It took half and hour, 3 cups of tea and one awkward moment where Mr Weasley walked in—wondering where everyone had gone and anxious about getting himself and Harry to the Ministry—before walking straight out, with a timid "Sorry!", before things finally calmed down within the room. By now the sun had just peeked above the horizon and Harry and Sirius were doused in warm light, beams pouring from the window as from the bell of the record-player, a light piano melody seeped into the background. Sirius, dazed, sat in his chair; his and Harry's hand still fiercely clasped together, the both of them processing everything that just happened through their heads.

"So you and Lupin…" Harry said, trying to keep nonchalant. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius perk up, concern sharpening his previously dull expression,

"Yes. Remus and… I," he repeated, clearing his throat.

Harry paused, "... Huh ."

Sirius stayed silent.

"I didn't know," Harry said. Sirius let out a little unexpected laugh, dry.

Nervous.

"We kept it quiet in the past, you see. Only James, Lily and Peter knew."

"...And Mrs Weasley,"

"Ah yes, she asked me if we would have a wedding, perhaps… one week into living in the house,"

Of course, Harry thought.

"Oh, and Cedric," he added. Sirius swiveled toward him with large eyes.

"He saw Lupin's suits in your closet," Harry explained, and Sirius promptly buried his face into his hands.

"Of course!" he said. He thread his fingers through his hair in an embarrassed and frustrated fashion, grumbling into his hands. As Harry's laughter faded, there was another moment's silence before Sirius abruptly spoke again,

"What do you think?" he said, face still stuck behind his palm.

As Harry turned toward him, Sirius straightened and fiddled with the rings on his fingers, twisting and plopping them on and off; torso turned, but eyes unwilling to look anything square in the face.

"What do I think?" repeated Harry, confused.

"Yes, you—…" Sirius paused, "—you don't have anything to say?"

"Er—I didn't know I needed to say something."

"Well you don't need to, I would just like to.. hear your thoughts."

It's an innocent sentence for anyone not searching for context.

But for many out there, there was enough to understand in that quarter of a moment; it was a string of words laden with a certain weight, something… probably heavier in the Muggle world.

Sirius didn't usually care, it was rare for the wizarding world to, save of course—and as always the exception—his pureblood parents.

But Harry was different. Special.

Someone important enough to Sirius to make him care; a wizard raised in a Muggle house and he fully knew what Sirius was really asking for.

He had spent years with the Dursleys after all.

Even if he didn't scavenge every newspaper they threw away, he'd know full well what kind of goings-on happened in the world Mugglekind; Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley never let go of the chance to express contempt at a "new" or "strange" thing that popped up, outside of the Privet Drive's norm.

And even without that, after all this time Harry had spent with Mrs Figgs—so much time in fact, that the backstory of each cat framed on her wall was embedded in great detail inside his head—he would've known that a man could love man and a woman, a woman. Or even both, or none or everyone other or in between.
Mrs Figg knew a great deal about the world, but when she was in a good mood, she would tell him more personal tales. Little stories of a "friend" she had framed inside her locket, and Harry didn't need to deduce much to know that it was the same girl that she had a picture with on her mantel, one that showed two young women curled up in a hammock, with one (who looked like a much younger and wilder Mrs Figgs) about to plant a kiss on the other equally beautiful girl, caught mid-laughter.

Post-Dementor attacks, he finally understood why Mrs Figg asked him to keep quiet about it. After all, she was tasked with protecting Harry whenever and, possibly, forever. If Harry were to let it slip about her "friend", the Dursley's would never let him go to her house, even if they hated Harry so much so.

But now a sudden realization hit him like a bag of bricks; he never really understood. He didn't really get why she kept the locket always shut until she had drank just one glass of wine, or, why the picture would always be hidden by that gaudy porcelain cat statue on the weekdays—it was more than just trying to keep Harry close.

He looked at Sirius's expression and he knew. That hesitance, the discomfort all spelled out on his face; it was the same look given to him last year, when he had walked into the common room and accidentally discovered Seamus holding Dean's hand in secret, while he slumped over the arm of a chair, asleep. As soon as their eyes had met, Seamus let go of Dean and stomped away, not one word exchanged between them since that incident.

