I know... it's been a while... Sorry?

I hope you are all well, out there in the big world.

Chapter Sixteen – The Note and the Question

The rain kept up its steady pounding on the windows for most of the day and well into evening. Around six o'clock it looked as though the sun would make an attempt to peer through the clouds but that hope was chased away by strong winds that pushed a new blanket of clouds across the sky. From where he sat on the sofa in the drawing-room, Harry had a good view of the small square outside and could see the leaves rattling among the branches of the gnarled bushes, which in turn obediently bent downwards as the rain came slashing down.

It felt strange not having to think about something in particular. He could not remember the last time he had not been expected to solve some problem, figure out the answer to some riddle or another... All that was expected of him in this moment was to stare out into the pouring rain. He sat rolling his wand between his fingers and doing a not too impressive job of sorting through the feelings this day had evoked in him.

The more he analysed them, the more his hold on them lessened, until they seemed to hover just out of reach. He held up his wand in the failing daylight. "Accio feelings."

On a shelf in one of the glass-fronted cabinets across the room a small silvery bowl swung onto its side, seemed to hesitate, and then dropped back into its previous position. Harry regarded it doubtfully. "Well, I suppose that settles it," he told the surrounding silence, "at least I haven't become greedy."

He felt curiously empty. He had spent lunch feeling a bit overwhelmed and had had a rather tricky time dealing with it. Every time he'd looked at Sirius, the other man had returned his gaze with a decidedly content grin. They had not spoken much, for which Harry was grateful since he really had no idea what one said to the man one had, only minutes before, lain pressed against in a bathtub.

The fleeting sense of victory he had experienced in that abovementioned bathtub had paved the way for a more sombre outlook. It was odd to discover that apparently his inability to feel very proud of himself for succeeding in a trial also applied to his... well, his... his... sex life.

And so he had spent the afternoon in a state of surprise bordering on disappointment. Sirius must have noticed his need for some time alone because the older man had disappeared upstairs soon after they had finished their lunch with only a chaste kiss to Harry's cheek and asking no questions.

Harry did not know what he had expected but admitted to a small dose of relief. But now, as evening wore on, he once again grew a bit lonely and contemplated going in search of his godfather. No more had he decided on this before an uncharacteristically loud crack in the fireplace whipped him around and his heart leapt into his throat as a hiss of green flames revealed a tall figure swathed in a dark cloak.

Even before he was standing, Harry was pointing his wand at the newcomer. And then, equally quickly, his hand fell to his side.

"Mr Weasley?"

"Harry!" Mr Weasley held up his hands, the harmless flames licking lazily at his cloak. "It's only me."

The sudden rush of adrenaline that had made Harry's senses rush to attention abated and he dropped back into the sofa. His knuckles were white around his wand.

Stepping out of the fire, Mr Weasley brushed some of the ash from his well-worn leather loafers. "I should have sent a Patronus in advance, perhaps," he said ruefully as he regarded Harry with obvious concern. "I did not mean to scare you."

Harry shook his head. "No... I just..." He made an awkward gesture with his free hand. He was still reluctant, he discovered, to let go of his wand.

Mr Weasley nodded. "All the same, Harry, I'm sorry I frightened you." He glanced around the room. "Is Sirius here?"

"He's upstairs... doing something."

"Right. Ah, well... It's you I've come to see." He made his way over to one of the armchairs. "May I?"

"Sure."

Watching Mr Weasley sink down in his seat, Harry wondered if he was imagining a sudden tension in the air between them. He had always had the deepest respect for Ron's father and they had always got along very well but now there seemed to be some kind of distance between them.

"Molly sends her love," Mr Weasley began, his kind blue eyes searching Harry's face. "And wishes me to let you know that if you change your mind you are welcome to The Burrow at any time of day... or night. She's worried about you."

"I know," said Harry, more stiffly than he had intended. "But I'm staying here. And I'm fine."

"Yes, I thought you would say as much. But in case... Well, you'll come by to visit, won't you, eh?" Mr Weasley's smile did not quite reach his eyes. "You're part of the family, Harry," he added, more seriously.

"Yeah... I know." Feeling a bit guilty, Harry nodded. "You've done so much for me and it's not that I don't want to stay with you..." He trailed off, not knowing how to explain without telling the truth. During the silence that followed he forbade himself to evade Mr Weasley's inquisitive gaze.

In the end, the older man nodded. "All right," he said, and thus summed the matter up. He sat up a little straighter. "Now," he reached inside his cloak and pulled something out of a pocket. "This was sent to me by owl post but I do believe it was intended for you? It's a summons... to a trial...?" There was a faintly reproachful note in his voice.

Harry immediately got to his feet. "The Malfoy trial?" he asked, accepting a crumpled piece of parchment from Mr Weasley. It did not look very official at all, and on closer inspection it proved to be a hastily scribbled message on a soiled corner of parchment that must have been torn off from a larger sheet.

