Though he hadn't been able to tell until he was gone, Harry could now appreciate how badly he had needed this break from Hogwarts. At Grimmauld Place he was entirely encapsulated from the world with only Sirius for company. There were no spurious newspaper articles, no talkback radio taking cheap shots at his expense, and for the first time in months he was completely content to not know what was happening in the world beyond. He trusted that if there was something he needed to know Sirius would make sure he was told, anything beyond that he was content to keep himself in the dark.

Weighing less heavily on his mind right now was his schoolwork, which by a miracle was kept up to date and done well. Teachers had been sending along notes and work for him to complete, and though the first few days had proved challenging he and Sirius had found a rhythm. He was essentially sitting his classes without the teacher to give the lecture, which was an improvement where Snape and Umbridge were concerned, but in others it was a detraction. Though he had struggled with their classes this year McGonagall and Flitwick were excellent teachers, and not being physically present in their classes made him appreciate them all the more.

The kitchen and drawing room served as his de facto classroom, places where he found he could concentrate and feel motivated in a way he hadn't all year. He had just received his bundle of Easter homework which to his relief was mainly revision focused. Finally his school work no longer felt insurmountable.

Holding up his end of the bargain Sirius had ensured he did not fall behind, and had been serving as a good substitute teacher. Under his tutelage Harry had kept up with his classes, finding it was easier to garner up the motivation to complete his work. As the days passed it soon became apparent that Sirius was more than just clever and intelligent, but that his studiousness rivalled Hermione's.

'I would have taken twelve O. ,' Sirius said reminiscently, watching as Harry charmed his school things to do cartwheels around the edge of the table. 'But McGonagall didn't seem to think I was trustworthy enough to have a Time Turner.'

'Smart witch she is,' Harry teased, protesting when Sirius flicked his bottle of ink off course.

Sirius smirked. 'She was right. I would not have used it responsibly. I think she could tell I was already plotting.'

It was a lot to take in that his motorcycle riding godfather was as much of a nerd as Hermione. 'I just can't believe you took Muggle Studies,' Harry muttered, correcting his animated bottle of ink and keeping it well out of Sirius's reach.

'I only did that to piss off my mother. Worked too, I got three Howlers in a week. So did McGonagall for that matter.'

In between keeping up with his homework and revision he and Sirius made good progress on the house. They had worked at getting more light in the place, having discarded all heavy curtains and drapery before Harry began scrubbing decades of dust and grime from the windows, even managing to do the outside thanks to Sirius conveniently ignoring his use of magic. The place was in an even worse state than when they had started, but with half the carpet pulled up and the gloomy wallpaper torn down there was a remarkable improvement.

It was physically exhausting work, the kind he would chose over sitting in a classroom five days a week. It had a way of soothing him, helping him clear his thoughts as he focused his mind and attention on the task he was doing, whether it was pulling up carpet, painting walls or scrubbing windows, he didn't mind. And lately when he lay in bed and tried to clear his mind he found he was almost able to do it.

However, much to his frustration the month he and Sirius were to spend together got off to a surprisingly rough start. Gone was the atmosphere of the previous few days, their comfortable routine and rapport now forced to accommodate the elephant in the room. Stuck between them was Sirius's belief that he had failed him, and his apparent determination that getting him to talk about what happened last June was the solution to all his problems.

Now that they had the prospect of an entire month together Sirius took that as a no holds barred opportunity to start. After managing to largely avoid it in his first few days he had hoped to continue skirting such subjects, but Sirius was determined to have the conversation. But equally if not more determined was Harry. For the last three months he had been forced to relive his torment in front of Snape during Occlumency, forced to share it against his will. Well that was over now, and he wasn't sharing that part of himself with anyone, not even his godfather.

Alt…Sirius starts pushing him again - Music

Sirius was patient, but persistent. Malfoy Manor. The graveyard. Cedric. Seeing his parents. It seemed there was very little that he wouldn't try bringing up, somehow managing to find appropriate segues from otherwise meaningless conversation. He kept trying, asking Harry questions and probing for information, quickly backtracking and feigning ignorance any time he told him to shut up about something.

Music served as a much needed buffer, whether it was the radio or the vinyl records Sirius brought down from his childhood bedroom the noise filled the room whenever words and silence could not, and Harry quickly came to rely on it as a deterrent. Whenever Sirius wouldn't take a hint to shut up he would respond in his own way, for a concentrated glance at the record player would see the volume begin to rise in small increments. It worked, conversation naturally avoided when there was no opportunity to speak, but it didn't take long for Sirius to catch on.

