"Pleeeeease tell me," Sirius elongates the word, drawing out the vowels until it's barely distinguishable. He props his chin in his hands and pouts.
Harry doesn't blink. "No," the four-year old says calmly before returning to his coloring.
"But the suspense is killing me!" Sirius whines, sounding closer to Harry's age than his own.
Harry pauses, crayon in his hand, and looks up at him, his green eyes narrowing for a second. "No means no, Padfoot," he states solemnly. He looks at the piece of paper he's coloring. "Can I have my snack now please?"
Sirius grumbles before getting up from the kitchen table. "Refuses to tell me what his Halloween costume is but still wants a snack, huh? For that you're getting carrot sticks!" He calls out as he walks past Harry, ruffling his hair and cancelling out any mock malice in his voice with the gesture.
"With ranch please!" Harry pipes up. Sirius scoffs.
"Good Godric, you're turning into an American," he bemoans dramatically before opening the cold cupboard to remove the carrot sticks and ranch dressing.
"You've got to be joking," Sirius says flatly, looking Remus right in the eye. "You're not telling me either?"
Remus chuckles before taking a sip from his mug. "I promised Harry I wouldn't."
"So?"
Remus raises an eyebrow. "You'd have me break a promise I made with Harry?"
"No," Sirius sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't even know how offended I should be at the fact that you know and I don't."
"Should I be offended that it's apparently a miracle that Harry is trusting me with information he's refusing to share with you?"
"Well we all know that I'm his favorite!"
"True," Remus acknowledges. He finishes the last bite of his biscuit. "So I have to lord this over you while I can."
"Arse," Sirius mutters, settling back against kitchen wall. "But what if I wanted to wear a matching costume?"
"There's always next year," Remus suggests. He grabs another biscuit from the jar. "You can pretend to be some musician like you always do."
Sirius scowls. "I don't pretend to be a musician, I am the musician. Every year. Merlin, Remus, when will you understand the concept of immersion in Halloween costumes?" He gasps as a sudden realization hits him. "So Harry's not dressing up as a musician! Aha, Remus! I've got you! I knew hope was not lost. I'll trick you eventually."
"Ah yes. You've eliminated one possibility from the probably billion costume ideas in the entire world. Congratulations," Remus says dryly.
"Patience, my friend, patience. I'll get you in the end. When you least expect it, most likely. Now, I've got to go pick up Harry. Are you staying or going home?"
Remus nearly chokes on his tea in his effort to quickly put his mug down. "No, I forgot to tell you. I'm picking him up today. Harry wants me to go shopping with him for his costume." He snatches one last biscuit from the jar and sweeps past Sirius, who's standing shell-shocked and open-mouthed at this latest betrayal. Remus tries not to laugh as he pulls on his cloak and opens the front door. "Oh, Sirius," Remus turns around and sees that Sirius is still rooted in spot. Remus smiles and decides to take pity on him. "Harry's allowed me to give you one clue. He's dressing up as, in his own words, his hero." He pauses a beat. "And if you try to follow us to the shops I'll hex you." He disappears with a loud crack.
Sirius collapses into the entrance hall bench, nearly overwhelmed with the flurry of information. He rests his head against the wall and groans. "I can’t believe that Harry’s dressing up as Thomas the Tank Engine," he says in a horrified voice.
“Padfoot, what’s this!” Harry squeals when he enters his bedroom a few days later. His cheeks are flushed red from spending the afternoon riding Padfoot like a miniature pony. The chilly weather outside and the yellow leaf that’s caught in the hood of Harry’s jacket are a reminder that Halloween is only a few days away. Sirius leans against the doorframe, grinning as Harry tears open the wrapped parcel laying on his bed to reveal a blue plastic container shaped like a train.
“It’s to collect your candy when we go trick-or-treating,” he explains. “I thought it would match well with your costume.” He’d managed to get over the shock of Harry dressing up as Thomas the Tank Engine, even though he hated the cheeky bastard, although it had been no easy feat. Predicting how adorable Harry would look in the train costume, complete with a conductor's hat, had certainly helped.
