#like besides you know not funding a bigoted asshole

[quidfree]

hi! hope you're well and that you're having a good day:) I absolutely adore LMV - I genuinely think it's the best fic I've ever read. anyway, the point of this ask was that I was wondering whether you had any thoughts about sirius as a godfather? like, was he suited for the job, did he actually do a good job... idk, maybe you've answered that question before, in that case, sorry! and ofc don't stress abt answering:))

this is so nice of you ty!!!

ive never talked about dogfather sirius, actually!! what an interesting pair of questions.... i would have to say a qualified yes to both?

was sirius suited for the job: personality-wise, maybe not entirely (raising a child alone in the event of jily deaths would have been Rough, and he’s not exactly a stable parental unit, not to mention he would have spoiled harry rotten), BUT he has the most important prerequisite, which is undying love and loyalty for the potters and for harry, and that means he would have done everything in his power to be a good parent figure to him, which is what really matters, so. not to mention that jily realistically weren’t contemplating he would have to be godfather alone for the majority of harry’s life- with jily around he could have been just The Coolest Godfather Ever instead of harry’s first living parental figure who didn’t treat him like shit.

did he actually do a good job? i would say a resounding yes. bearing in mind he was stuck in azkaban for twelve years (let’s not get into that), we only actively see him godparent harry for three years (plus when he was a baby). obviously baby harry was spoilt v much by his dogfather; what we see of sirius + teen harry also speaks favourably of him, i think. ok, little bit of a rough start what with the unhinged prisoner vibe, but the FIRST thing sirius does when free is go check up on harry- and he keeps tabs via crookshanks etc once at school, knows his interests well enough to send him the firebolt, and he values harry’s opinions enough to not murder peter on the spot despite his thirteen year revenge vendetta. obviously, the fact harry is the spitting image of someone sirius hasnt seen except for in his nightmares for over a decade doesn’t hurt, but he’s just so awkwardly sweet to harry afterwards- when he offers harry to come live with him, expecting him to refuse and completely understanding of it, it’s so endearing (and it always broke my heart how excited they both were about it- i bet sirius was thinking about another time a potter asked to live together). and from the start sirius ALWAYS speaks to harry like a whole person, not a child to be kept in the dark (which, if everyone else had done, looking at you dumbledore...)- the speech he gives him before he escapes is so important for harry to hear, especially from someone who knew his parents. sirius is always so careful to tell harry things about james and lily. now, it’s not that sirius treating harry like an adult would be ideal on its own, and i do think in part the issue is that he skipped his entire childhood and harry looks so much like james, but i also don’t think sirius actually treats harry too much like a grown man, apart from slipups- just like a grown teen. he advises him against threats, tells him the edgy backstories harry SHOULD know (and no other adult ever wants to tell him), looks after him as best he can (HE LIVES IN A CAVE EATING BONES TO LOOK OUT FOR HIM), listens to his teen melodrama. even when he’s fucking up by encouraging harry’s risk-taking i don’t think he’s treating him like an adult- he’s treating him like a *marauder*, because at that age, that’s what he or james would have done; being able to make informed choices is what sirius would have wanted at his age. i don’t think molly or sirius necessarily have the better argument- both make good points; sirius gets what harry wants and molly gets what harry might need even if he doesn’t want it, but that makes perfect sense- molly is an older woman who’s raised seven children, and sirius is in his early thirties and lived with kids for (1) year. james and sirius were order members by age /eighteen/ and sirius was in azkaban at /twenty-one/- he was basically a kid HIMSELF before he got put in the torture prison. i always found it so unfair that literally none of the other adults ever mention the debilitating mental issues he must be suffering from- remember the lifelong PTSD hagrid got from a MONTH there???- and that’s without even mentioning dumbledore’s purposeful exacerbating of them. not to say that mental health excuses poor parenting, but sirius both /isn’t a parent/ and really does very well at filling that role anyways, on the whole, so i think he can be cut some slack for once in his life. harry loves sirius SO MUCH and sirius loves him right back- and sirius teaches him some of the most important lessons in the whole series, even if he himself never managed to learn them- lessons that i really think shape the adult harry becomes, and the kind of lessons his parents might have taught him. so overall i’d give him kudos- and considering the absolute bullshit he’s living through, with james and lily dead, azkaban sucking the light out of him for over a decade, peter running free, and dumbledore QUARANTINING HIM IN THE HOUSE WHERE HIS ABUSIVE DEAD MOTHER IS (?!?!), i would say he does a stellar fucking job.

