Title: The Night Before New Year
Author: Snuffles
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating/Warnings: No pairings, no fuss, no muss. Just fluff.
Pairings: G
Spoilers: OotP
Disclaimer: These characters belong to JKR, her publishers and WB. No infringement is intended.
Summary: Set during the Christmas holiday in OotP: Harry can't sleep, and neither can Sirius.
Bunny: #4, #8
Feedback: Feedback is, always, appreciated

"No!"

Harry woke with a start, breathing raggedly and sweating. It took a moment before he got his bearings and the vision that had broken his sleep had faded a little. He sat up in his bed, resting his head against pulled-up knees. His breathing was slow to return to normal. It was the third time this night that nightmares had woken him, and he was becoming increasingly frustrated with his lack of normal sleep.

First, it had been his dream about the graveyard, when Voldemort had risen back to full power and Cedric had been murdered right in front of him. It were Cedric's open, lifeless eyes that had scared him wide awake, shooting upright with an audible gasp, and causing Ron to jump up in his bed and worriedly ask if Harry was all right. It had taken half an hour for Ron's snores to resume; and twice that time before Harry had slept again. As if the first time hadn't been embarrassing enough, Ron had shaken him awake again only shortly after this, claiming Harry had been muttering and tossing in his sleep. This Harry could believe, for he'd been visiting his repetitive vision of the empty corridors and the closed door at its end.    

Glancing over at Ron's bed, he was relieved to see that at least this time, his friend had slept through the latest of Harry's night terrors. Considering he'd been reliving his vision of Nagini's attack on Mr Weasley - sinking fangs deeply into Ron's dad's body, enjoying the kill with her - it was not a subject he wanted to bring up with his best friend again. Ever.

Feeling slightly sick and very unwilling to have another go at sleep, despite how tired he was, Harry swung his legs off the bed and stood, wavering a little on wobbly feet. He blinked a few times to get used to the dark, then found his way over to the door and stumbled out into the hall. Thinking that a drink of water was a good idea, he headed in the direction of the kitchen. He tiptoed by the room Hermione and Ginny were using, then barely dared to breathe as he passed Mrs Weasley's. He didn't want anyone to worry about his annoying trouble with sleep; not when there were far more important things to worry about. Mr Weasley wasn't even out of the hospital yet.

Padding into the kitchen, he hissed as his bare feet touched the cold tiles. Shivering a little, he was reaching for the light switch, when a gravely voice suddenly spoke up. "Harry?"

He jumped about a foot in the air, almost toppled backwards, and fumbled, rather panicky, for his wand (which he'd left on his bedside cabinet in his bedroom).

"Harry! It's okay, it's just me. Lumos," said the voice hurriedly, and a bright light flared into existence.

Harry winced in the sharp light, and caught himself on the doorframe, letting out a sharp breath. "Sirius!" he hissed angrily. "You scared me half to death!"

"Sorry." Sirius shrugged rather sheepishly, lowering his wand and lighting the fire in the kitchen hearth instead, so a soft glow filled the room. "Come, sit," he beckoned Harry, pointing at a chair at the table.     

Harry dropped in the seat, pushing his fingers through his tangled hair. "What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?" he asked snappishly, feeling rather out of sorts. This was the fourth time in about as many hours that his system had to cope with a shock, after all. 

"Just thinking," offered Sirius, choosing to ignore Harry's grumpy tone. "I don't really need much sleep. I figure I had enough time wasted already to spend too much of it unconscious."

"Oh." Harry blinked owlishly, not sure how to respond to this.

"Trouble sleeping?" Sirius asked kindly, looking him over carefully. The man was taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the paleness of his skin, and the exhaustion evident in every inch of his body, and adding them all up to one conclusion. "Nightmares?"

"Couldn't sleep," said Harry guardedly, wrapping his arms around his chest. Though the fire was crackling away merrily, it did little to bring up the temperature of the room. He wondered if Sirius had secretly been drinking fire-whiskey again. He couldn't smell it where he sat, but then his nose was a little stuffed from the cold air. "I thought I'd get a drink of water."

"We can do better than that," said Sirius, jumping from his spot in front of the window. "How about I make us some hot chocolate? That'll be the charm to get you back to sleep. Remus always likes to say how chocolate fixes almost everything. . ." Bustling round, heating milk and adding the cocoa, Sirius muttered to himself as he fixed the drink. Harry watched him bemusedly, his edginess easing away now that his godfather's presence soothed the memory of his dreams.

"I'm sure I saw Molly bring them . . . where did she put . . . ah-hah!" Sirius pottered around the kitchen cabinets and withdrew a bag of mini-marshmallows. "It's not hot chocolate without them," he said with a wink to Harry.

Harry smiled back, eager for the drink as he was feeling increasingly chillier just in his pyjamas. Out through the frosty window, he could see that the world was covered in snow, and stars twinkled in a night-bright sky free of clouds.

As Sirius poured the chocolate into two mugs, Harry brought his hands up to his face and sneezed two quick sneezes, his head snapping forward with the force of them. "Hehtshuhh! Hehh-cshushh!"

