To all of you who leave anonymous reviews: thank you so much! I can't get back to you but please know that your kind words always make me really happy.

And to answer Ms-Trixie's question left in her review: no, we won't be seeing anything from Sirius' (or anyone else's) point of view. I want you all to suffer a bit and showing you what other characters are thinking would be spoiling the fun! ;)

Chapter Eight – More Than Two is a Crowd

Dinner had been a most uncomfortable affair. Ginny and George had not said one word respectively, and after a sufficient time of constant glaring on Ron's part, Hermione had dropped her act and her stumbling efforts at polite and meaningless conversation with Mrs Weasley who only nodded now and then, and patted her hand a couple of times. Mr Weasley had found a copy of the Evening Prophet and had disappeared behind it. Under the front page headline (Ministry rises from its ashes?) there was a large picture of Kingsley standing quite still and, with an almost regal air, turning his head from side to side occasionally. He seemed rather unimpressed by whatever he was looking at.

Harry had just poked his cold potatoes with his fork for the millionth time without succeeding at making them look any more appetising when the door had opened and Sirius had entered.

Harry's treacherous heart had taken a flight, if not for the heavens, at least for the ornate (and dusty) chandelier that hung from the ceiling. It soon regretted its adventure, however, because Sirius could just as well have entered an empty room. He did not with one look or word, or any type of sign at all, acknowledge the others. Harry's heart had brutally collided with the stone floor and had lain there aching for as long as it took Sirius to finish his meal and leave, which thankfully was not an unnecessarily drawn-out process.

Now Harry, together with Ron and Hermione, had taken refuge in his and Ron's bedroom on the second floor. No matter how hard he tried, Harry could not get the image of Sirius' face out of his head. 'Upset' did not even begin to cover the mess of emotions Harry had seen there. No, if it made any sense at all, 'tormented' would be a better way to describe him. This made it none the easier on Harry who, for the life of him, could not understand what had provoked such a strong reaction in his godfather.

What was even worse – almost – was that he did not feel very comfortable asking Ron and Hermione for advice since '...and then I, um, sort of fell asleep... there. Well, we both did, I guess, and Kreacher found us...' was the only way to describe what had happened and that particular phrasing did not exactly compliment his intelligence. Besides, the more he pondered it, the more he felt inclined to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there had indeed been something odd about it all.

"So, when d'you reckon they'll do it?" Ron sat cross-legged on his bed with his back against the wall and was inspecting the remnants of a Chocolate Frog he had allegedly found on the bottom of the nearby closet.

Harry shook himself and tried to focus. "Sorry, who?"

"Mum and dad, of course. I think they want to leave. The question is how soon..."

"Leave?"

Ron frowned at him. "Go back to The Burrow. What's up with you, mate?"

"Nothing," he said and tried a careless shrug, which proved tricky when you sat hunched over.

"Harry, are you OK?" Hermione had been throwing him worried glances ever since Sirius left the kitchen.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't look it," said Ron obligingly. "Hermione do you think it's safe?"

"You're not helping, Ron," she said. "Obviously Harry is not fine, are you, Harry? And what is or isn't safe?"

"I'm OK," said Harry, quite aware of the fact that he had never been a very good liar. "Ron, your parents want to go back to The Burrow?"

"Eating this, of course!" Ron waved the crushed Chocolate Frog in its soiled wrapping before Hermione's nose. "Yeah," he said then with a nod in Harry's direction, "I think they want to go home."

"You're going to eat that?" said Hermione, with a disgusted expression.

"It's chocolate," said Ron as if that settled it. "Not that they've said as much," he added, "but they've never been very fond of this house. Well, not mum anyway."

"She never liked Sirius much either..." mumbled Harry.

"Harry – oh, that's disgusting, Ron! – did you and Sirius have a fight?" Hermione deliberately turned away from Ron as he meticulously dusted off the now revealed chocolate. "You didn't say a word to each other during dinner and, well, he looked really upset... And frankly, so do you."

Harry sighed. This was the downside of having intelligent and perceptive friends. His eyes fell on Ron grinning at the frog. Well, one perceptive friend at least. "It was... a bit weird," he conceded weakly.

"How do you mean weird?" said Hermione. "I mean, we all heard Mr and Mrs Weasley and Sirius arguing but I didn't know he was angry with you..."

"He wasn't angry with me!" said Harry quickly. Then his shoulders sank. "Not at first, he wasn't..."

A look of concern he had seen too many times before settled in Hermione's features. "What happened, Harry?"

"I don't know..." He dropped his gaze to the ancient bedspread. "Listen, I don't want to talk about it, OK?"

He could feel her eyes on him but was very grateful, in the end, when she only said, "All right. Just... if you do, we're here for you, right?"