"The very one, I believe."

The rain had got to the ink but Harry could make out a place and a date. Momentarily confused, he frowned. He had not had much reason to keep track of the dates for a few days now. "But... it's... it's tomorrow!"

"So it is," said Mr Weasley, apparently expecting some explanation, but not about to press for one just yet.

Recalling Dumbledore's surprise arrival at Harry's disciplinary hearing at the Ministry almost three years ago, he also remembered the old Headmaster's words about being there several hours in advance, in the event that the time and place of the proceedings had been changed. Which indeed had been the case. "They don't want me there," he said, unable to keep some disbelief mingled with anger from leaking into his voice.

"If you mean to spare the Malfoys a lifetime in Azkaban, probably no," agreed Mr Weasley, still without betraying his innermost feelings on the subject.

"Only Draco and his mum," said Harry, for the hundredth time that week. "They don't deserve that."

Mr Weasley took off his glasses and polished them with a corner of his robe. "Would you say that Lucius does?"

Weary to the bone of the subject, and under the scrutiny of Mr Weasley, Harry no longer had an immediate answer to that. With the note in hand, he wandered over to the window. "I don't know," he admitted, even as a small voice in the back of his head suggested that Harry should let Draco's father rot in whatever cell the Ministry found suitable for the purpose. Lucius Malfoy had never treated Harry or his friends with anything but contempt and had most likely done his share of killing and torturing.

"In any case, I don't know what I can say to change his fate." Harry shrugged. "Lucius never tried to help us."

"Maybe he did not have much of a choice," suggested Mr Weasley softly, slipping his glasses on to his nose again.

Harry snorted. "We all had a choice!" He spun to face Ron's father. "Are you defending him?"

Mr Weasley gave him a small smile. "No. I don't think it is much of a secret that there is no love lost between me and Lucius Malfoy."

Harry immediately regretted his little outburst. "Sorry," he said, grimacing. "It's just... everything, you know." Judging it wise to change to subject, he asked, "How are things at The Burrow?"

Mr Weasley sighed. He suddenly looked very tired. "I'm not sure. Molly was scrubbing the kitchen when I left. She's..." Then he seemed to remember that he was speaking with his youngest son's friend and not one of his own ones, and he dragged up a fatherly smile. "It will be well, Harry. It will take some time, but it will all be well."

He got to his feet and shook out his robes. "I should get back. I will tell Molly that you are still quite determined to stay here."

"Thanks," said Harry. "I... well, I want to be with Sirius." He hoped his words sounded as innocent as he had meant for them to.

Mr Weasley nodded but his expression was thoughtful. "Yes, I suppose I see why you would." He scooped up a handful of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantelpiece but made no move towards the flames. "Good luck at the Ministry tomorrow, Harry. And... be careful."

Harry gave a small smile. "I will, thanks. They can't really do anything to me now."

Mr Weasley's gaze searched his face. Tossing the Floo powder on to the flames, he stated his destination and then climbed into the grate. "I do not mean only at the Ministry, Harry," he said softly before he was gone in a flash of green.

Harry stood staring after him for a good long while. He wondered if Mr Weasley suspected something, or worse, if he knew. But Harry had said nothing that betrayed the events of the day and they had barely spoken of Sirius. A nervous churning in his stomach suggested to him that perhaps it was not that easy but he pushed this idea aside.

Holding out the piece of parchment naming the date and place of the first Malfoy trial (tomorrow at eleven, courtroom number six) he pointed his wand to it.

"Wingardium leviosa."

He released it when the magic took hold of it. It gave him something to do, something else to think of, and he guided the note before him as he went his way downstairs to the kitchen. There he found Kreacher in the process of making shepherd's pie and the house-elf seemed not too happy to be disturbed.

"Can Kreacher help master Harry Potter?" he croaked, shooting Harry a suspicions glance. His bloodshot eyes were somewhat obscured by the steam rising from a pot on the stove.

"No, no... I just came to have a glass of water," said Harry, the first thing that popped into his head. He was not really sure why he was here at all. He kept the tip of his wand pointing at the note that hovered in mid-air. "But I can get it myself."

Kreacher ignored him as he did so and went on ignoring as Harry leaned against the edge of the table, glass in his free hand.

"Do you ever get bored of this place?" Harry asked, eventually.

The house-elf muttered something under his breath as he produced a dusty glass bowl from a cupboard. It did not sound like a curse but Harry could not be sure. He let Kreacher wash the bowl and dry it before he tried again.

"Well, do you?"

The hiss that came with the reply nearly drowned out the actual words: "Kreacher would never be bored in his mistress' house."

"No? Never?" He let the piece of parchment zoom towards the ceiling and circle the heavy chandelier, mindful of the candle flames.

