A/N thank you for reviewing and adding to lists! This chapter could probably do with another quick edit so apologies for the mistakes.


"You won't move too far away will you?"

Sirius' eyes softened as he looked away from the drink he was nursing to meet his godson's anxious gaze. "No Harry, nowhere you can't reach me by floo, Merlin, I'd prefer if it were walking distance."

Harry smiled and relaxed into his seat a little, "then why go at all?"

"It's time."

Sirius knew it wasn't much of an answer, but it was at least truthful. When he had first come out of the veil, he hadn't entertained leaving Harry's side for a single moment. So many deaths sat directly on his shoulders and he had promised that he would do what he was supposed to now, protect the boy until his last breath. Like James and Lily had wanted. Except, when he woke up Harry wasn't a fifteen-year-old kid fighting in a war, he was a young man, a young married man, with a home, a child on the way, with a life.

At first, Sirius had wanted to cling, to stay near the things that made him feel comfortable and whole, but as time went on, he was getting increasingly itchy feet. The old house brought back nightmares of his past, a history that he didn't want to revisit, a mother he had hated, a father he had feared and a brother he had wronged.

It was time. In fact, it was long overdue.

He had taken advantage of Harry's day off and invited him for a quick drink. As the plans began to form and take shape in his mind, he had resolved to tell Harry. The more he hunted through the parchments, narrowing down potentials, the more it felt like he was keeping something from him.

"When?" Harry asked, drawing Sirius out of his cloudy thoughts.

"Not until after the baby," he reassured quickly, and Harry sagged.

"Good that's good," he said before taking a long sip of his butterbeer.

A month or two after, that was what Sirius was planning. It would give him enough time to sort out a place and do up what he needed to inside before moving in; it would also mean he was close in those first weeks he was needed, after a lifetime of missed opportunities he didn't want his godson ever to feel like he was pulling away from him.

Chat turned inconsequential for a while, and Harry filed Sirius in on the goings on at the Ministry, the Auror department sounded astonishing like it had when himself and James had been there. The boys repeatedly asked him if he wanted to go back, but he said he was old now, way past the requirements needed. Which wasn't strictly true, he still kept himself in good shape, not the shape he had been in at twenty but still good. He didn't have the fire he had back then, after all that he had been through Sirius felt like he had spent enough of his life running head first into danger.

When, four drinks in, Harry began peeling at the labels on his butterbeer, slowly depositing the crinkled paper into curls on the table Sirius began to prepare himself. He may not have wanted to be an Auror again, but the instincts had never left.

"While I've got you," Harry began jerkily as Sirius came back with the next drink, waiting for him to resume his seat before he went on. "Well… Ginny and I, have spoken about baby names," Harry rubbed the back of his neck, "you remember we told you we don't know what we're having yet right?"

"Right."

"So we have decided on… well, we would like to use James or Lily."

Sirius swallowed, "that's…. That would be lovely Harry."

Harry looked up at him with concerned eyes. "Really, you look…."

Sirius waved him off, "I'm sorry Harry, I don't know why it was such a shock, it's a great choice."

"But?" Harry prompted and in spite of himself Sirius' smile faltered.

"Just, thinking about them, knowing they should be here, for this, for you."

"I know but… well, I have you don't I?"

Sirius cleared his throat, "Yeah Harry, you always have me."


Facing Harry out of the way, Sirius booked himself on a viewing; he was still coming up blank regarding 'the emotional response' the estate agent kept banging on about and so he thought it was time to make the house hunt a little more interactive. He had a least managed to narrow down the location to somewhere close to Grimmauld and having no other wish list item to speak of he picked one at random from that pile. He met with the agent outside the largish detached property on a fairly well to do road in North London.

The front door was covered in a highly lacquered black paint with an ornate gold knocker, and Sirius felt a glimmer of amusement. He could hear a voice in the back of his head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Hermione whispering something about an 'out of control ego' but he silenced it in favour of going exploring.

