A/N: Never fear; I'm still updating every week. The holiday put me behind, and I'm meant to be writing essays right now, but I'm still posting weekly.

I have another rec. You should read The Potter and the Kettle Black, by An Acolyte if you like AU's like this one. It's actually not like this one, in that it's a PoA AU, but it's a good fic so far.

Ok, not going to ramble so much this time. Going to go and write a paper for one of my English classes. Woo.

All reviews are appreciated. Concrit is your friend.

Chap. 8

Harry's feet were still tender, so he sat back on the couch, not sure what else to do with himself. He looked at the two adults, but they looked nearly as lost as he felt.

"It's nearly time for lunch already, I think," Remus said, looking at his watch.

Sirius didn't look like he cared very much; he was watching Harry, who watched him back.

Remus glanced between the two of them. "I'll go and make sandwiches then, shall I?"

"Yeah, sure," Sirius answered.

Remus left, and Sirius approached the wingback chair carefully, as though it might break beneath him.

Harry only stared. He wondered what was meant to happen now. In fact, he had very little idea of what had happened for most of the morning. He started to think about it, try and piece it all together, but that only left him confused, with a growing sense of panic bubbling up inside of his chest. Uncle Vernon was just fine. He had a godfather, a man who went from laughing to a towering rage without even a moment's notice, and who also asserted his authority over Harry to anyone who would listen. Then there were Harry's parents, who hadn't died in a car crash, and who had been a witch and wizard. Because magic was real. Harry was a wizard, and Sirius was happy about it. There was a whole other world that no one even knew about. Men with white beards or black robes wanted to take him away somewhere and send him back to the Dursleys'. But Sirius was determined he would stay here. Where was here? What was here? How long was he meant to stay? Until he went to this Hogwarts place? And then what happened there?

He realized with a jolt that he'd lost track of the money. He looked around, positive that having concrete autonomy in his hands would ground him, make his head stop spinning, tell him if he should feel scared or happy or sad or excited or weary or wide awake, instead of feeling everything all at once.

"Harry?" Sirius's voice was quiet, tremmulous, even. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad of pound notes.

Harry felt the ache in his feet as they drummed over the wood floor, but he'd snatched the money and returned to the couch before he could really care.

"I thought that might be what you were looking for," Sirius said.

Harry held tight to the notes. He could run again, if he had to. He'd make it this time. He'd know what to do. The money gave him security. It was the one thing he could count on.

Right?

He worried the paper in his hands. It wasn't working. He didn't feel any safer. He didn't have a clearer idea of what to do.

"Hey, Harry?" Sirius ventured again. "Are you all right? Look, mate, I'm sorry if I frightened you. Moony's right. I…I'm one fucked up son of a bitch." Sirius shook his head, then stopped. "Bollocks, I shouldn't be swearing in front of you, should I? Oh, sod it." Sirius glared into the fire.

"What's going to happen now?" Harry asked, hating his voice for the slight tremor in it.

His godfather looked up at him. "We can do whatever you like. Moony's right, we should wait till tomorrow to go to Diagon Alley. We'll have to spend the night at the Leaky Cauldron, as it is."

"But you were going to do something, right? I mean, I can go someplace if—"

Sirius shook his head. "No. No, Moony's right. You shouldn't be in the house when—tomorrow night." He leaned forward, an eager smile on his face. "Anyway, we'll have a brilliant time in Diagon Alley. We'll get you proper robes, and a broom. James Potter's son can't go on not knowing about Quidditch. There isn't much room here, but once I've got a house, I'll get someplace out in the country, with big trees so the Muggles can't see, and a house elf or two, sane ones, to do the cooking. It'll be brilliant."

"So…I'm not going back to the Dursleys'?"

Sirius pulled back slightly, his expression turning serious and worried. "You can if you want to. Of course you can. Do you want to?"

Sirius looked as much like Padfoot then as a human possibly could, with his wide, gray eyes waiting.

Just the night before, Harry had wanted his cupboard and his cot more than anything else. He had missed Aunt Petunia. Well, no, he had missed her cooking. He had warm meals and a bed here, and Remus was nice. Sirius…Sirius was nice some of the time. Nicer than any of the Dursleys ever were.

Harry shook his head.

Sirius grinned, and it reached all the way into his eyes, pushing away all traces of the haunted, slightly crazed look he'd had all morning. He looked almost normal. Harry couldn't help but grin back.

Sirius's stomach rumbled very loudly just then.

"I guess we should go into the kitchen, then," he said, standing.

Harry stood to follow, though he had to admit that he was still full from the large breakfast he'd had only a couple of hours before. Without warning, Sirius picked him up again and carried him to the kitchen table.

"You'll need those feet for Diagon Alley tomorrow. We'll have lots to do."

"Are you very hungry, Harry?" Remus asked from the counter.

Harry shook his head.

"That's a no," Sirius said because Remus's back was to them.

"I'll give you half of his, then. I'm afraid I don't have any crisps."

"One and a half sandwiches?" Sirius moaned. "Moony, I'm a starving man. Skin and bone. Emaciated. Suffering."

"Then I'll leave everything out so you can make yourself more," Remus said, picking up the three plates and taking them to the table.

"Some bloody host you are."

"Language, Padfoot."

"Remus, we talked—"

"He's already figured you out. Of course, you transformed right in front of him."

"He could see me from there?" Sirius looked at Harry. "I didn't think you could see me."

Harry shrugged.

"You're just lucky he'd already figured it out. Go ahead and tuck in."

"Had you now? Quick as his parents, this one."

"What really did happen to my parents?" Harry asked.

Both adults stopped, just as they were about to bite into their sandwiches. They looked at each other.

Then Remus said, "It's a rather long story. Sirius, why don't you explain?"

"Yes. Well. It was before Voldemort fell—"

"Voldemort is one of the Darkest wizards within centuries," Remus said. "He believes that only purebloods—people who have only wizard ancestry—are a supreme race of sorts."

"Evil times," Sirius said. "Didn't know who to trust. And we were sure we had a spy in the Order—"

"The Order of the Phoenix, which officially doesn't exist. Dumbledore was in charge of it. Our goals was to stop Voldemort in whatever ways we could."

The story went on like this for quite some time, with the two adults pausing to bicker about things Harry didn't understand. By the end, he had a great deal to think about.