"We don't have to go…"

At the mumbled statement, Sirius lifted his eyes up from the fraying rug below his feet. He studied his godson. Harry sat slumped against sofa's backrest, his chin hanging on his chest as he picked absently at his cuticles. They'd been sitting this way for a quarter of an hour, even though it was well after twelve o'clock in the morning.

"Go where, Bub?" Sirius wondered.

Harry drew his feet up to tuck under his thighs, still worrying at his thumbnail, his eyes glazed over. "To the Cup…" he muttered after a bit.

Sirius sighed as he planted his chin against his palm, eyeing his sullen kid for another moment. Harry blinked idly without looking up.

Pushing himself out of his favorite armchair, Sirius ambled over toward the sofa and lowered himself next to Harry; the boy sagged against him for a second when the cushion dipped but quickly shifted his shoulder blades against the backrest to readjust.

"Now, what's all this?" Sirius queried in a gentle voice as he draped his forearm on the sofa above Harry's head. "Three days ago, you nearly bounced off of the ceiling when you saw those tickets."

Harry gave a weak, one-shouldered shrug. "You said we shouldn't put a Quidditch match over our safety—"

"No," Sirius corrected, "I said I wouldn't prioritize a Quidditch tournament over your well-being."

Harry glanced up slightly, furrowing his brow at the fuzzy scroll pattern of the rug. "That's the same thing, Sirius," he murmured, fighting to sustain his deadpan expression, though Sirius had pinpointed the dullness in his green eyes as the troubled sort.

Sirius skimmed his gaze over the top of the head of wayward black hair. "No it isn't…"

"I don't get it," Harry said, sustaining the small, confused frown. "How is that different?"

"It's different," Sirius replied, turning a bit to lean against the armrest, "because I was concerned about how you were feeling—you looked awfully ill."

Harry's chin sank low, his eyes traveling to his loosely laced fingers again. "We shouldn't go, Sirius—"

"Hey…"

Harry let the back of his head fall against the couch; he sighed.

"Come on, look at me," Sirius urged softly.

Lazily rolling his head toward his godfather, Harry focused, rather bleakly, on Sirius' nose.

"What did I just say the other night?"

"Which night?" Harry wondered as he poked his fingers underneath his glasses to rub the tightness out of his eyes.

Sirius took hold of the wiggling nosepiece and slipped the small spectacles away from Harry's face. "The night you told me about Snape—you're in your bed in five minutes, by the way…"

"I will be," Harry agreed, taking his glasses back and sliding them securely on his nose with a fingertip. "You mean the night I told you about Snape at Grimmauld Place?" he clarified.

"Yes, that night," Sirius affirmed. "Do you remember what l told you?"

Harry thought for a few seconds. "That you were the biggest wally in the world?" he guessed. He gave Sirius a groggy half-smile before propping his cheek against his fist and leaning the side of his head into the backrest.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "No, what else did I say—before that?"

Harry gave a slow swipe at his nose with the back of his hand as he sorted through that night's conversation. "That I'm not to worry about anything…" he tried again.

Sirius nodded. "That you're not to worry," he echoed approvingly, "about anything. And I meant it."

Glimpsing up at the solemn gray eyes, Harry knewhis godfather meant it. He'd known it then.

Harry straightened up again, loosely hugging his knees, his gaze trained on the faded plaid material stretched across his kneecaps. "I know you meant it, Sirius, but I still can't help being scared about some things," he muttered. "I know it's stupid, 'cause it was a dream, but my scar burning really worried me."

"Being scared over that is not stupid one bit," Sirius assured him. "It's a very normal reaction; I was terrified when I saw you sitting there all pale and sweaty." He expelled a heavy breath. "Now, going to Hogwarts was stupid on my part. I acted on impulse…it was foolish—"

"I don't think it was."

Sirius gave him an appraising look, watching as Harry picked at a piece of fuzz sticking to his pajama bottoms.

"I mean," Harry shrugged, considering, "Snape told you what you wanted to hear, didn't he?"

The midnight wind hummed against the brief silence.

Sirius pressed his lips together, studying his godson's bowed head quietly, but only for a moment. "Snape's bile was directed at no one but me, Harry," Sirius began. "He didn't mean what he said—"

"Yeah, he did," Harry interrupted, his voice becoming a bit croaky. He glanced up now, eye-to-eye; cool air tickled the moistness pricking his palms; he wiped them on his pajamas. "Voldemort wants me dead, Sirius—he's always wanted me dead since I was a baby—but he still wants that now…I heard him say it."

Sirius' eyes twitched at the corners, though his expression remained relaxed. "In your dream, you heard him?"

Sliding his knees closer to his chest, Harry wetted his lips, nodding weakly. "Yeah…"

"You saw him as a person in your dream?" Sirius pressed, leaning in.

Harry shook his head, squinting behind his glasses. "No," he said, rubbing beneath his eyebrows with a forefinger and thumb. "It was like I told you before…"

"Just a figure, then?"