Harry’s brow furrows in confusion as he looks at Sirius. “Since you’ll be Thomas the Tank Engine,” Sirius supplies helpfully. Perhaps the romp in the garden had plucked the idea of Thomas right out of Harry’s brain, and Sirius has just unknowingly returned it to its non-rightful spot. Drat! Sirius could have used the opportunity to sneakily suggest to Harry that they could dress up as The Fox and the Hound together instead.
Harry frowns. “But I’m not being Thomas.”
Sirius’ heart flutters with happiness. “You’re not?” He tries not sound too ecstatic.
Harry shakes his head. “No. But I wasn’t ‘posed to tell you that.” He begins to look rather morose at the confession.
Sirius can’t help himself, He takes two bounding steps into the bedroom and swings Harry onto his shoulders. “No worries my dear Harry! I’m sure your costume will be incredible.” It certainly will now that he’s not dressing up as that cretin Thomas, he thinks. “Now onto the kitchen! Some little boy used Padfoot like a horse today, and I’m starving.” He sprints out the door, relishing the peals of laughter coming from the boy sat above him that sufficiently distract his mind from conjuring up any more possible horror-inducing costume ideas.
Oh Merlin, Sirius thinks a few hours later, after dinner has been cleared away, and Harry has gone through his bedtime routine without too much fussing. What if he’s Danger Mouse? The horror that crashes upon him at the possibility is nearly enough to make him shake Harry awake to find out for sure, but he manages to restrain himself. Instead, he Fire Calls Remus.
“I was almost asleep, you arse,” Remus grumbles, flames crackling around his frowning face.
Sirius doesn’t feel the least bit sympathetic. “Is he going to be Danger Mouse?” he nearly shouts.
Remus sighs. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Harry! Is he dressing up as Danger Mouse for Halloween? You know for a fact that stupid mouse is his second favorite character after that blasted tank engine!” Sirius is nearly hysterical.
Remus scowls. “This is what you Fire Called me in a panic for? Harry’s Halloween costume?”
“I need to know!” Sirius’ voice is one decibel short of being described as shrieking.
“No, he’s not. And I’m only telling you this to spare myself from any more Fire Calls. He is not dressing up as Danger Mouse.”
Sirius slumps back onto the couch with relief. Confusion settles over his face a moment later. “Then what the hell is he dressing up as?”
“That’s for you to find out later. Halloween’s only a couple of days away, Sirius. Surely you can handle that? And remember, Harry’s dressing up as his hero. Not his favorite cartoon character.”
Sirius hums distractedly. “I suppose it’ll be alright if his hero is Superman. Or Batman.”
Remus shakes his head. “Just wait a few days, Sirius. I guarantee you won’t be upset. And stop trying to find out! Harry wanted it to be a surprise. Now I’m off to bed. If you call me past nine pm again I'll blow your bits off.” his head disappears from the flames with a pop!
“Are you sure you don’t need any help with your costume?” Sirius calls out through the closed door. His fingers twitch with the desire to turn the door and see the costume that Harry has managed to hide from Sirius for the past two weeks.
“No!” Harry replies, his voice slightly muffled. “Moony’s gonna help me.”
“Are you positive?” Sirius asks desperately. “I can help you just as well as Moony.”
“No!” Harry says firmly. “Moony’s helping.”
Right on cue, Remus appears at the foot of the staircase, dressed up Michael Myers. “Are you ready for me to come help, Harry?”
“Yes, please!” Harry returns. Remus comes up the stairs, manages to give Sirius a scathing look through his white mask, and is able open the door to Harry’s bedroom a crack and squeeze through without revealing any costume bits and bobs inside the room to Sirius. Not that he tries to take a peek before the door is slammed shut in his face.
The wait is excruciating. Sirius sits outside the door, fully outfitted in his Mick Jagger costume (complete with leather trousers and a yellow blazer) and straining to hear any semblance of costume-related conversation. Five minutes in with no ounce of noise coming through the door, he figures that Remus put up a Silencing Charm and that his efforts are useless. He’s prepared to wait all night when the doorbell rings, temporarily breaking through his agony, and he realizes that he’s the only one able to distribute treats to any visitors. Grumbling, he gets to his feet and heads down the stairs towards the front door, grabbing the bowl of assorted candy on his way.
