Title: Victims of War
Author: Myss Naughty
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Sirius Black and Harry Potter / Sirry
Fiction Rated: M
Status: Complete
Archive: Please e-mail me at story revolves around male/male relationships and contains sexual situations, if you don't agree with these subjects don't read – Simple!
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine; they belong to JK Rowling etc. I make no money from my stories, just borrowing Sirius and Harry for my own sadistic pleasure. Set in my unique universe though may touch slightly on the timelines in the novels.
Authors Note: Originally posted within my Livejournal on Tuesday 16th November 2004 and Re-written purely for my own satisfaction. MA Version available within my Livejournal.
Summary: With the war finally over, Harry longs for a happy ending.
Leaning silently against the weather worn doorframe Harry looks out onto the back garden of 12 Grimmauld Place smiling wanly as he crosses his arms tight across his chest. Absent-mindedly he rubs his bare hands against the tops of his arms attempting to ward off the harsh chill of the British weather that threatens to seep through his fleece, mercilessly seeking out the warmth beneath.
The cold air stings his exposed face, whilst hot breath mixes awkwardly with the freezing atmosphere forming intricate shaped patterns before him.
Watching with childish enthralment as a rocket races frantically into the clear night sky seeking out the peppered constellations above, Harry can't help but smile, shivering uncontrollably from the tingling sensations electrifying every fibre, everynerve ending from the knowledge he's finally taken control of his own life, finally free to stand outside and truly appreciate the celebrations going on around him, of finally being a part of them.
Long gone is the little boy locked up within the cupboard under the stairs, left alone in the suffocating darkness as though he was an abomination, as though he didn't deserve to exist, gone is Hogwarts and Voldemort, the prophecy finally fulfilled.
Enjoying listening to a rare moment of silence seldom found during Bonfire Night celebrations, Harry closes his eyes and inhales deeply, filling his lungs to capacity with the mixture of cordite and smoke from the neighbouring bonfires. He knows through experience the aroma will linger in the cold air long after all the multi coloured displays have faded away, long after the fires have burnt out and the embers swept up within the currents.
The smile dies on his lips as the smell brings back painful memories of a time best left forgotten.
Memories of lying on his back upon the hard ground, heart pounding fiercely against his rib cage, chest shuddering with every strained, painful breath as the eerie veil of silence descended over the now calm battlefield. Drifting in and out of consciousness, breathing in the acrid smell of burning, listening to the faint groans of the injured, of the dying carried aloft within the breeze, incapable of moving, of finding out whether it was Death Eater or Order member making them.
Memories of hearing his name being spoken softly over and over like a mantra, pleading him not to die, not to leave him alone, the familiar rough voice full of concern, of unshed emotion. His touch gentle, as nervous fingers caressed his cheek, his hair, before the feel of brushed kisses upon his forehead, his cheek and against his lips drew him back to the living. Remembers struggling to open his eyelids, blinking away the haze, shaky fingers rubbing the grit and dust from his eyes, knowing the look of worry etched upon the face of his godfather would be forever burned within his memory, within his very soul.
Patchy recollections of being carried within strong arms to one of the many healers, of clutching Sirius' clothes with a weakened grip, of drawing himself into his embrace, into his heat, seeking comfort, breathing in his intoxicating odour as though trying to erase the stench of death that permeated his nostrils.
Flashes of Sirius promising him that he would be alright, that everything would be alright, that they would be alright as he lay there silently whilst the Healer checked him over, barely listening to the man telling him how lucky he was, that the injuries he'd sustained had been minimal, leaving him to suffocate on the feelings of guilt, guilt that he'd survived whilst so many others had been less fortunate.
Too many names dying on the tip of his tongue as he'd cried openly in his godfather's arms.
Memories of apparating that evening to Privet Drive with barely enough strength to avoid being spliced, the rust coloured leaves falling in the cool autumn breeze leaving the lines of trees running adjacent to the road sparse, the sound of the dry, fragile blades interrupting the silence as they crunched beneath their feet.
