A/N: Nothing to say except THANK YOU to all my readers and reviewers, and enjoy the next chapter!

Chapter 9

Harry did not dare to stray from his bedroom for the rest of the day. He sat huddled on the bed, clutching the blankets around him and hugging a pillow to his chest for hours, listening to Sirius putter around the house. Once an hour, the ancient stairs would creak and groan under the man's weight, and Harry would hold his breath as he heard footsteps approaching his room. Sirius seemed to stand just outside the threshold for a moment, then knocked on the door. Each time, Harry refused to answer. Sirius would sigh, wait another moment, and then return downstairs. The process repeated itself all afternoon.

At supper time, Sirius tried again and this time spoke to him, urging him to come out of his room for dinner. Harry still said nothing, and after a few minutes, Sirius explained that he was leaving food just outside the door.

But Harry would not eat it. He knew now what Sirius had planned for him, and though it was not the nefarious plot he originally believed, it was no less dangerous. He was going to give him back to James and Lily Potter. He was going to throw him back to the parents who abandoned him. But Harry didn't have to go along with it, not without a fight, anyway. He would rather escape of his own free will than be tossed back on the streets by his own mum and dad, and he knew that was how this story ended.

They left him alone. All this time, and they left him alone. He had parents, real, living parents, and they didn't want him. They allowed him to live on the streets, to be beaten and hurt by foster families, to be cold and wet and freezing. They went to bed in their warm, comfortable bed each night never caring that he was huddled on a cold stone floor with a thin jacket to protect him. He would not go back to those people, not ever. He would do everything he had to do to escape.

Sirius wasn't really a bad bloke. He didn't understand, but at least he was nice. He hadn't even yelled when Harry beat on the door. He didn't scold when Harry cried like a baby. He didn't even get mad that Harry got blood all over the floor. Instead, he had wrapped up Harry's hands as though he actually cared about the injuries, not the blood left on the floor. It was strange, but he seemed to be genuinely concerned about Harry's well-being. Perhaps if he refused food long enough, Sirius would see what he was doing. Perhaps Sirius would start to understand that Harry could not, would not, go to those people. And then maybe he would let him go.

The thought brought fresh tears to Harry's eyes as he clutched the warm blanket closer. He wanted to stay here, at least a few days more. He liked it here, despite the odd candlelight, and the weird shrivelled creature in the kitchen, and the magic that was used so freely. He still didn't understand what was happening – or why – but he liked this quiet, peaceful room with its big soft bed and mountains of covers. He liked the food that filled the table, and the juice Sirius kept insisting he drink. It tasted so sweet and comforting, and it had been so long since he'd had anything but water from the tap. He knew this could never last, but he had hoped he could stay a few weeks, at the very least. Now James and Lily Potter would steal that from him, and he wept silent tears as childhood fantasties were demolished.

He had dreamed for so long of his parents. He pictured them as warm, kind people with a big house and friendly smiles. He imagined hugs from his mum and playtime with his dad, and he pictured them beaming at him with pride as no one had ever done. In his mind, his mum and dad were the most wonderful people in the world, and they loved him so very much. His dad was a good man with a respectable job, and his mum was the kindly sort who baked biscuits and sang songs to lull him to sleep. Sometimes he even thought he remembered her voice singing to him, but now he knew better. Now he knew his real mother never would have sang him lullabies. The parents of his daydreams would never have left him if they had any say in the matter, and so his whole life, he believed them dead. It was the only thing that made it all right to be without them. They died, and that wasn't their fault. They never would have let him be alone if they could have stopped it.

But James and Lily Potter didn't even look for him. And now Harry knew the truth; they didn't want him any more than the Parkers, or the Corbetts, or any of the families who had taken him in and then cast him off. His real parents hated him as much as the foster parents did. His real parents threw him away like Liam did.

He was unwanted. He had always known that to be true. It was beat into him for as long as he could remember. No one wanted a freak like him. But he had hoped that he didn't begin his life so unwanted, that something had happened to make him this way and once upon a time, he had been loved and cherished. Now he knew better. Now he knew that from the moment he was born, there was no one who wanted to keep him. He was worthless, he was nothing. Otherwise his parents would have loved him. Otherwise his parents would have kept him. The parents of his daydreams would never have rested until he was found, but the parents of his reality decided he was not worth searching for. He was not worth a home and a bed or nighttime lullabies.

