Chapter Ten – Men and Other Men

"Malfoy?"

A distant part of Harry's brain noted that the strange wizard's hand slid from his shoulder, but he had a hard time convincing his eyes that they should leave Malfoy's pale face. Over the years Harry had learnt how to handle surprises but this was the third time today that he was rendered speechless and it was only half past ten. Blatantly, he let his eyes roam over Malfoy's unusually slim form and came to the conclusion that wherever he had been stashed away these past few days, it was no nice place.

As though the wizard in grey robes had read his mind, he muttered to Harry in an undertone, "Fetched them from Azkaban myself this morning." There was the faintest trace of some accent Harry could not place in his voice, but this was not what made him finally tear his stare away from Malfoy.

"What?"

The wizard offered him an odd mixture of an arrogant smirk and a disgusted grimace. "Aurors caught them outside the Hogwarts gates only hours after the battle which, I do believe Mr Potter, you know all about…?"

If there was one thing Harry did not intend, it was to present this unknown man with a detailed account of the final battle. He ignored the wizard's keen eyes on him and turned with a frown to Narcissa Malfoy. "You were put in Azkaban?" he asked, but neither she, nor her son, seemed very eager to confirm this.

The grey wizard snorted, as though he had meant to snigger, but in the last moment had decided to suppress the urge and instead reached some kind of compromise. "Mr Potter," he said in a voice that held the capacity of becoming slightly reproachful, "all members of the Malfoy family were devoted supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named …"

"No, they weren't," said Harry quickly, surprising himself just as much as anybody else. In the corner of his eye he saw how Narcissa's lips parted a little but still she did not speak. Draco's gaze was digging its way underneath Harry's skin, and he shifted uncomfortably, unable to stop himself.

"Surely, Mr Potter– "

A wave of irritation swept over Harry. "Forgive me… sir," he cut across the wizard, "I didn't catch your name…?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon," the wizard said loftily. "Humphrey Hoye at your service. I am – was, I should say, though life does goes on, doesn't it? – senior assistant, shall we say, to the late Madam Bones of the venerable Wizengamot. It is a pleasure to meet you." He did look pleased, but his smile did not reach his sharp eyes.

As they shook hands, Harry thought that even so this man should always make an effort to smile. When he did not, the cold and calculating look that hovered about him was greatly magnified. Harry wondered if he was aware of that.

"Now, Mr Potter, you were saying…?"

The crowd in the Atrium had thinned markedly and the steady stream of arrivals had all but ceased to flow. Only occasionally did the gilded fireplaces spit out a newcomer, witch or wizard, most of them dressed in ministerial blue. Harry's eyes wandered between the fireplaces and the Malfoys and back again. There was something that bugged him, something that was most definitely off. He opened his mouth to answer when it struck him:

"You are no Auror, Mr Hoye?"

For a fleeting second, confusion and surprised blossomed over the wizard's face, but he quickly arranged his features in a mask of politeness. "Ah, no. As I told you, Mr Potter, I am the– "

"Senior assistant to Madam Bones," Harry finished for him. "Yes, I heard. But Amelia Bones was murdered by Voldemort two years ago..." With a great deal of satisfaction he watched the wizard jerk at the name.

"Such a tragic event," Mr Hoye managed in a strained voice. His lips thinned into a straight line. "Ghastly..."

"Yes," said Harry. "Indeed. And you have retained your position, Mr Hoye, despite the fact that your supervisor is no longer alive?"

"It is so," Mr Hoye confirmed. He attempted a smile that turned out rather twisted. "Politics and law enforcement never rest, eh?"

"And you have the authority to, um, fetch prisoners from Azkaban and escort them to the Ministry?" Harry pressed on. "You are certainly a brave man, Mr Hoye. You haven't brought any guards and yet you claim that the Malfoys are Death Eaters..."

But if Harry thought he'd struck a nerve, he was severely let down by the smirk that caught hold of Mr Hoye's lips. This time he did snigger. "Mr Potter," he began almost fatherly, "now I see what you are getting at." There was an unsettling twinkle in his cold eyes. "They are wandless, and not very talkative as you might have noticed, hm?"

Harry's gaze sped back to where Draco and Narcissa Malfoy stood still as statues, but before he could fully catch the ominous feeling that rose in him, Mr Hoye continued:

"You do not think, Mr Potter, that I would put myself in such danger as you were alluding to? No, no... A nice little dose of a particularly clever potion does the trick... Every time."