Remembers the chimes of the doorbell as it pierced the stillness of the night, the feel of Sirius' hand gently squeezing his right shoulder in re-assurance, the feel of his godfather's fingers stroking the back of his neck, the feel of his body as he leant into his touch. Known how bad they'd looked coming straight from the battle with clothes soiled and ripped, skin dirty and the blood splatters upon their faces now dry with parts flaking.
He can still remember standing before her, illuminated in the hallway light as it spilt onto the doorstep, the practised look of disdain upon Petunia's face as she'd mutely taken in their dirty and dishevelled appearances, pursing her lips, saying nothing as she simply stood aside allowing them entry, as though she instinctively knew what they had come to do.
They'd apparated back to London, choosing to walk those last few deserted streets to Grimmauld Place, their bodies tired, spent, leaning upon each other to make it just like they'd always done.
Unable to find peace he'd crawled into his godfather's bed that night, lying sleepily entwined within his protective arms, staring out into the oppressive darkness whilst listening to the sound of Sirius' soft, rhythmic breathing behind him, the sound of the torrential rain as it pounded against the windowpane. Remembers fighting against heavy eyelids just in case he woke up and found it had all been a cruel dream, of blinking back the burning tears that threatened to fall as his mind wandered to the moment he'd found Ron, the way his lifeless body had looked, the way Hermione and Mrs Weasley had cried when they were told of the bad news.
Memories of Sirius' fingers dancing over bare skin trying to alleviate the hurt as the tears inevitably fell, remembers the feel of his godfather's hot breath against the delicate hairs upon his ear as he'd whispered calm, soothing words, the feel of his body pressed hard against his.
Crying till he finally fell into an exhaustive sleep.
Exhaling the breath he doesn't remember holding, Harry opens his eyes and with a single finger brushes away the solitary tear that slowly snakes past the corner of his eye and down his cheek, the trail stinging in the cold autumn breeze.
Hugging himself tightly he steps off the rickety old porch, the wood settles noisily back into place from the loss of his weight but he doesn't hear it as the sound is swallowed up by bangs and whizzes of the multitude of fireworks being released and his mood moderately lightens when he realises his trail of thought, no matter how they start always leads to the one person who has come to mean his whole world.
Slowly making his way down towards the end of the long, barren garden he wishes something, anything would grow but everything he plants just dies and he's wondering why, if they finally managed to wrestle Mrs Black's picture off of the wall they can't overcome this particular problem and he worries that perhaps he's the cause of everything and everyone he loves dying.
Drawing to a stop besides his godfather whom he's been watching with some amusement try to light the small bonfire the old-fashioned muggle way, he glances down at the growing pile of spent matches that litter the floor around their feet and smiles, the air is blue from Sirius venting his frustrations and right now Harry hasn't the heart to tell him he probably needs some sort of accelerant to kick start it off.
"Cold Harry?" Sirius enquires, as he turns round to look at his godson, smiling apologetically when he notices he's shivering.
"A Bit!"
He admits trying not to look as though he's purposely avoiding Sirius' eyes just in case they betray him and give away the little 'white lie' he's just told, truth is he's freezing and he's sure an appendage or two will drop off in the next minute or so.
Drawing the younger wizard close to him Sirius lets his hands rub vigorously up and down his back trying to bring him some much needed warmth as they share body heat, resting his head atop his godson's he gently returns his squeeze.
"I'm sorry for this Harry..."
Sirius whispers apologetically as he produces his wand seemingly from thin air and points it directly at the smouldering pile of garden rubbish.
"Incendio!"
As the flames ferociously begin to take hold of the piles of wood and dry, garden debris Harry laughs loudly, feeling the friction with each giggle Sirius gently brushes away a strand of fallen hair before lightly kissing the top of his forehead.
Unconsciously tightening his grip around the older man's waist Harry knows he really doesn't care how Bonfire Night's celebrated; all that truly matters to him is that they are together, that they, at least escaped the war unscathed physically if not totally psychologically.
"I thought we were going to do it the old fashioned muggle way?"
