Drifting Cloud

000

After telling the magical world to go fuck themselves, Harry leaves, and declares his refusal to fight Voldemort for them. They're on their own as he rediscovers the forgotten Black Legacy and steps into a brand new world.

KHR/HP, mild Old Kingdom, Kingdom Hearts, , and Ocean's 11 crossovers.

Slash

000

CHAPTER NINE

Sirius gagged, and Harry was pretty sure he had gone completely stark white.

The old wand-maker only grinned, "Good afternoon gentlemen," he crooned as, with a wave of his hand, the door opened, and a force grabbed the two of them by the backs of their shirts and hauled them out into the street. A second later, the door closed in front of them, lock clicking into place, and the 'open' sign flipped over to say 'closed'.

The two wizards gaped at one another in disbelief.

"Nicholas... Flamel?" Sirius wheezed, pointing at the door.

"I – I need to apologise for the stone," Harry admitted weakly, he never did get a chance to do that; wasn't he supposed to be dead anyway?!

"I think it's going to have to wait until tomorrow..." Sirius spluttered out weakly nodding to the sign.

Harry eyed it thoughtfully, wondering how much effort it would take to force the lock before sighing, he couldn't do that. He wanted to apologise, not piss him off. "Right. C'mon, let's go," he muttered, glancing back towards the wand shop as the two of them moved away to the North East food district.

"You know," Sirius said as they meandered through the alleys, pausing now and again to examine store windows, Harry feeling up fruits and vegetables now and again, "We kind of stick out," he observed. Harry threw him a 'no shit' look. Harry less so than his godfather, but that was simply because he had opted to wear muggle jeans and a T-shirt while the dog animagus was flouncing around in one of Lockhart's fruitier robes of many colours. Almost all of Lockhart's robes had been stolen by the dog animagus actually, Harry had kept some of the nicer ones with the intention of resizing them to fit, but Sirius had other ideas.

"You stick out, you mean," Harry corrected snarkily, making the woman at the counter giggle a little as she handed over a bag of sliced meat. Gathering the meat up, Harry stowed it in the bottomless chill bag he had purchased at the front of the food district.

"Psssh, like you don't in those rags, Oliver Twist," he scoffed in reply. Harry pulled a face, apparently Purebloods were familiar with Dickens, who knew. "When we finish here, let's stop by the fashion district. I need some local clothes and you need a new wardrobe."

"No I don't," Harry quickly refused. While he had never seen Sirius shopping, Harry got the impression by the amount of time he spent on his personal grooming before coming out, he probably power-shopped even worse than Aunt Petunia did when Uncle Vernon got his Christmas Bonus package.

Sirius gave him a look.

"Harry, you were wearing that shirt the first time I saw you at Privet Drive. Only now it actually fits you. You're getting new clothes, deal with it," he declared coolly giving his shirt a look of great dislike. Harry glanced down at the green flannel in surprise, it was one of Dudley's hand-me-downs but... had it really been what he'd worn the first time he met Sirius back in his third year? He was surprised it had held up so well over the years, it had been given to him when he was ten, one of the last hand-me-downs he'd ever received from the Dursleys because he sure as shit never got any after he started attending Hogwarts. Actually... Apart from his uniforms, Harry had never gone clothes shopping for himself. It had either been hand-me-downs, or Mrs Weasley kindly picking everything up for him while he was otherwise engaged or unable to go to the alley. And he'd never felt comfortable buying things he didn't need around Ron, it would have felt unfair to his friend.

He sighed and gave up, "Alright, alright. Just... not too much. I don't really need it," he reasoned. He had a feeling Sirius would go overboard regardless – the first gift Harry ever got from him was a Firebolt worth hundreds of galleons, his other gifts were much more toned down by simple virtue of both being on the run and Harry's own dislike of expensive things. Something the dog animagus had actually managed to pick up on during their few short meetings before now. Plus, it wasn't like Ron was his friend anymore, so he shouldn't feel guilty about buying things when the other boy couldn't, not when they were quite literally countries apart.

Harry stopped in the middle of the street, it only just hitting him now: this was the longest length of time he had ever spent with Sirius before in his life, excepting those months as an infant when Lily and James were alive.

"Harry?" Sirius called, turning in confusion when his godson suddenly stopped dead in the street, a strange expression crossing his face. "Is everything alright?" he asked warily, hand creeping towards his wand as he glanced around suspiciously.

