I.

I pull up to the front of your driveway

With magic soaking my spine

Can you read my mind?

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"Harrypottersexysixteenoldhogwarts."

"...Sorry?"

Harry peered down at the grimy, knobby, rag-attired shape of Kreacher, who had one hand on the door he had just opened, and was hanging his head as though too ashamed of what he was saying to dare hold it upright.

"Harry Potter," he repeated at a significantly reduced tempo, each word clearly costing him not only dignity but what looked like physical pain, "is the sexiest sixteen-year-old at Hogwarts."

Harry grinned, catching on. "I'm not sixteen until midnight tonight, you know."

"Close enough," a voice countered.

Harry looked up to see the smiling form of his godfather, dressed in jeans and a snug white t-shirt, leaning against a wall across the room behind Kreacher with his arms crossed over his chest, undeniably immensely pleased with the performance he had coerced out of his elf. Said elf promptly exited stage right, head still hung, and now muttering obscenities as he disappeared into an adjoining room.

"I can't believe you made him do that!" Harry laughed.

"Well, why not? It's true."

"I'm sure Malfoy would disagree."

"Eh, he's just jealous. 'Sides, it was worth it just to watch Kreacher suffer so."

Harry idly noted how glad he was that Hermione hadn't been around to hear that, and they watched one another for a moment, still grinning. Sirius looked much the same as he had when they'd parted in June at King's Cross, albeit happier by miles – but Harry himself, suddenly, felt much older.

"I don't want to go," Harry had insisted, pointlessly, childishly, as Sirius pulled him into a massive embrace, the smell of laundry detergent and cologne and summer filling Harry's nose.

"I know, kiddo," he'd said, holding him tighter. "I know."

All around them people were bustling across platforms nine and ten, unaware, as though the two of them were invisible, and Harry thought it very strange that life could go on so effortlessly and the sun could still shine so brightly when he felt as cheerless as he did – and right then he felt a month and a half might as well have been a lifetime.

Sirius pulled away first, inhaled quickly to hide what was unmistakably a sniffle, and gave Harry his best attempt at a smile, while Harry still maintained death grips on the arms of his godfather's sweater.

Uncle Vernon emitted a noise of distinct disgust and impatience behind them. They pretended to ignore it, sharing amused, though concealed, grins between them: their first secret. Sirius leaned forward, planted a kiss on Harry's forehead, and took a step back, before giving in and roughly pulling him against his chest once more.

"I love you," he whispered into Harry's hair.

Harry, unable to remember ever having heard the words before in his life and consequently failing to develop a suitable response, merely froze. Something leapt inside him that had never leapt before, and suddenly he wanted to hear the words again, over and over.

"You know that, don't you?" Sirius added quickly. Harry nodded into his shirt.

I love you too, he wanted to say, so badly, so badly he could feel it catching in his throat, begging for release, and he half wished Sirius were some wildly talented Occlumens who could read his mind, if only for a moment... and half wished he couldn't, for fear he would find thoughts of which even Harry himself was yet unaware –

"E-NOUGH – of – this – sentimental – RUBBISH!" bellowed Uncle Vernon. "Either you come with us now, or we leave you here!"

Harry, thinking this wasn't such a bad idea at all, looked hopefully at Sirius as they separated. Sirius smiled again, ruffled Harry's hair in a last attempt at lightheartedness, and stepped away, Harry's heart sinking at the sudden lack of contact. "Go on," he choked.

Obediently he followed Uncle Vernon through the crowd, glancing back every chance he caught. Sirius grew smaller and smaller until he vanished completely behind the brick wall of the platform.

Clearly, Harry thought now, he indeed must have been years younger.

A hint of blush, unbidden and inexplicable, was ominously threatening to rise up his face if he continued to just stand there staring, so did all he could think to do: he ran over the door's threshold and leapt into Sirius's arms – quite literally – legs wrapping around his waist, defying any suspicion that he was even a minute older than he had been a month ago – or ten years ago, for that matter. For a brief moment, the smell of detergent and cologne encased him again, and he remembered how vividly the words had felt as they'd met his ears, and again, he felt the overwhelming need to say them back – even a month and a half late.

Sirius laughed, toppling backward but regaining his balance as he returned the embrace, before setting Harry on his feet.

"One thing about getting older," he observed, rubbing his lower back, "is you actually grow in size as well, you see."

"Sorry," Harry grinned sheepishly.

Sirius was still smiling. "No worries. Vertebrae are highly overrated. Now come on, I've got a surprise for you."

He wandlessly Accio'd Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage from the walkway outside the door, plopped them both down in the foyer (Hedwig snapped a noise of discontent), and led them both through the house toward what Harry remembered, during Mrs. Weasley's cleaning frenzy of the previous summer, as a useless and oversized living room (though this description was naturally biased, as he had been the one to clean it), which hadn't been used as long as he could remember.

"I only got to celebrate one birthday with you, see," Sirius explained, "and you were only a wee thing then, so I've had to make up for lost time."

He swung the door open and Harry peered inside. The entire room had been decorated lavishly from top to bottom. A massive red and gold banner on the ceiling had been bewitched to float around the room, boasting the words, "Happy 16th Birthday Harry!" in bright letters. Candles floated in mid-air, and tables that looked as though they would soon bear massive quantities of food stood parked against the walls. Lights from seemingly nowhere bathed the room in colors that changed depending on where you were standing, and strange balloons Harry had never seen before floated about freely, shifting shape and size every few seconds.

Harry gaped at Sirius in awe. "You – did you – all of this? Yourself?"

Sirius shrugged. "Kreacher helped."

"Oh, I'll bet he did. Probably popped more balloons than he blew up. Sirius, this is fantastic! But – " he broke off abruptly.

Sirius's face fell at once. "What?"

"It's just – isn't it a bit much? I mean, for just two of us?"

"Ah, yes." Sirius's smile returned as quickly as it had vanished. "Suppose I forgot to mention that. I've gathered all your friends together and they should be here within the hour. Hermoine's bringing Muggle music, apparently; God help us."

Harry beamed. "Everyone?"

"Well, everyone from Gryffindor. I didn't want to catch Malfoy and Kreacher snogging in a corner; Lord knows they'd hit it off."

Harry grimaced at the thought. "I never thought I'd say this, but Malfoy could do better."

"Hmm. Who did you have in mind?"

Harry shrugged. "Your mum?"

At this, the painting in the hall burst into life, screeching and wailing and hurling insults at no one in particular – and at last, Harry felt the warm sensation that he was home.