He chides, his tone light, carefree and as he looks up at his godfather he's unable to stop his breath from catching as their eyes meet and he notices the myriad of colours from the flames dancing upon his usually solemn and haunted grey eyes. Releasing a shuddery breath he feels the overwhelming desire he knows so well uncoil within the pit of his stomach and before he does anything he knows he will later regret twists away to stretch his left hand out towards the fire flexing his numb fingers, thankful for the extra heat.
"What's the point of being a wizard Harry if we can't make life a bit easier?"
Sirius shrugs, sighing sadly as he immediately feels the loss.
Sliding his wand back into his trouser pocket Sirius reaches up to brush the pad of his thumb against his godson's hot cheek rubbing away a small piece of soot that's settled upon his cheekbone and Harry notices his thumb lingers perhaps seconds longer than necessary as though he's reluctant to break the connection between them. Unconsciously Harry leans into the contact, he's hotter than he's ever felt before and he's unsure whether it's the bonfire beside him or his body's natural reaction to his godfather's touch.
"Sirius..."
He whispers softly as he rises up onto the balls of his feet.
His voice cracks and his mouth suddenly dries as his godfather turns to him, eyes wide from the feel of Harry's warm lips brushing softly, briefly against his own, the touch is so faint he'd have thought it was his imagination if it wasn't for his godson mere millimetres apart and for the briefest of seconds all either of them can hear is the beating of their own erratically pounding hearts before the barrage of fireworks grows louder, drowning out all other sounds.
Releasing his grip Harry stumbles backwards and turns to walk away, he feels incredibly foolish for getting caught up in the moment; foolish for kissing his godfather who will never love him back, at least not in the way he wants.
"Harry... Wait!" Sirius begs, somehow just managing to grasp his hand tightly, refusing to let him leave. "You can't just do that and walk away!"
Chewing his bottom lip in fierce apprehension Harry tries desperately to pacify his nerves before forcing himself to turn round, his mouth is still dry and as he tries to vocalise one of the many worthless excuses floating around inside his head his voice comes out in barely a murmur.
"I..."
Drawing him closer Sirius interlocks their fingers, thumb rubbing absently across the top of his godson's hand, offering reassurance.
"Is there something you want to tell me Harry?"
Sirius asks calmly, his tone belying just how nervous he's feeling and as Harry studies the man before him he thinks for a second he glimpses just how scared the older wizard is, but as his godfather raises the parental façade he's perfected Harry doubts himself.
Swallowing past the lump that feels like someone's shoved sandpaper down his throat Harry, with his free hand tugs at the collar of his fleece that suddenly feels oh so tight and so damn restrictive.
"I..." He rasps once more, his voice barely registering and as he sees the brief flash of anticipation on his godfather's face his heart races as he realises this time he wasn't mistaken. Nodding curtly he knows this should be a doddle after facing off against Voldemort, but there he could only lose his life, here he could lose his heart, could lose everything. "I'm afraid Sirius…"
Feeling the grip upon his hand tighten, Harry realizes he's not alone.
"Me too…"
And this time it's Sirius who initiates the kiss, his demanding tongue seeking entrance to Harry's mouth, his hand gently cups his godson's face as he seeks the warmth within and Harry readily accepts, wrapping his arms around the older man, wanting to feel him as close as possible, the kiss is as desperate as it is perfect, lips frantically caressing lips, tongues twinning, fingers grasping, entwining within tousled hair.
"Gods Sirius, please don't play with me..."
Harry begs between small sloppy, peppered kisses.
"Never..."
Sirius purports as he stares solemnly into wide green eyes before stealing another brief kiss, his hand once more cups Harry's flushed face, whilst his thumb slowly traces the outline of his debauched lips.
Covering Sirius' hand with his Harry captures his lower lip between his teeth and with hooded eyes silently motions towards the house with a slight tilt of his head, his breath held, nervously awaiting response. Nodding his head in unspoken conformity Sirius falls silently into step beside him, arms linked they leave the bonfire to burn itself out.