"Hermione, you want any?" Ron was offering her the last, matted remnants of chocolate to her with a devilish glint in his eyes.

She batted away his hand in disgust. "You don't even know if it was you who got that frog in the first place! Or when. It could have been years ago."

"So what?"

"Hey!" Harry broke in before Hermione could answer. "What is this about The Burrow?"

With a grin aimed for Hermione, Ron popped the piece of chocolate into his mouth. "Your loss," he said around it. But when he had chewed and swallowed, his face fell a little. "Well, seems like they're ready to leave. I'm pretty sure Ginny and George will go with them... and I'm not sure I'll have a say in the matter."

Harry contemplated this. The argument with Sirius aside, he could see why Mr and Mrs Weasley would want to return home.

"I think mum's expecting you to come with us..."

"What?" Harry looked up at Ron. "But I... I can't leave Sirius all alone."

"That's what we figured," said Hermione softly. "But if you two aren't getting along..."

"We are," Harry cut across her. "It was just... a bit of a misunderstanding, yeah?" He suddenly frowned. "Wait... what are you going to do?"

Her cheeks coloured a little and Harry thought she looked a bit guilty. "I was thinking I would... leave, too," she said. "I could stay with Ron's family for a while, until my parents return from Australia. Not that we know when that's going to happen..."

"Didn't dad say that they had found somebody at our Ministry who knows somebody at the Australian one?" asked Ron.

"No," said Hermione tersely, "he said that as soon as a new head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation has been appointed, the issue can be looked into."

"Right... Well, that's what I meant."

Hermione ignored him and turned to Harry instead with a pleading look in her eyes. "It's just..."

"No, I understand," Harry hastened to say. "Really, I do."

"You are going to stay here?"

"Yeah." Even if Sirius did not want him to.

"Good luck telling mum that," said Ron.

o.O.o

As a consequence of his conversation with Ron and Hermione, Harry spent the rest of the night worrying that Mrs Weasley would indeed approach him with the expectation that he would be joining them in The Burrow shortly, but no such thing happened. The following morning brought even more rain and Harry trudged down the stairs to the kitchen with a sort of heaviness residing in his limbs, and a pounding head.

Mr Weasley and Sirius himself were the only ones seated at the table, and though it was really Mrs Weasley he currently was most eager to avoid, Harry was not sure this made him feel any better. He wished he were invisible as he for a moment hesitated, and then, in the end, chose another seat than his usual one next to his godfather. In the corner of his eye he saw Sirius, pale and grim, staring at his teacup so intently that he might have been practising wandless and nonverbal magic on it for all Harry knew.

"Ah, Harry!" Mr Weasley laid down his copy of the Prophet and surveyed him over the rim of his glasses. "Sirius has agreed to accompany me to the Ministry today to see whether something can be done about his recorded status. However..." he glanced over at Sirius, "I have a meeting at nine and cannot go with him to the re-registration centre, but you, Harry have not had a breath of fresh air for days..."

Mr Weasley was clearly determined to pretend as though nothing was amiss, but Sirius' sat stone-faced and silent. Harry knew a sinking sensation near his heart when he realised what was coming. He wished he'd had the sense to stay in bed.

"You don't need to fear any reporters," Mr Weasley continued, unhindered, "as none are allowed inside Ministry walls, but perhaps it would do you good, getting out for a while, hm?"

"Sure," said Harry, keeping his gaze firmly trained on the table.

"Excellent," said Mr Weasley, a bit too quickly perhaps. "Then that's sorted. We'll be leaving in half an hour."

Harry nodded at the table. "Great."

Without any enthusiasm, he poured himself a cup of tea and nibbled on some toast. The silence was broken only when Mr Weasley turned a page and Harry felt a lump growing in his throat. He blinked away the tears that, uncaring if Harry approved of them or not, welled up in his eyes. Despite long hours of agony, he had not been able to figure out what he had done that had made Sirius so angry with him. When he could not swallow down another bite he pushed his plate aside and got to his feet.

"Ten minutes, Harry," Mr Weasley called out to him as the door swung shut behind him.

"I don't want to go," he murmured, but the grimy walls drank down his words and he supposed that was just as well.

Ten minutes later, he, Mr Weasley and Sirius were standing in the drawing room, each with a handful of Floo powder in their possession.

"The visitor's entrance was destroyed in the war," Mr Weasley was saying, as if he were beginning a lecture, "and though they were still functioning when it was over, nobody was very keen on using the toilets to flush themselves into the Ministry any more, if they could avoid it. Therefore you can travel by Floo powder if, and only if, you know the password."

"Password?" Harry looked at the small heap of glittering powder in his palm.