Harry swallowed tightly and shook his head, "It's fine. Just... just a thought," he admitted before adjusting the bottomless bag and hurrying back to Sirius's side.

"What kind of thought?" the older Gryffindor asked as they dodged past a young family.

Harry pressed his lips together, wondering if he should say. "It's just... this – this is the longest amount of time we've ever spent together since that Halloween..." he explained quietly before snagging the older man's arm, "and I've never thanked you, ever, for all the things you've done. I just took it for granted, so, thank you. Thank you so much, for being there for me," he managed to get out, his throat closing painfully when he thought back on Sirius hiding out in that cave living on rats, just waiting for information all because Harry said his scar hurt, Sirius fleeing Azkaban when he found out that Harry was sharing a dormitory with a murderer and a Death Eater, and now, how he'd bundled him up and fled England entirely, abandoning Moony, the Order, the war he poured his heart and soul into, lost his family to, his life to, just to keep him safe. Just because he couldn't hack it, because he wasn't strong enough, wasn't brave enough.

Harry threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly, feeling Sirius's arms come up and around him.

He promised then and there, that if Sirius ever needed him, no matter what it was, Harry would support him come hell or high-water. Whatever it was. He owed him that much at the very least.

000

Sirius was... not as bad as Harry feared when it came to powershopping.

Oh they still got far too much for his tastes, but it wasn't the torturous outings that Aunt Petunia used to drag him out on, for one, he wasn't even carrying any bags. Another, Sirius didn't spend hours contemplating the cut or colour of this and that, or how to match it to his jewellery, shoes, or bag, or quibble over which designer label had made it, or whether Mrs Number Two, or Number Six, or Number Five across the road had already bought it. Sirius knew what colours and cuts suited him, and he walked into the store with a clear idea of what he wanted and didn't allow the sales assistant to bamboozle him into buying any garment more than he actually wanted.

He got more than he planned, but Harry could see how the sales assistant had given up in trying to push or guide the British Pureblood to some... quite frankly silly fashions in Harry's opinion. What the hell was that angular monstrosity? It looked like the lovechild of a paper aeroplane and one of Professor Trelawney's lampshades. He could kind of guess it was some kind of dress given how it was... folded around the mannequin, and clearly for women but...

He would never understand fashion.

Sirius got himself a number of the tunics the locals wore, but along with them he sprung for a few togas; apparently the Italian answer to Dress Robes, and with a much longer history and greater symbolism. As the head of the Black family, the Patriarch, Sirius's absurdly huge togas were to denote his status within the family, made visible by being made of white wool and bordered in amethyst purple – a colour with connections to royalty. Apparently the Italian Mages, especially the local Pureblood factions, had a massive bug up their butts about such proprieties when it came to their togas as they were both historically and culturally important to them. But the cloaks though, they had a great deal more freedom with them. They weren't like the British cloaks, these were much more akin to a cape, short and light, it was open at the side and fastened on the right shoulder with a buckle or a broach. They came in so many different colours and patterns, some with embroidered and enchanted scenes on them, like tapestries. Others were plain but made of high-quality materials. Harry even identified one as being made of Acromantula silk when he ignored the store assistant and rubbed a corner between his fingers. The look on the snotty man's face when Harry correctly identified the substance was quite humorous – even more so when Harry admitted to having walked into a nest, and then quickly ran his way back out of it, hence how he recognised the substance.

Sirius had gone very white and muttered quietly to him as he stepped off the fitting stool that they were going to have a very long conversation about what he'd been getting up to while at Hogwarts. Harry wasn't particularly looking forward to it.

Thankfully he was saved from having answers shaken out of him at that particular moment, what with being on a fitting stool and getting his measurements. He politely declined getting one of those huge heavy togas that Sirius had, he requested one of the smaller, less grand ones, even though by all rights he was supposed to have a big one as well. It just didn't feel right to flaunt his status like that.

He ended up escaping that particular store with just the one plain white toga, a few tunics, three rather nice cloaks, a few fastenings for them, and his measurements in hand – or rather, Sirius's hand. Which he then promptly handed over to someone in the next shop and Harry found himself getting whisked into a fitting room by a young man with a rather shark-like smile.

"Nothing tight or form fitting," Harry vetoed immediately with a narrow glare.

