Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Masks of Real Heroes	By : Aelys_Althea Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 17641 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Many thanks to the wonderful J. K. Rowling who offered such a beautiful world for amateurs such as myself to frolick in. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction and all characters and original storylines of Harry Potter belong to her!

Chapter List
- 22
- 23
- 24
Chapter 22: Familiar Strangers
From her seat at Dumbledore's right hand, not quite behind the desk but not in front of it either, Minerva stared flatly at the two men. They were a sight, the both of them, for sure, and the slightly frantic gleam mirrored in both of to their eyes didn't do anything to help the disparaging impression. Remus had tidied himself up – though he always looked respectably neat – yet despite his tidiness looked even more worn now than usual. The deep smudges under his eyes didn't do him any favors. The full moon was two days past, but he still looked to be on the verge of weary collapse.
Sirius had actually made an attempt at cleaning himself up too. That in itself was remarkable. The man had never been the same since he'd escaped from Azkaban, not even after the assignation of the reprieve he'd been officially assigned from the Ministry. Minerva recalled how Sirius had been nearly snarling at the cordial and only mostly genuine apology that Kingsley had delivered it to him. Only Remus' swift fingers had saved the parchment from being ripped to shreds.
Minerva couldn't blame him. Sorry? It hardly seemed adequate.
But the man looked almost well groomed for once. He had lost most of the haggardness of prison life over the past three years, though the crazed aura still lingered. The long, matted hair that looked to have never seen a brush hadn't helped with the effect.

When he had stepped through the Floo that afternoon, however, Minerva had been surprised not only by the elegant if slightly dated robes he wore but also at the significant lack of matted hair. Sirius appeared to have been attacked by a Chopping Charm, albeit quiet successfully, and it now hung just past his ears. He'd even gotten rid of that patchy beard that had smeared his chin and cheeks; barely a scratching of stubble remained. Narrowing her eyes as she peered at him, Minerva thought she could see a hint of the handsome young man he had once been.
Though admittedly, the attractiveness was somewhat impeded by lasting frantic cast to his features that only grew slightly more so with anger as Dumbledore spoke.
"What do you mean, 'not treated quite as hoped'?" Sirius growled in a rumble that Minerva believed was directly assumed from his Animagus form. The man turned dark eyes to his friend. "Remus, what does he mean?"
Remus ignored the question and stared penetratingly at Dumbledore. Unlike Sirius, he was usually quite adept at showing restraint "Was Harry mistreated, Dumbledore? Is that what you're telling us?"
Whipping his head around, Sirius shot daggers at the headmaster. Minerva respected Dumbledore all the more for remaining unflinching under such a glare. She could not claim to manage half as well; there was too much of Azkaban still left in Sirius to have total confidence in his levelheadedness. "Well? Is that what you mean?"
Inclining his head, Dumbledore fixed his gaze upon his crossed fingers. As he had been doing so frequently since the sickness had been expunged, he rubbed wrinkled fingers across the smooth skin of his healed hand. "I will not go into detail, Sirius, Remus. Pray, allow my word that Harry has been through much but shall never be subjected to such treatment again be sufficient explanation."
Minerva cringed slightly at the headmaster's words. It was not the approach she would have taken; directly telling Sirius that Harry's family had mistreated him was probably not the best way to broach the subject. Sirius had become something of a listless shell since Pettigrew had been sentenced to the Kiss, broken only rarely by sporadic and random outbursts of anger. He only really seemed animated when out in the field on an Order mission, but then the opposite was of concern. Sirius threw himself into fights, into danger, with reckless abandon, as though he cared not whether he lived or died.
It's very likely he doesn't, Minerva considered. He had been a shattered man after James and Lily's deaths, since Pettigrew's betrayal and the subsequent attack of Bellatrix Lestrange. His sworn vengeance was – according to Remus – the only thing that had kept him going. And when that vengeance was fulfilled…
But now he has Harry. Or at least the idea of Harry.
Truthfully, Minerva wished that Remus had consulted Dumbledore before telling Sirius of his godson's return to the Wizarding world. Or at least that someone else had been there when he had broken the news. But Remus had been too excited, too eager to share his discovery, and hadn't fully considered how his words may effect the recovering wizard. It was one of the few times he had acted so irrationally, and he had since claimed that the fall out was a perfect demonstration of exactly why he was so cautious.
Sirius had taken to the news like a hound to a scent. Had it not bordered so closely upon obsessive, Minerva would have been satisfied that this newfound purpose had filled Sirius' life. But his eagerness seemed to disregard protocol, or even Harry's input in the matter; Sirius wanted to see his godson, wanted to know him, and simply nothing else was as important as that. The school had managed to screen incoming owls for letters, hoping to calm, to steady his eagerness slightly before meeting Harry. Until he'd sent the giga raven, anyway. And there was never any stopping one of the headstrong black beasts.