"Yes," said Mr Weasley. He was wearing his blue robes and had a stack of parchments under his arm. "As always, one needs to state one's destination upon stepping into the fireplace, but the second you catch sight of the Ministry fireplace, Harry, you must speak the password in order to be brought through."

"What happens otherwise?"

"If you don't, you'll end up here again. Nothing worse than that, but after three failed attempts, the fireplace you travel from – this one, in this case – will be disconnected from the Network."

Harry did not dare to look at Sirius. Since his godfather was asking no questions, he assumed Mr Weasley had told him all of this already. "What is the password?"

Mr Weasley glanced around the room as though he expected a revived group of Death Eaters to be reclining in the sofa and the armchairs. His voice dropped to a whisper, "Between eight and ten today it is 'tambourine'."

"'Tambourine'?"

"Yes, yes..." Mr Weasley looked slightly uncomfortable. "Apparently they're going for cheerful."

"Er... right."

After another precautionary glance around the room, Mr Weasley straightened. "Are we ready, then? I'll go first, shall I?"

Without further ado, he tossed the powder into the fireplace, stepped into it and said aloud, "The Ministry of Magic." He was gone in a rush of emerald flames.

Harry swallowed but found that his feet were glued to the floor. Beside him, Sirius did not say a word.

"So," Harry forced out, "do you want to...?"

"Harry..."

Sirius had spoken his name very quickly and very quietly, but there was something in his voice that made Harry's heart lurch. When he finally found the courage to look into his godfather's eyes they were pleading with him. "Yes?"

"I'm..." Sirius swallowed, too, but no more words came.

Disappointment washed over Harry. He tore his eyes away from Sirius' face. "Mr Weasley is waiting." Not stopping for a reply, he tossed the Floo powder onto the flames, pushed himself into the fireplace and let the green fire whisk him off.

According to Harry, travelling by Floo powder was the next best thing to flying a broomstick. It made you slightly nauseous, yes, and if you lost your balance upon arriving you were covered in ash, but at least it did not come with that horrid jerk behind your navel that Portkeys were known for, and you were spared the unpleasant sensation of being pushed through a tight rubber tube which always assaulted you when you travelled by Apparition.

As soon as the Ministry fireplace he was headed for appeared before him he cried out 'tambourine' (thinking that if it had not been for the whole thing with Sirius, he might have had a hard time keeping a straight face) and soon found himself stumbling out into the Atrium.

"There you are!" Mr Weasley grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the fireplace. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your way!"

A steady flow of wizards and witches were wandering out of the row of fireplaces that lined both sides of the Atrium. The Atrium, Harry thought, and his gaze wandered over the walls and up to the ceiling where once golden symbols had swum in a sea of peacock blue. Now it was a dull and dark bluish-grey and there was no sign of any symbols. There were signs of combat everywhere, however: the stone had cracked where curses had hit it, and there were a few deep holes in the wooden floor. But, as he discovered to his relief, the awful 'Magic is Might' statue, put in place by the Death Eaters and their followers to establish the superiority of the wizarding kind over the Muggles, was now gone.

"Ah, Sirius!" Mr Weasley spun round. "Over here!"

Even in a crowd such as this one Harry thought that his godfather stood out. He was far from the handsomest wizard but there was something about him that made you want to look again. It was probably not for this reason, however, that Sirius now pulled his hood down over his face. Harry suddenly wished he had one too but as he glanced around it seemed most people were too busy to take notice of him.

"Over here! Oh, look at the time!" Mr Weasley stepped aside to let a witch with a flock of orange birds squawking at her pass.

Harry followed his gaze to a large and severely battered clock that hung above the security desk. It was already five to nine but this was all he had time to register before an elbow hit him hard in the ribs and he staggered backwards a few steps, bumping into someone else.

"Hey!" Sirius' hands on his shoulders steadied him and the burning pain was somewhat lessened by the flash of worry in his godfather's eyes. "You OK?"

"Yeah..." For a moment it seemed to Harry that the noise dimmed to a mere background buzz, and he dared a small smile. "Thanks."

Sirius opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Mr Weasley, "Harry, Sirius, come on now! To the lifts!"

Before Harry could say what had happened he was coaxed to follow the steady rhythm of the crowd, moving steadily away from the fireplaces. Passing the empty security desk, he looked up at Mr Weasley questioningly. "But don't you –"

"The password, Harry, remember?" said Mr Weasley as they crammed themselves into an already quite full lift.

"Well, yes, but passwords can be..."

Sirius was right behind him, pressing against his back. Harry felt a thrill pass through him and instinctively leaned back against his godfather. In reality, it did not make much of a difference since they were already standing so close, but it did make him feel infinitely better. His argument had been lost in the general confusion but when Sirius' hand landed on his hip in an effort to keep them both steady, Harry forgot it himself.