The house inside was vast, and yet strangely intimate, something called 'Georgian' features meant that the downstairs had two large reception rooms at the front and a large kitchen at the back, overlooking the spacious garden. As they ascended to the second level the agent, Mr Turbot, took him through the many bedrooms drawling in a posh, and probably entirely fabricated, accent indicating the master and hammering on about 'favourable aspects'.

Sirius knew that six bedrooms was excessive, but with the extra rooms, there would be space for an office and a library, and a curly haired occupant of said library, his mind teased, and he rolled his eyes, his tracks along the landing stopping abruptly afterwards as he realised he was picking up that habit from her.

"'I'll think about it," he said when they were back on the pavement, and Mr Turbot disappeared off to another appointment. It was a long time after the officious man turned around the corner that Sirius finally turned away.


A few days later Sirius was at Hermione's house again, something that was becoming a familiar thing to them both. Today was slightly different in that he didn't have a specific reason to be there at all, real or imaginary; he had just turned up. Hermione hadn't seemed to mind, smiling when he came in and asked what he had been up too. She didn't even rebuke him for his lack of prior warning, he had deliberately stopped bothering with owling in advance weeks before.

Something else that he believed pointed to their increasing familiarity was that they hadn't done anything since he had come over. When he had first started turning up Hermione had gone out of her way to host, to think of things to do or suggest places they could visit, jumping onto her feet every ten minutes to ask if 'she could get him anything', but now she was content just to be when he got there, when he came over now he mainly just got under her feet while she strove to be a productive human.

Right now he was nosing around her kitchen while she cooked. They often ate lunch together, Hermione prepared as he was awful at ir but she asked him to help out now and again, mainly they would just talk while she put things together. It was easier like that, telling her things while she was occupied, with her eyes averted he could tell the anxious part of his mind, the part that screamed at him to conceal the nasty bits, that she wasn't listening, although he knew she would remember every word.

Sirius absentmindedly opened the cupboards and peered at her stuff Hermione had; it was a weird mix of muggle and magical cookware that never failed to hold his attention for five minutes at least. Hermione didn't seem to mind his nosing, didn't seem to notice him at all, any time he looked towards her she would be staring into the saucepan, with a concentration worthy of elaborate potion preparation and not just heating soup.

He opened the next cupboard along, pulling the door a little more forceful, not to get her attention, but as he did, there was an unexpected large crash that made him jump.

Sirius' head snapped down to the floor; the slate tiles now strewn with glass and…. Oh fuck… he could make out remains of a once distinctive triangular shape that had been smashed into different size shards. Sirius felt a little bit of bile rising in his throat. That was, or rather had been, Hermione's mother's vase. She had mentioned it before as being one of the only things she has left… he brushed a hand through his hair; he wasn't sure a reparo was going to put this one back together.

Gentle footfalls made him snap out of his panic and he looked up as Hermione rushed around the wide island to where he was standing. "Hermione I'm so, so sorry" he apologised, but she didn't see the pleading in his face, her eyes were fixed on the ground.

He stepped forward beginning to feel desperately out of his depth when he saw her blinking steadily. "I… I'll erm," he tried, racking his brain for something to say.

"Hon…" she tried to speak but the world wouldn't form, she coughed a little to clear her throat. "Honestly Sirius it's… it's fine... I mean... no worries," she said eventually, before gulping in a huge breath.

"Hermione," he tried again feeling unsettled by her tight hold on her emotions.

"It's…" she choked out, "it's no big deal."

Her dismissal was the last straw, Sirius was convinced Hermione had never said 'no worries' in her entire life let alone 'it's no big deal', it wasn't the time to raise things now, she was upset and vulnerable and he had put her in that state but he had been feeling out of sorts and confused for months and he had never been able to hold a question in his head once it had raised itself in his subconscious and so he did the only thing he knew how to do, open his mouth and let it run away with him.

"Why won't you yell at me?" he snapped, his eyes flashing.

"Sirius?" she asked bemused, finally looking up from the floor so he could see the liquid glaze of her eyes, the further confirmation that she had been 'forcibly holding herself together', it just made him madder. "Why would I? it was an accident."