After that, Dumbledore been forced into deciding. Minerva knew it strained him; the elderly wizard was so focused at present upon the war, upon He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, that anything aside from that was simply an unnecessary distraction. Not that he didn't care for the boy; Minerva knew this fact for a certainty. Dumbledore seemed to have taken to Harry much like everyone else had. It was so uncanny, that the quiet, unassuming boy should slip so easily into the folds of the Hogwarts student body, so much so that Minerva could almost have considered it magical. Dumbledore was similarly curious at this phenomenon, but again, it was not a priority. Quite simply, there were more important, worldlier concerns than the reunion of a man and his godson.
In his hard-backed wooden chair, Sirius was displaying his overt eagerness in the form of fierce protectiveness, angered on part of his godson. A godson he had never truly met. The brief relationship they had shared when Harry was a baby could hardly be constituted as 'meeting'. And Sirius seemed adamant that he would receive a crash course in Harry's life before they even met. Something that Minerva doubted very much Dumbledore would afford him. Even she didn't know the details of Harry's past, had only been informed that the headmaster would see to his removal from his family's care. It raised questions, that weary statement, but she didn't ask. Dumbledore would tell her what she knew in time if he felt it necessary.
Shifting his gaze back up to Sirius and Remus, Dumbledore reached for his cup of cooling tea. Casting a wandless Warming Charm on the rippling contents, he sipped before answering. "I believe, Sirius, that such information would be better acquired directly from Harry. If he feels he can trust you with it, then he shall share the knowledge with you himself, I am sure. But please," he held up his hand as Sirius began to speak once more, "do not ask him directly. I think he would be as willing to share his secrets with an absolute stranger as you would your time in Azkaban."
It was a little harsh, the reminder, and Sirius flinched as though Dumbledore had struck him. But at least it quieted his questions and mellowed his anger. Sirius slumped back in his chair and shifted his gaze moodily to his shoes. "Alright. I'll wait." He glanced at the door to the office, as he had dozens of times since he entered the room nearly an hour beforehand. "What time is he coming?"
Dumbledore took another measured sip of his tea before placing it down on the saucer once more. "That remains to be seen. I am not certain that he will even be attending this meet."
Sirius snapped his head up, starting forwards in his seat. The momentary reprieve of anger abandoned was abandoned and he seemed in the process of launching himself across the room before he seemed to jolt to a halt. Minerva could just make out Remus' hand subtly yet firmly latched onto his sleeve. After a brief strain, Sirius seemed to deflate and slumped back once more. "He might not even come?" He sounded heartbroken, like a child who had been told his birthday party had been abruptly cancelled.
Dumbledore shook his head solemnly. "I left the decision up to him. It is his decision, as much as it is yours, Sirius."
"You didn't even ask for a reply?"
"I didn't feel such was necessary," Dumbledore replied cryptically. "It hardly matters, either way."
Minerva felt a twinge of annoyance, one she often felt when it seemed Dumbledore was playing mind games with his colleagues and subordinates. It does matter. It means that we may have been unnecessarily waiting here for an hour for a reunion that may never take place.
Minerva knew why she was here. Harry wasn't particularly close to anyone in the Wizarding world – at least outside of his immediate friends - and she was probably the closest. They had spent those couple of months together before sixth year began, and she had grown to know the boy just barely. It was almost with pride that she realised she was the one who had fully introduced Harry to the world of magic. And he had taken to it marvelously, if a little unconventionally. He progressed in leaps and bounds, quite literally as he seemed to completely by-pass some areas of knowledge and ignore others while mastering a few with miraculous speed. Yes, pride was one word she would use to describe it. Bafflement, exasperation and resignation were others.
"Perhaps it would have been appropriate to have asked for confirmation anyway, Dumbledore," Remus intoned quietly. There was no aggression in his tone, which was probably what allowed him to get away with such statements without angering those around him. Had Sirius said as much, sparks would have flown.
"Unnecessary, Remus, as I told you. It is unnecessary." And with a tilt of his head towards the door, he called, "please come in, Harry."
The speed with which Sirius and Remus spun in their seats was startling to behold. Sirius nearly rocked his chair over in his haste. He managed to right himself before the door swung inwards. It was slow, hesitant, almost nervous.
Harry was a small boy. If she had to hazard a guess just by looking at him, Minerva would have supposed him younger than sixteen. He was slight, too, which didn't support the reality of the situation. As he stepped tentatively into the room, closing the door silently behind him, the boy paused on the threshold and peered up through his fringe and glasses at the small party ringing the headmaster's desk. A flicker of shadow at his heel indicated that the ever-present Familiar was in company. The cat was as good as unnoticeable most of the time.