One such occasion happened on the first Tuesday, the day that marked the first full week since the rows at Hogwarts and McGonagall sending him home. They had stopped for a short break, the two of them out on the landing drinking the tea Kreacher had brought up for them, and then Sirius's small talk began to turn towards what happened with Malfoy and Carrow. When a sharp glare made no difference Harry focused his attention on the record player, falling back on wandless magic as he still occasionally did. With a smooth motion the needle moved onto the record, a song beginning to play.

'Harry,' Sirius called out from the other side of the landing, getting annoyed. 'I know what you're doing.'

Looking him in the eye he shrugged his shoulders, attempting to disguise the gesture his hand made. The volume grew.

'I can see you. You're not as subtle as you think you are.'

He wasn't exactly enjoying himself either. Sirius may have idolised The Rolling Stones growing up, but to him this music was just shouting and noise. 'What?' he called out. 'I can't hear you.'

Looking rather sour Sirius drew his wand, pointing it at the record player which came to a stop, silence returning. 'You don't have to talk to me, but don't be a brat about it.'

Resenting that remark Harry set his tea down and walked off. Getting back to work he entered the room he had recently been restricted from going inside, the one where Sirius was supposedly keeping his birthday present. But it was empty now, and other than some questionable stains on the carpet and a harsh chemical smell there was nothing to suggest what had been in there.

Sirius followed him inside. 'It's not too late for you to talk about these things,' he suggested lightly, testing the waters.

Continuing to ignore him Harry used wandless magic to summon his pocket knife from the landing. It came soaring into the room but fell halfway, and annoyed with himself he snatched it up from the carpet. And now he was really ticked off. The stains on the carpet were fresh, and had left something black and sticky all over the pocket knife, the one Sirius gave him for Christmas.

He rubbed it off onto his jeans, frowning as he caught another whiff of that chemical smell. It reminded him of something…something from long ago, familiar but not at all anything of particular value or meaning. He looked at the stains on the carpet, casting his eyes around the rest of the room, the larger stains. A picture formed in his head, dots joining up. In the background he could hear Sirius calling his name, trying to get his attention.

'What?' he asked, ruder than he meant to be.

Sirius seemed to be hesitating, and he was too impatient to wait. Harry had already turned to the corner of the room and sank down to his knees when he finally spoke. 'I said if you won't talk to me there are Healers…some of them specialise in things like this.'

The very suggestion made him cringe in embarrassment. As if he would just talk at a complete stranger and tell them all his problems. It was a ridiculous idea, one Sirius had no business nagging him about. He had been dropping hints like this for days, not comprehending how infuriating it was to listen to this rubbish.

'What, specialise in head cases?' he retorted. He opened the blade of his pocket knife and dug it in to the carpet to pierce the backing. This was the third room of carpet they had pulled up today, his hands and back were aching.

'In helping people.'

This otherwise innocent comment pained him, because deep down Harry knew what he wanted. He wanted to get all of this off his chest, to tell Sirius everything and let it all out, unleash it...but he couldn't. It had taken him a while to admit even to himself that he was afraid. But it was all right there on the top of his tongue, just waiting, except he didn't know where to start. Worst of all, he didn't know where it would all end. How much would he say if he were to start talking? How much did he want to say?

How much could Sirius take?

Finally catching the backing he dug the blade in deeper and then sawed back and forth. But it was putting up a fight - this carpet wasn't going quietly. Having opened up just enough to get his hands underneath he gave it a great heave, using all his strength to pull up the corner to reveal what was underneath. Dust erupted into the air, making him cough and turn his head away. His wandless magic wasn't strong enough to cast a Bubblehead charm, and he was too prideful to take out his wand.

Sirius was on the other side of the room, meant to be doing the same thing over there. But Harry could feel himself being watched, and judging by the silence he wasn't exactly pulling his weight. Ignoring him completely he cut away the foam underlay, still scowling when it revealed exactly what he knew would be underneath. Timber floorboards.

He didn't need to be an expert to assess that they were in terrible condition. Some bore deep scratches and missing chunks, others seemed loose or were patched up. An entire section was stained dark brown, little spots and smears suggesting it could have been blood.

It would be too much work to fix. Better to lay new carpet over top.

'Harry?'

Ignoring him he got to his feet and gripped the edges of the carpet, giving it another heave. The sound and sensation of it ripping from the edges of the room brought immense satisfaction, compelling him to keep going. More dust erupted into the air, and he felt it settling on his hair and skin, but he didn't stop.