"Bless," said Sirius as he put one mug in front of Harry, picking the seat opposite his Godson to settle in.

"Thanks," said Harry, both to the blessing and the drink, holding the mug with his fingers wrapped around it to warm them, and blowing over the top to cool the hot liquid enough to drink.

"Happy to be going back to school in a few days?" asked Sirius, valiantly trying to not sound bitter at his own imminent return to solitude.

Harry shrugged. Without Quidditch, with OWLS on the way, and with the constant aggravation of Umbridge and her decrees, Harry wasn't quite as eager to be returning to Hogwarts as he would be otherwise, although he supposed he was looking forward to more DA meetings (he'd already started reading through the defence books Lupin and Sirius had given him for Christmas). 

Now, though, in the quiet night-time, with Sirius companionably opposite him, he wished he didn't have to go back so soon. He didn't want to face his dorm-mates (especially Seamus), and explain to them what had happened the night he'd had his vision about Mr Weasley. He didn't want people looking at him as if he was an attention-seeking little show off, or a tragic, angst-ridden, self-absorbed martyr. He didn't want to have to carve more lines into the back of his hand . . . even if it meant staying in the gloomy, grim old house with decapitated House-Elf heads. Then he could spend more time with Sirius, and not leave the haunted man alone with only the memories of his horrible family to keep him company. They could cheer each other up, get to know one another better, create new memories . . . but it was not to be. Sirius had to remain here, alone, hidden from the authorities who would stow him away in Azkaban without a trial. Just as Harry had to go back to Hogwarts, where he'd be under the protection of the most powerful wizard alive - even if he wouldn't look at Harry now - and where he'd learn to use his magic to its full potential. And really, he did want to finish his schooling, alongside Ron and Hermione, and become a better wizard. . .

It was just that he was so tired right now!

He sipped his drink slowly, savouring the sweet taste of the marshmallows, letting them dissolve on his tongue before swallowing them. Opposite him, Sirius was watching him closely. He hadn't touched his own drink yet.

"What?" asked Harry wearily, brushing a hand through his fringe again. He was sure his hair was sticking up in all directions, more so than usual because he'd been sleeping on it. Sirius bent over and mussed Harry's hair up even more with one hand, then leaned back and gave Harry a sympathetic look.

"If you really have trouble sleeping, Harry, I can fix you with a bit of dreamless-sleep potion," Sirius said, but Harry was already shaking his head before the man had finished.

"It doesn't work," Harry said tiredly. "Not really, not with the visions. And it makes me feel nauseous for the whole morning after I've taken it. So I'd rather not."

Sirius nodded, frowning. It wasn't right that a boy Harry's age should know dreamless-sleep potion so intimately that he'd already figured out how it affected his body. No, that wasn't it. It's not that it's not right. Though it's not. The thing is it's not fair, he thought. But then, Harry wasn't exactly a normal boy. Sirius had come to realise that in the two years he'd known his best friend's son. He was extraordinary.

Though no less susceptible to common ailments then the rest of them. . .

Harry turned sideways in his chair and caught two more sneezes in his hands, which he folded over his nose and mouth. "Ehh-chussh! Eh . . . hehh-chushhoo!" Sirius could actually see the shiver that ran through his body afterwards.

"You sound like you might be coming down with something." Sirius stood and walked around the table. Before Harry knew it, the older man had placed the back of his hand against Harry's forehead.

"You feel a little feverish," Sirius said worriedly.

"I'm fine," protested Harry, pulling back.

"But you're cold," Sirius stated. Harry pulled up his shoulders, to show he didn't really care too much. But he sat in the hunched position that people take when they try to preserve as much body heat as they can.  

Sirius waved his wand and transfigured a dishcloth into a blanket, which he draped around Harry's shoulders. He then charmed more wood into the fireplace, so the flames flared higher and warmer, throwing long shadows on the floor. One last flick set the kettle on the stove boiling with water, which he poured in two new mugs - who cared about extra dishes when silly wand-waving did the work for you - and he fixed the two of them up with hot steaming tea, while his own cup of now lukewarm chocolate stood forgotten on the kitchen table.

"There," he said, pleased with himself. "That'll do you good."

"Sirius!" protested Harry, eyeing his Godfather as the man beamed like Mrs Weasley after fixing up a particularly good stew. "You don't have to do all this. I'm fine!"

"I want to," said Sirius simply, moving behind Harry and rubbing at his shoulders. "You're not sleeping well, and feeling a bit poorly, and I'm taking care of you, like a good Godfather should."

"s'Not necessary," Harry grumbled, though deep down, where he almost couldn't feel it, he was quite pleased by the warm, tender hands on his shoulders and the attempt to make him feel better. It was a sort of action that he'd never had a parental figure take towards him, yet one which he vaguely knew he should have gotten. To have it now, if only for this short little while, both saddened him (for it being this late in his life), yet made him feel glowingly content.

There was someone who cared about him. Someone who was just his. Finally, Harry belonged somewhere too, no matter how small and disturbed a little family they made. And it didn't matter that he'd be going back to Hogwarts soon, because he'd see his Godfather again every holiday from now on; and that was something to look forward to and get him through the Umbridge infested schooldays.    

