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It was like a dream to Harry, staying at Grimmauld Place during school breaks. Sure, the house was old and cursed and miserable but it was so much more loving than Privet Drive had ever been. It had less to do with the house, honestly, and more to do with the people. Well. One person in particular. Sirius. Harry was so excited to have a connection to his parents and a father figure in his life that was close to him. And Sirius seemed just as happy to have Harry close.
Molly worried, because of course she did. She’d been the first parental figure to adopt Harry, however informally. And Harry would always love her for that. But there was something different in his relationship with Sirius. Maybe because he was actually his godfather and knew him as a baby, however briefly. Or maybe it had to do with Molly already having seven children of her own while Harry was Sirius’ only priority. Whatever it was, moments where it was just Harry and Sirius alone together were precious in a way that made Harry’s heart overflow, making him feel both vulnerable and so very safe.
Harry wondered if this is what it felt like to have a real father, one who actually loved and looked out for him. Then there were the times that he saw a mischievious glint in Sirius’ eye that felt more like a mate than a parent. Harry wouldn’t have it any other way even if he didn’t totally understand it. He took everything he could get from the older man. Although, as his fifth year started moving forward, something felt off inside him. Amongst all the teenage emotion, too adult conflicts, and general school stress, something felt… empty. It wasn’t until Harry came back to Grimmauld for the Easter hols that he got a chance to feel what it might be.
Hermione had a trip already planned with her parents and Ron’s family were visiting Charlie in Romania so it was only Harry and the occasional Order member at Grimmauld. The Order members came and went, even Remus unable to stay for long, so most evenings it was just the two of them. It was several nights into his week there that a nightmare changed everything.
When Harry stayed with everyone else, they were all scattered among the many rooms of the old house. This time, since it was mainly just the two of them, Sirius insisted on Harry staying in the room beside his, just in case. Harry felt warmed by the gesture, even if he thought it unnecessary. He may not have been doing well with Occlumency but he hoped he could keep his nightmares at bay while staying with his godfather. Unfortunately, while he was able to stave off visions from Voldemort, regular nightmares were another story. And one he wasn’t prepared for.
He was young. Much younger than he’d been in a long time. Why was he so small? He was standing on his cot in the cupboard under the stairs, his hands pounding against the door. It was locked. The slats were closed so he was in almost total darkness. His throat hurt from crying. His crotch and bum burned. He was wearing an old, full diaper. Wasn’t he too old for nappies? Finally, footsteps from upstairs. Maybe someone was coming to help him get cleaned up! The pain would stop and he could settle down. Unfortunately, that was not how his uncle or aunt worked.
Something bigger than his own little fist slammed against the outside of the cupboard door, causing Harry to shriek and jump back. Then Vernon’s booming voice, “Cease your wailing, boy! If you want a reason to cry, I can give you one!”
Harry couldn’t stop the small whimper he let out in response. Aunt Petunia didn’t like him but she probably would have at least let him change. Uncle Vernon was another story. Harry didn’t understand why Uncle Vernon hated him so much but even his young eyes could see that. Unfortunately, Vernon took that small whimper as a form of backtalk and the cupboard door was suddenly ripped open. Harry was blinded by the bright hall lights for an instant before Uncle Vernon’s bulk blocked it out.
“You’re just a filthy little brat,” Vernon spat, reaching into the dark closet to drag Harry forward by the loose neck of his hand-me-down shirt. He hoped that maybe he would get the chance to change, even if Uncle Vernon was so much more mean about it. But instead of a helping hand, like any child should have, Harry only got backhanded back into the dark cupboard and the door was slammed shut again, the lock clicking ominously. “Disgusting child,” Vernon sneered before storming back up the stairs.
Harry curled in on himself. His crotch still burned but now his face burned as well. But Uncle Vernon got his way. Harry kept his cries quieted in his pillow and did not bang on the locked door again. He tried to distract himself from the feeling of the wet nappy. He considered pulling it off but he had memories of wetting his bed and being forced to sleep with the same blankets until the smell finally got to be too much for Aunt Petunia. So he huddled in the corner, trying to keep to the foot of his little cot, and praying that he didn’t need to pee anymore before the sun came up and he was let out to do chores.
