Chapter 11: Home

The next morning, Harry awoke as the first rays of sun streamed through the gap in the curtains. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he sat up slowly and stared around him, momentarily confused by the unfamiliar room. He smiled as the memories of the past few weeks came back to him. Feeling happier than he had ever thought possible, Harry clambered out of bed, taking the time to stroke Hedwig who had seemingly just returned from hunting. She let out a sleepy hoot as she buried her head under her wing; the dead mouse under her perch evidence of her successful flight.

Harry walked to his cupboard and pulled out a fresh change of clothes. Pausing one last time to gaze out of the window at the peaceful setting, he slipped out of his room and into the bathroom. He showered and pulled on a pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt, grateful that he didn't have to roll up the sleeves five times to find his hands. For the first time in his life, he had Muggle clothing that fit – well, almost fit, Harry amended as he reached for a belt. According to Mrs Weasley and Sirius, he had lost weight during his three-week hospital stay. Harry had been hard pressed to stop them giving him second and third helpings at every meal.

Harry quietly descended the stairs, careful not to wake Sirius in the process. He entered the kitchen and set to work familiarising himself with the whereabouts of the cooking implements. Twenty minutes later, Sirius stumbled in, looking half asleep; however, the delicious aroma of blueberry pancakes seemed to revive him quickly.

"M-m-morning, Harry," he yawned, plopping heavily into a chair.

To Harry's shock the chair let out a disgruntled sound. "Gently please, sir." It creaked moodily.

"Sorry," Sirius answered as if it were normal to converse with a chair over breakfast.

Harry stared apprehensively at the nearest chair and gave it a cautious prod with the handle of the spatula. He leapt back in alarm as it yelled: "Oi, watch it, laddie!"

Sirius noticed his godson's unease. "I take it you haven't met our chairs yet." He chuckled as Harry gaped at him.

"Met the chairs?" Harry repeated faintly.

"Yeah, ever since third year, Moony was always warning me that I'd break a chair with the way I, and I quote, 'plonk down with no consideration for the consequences' – utter nonsense… It's a sad day when a guy can't even sit down without being reprimanded by his one of his best mates… Anyway, he charmed my favourite chair in the common room to speak its mind. It seems he thought he'd continue the tradition with these ones. Odd bloke, Moony, he's always been a bit eccentric…"

Shaking his head, Harry turned back to the frying pan. "They're ready, you hungry for blueberry pancakes?" He switched off the pan and placed the plate of pancakes on the table between the two empty ones, shooting a nervous glance at Sirius. "I could find something else if you don't like them." He made to move toward the fridge but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder that made him turn.

"Harry, they smell excellent," Sirius assured him, 'but you don't need to make breakfast. You're still recovering."

"I don't mind. It's always been one of my jobs, I'm used to it." Harry didn't quite meet his eye after that statement.

Sirius put both hands on Harry's shoulders and steered him toward the table, easing him down gently into a chair while he slowly sat in the one he had just vacated (which gave a huge sigh of relief and said, "Oh, that's better!").

He looked Harry in the eye. "You seem to be brushing off your own health too easily. It makes me think the Dursleys weren't very sympathetic when you were sick. And the fact that you automatically assume I won't like the food suggests that they constantly scorned your efforts. Would that be a safe assumption or am I reading too much into it?"

Harry stared at his godfather for several moments. "Yes," he finally admitted, "they made me cook breakfast every morning. It was never good enough for them; they always found something to complain about. Once when I was eight, Dudley threw a fit because I was taking too long to cook the bacon, he upended the frying pan and my arms got splattered with the oil. Then Aunt Petunia came in and saw the mess and made me clean it up even though I had been burnt."

Sirius frowned. "They made you cook when you were only eight? And didn't even care for your injuries?"

"Yeah, Aunt Petunia started teaching me when I was old enough to start school. I was forced to cook until I received my Hogwarts letter; after that they were scared I'd turn them into bats. It didn't last long though, before second year they found out that I wasn't allowed to do magic in the holidays, so it was back to being treated like a slave. Whenever I dropped a heavy saucepan, I'd get locked up in my– " Harry broke off abruptly before he mentioned his cupboard, realising he was divulging things he never wanted anyone to know about. Sirius didn't push him to continue, but reached out to grip Harry's forearms.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Harry." He said somberly. "I can't change what happened, but I'm willing to listen if you feel like talking."

Harry managed a small smile. "Thanks." Searching around for a change of subject, he laid eyes on the pancakes. "They've probably gone cold." He said ruefully.

Accepting the subject change for now, Sirius whipped out his wand and muttered a spell that Harry recognised as a Warming Charm. "Not anymore. Tuck in."

To Harry's delight, Sirius launched into a tale from the Marauders' school days. "… for reasons unknown to all but him, your dad thought levitating a Flobberworm around the Great Hall during dinner would be a good idea. Perhaps it was, but staring glassy-eyed at your mother was not, at least not at that precise moment. It diverted his concentration long enough for the charm to falter... while the Flobberworm was hovering directly above Professor McGongall's plate."

"It didn't –?"

"Sadly, yes… James had detention for a week afterward." Sirius smiled reminiscently. He leant back and stretched in his chair. "I feel like some coffee, would you like some?"

"Sure, but I can – "

"No, I'll do it. Sit." Sirius opened a cupboard and pulled out two mugs. He stared blankly at the coffee maker before shrugging and pulling out his wand. A second later, both mugs were filled with the dark liquid. Setting them on the table, Sirius summoned the milk and sugar, nudging them toward Harry. As he stirred his coffee, Harry noticed the words on his cup read WORLD'S BEST GODSON.

"Don't you think you're going a bit overboard?" Harry asked with an amused grin, gesturing to the words.

Sirius glanced at it. "Nah. Overboard would be the one Moony gave me last summer. Here, take a look."

He turned his mug so Harry could read the words on the side: 'Never trust a dog to watch your food.'

Harry laughed. "Did he choose it because he had firsthand experience of such an incident?"

"Of course not." Sirius answered unconvincingly. "Speaking of Moony, he's coming over tomorrow for a visit. What do you suppose he'd think of lime green hair?"