Hey, it's only been 10 months! Thanks for being patient.

Chapter 21 – The Friends, the Family and the Secret

The next morning came all too quickly for Harry's liking. As if nothing at all of any intimate nature had ever transpired between them, he and Sirius obediently climbed out of bed and set about their business, with barely a word between them. The morning was a sullen grey and suggested rain later in the day, and the dismal light that filtered through the grimy window-glass made Harry shiver.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched his godfather as he, upon his return from the bathroom, shuffled around in his wardrobe for something suitable to wear. In the end he simply dragged on yesterday's jeans. Most everything he owned seemed to be in the same state as those: faded and frayed and too loose-fitting. It should not make Sirius more attractive in Harry's eyes but somehow it did. For his own part he could still vividly recall the rejection that lay imbued in the receiving of Dudley's hand-me-downs; if he tried he could still remember the weight of Dudley's baggy jeans on his narrow hips, and the jumpers large as tents that he'd been tossed when his cousin had decided he no longer wanted them. They had never made him feel particularly confident. Or attractive, he supposed, even though that thought had seldom crossed his mind at the time, but Sirius, battered and abused by life as he was, somehow managed to carry his clothes with some kind of attitude that Harry had never mastered.

Somewhat uncertainly, Harry took a step towards him. The floorboards underneath the carpet whined faintly as he took another. Then, in one bold move, Harry padded barefoot across the room and stepped up close to Sirius. Very close. Close enough, in fact, to stand behind him and place a palm on his hip and feel a patch of his bare skin, warm under his touch. There was a line of tension across Sirius' shoulders and Harry leaned in, slowly and warily, and with his heart pounding, until his chest brushed ever so lightly against his godfather's shoulder blades. When Sirius did nothing to discourage him, Harry pressed a soft kiss into his pale skin, near his neck, and felt the longish black hair tease his cheek.

He did not earn a reaction immediately, but then Sirius let go of a deep breath and tipped his head back a little, so that his hair fell fully into Harry's face.

"I don't want to do this, Harry."

It felt like the punch of an iron-cold fist to his guts. For a second or two he was genuinely terrified – until he realised that Sirius was not talking about whatever it was that was happening between them.

"All my friends, Harry," Sirius continued, and his voice was low and strained. "They're all dead. All of them."

"Not all of them," said Harry, thinking about Mr Weasley and Kingsley, but knowing even as he spoke that Sirius was right. His godfather had never been close to any of the remaining Order members – not in the way that he had been close to Remus and Harry's own father.

Sirius shook his head, dejectedly. "This wasn't how it was supposed to be."

Harry swallowed hard. "I know," he whispered. Without thinking, he encircled his godfather's waist with his arms and held on. "I know."

o.O.o

The Hogsmeade sky was overcast and the threat of rain hung low around the chimneys and rooftops, more imminent here than it had been back in London. Their aim had been slightly skewed, whether by carelessness or vague distraction Harry was not sure, but instead of ending up off the corner of the Hog's Head, Apparating had left them opposite the doors to the post office. Sirius muttered something under his breath when they realised this but Harry did not bother to ask him to repeat it. The High Street was crowded and he had no wish to draw any eyes to either of them.

Harry kept his head down as he and Sirius began seeking a way through a never-ending stream of people. Some were walking in the same direction, steering south out of the town, but the majority were moving upstreet, probably making for the Three Broomsticks to meet up with friends or family. It could have been chaotic but it was not. There was the sound of hundreds of feet on gravel but few words permeated the damp chill. When Harry stole a glance at unfamiliar faces he found them pale and drawn, and he wondered if he looked much the same.

He missed his godfather's touch. He stole glances at Sirius' face, too, whenever he thought it safe, and the delicate lines and shadows he saw there made his heart ache. He wished with every fibre of his being that they were alone. He wished that Sirius could hold him, or that he could hold Sirius, perhaps. But most of all, Harry wished that someone, someone who knew, would tell them that everything was going to be all right.

They slipped off the High Street and into the lane that led down to the Hog's Head. The crowd was thinner here and Harry dared to walk a little closer to Sirius. Apparently, for once, it did not matter that he was Harry Potter and in the company of an officially pronounced, and generally presumed to be, bloodthirsty lunatic and mass murderer.

Not to mention dead.

