if harry was raised by sirius his first word would have been ‘motherfucker’
Harry leaned out of his high chair, spoon waving madly. Sirius was covered head to toe in orange glop that had supposedly once been carrots promised the Wee Whiz Wizard’s Whipped can, but smelled more like his mother after one of her binges in the lavatory. He wanted to cry. He wasn’t cut out for this. Remus was out at the market, for Christ’s sake, and all he wanted was a damn harpy’s motherfucking second of peace.
Harry gurgled with glee, and Sirius winced. He hadn’t meant to say that last bit aloud. “Uncle Padfoot loves you,” he promised Harry, who grinned several gapped teeth up at him between slightly crossed green eyes. Remus kept pestering Sirius to get him glasses, but it was a bit difficult, wasn’t it, on the run from Dumbledore. They were only 21 after all, well, now Sirius was… he couldn’t bear to think of his last birthday with James, and the lump rose in his throat again like it did almost every time Harry looked at him and tried to ask for what he was saying now.
“Ma-”
“Harry, please,” Sirius’ voice was raspy and harsh, the way it always got when he was choked up. He tried to bark a laugh to clear it, but it only came out worse.
“Motherfucker,” he said helplessly, completely defeated by orange carrots and tarps on the windows of their latest pop-up camp in the city just long enough for Remus to run to a muggle mart. And Harry grabbed at the air, searching for-
“Ma-”
“Mama isn’t here right now,” Sirius forced himself to say, trying to grin weakly. “Uncle Padfoot. Can you say ‘Padfoot’? Yes? PA-DA-FOOT?”
Harry giggled and flung his spoon hard at Sirius’ face, where it slid squelching down his unstyled bangs to stick in his hair.
“Motherfucking good aim you’ve got,” he said bracingly, trying to smile again. “James will be furious if you turn out to be a chas-”
But it was no good. Even saying James’ name out loud had broken Sirius’ weak defenses. “I can’t keep doing this!” he told Harry wildly, springing up from the chair where he had been perched. The spoon clattered loudly to the ground as he picked up the back of the chair and slammed it satisfyingly into the ground. “I - (slam) - CAN’T - (slam) - keep - mother-” but his slams lost heart halfway through and he leaned heavily onto the back of the orange plastic. He had knicked it from a bin where it had been broken, only easily mended by reparo and a few parts Sirius had easily conjured up. At school, Dynamica and later Occultineering had been his favorite electives. Before the war he had wanted to go into spellcasting research but -
“Motherfucker,” he said quietly, looking at the toddler covered in the same mess of orange paste he was. “All right,” he told Harry. “It settles it. No more carrots.”
“Motha-” Harry chirped.
Sirius shook his head. Harry could say a handful of words - he was a year and a half after all - he refused to be like Remus and measure Harry’s life in asinine monthly segments. But Harry could really only make sense with his gestures. Mama. Dada. Baba. and of course yay! and no!
He had been asking for Lily all month.
Remus had put up paltry decorations. “For Harry’s sake,” he had smiled wanly, but Sirius knew it was for his. To keep from going completely mad. Sirius stared unblinking at an actually frightfully sloshed looking Santa Claus with extra rosy cheeks before he swooped down with two fingers to pick up the spoon.
“Motha!” cheered Harry.
“Not quite,” Sirius said with a forced smile. He threw the spoon towards the sink of the tiny kitchen and only because he was so angry did he miss it entirely, spattering the walls with more pureed carrots.
“For fuck’s sake,” he swore.
“Fahk!” Harry screeched.
“Harry?” Sirius turned, spoon forgotten somewhere on the carpet of the den. “Oh Harry, shit, fuck, Remus is going to kill me. Go back to asking for Lily. Mama? Right? Mother?”
“Motha!” Harry crowed.
Even though it scored Sirius’ heart, he relaxed. “That’s right, Mother.”
“Fakha!”
“Errrr….maybe we can convince Moony that’s Father. Huh bud?”
“I’m home!” Remus called cheerily as he stomped his snow laden boots on the doormat. He was wearing two hats, earmuffs, and two scarves. Only his eyes were visible, and those were disguised behind thick, iris colored spectacles. It was precautionary, even in supposedly muggle-only area.
“No more carrots, please,” Sirius groaned as Remus came into sight, jaw dropping at a smeared Sirius and an equally spattered but gleeful Harry.
“No…” Remus said faintly. “They were out. What happened?”
“Harry doesn’t like carrots,” Sirius said promptly. “And we learned a new word.”
“Lily again?” Remus asked quietly, not meeting Sirius’ eye. His eyes were puffy behind the spell distortion of the glasses. Sirius didn’t need to ask if something in the muggle world had set him off. He could barely look at their godson without gagging on his grief.
“Motha!” Harry agreed.
Remus glanced over, only slightly bemused. “That’s strange,” he started. “Harry usually says-”
“FAHKA!”
Remus glanced quickly at Sirius who was desperately mouthing at Harry to say FATH-ER FATH-ER. The tot ignored him and using his immense powers of concentration usually saved for squeezing out truly rancid flatulence and sucking on orange peels, Harry pronounced: “MOTHA-FAHKA!”
There was a brief, interminable silence then: “SIRIUS!” and the bag of groceries burst apart over Sirius’ head, and the new family laughed hysterically, perhaps for the first time since Halloween.
That is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever read
