirius but she wasn’t here, which means he can be as overprotective as he wants.

Step one, therefore, is finding out what the appropriate etiquette for these things is. A quick phone call to Moony — ‘My school wasn’t as posh as this, Padfoot, we just kicked each other around in the mud’ — that’s more unhelpful than not and another to Ms. Katherine where his eccentric upbringing excuse was still going strong, he has the information he needs. Parents weren’t just invited, but also expected, which calms one part of him down.

The next was to figure out what an appropriate gift for a to-be-six year old girl is. He decides that one is better left to the person in the house who actually knows said girl, so he goes looking for his wayward godson.

Finds him sprawled stomach-side down on the rug in the living room, rubbing his face back and forth across the soft fur lining. Sirius can’t help but smile at the sight- it was remarkably similar to how he’d nuzzle against Padfoot.

“Harry,” he says, lying down beside him.

“Mhm?” Harry’s eyes are closed and there’s a blissful expression on his face. Sirius, who has his face half mushed into the rug as well, gets it.

“What kind of a present do you want to get Emma?”

A blink and a pair of emerald eyes peek at him curiously. “Presents?”

“You know, gifts, because it’s her birthday. Remember how I got you the Quidditch set for yours this year? And you made me that pretty card we stuck on the cupboard?”

Harry’s mouth opens in a prolonged ‘O’ and he nods quickly. “I love the ‘ditch set, Siri.”

“I know,” Sirius tweaks his nose playfully, earning a high pitched squeal in return. “So, what do we want for Emma?”

An adorably thoughtful look takes over his godson’s face—eyebrows furrowed and lips pushed out in a pout. “She…likes…games?”

“Oh?” Sirius encourages. “What kind?”

“She’s real good at running. We play hide ‘n seek aaaall the time and no one can found her,” Harry says excitedly.

“No one can find her, baby,” Sirius corrects. “Is there anything else she’s good at? Running’s a hard one to find gifts for.”

“Hm,” Harry’s pout extends further outward as his brain works harder. “Soccer! She plays with us at lunch. Miss Sia, from the other class, she told her to come in yes’day, and then Emma said ‘no, I wanna play!’ and then Miss Sia got real ang’y ‘cause she don’ like girls playing outside—”

“Who told you that part, Harry?” Sirius leans in. (Is this what his life had come down to now? Inordinate interest in primary school shenanigans?)

“Robbie,” Harry answers with a firm nod. “He knows all the teachers ‘cause he lives in the school.”

“He lives in the school?” Sirius repeats, biting his lip to stifle the threatening laughter.

“Uh huh, with his mummy and daddy, they live in the up floor.”

“Right—So, uh, Robbie told you Miss Sia doesn’t like it when girls play outside?” Sirius tries to bring the conversation back on track, the residential situation of Robbie not a concern at the moment.

“Uh huh.”

“And then Miss Robbie asked Emma to come in when she was playing soccer with you guys?”

“Uh huh. But Emma din’ go ‘cause she wanted to kick the ball an’ it was her turn an’ it takes sooooo long to get the ball an’ if she went then it—”

“Woah there, babe, calm down,” Sirius places a hand on Harry’s back when he doesn’t pause at all, encouraging him to take a breath in between the endless stream of words. He pulls a face at being interrupted but does it nonetheless. “Do you think she’d like a soccer ball of her own to play with, then?” Sirius asks, when Harry’s breathing has come back to normal and his face doesn’t look quite so red anymore.

“A soccer ball?” he echoes.

“Mhm, like how you have a little broom like mine and daddy’s, right? Emma can have a little ball like the one grown ups have.”

“Woah,” Harry’s glasses make his wide eyes look even bigger, like looking at a microscope and Sirius doesn’t resist the urge to coo, not this time. He leans forward to grab the boy with both hands and with a twist-and-turn manoeuvre, manages to roll onto his back and plop the kid on his stomach.

“Siri!” He claps his hands in glee at the sudden change in altitude.

“Harry!” Sirius bounces him a few times before he settles, bringing Harry down to lay down on his chest, his head tucked under his chin and tiny fists curled along his sternum. He presses his lips to soft, black hair in a gesture somewhere between a kiss and a promise.

