Harry had come and gone, too busy with Ron all summer to stay for too long, too in love with the idea of parental figures to stay away. Sirius would go through pictures with him each time, usually ones he had shoved under Remus’ nose the night before, ready to once again explain one of Remus’ memories as if it was his own. It stung a bit, if he was being honest, that Harry never asked him to tell a story or explain a picture. He was Professor Lupin, Remus if he was feeling sentimental. But Sirius was always Sirius, just Sirius. His godfather, the one he went to for advice, or stories of James that Remus lived through too, Remus saw too. But it was okay, Harry trusted Sirius, Sirius was the closest he would get to James, and that was fine. 