"I know that," he hissed, holding on to the back of one the kitchen chairs so he wouldn't forget himself and walk forward, he couldn't risk crunching the glass further under foot. "But if was Harry or Ron in my shoes you would have screeched at them, or at least allowed yourself to let on how fucking upset you clearly are. You can do that with me you know," he continued, whacking a hand against his chest for emphasis. "I'm not as fucked up as you seem to think I am Hermione, I'm not going to totally fracture because you have a crossed word for me."

"What? I don't..." Hermione tried to derail, but he hadn't finished.

"Stop treating me like I might break," he bellowed.

"I…" she wrapped her arms around herself, "I'm not," she protested.

"Then what would you call it?" he spat.

Hermione averted her eyes. "I'm er... just going to..." and yet she didn't seem to be able to finish her sentence instead she dropped to the floor, and then crouching started to pick up the fallen glass, using one hand to cradle the pieces almost lovingly, as if they weren't jagged bits of glass. Sirius was quiet then, the only noise in the kitchen the gentle scratching Hermione was making and his deep pants of breath. He could see tears pooling onto the floor, splashing amongst the fragments and he wondered if he had ever been a bigger dick in his life than in that moment.

"Shit," he heard her mutter under her breath and a second later, blood began trickling from her thumb. Sighing, he bent down himself, squatting in front of her, and reached to grip her small hand between his fingers, holding it up to his face to examine the cut.

"There's nothing in there," he said finally, as he turned it towards the light one last time. "You should be careful, though." He let go of her hand and without that to focus on between them their eyes locked. He hadn't realised how close they were. Feeling like he should go back to showing his sincere contrition, he rubbed his denim clad thighs and tried to move the conversation on from his minor meltdown. "Would you like me to charm it back together?"

Hermione shook her head and despite his resolve of only a moment before Sirius couldn't help the huff that fell from his lips. "Hermione," he tried, "let me fucking help it's my fault," his tone more defeated than angry now.

"It's not that," she replied, her voice thick. "It just wouldn't feel right… using magic on it."

"Okay," Sirius replied quietly, understanding creeping in and making him feel worse. In their little group, they all carried their fair share of burdens for things that had gone before. Hermione's guilt over her parents had never diminished in the years that had passed.

"We got it on holiday in Edinburgh," she began unexpectedly and Sirius leant forward to help her up as he righted himself, careful not to say another ill thought word. "My mum always had this ridiculous obsession with glass blowing, Dad and me used to tease her about it all the time. It was her birthday and we took her on this random factory tour and she dragged us into the store attached at the end. Mum fell in love with that one, the most practical shape in the whole display. Dad thought it was the stupidest vase in the world, 'who makes a vase that only holds one flower?' he used to say, but he always brought home a fresh rose on a Friday for her to put in it."

Tears were flowing freely down Hermione's face now and Sirius knew that he had asked for this, he had wanted real but that didn't help the girl that was standing five feet and a whole world of emotional distance away from him.

Hermione patted the corner of her eyes with the sleeve of her worn jumper and licked her swollen lips. "My mum always ignored him, my dad, whenever he said anything about the vase, she used to say…" she choked on a sob and Sirius fidgeted, "she used to say 'sometimes, Hermione, sometimes you only need one' and then she would give me a cuddle and I would think, whatever was happening in my increasingly ridiculous life wouldn't matter because she was happy, and we were happy."

She steadied her shoulders before looking down at her clenched fist, the hand that was still cradling the shards she had collected, regarding it mutely for a moment before opening her delicate fingers and letting them fall to the ground.

"Magic…. It can't fix everything," she finished, looking up at him. "I'm going to get a dustpan and brush."

And in the face of all of the unleashed pain in the room, all Sirius could do was nod.


When Hermione came back in ten or so minutes later she had washed her face, though the skin around her eyes was pink and crinkled. Sirius leant back against the counter as she knelt down to sweep the residue, he didn't want to risk offering his assistance again.