He would rather live alone on the floor of that old abandoned warehouse than hear the words again. Sirius spoke of James and Lily Potter as though they were kind souls who had loved their child, but he didn't know. He didn't understand what it was like to be alone, to be frightened you would fall asleep and never wake up because you were so cold, or so hungry, or so hurt. He didn't know what it was like to watch other children hold tight to the hands of their parents and know that you had only yourself for protection.

But Harry knew. Harry knew where it was safe to hide. Harry knew never to accept "generosity" from strangers. Harry knew how to quell the cramps of hunger so he could fall asleep. He knew all those things because his parents never came looking for him, because the families he had lived with in their stead were so terrible he would rather take his chances on the street. He would not go to James and Lily Potter hoping for a family when he knew it could never be. Better to accept his lot in life now than make believe that there was good waiting him just around the bend. Better to accept that he was alone and unloved than face the sting of rejection yet again. He had survived before, and he would survive again.

His traitorous stomach growled at the aroma of his supper wafted in, but he was no stranger to hunger. He had eaten a veritable feast this morning, so he knew he could make it days before the weakness would take over. By then, perhaps Sirius would have come to his senses and released him. He only had to wait it out a few days, and then he would be free.

Willing himself to be strong, he turned away from the door and climbed beneath the covers, curling tightly to keep himself warm. He closed his mind to the quiet pleading just beyond his room and allowed himself to drift away.

It was cold. So very cold. The man in black was standing before him, his face hooded but his laughter echoing in the small room. "Harry!" a woman's voice kept screaming, over and over and over again.

Green light flashed, and the woman's screaming grew louder. Then came the pain. Sharp and intense, searing through his head. The green light suddenly vanished, and the world grew silent for an instant, only an instant.

The flames shot up around him. He could feel the burning and smelled ash and soot and death. The woman was not screaming anymore, or he could not hear her over the roar of fire. He cried for someone to help him, reached his hands through the bars around him but felt only the flames. He was burning, and no one would help him. The world was on fire, and there was no escape. All he knew was pain and death and fire.

And then nothing.

"Shh, shh," someone was hushing him. Someone kept screaming so loud it was hurting Harry's ears, but still the man beside him tried to quiet him. Harry's head was pounding furiously, or he would have questioned why the man was hushing him when it was clear the other person was the problem.

The screaming wouldn't stop. And then suddenly Harry's throat was hurting as though he was being stabbed, and he was thirsty…so thirsty. He wanted the screaming to stop so he could get up and get a glass of water.

"Shh," the man insisted. "You're all right, Harry. You're all right."

The man was speaking to him, and suddenly Harry realised he was the one screaming. His voice was growing hoarse, and his throat hurt because he'd been hollering for some unknown period. He forced himself to stop and clenched his eyes shut, trying to remember where he was, trying to remember why he was so frightened.

The images rolled back to him in waves. The black hood. The green light. The flames. Oh God, the flames…

He had always been prone to nightmares. When he first left the Parkers, he woke screaming almost every night as memories of his closet returned. He dreamed most nights of the dark little room and the blows upon his back. The green light, the flames, the scream…it felt familiar, as though he'd had this dream before, but he could not remember when, and he could not put voice to the fears except to sob.

Eventually he realised there were strong arms wrapped around him. Warm hands were rubbing his back in soothing circles, and a deep voice kept repeating comforting words. He couldn't remember where he was, or who he was with, or why he was here. He remembered only the flames, and so he buried himself deeper into the arms wrapped around him, trying desperately to escape the scorching fire attempting to consume him.

Strangely, the person holding him did not seem to mind. Harry felt himself gathered closer, and one hand moved to brush soothingly through his hair. "It's all right," the voice kept telling him. "It was only a dream. Only a dream."

"The fire," he protested. "The flames."

"It's over now. You're safe. Hush now."

Reality slowly returned, and the images from his nightmare began to melt away. He remembered Sirius now, remembered his bedroom in the strange old house, and he recalled the bewildering tale he'd been told. His stomach churned as he realised the nightmare was really a memory, and he scrambled out of Sirius's grasp just in time to heave onto the floor. The vomiting was painful on his raw throat, and even when the contents of his stomach were expelled, he continued dry heaving as he crouched miserably on the wooden floor.