"That would be bringing shame upon his mistress," huffed Kreacher. "Master," he amended when Harry sent him a dubious glance.

"So even if I gave you leave to go out, you wouldn't?"

There was a moment's silence before the elf croaked, "Kreacher goes where his master orders him."

"If you had a choice, I mean?" He made the note spiral down towards the tabletop by moving his wand in small circles and simultaneously lowering it.

Kreacher gave a derisive snort. "House-elves do not have choices, master Harry Potter."

"Hermione wants to change that," Harry ventured. Just as the parchment brushed the neatly scrubbed wooden surface, he jerked the wand upright again and the note shot upwards.

"Foolish humans think they can change the rules," Kreacher ground out under his breath as he shuffled over to the table, carrying a pitcher of pumpkin juice. He shot the wand in Harry's grasp a contemptuous glare and growled something inaudible.

"Can't they?" asked Harry as he moved aside to let Kreacher dress the table.

His question earned him a new glare and the elf's face twisted into an expression of unveiled disgust. His voice was slightly sharper when he cried, "Kreacher is loyal to the House of Black!"

"Of course you are!" Harry hastened to say and momentarily forgot about the note he was Levitating. It came spiralling down again, but faster now, and landed in the salad bowl, on top of a slice of tomato.

They both stared at it, Harry trying to keep from laughing and Kreacher looking as though he would very much have liked to chuck Harry into the oven.

"No respect," the elf grumbled, more to himself than to Harry. "No respect... When young Master Regulus was alive, he would show Kreacher respect... But his brother..." he shook his little ugly head. "Just the same as Harry Potter..."

"I'm sorry," said Harry and quickly snatched the note from the salad.

Kreacher did not appear to care, however. He was shaking with suppressed rage as he hobbled back to the stove. His voice was a snarl when he spoke. "Harry Potter can tell the dog that dinner is served."

o.O.o

Over dinner Harry told Sirius about Mr Weasley's visit, but kept his admonishments to himself. He did not think that Sirius needed to hear anything more about Mrs Weasley's disapproval of his choice of home and, in any case, it was a moot point. Harry had made his choice and it made no sense discussing it any further. And especially not with Sirius who was of the same opinion as Harry himself was.

They were seated opposite one another and more than once Harry found himself blushing as Sirius' gaze wandered over him, or when he grinned in a particularly suggestive way. His godfather was dressed in jeans and another one of those black t-shirts of his, this one with some faded design in grey and red. It looked very much like the kind of t-shirt Dudley had squeezed himself into when he was of a mind to rebel against his mother and her more conservative tastes. As far as Harry knew, Dudley had never been to a rock concert in his entire life but occasionally liked looking as though he had. Not that Harry had been to one either, but that was not the point.

"So you still mean to go?" Sirius speared a slice of carrot on his fork and popped it into his mouth. He did not look very pleased but at least it he seemed to have understood that arguing about it would not serve to shift Harry's convictions.

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I don't know if it will make any difference but I will go."

Sirius, for his part, shook his head. "You're too good."

"I'm not. It's just the decent thing to do."

His godfather winked at him. "Then you're too decent."

Harry grinned. In spite of the seemingly endless blushing he engaged in as soon as Sirius' gaze turned particularly appraising, he liked this. He liked being able to have dinner with his godfather in some sort of peace without having to bother about hiding his feelings (though he supposed he still was not exactly advertising them – even now, when there was only the two of them) or worrying about what Sirius was thinking (that showed pretty clearly in his eyes from time to time) or constantly fearing that the Weasleys and Hermione were figuring things out. And even though the current focus of their conversation was on the Malfoys and matters pertaining to the war, Harry was comfortable.

"So have you written a speech or something like that?" Sirius' smirk was sardonic.

"No," said Harry, very much feeling as though he would have liked to roll his eyes – and finding that it might have worked, too, because Sirius seemed to be in a good mood. "I don't even know what will happen once they get started. I had that hearing of my own, you remember, the one at the start of my fifth year."

Sirius nodded but said nothing. Maybe his jaw clenched a little.

"And," Harry went on quickly, not too keen to dwell on anything that had happened during his fifth year at Hogwarts. Or, rather, what had happened outside school, but also in his fifth year, but towards the end of it. "And then there was that trial with Umbridge during the war, when we stole the locket from her... And the old ones I saw in Dumbledore's Pensieve. But I suppose," he made a face, "I hope, that this one will be different."

"Meaning that you're hoping for some good old justice to prevail."

"Of course I am," said Harry. "Listen, I know you don't think tha–"

But his godfather held up a hand to silence him. "Let's not go there," he said. He gave a small and surprisingly gentle smile. "I know that you know what I think and all the rest of it, but... I do admire you, Harry." Pushing aside his glass of pumpkin juice, he leaned forwards a little. He looked serious. "You have seen enough to become jaded, and distrustful, to say the least, of everything and everyone. And yet, you still believe in some... goodness..."

