Yes, I've been struggling quite a bit with this chapter... 'Either,' I thought to myself, 'we do it this way, or that way.' I did it this way. I apologise in advance for any spelling mistakes and such – it's really late but I thought you deserved an update, so here we go!

Chapter Twelve – Bursting Bubbles

"And you didn't see his face?" Hermione asked for the umpteenth time while she prodded Harry's wrist with gentle fingers.

"No, I didn't," said Harry, quenching a sigh. "Whoever he was, he had pulled his hood over his face, I told you."

They were still in Sirius' bedroom. The very moment Hermione had been told of Harry's abused wrist, she had demanded to see it and so he had dutifully climbed out of the bed. However, he supposed it should come as a surprise to no one that she was more interested by the man who had caused the injury rather than the injury itself.

"I know, but I was thinking that perhaps you recognised something about him." There was a deepening furrow between her brows and a dash of worry in her brown eyes. "His voice… or… the way he walked or moved…"

"The way he moved?" Harry asked her incredulously. "Why would I remember how somebody moves?"

"Harry! If we hadn't paid attention to detail, we'd be dead by now," she scolded him, probably alluding to the events of the past seven years or so.

"If you had not paid attention to detail," he mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing..."

She gave a small huff, though unbeknownst to her, she had been paid a compliment – of sorts, at least. "All I'm saying, Harry, is that..."

"Whatever," he muttered. "Listen, it doesn't matter. Whatever his name was, he just wasn't my biggest fan."

"Nor mine," supplied Sirius from across the bedroom where he had dropped into a dusty armchair. Once upon a time, the black velvet must have gleamed in the sunlight. If any streaks of sunlight had ever made their way into this bedroom, that was.

"This could be serious!" exclaimed Hermione, obviously not very pleased with the lack of interest in the matter exhibited around her. "What if he's after you? What if –"

"Come off it, Hermione," Harry cut across her. "I'm sick and tired of constantly being on my guard, always looking over my shoulder. Just… come off it, will you?"

Truth be told, Harry wasn't really in the mood to talk about anything, from nameless attackers at the Ministry to Hippogriffs. He missed Sirius though the man was not fifteen feet away. Which only proved things were bad. He did not need Hermione's fussing and worrying on top of that. He cast around for another subject, but came up with only one.

"I saw Malfoy at the Ministry," he said.

Hermione's eyes shot to his face and Sirius shot up from his seat.

"Malfoy was there?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah... with his mum." He had not given the encounter much thought – none at all, to be honest – since he'd recalled the kiss Sirius had given him outside the re-registration office. "They'd been brought in from Azkaban."

"Malfoy was put in Azkaban?" The furrow between Hermione's eyebrows deepened further. "But why?"

"Because the Malfoys are Death Eaters?" snorted Sirius. While Hermione was looking shocked and troubled, he had adopted an expression of perfect loathing. "They're a rotten bunch."

But Hermione dismissed this assertion with an annoyed shake of her head, setting her bushy hair flying around her face. "But Draco helped us... or at least he didn't give us away; and Harry, didn't you say that Narcissa lied for you in the Forbidden Forest?"

"She did," confirmed Harry. "I was surprised too... But that's not all. They were drugged."

"What do you mean 'drugged'?"

"Well, this really dodgy bloke, Hoye, had fetched them – or at least that's what he called it – from Azkaban and brought them to the Ministry. He'd let someone drug them to make them more cooperative. They didn't say a word, just stood there staring at me." The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt. He should have done something right there and right then, but even now he did not know what that might have been. "They seemed frightened, though," he added thoughtfully, and not without a pang of guilt.

"Serves them right," said Sirius, in a voice that did nothing to hide his scorn.

Hermione glared at him in disgust. "How the he–" She snapped her mouth shut and colour blossomed in her cheeks. She tried again, "Why would anybody drug them? That's awful, Sirius! Wouldn't it be enough to, oh, I don't know, let them know that every Auror is keeping both eyes on them?"

"No, Hermione, that wouldn't be enough," said Sirius harshly. "They're Death Eaters, Voldemort's loyal subjects..."

"But Voldemort's dead!" exclaimed Hermione, swivelling around to face him properly and momentarily forgetting about Harry's wrist. "They would gain nothing by fleeing!"