In the midst of his pain, his humiliation, and his horror, he could think of only one thing: he was leaving. Sirius was going to make him leave. Sirius was going to give him back to the people who had let him be eaten up by those flames. Hours ago escape had seemed the only option, but now he wanted nothing more than to stay. He didn't want to be alone anymore. He didn't want to wake like this without anyone to promise him it was over. He didn't understand why he was so unwanted, why anyone would let a baby burn up in that fire. He couldn't have done anything wrong, so why didn't they want him? Why couldn't he ever stay anywhere?

"Don't make me go!" he pleaded as his knees ground into the hardwood floor.

"Please don't make me go!"

Sirius joined him on the floor and quickly cleaned up the floor with a spell. Harry was too exhausted to care about the magic, and he tried to draw himself away from Sirius so he couldn't be smacked for making a mess. Normally he might submit to his punishment, but not now, not tonight. He was so tired, and the horrible images were still burned in his mind. He could still hear a woman screaming his name, and he realised now who she was.

He heaved again, the bile causing him to cough as his eyes watered. He briefly wondered why Sirius had rescued him at all, why he couldn't leave good enough alone and let him die on that park bench. That was the fate he deserved. That was the fate of an unwanted child, destitute and abandoned by everyone who ever should have loved him.

"Oh Love," Sirius sighed and moved closer, gently reaching out and placing a hand on his back. Harry didn't respond, still crouched on the ground as nausea roiled through his stomach. "You've having quite a rough night, aren't you?" He murmured something under his breath, and then Harry felt something cool and wet drape across his neck. "Take a few deep breaths," Sirius coaxed. "It will pass."

Harry did as he was told, desperate for the nausea to fade. As he sat and shivered on the floor, he felt long fingers combing through his hair. It felt so good and comforting, and he sank into the touch as the nausea finally began to ebb. He was left with bone-crushing weariness, but at least he no longer felt the need to sick up all over the clean floor.

"There. Better?" Sirius asked.

"Y-yes," he managed hoarsely.

"Think you can stand? I'll fetch clean pyjamas, then we'll get you some tea and a bit of toast, yeah?"

Harry forced himself to nod, and Sirius helped him up and kept an arm around his waist to steady him. He soon found himself presented with a clean pair of pyjamas, as soft and wonderful as the first, and Sirius left him just long enough to allow him to change in private before retrieving him to help him down the stairs. Harry was a little embarrassed by the arm around his shoulder, but his knees were shaking with every step, so he didn't protest.

"Here, sit," Sirius instructed as he pulled out a chair for him at the table. Harry sank into it gratefully, and then Kreacher's head popped out of the little closet. The moment Kreacher saw him, he scrambled into action. "Tea and toast, Kreacher," Sirius instructed. Harry heard muttering about special elf recipes, and he watched dazedly as the wizened creature fussed about the kitchen preparing the tea.

Harry didn't know anything about house-elves or their special recipes, but the tea Kreacher handed him was the perfect temperature with just the right amount of sweetness. The churning in his stomach began to vanish almost immediately, and he greedily drank up the contents of his teacup.

"Think you can eat?" Sirius asked, still frowning a little as he sat down across from Harry at the old wooden table and handed him a plate. "Try a bit of toast, if you think you're up to it."

The idea surprisingly didn't turn his stomach, so he nibbled at the toast, particularly the bits with delicious marmalade. "Thank you," he remembered to say quietly, though he was beginning to realise such formalities were not necessary here.

"Of course," Sirius smiled gently.

"I'm sorry I made a mess."

"You couldn't help it. There's nothing to be sorry for. It's easily fixed," Sirius assured him.

"I'm sorry I screamed so much," he added, hoping Sirius had not yet decided he was too much of a burden to keep around.

"Harry," the man sighed, sounding frustrated. Harry bit his lip, wondering if it had been wrong to apologise. "I forced a lot on you today. You've nothing to be sorry about. Were you dreaming about the fire?"

Harry didn't answer, but shut his eyes to try to stop the images from returning

"I'm sorry, Harry. I know this was too much for you to handle, and far too soon after you've been ill," Sirius apologised wearily.

Harry couldn't bring himself to say it was all right. It wasn't. Not even a little. A few days ago he'd been a homeless orphan. Today he was a wizard with parents and a godfather. A few days ago he was an unwanted waif, a nobody, the scum on the bottom of the shoes of the people who passed him by each and every day. Now he learned that his life had been determined before he was even born, that he had survived the impossible, and that his parents had long ago accepted him as dead.