'You might find it helpful,' Sirius continued, not getting the hint. 'Sometim-'

'No.'

'You wouldn't be the first to see a Healer for something like this,' he pressed. 'I think you should at least consider it.'

The other corner of the carpet lifted away, Harry panting from the exertion as he wiped sweat from his brow. Except this time there was no satisfaction to his success. He was sick and tired of listening to Sirius dropping hints, nagging him and never listening. He wanted him to talk so badly, yet he didn't listen to anything he actually had to say.

He turned around to face Sirius, thoroughly pissed off with the way he was looking at him, eyes full of sympathy and pity. 'I think you should mind your own damn business.'

Tossing his pocket knife aside he stormed out of the room, utterly infuriated. He had hoped for a sense of savage pleasure, to see Sirius's face fall as he realised he had pushed too far, but he didn't get the satisfaction. If he was bothered by the outburst he didn't show it.

'You are my business,' he called out. 'You parents said so.'

Storming off to his room upstairs he made his displeasure clear, slamming the door so hard he heard a window rattle. For quite some time he paced about as his chest swelled with anger and he seethed in vitriol, replaying that conversation over and over in his head and positively daring Sirius to come and bother him again. What he'd said before would be considered nice compared to what he'd say this time.

In hindsight it was a good thing Sirius left him alone. Eventually his temper cooled off, but not enough that he could going back downstairs and act civil. Leaving Sirius to break his back pulling up carpet alone he stayed in his room for the rest of the day, trying to pass the time by reading the books Scrimgeour had loaned him, but he found himself completely unable to concentrate.

Only last night he had been awake for hours, reading under the covers and devouring the mere glimpse into the inner workings of Auror cases. Procedures, collating evidence, interrogating suspects and questioning witnesses...all of that was supposedly going on behind the scenes right now. There it was in the Auror handbooks, but today he just couldn't lose himself in that world, his mind too occupied by everything else going on.

He hated the way the last few days had been. Not only that Sirius wouldn't quit trying to make him open up and talk to him, but also…his inability to do it. It felt like it was all there on the tip of his tongue, everything, waiting to be released from his mind and body, he just couldn't let it go, he couldn't let the first domino fall. At his lower times he wished he had never come to Grimmauld Place because now he was rowing with Sirius...yet as much as he despited Sirius's efforts to make him open up he was sure he'd hate it equally as much if he didn't try...if he didn't care enough to bother.

He thought back to all the letters he wrote to Sirius the summer before fourth year, before the Triwizard Tournament, his eagerness to know the godfather he had only just met. Never before had he felt so compelled to get to know another person, for Sirius wasn't just someone who had known his parents, he was Harry's family...the only family he had. And so naturally he wanted to know him, to connect with him, and now he couldn't remember when that desire had faded away. He supposed it had to be the night his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, the night that changed the whole course of his life.

Being at Grimmauld Place right now, an entire month of just him and Sirius together...he might never get this opportunity again. But it was becoming clearer that getting to know someone wasn't just a one way street. As much as he wanted to know Sirius, Sirius wanted to know him in return. He had to reciprocate, and part of him desperately wanted to do so, he just didn't know how to start.

Harry glared at his bedroom door, still furious with his godfather, but now torn between wishing he had slammed it even harder and regret that he had stormed out at all. He felt like a coward, that he could do what Sirius so clearly wanted him to...but he couldn't.

Besides, it was not his job to alleviate Sirius's guilt.

Harry couldn't stay in his room for an entire month. He had to come out eventually, but when he did there were no more comfortable silences between him and Sirius. Their first proper fight hung in the air, an awkward and uninvited intrusion on their dynamic, and neither of them really knew what to do about it.

It took until the next day, but once the initial awkwardness passed they returned to their previous harmonious ways, splitting their time between Harry's ongoing schoolwork (for which Sirius remained a more than adept tutor) and work renovating Grimmauld Place. For a while things had been just as they were before. The majority of the time they worked in comfortable silence or spoke only about things of little consequence. Other times Sirius recounted yet more stories of his youth and Harry's parents, apparently quite enjoying having a captive audience listening.

It was then Sirius started to push things all over again. Admittedly he was smarter about it, and it took Harry a few days to realise what he was doing, not that this made it any more bearable. Light conversation resumed, Sirius recounting yet more stories of his youth and Harry's parents, and Harry was enthralled, just like he always was. He was interested, eager to know more, to absorb all the information that he could, both the good and the bad. The incidents and near misses Sirius had suffered in the First War, life on the run looking for Pettigrew, even being locked up in Azkaban, and it was then he started to see where this was all going.