But no one seemed to care. No one looked twice or – for the most part – even once at him. It almost felt like being invisible, as though someone had pulled his Invisibility Cloak over him and Sirius, unbeknownst to them. It was a relief, of course, yet somehow it did not serve to make him any happier. He supposed it was oddly fitting, somehow. This is a day for dead people, Harry thought glumly as they passed a small bakery with a battered sign hung on the door to announce it closed for the day.

All my friends are dead, Sirius' voice echoed as a response through his mind. They're all dead...

Dead, dead, dead.

Harry shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

They were almost alone in the narrow road by the time they reached the pub and discovered that Hermione had been right in her prediction that Aberforth would not open today. The Hog's Head had never nurtured a particularly welcoming ambiance but now the place looked even more shabby and unappealing than usual. As they approached the barred entrance, a first icy drop of rain landed on Harry's forehead and he was just about to suggest that they should put up a shielding charm when he caught Sirius smiling fondly at the dingy inn.

"Wha–"

But Sirius cut him off with a small shake of his head. Then his smile faded a little and he sighed. He turned his face to Harry and there was suffering in his grey eyes. "Just... memories."

Harry eyed him carefully. He reckoned that if Sirius had not wanted him to know, he would never have said anything. But he still kept his voice soft as he asked, "What memories?"

Sirius looked again at the forbidding front door and though whatever it was he was remembering seemed to pain him, the traces of his smile would not go away entirely. "Well..." His eyes grew distant and Harry could almost see in his face the way his godfather reached deep into his past to drag forth his tale.

"See..." Sirius continued, his low voice blending with the greyish air that lay in heavy folds around them, "James had this idea... We were around fifteen... It must have been at the start of our fifth year. Yeah. Anyway, James was frustrated since he couldn't perform some spell. I don't remember which one. Something from Transfiguration." Ever so slowly, in the wake of his words, his face brightened. "He spent the better part of a week trying to master that spell." He suddenly grinned at Harry. "And that was unusual. Your dad was a very talented wizard and he knew it, so for James Potter to devote almost an entire week to studying a single spell had previously been unheard of."

Harry found himself grinning in response. Given his knowledge of his father's character and having known Hermione Granger for as long as he had, he could very easily imagine his father's frustration at his own inability to achieve perfection.

"But no matter how hard he tried, he never got the hang of it," said Sirius. "And it haunted him to no end. So he came up with the idea that someone at the Hog's Head might be able to help him."

Harry had not expected that. "What?" he asked, inelegantly.

Sirius chuckled. "Yeah... This place has always been full of dodgy types, you know. James was certain he could find someone knowledgeable enough to show him how to go about the spell, whatever it was, without bothering about us kids being in the wrong place at the wrong time of night. And he persuaded me to tag along. Remus refused, saying we were mental to sneak out of Hogwarts on a school night, and even more stupid for going here." He gestured at the pub. "He was right of course."

"So did you?" asked Harry. "Did you sneak out?"

"Of course we did. We found a back entrance to the pub as well – I heard they barred that one afterwards – and Jamie even managed to pilfer a bottle of Firewhiskey from a storeroom before we were discovered and promptly chucked out the front door."

Harry's eyes went to the ground at his feet, trying to imagine his dad and Sirius lying sprawled in the gravel before an angry Aberforth. He looked up at his godfather again and smiled. "You were thrown out?"

"Before James could even spot someone to voice his request to," Sirius grinned. "So there was nothing to do but to return to Hogwarts. But at least we had the whiskey, we thought. James proclaimed that if he couldn't find a wizard to help him, at least some alcohol might help settle his nerves and calm him down enough so that he could try his hand at the spell without too much thinking. You know, the way he usually did it. Alas..."

Harry raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry. Another raindrop landed on his forehead.

"Well, it was dark where we were going," said Sirius, his eyes glimmering with amusement now. "We were coming closer to Hogwarts and didn't dare risk some light... and we had no idea that the Whomping Willow's roots were so long and thick so far from the actual tree. James got his foot stuck under one that lay atop the ground and... well, he tripped and lost his hold on the bottle – which crashed to the ground and spilled all of its contents into the grass."

It was a strange day to be laughing but Harry could not help it. "What did you do?"

Sirius shrugged. "What could we do?" We cleaned up the glass – the evidence – and sneaked back into the dorm, a bit worse for wear. Moony, bless him, never said a word... But he did give us loads of long I-told-you-so looks." Sirius grew silent.