Nodding, Harry leaned his temple against the sofa-back again. "A small one. Kind of distorted, really. I can't describe it. It freaked me out enough to wake me up, though…"

"But it had Voldemort's voice?" Sirius shifted against the stuffed arm behind him.

Harry nodded into the cushion, his fringe fanning up on one side.

Sighing through his nose, Sirius pressed his knuckles against his lips, thinking.

"Going to Hogwarts wasn't all that stupid, then, was it?" Harry mumbled tiredly, watching Sirius' lids rise and fall in measured blinks.

"Dragging you along with me was very stupid," Sirius disagreed from behind his fist. "I made a mistake." His hand fell to his thigh, like an axed tree.

The wind was whistling through the moors now, but Harry ignored it. He curled his trapped toes against his thighs. "It's all right…" Harry quietly declared.

"No," Sirius said resolutely, still shaking his head. "It's not. I've made too many of them…"

Harry blinked, staring; he wanted to tell Sirius just how many mistakes he had made over the past three years, but he couldn't find the words.

Sirius flicked his eyes away, swallowing; Harry waited, feeling awfully anxious for no reason at all. But Sirius didn't say anything either. He simply gazed back, his eyes clouded; his lips curved with the scantest of smiles.

Gawking for a few seconds longer at his godfather's peculiar expression, Harry finally cleared his throat. "Do you want to hear about my dream again?"

The second hand of the hanging clock ticked like a heartbeat over their heads.

"Sirius…"

"Hmm?" Sirius inhaled densely as he refocused.

Harry licked his lips again; they felt wrinkled against his tongue. "Should I tell you about the dream again?" he nearly whispered.

Sirius shook his head, looking very sure of himself now. "No."

Harry scrunched up his nose. "How come?"

"Because," Sirius told him, "it's well past your bedtime, and you need your sleep." He gave a commanding twitch of his head. "Come on; I'll go up as well." He made to stand, but Harry grabbed a handful of his shirt.

"Wait!" Harry's voice cracked. "You're leaving it at that?"

Settling again, Sirius tilted his head. "Leaving what?"

Harry gave his godfather a skeptical squint. "Oh, come on, Sirius…"

"No," Sirius countered, pushing against the sofa with one hand and reaching for Harry with the other, "you come on…literally."

"People want me dead, Sirius," Harry said, hunching up his shoulder to tug his arm away, "and you're sending me to bed as if nothing's wrong?"

"Now just listen a moment—"

"We can't just blow it off and act like everything's all right!" Harry exclaimed. "That's what Dumbledore always does…and McGonagall…and even Hagrid sometimes. And he wants you to do exactly what everyone else does. Don't you see—"

"All right," Sirius interrupted smoothly, "that's enough."

Harry pressed his molars together at the placid demand, flopping back against the backrest with a nasal sigh.

"No," Sirius said, snaking a hand behind his back to straighten him up, "none of that, now, I want you to listen to me. Please."

"I'm listening…"

"You're not," Sirius argued. 'You're whinging."

"I'm—" Harry began, but at the elevation of his godfather's 'told you so' eyebrow, he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a few fingers against his forehead. "Okay, sorry, I'm listening now." He dropped his hand.

Sirius raised his other eyebrow.

"Really," Harry promised softening his pre-whinge expression. "I am, Sirius. I'm just…frustrated."

"Which is exactly why I need you to listen to me," Sirius said calmly. "All right?"

Drawing in a deep, silent breath, and releasing it just as slowly, Harry nodded.

A loose smile crept crookedly across Sirius' face. "You've just turned fourteen."

Harry tilted his head, giving his godfather a look.

"And, yes," Sirius said quickly, "you're right; we've established many times that you're only fourteen…"

Harry knitted his brows together at the utterance of "only", but he kept quiet.

"So you're fourteen, and I'm…" Sirius glanced up at the ceiling, "…thirty-five?" He peered back down at Harry. "Really?"

In spite of himself, Harry strained his lips against a grin.

"All right, then," Sirius continued. "So that means I'm twenty years older than you—"

"Twenty-one…"

"Oi," Sirius quipped in mock-annoyance, his index finger hovering above his godson's nose. "You're listening, remember?"

Harry's nostrils flared with subtle amusement. "Go on, then."

Nodding once, Sirius glanced down at his hands, running the pad of his thumb along one of his own knuckles; his smile faded. "I've seen quite a lot in those twenty years, Bub." he murmured.

His own amusement quickly on the decline, Harry's eyes flickered carefully over his godfather's face, aware, all of a sudden, of the tiny things…like his own blinking. His own breath tinkling against his upper lip. His fingers rolling the fabric at his ankle into a tight twist…

Sirius peeked up suddenly. "Do you believe me when I say that?"

Harry nodded slowly.

"I've seen Voldemort at his worst," Sirius continued, looking soberly at Harry. "I've seen Dementors suck the lives out of wizards who might not have even deserved it. Who might have had wives and children."

