Now we have come to the end. I hope you have liked it. Thank you for reading!
Chapter 7 – Triumph
The sun is sinking and even the shabby bushes in Grimmauld Place manage to cast long shadows when Harry lands on the doorstep to number twelve in one piece. With his feet firmly back on solid stone, he takes a moment to breathe.
He did not Splinch himself. He is fine.
Except his head feels like it is going to explode and his heart and stomach have become hard, heavy things that are painful to carry around. And with his mind already all over the place, there is no logical reason for why he planned this today, none at all.
Which is a lie, of course, because the only thing he wants is to rush through this door and tell Sirius all about his day. That is how it should have been.
Before he succeeds in talking himself out of this impending visit, he raps the door with his wand. It slides open, the bolts letting him inside a world that he has come to despise. A world that does no living soul any good.
He is waiting in the shadows.
"Hey…" Sirius' smile does not quite reach his eyes as he lets Harry in. And those eyes do not burn as they once did. "How'd it go?"
"I don't know," Harry tells him, pushing past the pain that immediately begins to eat its way into him at the sight of the other man. "I did my best. I hope I get in."
Sirius backs deeper into the hallway. The gas lights are casting a mournful glow over the dust, the frayed, torn wallpaper and the old stains on the carpet. "You know they'd pay you to go to Auror training if you hadn't applied."
"I want my skills to get me in, not any money." It comes out harsher than he intended.
There is a pause during which something flicks in Sirius' eyes. He blinks it away. "You are skilled. You're… the best."
Harry swallows. "Snape didn't think so. He told Dumbledore I was average." It is not that Harry is seeking conflict, it is just that talking with Sirius has become a difficult thing, somehow. It is like their words do not really match any more.
"Yeah, well… Snape had issues." Where once upon a time there would have been a wry grin accompanying that statement, there is nothing now.
Sirius is wearing faded jeans and a faded grey-blue shirt. His hair is just long enough to brush his shoulders: it falls in soft, dark waves that Harry's fingers itch to touch. But they have not touched much since The Burrow. Not since Sirius became well enough to return to Grimmauld Place.
"So…" Harry looks up at him.
"I'll just…" Sirius runs a hand over his jaw. He has not shaved and it suits him better than it should.
Harry half-turns away from him. He simply must if he intends to survive this evening for all he desires in Sirius' presence is to be closer. He wants to shout and pound at those invisible walls that surround his godfather and which keep him at such a distance.
Harry has absolutely no idea what Sirius wants.
He lets his godfather do whatever he needs to do before Flooing. It is not much, it turns out, and they leave within minutes.
Sirius tumbles out of the fireplace after him. There is a moment during which Harry fears he will lose his balance but it passes before he can act. Sirius straightens and looks around the sitting room.
There are still a few boxes in a corner and Harry's new broom is leaning against the wall beside them. He has not owned these many things in his entire life before but Mrs Weasley keeps insisting on bedclothes and cutlery and lamps.
"This is nice." Sirius turns slowly. When his gaze falls on the bright green sofa by the windows, for a brief second the ghost of his old self rises in his face. "Very Slytherin of you, Harry."
Harry looks too and a whisper of heat walks over his cheeks. "Oh, right… I… I just liked it."
"Yeah, no, it's nice," says Sirius.
Really? Harry wants to ask but refrains from doing so. He wants Sirius to like everything. This is, after all, his one remaining weapon. His last imaginable strategy.
His offer.
"Is that the Weasleys'?" Sirius indicates a mostly empty bookshelf.
"Uh, yeah… It was Charlie's actually."
Sirius gives a hum in response. Then he walks over to the sofa. It is odd seeing him here – Merlin, it is odd being here, the two of them in Harry's new house. It is simply odd having a house.
Sirius lowers himself into the sofa with an exhale he cannot quite contain. Momentarily, his eyebrows knit together and Harry wants to ask if anything is wrong, if he is in pain perhaps, but he seems unable to get the words out. When Sirius looks up at him, he joins him, however.
They sit side by side, a foot or so between them. Maybe a little less. Harry places his wand on the new coffee table and laces his fingers together in his lap. He does not know where to look or what to say, and even if he did, he is not sure that any words would get past his tongue which feels like lead in his mouth.
"I…" Sirius' voice has dropped a little and there is something off about it. As if it has cracked and is now broken. He speaks very quietly. "I would not be here, if it were not for you."
There is a pause during which Harry has time to think everything and nothing.
"Harry, I would not be."
He slants a sideways glance at his godfather. Sirius is looking at him and his face is full of sadness and remorse and… so many more emotions that it all becomes a heady concoction. It makes his grey eyes gleam with a haunting light.
"I remember when I first escaped Azkaban," Sirius continues, still in that low voice, and this is not at all something Harry was prepared for but he is not going to say anything.
"I wanted to fight. I wanted revenge. I wanted to make up for the years I'd missed. For myself, for James and Lily… For you."
Sirius sighs, and it seems that now that he has finally begun talking he does not plan on stopping. "Then came that Christmas. While I waited for you to arrive I still wanted to fight. But once you were there I suddenly wanted… other things." He licks his pale lips and grey eyes lock with green. "I am not proud of that."
Harry swallows. A nervous flittering in his stomach is working its way upwards, towards his throat, threatening to tighten it severely. They have never talked about this before.
"When you came to me that day in the study…" Sirius shakes his head. "I should have said no." A sinking sensation passes through Harry and he is not sure he can feel the floor under his feet as Sirius presses on: "I… stole your innocence."
"Voldemort stole my innocence." It tumbles out of him, all sharp edges and jagged ends. "When I was one year old."