Sirius was the one doing the talking, getting things off his chest - and soon there would be the expectation that he would reciprocate. Slowly but surely, Sirius started turning it all around. He asked him questions, probing for information, trying to make him elaborate. After days of being torn between seething anger and the aching desire to actually open up about something Harry started to feel slightly more receptive of his efforts.

The more Sirius opened up to him in small subtle ways, the more clarity he felt about doing the same. For the first time he could imagine what he might say and how he would string the words together. The mere thought of saying such things made him feel like he was being stabbed in the guts, but this internal tension was slowly easing.

Yet he was easily deterred. In the same minute that he told himself he would say something he quickly backed down, so easily discouraged by almost anything, but particularly his own mind.

What did he even want to tell Sirius? That he was afraid...not of one thing, but everything? That he wasn't strong enough to go through being Voldemort's prisoner, that he would rather die if he had to face it again? How was he supposed to explain the anger he kept hidden? To describe how it bubbled up inside of him until he felt like he might break into pieces if he didn't let it out - that it exploded out of him uncontrollably?

The raging back and forth of his own mind left him feeling scattered and all over the place, tormented by his own head. He hated the way he reacted these days, how he turned in on himself to stew in his own vitriol rather than finding a way to let it out. The way he had been snapping at his friends was nothing on the way he had unleashed his temper on Sirius lately. He did everything he could to keep his temper in check, unleashing it on the house instead of his godfather. But even as he ripped up carpet or spent hours scraping and sanding walls it made no different. The anger was still there, not yet ready to leave him.

Harry had been at Grimmauld Place a total of nine days before he finally worked himself up to saying something. All morning he had practiced it in his head, the subject one that had been on his mind for a few days, but not associated with what happened at Malfoy Manor, not even with Voldemort. But still he had to work himself up to the task…it took time.

The notion of talking about something like this didn't feel natural, it wasn't the norm for him to talk about anything deeper than a surface level recount of events. Rita Skeeter was the first to elicit anything like this out of him, a day when he was put on the spot and challenged to rise to the occasion. But his interview with her had been fuelled by the desire to stand up for himself, to do something...but talking to Sirius? It should have felt easier than this.

And so he decided to test the waters with a particular subject, needing the reassurance that he wasn't the only one who felt like this...who felt so cruel, so hateful. He agonised for a while, not liking that he'd rather put Sirius on the spot than himself, that he was too cowardly to just come out and say it. But at least he was trying, right? It had taken him ten months, but he was finally ready to try.

'Sirius, can I ask you something? It's probably...you don't have to answer.'

'Let's hear it.'

Harry hesitated, trying not to second guess himself yet again. He didn't think he could work himself up to this from scratch. 'When you tricked Snape into following Lupin to the Shrieking Shack, did you mean for him to be killed?'

Sirius was facing the other way, his wand pointed at two paint rollers that were moving up and down the wall in perfect synchronicity. After having pulled up carpet in all the first floor bedrooms they were now learning from their prior mistakes, painting the walls before laying anything new on the floors. Sirius didn't answer at first, but after a few moments he began to speak.

'Yes,' he said plainly. 'I meant it.'

Harry's heart faltered. He didn't know if he was disappointed or relieved by this answer. But he had opened the door now. He turned back to his own task, kneeling by the skirting boards and painting the edges of the walls. It required a steady hand and concentration, and as he worked he asked his next question.

'Why?'

'I blamed him for what happened to my brother.'

Harry didn't say anything else, though he was a little confused. He had thought Regulus died after leaving Hogwarts, that he had been murdered for trying to defect from the Death Eaters. Sirius didn't seem inclined to elaborate, and so he moved a little further down the room to start a new section of cutting in. But after a few moments Sirius spoke again, this time at length.

'We hated Snape the moment we set eyes on him. He was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts, a right little shit about it too. We picked fights with him, always trying to one up the other…until he won.' He paused for a few moments, glancing at Harry over his shoulder while he directed one of the rollers to refill with paint. He didn't speak again until he had turned away. 'When Regulus came to school Snape made a point of befriending him. Reg and I got along alright until Snape got his hands on him.'

'He turned your brother against you?'

'Didn't take much,' he admitted bitterly. 'Regulus was soft. Already had his head filled with hatred for Muggles and purity nonsense. He was always going to become a Death Eater. Snape just took pleasure in greasing the wheels to screw with me.'

'And that's why you tried to kill him?'

