Thank you all so much for your faith in this story!

Chapter Three – A Not So Small Surprise

It was long past midnight when Harry at last fell silent, his throat dry but his heart still beating at a ridiculously quick pace. The candlelight played on Sirius' gaunt face but it seemed to want to stay away from the dark pools under his eyes, and only very briefly did it touch his lips. He looked older, and yet had not changed a bit since Harry last saw him on that hellish day in the Chamber of Death: he was wearing the same robes, his hair had not grown, but his skin held a hint of grey and it seemed he had forgotten how to smile.

They had not made it further than the dining room and now they were seated next to each other. Harry had needed no encouragement to speak. As soon as Sirius' frighteningly empty eyes had fastened upon him, the words had come flooding past his lips, building around them a web of terror, of history and despair; of the hopes of a few fools, and the never-ending, unrequited love for a particular green-eyed woman. He had told Sirius most of what had transpired during the past two years, of Dumbledore's death and the mission he had entrusted Harry with. He recounted the hunt for the Horcruxes, how Kreacher and Regulus had played out their parts in the twisted game, and about the death of Snape, whose allegiance to the Order had rested upon the memory of Lily Evans.

Sirius listened in silence, his eyes never leaving Harry's face, and he barely moved. It was not until Harry could evade it no longer that something flashed across his face.

Harry's hands lay cold as ice in his lap. He licked his lips. "Sirius..." he began, pushing down a rush of nausea, "in the final battle..."

"What?" His godfather's voice was no more than a hoarse whisper, a raspy breath. Had Harry not already made the acquaintance of a few ghosts, he would have imagined them to have voices such as Sirius'.

"They were everywhere, the Death Eaters..." said Harry feebly, knowing that he was already pleading. Pleading with Sirius to understand and not hate him for surviving that night in Godric's Hollow so many years ago. "I'm sorry..."

"Who?"

He closed his eyes briefly, searching for anything he might hold on to. When he opened them again, he'd found nothing. "Fred... Tonks... and... and Lupin."

He saw something shatter in Sirius. It was a something that should have been whole and shining brightly. His godfather fell forwards and buried his face in his hands. Useless, Harry watched him, unable to console, not knowing what to say or do.

The candles were burning very low when Sirius moved again, and to Harry it felt like days – months – had passed. Sirius sat up straighter but made no effort to hide the glistening streaks of tears on his hollow cheeks. "Voldemort's gone?" he asked finally.

"Yes," said Harry simply. It sounded like an exhale. "Tonks and Lupin were married. They left behind a son. Ted, or Teddy. He's with Tonks' mum."

His godfather digested this information with an expression that all too well betrayed the pain he must be feeling. Harry leaned closer, watching how his own hand cut through the heavy air to land on Sirius' arm. "I'm so sorry."

Sirius looked at him then. There was a moment of indecision when shock and loss came very close to overpowering the blessing of life. "Voldemort's really dead?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "You can't be more dead than Voldemort is right now."

There it was. It was gone so fast he nearly missed it, but he was sure the ghost of a smile flitted across Sirius' pale lips. "Oh, Harry..." he sighed.

When Sirius reached out for him, Harry gratefully sank into his embrace. Though they were seated in separate chairs and the arrangement slightly awkward, Sirius wrapped his arms around him and pulled him tightly to him. Harry closed his eyes, willing the world to stop spinning so maddeningly fast, for history to cease existing if only for a moment; it seemed to him that not remembering must be the greatest treasure. Then he heard the dull beating of his godfather's heart and knew he was wrong.

"Harry, Harry..." Sirius mumbled into his hair. "I'm so proud of you... and your parents would be so proud..." His hands ran up and down Harry's back, hesitant at first but then they found a rhythm. It was soothing and comforting. "Remus would be so proud of you." He drew a ragged breath.

Sirius smelled of dust, as though he had been stored away for two years in an old closet or a forgotten basement, but there was blood flowing in his veins, and air filling his lungs even as he cried. Harry half lay, half sat, pressed against Sirius' chest with his glasses cutting into his face, and some kind of peace finally settled around them. He did not even question the fact that Sirius had returned. It seemed the most natural thing in the world, as though, on some level, he'd already known that this would happen. That now, when they had all come to the end that should lead into a beginning no one had yet the strength to embrace, Sirius would come back to him. Because there was too much that hurt. Because he did not know if he would have the strength to go on otherwise.

Exhaustion crept through him, and Harry wanted nothing else but to fall asleep right then and there. He even made to remove his glasses, not caring where they landed (another 'Reparo' would do the trick in the morning) but Sirius caught his wayward hand in one of his own.

"We should get some sleep. In proper beds," he said softly, but in a voice that was still rough around the edges. "Are you sharing a room with Ron?"