A mini soccer ball it is.

A few days later, godfather and godson, wearing matching leather jackets and denims, stood outside Emma’s house. Sirius had worn his usual assortment of rings, bracelets, and jeans—finding himself partial towards the ripped, skinny ones that were popular these days—with his hair up in a half bun. Harry, upon seeing his beloved godfather, had sat his butt down in his nursery and proclaimed he wouldn’t move until he got the same treatment. So, a few minutes and some creative magic-ing later, you had a miniature Sirius Black in his very own monogrammed leather jacket, jeans (neither ripped nor skinny, thank you very much) and butterfly hair clips pushing his not-long-but-definitely-unruly hair out of his face. Sirius had peppered his face with quite a few kisses before they’d even stepped out of the house. It wasn’t his fault that he had such an adorable godson, was it?

“Padfoot, can I, can I, can I, pweaaaaaase?” Harry’s close to bouncing on his toes in excitement, craning his neck to look at the house as if he can see through it.

Sirius hefts Harry into his arms in answer, being careful not to knock the glitter-wrapped ball or the host’s gift in his hands. “Careful you only ring once, okay? We don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“I’m never nu’sance!” Harry replies, affronted, but obediently presses the button just once. Sirius takes it a point of pride that his five year old godson knows what the word means to be affronted by his usage of it. He kisses his cheek in wordless apology just as the door opens and a tall brunette steps out.

“Hello!”

“Hi! I’m Harry Potter and me an’ Emma are in the same class and we play soccer together and she called me for da party today,” Harry says in one single breath before starting the next one. “She gave me an in-va-tashun and all too, miss. Is she here- I don’t see her.”

“Maybe you would if you let Emma’s mum get a word in, baby,” Sirius says, lightly chiding. He shoots an apologetic look at the other woman who only snorts in repose with a wave of her hand.

“You forget I have a motormouth of my own, Mr. Potter.”

Sirius winces, burying the lance of pain before it can make itself known on his face. “Black—that is, I’m Sirius Black, this one’s godfather. Please call me Sirius. I’d shake your hand but—” he shrugs helplessly, showing his occupied arms in the action.

“Sirius…” she repeats thoughtfully, looking between him and Harry. He wonders what she sees in that moment, with them looking the way they do. “I’m Rosalie. Come on in, please.”

“You’ve a lovely house,” Sirius says, carefully bending down so that Harry can stand on his own two feet while not dropping their presents. “We got you a little present.” He extends the longer, distinctly wine shaped box to her, watching as she takes it in grateful surprise.

“Oh, but you didn’t have to! It’s not my birthday, after all,” she smiles, both at him and Harry. It’s the latter who answers, however.

“It’s polite when you visit, Miss!”

Sirius smothers a smile when he sees the effect his words have on Rosalie. She visibly melts, almost putting a hand on her chest if it wasn’t for the bottle, and thanks the two of them again.

“All the kids are in the garden outside, and there’s a little patio there with chairs and the like for us parents. My husband Gerard has a barbecue set up out there.” Sirius, keeping one hand on Harry’s shoulder, guides them in the direction Rosalie points them to, depositing the gift on a nearby table where similarly wrapped packages are stacked.

When he reaches the patio where everyone’s gathered, there’s a good amount of adults overlooking the ground where a mini army of kids are…doing…something? He squints, trying to get a better idea, and almost immediately makes the executive decision to not go there because he can see someone being buried in the ground and someone else pelting others with…mud cakes? Yeah. No thanks. He’ll just sit calmly and cleanly with the other guardians, he thinks with a silent shudder.

“You go have fun, okay?” he kneels in front of Harry, making a cursory attempt to get his hair to lie down flat. “I’ll be right here if you need me, darling.”

Making he’s feeling a bit more affected than he realised if that term slipped out. Hm.

“I know, I can see you, silly Siri!” Harry shakes his head at his godfather’s abundance of caution before pressing a kiss to his cheek and running off towards the site of chaos. Sirius stares after him with a pinched look until he realises he’s being ridiculous, Harry isn’t going anywhere other than the closed garden, and he’s just being an overly attached, codependent mess right now. So he stands up and walks over to one of the empty chairs, calmly sitting down and not dropping into it like he wants to.