"Freedom? Time to plot their revenge?" Sirius' eyes had darkened visibly, but he did not raise his voice.

"They would be hunted down and arrested," she said with confidence. "The Aurors would find them."

"The Aurors..." said Sirius scathingly. "Yeah, cause they're such a brilliant lot."

"Without them, we'd be dead!" cried Hermione, the colour high on her cheeks.

"Well I'm as good as!" spat Sirius. "I say drug the Malfoys. Let them rot in Azkaban! I don't care what happens to them."

Before Hermione could retort, Harry broke in, "Sirius," he said quietly, "they did help us..."

His godfather looked up, and maybe some of his anger melted from his face. Or perhaps Harry was deceiving himself.

Sirius spoke through clenched teeth. "You told me Draco was charged with murdering Dumbledore, Harry. And Narcissa is the sister of dear Bellatrix, the venom of Voldemort runs in their blood."

"He was charged with that mission, yes," said Harry, "but he didn't kill Dumbledore. He couldn't. He didn't want to." He had never thought he'd be defending Draco Malfoy to anyone, but now that he had no more Dark Lords to fight, this had apparently become his new pastime.

Sirius, however, was not buying any of it. "And how do you know that?" he hissed. "He's Lucius' son! 'Like father like son', isn't that the Muggle saying?"

"I don't care about Lucius, but–"

"Harry," Sirius cut him off sternly, "let the Ministry handle this! Forget about the Malfoys."

"But it's not right!" objected Hermione.

"I said I would attend their trial," Harry blurted out, only to realise that hardly made things better. "I want to ensure that they're given a fair treatment..."

Snarling, his godfather took a step forwards. "You want to...? Bloody hell, Harry, let it go! The war's over, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah..." This was the third time in two days that Sirius was angry with him. This time around, however, a part of Harry understood where his godfather was coming from, but there was also a part of him that would not so easily forget what he'd been through these past years. "But..."

"No, Harry!" barked Sirius. "Forget it! You've got your whole life ahead of you now – focus on that!"

Harry swallowed hard, the memory of the time he had spent moulded to his godfather in this very room crashing down upon him. He wondered if that future would somehow include more of that closeness. But as much as he wished for that to be, he just could not allow Narcissa and Draco to be unjustly treated when they did not deserve it.

Draco... he reflected, had he ever addressed the youngest Malfoy by his first name? He pushed the thought aside and met Sirius' gaze straight on.

"I intend to embrace that future," he said slowly and clearly, emphasising every syllable, "but I won't see the Malfoys convicted for crimes they didn't commit."

"Who cares!"

"I care!" And then the words tumbled across Harry's lips before he could stop them, "What do you know anyway? You weren't around when Dumbledore died! You weren't hunting down Horcruxes – you don't know anything!"

Sirius looked stricken. At Harry's words, his mouth had fallen open slightly and all the blood had drained from his face. For a second or two, Harry was sure his godfather would march up to him and slap him across the face, but then Sirius drew a ragged breath and stomped across the floor in the direction of the exit.

His eyes flashed as he turned to face them. "See to that wrist of his, Hermione," he growled, before he threw open the door, crossed the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him.

For a few long minutes, Harry stood staring after him, unable to process what had just happened. When he finally turned to look at her, he saw that Hermione was wearing a blank expression he suspected mirrored his own pretty well. She was gaping at the door. Then suddenly she sprang to life, shaking her head irritably and tightening her hold on her wand.

"I can't believe it, Harry!" she said. "How can he defend the use of drugs on anyone? I'm sure it's illegal! And the Malfoys aren't officially accused of anything yet!"

There was something cold spreading through Harry's stomach. "He didn't mean to..."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and her voice acquired a rather sharp edge. "Didn't you hear him? And you were arguing yourself for the need to give them a fair treatment, or have you forgotten that?"

"Well, no, but..." Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Even though he knew Sirius was most probably wrong, and Hermione most probably right, he did not like listening to her criticising his godfather. "You know he still suffers from his time in Azkaban..." he tried weakly.

"If that is so, then that more than anything should make him determined to ensure that no one innocent meets with the same fate!"

"But we're talking about the Malfoys here. And we don't know if..."