Unfortunately, Harry was never so lucky. It wasn’t much later that his bladder began to feel full, an ache that took over his whole abdomen. He knew if he let it go he would make an already horrible mess so much worse. He couldn’t do that. He had to hold it. He had to. But he wasn’t sure that he could. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes again as the pain spread into his belly, making him feel sick. He wasn’t going to be able to hold it. He was going to pee himself again.
“Harry?”
Who was that? That voice was too kind. No one in this house would treat him so kindly. He must be hearing things.
“Harry, wake up.”
But he was awake. What were they talking about? Harry looked around the dark to see if he could spot where the voice came from but there was nothing. Then the floor dropped out from under him, his bladder let go, and the wail of anguish he let out was suddenly from a deeper voice.
“Oh Harry.”
Harry became aware quite suddenly that he was in a much more comfortable bed than his little cot in the cupboard. And his crotch was suddenly very warm and wet. And he wasn’t alone. He couldn’t stop himself from shrinking under the covers with a whimper. How could he have done this? Wasn’t he grown up? Yet here he was wetting himself like a child. He was going to be hit again and he would deserve it. Just like when he was back at Privet Drive.
“No no, come here, sweet boy.”
Finally the voice registered. Sirius?
Now Harry’s face burned with embarrassment. He didn’t even fully register the words before the blanket was gently pulled away from his head. Harry tried to cling to the blanket but Sirius’ calloused fingers softly unkinked Harry’s own fingers and pulled the blanket away.
“No, honey. Please don’t hide from me,” Sirius cooed softly. Once he’d extricated Harry from the blanket, he pulled him up from the bed and into an embrace. Harry couldn’t stop himself from clinging to Sirius’ nightshirt as he was wracked with sobs he hadn’t realized he was releasing yet. Sirius’ hand on his back was soft, rubbing circles into Harry’s spine and shoulder as he muttered reassurances. It was several minutes before the tears exhausted themselves but the embarrassment that took its place blazed across Harry’s face like a wildfire, shame weighing his shoulders down.
“‘m sorry,” Harry muttered, trying to pull himself away from Sirius. This was just awful. “I—I didn’t mean to—to wake you.”
“Oh no, sweet boy,” Sirius insisted just as gently as before. “Don’t be sorry. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? If you never want to speak of this again in the morning, then it didn’t happen. But right now, let me take care of you. Alright?”
Harry bit his lip, unsure how to feel about the touch of warmth that tried to hold it’s own in the maelstrom of embarrassment and shame in Harry’s heart. Eventually, he nodded, letting Sirius coax him out of the bed and lead him down the hall to the bathroom. He tried to help Sirius prepare the bath but was firmly told to let him. Eventually, all Harry could do was stand to the side, nervously fiddling with his nightshirt. He slowly became more aware of his wet pants and sleep clothes again and cringed at the awful sensation. Just as he’d begun to fixate on it, Sirius had the bath plugged and running at the right temperature. He turned back to Harry.
“Come here, sweetheart. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
Harry felt both embarrassed and comforted. He was supposed to be grown up. Sure he wasn’t an adult yet but he was fifteen. Too old to be babied like this, right? But the gentleness of Sirius’ hands and voice were like a balm on Harry’s raw nerves and abused emotions. So he pushed any idea of right or okay aside and nodded, letting Sirius help him out of his clothes. He felt so small standing in front of Sirius completely naked. But he trusted the man. When he said he would take care of him, Harry trusted he would.
Sirius led him into the bath and settled him into the warm water before taking his own shirt off. Harry wondered if the older man was going to join him but he simply set his nightshirt aside, tied up his hair, and took the flannel from the side of the tub. He wetted and soaped it before gently washing Harry’s body. It was a strange comfort but Harry let himself sink into it. He let Sirius’ larger hands move him and clean him. Maybe feeling so small wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe this is what he’d missed when he really was small. Maybe… would Sirius be okay with doing this… again? Harry barely dared to let the thought form.
Too soon, the flannel was set aside. Harry hadn’t even noticed Sirius cleaning his private parts but he could feel the cleanliness. Had Harry drifted off? He did feel a bit soft and floaty. He worried it was over but it was an unfounded fear. Sirius only coaxed him forward and then back to wet his hair. Harry couldn’t remember the feeling of anyone ever washing his hair for him. Surely his parents did when he was a baby and Aunt Petunia must have when he was little but he couldn’t recall. However he knew he would never forget the feeling of Sirius’ long pianist fingers working through the knots in his curls, soothing shampoo and then conditioner through, periodically scraping his short nails against Harry’s scalp.