Just before the atmosphere in the room became oppressive, Hermione spoke, "I don't think you'll break," she whispered and he looked at her.

"When you were here before you... died. Everyone was on your case all the time, telling you to grow up and stay in the house, to sit tight and behave and I was, well, I was young, and a bit self-important and I didn't understand what you were going through. All I saw was Harry. How important you were to him and how you were missing it because you were still locked in your own…. I realised, but not until after the war, much too late, that I was part of that, those nagging voices that pushed at you. And now you're back; you get to live your life again, you don't need someone nagging at you." She explained quietly as she softly moved the brush over the floor. "I thought… I thought it would be better?"

"No, its not better" Sirius admitted softly.

"Oh?" she asked, looking up at him again, her eyes still damp. Sirius rushed to organise his thoughts, if made her cry again he might just join her and that wasn't exactly going to convince her that she could put away the kid gloves.

"It's not that I don't appreciate the thought kitten, and I do. But I like the way you are with everyone, I don't think I understood before but that's how you show you care… and I mean, I don't hate seeing you all riled up," he finished with a pretty poor imitation of a smirk.

"I do… care about you I mean," she replied, eyeing him with her familiar piercing honesty. Her skin was paler than normal, probably after the repeated splashing of cold water, and Sirius could see the faint freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose more clearly than normal.

"Even then?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Even then," she affirmed and Sirius' fingers flexed around the edge of the kitchen counter. "You were so important to Harry but it wasn't just that, it was for you as well, but I didn't go about it the right way."

"It was different then; I was struggling with… other things."

"I get that," she acceded and moved to stand up, placing the now full dust pan on the side directly next to him, clearly not sure to do with the contents now she had swept them up.

A million words rushed through Sirius' mind; sage advice he had been given over the years, jokes to lighten the mood and bigger, more scary words, words from the heart. In the end, he ignored them all and as she let go of the brush, he grabbed her sides mere inches above her waist and pulled her to him. He was a little too rough with her like you have been all day, his mind admonished, his need to apologise, or confess, or whatever the prevailing emotion was too much. He wrapped his arms around her back and laid a cheek against her hair as she melted against him.

He flexed his fingers over her spine. I'm so, so, sorry Hermione.

He nuzzled his head against hers. You're not alone; you will never be alone.

He pulled her tighter. One is enough for me too.

"I won't ever admit to having said this," he said eventually, not yet letting her go, "but it would be nice if you would nag me again."

He could feel her smile against his shoulder, "I'll try."


Sirius set up the next shots of firewhiskey on the worn table as the bawdy conversations around him continued. He hadn't been there for Harry's bachelor party and having discussed 'missed opportunities' earlier in the day they, with the help of all the other boys they could round up at short notice, decided to have a few drinks. A few drinks that had turned into a sizeable number of empty bottles, behaviour that most would have believed to be completely fine if it hadn't been four in the afternoon.

"Oh for the love of Merlin."

Hermione's voice cut through the fog of alcohol and he looked up to see her storming into the kitchen hands on her hips. "Really?" she questioned sternly. "Ginny is over eight months pregnant, what if she needed to be taken to the hospital?"

"'Snot like we can apparate with a pregnant woman anyway Mione," Ron defended weakly, his eyes losing focus as he swayed in his chair.

"I'm glad to see at least one item on the list I gave you seems to have permeated your thick skull, Ronald. However, I was thinking more of you being in a fit state to provide comfort and emotional support. Like an idiot" she seethed. Stomping her little foot and moving around them to collect up the impressive display of empty glasses.

"Harry you should know better," she snapped, dropping the mass of empties with a loud thud.

"Sorry Mione," he grumbled, and Sirius watched, too drunk to not be mesmerised, as she deflated before shaking her head and heading back for the door.

"And Sirius," she called over her shoulder.

"Yes, poppet?" He responded eagerly, bumping into a half asleep Remus in his haste to turn around.

"Don't think I haven't realised that you're the instigator here, try acting your bloody age Black," she admonished sternly before she disappeared into the hall.

He grinned.