Last night, the idea of magic both terrified and enthralled him. As soon as he worked pass the initial terror, he felt a huge sense of relief. There were other people like him. Even Sirius had magic, just like him. And he had obviously done all right for himself since he had this big house filled with expensive things and wore nice clothes and always had plenty of food around. It was nice to know he wasn't just a freak, that he was actually quite special.

But he wasn't special enough. His parents were magic, too, and he wasn't even special enough that they looked for him after the fire. In his dream, that woman – his mum – called his name, but where was she when the fire threatened to burn him up? Had she even tried to get to him? She let him die alone in that room, and she probably wouldn't care he was alive. She accepted his death long ago without a second thought.

No, none of this was all right, and Harry refused to tell Sirius it was. Even the thought of leaving here, of being sent to live with parents who would quickly tire of him…

"Where do you think I'm going to make you go?" Sirius asked him quietly after a long silence.

Harry stared down at the ancient table with its many scars and markings. It was a bit like him…used up and tainted. He found himself gazing at a particularly deep gash in the wood and wondering how it got there, who put it there, why they would want to. That was the part he never understood, really. Sometimes he was punished for doing bad things - the Parkers really hadn't liked it when he did magic, even if it was by accident. But sometimes they hurt him even when he'd done nothing wrong. Even when he tried so hard to follow the rules, he still received the blows. As though it was him that was wrong, not anything he had done. Was that what James and Lily thought of him, too?

"I know you're upset, but please answer me. Where do you think I'm going to make you go?" Sirius repeated himself.

"To…them," he answered softly. "James and Lily."

Sirius looked sad and troubled, but he shook his head. "I have to tell them, Harry. Your dad – James - is my best friend. He'll be wondering why I've kept away."

"I know," Harry answered miserably. And he did, really. Sirius had only known him a couple of days, and he'd known James all his life almost. Of course he would pick James over Harry.

"I think you ought to talk to them, if you think you can," Sirius added. "But that will be your decision."

Harry nodded and set down the toast, no longer interested. He stared blankly at his plate for a moment before really processing what Sirius had said. "You…I mean…aren't you going to send me away with them?" he asked uncertainly.

"Oi, Harry. You aren't a parcel to be sent anywhere," Sirius shook his head, and Harry got the feeling he'd said something very wrong, something that upset Sirius deeply. His brow was furrowing oddly, and he almost looked like he might be ill himself.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he apologised quietly without really knowing what he was sorry about. He just knew that he'd messed up again, like he'd been messing up all night, and now Sirius was upset.

"No, none of that," Sirius sighed. "I think you've got this all wrong, Harry. I suppose that's to be expected. I'm rubbish at all this. I'm not the best to…but that isn't the point."

Harry just gazed at him, not at all certain what Sirius was trying to say.

"Stop apologising to me for things that are not your fault. This mess…it's not your fault, Harry. I'm upset, but not because of you. I'm upset because you deserved so much better than this, but that's not for you to apologise for."

"I…I don't understand."

"I suppose I ought to make this very clear for you. This is your home, Harry. For as long as you would like it to be. I have to tell your…James and Lily…about you being here, but you can see them as much as or as little as you choose. I won't allow you to return to the street, but you can choose where you want to live, whether it's with me or with them."

"I…I don't have to go?" he asked, daring to hope for the first time.

"I hope someday you'll want to. But until then, you have a place here, Harry," he said firmly.

"But what if they make me?" he protested.

"They won't," Sirius assured him.

"But what if-"

"Then I'll fight them for you, Harry."

It was a bold statement, but his voice did not waver. His pale blue eyes held strong, and something about his expression made Harry trust him. "But he's your best mate, you said," he whispered.

"Yes," Sirius nodded. "He is. But you're a boy, Harry. I know you've had to take care of yourself for far too long, but you ought to be taken care of. By adults. If you want to stay here and anyone tries to force you to do something different, I will stop them," he vowed. "Even if it's my best friend."

Harry took another sip of his tea to fight back the tears. No one had ever tried to protect him like this, and a foolish, silly part of him wanted to throw his arms around Sirius and never let go. He still couldn't understand why the man would be so nice, but maybe it had something to do with being his godfather. He still wasn't quite sure what that meant, but maybe it meant that Sirius cared about him and protected him from bad things. Maybe it was a little like having a parent, except it seemed even better because Sirius didn't have to do these nice things for him.

"Finish that toast, mate. If you turn sideways you'll disappear, and I'd rather not lose you just yet."