"Potion?" repeated Harry.

"Just to... take the edge off things," said Hoye almost smugly. His voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper. "Makes them a bit more compliant, you know. That one," he pointed at Draco, "spent his first two nights in Azkaban screaming like a lunatic. Or a baby, if you will. Got his mother all upset. We couldn't have that, could we?"

"You drugged them?" Harry stared at Hoye in horror and disbelief.

"Now Mr Potter, safety comes first, as I'm sure you understand."

"But that's..."

Illegal?

But Harry did not know what was legal or not. Perhaps if he had been Hermione, he would have had a better idea. His eyes dropped to the worn wooden floor. With painful clarity he remembered the death of Dumbledore; it was Draco's wand that had first been pointed at the old man, the already dying man, but no one had known that then. Except for Snape, and he had died too, at the hands of Voldemort, supported to the very end by the Malfoys.

Almost to the very end.

That, Harry supposed, made the crucial difference. He had last seen the Malfoys in the Great Hall of Hogwarts where they huddled together in a far-off corner after the final battle. Harry had had too much else to think about then to care what became of them, but there were things that had happened that would never had come to pass if Narcissa and Draco had not doubted their dark mission and faltered, and thus failed.

"Where is Lucius Malfoy?"

"Still in Azkaban, where he belongs," said Hoye with a contemptuous glance over his shoulder. "You see, Mr Potter, Mrs Malfoy here has been saying the strangest things..." His eyes bore into Harry's. "She claims that you have her and her son to thank for your life. And when she would not be silenced, we agreed to hear her out." He did not look too happy about this outcome. "An informal hearing has been arranged for today, before the real trials begin next week."

Harry reacted instinctively. "But they're drugged," he protested, in a much louder voice than intended, earning himself a few curious glances from a group of witches a few feet away.

"The effects will wear off sooner or later." Hoye shrugged as though the matter was of no concern to him. "Personally, I would prefer later. In any case, Mr Potter, it is fortunate that we ran into you. I do really think you should know what web of lies that is being spun around your name."

Harry wondered if he were expected to thank Hoye for hauling him in and informing him of these ongoing atrocities. He glanced at Malfoy again. This was his chance to let his whole family rot in whatever dingy cell the Ministry found appropriate; any instruction or order Harry Potter passed on to the court would most likely be heeded. If Harry desired it, it would be easy to steer the judges away from the honourable path and into corruption. Every punch, every lie, every cruel word that had ever slipped past those pale lips of Malfoy's Harry could now punish him for.

He sighed. It was so obvious that would never happen that there was no point in even pretending for a second he would choose that course of action. He was undeniably too soft-hearted to let such a thing happen – even to his nemesis. The more lines he counted in Narcissa's face, and the more shadows that gathered around Malfoy's eyes, the more his own weakness for justice and fairness reminded him of his convictions.

"I will attend the Malfoy trial," said Harry, trying his best to sound as authoritative as he possibly could. "I wish to be notified of the time and place."

"Mr Potter –"

"You can reach me through Arthur Weasley," Harry pressed on. "Now I must be going."

Hoye quickly gathered his scattered wits and flashed a smile. "Of course, of course. We cannot stand around here all day, can we?" He straightened his grey robes in a fluid motion. "Good day to you, Mr Potter."

Harry's eyes caught Narcissa's for a heartbeat but he could detect very little emotion in them. His stomach turned over and he could only nod at Hoye who had adopted a grim look and pushed his shoulders back. Harry turned away from them and had to force his feet to carry him across the floor. He felt sick. He had always despised Malfoy, loathed him with every bone in his body – up until the moment when it became clear to him that Malfoy was not going to kill Albus Dumbledore in the Astronomy Tower. He had had the chance, but not the guts. Malfoy was not convinced, not cruel enough to pull off a powerful enough Avada Kedavra, Harry was sure of that. He did not know as much about Narcissa, but somehow he doubted that she had been the model Death Eater wife. Sure, she was selfish and in the Forbidden Forest, when Voldemort thought he had finally finished Harry off once and for all, the mercy she had exhibited was clearly a product of her desire to save her son and not Harry. But Harry knew all about a mother's love for her son.

He had reached an available fireplace when the image of his mother and father rose in his mind, and was just reaching for a handful of Floo powder from a bowl on the mantelpiece when the memory of Sirius' kiss hit him so hard that he almost stumbled backwards.