Clutching the hem of his pajama bottoms, Harry sat very still.

"I've seen…" Sirius bowed his head again, picking at the knee of his own trousers now, "…I've seen more than I want you to know about, really."

Harry's tongue was dry. He felt like an idiot just sitting there on the sofa, his legs folded into a loose pretzel, holding onto his pajamas. But for once, he didn't know what to say.

Sirius gave a short, almost silent chuckle to himself, but his eyes remained stormy and grave. "I know what it's like to feel as though everyone knows your life inside and out…even more than you know yourself."

Harry pressed his teeth into his bottom lip.

"I also know," Sirius went on, "how it feels to be scared…or confused. Or frustrated," he added just for Harry, "when you feel like no one understands or cares…like no one's on your side." Once again, Sirius' gray eyes impaled Harry without intention. "But there are a lot of people on your side, Bub. I'm on your side. And Remus is on your side…and whether you believe it or not, Dumbledore wants only what's best for you," Sirius told him, elevating a reassuring eyebrow when Harry started to make a face. "He wants you to be happy. He's worked very hard to keep the both of us happy…and together."

"I know," Harry finally murmured, feeling rather sheepish for some reason.

"That's all I want…"

Harry meant to nod, but he wasn't very successful; he swallowed noisily instead.

"Taking you to Hogwarts tonight was irresponsible," Sirius reemphasized. "I made a mistake, and I'm sorry for that."

Harry was confused; it wasn't as if he'd learned anything from Snape that he hadn't already known. But he knew an outright denial of this would be pointless. Considering his godfather's words for a moment, Harry scratched at his fringe, tucking his feet more tightly under his legs. "But why was it a mistake?" he couldn't help but ask.

"It just was, Bub," Sirius said, easing the wrinkled portion of sleep pants out from Harry's fist. "Between the two of us, I'm the one who will take care of anything worrisome. And this was one of those things."

Harry's brows smashed together. "That doesn't make sense…"

Shrugging in an offhanded style very much like Harry's, Sirius gave his godson a flicker of a grin. "It does to me."

Harry thought about this. "So what am I supposed to do, then?"

"Do what you always do…"

"Like what?"

"Like drive me completely mad with your questions…"

Harry smiled. "I don't either, Sirius." He yawned through clenched teeth.

"Here's something you can do," Sirius said as he stood, pulling Harry up with him. "Go to bed. We'll talk more about this in the morning."

"Can I sleep down here?"

Sirius gave him a funny look. "What for?"

"I like how the fire sounds…"

"Your blankets are upstairs."

"I'll go get them—"

"No, it's all right," Sirius cut in, his palm splayed against Harry's chest to keep him from bolting into the kitchen. "Settle in." He summoned a pillow and quilt from Harry's bedroom while his godson stretched out on the sofa.

Harry promptly squirmed onto his side once the blanket was tucked up under his armpits. He burrowed his head into his pillow and yawned again. Squatting down beside him, Sirius rested his hand on Harry's hip for a moment.

"Let me keep your glasses on the kitchen table so you don't accidentally step on them if you have to go to the loo," his godfather offered, folding down the frames with his thumb when Harry immediately handed them off. "I'll be up at five to make coffee; do you want to sleep for a bit longer or do you want to get up with me?"

Harry pulled a squishy clump of pillow away from beneath his cheek. "We're still going, then?"

"Of course," Sirius said quickly. "I said we were, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but—"

"But what?"

Blinking sleepily into his pillow, Harry shrugged. His stomach had already begun to tingle with excitement again, and his forehead didn't sting in the slightest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice reassured him that they'd be fine. And even if something did happen, Harry knew, somehow, that Sirius would take care of it.

"Nothing," Harry muttered after a moment. "What time do we have to meet Ron's family?"

Sirius pulled the covers a bit more snugly under Harry's arm, and twisted around on his toes to dim the lanterns with a quick flick of his wand. "Six."

"I'll just wake up with you, then…"

"The smell of coffee will probably be what wakes you up." Another flick of Sirius' wand, and a small log floated over to the fire, sending up a shower of sparks into the chimney as it nestled between the burning sticks of wood.

"You know what we should've done?"

"What, Bub..." Sirius tucked his wand away, and shifted in his crouch position, listening.

"We should've dyed our hair red," Harry mumbled groggily, sleep threatening to smother him. "Then we would've looked like Ron's cousins or something. No one would stare at us…"

Chuckling softly, Sirius reached over to brush a lock of dark hair away from Harry's ear. "You'd really look like your mum then, wouldn't you?

Harry's lips tilted at the comment. Pressing his nose into his pillow, Harry's eyes slipped closed; the pile of dead wood hissed and crackled behind them in the fireplace.

TBC...

One more chapter, folks. (Sniff) Hope everyone had a lovely holiday break! Mine was....short. :-)

As always, I truly appreciate any and all feedback, constructive criticism included. Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews from Chapter 35.

Next up: the World Cup... What would Harry look like with red hair?? ;-)