His smile faltered for a moment and a look of uncertainty crossed his features before he nodded awkwardly and began to examine him from top to tail. He knew Harry's sizes, but he wasn't too sure on his colours just yet, or what cuts would suit him.

He did however keep to Harry's demand for loose clothing. He left the store with several pairs of jeans, sturdy canvas cargos with a multitude of pockets, board shorts, baggy T-shirts, overlarge hoodies, a big brown leather bomber jacket that he had fallen in love with at first sight and was now burrowed down into the fluffy sheep-skin interior. He had absolutely no need for it in Italy where he would bake, but he still loved it. And a black suit with a number of nice shirts and ties to go with it at Sirius's insistence – since he refused to wear the fancier togas (and yeah, he admitted, Harry would look ridiculous in them, but looked fairly snappy in the suit though).

"Such a shame you wouldn't let him outfit you properly," Sirius complained idly as they left the shop, their purchases tucked into the bottomless bags.

Harry scoffed, "And give him more opportunity to put his hands where they weren't wanted?" he demanded shortly, he did not like people touching him. Did not like strangers laying hands on him, leaning into his space, breathing hard, looking him up and down like a slab of meat. All the hairs on his arms were stood straight with discomfort. He was so glad to be out of there.

"He wasn't that bad," Sirius chuckled, Harry just huffed in distaste, glaring at his feet as they made their way to the Bazaar. Sirius wanted to hire one of the house-elves to do a quick blitz of the house just to make extra certain it was clean and safe, as he wasn't a hundred percent sure, and Kreacher certainly wasn't helpful.

There seemed to be a bit of an event though, crowds of men and women cluttering the street, cheering and milling around excitedly. Harry could hear snatches of conversation here and there, there seemed to be some kind of amateur Duelling Tournament kicking off outside the Colosseum with rights to participate in official events on the table for the winner. Apparently any member of the general public could challenge one of the Gladiators, if they won, they would be allowed to take part in Colosseum tournaments. But only if they won.

He'd never seen a Duelling Tournament.

Harry wriggled through the crowds, leaving Sirius behind in order to slither to the front of the spectators.

What he found when he got there though was...

Ridiculous.

All of the 'Gladiators' were stupidly buff, with bronze muscles, golden armour, smiling and waving to the crowds. Like... gold gilded peacocks presenting in the hopes of attracting more women – and there were a lot of women in the crowd, all screaming various names, jumping up and down, squealing, laughing (Harry had to duck to one side when a pair of underwear went flying past his head and onto the stage – the ear splitting screech behind him nearly blew an eardrum when one of the 'bronze gods' picked it up and made a show of tucking it into his armour).

He folded his arms, and arched an eyebrow, sincerely unimpressed.

One of the Gladiators must have taken note because he was now concentrating most of his 'charisma' in Harry's direction. The Gryffindor scoffed in disgust, rolling his eyes. Where the hell was the Duelling? He shifted and once again lost himself to the heaving wide of women as he went hunting for the actual Tournament, instead of the bird cage/stage.

"Finally," he grunted, practically tumbling out of the crush of bodies in front of the Duelling arena. And it was an arena, not like that long narrow stage that Lockhart tried to teach them on in his Second year. It was a round arena, sunken into the ground, and down below he could see two fighters, stood in place, throwing spells at each other.

"There you are! Phew, did you get a look at that lot?" Sirius commented, managing to elbow himself to Harry's side, glancing over his shoulder to where the Gladiators were still posturing for the screaming women – and one of them seemed to be watching his Prongslet with an unusual degree of interest. Women not his thing? Or did he perhaps think Harry was just a particularly tomboyish young lady? Either way, he tries anything, Sirius was going to have his balls in a jam-jar. He would even sell them to those screaming women, he'd probably get quite a bit of cash.

"Peacocks," the younger Gryffindor scoffed dismissively before nodding down to the Duelling arena, "Have you seen these idiots? What the hell do they think they're doing? Conducting an orchestra?" he demanded, folding his arms in utter disgust. Sirius found himself struck once again by how much like his mother he was. Even the curl of his lip was identical to that of Lily Potter's when she was at her most disapproving. But those eyes, he remembered them even better. His Great Aunt Dorea had those eyes whenever she was displeased, whenever she was focused intently on something, picking it apart. It was her Blade-Face, as Sirius had called it when he was younger, when to have those eyes on you felt like someone was holding a blade to your neck. It was a look only a Black could do.