Sirius nodded his head. 'Reg was barely fifteen when he took the Dark Mark. I spent years trying to keep his head on straight, and every step of the way Snape was there, encouraging him. He made no secret about it either. Anything to do with my brother he loved rubbing in my face. The moment I saw that disgusting tattoo on my brother's arm I decided. Did it the first full moon back at Hogwarts.'

At this explanation Harry couldn't help but have mixed feelings, taken aback by Sirius's honesty, by the blunt way he admitted to deciding to kill someone. But in a small way it was the kind of answer he had hoped to hear...in fact it wasn't too far from what Harry himself had once felt, just for a split second.

'You were trying to save your brother.'

'Maybe at first. If I was really trying to save him I would have done something before he took the Dark Mark,' Sirius admitted, and when he looked around at Harry the shame he felt was apparent. 'Truth is, I did it out of revenge. I didn't care about the pain it would cause Remus. I didn't care about anything. I just wanted to hurt him.' He turned back to the wall now, waving his wand at the rollers. 'If you dad hadn't figured it out and gone after him, I would have had to live with Snape's death on my hands.'

'So you're glad Dad stopped it?'

'Now I am. Wasn't at the time. Like I said, I didn't care much about anything back then.'

For a long while Harry didn't say anything, and the difficult conversation lapsed into a silence for which they were both thankful. But while Sirius continued on with the painting Harry sat lost in thought, his paintbrush dripping white spots onto the knee of his jeans. I didn't care about anything. I just wanted to hurt him. Sirius's admission played over and over again inside his head, for he understood it far more than he wanted to.

He knew exactly what Sirius had been trying to do over the last few days, that by divulging his own painful or frightening stories he was coaxing him into doing the same. And it had worked too. But every time he parted his lips to speak he found himself mute, physically unable to get the words out. It was ridiculous…what he was going to say today wasn't even anything that mattered particularly much, it wasn't even about last June.

Tightly gripping the paint brush he sloppily applied it to the wall, clenching his jaw in frustration before using his wand to clean up the mess. But he couldn't concentrate now, not when he felt shame creeping over him like a dark cloud, the unspoken words stuck in his throat which felt like it was tightening with every passing moment they were trapped there.

'I wanted to do that too.' When he finally uttered the words they came as a relief, a shameful secret he had tried to put out of his head now spewing out of him. 'To Draco Malfoy. When he attacked me last week I got the upper hand. I had him…and I wanted to do it.'

Sirius stopped what he was doing and turned around. He remained on the far side of the room, the two of them separated by a jumble of paint cans and a ladder, but he was listening.

'Wanted to do what?'

Too ashamed to look Sirius in the eye he turned back to the wall he was painting, trying to continue. 'Hurt him...just because I could.'

'Why didn't you?'

He shrugged. 'I don't know.'

He'd not yet had long to think about it really, the attack had only happened a week prior, but that split second had been on his mind. There was no argument he was justified in fighting back, even that fighting back more viciously was warranted too…but the moment that weighed on him Malfoy was vulnerable - unarmed, incapable of defending himself. And for a split second he wanted to hurt him…he wanted to inflict pain just so that Malfoy could suffer too.

'What would you do about Lucius Malfoy?' Sirius asked, pressing for more. 'If you had him under your wand.'

'I'd kill him,' Harry said without hesitation. He braced himself before looking up, because as he spoke deep regret began to overshadow the shame he felt. 'That night at the Shrieking Shack I wanted to kill you.'

Sirius smiled grimly. 'You gave it a good shot.'

'Yeah,' he muttered, remembering the blind rage he felt to be confronted with the man responsible for the deaths of his parents. He had lunched himself at a mass murderer without a second thought, and the tussle that ensued was vivid even now. The punches he managed to land, Sirius's bloody nose…Sirius's hand around his throat as he tried to push him off.

'You've got to listen to me,' Sirius said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice now. 'You'll regret it if you don't … you don't understand …'

Those words haunted him now, because Sirius was right. Assuming he was even capable of doing it in the first place Harry would have sorely regretted killing him.

'Be careful what you do with that,' Sirius said quietly, speaking after a long pause. 'If Snape got hurt or killed because of me than I would have been no better than him.'

'So there's no justice then?' Harry exclaimed, looking up.

'Revenge isn't justice.'

'Well I'm not getting any of that either.'

Anger swelled now, rising up within him until he felt his hands beginning to shake. The anger within him felt as unstoppable as ever, undeniable, impossible to ignore. It hit him like a great heaving wallop to the stomach, one that forced it out of him, anything to unleash it no matter who was in the firing line.