“Hello,” he nods at the assorted guardians sipping on their—wine coolers and mimosas? Some people are having fun, at least.

“Hi,” one of the guys leans forward with an outstretched hand and that leads to a chorus of greetings and introductions. Sirius settles back with his own glass of cola and a polite smile, opting to observe the kids—one in particular—rather than mingle with the others. He’s trying to go for a cool, detached vibe but he suspects his grip on the glass is rather telling.

A loud “Are you okay, Sirius?” distracts him from his intent perusal. He turns to look at one of the mothers looking at him in concern and smiles at her.

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s just—this is Harry’s first party and I don’t often see him around kids his age.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I know he has friends, Miss Katherine keeps me updated on that but this—” He nods towards the laughing gaggle of kids who’ve moved on to something that involves various balls, a net, and three separate kinds of bats that he can’t make any sense of. “—it’s pretty novel for me.”

He can almost hear the ‘awwww’ his answer garners and barely represses a grimace. So much for not coming across as an over attached weirdo.

“Well, we meet up pretty often with the kids—parks, theme parks, day visits and the like, so you’re welcome to join us anytime.” she smiles kindly and and it’s…such a small thing but Sirius is hit with a wave of gratitude so hard he’s almost dizzy with it.

For the past few years, he’s been doing this thing alone—he hasn’t regretted a minute of it, not when it was the only option that gave him the chance to be with Harry, to see him grow up like this—and it’s been…tough, to say the least. He has minimal contact with others in their world, only occasionally enters wixen spaces because he’s so deathly afraid of someone coming near Harry. Remus comes by occasionally but he’s travelling, more often than not, and Sirius doesn’t have it in to fight for his attention the way he used to, not when he’s trying to parent full time in an unfamiliar environment. Some days, Sirius feels like he’s drowning and there’s not enough air in his lungs to keep him afloat. The grief of being not just lonely, but alone is too heavy to bear. Some days, he feels like he’s failing not just his godson but his dead best friend whom he promised his life and soul to. How can he take care of Harry the way he deserves if he’s barely living himself?

It’s why the innocent offer of kiddie dates has his clearing his throat alarmingly loud. It’s an olive branch he hasn’t received before, not in the barren landscape he’s found himself in.

“Thank you. I…I really appreciate that,” he says, trying but unable to express how much it means to him. He’s saved from trying to justify his disproportionately emotional reaction by an excited Harry barrelling straight into his knees.

“Siri, Siri, Siri!” he chants, fingers curling into the rips of his jeans. “Guess what?”

Sirius taps his chin with one finger, exaggerated look of concentration on his face. “Hmmm. The sky is purple today?” Harry, bless him, actually looks up to check that one before shaking his head rapidly. “Okay, is the ground made of chocolate?”

“How can ground be choc’ate?” Harry asks with a look of confused wonder thrown over his back. It’s the look of contemplation that gets Sirius, who immediately backtracks as he realises the possible consequences of his words.

“No no, it can’t be. It was just be being a dum-dum, babe.” He leans forward to pluck Harry off he ground, seating him comfortably on his knees. “Will you please tell me what’s up now?”

Harry leans in close, conspiratorial grin on his face. “Emma said she wan’s to p’ay soccer after we eat our food.”

“Did she, really?” Sirius gasps. “That makes it convenient, doesn’t it?”

“Uh huh,” Harry nods his head so hard he almost falls back, if not for Sirius’ hand coming to rest protectively over his back, large enough that it covers most of it.

“Woah, you’ve to be careful there, baby. What if you fell over?” Sirius frets, tightening his grip on his godson and looking him over carefully. He didn’t fall, but that didn’t mean his heart wasn’t in his mouth at the near-miss. Instead of Harry laughing it off, or telling him he was being silly, though, he gets a large pout and crossed arms in response. He blinks, taken aback.

“Padfoot, no!”

“…No?”