"One of them is going to poke an eye out," the younger Gryffindor observed in disgust.

"You think you can do better?" a pushy loud voice demanded from knee level. Harry didn't even look down as he glared into the arena. Sirius however, nearly jumped a mile and stared down at the overweight satyr with his hands on his hips, giving the green eyed boy a thorough eyeing up and down, looking doubtful as he did so. He remembered seeing him on their first visit to the Magic Quarter, this was the guy in charge of the Colosseum!

"Yes," Harry declared certainly.

If any of those men had been in a real, legitimate fight for their lives, he would eat the Sorting Hat.They had all the ability of a first year Slytherin trying to show off to his friends, hell, he'd seen Draco Malfoy perform better in their second year.

"Put your money where your mouth is, kiddo! Take a turn in the ring!" the Satyr practically howled, hopping from hoof to hoof, steaming mad. Harry snorted, quirking a smirk.

"Are you sure, sir? I've only ever had one Duelling lesson," he admitted still without looking up as the Duel down in the arena came to an end, and cheering and applause went up around them.

"Someone needs ta teach yous kids some respect!" the Satyr blustered, but now there was a speculative gleam in his eyes as he stared Harry up and down.

"How much is entry?" Sirius asked, fighting back his own smirk. If Moony said the kid was a genius, Sirius was going to put his faith in him. Harry had saved his life afterall, not even Dumbledore could claim a Patronus that drove away that many Dementors. It would definitely be entertaining to watch his cute little godson show those oiled up peacocks what a real Duel was. Hell, he fought back a fully blown manic grin as he handed over the required gold to the suspicious Satyr and Harry vaulted over the barriers and down into the arena, he didn't think Harry even knew how to Duel. This was going to be a fight, a battle, not something as boring as a Duel. And it was going to be amazing.

If he could handle You-Know-Who on his lonesome, this lot was going to be easier than first year Herbology.

Harry scuffed the dirt under his foot, testing the depth and grip of it. It was similar to the sandpits on the Quidditch pitch, fairly loose, it would make dodging difficult, running as well, but it would provide a nice cushion for if he had to throw himself prone, plus it had other uses beyond a cushion. Some of the grains were fine enough that throwing it in his opponent's eyes would be a real pain in the ass.

"So, what are the rules?" he asked as he straightened up and rolled his shoulders.

"No Dark magic, no maiming curses, no targeting the audience, and no summoning outside help," his opponent explained, grinning down at him. "Loser has to pay for dinner," he added with a wink.

Harry gave him a narrow stare, watching in satisfaction as the grin faltered a little, "Alright," he agreed, and made a mental note to take Sirius somewhere expensive on this guy's tab.

The Satyr jumped onto the railings and lifted both arms, "READY...?!

"BEGIN!" he bellowed, bringing both arms down.

Harry's opponent hit the dirt a breath later.

A single disarming charm, snapped out too fast for his opponent to even bring his wand up. Harry caught it as it sailed through the air, and watched as the gladiator huffed, groaning, clutching at his chest where the charm hit him like a punch and sent him flying twelve feet backwards and into the dirt.

"I win," the Gryffindor observed mildly before throwing the wand back to its owner. "Looks like you're buying my father and I dinner," he added with a smirk.

The gladiator spluttered, "I – but – you – "

"Are a minor," he pointed out, and watched in great amusement as the gladiator blinked, and then paled, looking queasy. Harry rolled his head to the Satyr, he didn't say anything, just looked at him expectantly.

Sirius cackled maniacally from his place in the stands, he tried to smother it in his hands but, oh sweet Circe, the look on that guy's face, the look on the satyr's face! Priceless! Absolutely priceless! He wished he had a camera. Oh it was glorious. One of the best pranks he'd seen in a while, watching his adorable little godson send a man twice his height and three times his weight flying before he'd even brought his wand up. Moony hadn't been kidding when he said the Seeker was a quick little bugger in a fight.

"So, you're that little lightning bolt's father?" a voice behind him asked, sounding resigned but also amused. Sirius turned and spotted the gladiator behind him, still rubbing his bare chest where the disarming charm hit, there would be a lovely bruise there in a few.

He snickered, "Yup. Speedy little bastard, isn't he?" he asked mirthfully as the Gladiator came up to his side.