Sirius looks pained. "I shouldn't have–"
"I wanted it."
He wants it.
Sirius drops his gaze to his knees. His profile seems sharper than normal, his shoulders are hunched. It does not matter that the sky outside is rosy like a sea of Aunt Petunia's bloody prize-winning peonies, Sirius still shrouds himself in shadow. "The worst is…" If his voice was low before it is now merely a whisper. "I can't seem to… not want… to… You."
It clicks into place. It does not make it easier to speak but it does ease his breathing. Harry bites his lip, all of a sudden overcome with the possibilities. Something new turns in his stomach but this is not half as unpleasant. Still, he gives Sirius a moment to deny or to rephrase but his godfather does neither.
He edges a little closer but Sirius does not move. He only sits staring at his own knees. It takes all of Harry's willpower to only lift one hand and place it in the small space between them. His heart is thundering against his ribs and his mouth has gone quite dry.
Sirius slowly lifts his eyes to his and a thousand questions swim in the grey. Then he touches. He brings a hand to Harry's cheek and strokes his knuckles over it. His other hand finds a home in the nape of Harry's neck. Gently, gently, Sirius brushes the pad of his thumb over Harry's lower lip while holding him steady. They barely breathe.
Sirius unites them.
Harry melts into that kiss. He practically dissolves. It is soft and warm, and Sirius keeps stroking his cheek like he cannot believe that they are actually doing this, that he is allowed to. His long fingers anchor themselves in Harry's unruly hair and he angles Harry's head and opens his mouth and then their tongues are sliding together and it is perfect.
They pull apart long after one of Harry's hands has landed on Sirius' thigh. His godfather kisses the corners of his mouth, drawing a smile from him. Harry kisses back, not ready to let go just yet, and it causes Sirius to smile too which is even more perfect, if possible.
When it truly ends, Sirius' hand slides down his spine to a rest at the small of his back. They sit very still, not really parted. Harry can feel his own palm on the worn fabric of Sirius' jeans and his godfather's soft exhale tickles his lips.
"I was just…" Harry swallows. "Going to show you the house."
Sirius' exhale becomes the rush of a long-lost smile. He pulls back a fraction, enough for them to see each other properly. He still looks so very tired but somehow – to Harry – he has never been more beautiful. "You'll keep your Floo connected to the network?"
Harry frowns, thrown off track. "What? Uh, yeah…" He tries to collect his thoughts. "To a select few other fireplaces. The Ministry sent someone to do some spells… I don't want the entire world–"
"You'll be connected to Grimmauld Place?"
He nods. "Yeah."
Of course. Yes.
Yes, yes, yes, yes.
Maybe, one day, there will be no need for Grimmauld Place.
"Harry…" And there is such longing in that single word it wrenches everything from him. From them both.
Gently, Harry extricates himself from Sirius' loose embrace and gains his feet. Without words, Sirius parts his legs to allow him even closer and he runs his hands up Harry's legs, as far as he can reach, and then down again, to his knees. Softness is suddenly warring with anxiety in his face and it makes Harry hopeful, if nothing else.
"Is this…?"
Harry nods. He is not exactly sure what he is being asked but he knows what he is giving.
His godfather looks up.
So Harry pulls him up and winds his arms around his waist until they stand pressed chest to chest and the world becomes much smaller. Sirius' hands stroke down his back and he turns his head so that he can sink a kiss into Harry's neck. His breath on Harry's skin is warm and teasing and makes a shiver race over his skin. Tentatively, with more than just a hint of hesitation, Sirius' hands move over his arse. Palms flat to Harry's fancy trying-to-get-in-to-Auror-training trousers. It wakes the first frisson of something deeper within, and Harry feels himself go warm and pliant in his godfather's arms. Sirius' voice turns low again but this time for a completely different reason than anxiety.
"Do you have a bedroom?"
He does. He has two, actually, but there is only a bed in one of them. There is also a wardrobe and several more unopened boxes but this does not matter right now.
The sky is turning an impressive Gryffindor scarlet as Harry and Sirius make it across the threshold without spoiling the newest kiss. His godfather is gradually beginning to take over – finding his feet, as it were – and Harry is only glad to cede power to him. Not only because Sirius shedding his many layers of isolation and despair makes him both relieved and ecstatic, but also because he is not entirely sure how to go about this, after all. It is years ago they last stood like this and Sirius is the only person he has ever been with.
He does drop a hand to the top button of his trousers, though, as soon as they are halfway to the bed. And is taken aback when Sirius stops him.
"No…" Sirius shakes his head. His grey eyes are soft, softer than Harry expected. His hand lands on top of Harry's. "Not like that." He gently lifts away Harry's hand and places his own one there instead, palm down. Then he slides to it Harry's hip and the years blend together as he rubs a small circle into Harry's skin with his thumb, just above the waistband. "Don't rush it."
Harry swallows. A twinge of nervousness hits his chest. This was always quick, heated and hard. Now Sirius is looking much like he could just as easily fall asleep. His confusion must be showing in his face for Sirius smiles and leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Harry's lips.
"My love," he murmurs, breath sending a new wave of warmth over his skin.
-xxx-
Later – years later, maybe around Christmastime, their third Christmas without Fred (it gets easier) – when he thinks back on that evening he will smile. And Sirius will raise an eyebrow and ask him what it is that he is smiling about.
There, curled up together on the green sofa in their sitting room with their tea going cold but with a fire crackling merrily, maybe Harry tells him. Or maybe not. But it does not much matter for by his smile only Sirius can guess. They have had quite a few nights like that since then.
End