She sighed in frustration. "Exactly, Harry! We don't know. Where would we be if the judges of the Wizengamot resorted to that way of reasoning? Now give me your hand."

o.O.o

The afternoon crawled by. Harry spent it sprawled out on his belly on Ron's bed, watching him and Hermione play wizard's chess. She had improved remarkably, Harry admitted. She even looked as though she was enjoying herself. He averted his gaze, though, when Ron kissed her; and he wished he were deaf when she giggled in which he considered a very un-Hermione-ish fashion. Since he was trying so hard not to listen, it took him a little while to come to his next conclusion: this was not the typical girlish giggle that set even the toughest Hogwarts suits of armour writhing nervously. No, this was a new type of sound, one that hinted at some sort of promise.

This realisation caused him to stare at them instead. The chessboard stood between them, but every so often, Ron's fingers would brush Hermione's, or they would exchange a smile. When Ron leaned in to plant a third kiss on Hermione's cheek (both of them oblivious to the fact that one of Ron's Knights on his own volition was currently threatening to decapitate one of Hermione's terrified pawns) it hit Harry just how much time the two of them must have spent together while he had been busy dealing with his own issues and with... Sirius.

He did not begrudge them this, he told himself firmly, deliberately trying to steer his thoughts away from his godfather. He had known for years that it would come to this eventually. What did surprise him, though, was that he apparently was less prepared for it than he had thought himself to be. But Ron had lost a brother and all of them had lost so many friends it hurt to even begin reckoning them up, and so they deserved this. (Ron's Knight had taken to poking the quivering pawn in its side with the tip of his sword, delighting in his abilities to make it jump.)

Yes, they deserved this, Harry thought to himself. They really did. If only the feeling of loneliness would go away...

"Oh, stop it!" he told the Knight who glared up at him and brandished his sword menacingly at Harry instead.

"Sorry, mate." Ron's ears turned a bright red and some of the colour rubbed off on Hermione's cheeks as well.

"What? Oh, I didn't mean you two..." Harry nodded at the Knight. "He was, um, threatening your pawn, Hermione."

Taking full advantage of Hermione's attention finally returning to it, the pawn began squealing indignantly. Meanwhile, Ron turned a glower on his Knight, "Hey, you don't get to kill the lady's pieces. We want to stay on her good side, yeah?"

For a moment, the Knight regarded him in silence. The he gave a snort and without further ado, walked off the chessboard.

o.O.o

When the trio entered the kitchen around dinnertime, Harry had hoped to find Sirius there. He had made no attempt to locate his godfather all afternoon and no Sirius had knocked on the boys' door, armed with an excuse or an apology or – Harry's heart clenched – a hug. He really would not mind a hug right now. But there was no sign of him in the kitchen; Mrs Weasley was just emerging from the pantry and as far as Harry could see, she had been the only one in there.

Ginny and George were already seated and he avoided their eyes as he dropped into his usual place next to Sirius' empty chair. Mr Weasley had obviously not returned from the Ministry yet and Kreacher it seemed had decided not to grace them with his presence.

As he shuffled peas on to his plate he could feel Ginny's eyes on him but no matter how hard he tried to ignore her, she would not stop staring. He did not have to look up to know that it was she who was watching him, he could tell from the uncomfortable twisting of his stomach into a knot.

Yes, he addressed her silently, I'm a git for not telling you sooner but... But what was there to tell? 'Sorry, Gin, can't go out with you any longer because I've fallen in love with my godfather.'

Because fallen in love he had. He supposed there was really no point in denying that any longer. It did not seem to matter, though, since Sirius could obviously not stand him for more than two days in a row.

'Sorry, Ginny, I've fallen in love with Sirius, but I think he hates me.'

Which he did not, of course, but the thought crammed itself into Harry's head anyway, shoving some of that precious logic and reason aside.

"Harry, dear?"

He looked up, quite unable to appreciate Mrs Weasley's kind smile. In the corner of his eye, he could see Ginny setting down her glass of pumpkin juice. "Yes?"

Mrs Weasley drew a deep breath and Harry wondered why she suddenly looked a bit nervous. "Well, you see, Arthur and I have decided that it would be for the best if we all returned to The Burrow... tomorrow, after breakfast."