Thirty minutes and ten groups of costumed children later (although it feels like hours), Sirius hears Harry’s bedroom door open. He quickly heads towards the stairs, anticipation driving his heart rate up.
“Close your eyes!” Remus says in a sing-song voice. He’s standing in front Harry, blocking the little boy from Sirius’ viewpoint at the bottom of the staircase. Sirius shoots daggers at him. Remus smiles serenely.
“Are your eyes closed, Padfoot?” Harry’s voice calls out.
Sirius sighs and, never able to refuse Harry anything, closes his eyes. “Yes, they certainly are,” he says.
“Don’t open them! I’m gonna come down the stairs, and then you can look, okay?”
The corners of Sirius' mouth twitch upward but his eyes stay shut. “Okay.”
He hears the concurrent footfalls of Remus and Harry as they proceed down the stairs. There’s some movement and jostling of all three individuals into their appropriate positions for the big reveal before Harry says, “Okay you can open!”
Sirius opens his eyes. In front of him, Harry is dressed in black skinny jeans, a white t shirt, and a leather jacket. His hair (which he’s adamantly refused to let Sirius cut for the past two months) is pulled back into a low ponytail. Black eyeliner has been very lightly applied to Harry’s waterline. Various silver rings adorn his small fingers, one of which, Sirius notices, is a replica of the Black house ring Sirius wears on his own middle finger. In one hand, Harry carries the blue plastic train Sirius got him, and in the other, he twirls the keys to Sirius’ motorbike, that, until a few hours ago, had been in the rightful spot on the hook next to the front door.
It takes a moment for the realization to hit Sirius, but when it does, it’s feel like a ton of bricks against his stomach.
Oh. Oh. Harry has dressed up his hero. Harry has dressed up like Sirius.
“Oh,” Sirius breathes out. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek in a valiant attempt to tears water from rushing into his eyes. For what is likely the first time in his life, he’s at a loss for words.
Harry grins. “Do you like it? You’re my hero! You always give me snacks and play with me and read me books with all the voices and take me on the motorbike and wear really cool clothes and...” his voice trails off as he realizes Sirius has not moved or spoken. Harry looks at his feet, suddenly embarrassed.
“Oh baby,” Sirius manages to get out. He squats down and gathers Harry into his arms. He makes eye contact with Remus over Harry’s shoulder, who’s beaming with pride. “I don't just like it. I love it. Oh wow. I can’t even find the words. I’m so honored.” If a few tears manage to slide their way into Harry’s hair, no one notices.
Harry’s demeanor lifts, and he returns Sirius’ embrace, knocking his head with the blue plastic train in the process. Blast that stupid tank engine, Sirius manages to think before the reality of Harry’s actual Halloween costume crashes again on him, and he has to rapidly blink to prevent any more waterworks from releasing. Sirius gives Harry one last tight squeeze before releasing him. Still squatting, he rests his hand on Harry’s shoulders and kisses his forehead. “Thank you, Harry. This was better than any present I could ever get.”
“Moony helped me!”
Remus’ smile is gentle. “Had to go to three different shops to get all the rings. But it was Harry’s idea.”
Sirius grins at the both of them. “Well out of the three of us, Harry certainly wins best costume, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah!” Harry cheers.
Remus scoffs, the emotional overtone of the past few minutes dissipating. “What about me?”
Sirius picks up Harry and tosses him over his shoulder as usual, the blue plastic train banging against his back. “You wore a mask, Moony. Hardly the same effort as our little Harry here” Sirius heads towards the coat rack, grabbing his and Harry’s jackets and slinging them over his free arm. “Now who’s ready to get some candy? I think some of us have a sweet tooth to deal with.” He opens the front door.
“Me!” Both Remus and Harry call out. The trio heads down the front steps and head down the street.
The quarter moon is cloudy that night, but Sirius’ grin is enough to rival the sun.