"Um..." Harry bit his lip as he, forced out of his pleasantly numb state, knew a cold, sinking feeling of dread. "I don't know." This was a sidetrack to the tale he had up until now chosen to ignore. He reluctantly pulled away and sat up a little straighter.

"You don't know?" Clearly puzzled, Sirius searched his face.

"Yeah... See, Ron and Hermione sort of..." he shrugged. "She's been up there all day."

"Oh... I see." There was an entirely unexpected twitch in the corner of Sirius' mouth. "They wouldn't be, eh..."

"I don't know!" said Harry quickly, before his brain created undesired images for him to get rid of.

"All right. Sorry." Sirius' gaze softened a little and for a second he looked as though he was about to smile but in the end he did not. "But you've grown, Harry," he said quietly. "Last time I saw you, you were fifteen and still..." He sighed and his shoulders dropped. "Well, you've grown."

Harry evaded his eyes. "Well... I still don't want to think about Ron and Hermione... you know... Besides, with Fred gone..."

He trailed off but it did not matter. Sirius nodded, "Yeah, I expect you're right." Then he seemed to pull himself together and he heavily rose to his feet. "Let's have a look... if your bed is, um, taken, we'll find you somewhere else to sleep."

They walked slowly, Sirius looking as if his every step pained him. The house was silent and the bleak streaks of light from the street lamps were twisted among the pitch-black shadows.

Harry followed his godfather up the stairs, ready to steady him if he tripped of slipped on the worn wood, but they made it safely to the second floor. Sirius, now almost lost to him in the surrounding darkness, waited while he carefully pushed the door to his and Ron's old bedroom open and peered inside. By the small portion of light falling in through the window, he made out Ron's sleeping form but other than that the room was empty.

"No Hermione," he whispered, relieved but not sure whether he was proud of that.

He'd thought that Sirius would leave then, but something in the way his godfather was leaning towards him made him step forwards, and his throat grew suddenly tight.

"Harry..."

For a second time that night, he let himself be crushed against a hard chest. Given the choice, he would never have let go.

"You called me back," mumbled Sirius against his temple. "I don't know how you did it, Harry, but I'm never leaving you again."

There were so many things he wanted to say but none of them made it past his lips. Hot tears trickled down his cheeks and were soaked up by Sirius' dusty robes. Somewhere far away Ron grunted in his sleep but right now Harry did not care if he woke the entire population of England for the inconceivable idea that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance of him being happy again had just crossed his mind.

Sirius held him until his breathing had evened out. Then they slowly disentangled and Harry sensed rather than saw that his godfather had been crying too.

"Try to get some sleep," suggested Sirius gently. "I will need you wide awake tomorrow... I reckon my return from the dead will give the whole Weasley family a bit of a fright."

Harry, who had been wiping tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand, stopped mid-movement. "Oh, yeah. I hadn't thought about that..."

Sirius made a sound that, once in another world, might have been a chuckle. "Sleep well, Harry."

And so at last they parted but Harry stood listening until he could no more hear the sound of his godfather's footsteps. Then he slipped inside the room he was once again about to share with Ron, but no longer with Death tainting his every breath.

o.O.o

He did not know for how long he had slept, only that when he opened his eyes, sunlight was streaming in through the grimy window. Not a single dream could he remember and that was, he supposed, after months, years even, of having had fragments of Voldemort's thoughts and feelings shoved his way, a minor sensation. Even so, a heaviness of sorts lay wrapped around his heart and he wondered if it would ever go away completely; not even the thrill of joy that sped through him at the memory of last night's events could pierce it fully. He turned on to his side and his eyes fell on Ron who, still in his pyjamas, lay staring up at the ceiling.

"Hey," said Harry quietly.

"Morning."

"So... how are you, um, feeling?"

Ron heaved a sigh. "Not so bad, really. You should see mum, though... and George. We were scarcely allowed to leave her side yesterday."

"Well, isn't that, you know, normal?" Harry scanned his best friend's face. Ron was pale and his eyes red-rimmed but he looked calm.

"Don't know. Maybe today she'll–"

But he got no further before a high-pitched shriek cut through the house. Ron shot to his feet, his flaming red hair flying. "Hermione!" He bolted towards the door, flung it open and disappeared into the dingy hallway.

Harry, who had known a jolt of fear at the sound suddenly thought he knew what had triggered the scream. "Ron!" He cast aside the covers and stumbled out of bed, and followed the thundering footsteps down the stairs.

All the commotion had disturbed Mrs Black whose roaring accusations of 'Mudbloods!' and 'Blood traitors!' now rang out around them. With his heart nearly leaping out of his chest, Harry skidded to a stop on the ground floor. It was almost comical: there was indeed Hermione, white-faced and staring with Ron behind her, his eyes almost bulging out of his head and his mouth open in a silent version of her shriek. There was also Sirius, frozen before them, washed and dressed in a ragged pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, but so pale it was hard to tell the difference between skin and fabric.