"Packs a punch too," he added with reluctant admiration. "Indominus Rex, I made a deal with the young man to take you both to dinner," he explained, much to Sirius's confusion, he hadn't heard anything like that (he had been a bit too far away to hear when Indominus threw down his stipulation that the loser bought dinner, he had been hoping to score a hot date, but not only was that hot date jailbait, but so uninterested he may as well have been trying to chat up the Ice King himself). At the other man's look of confusion, he explained properly, grimacing in embarrassment when the silver eyed man roared with laughter and slapped the railings to the arena. Well, at least he had a better sense of humour than most parents Indominus had the misfortune of meeting.

"NEXT!" Harry's voice rang out again, taking the two by surprise because – they hadn't even known a second match had begun.

When he looked down and saw Reuben bound, gagged, and hanging upside down, Indominus could only curse himself for not paying attention. Reuben was an uppity mouthy asshole, watching him get that asshole handed to him by someone half his height would have been sweet.

The hot DILF next to him chuckled, "Ahh, he has his mother's technique. That was a woman you didn't want to get on the wrong side of a wand from," he mused nostalgically. God, Indominus shuddered, the idea of a woman that ruthless in combat was both terrifying and mildly arousing, and this guy managed to land a woman like that?

"Do you fight that well?" he asked curiously.

The dark haired man shrugged a shoulder, "Used to. I was one of the best Aurors the British had. But... I've been unwell for the last decade and a half. Now a days, no. Experience can make up for a lot, but right now I'm in no fit state for such things," he admitted sadly, giving the arena a longing look. "Looks like fun though," he laughed.

Harry took down three people before he even had to take a single step, and that was simply to dodge a blasting curse that sent dust and sand fluming out into the air, blanketing the arena. That was a very stupid move because it rendered them both blind – but Harry was prepared for that eventuality and had cast a Bubblehead Charm, preventing the dust from getting in and hurting him. His opponent? Was swearing and wiping at his eyes, coughing on the dust, making a racket, and not watching his back.

"NEXT!" Harry called through the dust, one foot braced on his bound and gagged opponent for everyone to see when one of the Colosseum officials cleared the air with a charm.

The following Duel actually lasted longer than all the previous ones put together – if only because Harry's opponent favoured the use of shield charms, letting his opponent wear themselves out. A sound strategy in most cases. If his opponent wasn't a vindictive, imaginative, little bastard.

Harry transfigured the ground beneath his feet into swamp water, dunking him in up to his neck before he dropped the shield charms in a panic to try and fish himself out. Harry snagged him with a levitation charm, yanking him out of the water and throwing him high into the air. He summoned the man's wand while he was screaming and flailing in midair, and then cushioned him with that Arresto Momentum he learned during Quidditch Practice. He landed lightly, still blubbering fearfully. Apparently he was deathly terrified of heights. Harry grimaced, actually helping him out of the arena and apologising for scaring him at the same time. That was ungentlemanly, and unsporting.

Finally, the guy that had been eyeing him up since his first arrival stepped into the arena, smirking confidently. "You, my passeroto, are going down. And when you lose, it will be on me," he declared smugly, immediately putting Harry's back up something fierce with that declaration. He was sorely reminded of a disgusting mixture between Malfoy, Lockhart, and oddly enough Seamus at his most disgustingly sexist (he called it changing room talk, both Harry and Neville called it gross and rude).

"You'll have to actually beat me before that happens," he pointed out coldly, lowering himself into a ready stance for the first time since he started this tournament. Something that had a low murmur of realisation ripple through the audience, and made Mister Arrogant's smirk drop a tiny bit as he realised that perhaps trying to provoke him was not a good idea. Because now Harry was taking him seriously.

The red faced Satyr was practically sweating with a mixture of excitement and worry, "READY...?! BEGIN!" he roared, throwing his arms down and gripping the stone railing with both hands as he nearly threw himself off, watching intently, so intently, he leaned too far out and nearly fell in.

Harry threw himself to the side, spells flying from the tip of his wand.

Arrogant arsewipe shielding against them though, or knocking them aside with spells of his own. He had good aim to do that, and a fair bit of power behind that shield charm. Who knew, perhaps Harry would actually break a sweat in this fight?

His grin was all teeth as he gave up attempting to get behind him and instead ran straight for him. Arsewipe hadn't been expecting it, he staggered backwards as he tried to shield and deflect the spells but Harry didn't give him much space.