It hadn't been like this before. At least not until Occlumency started, until Sirius started pushing him. For so long he had tried to tell himself this wasn't how he always was, this anger was not who he really is, but this made no difference. He couldn't even explain what he was angry about.

He was gripping the paint brush too tightly, and when he smeared paint across the skirting boards again he furiously tossed it aside. It clattered across the bare floorboards, a brash interruption on the silence. He stared at the paint on the mistake he had made while the rage was swelling up inside of him, fighting for release.

Not caring that Sirius was watching he flung the lid back onto the paint tin and pushed it shut, feeling he ought to be applauded for not kicking the damn thing over.

'Harry, wait. Ju-'

'You're the one who wanted me to talk,' he snarled, glaring at him as he stormed out.

The moment he left he was overwhelmed, torn between fury and regret. It was startling because it felt just like before, right as he cracked and shouted at McGonagall - he never saw it coming until it was too late, and now he had snapped at Sirius again.

When Sirius followed him out it was a relief. 'Harry, stop.'

Without consciously deciding to do so, he stopped. He was at the foot of the stairs, having been headed up to his bedroom where he would have slammed the door and spent the rest of the day sulking and brooding in his own misery.

He turned around to face him, dreading what he would say next. Thankfully Sirius seemed as equally awkward and uncomfortable, and it felt like forever that they stood there on the landing, neither of them knowing what to say to one another, and then finally he could hold back no longer.

'I never used to be like this,' he began, his words feeling like a long overdue apology.

Sirius nodded in agreement, taking a deep breath. 'I knew you before. Not deeply,' he admitted, shoving his hands into his pockets. 'But I knew you. Others did too.'

This felt like an accusation, a great flaw being pointed out - that others knew who he used to be and who he was now. 'Is that supposed to make me feel better?'

'I know you're in pain is what I meant.'

This acknowledgement was difficult to hear. It had never been voiced so plainly before. 'I don't know what to do,' he said quietly, folding his arms across his chest. 'I can't even stop it anymore.'

'Well, you tried holding it in until you cracked. Maybe you could try something else.'

'I should talk about it?' he questioned sarcastically. 'That's going to fix everything?'

'I don't think that's how it works.'

'Then what's the point?'

'I don't know,' he said heavily, looking at him intensely as he took a step forward. 'But pretending none of it happened isn't a solution. It's clearly not helping you.'

Defiant, Harry shook his head. 'It got me this far.'

'And are you happy with where it got you?'

Harry looked away, tightening his arms folded across his chest. Anger was receding as quickly as it came, slowly being replaced by something much worse...overwhelming sadness. The answer to Sirius's question was a resounding no. Where the last ten months had got him was to a place of misery, helplessness...there was nothing he could do to better his situation. He had tried over and over again to change things, and every time the world hit him back twice as hard.

Coming over Sirius embraced him, but he did not give an inch. He stood frozen, arms still folded across his chest even though he wanted nothing more than to sink into Sirius's hold. A small part of him wished that he would cry, that it feel like a relief just as it had the night he arrived here, but he simply couldn't. He couldn't let go, couldn't let his guard down.

When Sirius let go he stayed close, hands lingering on the top of his arms. 'That thing with Draco, wanting to hurt him...we're not defined by our worst moments. Do you understand?'

Very slowly he nodded, feeling he understood Sirius's intentions well enough. Nevertheless he didn't raise his head, keeping his eyes downcast so as to not have to truly face him. A few moments passed, Sirius releasing him all together and stepping away as if to give him some space. And then -

'Let's get back to it,' he said, an instruction rather than a suggestion. 'We started something. We need to finish.'

For a second time he just nodded. Grateful for the end of the conversation he unfolded his arms and then started for the room in which they had been working. Still reeling from the wild highs and lows of what just happened he kept his gaze downcast, seeking solitude even within Sirius's company. Getting started he collected the paint brush from where he had thrown it, using his wand to clean off the dust and debris the wet bristles had collected.

In no time at all they were back at it again, working alongside one another in a silence that slowly began to feel comfortable. And despite his absolute refusal that he would ever talk about what happened to him, now that he had barely breached the surface of what was going on inside his head it became easier.

In the days that followed he often found himself with something on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to say. Whatever conversation that followed was only ever brief, Harry keeping it that way by use of stony silence any time Sirius overstepped the mark. Thankfully now it seemed he would take a hint, and any conversation came to an end the moment he decided on it.