It was this thought that allowed Harry to relax under Sirius's hands and fully allow the other man to rub his shoulders in comfort, while he sipped his tea and allowed the blanket and fire to warm his body until he was snugly warm. The steam rising from his drink tickled his nose, which had already been feeling itchy.

"Heshhoo!" Harry sneezed again, without warning.

"Bless you," said Sirius kindly, now rubbing Harry's back.

"Hettshoo!"

"Bless you again," Sirius smiled, stepping away from Harry for a moment.

Harry gave a little moan of protest at losing his personal masseur, even while starting another sneeze. "Ehh . . ." His head reared back a little while his lashes fluttered.

"Here." Sirius returned, pushing several tissues into Harry's hand, and then resuming his position behind the sneezy boy, holding his shoulders to offer his support.

"Hehh-ISHhoo!" Harry sneezed more forcefully, though it had a distinct last-sneeze sort of sound to it. He caught it in the tissues and then blew his nose to clear it from any more sneezes that might want to make an appearance. "Sorry," he said to Sirius, a little embarrassed.

"Better out than in," said Sirius pleasantly, patting Harry's hair for a moment, then continuing to massage Harry's shoulders, a bit more thoroughly now.

Harry'd never had anyone rub his shoulders before, and he hung his head in relaxation as tense muscles he hadn't even been aware of loosened, and he sighed appreciatively.

"That feels great," he admitted, leaning his chin on his hands, elbows balanced on the kitchen table.

"I used to do this for Remus sometimes during exams," Sirius confided. "He used to be a nervous wreck the night before. Always sure he was going to forget everything during the test, no matter if he'd memorised the textbook weeks before."

"Sounds like Hermione," Harry murmured.

"Now James and I of course never worried about exams," Sirius continued, smiling wistfully. "We'd hang around the common room, reading up on some stuff, sure, but mainly practicing certain practical spells." Harry could feel him grinning even when he couldn't see the man's face. "Like charming Remus' quills to hover near the ceiling; and they'd only come down again if he stood on his head, and then he had to catch them that way or they'd fly right back up.

Harry sniggered. He supposed he and Ron were lucky that Hermione didn't have such a mischievous streak. Or, more aptly, Hermione was lucky that he and Ron didn't have the same brilliant aptitude to inventing magic like his Dad and Sirius had.

"Of course Remus would get even and charm the quills to dump their ink on my head whenever I got near them."

Harry enjoyed the story, but he didn't have the energy to do much more than smile. He hadn't felt this relaxed in weeks. His head grew heavier on his hands.

"Then James would just stare at Lily all evening as she studied before the fireplace, until she'd stomp up to bed, red-faced and shrieking that she couldn't stand another minute of those eyes burning a hole in her back." Another laugh and sigh from Sirius. "Ah, good times."

Harry's breathing stuttered a moment, and - "Hesshhh!" - his head bobbed with another sneeze. He hadn't realised he'd been so stuffy before. A bit befuddled - he was so tired he could hardly see straight - Harry blinked in surprise as more tissues were offered to him. He hadn't even noticed this time that Sirius had moved away. 

Accepting the tissues and bringing them to his nose, snuffling a little, he said: "Don't stop." He meant both the backrub and the story.

"It's really late Harry," said Sirius in a soft voice, one hand still on the boy's shoulder. "And tomorrow is New Year's Eve. You want to be rested so you can stay up late and join the celebration with your friends. Fred and George have been experimenting with fireworks, you know, and I've been giving them some pointers, so I'm sure you'll have an excellent night."

"What about you?" asked Harry, putting his head down on his arms, blinking languidly.

"I'll be there too."

"No, now. Are you going up to bed? Or are you going to sit here all alone?"

"I'll go up if you go up," said Sirius, sounding bemused.

"I don't want to go back to bed," Harry muttered sleepily.

"Harry, you're practically asleep already. You need to be in bed," offered Sirius gently.

"I'll have more nightmares," mumbled Harry, his eyes drooping shut despite his words.

"No more nightmares tonight," whispered Sirius, leaning close to Harry's side, brushing his godson's messy hair back from his forehead. And though he gave no reason why it should be so, Harry came to believe him.

"I'll tell Molly to let you sleep in tomorrow," Sirius continued in the same soft, lulling voice. "We'll have fixed up some Pepper-Up by then too, so your cold won't bother you tomorrow night. We want you to be happy and healthy to sound in the New Year." With a last brush through Harry's mop of hair, Sirius stood and took both of Harry's hands in his, pulling him up from his seat. "To bed now." He ushered a sleep-drunken Harry to the kitchen door.

"You too." Harry half asked, half ordered Sirius, looking at him with his tired, bespelling green eyes.

"Yes, me too," Sirius promised. And though they went to separate beds, and though Harry immediately fell deeply asleep, for once getting the rest he desperately needed, and Sirius lay awake for a long time still, both felt comforted by the thought and promise of the family they'd remade.

END