"Harry. Good evening to you." Dumbledore spoke quietly, yet in the way that he always somehow managed, his voice carried clearly throughout the room. "May I introduce you to our guests? This is Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.' The elderly wizard smiled kindly as she gestured to each man respectively. "They were dear friends of your father when he attended school."
Harry stared at each man respectively as they were named, nodding with solemnity that bespoke maturity far beyond his years. Typical of the boy, he didn't speak. Minerva found that he rarely did, except to ask a question pertaining to educational matter. Or he didn't used to, anyway. Recent relations with some of his peers seemed to be bringing him out of his shell a little. Minerva could only think that the boy seemed to be benefiting from such friendships.
Though right now he looks unwell. The thought caused Minerva to frown. Harry looked tired and worn, his usual paleness accentuated to a ghost-like intensity. She regretted the fact that she had not held sixth year Transfiguration that day; it would have been beneficial with scouting out potential illness.
And here I sound like a right mother hen. How silly of me. He's not even of my House. Yet even as the thoughts sprung alive she knew them to be foolish. She could care exceptionally for just about any student if she knew them on a personal level. It was her prerogative as both a teacher and a witch.
"Harry…"
At the whispered word, Minerva shifted her gaze towards Sirius. Without her notice, the man had risen silently to his feet. He clasped the back of his wooden chair as though using it as a crutch and only let go when he had taken enough steps across the room that he would otherwise be dragging it behind him. Minerva made a motion to stand, opening her mouth to pause Sirius in his stilted steps, but a flutter of fingers from Dumbledore stilled her tongue.
Sirius moved in a trance, as though wading through water. He paused several times, but like a fish being reeled in on a line, always started into a stumble once more. Harry didn't move. He stared up at the approaching wizard, not retreating but not stepping nearer either. Minerva wondered what was going through the boy's head. He was intelligent, that much could be seen from his eyes. Eyes that stared up with almost cool calculation at Sirius when he finally halted before him. The tall wizard nearly blocked Harry from her view.
"H…Hello." Sirius' voice choked in his throat and at his sides his hands clenched into fists.
Harry tilted his head, considering. He seemed to be searching for something in Sirius' face. "Hello. Sirius."
The words were very quiet. Very Harry. It was almost muffled by the short distance of the headmaster's office and didn't seem to hold any conviction. But the words were enough for Sirius. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he sagged, slumping to his knees. Even with his legs folded beneath him, his head still reached nearly to Harry's shoulder. His eyes remained fixed on Harry's face like a blind man seeing for the first time. With trembling hands he reached towards him. Minerva made to start from her seat once more; everyone knew about Harry's touch aversion. But again Dumbledore waved her to stillness.
Appropriately, as it turned out, for when Sirius' hands clasped gingerly onto Harry's shoulders, it seemed to have more of an effect on the grown man than the boy. He flinched and his own shoulders began to tremble. Minerva couldn't see his face, but she wouldn't have been surprised to find him crying.
The shaking hands patted gently. A croak sounded, possibly with the intention of forming words but failed. He patted once more and tried again. "You… you don't look as much like James as I expected." He sounded almost sorrowful for the fact.
Harry stared down at the man kneeling before him, clasping his shoulders with firmness yet gentleness that bespoke a fear of breaking that which he touched. Slowly he shook his head. "Sorry, I don't even know what he looked like. Otherwise I might have tried harder." A faint smile, so faint it was barely there, curled at the sides of his mouth.
Sirius barked a laugh that could have been a sob. "No, no it's not… I didn't mean it like that. I just…" He paused, took a shuddering breath, and tried again. "I didn't know what else to say."
With what appeared to be a physical effort, Sirius tore his eyes from Harry and glanced back towards the group behind him. There were indeed tears swimming in his dark eyes, but they had not fallen. Yet.
"Dumbledore, would you mind? If Harry and I were to take ourselves elsewhere?"
Minerva frowned uneasily. "I don't think –"
"Of course, Sirius. If Harry has no objections." The headmaster nodded quietly in acceptance and Minerva turned incredulous eyes towards him. Since when had he become so lenient? She would have thought that not only would Dumbledore wish to ensure Harry's comfort and safety in the situation, but that he would desire to be party to the conversation. The man did not become as knowledgeable and informed as he was by missing such opportunities regarding everything.
But it was too late for that. Sirius had risen quickly to his feet and sent a questioning glance towards Harry. The boy shrugged, then nodded in acceptance.
Sirius cast another glance back towards the headmaster. "Remus? Are you coming?"
Remus hesitated. Minerva could see the eagerness in his eyes, but there was something that held him back from readily agreeing. "No thank you, Sirius. Maybe a little later." The wizard smiled gently at Harry, who simply stared back at him. "I will speak to you later, Harry. It was nice to meet you, though. Another time?"
