Author's Notes: There are times when I know exactly what it is that I want to write, but for some reason cannot find the correct words for it. This chapter is a good example of this. I've wanted to write this chapter for ages, and now that I finally came to it I found it to be the most difficult yet. It is, as always, a bit on the short side. That all said I'm surprisingly happy with it.

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Chapter 9: But you're still Harry.

Who are you?

It was a question that had a million others behind it. 'Who are you' was also 'who am I to you', 'who are you to me' and countless other questions that Sirius couldn't put the words to.

Harry was looking at him like he had ten heads. "Er… I'm Harry, remember? The magically appearing dimensional traveller?"

"No," Sirius said, frustrated with his inability to articulate what he was asking. "Who are you really? What is – was your relationship with the other Sirius? Why do I feel like I'm missing something important?"

Something flickered in Harry's expression. Sirius didn't know what it was, he couldn't even begin to explain what it was he saw there, underneath the mask Harry was wearing.

And suddenly he wanted to ask another question. "What happened to you?"

He was completely unprepared for the incandescent rage that question brought on. "What happened to me?" Harry repeated, danger present in every word.

Sirius reached out and grabbed Harry's wrists. "I know I'm not your Sirius, but you can talk to me. What happened?"

"Get out," Harry snapped, ripping his hands away.

Sirius shook his head. "Harry, I –"

"Get OUT!"

The blast of magic pushed Sirius straight out the door, which slammed shut and locked behind him.

Sirius didn't sleep that night. Alone in his room, he paced and cursed and called himself and Harry all kinds of names. He damned himself for being useless. He damned Kreacher for bringing Harry here. He damned Harry for being so stubborn and secretive.

And he damned the other Sirius for leaving the young man.

When the light of dawn came Sirius was exhausted, uncertain and aching in a way that had nothing to do with his body.

He sat on his bed and looked around the room he had grown up in. It had been his sanctuary. But a sanctuary inside a prison wasn't enough, and he had left it behind. And now he was back here, imprisoned by choice and by circumstance.

He wondered what Harry considered to be his sanctuary.

Enough of this. He wasn't getting any sleep; it was just as well to get up.

Sirius fumbled his way through a shower and a change of clothing. The shower wasn't strictly necessary, but it woke him up a bit, and there was nothing like scalding hot water to ease an aching body.

Making his way down the stairs of 12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius thought over what he was going to say if he ran into Harry. Should he apologise? Demand answers? Or should he just ignore the whole thing?

He speculated on how much sleep Harry had gotten. That line of thought brought a grimace to Sirius' face. Chances were that between himself and Albus that the younger wizard had likely pulled a sleepless night of his own.

Albus. That was a whole other train of thought. What the hell had meant about Harry having defeated Voldemort? Even if that was the case, Harry would have been... seventeen? Eighteen, maybe? How did a kid end up defeating a Dark Lord? And it was more than that. Albus had implied that Harry had stopped Voldemort here, in this dimension too.

But Lily was the one who'd taken the Killing Curse.

Sirius cursed the muddle of confusion in his head. He was too tired for this.

Breakfast consisted of coffee and some toast. With any luck the caffeine would work wonders. Silently praising Lily for introducing him to the addictive Muggle beverage, Sirius gulped down two full mugs before his brain kicked into sluggish action.

What did he know about Harry?

He was a half-blood, had been raised by Muggles and somehow ended up with the Lord Black title. He was related to the Potters. And he'd been in Gryffindor.

At only twenty-two years old he was young still, but he had the reflexes and, more importantly, the attitude of a much older Auror. He'd lived through war time, had seen a lot of people die and Albus thought he'd defeated Voldemort. Sirius wasn't so sure about that one but Harry was admittedly powerful. More powerful than any twenty-two year old had any real right to be. But he also didn't appear to be completely in control.

Harry was – well, moody was probably the best word. He oscillated between emotions and personalities at the drop of a hat. If Poppy's rants were any indication Harry was probably also depressed or something similar. No one showed that many indications of malnutrition and potions abuse without having something seriously wrong with them.

Oh, yes, Sirius. The kid survives a war that kills pretty much everyone he knows and you expect him not to be moody and depressed?

Sirius groaned. This was getting him nowhere. There were too much information missing. He needed proper answers.

Well, Sirius thought, draining his third mug. There's only one place to get those.

He found Harry in the library.

The younger wizard sat crossed legged on the floor, a distant look in his eyes and surrounded by books. Modern history, Sirius noted without any real thought.

