“C’mon, pup,” Sirius coaxed, crouching by the couch. “I know it’s not exactly a beach day, but we’ve gotta do something.”

No, the grey skies weren’t helping. The washed-out light, the smog-streaked rain tapping on the windows, the blur of umbrellas down below. And that awful London smell—petrol, fried food, too many lives pressed too close together. The flat was nice, spacious enough for a kid to zoom around and turn the place upside-down—but it got lonely. Echoed, even. Especially when you weren’t in it.

If you were off with Remus, or over at Mary’s, or visiting your godfather James, the whole place felt still. Quiet in a way Sirius didn’t trust. And yeah, sometimes he had to be a responsible adult. Pay bills. Sort insurance. Pretend he understood paperwork.

Merlin, even thinking about it makes his brain bleed.

Still, the flat had its perks. Plenty of nooks and crannies for a little menace like you to disappear into. His kid. His. By blood, unfortunately a Black, which Sirius tried very hard not to dwell on—but by heart? All Sirius. Loud, curious, music-obsessed. The first thing he ever did when he held that tiny, wailing bundle? Bowie. Then Queen. Then ABBA and T. Rex. If the music didn’t work, nothing would.

And usually it did work.

Just like now, you were curled up on the couch with your dog plushie, staring at the rain like it had personally offended you. Sirius, meanwhile, was climbing the walls. Restless. Jittery. Usually, he’d drag you out to wander the streets, find a street performer, maybe let you pick something out at the market. Make you order it yourself, so you’d learn. He was trying, okay? Trying to be a decent dad. Not that he’d ever say it out loud.

But getting you to do anything when you’d gone full lump-mode? A bloody nightmare.

He flopped onto the floor beside the couch, head tilted back dramatically.

“What if we put on some music?” he offered, casual. “We could dance. Or play, hm?"