anyways harry & sirius’ relationship is so important to the series- even the GP was upset when sirius dies in OOTP, largely because everyone could see how bad it hit harry. that scene in dumbledore’s office? oof. they just care about each other so v much and we were robbed of a lifetime of sirius as harry’s absolute fav adult. if sirius had held onto harry that day- if dumbledore hadn’t decided to place him with abusive bigots for a plan which would only pay off by OOTP- i honestly think sirius would have outlived the series. because with harry he’d have been less unhinged by grief, able to testify properly, gotten support from other order members, not gone to azkaban- and with harry he would have had a reason to live. thirteen years of raising harry would have made harry the snarky little fucker he is at his core by age eleven, confident and happy and very good at quidditch indeed; thirteen years would have made sirius as whole as he can get. they would have patched things up with remus. there’d be no OOTP tragedy of errors. sirius would have punched dumbledore at some point. harry would have sent a pic of him and his new friends over week 1 of hogwarts and sirius would have punched through a wall and then calmly strolled over to hogwarts and taken ron’s pet rat over to minerva mcgonnagal, where unspeakable things happened to it. he would have gently butted heads with hermione (but won her over via crookshanks if nothing else) and gotten on very well with ron; snape would barely have been able to be such a dick to him because sirius would have gleefully sent him howlers for every minute of his day until he cracked. lucius on the school board terrorizing the other parents? not on sirius “billionaire heir to the toujours pur line” black’s watch- he’d happily invest even more obnoxious wealth into the school fund to get first call, not to mention lucius’ imperius excuse would not get very far with sirius around. “who’s nicholas flamel? we can’t ask adults- we’d get in trouble with the teachers and our parents are either muggles or wouldn’t know- oh wait nevermind, sirius, who’s nicholas flamel?” no more expelliarmus-ing for four years; harry Trained Duellist By Age 11 more like. dobby the house-elf? oi dobby sirius is family too- now spit it all out, won’t you? chamber of secrets? yeah, sirius knows what that is. parseltongue? yeah, sirius is familiar, and fuck those other kids for being weird to harry about it, does he want to come home for the holidays? weird creepy diary? oh, sirius’ family will have Magicke Moste Evile around somewhere. book 3 is just Harry’s Holiday: The Book because there’s no sirius subplot. you think snape would have dared treat remus the way he does with sirius hovering around paying half his checks? i think the fuck not. you bet your ass they had box seats for the whole of gryffindor house at the Quidditch World Cup. barty crouch? yeah, sirius knows THAT asshole- and remembers his son. catch harry whizzing through all the challenges minus the nerves ahead of time while sirius and remus do half the investigating for him. yule ball? no sweat, just go with ron; that’s what james and sirius would have done. if the maze went the way it goes in the books, “moody” wouldn’t even have been able to drag harry off without sirius intervening. and sirius “ptsd” black would have been The One Person who Got harry’s feelings in OOTP- not to mention sirius Skilled Legilimens black could have coopted that shit from snape and gotten harry up to scratch. sirius-raised-harry would have given umbridge twice as much shit. no kreacher lying here- and harry has sirius’ mirror anyways. so no massive drama in the ministry, and no suicidal recklessness / desperate first taste of freedom on sirius’ part means no veil incident even if they got there. hence book six through seven going Quite Differently. sirius shows up book six to be DADA teacher, why not. him and remus think it’d be funny, and besides he’s petty enough to steal the job from snape. move over firenze, new hot teacher in town. half the books are avoidable.

[sanctimoniousscrawlings]

Prompt #1 : Lull of the Forest

 Greenvale is quaint. At least that’s what the townsfolk say. Personally, I’ve never been fond of life here. Half the people here are ignorant and bigoted. They’re nosy and self-serving. Nine times out of ten I’ve found that the thick veneer of kindness and good ol’ fashioned neighborliness is born of duplicity, and to be quite honest it’s exhausting.

 I’ve been saving money to leave since I turned sixteen and got my first job in the town’s only book store- a tiny thing, barely larger than my room back in my apartment. I’ve been thinking of moving to a big city- it may be too crowded for my taste but I’ve found that it has the opposite vibe to small towns. People start out assholish and then turn out to be kind. It’s a pleasant surprise.