A bit of a tug on a stronger knot had Harry releasing a noise he’d never heard himself make before. A breathy moan. He froze. He made it inappropriate. Sirius was going to pull away and never touch him again. He’d only gotten a small taste of care and already ruined it. His thoughts were beginning a rapid spiral when Sirius’ strong hand closed over the back of Harry’s neck. He didn’t understand how the weighted hold caused the thoughts to quiet but he could suddenly hear that Sirius was talking to him.
“Hey. It’s okay. Breathe, Harry,” Sirius muttered, pressing his fingers into the sides of Harry’s neck like a light massage. “It’s okay, sweet boy. You’re allowed to feel good. I want you to feel better, okay? Don’t worry. Don’t think. Just let yourself be. Let me take care of you.”
After several slow breathes, Harry forced himself to nod, only then noticing that his head had fallen forward. His wet hair dripped around his face and Sirius continued to massage the tension in his neck. His thoughts still tried to run away with himself but Sirius continued saying sweet things so close to his ear that eventually drowned out his own thoughts. It was such a wonderful, soft feeling.
“There you are, sweetheart. Let it go. You carry so much. Not tonight. All you need to do is be soft. Just be my good boy.”
Harry could swear he felt a soft kiss on the shell of his ear but he couldn’t be sure. Everything around him felt so fuzzy. It was a lovely feeling that Harry wished he could keep with him all the time. He barely felt it when Sirius coaxed him back one last time to rinse his hair. He only noticed the tub plug had been pulled when he began to feel a slight chill on his wet skin. Sirius didn’t let it last, though. Pulling Harry up to standing and wrapping him in a magically warmed towel. Sirius let him stay wrapped in that towel like a blanket while he took another and rubbed Harry’s hair dry, or as close as his thick curls could get with a towel. Once that was discarded, Sirius led Harry out of the tub and towel dried his body, just as gently and attentively as he had been with the flannel. This time Harry was noticing a bit more of the touches but was so distant from it all. He felt floaty and safe.
Safe.
Loved.
Treasured.
Huh.
These were… new. Not entirely new but Harry had never felt it like this before. He was almost scared to lose it. He never got to hold onto good things. But as if sensing his thoughts, Sirius stood from drying Harry’s legs and feet and wrapped him in an almost smothering hug. Harry tightened for a split second before he sank into Sirius’ arms. They simply stood there for several minutes, swaying slightly as Sirius’ arms and soft voice chased away Harry’s fears and insecurities. The tiled floor eventually began to chill again and Sirius led Harry down the hall again. This time they passed Harry’s room, still filthy with his shame but Sirius wouldn’t let him dwell. He led Harry into his own room and bundled him into the bed.
Harry didn’t even have a chance to wonder before Sirius slid into the bed beside him and pulled Harry to his still bare chest. Harry found a comfortable place to pillow his head among Sirius’ tattoos and his godfather’s hand slid into his hair, lightly stroking. Harry made a comfortable noise, another that he didn’t even realize he could make. This time, when Sirius’ other arm wrapped around him and a kiss was placed against his forehead, Harry definitely felt it. And it made him feel warm. Safe. Loved.
Just before he slipped off to sleep, he caught one last mutter from Sirius, “No matter what happens, you’re still my sweet boy and you always deserved to be taken care of.”
It was only a short month and a half later that Voldemort tricked Harry into chasing after his godfather in the Department of Mysteries. A mistake that led to his godfather’s death. That regret and hurt would scar Harry for the rest of his life. It was many years before he let himself open the memory of that night that Sirius showed him a softness that would fill the cracks in his soul. It still hurt to remember the loss of what could have been but Harry also thanked Sirius for taking the chance to show him what that kind of care could feel like. And eventually, he would be able to find another Daddy. It would take many years and so much more loss and pain. But Harry is strong and cares about others with all of his being.
He’ll receive his reward in time.
He’ll carry the memory of Sirius teaching him that he can accept it.
And if that was all Sirius could give Harry in their short time together, it was enough.
Because Harry has always been enough.