Disclaimer: I wanted this story to closely mirror the books despite being an AU of sorts so it contains, on occasion, material that has been quoted directly from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J. K. Rowling. Said material has been underlined and does not belong to me. Reviews and criticism will be greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

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Christmas at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was, for once, more than just a stiff formal affair of velvet robes, bejewelled candle-holders and gift cards with veiled insults in envy-green ink. In fact, not even Kreacher the house-elf could deny the cheery atmosphere as he went about his way, muttering age-old barbs which the others were too happy to attempt at deciphering and smuggling some of Mistress Bella's pictures while his Master was preoccupied with the celebrations.

Despite the suspicious behaviour of his house-elf however, Sirius Black could do nothing but smile jovially as he leaned against the wall and sipped his Butterbeer, beaming as he watched the flurry of activities unfolding in the living room and realising that the night truly was going far better than he'd expected.

One one side of the room, Arthur was entertaining Tonks with exaggerated explanations of bizarre Muggle contraptions like the "Felly-tone" and "Telly-fission" while Molly and Remus discussed school caretakers and teachers, exchanging fond memories of nights spent sneaking out to the grounds or flying in the hallways on shrunken broomsticks. Meanwhile, the twins were engaged in a two-on-one Chess match with Ron, who merely rolled his eyes as they continued pointing and whispering conspiratorially at their shrieking pieces for their next move while Ginny watched and Hermione read. Harry, on the other hand, lay far from the crowd, curled up in a chair in a corner by the fireplace, an open book resting on the bridge of his nose as he slept through the noise. His glasses were crooked and his hair was messier than ever, sticking up even more noticeably to Molly's intense disapproval. Sirius smiled at the sight, the feeling that only a cheerful Christmas evening could bring intensified by the fact that he hadn't had one in fourteen years.

Feeling strangely fulfilled and satisfied, he downed the rest of the bottle and decided that a meeting with Minerva was in place. He'd send her a Patronus later tonight - he'd been meaning to ask her about the new DADA teacher ever since Harry's letter had described her as being 'almost as nice as his mother', but had forgotten due both to the long and lonely weeks spent drinking in the kitchen and the attack on Arthur in the Ministry. Besides, Sirius thought, Harry didn't need another scar on his face and that book wasn't doing him any favours.

Sighing serenely, he got up and grinned at Remus before trudging to the fireplace. Weaving around the cluster of armchairs and their occupants, crumpled wrapping paper and Chocolate Frog cards, Sirius bent over to pick the book off of Harry's face as Crookshanks pawed at the sleeping boy's hand, purring loudly. He chuckled softly when Harry's hands twitched weakly as the book was taken gingerly away.

Unsurprisingly, it struck him yet again as to just how much he resembled his father, especially now, with his eyes closed. Sirius could almost picture his best friend in the chair, snoring away as he often did in the first couch he saw after long Order missions or visits to St. Mungo's. Pushing away the sudden but familiar burst of nostalgia and grief, he shook his head and placed the book on the nearest clutter-free table while Crookshanks purred even louder as he continued vying fruitlessly for Harry's attention. Sirius was surprised the kid hadn't woken up yet; Harry was a light sleeper, something that James definitely hadn't been.

"Stop that," he snorted, grinning and reaching down to pick the orange cat (that had done him one too many favours to count) off the floor. Before he could do much more than pet him, the feline hissed and gave Harry's hand one last pull and it turned over, catching Sirius' attention.

All thought of James and Crookshanks flew from his mind at the sight that greeted him, his mouth falling open as he tried to take it in. Harry's hand was bloodied and swollen, clutching a poorly wrapped scarlet-splotched handkerchief, the words I must not tell lies glinting on the pale skin like a ruby encrusted carving. The bruise contrasted heavily with his godson's calm asleep form, a blot of evil tarnishing the picture of peace his eyes had previously captured. His brain seemed to have flat-lined; he gaped, open-mouthed and wide-eyed at it for several minutes before snatching Harry's wrist as hundreds of possible explanations, each one worse than the last, raced through his mind.

Harry's reaction was instantaneous - he shot up, blinking blearily as he instinctively tried to wrest his hand from Sirius' grip, glasses resting lopsidedly on his nose. He looked from his godfather, who was staring at him with a horrified expression on his face and wrath in his eyes, to his hand, before running his other through his already untidy hair.

"It's nothing," he mumbled, and Sirius would've laughed at the words had the situation not escalated so horribly. "Nothing much, honestly."

"You and I have very different ideas of what qualifies as 'nothing'," he said solemnly after a pause, standing up and pulling Harry to his feet by the shoulder. "C'mon, we need to talk," he added, almost hating himself for saying the exact same words that had driven him up the wall in panic when he'd been a teen. Without waiting for him, Sirius strode across the living room and to the staircase, ignoring the boy's exhausted sigh and the underlying flash of hurt that he hadn't confided something like this to him.

"Moony," he called, the nickname sounding extremely silly coupled with his grim tone. The adults silenced and Remus looked up. "Floo Albus and Minerva for me. Tell them to be here in an hour - it's important." He added the last part when Remus opened his mouth, looking ready to argue for the whole night if need be. Before he could do so, Sirius rushed up the carpeted stairs, Harry grimacing weakly at the room at large as he followed.