"Y-you..." stuttered Ron, pointing a shaking finger at Harry's godfather. "But..."

Hermione's lips moved but she made no sound. She tried again and this time she managed a whisper that all but drowned in Mrs Black's ranting ('Begone from the house of my fathers!'), "But you're dead."

Sirius, too, appeared to have some trouble forming coherent speech. "I wasn't..." he began, but now doors were flying open and people came crashing down the stairs.

Harry spun around, as though he could explain before they saw, but then Mrs Weasley screamed too and there was no way to prevent chaos. She staggered backwards and was caught by Percy, glasses askew, whose reaction was probably more of an impulse than anything else because he wasn't looking at his mother at all.

In the corner of his eye, Harry caught a movement he knew all too well by now: both Mr Weasley and Ginny had drawn their wands and stood now pointing them at Sirius. This, finally, coaxed him into action and he pushed past Ron and Hermione and threw himself in front of his godfather. "No!"

"Harry!" It was a clear warning. Mr Weasley, shadows playing in his face, spoke through clenched teeth. "Step aside."

"No!" He grabbed Sirius' hand, needing his godfather to speak, to do anything. "It's him! He's alive!"

"He's dead!" cried Mrs Weasley while Mrs Black shouted 'FILTH!'.

Mr Weasley's normally kind eyes were burning. "Harry..."

"Sirius!" Harry pleaded, spinning around, "say something!"

Sirius' grey eyes were reflecting the scene before him. Harry experienced a moment of extreme terror during which he was absolutely sure his godfather was no more than an illusion or a singularly exceptional trick of magic, but then Sirius blinked and said feebly, "Arthur... Molly..."

"Harry, step aside!"

"Scum!"

"No! Listen!"

"SHUT UP!"

A dense silence followed. George had pointed his wand at Mrs Black's curtains and forced them closed. Now he was staring at Sirius, his wand trembling in his hand. "Who are you?" His voice was hoarse.

Harry finally felt Sirius move behind him and his godfather's hold on his hand strengthened. "George," said Sirius very quietly, "I am Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, who fell through the Veil in the Death Chamber two years ago. I was allowed to Return."

"How?"

Sirius shook his head, damp, dark tresses falling around his face. "I'm not sure. I only know Harry called me back."

"I made a Wish," Harry heard himself saying and knew as the words tumbled out of him that that was indeed what had transpired. "I was granted a Wish... after defeating Voldemort."

"But..." Hermione had found her voice, too. "But Sirius died." She sounded like she was pleading with Reason itself.

"He was removed from life, but he didn't die," said Harry. "She said so."

"Who?"

"The witch in blue..." He frowned, trying to recall the details. He was out of breath, even though he had not run far. "He was on some list." Despite the haze of confusion that seemed to have wrapped around his senses, he caught the glimmer of hope in George's eyes and his heart sank. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, "I couldn't choose Fred. The Killing Curse..." No more words were needed; George sagged against the banister and the light in his eyes was extinguished.

No one spoke for some time. Harry felt Sirius shift and could not help but to cherish the way he was solid and real behind him. With their fingers still entwined, Harry felt two realities clawing at him: George's grief tore at his heart relentlessly, and Sirius' presence healed it over and over again.

"You're really back?" Ron was frowning, as though seriously attempting to fit the pieces together.

"Yes," said Sirius. "I am."

"Blimey..." Dragging a hand through his hair, Ron flashed a weak grin. "I thought we'd seen it all."

Grateful beyond words, Harry was prepared to hug him but any such action was prevented by Mr Weasley who, still with his wand raised descended the stairs warily. "How can we be sure you are really Sirius Black?"

Harry was not sure, but he thought his godfather might have sighed. "Arthur," said Sirius softly, "I am no imposter... I'm... I'm an Animagus. My best friends were James and Remus, Prongs and Moony. I was Padfoot, and Wormtail was the fourth of the Marauders, as we called ourselves at Hogwarts." He hesitated before continuing, "I... I gave Harry his Firebolt... Hagrid, my flying motorcycle... I escaped on Buckbeak when–"

Here, however, he was interrupted, and both Harry and Mr Weasley shoved aside, as Mrs Weasley threw herself at him, clutching him to her like he was another one of her children. "Sirius!" she sobbed. "Oh, bless, bless..."

The rest of her words were unidentifiable but after the initial surprise, Sirius brought his arms round her and patted her back awkwardly; but a hesitant, faint smile slowly settled in his features. Ron, still with a somewhat bewildered look about him, dragged his eyes away from his mother and turned to Harry. "Well, fancy that."

TBC