Harry bowed his head, nodding slowly. He met Remus' eyes with that same considering tilt of his head and offered his almost invisible smile, before turning to follow Sirius from the room. Sirius appeared to be just short of fleeing the headmaster's presence; it was no mystery that there was little love lost between then, and not only because of the situation with Harry. The door closed quietly behind them, a second after the disappearance of the small shadow of Lyssy.
"Headmaster, I must object.' Minerva swung her gaze towards Dumbledore, suppressed words spilling from her mouth in a torrent. 'Truly? Was that well considered, sending them off by themselves? You held back from letting them meet one another for so long and yet you let them leave just like that? I don't understand –"
"If you please, Minerva, I think that was probably the only way to conduct the proceedings." Surprisingly, it was Remus, not Dumbledore, who answered her.
Turning slowly towards the amber-eyed man, she raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Just as he says, Minerva. I don't believe that either Sirius or Harry would have been comfortable in progressing to any degree of familiarity with an audience." Dumbledore leant back in his seat, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. "They are rather similar in a lot of ways, the two of them. I hesitated in allowing Sirius to opportunity to meet Harry as I believed the boy may have been reluctant to partake in the reunion. Sirius urged my hand, and it was with misgivings that I sent the letter querying Harry's inclination to be included in the proceedings. Had he not come… but he did. And that is all the confidence I need to allow their privacy."
"I think they will be good for one another," Remus murmured, fingers idly picking at the knee of his trousers. In contrast to his words, he appeared rather sorrowful at the prospect. Or maybe that was just a delayed sadness at being excluded from the meeting.
Minerva switched her gaze between the two of them. "Am I overlooking something? What are you both not telling me?"
"It is not that we are keeping anything from you, Minerva. Simply that it is inconsequential, in the whole scheme of things…"
"Only that Sirius needed something. Or someone, perhaps." Remus continued after Dumbledore trailed off. He lifted his eyes to meet Minerva's intently. "Sirius is an ailing man, mentally speaking. I think that forming a relationship with Harry might be good for him. In more ways than one."
"And for Harry?" Minerva scowled, disgruntled by the affairs. "You hardly considered him in these proceedings. He does not even know the man who is currently monopolizing his time."
Remus shook his head ruefully. "No, he doesn't. But I think they'll get along fine. From the moment he stepped through that door I knew that he wouldn't be comfortable talking amongst us with any semblance of ease. He carries a bit of the same look as Sirius does now, in that regard." Remus frowned, as though a troublesome thought had just occurred to him. "I don't know how to feel about that. Why he would act like that. Something about his family…?" Amber eyes drifted towards Dumbledore, who still pondered the roof. Minerva had to glance overhead herself, just to be sure there was not a theatre show being performed overhead to draw the headmaster's attention.
When Dumbledore didn't reply, Remus sighed and leant back in his chair. "Fine, don't tell me. I'll talk to Harry and maybe," he shrugged. "Someday I'd like to know him well enough that he would confide in me. He is James' son, after all."
"Not that he looks much like him, really," Minerva sniffed.
Remus grinned. "He doesn't at that, does he? Oh, he's got the hair, if a little longer, and the same nose. Sirius always used to tease James about his 'pointy nose'. But he definitely has Lily in him; the eyes, the cheekbones. And Lily was slight, too."
"It's more than that, though," Minerva contemplated. The memory of James, confident and more than a little arrogant, played through her head like a moving picture. "He doesn't have the same attitude as James. At all. Not much like Lily, either, but more like her than him."
Slowly, the smile faded from Remus' face. "No. He doesn't really, does he? Maybe that's why he looks so different."
"He looks different, Remus, because that child is not the child of James and Lily."
The worlds immediately imparted silence onto the room. A static silence of absolute shock. Remus and Minerva started for a moment, mouths dropping open simultaneously before Dumbledore continued. "Oh, he is their offspring, for certain. But he did not grow under their loving hand, nor develop to acquire their habits and mimic their traits. It is no wonder that he seems a different child entirely. Because he is."
When Minerva could breath again, she snorted. "Very astute of you, Headmaster. But please, refrain from such approaches to a topic in a similar manner again. I fear my heart would not take similar surprises with any frequency."
Dumbledore smiled at the ceiling. "My apologies, Minerva. I will refrain in future, if possible."
Remus shook his head and chuckled. "That would be much appreciated." With a sigh he rose to his feet, straightening his jacket.
"Are you leaving, Remus?" Minerva asked, surprise lifting her eyebrows. She had thought the wizard would have awaited Sirius' return, and perhaps get another chance to talk to the child – yes, Harry was still James and Lily's child, no matter how Dumbledore played with words – but Remus shook his head.