'Has it ever happened to you?' he asked one afternoon, his question coming so out of the blue he had to clarify what he meant. 'The Cruciatus curse.'

Sirius was facing away from him, as he usually was when Harry voiced a question like this. 'Yes,' he answered, his knife never faltering as he chopped carrots at the kitchen counter, preparing a stew. 'The night the McKinnon's died. We were too late, and I was sloppy.'

'Sloppy, how?'

'I separated from Lupin when I shouldn't have. The were Death Eaters still around, took me by surprise. There was the day they came looking for your parents too. The plan worked, I suppose...'

'The plan?'

'That Voldemort would come after me to find your parents. It was over quickly though...once they realised your parents were using a Secret Keeper they knew torturing me wouldn't make a difference. You have to willingly share the secret. Besides, I couldn't tell them, even if I wanted to.'

'I had no idea,' Harry murmured, his chest aching at the thought of what Sirius must have suffered in order to protect his friends. He had made himself a target to protect him and his parents...and to protect Pettigrew.

'It was a long time ago,' he said shortly. 'We never told your mum and dad what happened, not while they were in hiding. We had to keep a lot from them.' He paused, clearing his throat as he took a fresh carrot and continued chopping. 'I could see how easy it is to break people.'

Harry nodded, looking down at his Transfiguration homework. This comment came as a reassurance. It quickly broke him too. At Voldemort's feet he promised unwavering obedience. He didn't have any information to give Voldemort, but if he had he would have spilled his guts.

'I would have told Voldemort anything,' he said. Speaking these words out loud wasn't as difficult as he thought. 'I'm glad I didn't know anything worth telling him.'

The conversation came to an end there. Sirius had tried of course, bringing up other Order Members who had been tortured, commenting that even those like Mad-Eye were likely to break under the same kind of torture Harry had suffered. But having said his piece Harry was done with the conversation, and his silence served as a blockade that told Sirius to let the conversation lapse.

The days subsequent followed in a not dissimilar fashion, he and Sirius dividing their time between his school work and renovation. In all truth he got the feeling that if this was a battle then Sirius had won. Despite his absolute refusal that he would ever talk about what happened, now that he had breached the surface it began to feel easier.

Very occasionally a subject was broached again. A passing thought, a question, a what if scenario. His hesitation in voicing such things became less so, his mind finding fewer occasions to make him falter or second guess himself. And while ever Sirius recognised the time to let a subject falter or to simply shut his mouth the two of them got along well, and things remained peaceful. They had argued only once since then, finding conflict over something stupid until Harry stormed out and slammed the door, becoming even angrier when Sirius yelled at him to 'Try again - slam it harder!'

Having made good progress on the Order's lodgings on the first floor Sirius soon raised a subject he had mentioned only in passing, that Harry would be given a bedroom belonging to him. Intrigued and silently thrilled he was forced to hold back the initial misgivings he felt when Sirius showed him the room - the one that once belonged to his brother.

It was immediately clear why Sirius had selected this room. At the front of the house on the third floor it benefitted from a nice view of the square across the road, and it was similar to Sirius's childhood bedroom in size and grandeur, though after more than a decade abandoned it was in an equally poor state. The furniture was covered in dusty white sheets, and thick cobwebs adorned every single wall and Slytherin banners. Repairs had been made to the floor and ceiling from the cannonball that fell from the attic, but a gaping hole remained from what was probably a chandelier. If it had been at all similar to the rest of the house's fittings it would have been adorned with snakes.

The room had recently been disturbed, of that Harry was certain. Above the bed a large area of plaster appeared to have been torn down from the walls, leaving empty bricks and joinery behind. Chunks of debris still littered the rickety bed frame, and on closer inspection Harry recognised small elements of the Black Family Crest. Sirius had torn this down, probably with his bare hands.

Seeing Regulus's bedroom was a stark reminder of the life Sirius led here. His bedroom one floor above was plastered with evidence of his rebellion against his parent's way of life. Large red and gold Gryffindor banners, posters of motorcycles and Muggle girls - anything that would make his family's blood boil. On the other hand Regulus's bedroom was the opposite, decorated to represent his belonging and deference.

It was a timely reminder for Harry that just as he hated the Dursley's and felt trapped there every summer, Sirius hated his own family too. They both knew what it was to be so openly hated, though Harry got the feeling he probably had an easier time of it than Sirius.

'Are you sure you want me in here?' Harry had asked, giving him ample opportunity to change his mind.

