A/N:
This is only a short interlude, while I try to hunt my inspiration down again.
I am very sorry for the delay - real life, blah, blah,
but thank you all for your lovely reviews on the first chapter, they do genuinely make my day!
More importantly:
The slight vagueness is deliberate, I promise - in the next (real) chapter everything will be discussed and clear, for Harry and you lovely readers.

ooo

At Harry's bedside, Sirius is awkward and out of place; grasping for the right words, the right movements.

He feels like he's been left behind, struggling to catch up on the years of neglect that have led to this. In Azkaban, time had been warped and stretched, tilting forwards and backwards so that he could never be sure if a year or a day had passed. He'd been so consumed by memories - by JamesandLilyandHarryandRemus haunting his dreams and his thoughts - that he hadn't been able to think about what he'd find on the outside.

Or, perhaps more importantly, how he would cope.

Just below Harry's right ear is a thin, silvery-white scar. Sirius finds it while washing the boy's face during his third day at Headquarters, and wonders how it got there.

Not long after, he finds another etched into Harry's palm, faint and so old it has nearly disappeared. Then another, what looks like an old burn, inside the elbow of his left arm. More and more, during the time Harry lays still and quiet, Sirius begins to take note of these small, barely-there markings, and feels his insides turn to water. They are letters, spelling out fourteen years of failure. Spelling out all the many, many ways he has let Harry down.

He wonders if anybody else has found these marks; the untold story playing out across his godson's skin. He wonders if anybody else has felt the sharp stab of guilt directly in their solar plexus, or the pang of responsibility, quite as deeply.

Most of all, as he sits watching his godson, Sirius wonders about James.

Too many times he drops his head into his hands, inhales deeply, and thinks, James would know what to do. Too many times he scuffs shaky fingers through hair he hasn't bothered combing, and thinks, James would know what to say.

If James were here, still alive and breathing and cracking the same, lopsided grin Sirius had - before now - grown used to seeing on Harry, he would not be a shaking, hovering wreck. James would be level-headed and calm, soothing his child each time he whimpered or trembled. James would have listened to Molly Weasley if she'd suggested he get some sleep, or a shower - because unlike Sirius, James is not the kind of person to brush off somebody else's advice so easily.

Was.

Was not the kind of person to brush off somebody else's advice so easily.

ooo

It is Remus who manages to finally break through the thick barrier of grief and self-doubt Sirius has managed to wrap around himself. The younger wizard enters the guest bedroom early one morning, quietly but determinedly drags him bodily downstairs, and firmly sits him down at one end of the house's long dining table.

"Sirius," he says finally, turning only to boil water, pulling out two clean mugs. "You cannot continue like this."

Remus stares resolutely, leaning back against the kitchen counter, until Sirius finally looks up. Remus has the pinched, pale look about him that says it hasn't been long since the last full moon, and guilt of a different kind swoops low and heavy in Sirius' stomach. He hadn't even noticed Remus' monthly disappearance.

"Moony, I - " he starts, but the younger man holds up a hand to stop him.

"Never mind that," he says, "We need to talk about you - and Harry, of course. It is abundantly clear that you've worn yourself well beyond breaking point, and the question is why."

Sirius gapes at him, unable to follow.

"I - what? What on earth d'you mean, why? Have you seen - "

"Yes, I have seen Harry," Remus interrupts calmly. "I am well aware of his condition. What I'm also well aware of is Molly's capability in dealing with ill children - not to mention Poppy and Dumbledore checking in on his progress every day."

"If you've got a point," Sirius says, frowning, "Kindly make your way to it."

Remus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and reaching for the canister beside the kettle. He finishes making the tea and brings both mugs to the table, settling himself in the chair opposite Sirius.

"Padfoot," he begins, the familiar nickname softening his tone. "There are other people in this house who I'm sure wouldn't mind watching Harry while you get some rest, or Merlin forbid, take fifteen minutes to bathe yourself. Sitting in that room every minute of every day is achieving nothing that couldn't be accomplished with a clearer head."

The sun is rising slowly over Remus' shoulder, the kitchen light changing from grey to blue to a very pale pink. Order members will begin filtering through within the next hour or so. Soon, Molly will be awake, pottering around the kitchen in her dressing gown to cook breakfast for anybody hungry enough. Soon, the quiet of the house will be overcome by overnight reports and heavy boots; the nervous din of more bad news.

Sirius blows on his tea, letting the mug warm his trembling fingers. He thinks about Harry's parents, again, as Remus murmurs quietly into the dawn, gently goading him into talking. After a long while, Sirius realises he is evading all of his friends questions.

He takes a breath, feels it settle deep within his lungs, exhales.

"James would be handling this much better," he admits finally, focusing intently on the condensation marks on the table. "James would know what Harry's going to need when he wakes up - James would have been attentive enough, before now, to notice everything that boy's been hiding from us, so that things would never have reached this point!"

He feels, rather than hears, Remus' sharp intake of breath; the way his frustratingly well-organised brain tries to process the words.

They don't discuss their missing friends, sidestepping those particular painful memories with every conversation since Sirius' return. They see enough of Lily's morals in each of Harry's letters, and James' talent for attracting bad luck in every story he tells. They see James' smile and Lily's teeth whenever the teenager speaks; their combined temperament if ever Harry witnesses a perceived injustice. This had been enough, for over a year, now.

It is a long time before Remus responds, and when he does the words are like a sucker-punch, right in the hollow pit of his stomach.

"James isn't here, Sirius," he says quietly, "But you are. We all have our own crosses to bear when it comes to Harry, and our blindness... but he needs you right now - not a replacement for his father. That child looks to you as if you hung the moon if you so much as breathe around him, and I think it's time you realised that."

Remus takes a breath, pausing so that Sirius takes a moment to notice his watery eyes.

"You will never replace James, Padfoot - not in your memory, nor in Harry's heart. It would be foolish to even try... But, what you seem to forget is that Harry has never asked you to. He doesn't need a stand-in, he simply needs you."

ooo