"Fuck!" Just like Ron, his first instinct was to feel guilty for cursing. He had never been one to overdo it. That was not his premier concern at the moment however.

How could he have forgotten? Suddenly his lips seemed to burn. What the fuck was Sirius thinking? A completely irrational anger burst forth from some reserve near his heart. What made Sirius think he could just grab Harry and slam their mouths together as though they were actually... as though it were something normal? Sirius was his bloody godfather! And what the hell had he meant by taking off before he could explain why he had kissed Harry in the first place?

He shoved his hand into the bowl of powder and grabbed a handful. Determinedly, he pushed even closer to the dancing flames but stopped mid-step, and his hand sank back to his side. Some of the Floo powder drifted down to the scarred floor in a sleek glittering cloud. Harry himself remained immobile, staring into the fire.

Sirius had kissed Harry.

Was he really surprised? Had what happened with Sirius truly shocked him as much as it should have? For, really, it should have shaken him to the core... A sneaking suspicion crawled through his mind and he felt the floor shift beneath his feet. He tried to shove it aside, to crush it, to eradicate it by simply willing it away but it would only settle deeper among his jumbled thoughts.

Mum and dad, Harry told himself sternly. Mum and dad made Sirius my godfather and hoped he would care for me if something happened to them. They died. Sirius is like my dad.

Only he was not. He was nothing like a father to Harry. Granted, Harry did not know too much about how fathers should be, but from what he had seen of Mr Weasley – and that was quite a lot – and uncle Vernon – which, unfortunately, was also quite a lot, and a lot less inspiring – he had come to the conclusion that Sirius was more of a friend than a father figure. Or was that something he had decided in this very moment? Did he want Sirius to be a friend rather than his stand-in dad?

If anything, Sirius was certainly not the bloke Harry's parents had picked out as a future... He swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought.

Sirius is my godfather, he told himself sternly. He was upset and angry, and he crossed the line. That's it.

But what line? Harry was not even sure he wanted there to be a line. Crossable or no. He just... wanted to be with Sirius.

"Fucking hell!" He banged his fist against the cold gilded stone, sending more Floo powder flying through the air. "Fucking, fucking hell." This much swearing, he observed on some level, was not a good sign.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" he added while he was at it, and was sent gravely disapproving looks from an elderly couple in flowing, matching lilac robes as they happened to pass him by.

He just 'wanted to be with Sirius'. Yeah right. Obviously Harry's brain and heart had held secret meetings when he was not paying attention, and had decided that what he actually wanted was for Sirius' tongue to permanently relocate to Harry's mouth.

"That's just great," Harry told the mantelpiece. "That's the best thing I could come up with? Kill Voldemort, win the bloody war, fall in lo– " He almost bit off his own tongue. "Fancy," he corrected himself though he must force the word past his lips. He meant to repeat it, but no sound came.

Fuck, indeed.

His anger was returning and he welcomed it gratefully. It made his vision clear and his resolve strengthen. Grimly, he tossed the powder onto the flames and watched them turn a bright emerald green. Not allowing for another thought to penetrate his mind, he stepped into the fire and said aloud, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place."

Seconds later, complete with a faint wave a nausea rushing through him, Harry stumbled out of the fire and into the dark and dank drawing room. The flames gave a hiss behind him but other than that the room was quiet. Still riding the current of anger, Harry crossed the floor and dove out into the stairway. Just as he had known earlier that Sirius would come back here, he was also quite sure of where in the house he would be hiding.

Harry rushed up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, not caring about the noise he made or what would happen if somebody heard him. He thought he heard a door open on the first floor but by then he was already speeding towards the third level landing. With his heart racing, he finally skidded to a stop before Sirius' bedroom door on the fourth floor.

Up here it was unnaturally quiet. The sound of Harry's harsh breathing was swallowed up by the dense air and muted by the darkness lingering in the corners. He tried to rein in his fleeing courage but it slipped away from him and floated out of reach. A sense of fear wakened in his stomach and it spread swiftly through him, making him wonder what would happen if Sirius was not here, if he had taken off someplace else... Taking a deep breath, Harry lifted his hand to knock. The door swung open without him even touching it.

There were no lights on in the old bedroom, and no fire lit. But on the bed, with his back to the door sat Sirius, hunched over, and with his face buried in his hands.

At the mere sight of him, Harry's throat grew tight and he swallowed hard. "Sirius?"

His godfather's sigh was deep and carried to every corner of the room. "Harry."