Oh. Harry's heart sank – if possible – even deeper in his breast. One more thing he had forgotten in the mess that was his feelings and thoughts. But though she had specifically addressed him, it seemed that this was news to the others as well.

"Tomorrow?" Ron echoed her, "but..."

"Tomorrow is Sunday," said Mrs Weasley briskly, as though she had expected one or two objections and had already rehearsed a little speech to overrule them. "Not that it seems to matter much to the Ministry which day of the week we are on, but your father should be able to take a couple of hours off tomorrow so that we can Floo back home and... settle in properly."

No one mentioned Fred. Harry wondered if they ever would, again. He glanced over at Hermione who sent him a look. It was now or never. He cleared his throat. "Um, Mrs Weasley?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I won't be coming with you."

For a moment, her face was blank, suggesting only that she did not comprehend. Then she frowned. "What do you mean you won't be coming with us?"

He swallowed, feeling like the thirteen-year-old he had once been, glued to the spot by the sharp gaze of Professor McGonagall. "I will be staying here," he said. "With Sirius."

"You will be...? Harry," she laid down her fork and placed both her hands on the table, palms down, "listen now, this place is not doing any of us any good."

"It's good enough for Sirius, and so it's good enough for me."

"Yeah, and Sirius is such a stable guy," ventured George.

If it had been Ron who had said it, Harry would have glared at him. He was spared, however, from coming up with the proper response as Mrs Weasley spoke again:

"You can visit Sirius anytime you like, Harry," she said gently. "But Arthur and I agree that it would be for the best if you returned with us to The Burrow."

Harry stared at her. "I beg your pardon, Mrs Weasley, but I am of age," he said, careful not to give in to the budding anger he felt at being treated like a child by her, "and I am perfectly capable of deciding for myself what is best for me."

"Yes, of course you are, dear, but surely there are things that–"

"Mum," Ginny interrupted her suddenly. "Harry's old enough to know what he wants." Her brown eyes settled on him, and they were like a load on his already unbearably heavy heart. "If he wants to stay here, then he should stay here."

She said no more – she did not have to. Harry was sure he had never felt worse in his life.

o.O.o

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place lay shrouded in darkness. The shadows were so compact that Harry could barely make out the floor beneath his feet. Or his feet, for that matter.

He had left Ron snoring softly in their room; not really knowing why or what he was doing, Harry had crept downstairs to the drawing room, and then, when he found that brought him no peace of mind, had dragged his feet upstairs again. He could not sleep and so he lingered by the bedroom door, wanting to do something, but having no idea what that might be.

He leaned against the banister and closed his eyes, willing the confusion to go away. He had already been through this once and was not very keen on reliving it. The gaslights had wanted to spring to life the moment he stepped out on to the second floor landing. He had discouraged them with a flick of his wand. He let out a long breath and was so focused on his inner turmoil that he did not hear the floorboards creak as someone approached. All he knew was that hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders and that he was shoved against the wall; and that warm lips crashed down upon his own.

All air was driven out of his lungs and Harry's eyes flew open in pure shock. Hands, wet and cool, as opposed to the lips, roamed his chest, dug their way underneath his t-shirt and cupped his arse. Sirius growled deep in his throat and Harry's knees buckled. He had no option but to open up as his godfather's tongue pushed inside his mouth, as his lips were bruised and the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms in no way shielded his body from Sirius'.

Harry smelled mud and rain and wet fur on him; he was held upright by the hands pushing him further up against the wall, and the knee that was forcing its way between his legs. There was no rhythm to the kiss, no harmony in the way Sirius' bucked his hips, and no way could Harry find words for what he felt when Sirius' hard cock pressed against his groin. Harry choked on a breath as fire stabbed him and sent a shockwave of heat through his body. Then Sirius's tongue gave a final sweep through his mouth and Harry was released.

Panting and aching he sagged against the wall, wanting more, wanting Sirius pushing against him again, but his godfather only took a few steps back. His hiss reverberated through Harry like the rich toll of a heavy bell:

"I. Never. Want. To. Argue. With. You. Again."

And with that, he melted into the darkness, leaving Harry to deal with the aftermath of a completely new whirlwind of emotions and sensations.

TBC

I'm not sure the title makes any sense but I kind of liked it :)