I randomly got into a brief Wolfstar Raising Harry mood (I say, as if I haven't been reading all of @impishtubist 's posts) so here, have a fluffy scene.
"What should we have for breakfast today, Pup?" Sirius asked, tying his hair into a messy knot at the back of his head. Harry tapped his chin, humming to himself as if deep in thought.
"Pasketti," he said decisively. Remus snorted from his place at the table, face buried behind the newspaper.
(The crossword was set over in Sirius' usual place already -- he was a gem.)
"'Pasketti,' huh?" Sirius scooped Harry up and perched him on his hip. "You sure you don't want... bacon?"
He tickled Harry's sides, and the boy shook his head, giggling.
"No!"
"How about... eggs?"
"No!"
Sirius gasped in mock-hurt.
"Not even pancakes?"
"Noooo!" Harry moaned, and flopped over Sirius' arms like a particularly wriggly tea towel. "Pasketti!"
"You heard the lad," Remus said solemnly, safely ensconced behind the Prophet so Harry couldn't see him laughing -- but Sirius could see the telltale glint in his eyes. "Perhaps we can have pancakes for supper instead?"
"Yeah!" Harry squealed, his tiny fists flailing excitedly. Sirius pretended to scowl at Remus.
"Don't go giving him ideas!"
(He loved when Remus gave Harry ideas.)
"Not my fault you gave our three-year-old the power to make a decision today."
(He also loved when Remus didn't catch himself before he called Harry theirs.)
"Says the man who let him go about town in a backwards jumper and mismatched welly boots yesterday!" he shot back, archly.
Remus folded the paper, setting it down on the table in front of him, and raised an eyebrow.
"Says the man who took approximately a half dozen pictures before letting us leave the house like that." (Touche.) "Besides, it's important to let him have some autonomy, remember?"
(Low blow, referencing the half-dozen parenting books Sirius had panic-bought when they'd taken Harry home. But a double-edged sword when Remus had read them too.)
"It is," Sirius agreed, "which is why I'm going to ask Haz if he'd like meatballs with his 'pasketti' this morning."
"Yes please!" Harry cheered. Sirius pressed a scratchy kiss to his forehead.
"Only since you asked so nicely, little man!"
He wondered, sometimes, if James would have made his son spaghetti and meatballs for breakfast. If Lily would have let him wear mismatched welly boots to jump into puddles with. If they'd have joked around their kitchen like this, so full of love they could burst.
Maybe. Probably. But they'd never know now, so it was up to Sirius and Remus to make up the difference.
It wasn't perfect. Merlin knew they had bad days too, days where Harry was throwing fits about everything from his shirt being itchy to his feet not being detachable (that was a strange one), or worse: days when he'd wake up screaming. There were moon-nights and whisky nights and nights where he and Remus spoke in sheathed daggers, fingers dancing on the hilt -- try me, come on. Give me an excuse.
But they had been through the worst thing they could imagine and survived it, so now they had a new worst thing instead, something they had already gotten a taste of.
(Hours after they'd ensured Harry was okay, Sirius had caught Remus ugly-crying in the loo because he was the one who'd fed him grapes, and Sirius cried with him because he hadn't thought to stop him.)
It was worth it. Harry was worth it.
So they made 'pasketti' and took Harry for strolls after the rain and laughed at what an awful mess they all were at the end of it all, so full of love they could burst.
Sirius set a little plate down on the table with pasta and meatballs cut up into toddler-sized bites, and Harry grabbed his little fork without even looking up.
"What do you say?" Remus prompted. Harry shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth as Sirius started to sit down.
"Thank you, Daddy."
Sirius froze.
He exchanged a brief, shocked glance with Remus, whose eyebrows had nearly vanished behind his fringe.
Act natural, his eyes screamed.
"You're welcome, baby," Sirius managed, barely, and sat.
And breathed.
In. Out.
(James was probably laughing at him from beyond the veil, the bastard. Lily too. Twats, both of them. He missed them so much. And he was grateful, in a guilty, twisting way, that they had given him this.)
Watched What We Do in the Shadows again last night and I can’t stop thinking in Deacon’s ridiculous accent. Also, thinking about every single one of my Vampire/World of Darkness OCs at the same time.