  Here I am ten years later with only half the cash I would need to get my own place somewhere I’d actually like to be. I’m scrolling through real estate sites and beginning to reconsider the whole roommate thing, much as I revile the thought of having to live with random strangers when my phone pings. It’s my best friend, Demeter.

 D: omg Riley did you hear  Me: oyg did I hear what?  Me: and are you sure I can’t convince you to come with me  D: Dylan is gone and certainly not, you know I can’t stand urban environments  Me: pls tell me he absconded from the woods with his tail between his legs and the only thing he left behind was a trail of urine  Me: I really don’t want him living next door to me again  D: ...  D: i heard the fairy house is a pretty grizzly scene  Me: wow  Me: guess i won’t have to live next door to him after all. neat.  D: i know he was an asshole but do you need to be so blase about it?  Me: only as much as he needed to chase me with a MIG torch  Me: look, i know you aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead (but honestly he shouldn’t have been such a dick) and I wouldn’t wish death on anyone- but I definitely don’t have to care that he’s gone  Me: besides, he probably pissed off whatever’s in those woods. haven’t you noticed that when the people who live in that house are super cool, the hidden folk just play (mostly) harmless pranks- and they have never ever attacked children  D: no, they just kill the parents and steal the kids  Me: the bad parents. We both know the Bonners were abusing their kids. And pretty heavily. How many times did you call cps on them?  D: ...monthly. But that doesn’t make it right. Those kids are probably scarred for life- and scared.  Me: maybe. I think I might try buying the place tbh- I don’t even have half the money for a place in any of the cities I wanted to move to but I have more than enough for that place. It’ll be a dent in my funds, but I think it will be worth it.  D: what  Me: hear me out: I’m a misanthropist. They are clearly also not fond of people. Maybe we’ll get along. Plus, I can keep the deed to this place to protect the forest from the idiots in town moving in.  D: First of all that’s a stupid idea. Second of all, you’re too kind to be a misanthropist. You’re just a curmudgeon. A philanthropic curmudgeon.  Me: what  Me: that doesn’t even make sense  D: you’re grumpy af but I’ve never seen you do anything to cause even the people you hate the most harm. Hell, how often did you help Dylan with his homework or share your food with the delinquents who couldn’t afford lunch when we were in school.  D: the whole “I hate humankind blah blah blah destroy all humans” thing is just a front because you always had this complex about helping everyone and it kept backfiring. And then after Ashe...  Me: sorry, Demi, gotta go. I’ve got paperwork to fill out.  D: DON’T YOU DARE MOVE INTO THAT HOUSE I S2G RILEY ANDREW FERGUSON

 I know she cares but I really can’t deal with this right now. I’ve got a house to buy.

 For the next two weeks, I avoid Demeter. I love her but she’s overbearing sometimes and I’m not gonna let her talk me out of this. All the paperwork is taken care of and fortunately, my lease was ending at the end of the month so this should prove to be a smooth transition. All my packing is complete and I get to move into my new place in another few days.  My shift ended at the bookstore so I head back to the apartment only to find a grey slip of a man waiting for me.  “Riley Ferguson, there you are. Your presence is required at the law office of Paz & Squalor. If you have some time to accompany me there, I urge you to.” His voice was strained and gravelly. “It concerns the property in the woods.”  “Sure thing. Let’s go.” I wonder if there’s a hitch in the bureaucratic workings and if there is I’m damn well gonna sort it out.