Despite himself, Harry grinned.

"You sealed off your Floo?" Remus asked with a bemused grin as he knelt in front of his office fireplace late that evening. It had taken quite a while to get through to Harry, but once he did, the kid actually grinned at him and ate two whole pieces of toast. Sirius talked him into another cup of tea, then noticed the drooping eyelids and sent his godson off to bed. Once the lights went out, Sirius paced the living room for the better part of an hour, waiting to be certain Harry was sound asleep before he called his friend at Hogwarts.

"I knew James would call," Sirius shrugged and adjusted his position to take the pressure off his knees. "It was too big a risk with Harry wandering about."

"He's going spare with worry, you know, made me promise you were all right."

"Oh Merlin," Sirius sighed and tried to stamp down the guilt rising to his throat. James Potter had put up with a lot over the years, offering his friendship, devotion, and protection when Sirius least deserved it. James was the one who pulled him back from the edge time and time again, and it felt awful knowing his friend was worrying unnecessarily. Plenty of times in the past, Sirius had given him reason to worry. Ironically, this was one of the few times Sirius was not the one anyone ought to be worried about, but he could hardly convince James of that without telling him the truth. "Don't tell me more, Moony," Sirius begged. "I already feel like a great bloody tosser for doing to this to him."

Remus's face softened as he regarded his friend with compassion. Sirius felt vaguely comforted and knew Remus was the right person to call; James was his best mate, but Remus offered sage advice and exuded a sense of peace when a bloke really needed it. "You've done nothing wrong, Padfoot," his friend assured him. "Harry needed time. He comes first right now. Did you tell him?"

Sirius sighed again and contemplated the bottle of firewhiskey in the kitchen. He wondered how much one would need to drown himself in it. Probably at least two or three more…he shook his head, clearing it of suicidal thoughts. "Time may not fix this," he admitted wearily, thinking of Harry's screaming, his pleading, his poor battered hands. Sirius had seen a lot of things in his time, but nothing seemed so awful as his poor godson so scared and miserable that he literally bloodied himself in an effort to get away.

"He didn't take it well?" Remus questioned.

"He beat on the door until his hands were a mangled mess, then locked himself in his room and refused to leave even to eat."

Remus blinked in surprise. "Oh. Not well at all, then," he managed after a moment.

"No wonder you're a professor, with keen deductions like that."

"It was quite a shock, Sirius. With more time-"

"He woke up screaming a while ago. I've never heard such a sound, Remus. He made himself sick, then begged me not to send him away."

Remus's blue eyes darkened as his frown deepened. "That bad?" he asked worriedly.

"He's more damaged than we ever imagined, Moony," he responded gravely, shuddering as he remembered the scars on the boy's back. "Some bloody muggles beat him near to death, from what I can tell, and I'd bet my Gringotts vault they weren't the first or the last to lay a hand on him."

"Oh God," Remus breathed shakily, his face paling considerably.

"He doesn't want to see James and Lily. He wants nothing to do with them. He feels abandoned and unwanted."

"I suppose I can see…" Remus began carefully, then trailed off helplessly.

"I don't know what to think," Sirius admitted. "Why did none of us question it, Moony? He had just killed Voldemort. Why would we accept anything at face value that night?"

"It was all too improbable to believe. No one even thought it could be true at the beginning. To survive that…Dumbledore was the only one with any kind of explanation, and even he admitted it was pure conjecture," his friend reasoned. "We were all shocked, not to mention grieving."

"We overlooked facts," he countered sharply. "No matter how understandable, he's a 13-year old who was left to fend for himself. We were the ones meant to take care of him. It fell to us to question everything, to make absolutely certain."

"Dumbledore himself felt certain Harry was dead," Remus reminded him quietly. "You're right; Harry is only thirteen. He can't be expected to handle this calmly, but he'll see, in time, how much he is loved."

"If he'll see them at all."

"He'll have to, Sirius. James and Lily will have to-"

"I won't force him to do anything," Sirius cut him off vehemently, remembering that terrified look on his godson's face at the mere thought of being sent to his parents. Sirius might not fully understand it, and he still believed James and Lily were the best parents Harry could ever have hoped for, but if Harry wasn't ready, he wouldn't do it. He would not be the cause of that boy's pain, not even for James, not even for Lily.

"They're his parents, Sirius," Remus argued.

"And I'll tell them, but if Harry wants to stay, he stays."