Just like he'd done with the Blast End Skewrt in the Third Task, he dove into a roll – and launched an Impedimenta right into Mister Arsewipe's groin as he passed, freezing him in place as he rolled to his feet, spun around and lashed the back of the man's head with a stunning charm that dropped him like the sack of shit he pretended to be.

And the crowd – went – wild.

Harry jolted, green eyes wide as he finally clocked onto the number of people watching him. Sirius shouting and waving, proudly telling everyone near-by that Harry was his godson (he grimaced, they really needed to see the Mind Healer about that denial). The crowd had near enough doubled in size since Harry had jumped down, and he could see all of his former opponents beside Sirius looking both disbelieving but gleeful at the same time, and the little overweight Satyr sprinting over.

"KID! THAT WAS – AMAZING! YOU GOT A COACH? A TRAINER? WHERE'D YOU LEARN THAT? ARGH, WHO CARES!" the man exclaimed excitedly, hopping up and grabbing Harry's arm, "WELCOME TO THE COLOSSEUM! WHAT'S YER NAME?" he bleated dragging Harry down into an uncomfortable bent over semi-crouch.

"Uh," Harry spluttered uncertainly, glancing up to Sirius who blanched and shook his head before pointing to himself, specifically the purple lining of his toga, picking at it meaningfully. "Uh, H-Harry Black," he admitted awkwardly, with wide green eyes. "Wait, what do you mean, 'welcome to the Colosseum'?" he echoed, alarmed.

"You defeated every contender I have! Even the reigning Champ! You are my new Golden Boy!" the Satyr exclaimed, "Name's Phil, I run this here outfit. I've trained the best of the best!" Harry bit back the sassy retort on the tip of his tongue that made him look doubtfully at the man at his feet. Phil caught his glance though and scoffed dismissively. "Reigning champ he may have been, but one of my boys he was not! That there is Bronze Cup Colosseum! Entertainers, not athletes! MY contenders are Gold Cup magic users and Underworld Warriors combinin' both magic and physical combat, best o' the best! And between you an' me, I think you've got what it takes to take them on. What do ya say?" he asked eagerly, sticking a hand out to Harry.

The Gryffindor delicately prised the Satyr's hand from his shoulder, "I think I'm not yet of age, and require parental consent, and as of right now, I have my education to think of," he refused, wriggling away and trying not to literally just curse the satyr away from him. He hated people touching him, and the gregarious little being smelt foully of cheese, sweat, and old grapes.

Phil pulled a face, "Alright, I can respect that. Yer takin' yer education seriously. S'good to hear. But if you ever change yer mind, and yer old man agrees, yer name'll be on the rosters. Just say the word. Ya've earned that right."

Harry nodded, now more relaxed that the satyr wasn't touching him, "Thanks. I just might. It was fun but... yeah, your fighters really need to stop thinking Duel, and start thinking Fight. They have a whole arena to play with, they should use it," he pointed out as he gestured around them. "Even if they are just entertainers. Surely it would be more interesting."

"Quick question, kid, before you go. Your wand... what's the spec on that thing?" the Satyr asked curiously. "I ain't seen that kinda wood before. What is it?"

Harry shifted a little awkwardly, asking for the details of someone's wand was... rather personal.

"Cedar," he admitted quietly, so only the Satyr and Mister Unconscious Arsehole could hear him. "Cedar and Phoenix feather."

Phil blanched. "Ah. Well, that's explains that. Okay. Off you go back to yer Dad."

Harry nodded and scrambled up the edges of the arena and into Sirius's enthusiastic affection, and the admiration of the other Gladiators. All around him was a press of bodies, strangers all, and he was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed.

Across the arena, hidden behind several stalls, a pair of fighters watched as the kid and his father managed to muscle their way out of the crowds and escape through the streets of the Bazaar, leaving a hyped up crowd in their wake buzzing with conversation. Glowing blue eyes flicked to stormy grey. "It looks as though we may have someone worth fighting soon enough," blue eyes observed quietly, his voice rough like gravel against stone.

Grey eyes hummed dismissively, "We'll see," he replied in a smooth baritone, eyes following the unruly head of chocolate-black hair, and large doe-like green eyes. "We'll see," he murmured quietly to himself.

000

Dun dun dun!

Harry is kicking ass, taking names, and probably shouldn't be quite so public with either. Sirius is still cracked and madder than a hatter, so deep in denial he may as well be wiping his arse with papyrus.