"No, I don't think so. I believe that meeting one complete stranger a day would be more than sufficient for Harry. And I doubt Sirius will let Harry get away with skipping much of his past in the retelling I'm sure he is attempting to pry from him." He smiled fondly at the mental image he had painted. "Another time. I do want to meet him. Properly. But now," he glanced down towards his wrist, to an old, battered watch that ticked audibly, "I must be off. Tonks had a meeting with Bandershant at four-thirty and she said she wanted to meet me afterwards."
"Ah. Then you best be off, my friend." Dumbledore finally dropped his gaze from the ceiling and smiled at Remus. "Until next time."
Remus nodded, made his way towards the fireplace and disappeared within seconds. As the flames died back to a mere flicker once more, Minerva turned towards Dumbledore. The man smiled fondly at her and she couldn't help but sigh heavily. He truly does enjoy throwing me for a loop.

"You don't look that much like him at all, really."
It was the second time the man – Sirius – had said as much. Yet this time, there was less sadness in his words and more simple curiosity. From beneath his fringe, Harry could see the tall man regarding him openly and running his eyes over his face. Somehow, it wasn't as intrusive as it should have been.
With winter still struggling to huff its last breath, Harry was glad that Sirius hadn't lead him outside. He'd never been particularly fond of the cold, and after his rather close encounter with Jack Frost in the Christmas holidays his relationship with snow had taken a determined turn for the worse.
They had secreted themselves in a little nook on the fourth floor, on a strategically placed bench that looked through a stained glass window of a woman holding what Harry had at first though was a baby until he had seen it's decidedly inhuman face. A changeling, Sirius had called it, and the word rang bells of familiarity in Harry's head. His study was a welcome distraction from the funk that he still found himself in.
For no matter how he tried to work himself out of it, his melancholy over his fight with Draco that morning persisted. He had, for the first time in his life, skipped class without valid cause. Oh, it had happened in the past, in the Muggle world when he had been forced to do as much, but that was always because his uncle was too persistent in his attentions, or because he was bedridden from some fever or another. This time, however, he had deliberately avoided the classroom for the possibility of seeing his friends. Or worse, of seeing Draco.
Sadness stabbed raw in his chest like an open wound. Draco's harsh tone, the twisting anger on his face… Even now, Harry couldn't fully comprehend what had triggered the anger in his friend. It seemed so uncalled for, even accounting for his reluctance in letting Harry see Sirius.
Letting me…
The thought had withdrawn from vexation into sorrow now. That Draco would let him… Harry had never thought that the such restriction to his autonomy would hurt so badly. He had always been told what to do, always had his decisions made for him. It was a simple fact of his life; he didn't get the chance to choose for himself. It had pervaded him to such a degree that Harry was uncertain he could even make decisions should he be given the opportunity. Only recently had such hesitancy begun to dwindle. And Draco had tried force it out into the open once more.
Did he? Really? Was he just being a forceful dictator, or was it for another reason? Harry couldn't understand, was so confused that it left him nearly shaking his head in frustration. How was Draco so good at riling him up? He had only ever felt even mildly angry when around the other boy, and now? Harry had actually been angry at Draco.
Maybe it was a bit uncalled for… I don't know.
"You're thinking awfully hard."
Glancing towards Sirius, the man still considering him as though he were a rather abstract portrait, he shrugged. "No, just… thinking."
"About what?"
"A lot of things. School, friends… familiar strangers who suddenly appear in my life."
Sirius barked that oddly loud laugh he had. The one that nearly caused Harry to start at each utterance. He somehow managed to refrain the automatic twitch of his muscles. "Yeah, well, I am sorry about that." Sirius ran a hand through hair. "I just really wanted to meet you."
Frowning, Harry turned his own study to the man. He was a picture of respectfulness, well-groomed and with a posture that bespoke formal upbringing and slumping only slightly in casual ease. But there was rawness to his expression, a play of emotions that seemed nearly an uncontrollable movie reel. It put Harry oddly in mind of his own inability to control his expressions. The thought was oddly reassuring.
"Why is that?"
Sirius turned dark eyes on him curiously. "Why what?"
"Why did you want to meet me? Why now?"
Sighing, that posture slumped a little further. "Why now? Well, better now than never, I suppose."
"Hmm?"
Another hand passed through Sirius' hair, tugging idly on the tips. "I would have come sooner, if I'd actually known you were at all welcoming of the prospect."
It was Harry's turn to frown. He wasn't quite following of the direction of the conversation, as though he was missing something. Sirius seemed to be hesitant to elaborate. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't I have been welcoming."
The wizard shrugged. "You lived in a Muggle world. From what I've heard, after I… returned to England," he paused briefly, and Harry felt a story buried there; he didn't interrupt, however. "I was told that you chose to move to France to live with a second cousin or something or other.
"As your godfather, and as pertaining to your parents will, you should have been in my custody had I been in a more, ah… flexible position. I only came into such a position about three years ago." He turned his eyes back towards Harry. There was a deep, enduring sadness in their wide depths. "Had I known…"
"Known what?" Harry couldn't quite contain his confusion.