 An hour later and I’m in Ms. Paz’s office. She peers across the desk at me with a grave look on her face and I can see that she’s mulling something over. The look of concern in her eyes is disconcerting.  She starts abruptly, clearly having decided to get on with whatever I’m here for. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Ferguson.”  “Loss?”  “Dylan Daniels. You are Riley Andrew Ferguson, correct?”  I nod, but the confusion on my face doesn’t assuage her concerns.  “He left the house to you in his will. And everything in it.” She opens a dwarer of her desk and pulls out an envelope, clutching it to his chest. “He also left you this.” She extends the envelope across the desk. “Sorry it took so long to get this to you. The police only found his will a few days ago- everyone was unaware he even had one until then. I just need you to sign some things.” She pushes a stack of papers and a nice pen across the desk. I’m too stuned to respond. “Riley.” She pauses and reaches a hand across the desk to squeeze mine. “I know this must be very hard for you. Take all the time you need.”  The next few hours are a blur. I find myself at my desk, clutching the sealed envelope. There’s no way this isn’t some sort of prank. He probably has the entire town in on it- they have always distrusted me here. People gossip about what sort of mental issues I may or may have. “He has the autism,” is the most favored line I hear from the elderly ladies at the old rumor mill. I am a hundred percent sure they don’t even know what autism is- and to be honest that gets to me far more than them actually suggesting I’m on the spectrum. There are worse rumors of course. I have schizophrenia and murdered my own family in a hallucination. Or I’m a sociopath and did it in cold blood. Of course, it doesn’t matter that I was asleep in the back room at work at the time- trying to avoid going home. My boss is a little scenile and his word isn’t good enough to assuage the good people of Greenvale.  They’d probably accuse me of doing Dylan in, too, if it weren’t for his proximity to the woods.  Deep breath. I open the envelope. There’s a letter inside. When I pull it out, another piece of paper drifts down to the floor. It’s stained with graphite- the pencil must have been smeared. I reach down to pick it up and freeze before I can. I recognize my own writing on the small paper. What the actual hell?  I pick it up and read it, wracked with anxiety. It’s a poem. It’s a poem I wrote in eighth grade. A flashback takes me back to when I wrote it. My first real crush on a guy. It was a boy I had P.E. with every year of middle school. I had just started dating a girl I rode the bus home with when I realized that I liked this guy and the poem quite bluntly reflected the turbulent emotions I was feeling at the time. I had a firm grasp on metaphors but even now subtly and nuance elude me when I experience emotion- which happens far more often than I would prefer. More importantly, why would he have this?  How did he even- I’m hit with another memory. I wrote that the day that little demon stabbed me in the hand with a pencil. I still have the black mark under my skin. Bastard gave me my first tattoo. He must have taken it from my binder when I was in the nurse’s office. Okay. But why would he keep this? It was fuel he could have used to burn me before I came out my senior year.  I remember the letter. With some trepidation, I begin to read it.

Riley,

 I was really hoping to tell you this in person. Frankly, I’ve been trying to for years but you evaded me at every turn. You can’t evade me at this one, though. My death ensured that- that is unless you’re not reading this and I misjudged your caliber on the whole fairy house thing. I don’t know, I figure you’d thrive there for some reason. I think Walt Whitman said something about the strongest tree in the forest is the one that sprouts against all odds.

 My eye twitches at the butchering of the quote and that he confused Walt Disney with Walt Whitman, but I carry on.

 Anyways, sorry not sorry for rambling. I like you. No, that’s putting it mildly. I think I’ve been in love with your weirdness since we first sat together in that class. I had hoped you wrote this poem about me but was too afraid to ever ask you about it. I know it’s no consolation for the animosity I displayed toward you, but I was just so terrified. Your presence left me unsettled and we got stuck together so much after that. So I reciprocated and instilled the fear in you that you put in me. It was wrong and I really am so sorry. Now you know how I feel, though. I bet the creatures of the forest got me. If I’m right, you owe me a kiss when next we meet, wherever that may be.

         Love,              Dylan Daniels. P.S. And I mean love. P.P.S. I know I got the quote entirely wrong. I bet you did that thing where your eye twitches when you can’t correct someone cuz you’re frustrated. That will be another kiss. P.P.P.S. No dictionaries were harmed in the writing of this letter. P.P.P.P.S. Well, I might have lit one on fire after.

 I feel disgusted after reading the letter. He was an asshole and a creep.  A knock at the door startles me into yelping. I catch my breath to answer it and Demeter pushes her way in.  “Sit. We’re talking.”  I do as she says; I’m still reeling from everything I just found out and Demeter is the last person anyone should ever piss off. She may be a kindly teacher and a great friend but not even the gods can save someone incurring her wrath.  “You got the house, didn’t you.” It clearly wasn’t a question but I nod quietly anyways. She sighs. “Well, if anyone from this town could thrive there it would be one of us, but still. What were you thinking?”  I stare into the nether. “I don’t know anymore. I don’t even want the house now,” I murmur. “It’s tainted. He even ruined the fairy house for me.”  “What do you mean? You knew he had lived there when you made the ridiculous plan to swoop in on it.”  I silently proffer the letter and poem without looking at her.  She lets out an incredulous whistle. “Well... He tried to put his heart in the right place. I think. Ooh, girl, this boy was a mess.” She pauses, squinting at the letter. “Wait. Did he leave you the house? Holy hell.”  Demeter stayed the night.  I woke up the next morning to a note on my bedroom door: I’ve reconsidered the roommate thing. Be back soon, packing my stuff.  If they didn’t already, the townsfolk were about to think Demeter insane, too.