'It's not like Regulus is here to use it,' Sirius had said bluntly. He was using his wand to clear out the dust and cobweb laden possessions, piling them all into a box in the far corner. 'It's not his room anymore,' he added, seeing Harry's concern. 'He's been gone a very long time.'

Feeling a little better about the idea Harry nodded his head, though he looked at the name plate on the door that said Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black. Sirius wanted him here, and so setting aside the guilty feeling he made his way around the room and took a better look. It was double the size of the room he previously shared with Ron, and benefitted from a fireplace whose white marble contrasted the dusty green walls and drapery. If the Weasley's happened to stay over the summer again there would be plenty of room for Ron in here. Merlin, they'd fit the twins too with room to spare.

While Sirius continued clearing things out, vanishing the wardrobe and bed into thin air, Harry looked out the tall front windows to the square below. Once the windows in here were cleaned he might be able to see a little of the city in the distance.

'What do you think?'

'It's great,' Harry assured him. 'Thank you…just as long as it's really okay.'

'It's okay,' Sirius insisted. With one last sweep of his wand the contents of a writing desk soared into the box, and then the desk itself disappeared. It would be a fresh start for the room, from top to bottom.

'Thank you,' he said, grateful. 'You shouldn't throw that away,' he added, seeing Sirius pointing his wand to the box and make a motion to vanish it.

Sirius paused, exasperated. 'Why not?'

'It was your brother's.'

'I am not sentimental about my brother,' Sirius said testily, the hint of annoyance alerting Harry to sensitive territory. 'He was a Death Eater. One who would have leapt at the chance to torture you.'

Harry's heart faltered. This comment and the vivid memories it elicited felt like a punch in the chest. It had come out of no where. Without intending to he had pushed Sirius's buttons, and Sirius had pushed back…little things like that still took Harry by surprise.

'Still. Before all that he was your brother.'

Knowing when to quit it Harry turned away on the pretence of opening a window. Despite the aggravation Sirius seemed to take his advice, outwardly at least. Instead of vanishing the box of his brother's belongings he picked it up and took it out of the room, probably storing it in the attic where Harry was not allowed. Regardless it made him feel a little better about taking Regulus's bedroom. Although his possessions had been cleared out and the furniture vanished, he was not gone forever.

Returning to the name plate on the door Harry gave it a bemused smile, imagining Sirius at his age with a younger brother. But with equal impact was the knowledge of what Sirius had told him so recently, that he had become a Death Eater at fifteen…the same age he was now. After all, it wasn't so long ago he had warned Draco Malfoy the same thing was coming for him. It felt even more plausible now after learning about Regulus Black.

Trying not to dwell on this he took down the name plate, which gave no resistance thanks to Kreacher who had removed all the Permanent Sticking charms.

'So, what colour are you thinking?' Sirius asked, coming back downstairs.

He looked around the room, trying not to smile too much. He had a room at the Dursleys, one they had begrudgingly given to him, and though he had no dedicated room at the Burrow it felt like home there. Now at Grimmauld Place he would have both - a bedroom of his own given willingly, in a place that felt like home.

'Red?' he suggested, thinking of Sirius's own childhood bedroom upstairs. 'That would really piss off your Mum if she is haunting the place.'

Laughing, Sirius nodded in agreement. 'I'll ask Tonks to get us some paint.'

'Wait,' Harry said, catching Sirius as he started to leave. He handed him Regulus's name plate from the door. 'Give this to Kreacher. He'd like it.'

'You're too soft on him,' Sirius said in disapproval.

'And you're too mean.'

Kreacher was a subject they had clashed over more than once. While Sirius felt Harry was too soft on the House-Elf who he had spent decades despising, Harry was disturbed by the similarities to Lucius Malfoy. While Sirius was far more restrained in his treatment of Kreacher than Malfoy was of Dobby, the similarities were too close for comfort.

Nevertheless Sirius took the name plate, and later than night when Harry looked in on Kreacher's den he saw that not only did Kreacher have the name plate, but also the emerald green blanket from Regulus's bed.

A/N Thank you dear readers, I hope you've enjoyed the background to Sirius and his past (I don't think I've created any plot holes?).

Chapters 54, 55 and 56 were written in the last month when I realised that I really hadn't invested much into Harry and Sirius together in the first few weeks - I knew in my head what had gone on between them and the things they worked through together, but I only recently realised that I hadn't communicated that to you readers.

I hope you enjoy these chapters and that the journey they go on together feels real and genuine, and imperfect too - because Sirius is a highly imperfect character and he's doing his best to help Harry, but really he's broken and in pain too.