Sirius dropped his eyes to his hands, where they now wrestled one another idly in his lap. "Dumbledore told me that…"
Harry tuned it out. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to hear. At that moment, he could contain the memories of his past, the hurt and the sadness that had arisen with a vengeance so recently. Like a Band-Aid over a bullet wound, he would keep it hidden until later when he could assess the damage. And that meant he would have to stop Sirius there.
"I don't know what you mean."
There was far too much understanding on Sirius' face for Harry's peace of mind. It was disconcerting. "I… I know you…" He swallowed, casting imploring eyes towards Harry. Harry had to drop his chin. He was gradually getting a grasp on his facial expression, but when faced with such sincerity he didn't know how he could maintain indifference.
"You're my godfather, right? I never knew I had a godfather." He kept his voice quiet, hushed.
Sirius leant forward in a seemingly unconscious motion at the words. A small smile caused wrinkles to appear at the corners of his eyes. "Yeah, I assumed that. Surprise."
The broadening of the smile was too much to deny. Harry felt his resentment ease slightly, and even offered a small smile in return. "Yeah…"
Taking a deep breath, Sirius slumped further back into his seat. "What would you say to it?"
"Say to what?"
"Coming to live with me?"
Harry froze once more, in both mind and body. His eyes fastened blankly on the floor before him. The soft warmth of Lyssy beneath the seat, pressing her head to his ankle, was an anchor to reality that suddenly seemed swept from beneath his feet. "Excuse me?"
Sirius cleared his throat with false casualness. "You. Come and live with me."
"Um, I don't think…"
"What?" Sirius cast his eyes down towards him. That casualness continued, yes, but a strange light flickered in his eyes. Not intimidating, not like Harry's uncle, but somewhat… pleading?
"Um, Sirius, I barely know you. I don't think- "
"Oh. Oh, right. Yeah." Relief spread across Sirius' face and Harry immediately understood. The man was afraid he would say he didn't want to go because…? What, he didn't like him? "I didn't mean right now, of course. I just thought, you know, if maybe when school let out this year?"
Reaching under the bench, Harry pressed fingers to Lyssy's back. Well, this is a turn of events. And so unexpected, so far removed from every other concern in his life at the moment, that he didn't really know how to approach it. "I… suppose? Maybe?"
The answering smile spreading across Sirius' face waylaid any uncertainty Harry felt over uttering such words, even if they had been more an attempt to comfort the man. "Great! I mean, look, I know you don't have to promise anything, or, you know. Nothing's set in stone. I just wanted to put it out there, as an option."
Harry felt warmth flicker in his chest. Warmth that gradually grew to replace his melancholy at the forefront of his mind. It was a welcome relief. He smiled at the man who looked nothing if not a delighted puppy. Straightening in his seat, tugging Lyssy into his lap, he nodded. "Alright. Maybe I can write to you sometime this term?"
"That would be –" Sirius cleared his throat again, banishing the croak. "I would like that. I'd really like to get to know you, Harry."
"And I you."
"Do you think that – Oh, who's this?" For Sirius had turned eyes to the cat now curled in Harry's lap.
The persistent thrum of a purr fizzled along Harry's legs comfortably. Half-closed green eyes regarded Sirius, not with suspicion but with curiosity, simply watching. Through the bond, the apatite collar still fastened around Lyssy's neck, Harry could feel the odd, predatory calculation of the little cat's ancestors shaping her thoughts. Faint wariness, but yes, mostly curiosity. Of what, Harry couldn't tell; Lyssy didn't form the feeling anything understandable as words, but he could hear it as though she had spoken the feeling aloud. He scratched idly behind her ears and the purr thrummed louder.
"This is Lyssy. She's my, um, I suppose yeah, she's my Familiar."
"A Familiar? What, at your age?" Sirius seemed rather incredulous at that.
"Is that strange?"
Shrugging, Sirius turned his attention back towards the cat. Unexpectedly, he stretched out a hand towards her. "May I?" At Harry's own shrug, he trailed fingers over the little cat's back. The purrs muted slightly but didn't fully stop. "It's not a problem, exactly. Just that most people don't usually conduct the ritual before they become full adults."
"What ritual?"
His fingers pausing slightly, Sirius glanced up at him. "Ah, I see. It's a natural Familiar. That's a little unusual."
"Unusual?" Harry was feeling a little like a mimicking parrot.
"Not bad. Just not as common as induced Familiars. You must be close, for such a bond to develop."
Harry nodded, his own fingers still kneading gently. The words 'she was my best friend for years,' managed to slip out before he clamped his jaw shut. Glancing fearfully at Sirius, he awaited the dubious stare, the baffled reply. But none came.