 Days later and we were moved into the house, though I was still uneasy. He left a lot behind- including some nearly new furniture. Probably for the best given how spartan Demeter and I both lived. I brought a desk and computer while she brought house plants and a bed.   The house was old and quirky and had an air to it that we both adored. The rear garden was pressed right up against the old forest; with the fence having rotten away long since the tenants before Dylan had lived there, a new one was half built in its place- and wildflowers had overtaken most of the space. All except for one tree that sat in the center of our new yard, between the forest and the house. The entire rear half of the house had large beautiful windows that faced the forest, as well as a massive section of glass doors that opened up to the rear garden, almost like an entertainment area, thanks to the simple stone porch.  “Oh, I am so fixing this up.” Demeter sounded giddy, standing in the decrepit garden. “We’ve totally got this.”  “I hope so.” I can’t shake the uneasy feeling I’ve had all weekend. “I’m heading in to set up some of my supplies.”  I leave Demeter to her own devices and get to work in the back room with the enormous glass doors. After a few minutes, it feels as though the very air is weighing on me. I open the doors wide, not paying any mind to the dangers of the forest. Let them come, they’d probably make better company than 99% of the good townsfolk of Greenvale. The invigorating scent of the forest fills the room and I’m suddenly in the mood for oil pastels.

 It’s been a week now and I still feel trapped whenever I’m in the house. I feel as though I’m being watched any time I’m on the property. The eyes from the forest seem more curious than anything- it’s inside that I feel I’m in danger. After going on an unnecessary shopping trip for the umpteenth time since moving in, I decide to be productive and prepare a basket of food for those that dwell in the forest. Fruits, nuts, pepitas, and even some actual food I cooked up. I set the basket out back, near the treeline, and go back to the room I claimed for my studio. When next I look outside, the basket is empty and moved closer to the house.  I hope they enjoyed it.

 I get home earlier than Demeter and begin to make a habit of leaving food out for my new neighbors- including a dish of milk on my window sill. Each day, the basket is returned closer and closer to the house. I begin finding gifts of seeds, flowers, and odd trinkets in the returned basket. Demeter joyously nurtures the seeds into all manner of strange and exotic plants.  One day, when the house is feeling particularly stifling, I decide to go to the forest edge to get away from it. I find a cozy spot beneath a tree and start writing. I hear the basket being moved but I’m too in the flow to pay any attention- that is until I notice a curious fox looming over my notebook. I don’t want to spook it so I continue writing. Eventually, the fox lays its head on my wrist, watching the pencil soar across the pages. I suppress the urge to make a high pitched noise in joy at this blessing.  My trips to the forest edge became more frequent- as did the fox’s joining me. I started bringing treats for my new friend who cozied up to me as I worked. One day, when Demeter was out later for student conferences, I went out to the back porch- still outside but sheltered from the storm that had rolled in. I mistakenly drifted off to sleep to the sound of rain- and far more easily than I could have fallen asleep inside the house.  I awakened to find myself wrapped in a fine silk cloak lined with the softest fur I have ever felt in my life- and I pet a lot of cats. I also note that I am now inside and the doors are shut. It’s already morning, as well.  Demeter is in the kitchen, making herself a quick breakfast before she heads off to work.  “I’m glad to see you made it home safely. Did you bring me inside?”  “What? No, you were asleep on the floor when I got home last night. I feel like it’s the first time you’ve slept since we got here.”  I grunt noncommittally and leave the room.  Later on, I return the cloak, folded in the basket with yet another assortment of tasty goodies. This time I'm reading rather than working on one of my projects. The fox returns once more and- to my joy- curls up in my lap. I stroke his soft fur while I read and eventually I can hear the soft contented snoring of my vulpine buddy. I'm so comfortable that for the second day in a row I make the mistake of falling asleep outside.  This time, as the beams of morning sunlight drift through my eyelids, I’m in my room. The luxurious cloak is covering me once more and the fox is curled up next to my head. The Prompt Next