“I’m not a baby. I’m a big boy now.” Harry had the most serious look on his face and Sirius doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His baby boy, five years old, and already claiming to be too grown up for pet names. What next, he’d pack a suitcase and leave without a goodbye?

He looks helplessly at the other parents—surely they’d know how to deal with this—and feels a prick of betrayal at the smiles they were trying to hide into their hands and behind their drinks.

“But…ba—honey, that’s not fair,” Sirius says—not whines but says in a perfectly adult-like tone.

“Not fairs?” Harry squints.

“You’ll always be my baby, what would I do if I can’t call you that?”

“But—but Emma and Char’ie and Ria aren’t babies,” he pouts, hands fiddling with the dog tags around Sirius’ neck.

“Did they tell you that?” Sirius asks gently, waiting for his kid’s nod before leaning down to place a long kiss to his brow. “Well, they’re not my babies, that’s for sure. That position’s only for you, my love.”

“Even if imma big boy?” Harry mumbles under his breath, fingers now firmly twisted into the silver chain.

“Especially if you’re a big boy,” Sirius confirms. He smooths a hand down Harry’s side, squeezing comfortingly. “And I bet if you ask their mums and dads, they’ll say the same thing.”

“Really?” Harry looked up at him with wide green eyes. Sirius nods, nudging him towards Rosalie, who’d been watching their interaction with a small smile playing on her lips. “You can go ask Ms Rosalie, if you want.” Harry chews on his lip for a second, contemplating, before letting out a firm nod and ‘Otay!’ One final squeeze and Sirius lets him clamber off his lap and towards the hostess.

“Ms Rosie! Ms Rosie!” he calls, adorably butchering her name though her smile says she doesn’t mind. “May I ask you a thing?”

“Of course you may, Mr. Harry,” she replies with an equal amount of seriousness in her voice.

Harry leans in close, turning his head this way and that, perhaps to check for eavesdroppers? “Is it true that Emma isn’t a baby no more?”

Rosalie covers her mouth with one hand, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, I know she thinks so but can I tell you a secret, Harry?” His godson nods eagerly, head dipping even further. “Between you and me, she’s still my baby, even if she’s six years old.”

Harry gasps, looking at her with wide eyes before turning back to look at Sirius who’s been watching the whole thing play out. He winks at him and Harry’s mouth falls open a little.

“That’s an adorable kid you’ve got there,” he hears from the space next to him and answers without taking his eyes off his kid. “I know, he’s the best.” Just as he does, Harry comes running back to him.

“Sirius!”

“Harry!” he echoes.

“I speaked to Ms. Rosie—”

“I spoke, love.”

“—Mhm, tha’s what I said. I spoke to Ms. Rosie and she said,” he leans in close, and though his whisper’s loud enough to be heard by everyone it’s the intent that matters, “that Emma’s still a baby.”

Sirius spreads his arms in a ‘there you go’ manner that Harry interprets for a hug—not that anyone’s complaining—climbing onto him like a portable jungle gym and making himself comfortable on his lap.

“So, are we agreed then?” Sirius tweaks his nose. “You’re still my baby?”

“I suppose.” Harry heaves a great sigh, and the sound of it is so incongruous to the tiny body it’s emanating from that Sirius was lost to raucous laughter before he’d even realised it.

#sirius black #harry potter #good godfather sirius black #sirius and harry saturday #listen this literally ran away from me it was supposed to be a drabble #now it’s over 3k of literally pointless fluff like wtf #i was having way too much fun with this universe #there’s a gratuitous overuse of petnames here #and sirius being so smitted w his baby boy #also am i trying to create an army of irrelevant one time use ocs that would give sirius the support he deserves? mayhaps #none of them r too important in the larger scheme but they have roles to play #also toddler/kid speech patterns r still foreign to me #so forgive continuity errors pls thx #this entire thing started from me wanting to write harry saying ‘i’m not a baby #i’m a big boy’ and sirius just being. floored. just : o #i think i’ve succeeded?#also i hope i conveyed the vibe that sirius and baby harry can go on for hours uninterrupted #no issue is too big or small for them #harry isn’t the only motormouth in this household ;)#pen’s writing #pen’s favourites

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