Sirius hesitated at the threshold, suddenly a lot less confident of his welcome.

But Harry didn't seem to see him there. He looks exhausted, Sirius thought, knowing full well that he probably didn't look any better. Is it really okay to push him for answers when he's that knackered? With a sigh Sirius turned to leave. Later, he promised himself. He'd face this later.

"This is real, isn't it?" Harry's voice caused Sirius to stop mid-step. Sirius looked back, meeting Harry's gaze.

Green eyes. Like Lily's.

Harry broke eye contact and raked a hand through his hair. Sirius was caught, for a moment, with the familiarity of that gesture.

Harry let loose a great whoosh of breath. "You might as well come in, Padfoot."

Silently, Sirius sat himself on the floor directly across from Harry. His muscles protested a little at the action, reminding him that he wasn't in his twenties anymore.

"We can sit in the chairs if you prefer," Harry offered with a small twinge of amusement in his voice.

"You implying I'm old, Plack?" Sirius replied.

"Ah, no. Never," Harry said, clear laughter in his eyes.

But the easy camaraderie melted away as the two stared at each other, leaving Sirius uncertain at what was happening here.

Harry broke the tension. "You had questions?"

Sirius nodded slightly. "Who are you?"

Harry smiled, but it was a self depreciating smile. "I'm Harry. Or at least, that's mostly who I am."

Sirius made a face at the answer, making Harry laugh. "My name, if that's what you are looking for, is Harry James Potter."

"Harry James Potter," Sirius repeated, wondering why he felt that name ought to mean more to him. "James called it, didn't he? You're a distant relative or something."

Harry looked thoughtful. "You haven't broken it yet." And this sentence was as incomprehensible as the rest.

"What the hell does that mean?" Sirius demanded in frustration.

"There's a spell on me," Harry explained. "A very complicated variation of the Notice Me Not charm. It's to keep people from recognizing me. They might know my name, but unless they make a real mental effort they won't connect that to any relevant information."

Sirius gave a low whistle. That was seriously difficult magic. And it explained that feeling of missing something that Sirius kept getting. "Why have something like that?"

This time Harry's smile turned positively sardonic. "I'm something of a celebrity back in my universe."

"You never call it home," Sirius noted, examining Harry's expression carefully. "You say 'my dimension,' 'my universe' or 'my world.' But I haven't once heard you say 'my home.'"

"Home? I don't really have one," Harry replied with a shrug. "Hogwarts is the closest I've ever had."

Sirius nodded. He could, at least, understand that. "Aren't you – I mean, there must be someone from your dimension that you miss."

"You'd be amazed. My family, my friends, my teachers – everyone around me died, Sirius!" Harry's grief was palpable; Sirius could feel it beating against him in waves. "And now I'm here and you're all alive but you aren't the people I love. And – and this is all so messed up."

Sirius stared at Harry's shaking hands. Then he asked the question he'd wanted to ask for days. "Harry...What's our relationship? What is it that I don't know?"

Harry laughed. It was the kind of harsh laugh people give when the only other option is crying. "Damned if I know. I barely knew you, we had two years with on and off contact and then I screwed up and you died. But you were my godfather, and my friend and the closest thing I've ever had to a real parent."

Sirius sucked in a sharp breath, because the mental wall that had surrounded all things to do with Harry had abruptly shattered at the word godfather. He stared at Harry. Black hair and green eyes. James' hair and Lily's eyes.

Harry gave him a tired grin. "Finally cut through the magic, did you?"

"Harry?" Sirius whispered with near reverence. In his mind's eye he could still see the tiny dead child, bruised, unmoving and with that horrible scar on his forehead. He could see an unconscious Lily, a hysterical James, and the stillborn baby boy in his arms.

And in front of him now, a grown up man who looked like James but who had Lily's eyes. And maybe he wasn't really happy or completely healthy but he was alive.

Sirius reached out a hand, and brushed aside the young man's bangs. And sure enough, there was that scar. Still there, even with the difference of time and space.

"Merlin, Harry," Sirius choked, roughly pulling his godson – his godson! – into a hug.

But Harry only let him hold him for a brief moment before pulling away. Sirius let him go reluctantly. The two sat in utter silence for a few minutes, just looking at each other, trying to gauge emotions.

"I'm not, you know," Harry said finally.

Sirius shook his head.

Harry held up a hand to forestall any argument. "I'm not your Harry. I can't replace the child that was lost."

"No," Sirius admitted. That child was buried in the graveyard near Godric's Hollow. He was dead and gone. "But you're still Harry."