Instead, that night, Seamus's brow was knotted for hours, his glances thrown towards Harry's direction so frequently that even Ron and Hermione asked if something happened between them during dinner. And for a whole year, Seamus hesitated to talk to Harry alone. Always avoiding him when they were the only ones left in the dorms or the common room. Harry chalked it up to the tournament, he never really got to talk to Seamus about what he saw. He was too busy. He had told himself that they'd talk at the start of next year.

But there was sneaking suspicion that lay, caught on the hook of that excuse…

Maybe Harry was trying to avoid it.

It was the first time he'd ever seen something like that, understanding so clearly what that sight entailed, knowing so acutely the colour of thought that ran through Seamus's head in that very instance.

The news was just words on page, flashing color on the screen of the telly, and Mrs Figg's stories; the photo—a distant memory, meant only for her eyes and her mind.

Harry understood that men could love men; and women, women. Or even both, and none and everyone other or in between.

He knew, he understood.

Yet the weight, that reality for those men and for those women, these people… it never fully hit Harry until he saw Seamus's face; first, the affection. The warmth, the cradled love and second; something that he's seeing again now—

Sirius's.

That well-hidden but intense fear, curdling behind wide eyes. That crushing have-to-wait for judgement moment, like he had to be judged. Like what Harry had to say really mattered.

Harry began to regret last year's choice to stay silent.

"Does he make you happy?" he said, carefully.

Sirius blinked before he slowly nodded, "I- Yes, yes he does. Though I must say, today was no representation of—"

"Then that's great! He makes you happy and he definitely cares about you. That's good, right?"

"Well yes but—"

"I don't think it matters what I have to say but," Harry squeezed his hand, "I'm really happy that you found each other, er… again. You both deserve it."

"I...Thank you," Sirius looked down apprehensively.

"Did I say it wrong?"

"No, no! I know what you're trying to say. It's surprisingly…" Sirius gestured, trying to figure out the word, "—mature. I didn't really know what to expect after confessing to be honest, I thought maybe you'd find me disgusting."

"Really?" said Harry, incredulous.

"Well I hear that currently, Muggles are divided on that sort of thing,"

"Some of them, yeah" Harry nodded, "But not everyone. Besides, I think I've spent more time in Britain's wizarding streets than I have on Muggle ones."

Harry couldn't even begin to count the amount of couples he'd have to shove through in Diagon Alley, never mind caring which couples held hands with who as they strolled it's cobbled streets. There'd always be one or two shopping in Flourish and Blotts for matching diaries—which actually got onto Ron's nerves after a while—and Harry could recall one particularly unfortunate time where Mr Fortescue's parlour was crammed with pairs lured in by his Love Day Special; he, Ron and Hermione having to spend half an hour in line just to get two scoops of ice-cream each, after they finally reconciled last year. Harry told Sirius about the first time he visited, where he saw one particular witch dragging her girlfriend over to Quality Quidditch Supplies so they could get matching broomsticks, and another memory where he distinctly remembered feeling sorry for an older wizard couple in the window of the Apothecary; who tried their hardest to sniff scented potions over the shop's notorious and overwhelming bad eggs and rotten cabbage stench.

Sirius chuckled. He imagined an 11-year old Harry, wide-eyed in the bustle of the street.

"So when you first walked down a wizarding street, did the sight of these same-sex couples surprise you?"

"A little, but there were other things that were much more unbelievable. You know… the self-deconstructing brick wall, my first attempt at finding my own wand resulting in Ollivander's shop being turned inside-out and riding a cart through the bank's gigantic underground railroad system? Oh! And let's not forget the floating brooms—"

Sirius roared with laughter, "Merlin you're right! It was probably the least weirdest thing of your day,"

"You don't have to do that,"

"What?"

"It wasn't weird. And it's still not weird."

"Oh.." Sirius gave a shy sort-of smile. "Yes, I suppose… I suppose, I should stop being so apologetic."