"He needs parents, Sirius. If he's as hurt as you say, then he needs James and Lily. He doesn't need a best friend or a big brother."

"I'm his godfather, Remus. If something had happened to James and Lily he would have lived with me anyway. There's nothing I want more than for him to be home with them, but not until he feels safe. I promised him, Moony," he added. "He begged, and I promised."

"Sirius…"

"Listen, Moony. I'm his godfather. I love that boy. This is no game to me. He's scared out of his wits, and I will do whatever necessary to protect him. You would do the same for Lydia. You know you would."

"Of course I would," Remus conceded, "but James and Lily will be devastated."

"I know," he responded miserably, once again picturing that firewhiskey.

"You may be right about keeping him with you, but it won't be pretty, Sirius. He's their son."

"Yes, and I have to tell them he's alive and wants nothing to do with them."

"We'll tell them together, Padfoot," his friend vowed. "But we'll need a plan. They probably won't even believe us. Do you think he'll see them at all?"

"Perhaps," he sighed. "If I promise they won't take him away."

They discussed the logistics for another half an hour, forming their plan for springing the news to James and Lily. In the end, it was decided that Sirius would need to take a leave of absence from work, at least for a while. Harry couldn't be left here on his own, not yet, and if this was where he wanted to be, Sirius needed to be here to watch over him. They would wait one more day, giving Sirius the time to arrange for time away from the Ministry and to talk with Harry and hopefully persuade him to at least sit down with James and Lily. Remus would find someone to cover his classes and come early Wednesday morning to meet Harry and to be here when James and Lily arrived.

"There's one thing we've overlooked," Remus said as Sirius once more adjusted his position as his knees screamed in pain from his uncomfortable position on the floor. "I'm ashamed to say I've forgotten about Lydia."

Another wave of guilt washed over Sirius as he realised he had forgotten her in all this mess as well. Harry didn't even know about his sister yet, and he would undoubtedly take it poorly. It would only further convince him he was unwanted; all this time, his parents had been raising another child instead of looking for him. He would be devastated when he learned, and Sirius wasn't sure he could handle it yet. And they would have to tell Lydia, as well. She could hardly be kept in the dark about her own brother, but it would break her heart that the brother she daydreamed about would loathe her very existence. She worshipped Harry, idolised him, and he would be nothing she expected.

"I haven't told Harry," Sirius admitted.

"I think he should know before he sees them. It will only be worse."

"I have a question for you, Professor."

"Yes?"

"How much firewhiskey do you suppose it takes to drown a man? Would three bottles do it, or would it be safer with four?"

Remus chuckled sadly and shook his head. "I must say, you've done remarkably, Padfoot. He must trust you, to want to stay with you."

"I've no idea why," he sighed. "It seems so unfair that he would choose me over them. I share in whatever fault James and Lily ought to have."

"You saved his life, Sirius," Remus answered solemnly. "That's powerful magic, and he's bound to trust you more than any other. You may very well be the first person he can ever remember taking care of him."

Sirius inadvertently thought of his own parents and the curses they threw his way. He thought of hidden bruises and the nights he woke screaming. He thought of lying in bed and wondering what would happen to him, what he would do if they hexed him before he could dodge, if their tempers flared and he was too injured to help himself. He understood, better than it most, what it meant to be alone with people who would hate and hurt you. He remembered mistrusting adults, suspecting everyone of a secret desire to harm you. But he had James Potter. The night he ran away from home, drenched from the rain, shaking and shivering, the door opened at the Potter's and his best mate embraced him. Though he knew it was unfair, though he wished it could be James or Lily standing in his place, he could understand why Harry wanted to stay.

"They'll hate me, Moony. If I keep him from them…"

"James and Lily will want whatever is best for Harry. If they know he wishes to stay, neither of them will force him to go. You must know that."

"I do," he agreed. "But they can still hate me. I'm stealing him."

"You saved their son, Sirius. Remember that," Remus said wisely. "The next days and weeks, maybe even months, will undoubtedly be difficult, but Harry is alive."

The sense of wonder in his voice reminded Sirius of Harry's face when he lit up the end of the wand. Yes, he thought, allowing himself to relax. Harry is alive, and so very wonderful. His godson had miraculously survived what no one should have survived, and he was home. No matter how terribly this went, nothing could have been worse than living the rest of their lives without him. As long as Harry was safe and alive, they would get through this. All of them.