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Harry Potter doesn’t date. It is a well-established sort of fact, a shield he hides behind in his fourth and fifth and sixth years: that he would worry too much for the safety of his potential partner’s life, what with Voldemort lurking in the shadows of every corridor, trying to end Harry’s own life. It isn’t untrue, per se; Harry would have worried about this, had he any interest in dating someone other than a man he can’t have. You fall in love with your godfather one time and suddenly no one in the world can compare — it’s an affliction, really. Perhaps common in those with too-attractive godfathers, but no one seems to have done a study on such things.
Harry’s dating excuses disintegrate with the death of Lord Voldemort.
To say Harry is popular when he returns to Hogwarts for his eighth year is an understatement. He was simply popular at eleven; at eighteen, he has rescued Hogwarts and the British wizarding world under everyone's eyes. It is the stuff of legends. And, unfortunately, it seems to be rather attractive for people.
Harry has been asked out half a dozen times in his first week alone when he throws caution to the wind and lies, "Sorry, I'm already dating Sirius Black."
Martin, who before now was the most determined of Harry's admirers, takes a step back. "The only man to escape Azkaban without aid, that Sirius Black? The man whose wanted posters haunted the corridors and the Alley for years? The man with the highest Death Eater kill count during the war?"
Harry nods. "That's him."
Martin squeaks and takes another step back. "Mr. Potter, I wish you luck with your scholarly pursuits because that's the only context I've ever thought of you."
Harry breathes a sigh of relief when Martin flees from the library. "Now I can get back to studying."
"I don't think it's studying that's on your mind," Ron says.
Harry considers it for a moment. "Yeah, that's true. But if Sirius wants to complain, he has to come here in person.”
By the end of the day, it is all around the school: Harry Potter is off-limits. It’s a return to Harry’s previous state, except instead of Voldemort as the shadow preventing lips from drawing too close, it is now his godfather, Sirius Black. Probably his very public killing of Bellatrix Lestrange during the final battle puts people off; the duel, Harry was told, was spectacular. He wasn’t around to see it, having slipped away to deal with the horcrux in his scar. At the time, it seemed more important, but Harry’s still bummed he missed it. The later portion of the battle gave Sirius a slew of new gray hairs, as he would tell Harry, but he was the first person to embrace Harry after the battle. To hug him so tightly that it hurt, to remind Harry of just what he fought for: the chance to watch Sirius live a life of peace, something his godfather had never properly been acquainted with. Hell, neither has Harry. It’s a learning curve for the both of them.
There’s a stark divide in Harry’s mind between before and after Voldemort. His different dating excuses aside, the whole world is different now. New and shiny, and full of hope.
Harry’s never been filled with an abundance of hope, just grit and determination, but there’s embers of it burning now.
It feels like anything is possible in this new world. And maybe it is — or maybe he’ll fall flat on his face and Sirius won’t speak to him for years.
“Stop trying to suffocate yourself with a pillow, I’m trying to sleep here,” Ron groans from the next bed over.
“What if he’s not interested?”
“What if we got eight hours of sleep?”
Harry sighs. It might be said that Ron and Hermione have received an over-sized share of Harry’s woes, considering that they’d all been stuck in a tent together for months, and Harry only had scant reports of Sirius on the Potterwatch radio. Of Sirius’ bravery in helping smuggle people out of the country, of the coded messages he sometimes left for Harry with Lee Jordan. Harry would have fallen for him from those messages alone, had it not already been too late for him. The depth of care in Sirius’ messages, even if platonic, couldn’t be denied.
He’d hesitated in returning to Hogwarts after the war, even. Hermione more or less dragged Harry and Ron into the castle by the ears, saying that education would always come before love. Thankfully for Ron, she doesn’t mind education and love running concurrently.
For three glorious days, not a single soul asks Harry out.
And by the end of the week, Harry sits on the red and gold carpet in the Gryffindor common room, late enough that it is empty of people, and sees Sirius's face in the fire.
"I heard this rumor yesterday," Sirius says. His eyes are light with more than flames.
Harry looks back at him, unabashed. He’s given this quite a bit of thought and decided that it’s the same way as yelling up at a broomstick: you have to be confident about it. "You should do something about it. Rumors have to be dealt with, otherwise they'll stick around."
His face is so close to the flames that he can almost feel them against his skin. With the floo powder that enables their conversation, there is no heat, only pressure. Only Sirius on the other side.
"Do you think so?" Sirius asks, not quite a question. He’s already found the answer.
So has Harry.
"Yeah," Harry replies, and dips his head through fire.
In the space between their two lives, there is bright flame and shadows of a face, and it is easy to press a kiss against Sirius's lips. Especially when Sirius kisses him back in turn, slow and solid and perfect. Harry almost tumbles through the floo in his enthusiasm. He holds himself back. It’s not time yet. They’d only just started dating a few days ago, after all.