They made long stops on every level before the same cool voice that Harry knew from before the war announced, "Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services." The lift came to a stop.

"This is us!" announced Mr Weasley and Harry made ready to push through the throng. Very quickly, though, he realised he would not have to fight to get out. As soon as the golden grilles slid apart, nearly everyone filed into a circular waiting room with corridors fanning out from it in every direction.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the largest one at the Ministry, was overflowing with people. Large temporary signs had been nailed to the walls, informing visitors of functions of the different offices, and their opening hours. Harry looked down at his worn pair of jeans and trainers and wished he had thought about dressing differently.

Mr Weasley seemed to follow his train of thought for he frowned. "We should have found you some robes, Harry... Well, it's too late for that! Now, if you both follow that corridor to your right, not the one with the jellyfish painted on the walls – we don't know who did that – but the one from which that man in brown robes emerges just now – there you are! – you should find the re-registration centre."

Harry spun around and spotted the man Mr Weasley was talking about. He had stepped out of something that looked like a screen of moving water which covered the entire entrance to the corridor, but which appeared to be quite dry.

"I've got to run," Mr Weasley continued hurriedly. "I will see you at dinner." With that, he took off into the crowd.

Harry turned to look at his godfather but Sirius' eyes were fastened on the curtain of water. "Harry, I don't think..." his voice was raspy.

For a second Harry did not understand but then it hit him. "It's not the Veil, Sirius," he said, in a low voice.

"I know."

Harry bit his lip. More and more people were welling out of the lifts and very few seemed to be leaving. As they stood watching, another wizard emerged, head first, out of the water door.

"See," he said, "it's all right. You won't even get wet."

"I can't do it." Sirius had gone alarmingly pale but he appeared incapable of looking anywhere but at the water.

"Yes, you can." Harry hesitated for only a heartbeat and then closed his fingers around Sirius' cold hand. He gave a little squeeze. "We'll do it together. That way, should anything happen, we'll end up in the same place, you and I."

Sirius slowly turned to look at him. "You and I, Harry?"

He smiled. "Together." He gave Sirius' hand a little tug. "Come on."

They pushed through the mass of people hand in hand, making for the screen of water. Harry felt Sirius tense again as soon as they stood before it and he drew a deep breath. "All right? Here we go."

Stepping through was probably one of the least exciting magical experiences of Harry's life so far. The water felt more like a cool puff of air and left him completely unaffected. As soon as they were on the other side, Harry smiled up at his godfather:

"See?"

Sirius' jaws were tightly clenched and his eyes were closed. He looked like a marble statue. Harry was not given any more time to speak, however, because a bored voice came floating out to them from somewhere to their right:

"Welcome to the re-registration centre for presumed deceased wizards and witches. State your name, if you please..."

Upon turning, Harry found that it was a tiny, elderly wizard speaking; his portrait hung on the otherwise empty, white wall, and he was sitting in a patched armchair eating grapes from a bowl.

"Um..."

The wizard picked up a new grape. "Another Mr Um! How lovely."

"No," Harry hastened to say. "No..."

The wizard cracked one eye open to peer at Harry and his grey eyebrows shot skywards. "Oh my, isn't it Harry Potter! Go by a new name these days, do you, son?"

"Sirius Black."

Harry started at the sound of his godfather's voice. Sirius still looked grim, but at least he seemed to be breathing.

"I beg your pardon?" The wizard pulled out a monocle from his waist coat pocket and examined Sirius. "That's your name, sir? Very well... Which one of you is dead?"

"None of us is," said Harry.

"Then I am afraid you have ended up in the wrong place, Mr Um-Potter," said the wizard congenially. "We advise all living visitors to take their business elsewhere."

"But Sirius here is recorded as... dead," said Harry with some difficulty. He strengthened his hold on his godfather's hand.

"And you claim he is alive?" asked the wizard before he popped the grape into his mouth and chewed carefully.

"Well, he's standing right here, isn't he?"

The wizard gave a non-committal grunt before he spit out a few seeds in his hand. "I see your point, Mr Um-Potter. You may take a seat."

No more had he said that before a brilliant white light came on and the narrow corridor widened into a large room. The walls were lined with wooden chairs and there were another twenty or so people waiting for their turn. Behind a counter sat a young witch in lime green robes, and with her nut brown hair collected in a bun atop her head. Harry spun around but the water screen was gone and so was the painting of the small wizard.

He glanced up at Sirius. His godfather met his gaze and nodded curtly. Together they made their way over to a couple of empty chairs.

Together. Harry liked the sound of that.

TBC