"Agreed. it's very unlike you firstly," Sirius laughed again,

"And also, they're just them and you're just you. I'll be honest, I never gave this much thought, but, really it doesn't change much, does it?" said Harry, phrasing it more like a statement than a question.

Sirius beamed at him, smiling so widely that Harry forgot that he had been crying ten minutes ago.

"You don't… find it strange?"

"No! I promise! It'd be weirder if I did-"

"Yes, yes I understand that now. But… you don't find it strange that your godfather-slash-uncle is practically married to your ex-teacher?" he asked.

"Oh…" Harry paused, "Well—"

When you put it that way…

There was a slow creak as the door opened, and suddenly, Sirius and Harry turned to find Lupin in the doorway; a very somber expression on his face. Behind him Cedric flashed a cautious and wide-eyed expression at Harry as the two filed in, a sober silence settling into whatever jovial mood fluttered about the room seconds before.

Sirius squeezed Harry's hand. It sent worry worming its way into his gut.

Harry was both glad and nervous about Lupin's presence in the room. He noticed that the sleeves of his suit were slightly tattered—more than they usually are—and his hands, though discolored, were back to human fingers. Physically, he seemed okay but there was an unmistakable red ring underneath his eyes, and the way he held himself; hunched, shoulders closing in and head held towards the floor—

Lupin looked less okay than Sirius originally was, and as Harry looked between the both of them, two questions filled his head to the brim; how did Mrs Weasley and Cedric even find him? And would it be okay for them to even see each other right now?

The silence gave Harry plenty of time to ponder, tension thick and it almost felt like there was physically something, a little awkward and a little rusty grating in the air. The piano still played in the background, and Harry's back was warmed by the sun; he could feel the rough fabric of the couch and the creak of floorboards as Lupin and Cedric stepped through, registering, hyper-fixated in his conscious. But then he felt Sirius's grip relax, his hand slipping through Harry's, lips parting to draw one breath;

Harry could almost understand what exchange of conversation went on between their locked eyes, the tension, the silence, conveying years more than what Harry could ever begin to even understand.

Without skipping a beat, Harry grabbed Sirius's hand and pulled him out of the chair, onto his feet; before gently pushing him towards Lupin. And in the same momentum of movement, a little adrenaline coursing through his veins, Harry grabbed Cedric's wrist and pulled him towards the door.

Before Sirius could even utter, before Lupin could even realize what had just happened, Cedric waved a nervous goodbye while Harry threw a "I'll leave you two to it!" over his shoulder, the both of them bolting and leaving the two alone in the room, with a single click of the knob.

Immediately outside the door, Cedric turned to Harry, worried;

"Okay, so now do you—"

"—Yeah,"

"They're toge—"

"I know,"

"...Well do you think they'll be okay?!"

Harry, strangely out of breath, thought back to the moment Sirius had loosened his hand. Despite being in a panic with his own thoughts, Harry watched as Lupin lifted his head, gaze up and already staring at Sirius from where he stood and Harry swore; it was almost as if neither Harry nor Cedric were even in the room.

The rust and awkward grating in the air was nothing bad.

The tension, the silence, their eye-contact—

"They'll be fine," Harry heard himself say, " —they're in love."

And it was cheesy and cliche and God he would never hear the end of it if George or Fred were in the hallways as well; but he knew he was right, because there was weight there. Weight that, again, he never really understood until now. And as if confirming his thought, that tug of intuition in his gut, a little bit of laughter came out of the room. It was Sirius's, soft, gentle.

Both Harry and Cedric paused before looking at each other, incredulous in their expression, but smiles glad.

As they made their way downstairs, Harry realized that the thought of the Ministry and his hearing was now duller; a smaller pit in his stomach despite its happening about to clock him, more directly in the face. The prospect of expulsion, the potential punishment, the dark dingy room and multitude of eyes he kept seeing in his dream; it still terrified him.

But no matter what happened, he made a decision.
After the hearing, he really ought to send Seamus an apology letter first.