Sirius nodded his head slowly. "Fair enough. One of my closest friends for a good couple of years has been a hippogriff." He flashed his teeth widely. They were slightly crooked. "I'm not one to judge."
It was so easy, being with the man. Harry wasn't sure if he had simply become better at social interactions since attending Hogwarts or if Sirius truly was just very companionable. For whatever reason, he felt unexpectedly at comfortable with the man.
And I never feel all that much at ease with anyone except – No, don't think that. Don't let your thoughts go there. He thrust the image of Draco from his mind and focused instead on Sirius. Which was good, really, as Sirius seemed to have decided that mention of the hippogriff had opened a doorway into reminiscing of the past.
Sirius spoke with a mixture of wistfulness, frustration and fondness of his past. He spoke of his house in London – which he hated – and his infrequent partaking in Order business that was notably patchy in places where Harry assumed he was attempting to enforce confidentiality. Though hesitant at first, any reluctance to share quickly quelled when he found Harry wasn't about to interrupt him, nor simply listen with half an ear. Even more so when they got past skirting around the issue of his imprisonment. It happened rather unremarkably, really, and not five minutes after he had begun talking.
"I was… imprisoned. In Azkaban. For many years." Sirius' eyes had widened slightly, his face becoming faintly and rapidly grey, and stared fixedly at a point of the hallway floor before him.
Harry had paused for a moment warily, considering, before replying. "I know. Do you want to talk about it?"
Sirius had turned to face him slowly. What started out as a sharp shake of the head became an almost frantic dissent. "No. No, I really don't."
Harry shrugged, turning his eyes down towards Lyssy. The cat watched Sirius with her quiet regard, pupils thinned to slits. "Okay. Then don't. Everyone has things they're trying to forget."
Like a load had been lifted from Sirius' shoulder, the man had sighed and his breath evened. With forced joviality, he started into the story of how he had come about meeting his hippogriff friend. Buckbeak, he was called. Harry was surprised to hear Neville, Ron and Hermione make an appearance in that tale, even even than Sirius' surprise upon hearing that he knew them.
"You're friends with Neville? Hermione and Ron too?"
Harry nodded. "We have a study group."
Blinking owlishly, Sirius had only muttered an incredulous 'study group?' before shaking his head. "You'll have to give them my best. Haven't seen any of them for a good while, not since, oh, would have to be over a year now. Kids don't have much to do with the Order." Harry made a mental note to ask Neville about his meeting with Sirius. Meddling with suspected criminals added to ever-growing colour of his friend's curious past? What didn't the Gryffindors get up to?
The story of Sirius' pursuit of a man named Peter Pettigrew – who Harry had heard of but knew little about – seemed as riddled with holes as a secondhand blanket. Harry suspected Sirius to be leaving out some of the grimmer details and filled them in for himself. Apparently Pettigrew had been working for the Lord Voldemort, and had a hand in numerous deaths. One of which…
"I couldn't very well leave the bastard to go free. Not after what he'd done." Sirius seemed to have slipped into a world of his own when the subject of Harry's parents arose. He seemed to have completely forgotten Harry was there. Not an uncommon occurrence for Harry; he was frequently told he was a good listener, though Blaise suggested it was simply that he was naturally unobtrusive. Harry tended to agree with him. "He needed to pay, pay for his crimes. If I'd have known that he was such a lying, scheming, backstabbing- "
The man closed his eyes tightly. He was bent nearly double, elbows propped on knees and chin in hands. His fingers seemed to be gripping his jaw fit to crack bone. Harry stared at him silently. There was a lot of pain in Sirius; it hung from every taut muscle. Harry considered how odd it was, that Sirius should feel such heartbreak for the loss of Harry's parents while Harry felt so little.
But then, Harry hadn't known them.
Suddenly, Sirius seemed to recall Harry's presence. He opened his eyes, swiveling them towards him. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
"What?"
He sighed. "It's not so much what I said, I suppose. I mean that I shouldn't have gotten angry. Shouldn't have brought up the topic. It's a sore spot for you, too."
"More for you, I think."
Harry spoke quietly, nearly a whisper, and it was probably because of such that Sirius was delayed in his response. He was silent for nearly a whole minute before he started up straight and looked to Harry incredulously. "What? Why would you think that?"
"I didn't know them, Sirius. They were my parents, but I don't even remember them."
Sirius seemed to deflate with his words. "You don't? Not even a little?"
Harry pondered. Did he? Maybe, there might be something. A soft voice, the smell of warm skin, the feel of sharp stubble beneath his fingers. Maybe. He would have to think about it. "If I do, it's not anything clear."
Slumping further, Sirius turned his attention towards his fingers. They had stopped trying to tug each other apart, at least. "That's… tragic."
"Maybe."
