The expression on Sirius's face froze.
He held that pose of pained disappointment at Harry's failure to live up to his expectations, traces of disappointment and exhaustion still lingering in his gray eyes as he stared blankly at Harry.
Silence settled over the office for a few seconds.
A question mark slowly rose over Sirius's head. Then, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, he nearly sprang out of his chair.
"I've become a bad influence? I've picked up bad habits from Douglas?"
He pointed at his own nose, his face full of disbelief.
"Harry, tell me honestly-who do you think I'm going to all this trouble for?"
Watching his agitated reaction, Harry suppressed a smile, but forced a hurt, aggrieved look onto his face. His voice dropped too, taking on a slightly tearful tone:
"Yes, I know you mean well... just like Professor Holmes says, he takes points from me and makes me write an essay eight hundred times to temper my will and make me stronger..."
He paused and sniffed, his gaze wandering as though he had sunk into some unbearable memory:
"Every time he gives me that look that says it's for my own good and announces some bizarre punishment, I can feel his profound love.
"Sirius, what you just said, that look, that tone..."
As he spoke, that half-smile returned to Harry's face. He took a few steps forward and walked halfway around Sirius's desk.
He looked as though he were examining some rare exhibit, making Sirius squirm under his scrutiny.
Finally, he stopped, tilted his head slightly, and said to Sirius:
"You're practically cast from the same mold, only you haven't quite got it down. Too over the top."
He paused and pointed at the hair Sirius had just mussed up.
"Next time,