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"Explain," Sirius said the moment Harry shut his bedroom door behind him. He had (in a stroke of Slytherin cunning he'd hastily tried to smother) led them to the room his godson shared with Ron, feeling that he'd talk more if he was in a familiar environment, particularly one that displayed his clear control over the surroundings rather than Sirius' own bedroom. Harry sighed heavily and huffed in clear exhaustion as he slumped onto his bed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Sirius couldn't decide whether the action made him look five years younger or older.

"It's ... it's nothing," he finally relented, not meeting the other's eyes. "Nothing you need to worry about, really," he shrugged.

Sirius rubbed his temples, wondering how much longer he'd be able to go before he threw a fit and chucked something out of the window (the ugly Chinese vase in the kitchen was very tempting) or ran off for a shouting match with mother dearest's charming portrait just to have something to do. He was already running out of patience, his anger at whoever had done this to Harry mixing with his desire to leave the house and creating a vicious whirlpool of thoughts and plans, most of them leading to unpleasant Azkaban-entailing situations.

Shuddering at the prospect, Sirius inhaled calmly (or tried to) and mentally counted to ten in every language he knew (which didn't take much time seeing as he could barely speak two) before squaring his shoulders and trusting himself to speak again. He was an adult now, one who had escaped prison to commit the crime he'd been convicted for (only to fail and end up imprisoned in his childhood home) but still an adult regardless, and he absolutely refused to lose his temper over Walburga Black's less-than-nostalgic memory and the Ministry of Magic's unlimited incompetence.

"Harry, it's not nothing," he started but his voice shook with barely suppressed rage. Pausing to gather himself, Sirius found his eyes darting to the beds in the room, the mess of sheets that was Ron's bed contrasting sharply with Harry's perfectly made one, his thoughts drifting to Regulus and his time in this wretched house, causing him another bout of hollow angst.

Merlin, this place was the definition of suffocation.

Finally levelling his voice to a reasonable tone (and his mind to a similar pace), he began again, "Harry, whoever's doing this to you - they're bloody arseholes - and people like that deserve to be punished -" Harry's face soured darkly at those words and Sirius stopped, a sudden chill going down his spine. An icy thought had struck him, as such thoughts often do in delicate and dangerous times.

"That's it, isn't it?" he began quietly. "You were being punished. You -" Sirius paused, suddenly remembering a detail from one of the few letters they had shared this year. "You said you were getting in loads of detentions with - with the Defence Professor! Harry, it's the Ministry teacher, isn't it?" he exclaimed loudly, watching Harry for a reaction.

The boy nodded, eyes locked on the floor as he shuffled his feet. Sirius felt his stomach plummet at his expression; he appeared resigned and lost, almost guilty even. Before he himself could start feeling guilty over not fulfilling James' and Lily's last wish again, Sirius reached out and pulled their son into a hug, doing his best to be the reassuring godfather he'd always promised Harry he'd be when he'd been a baby. Harry stiffened for a moment, having clearly not expected it, before returning the hug. He rested his chin on Sirius' shoulder, gleaning comfort from the embrace, shoulders sagging with a vulnerability he rarely showed to others. They stood that way for a while until Sirius finally spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Last time I hugged you like this, you were the size of a teddy bear," he grinned, holding Harry at an arm's distance and realising with a jolt that the baby from his memories was almost as tall as him now. Almost, seeing as Harry was still rather short for someone his age. The now fifteen year-old boy's eyes brightened at that and he smiled wistfully.

"Wish I could've remembered it," he murmured, the corners of his mouth flicking faintly upwards as he gazed again at the faded floor. "Not a bad feeling to have on your back," he admitted.

Sirius frowned at that, wondering what it meant before saving the conversation for later. Right now, he had two Professors to calmly vent on and a Ministry toad in need of some serious control (and jail-time) and decided to let it slip.

"It's getting late but this is important," he started, checking his watch. "If Remus had his senses about him, then he Floo-called Albus and Minerva about forty minutes ago. Harry, I need you to show them what Umbridge did to you and tell them whether she used the Quill on any other students as well -" Harry looked about to protest but Sirius cut across him. "Blood Quills are illegal, Harry! Gringotts' Goblins are the only ones authorised to use them and they can only do it when writing wills or signing contracts! Using them on minors could result in more than enough time in Azkaban as well as a ban from Ministry and private offices."

Harry's eyes widened at those words, no doubt thinking about getting rid of the Ministry teacher and embarrassing Fudge beyond return in the process.

"Er - yeah, I -" he started awkwardly but Sirius finished for him.

"Had no idea? Yeah, now you know why I wanted you tell me if anything nasty happened, eh?" he added, grinning and, in an attempt to conceal his frustration with himself, ruffled Harry's hair before turning to leave the bedroom.

Harry looked around sheepishly at that but nodded, mumbling a quiet but sincere "thanks" as Sirius shut the door behind him. It was strange how much a peaceful nap in an armchair by the fire could change, he thought, but right now he was glad that he'd dozed off in the living room, reminiscing fondly at the hug he'd shared with his godfather as well as Cornelius Fudge's spluttering face when his 'Ministry-approved' Defence teacher would turn up in his office not even mid-way through term yet.

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