"No, it is." Sirius nodded firmly in curtness that bespoke anger. "It's not right that you don't know your parents. And you should have known them, Harry. James, Lily, they were incredible. You should have –"
And just like that the anger died into grief. The heat disappeared from his eyes and an upwelling of what could only be tears filmed Sirius' eyes. A brief moment of panic – what would Harry do if the man, barely more than a stranger started to cry? – before Sirius collected himself. "Sorry. It's just that even after all these years," he paused to laugh humourlessly in what was more of a growl than a bark. "Can you believe I miss him so much?"
"James?"
Sirius nodded. "You mother too, of course. But I knew James for longer and, well… we were like brothers." His face grew mournful, reflective, yet still open. Harry was stilled nearly immobile at the display. It was different to that which Draco had shown, the clean, sharp agony of acute sorrow. This was older, simmering, as though it had spent years growing to such intensity, bubbled down from the wrenching hurt of a newly opened wound into a bone-deep ache. "How can one person mean so much to you?"
Only when Lyssy's head brushed his chin did he realise he had stopped stroking and the little cat crawled up his chest. He wrapped arms around her gently but tightly; she was a reassuring warmth. Reassurance for what, he couldn't tell, only…
"True friends, they're not like anything else in the world. You can both love them and hate them at the same time, but you know, no matter what, you'll always be there for one another." He growled another laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Until they're not." Glancing towards Harry, Sirius swallowed loudly. "You know?"
It was a rhetorical question. Or it should have been, but Harry couldn't help his thoughts turning towards his friends. More importantly, to one friend in particular. Even the brief flicker of memory caused a wash of sadness to well up within him, but he fought against the natural instinct to bury the emotions and strove to consider his perception of Draco objectively. Did he hate him? He wasn't sure; he didn't think he could ever hate him before today, and even now when the anger that hung like a resounding echo in his memory, it was brief and fiery rather than the slow lurking of hatred.
What Draco had said had hurt him, and maybe more than it should have. Why? It took a long moment of thought to realise, until Sirius' words floated through his mind once more. You both love and hate them at the same time. Was it that simple? Was it because he loved him too, as well as being angry – hated, even, however briefly – at him that it had hurt so badly?
"I'll give you some advice, Harry, though it's probably a bit inappropriate given how we hardly know one another." Sirius gave self-deprecating smile, but continued anyway. "If you ever get something like that, don't let it go. And live every minute of it. I'm not saying it will all end painfully – hell, if it ever does end, I'd hope it would be as painless as possible – but just in case. You don't want to live with regret."
It spoke too directly to Harry's thoughts. To Harry's experiences even. Had Sirius been looking him in the eye, Harry would have even considered himself to be a subject of Legilimens. He'd read about that after what Narcissa had told him of his unconscious experience. From what little he knew of him, Harry didn't think Sirius was the sort of person to be skilled at such a delicate art, let alone willing to use it. Still, it was disconcerting. He rebuffed it with a question of his own.
"What do you have to regret?" Harry was genuinely curious, for certain, which probably helped in enforcing the sincerity of his question. Sirius, to his credit, considered it sincerely in return. Or perhaps just considered whether to reply or not.
Finally he spoke. "I do have regrets. I have many regrets. I regret every time we fought. I regret when I missed dropping by his house because I was too tired after a day with the Order. I regret," he paused. The lines in his face hardened to statue-like quality. "I regret that I didn't act as secret keeper when it was offer me. Yes, I have many things I regret."
Harry didn't know what a secret keeper was, but he didn't feel it the moment to remedy his ignorance. Rather, Sirius seemed in such deep thought that when he abruptly surged into motion and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, eyes fixing upon him intensely, Harry started violently but Sirius didn't even seem to notice.
"Don't live with regrets, Harry. You'll just spend a lifetime wondering how you could have acted differently. Instead, just live."

A/N: Hello, reviewers. Thanks so much for sparing a moment to lend a few words :) In resonse to just a couple from the last chapter:
Jan: thanks so much for always leaving such lovely words. It's really, really appreciated, you have no idea. Sorry no Harry/Draco this chapter, but I swear I'm making up for it in the next one!
Sapphire: thanks for commenting :) I'm sorry that it's not really as enjoyable now as it had been when Harry was more evidently broken. But that's the thing; he was wearing a mask, and when that was shattered he was actually able to show and experience what he felt underneath, which I guess is sort of what you mean by 'normal and confident'? No, he's not really confident, but yes, he does act differently. Not a 180 in his actual personality, only in the way he ACTS.

As for Stephen... I left it a little open to interpretation, but really, no, he's not dead. At least not right now. And it wasn't so much that he was obsessed with Harry in particular. More that he took the opportunity that presented itself, using a kid who no one would really care about, you know?
But anyway, thanks for reviewing, guys! If anyone could spare a moment to R & R, it would be much appreciated.
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The Masks of Real Heroes