It had not been a question and yet he made it sound almost like one. Harry shrugged. "I guess I have to." Sirius' words reminded him, in an odd and twisted way, about the notion of the 'greater good' that Dumbledore had pursued in his younger days and it made him uneasy. "I've seen lots of good stuff too," he said. "And look at Voldemort, who didn't really trust anyone, and who was blind to every form of love or goodwill. Look at what he turned into..."

He had not meant to so causally throw the word 'love' out there, but now he could not take it back. Even contained in the same sentence as 'Voldemort' it was still a very big word that held far too much meaning for him now to be blurted out just like that. Sirius did not comment on it, however, but took Harry by surprise when he pushed back his chair, stood, and extended a hand. "Come."

His godfather's hand closed around his own and felt warm. Harry let himself be pulled to his feet and, without another word from either of them, allowed Sirius to conduct him up the stairs, and further up, until they were standing outside the door to Sirius' bedroom, on the fourth floor.

Up here it was gloomy and it was as though the rain and wind of the past days had worked their way through the walls. Harry shivered as a draft made itself known. He had come to stand behind Sirius and now the older man threw a glance over his shoulder – the sort of glance Harry was quite sure he'd never seen Sirius throw before; it held a hint of shyness and... he looked almost apologetic... or was he nervous? – before sliding the door open. Peering around his godfather, Harry could not hide his surprise.

The bedroom had been cleaned, top to bottom. The carpet was still threadbare and faded but was not dusty anymore. The same went for the velvet curtains. The wooden panels were scrubbed and so also were the large bed with its carved headboard and the wardrobe. Here and there, there were still dents in the wood, and markings and scars, but the surfaces gleamed dully in the dreary light. A coverlet that once upon a time must have been a glorious show of rich red and gold was meticulously spread atop the bed and even Mrs Weasley would have been impressed by the lack of creases in it. Fresh candles had been placed in the chandelier above and a new load of wood was stacked in a corner near the fireplace... with its grate still covered in soot.

Sirius must have followed his gaze because he grinned self-consciously. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about that..."

Turning to him, Harry did not know what to say. He was pretty sure Sirius had not dragged him up here only to show off his housekeeping abilities but he did not want to jump to conclusions too quickly. "It's..." He spread his hands. "Wow."

Shrugging, Sirius' grin turned somewhat crooked. "Honestly, most of the stuff I dumped in Regulus' room. Kreacher will have a fit, I suppose, when he finds it."

"He'll probably throw everything away," said Harry.

"I don't really mind." Sirius shrugged, too. "It might be a good thing. Perhaps, if we're lucky, Kreacher will take it upon himself to clean that room... if only to rid it of my filth." His grin had faltered so much now that it had no chance of reaching his eyes. More of that anxiety Harry had detected before scuttled across his face.

Harry's own smile was a bit off balance as well. "Yeah."

There was a moment of complete silence during which Harry could think of nothing else to do but shift his weight from one foot to the other.

"So," said Sirius, at last. "I guess I'm asking you to, if you would... I mean, I know you have your own room downstairs but I'd like it if you..." He raked a hand through his hair. "Shit."

"What?"

"I'm a fucking grown man and I can't even ask you..." After an exhale, Sirius seemed to collect himself. "Would you sleep here... with me?"

Looking up into those grey eyes, Harry's heart made a little jump in his breast, reaching for his throat. He nodded. "I'd like that."

"Good." Sirius gave another deep exhale and this time a wide smile trailed in its wake. "Good." He shook his head. "It wasn't this hard when I was young."

"You're still young," said Harry automatically.

Sirius' expression changed again and a more sombre look settled in his features. He opened his mouth to say something but in the end stayed silent. Lifting a hand to Harry's cheek, he cupped it and bent to press a kiss to his lips. It was over in a heartbeat, but still it made Harry feel warm all over.

"I'm sorry if I've rushed you into... well, into things," said Sirius quietly. "I did not mean to. It's just that..." In the end he gave no explanation but covered Harry's mouth with his own a second time, and the new kiss was longer, but still fairly chaste. When they parted, he managed to look both rueful and happy, in a not wholly unappealing fashion. "We'll only sleep tonight. Promise."

Harry wanted to ask him what it was exactly that had made it so hard for Sirius to abstain from touching him, but he was too shocked at the relief that flooded him at the promise of simply sleeping beside the other man to find the proper words. It was not that he did not want to explore things with his godfather, he figured, but there was only so much he could handle in so many hours, after all.

Forgetting all of tomorrow's impending troubles, he smiled up at Sirius and found it very easy to breathe.

TBC