"Yeah..." Harry would have given a thousand galleons for his anger from before to rise anew, preferably to blast the roof off the house. But seeing Sirius now, sitting like a broken man on the bed, made Harry's heart sink in his breast rather than explode with rage.

Sirius heaved another sigh but he did not move. Harry carefully closed the door and another few steps brought him to the edge of the bed. He guessed he was waiting for Sirius to speak, waiting for the other man to explain. Sirius was older and – Harry assumed – much more experienced in these matters. This very thought sent a wave of heat over his cheeks. Sirius had kissed him. Had not hugged him or ruffled his hair, or planted a peck on his cheek, but really truly kissed him. Seeing his godfather in his present state, however, he had a hard time connecting the kiss with the man who had delivered it.

"Um... Sirius?" The words stuck in his throat.

"It should never have happened, Harry. Forgive me, if you can. And forget it."

"What?"

Sirius did not sound like himself; he sounded as though he were reciting an old monologue. "Forget it Harry. Just forget it."

"What do you mean forget it?" Harry circled the bed and stared down at him. "I can't just 'forget it'. You kissed me!"

"I know!" Sirius' eyes shot to his face and Harry saw the traces of tears on his cheeks. "I bloody well know that, Harry!"

Harry swallowed again, trying to push past the thickness in his throat. "Why?"

"Why?" Sirius echoed him with a snort. "Why did I kiss you?"

"Yeah, why?"

Sirius regarded him for a moment before he shook his head, looking disgusted. With what, Harry could not say but it scared him more than he was willing to admit. "You haven't figured that out yet?" said Sirius. He ran a hand across his face. "You have no idea?"

"I..." Harry dropped his gaze to the threadbare carpet that covered the floor. "I just... I just want to know."

"Because I'm a fucking idiot, that's why," said Sirius. "And I wanted you to shut the hell up."

It was like a blow. Harry's body was quickly growing numb and his nod was more like a jerk of the head. He kept his gaze firmly trained on his trainers, refusing to let Sirius see the tears that were welling up in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, taking a step back. "I shouldn't have told you..."

He made to turn away but Sirius' hand closed around his wrist, reawakening the pain that had lain slumbering for the past hour. Harry gasped and Sirius let him go as though he had burnt himself.

"It's swollen," observed Sirius quietly. "I'd forgotten."

Harry wanted to say something but could think of nothing. "Yeah, well..."

"Harry..."

"What?" He lifted his eyes to Sirius' face. The other man was looking at him with such a mixture of emotions in his grey eyes that they were impossible to separate, one from the other. "I am sorry..."

Harry shrugged. "I had no right to say those things to you... I get it, you were angry." With this, he actually did turn away but Sirius spoke again:

"Wait. Listen, we can't... I mean, I can't... I shouldn't have done that, Harry."

"Kissed me, yeah, I said I get it." He blinked hard, wanting no more than to flee the room.

"Don't go."

The smallest trace of anger found its way to the surface again, towing more in its wake. Harry spun around, his jaws tightly clenched. "What is it you want, Sirius?" he demanded. "First you kiss me, but that's obviously what you don't want because you ran like you couldn't stand me, and now you don't want me to leave?"

The concern and gentleness were immediately wiped from his godfather's features. "You have no idea what I want, Harry," he snarled. "That much is obvious!"

"Why don't you tell me what you want, then?" cried Harry, desperate for some semblance of logic in this crumbling world.

"I want you!" bellowed Sirius, something in his eyes exploding. "I've wanted to fucking kiss you ever since I came back!"

Harry stood dumbstruck before him. "You..."

Sirius' face fell and he swallowed audibly. "I want you..." he repeated. "And I can never have you, and that is how it should be."

"But..."

In the ensuing silence Harry found nothing to say. He was not sure he understood; the concept was too foreign and alien for him to fully grasp, but he knew also that something of great importance had been said. He felt his knees buckle and he dropped down onto the bed next to Sirius, fishing the wand out of his back pocket before it got crushed without really thinking.

"We should have Hermione take a look at that wrist of yours," said Sirius softly, after a while.

"Something we actually should do," said Harry, hearing how the feeling of emptiness that was spreading through him tainted his voice.

"Yeah..."

Sirius lifted a hand to Harry's cheek, gently turning his face so that their eyes met. Then his godfather sighed and closed his eyes. But the feather light kiss that Sirius left on Harry's brow was not nearly enough to comfort him.

TBC