Harry felt the traces of his laughter leaving him. He watched as his godfather dropped his gaze to the ground. "Sirius... it's..." He did not know what he wanted to say, indeed what he could say.

But maybe that was enough. Sirius sighed and reached for Harry, pulling him into his arms and holding him close. The rain-damp world receded as Harry buried himself in Sirius' embrace and felt his godfather's shaky breath skid his temple. "Bless him, Harry," Sirius mumbled into his unruly hair. "Bless all of them."

For a while, all Harry knew was Sirius' breathing. It was only when he was certain beyond a doubt that it wouldn't stop that he found his own eyes to be closed and stinging with tears. He blinked them away as he backed out of the hug. Sirius let him go reluctantly. His voice was rough as he watched Harry adjust his glasses on his nose. "When all this is done, Harry..."

"Harry! Sirius! Over here!"

Hermione's call cut through the chill efficiently but it was kept low enough so as not to attract any unwanted attention. Despite this, Harry's head jerked up and his cheeks flooded with heat. Coming towards Harry and Sirius was the entire Weasley clan, all red hair and dark cloaks. He wondered what they had seen, if they had noticed... A glance at Sirius' face told him his godfather might be thinking much the same.

But Harry had little time to begin worrying about the consequences of being found out before Mrs Weasley caught him in a fierce hug. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her hair was matted but she still smelled the same: of home. Harry returned the hug and blinked away new tears. Hopefully, his and Sirius' hug had looked similar: as an action between two people in need of comfort. Which was the truth, he had to remind himself, and yet...

"Oh, Harry, my dear," Mrs Weasley near-sobbed. "My dear, dear Harry..."

In the end, it took the well-measured tones of her husband and Bill's gentle but firm hands to convince her to let go. Harry had barley adjusted his glasses a second time before another brother slid in between him and Mr Weasley.

"Harry." Percy was pale but collected. On his dark robes, perfectly crease-free, near the collar on his right-hand side gleamed a small pin in the shape of an "M". For the Ministry, Harry supposed. "I would like to take this moment to thank you for your sacrifice in the last battle," Percy said in unusually pompous tones, even for him. His horn-rimmed glasses were immaculately polished. "On the behalf of the entire magical population I hereby express my immense gratitude for your actions that led to the absolute immolation of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." He held out his hand for Harry to shake.

Behind him, Harry could see Ron rolling his eyes and making a face. Harry accepted Percy's hand. "Um... yeah. Thanks."

Percy inclined his head in a way that made it look like it weighed a ton. "Truly, it is in times of such peril that we as a community must look to..."

"Yes, thank you, Perce!" Next to his broad-shouldered dragon-keeping brother, Percy looked like a willow branch. "Hey Harry. Good to see you again." Charlie greeted Harry with a powerful clap on the shoulder and a grin. His eyes were a bit duller than when Harry had last seen him, though. "Sirius! It's been a while..."

It took them several minutes to get the greetings out of the way. When Harry finally came face to face with Ginny, he had no idea what to say but she solved the problem for him by simply giving him a hug. Familiar scents rushed over him as her hair brushed his cheek and for a heartbeat or two it almost felt like being back at Hogwarts, before the battle and before Sirius. But then she pulled back and the moment was gone.

She didn't say anything to him but still Harry felt relived. He hoped that the hug meant that she did not hate him. Then he felt eyes on him and realised Mrs Weasley was watching him with an expression he could not read. Harry quickly averted his eyes and turned to Ron and Hermione instead, just in time to hear her conclude her scolding of Ron's mocking of Percy's little speech.

"But the entire wizarding world?! C'mon Hermione, that's daft." Ron glanced towards his older brother with suspicion written all over his face. "I bet he thinks of himself as the Minister or something... Maybe he took some curse to the head that we never saw?"

"Oh, Ron, just leave him be, will you!"

"But what if, Hermione! What if he's actually walking around with his brain all muddled?"

"That would make you two of a kind. If that were true, you should get along splendidly..."

Harry trudged along, half a step behind them, letting their bickering lead the way. Sirius had ended up ahead of him, walking alongside Charlie. They seemed to be talking but Harry could not make out any words. It was pathetic, he suspected, but he already missed having Sirius beside him. At the head of their little caravan were Mr and Mrs Weasley and Percy, followed by Ginny and George. Harry wondered if he would ever get used to seeing George without Fred. If George would ever get used to that.

Bill and a pretty but pale Fleur brought up the rear, walking hand in hand and speaking softly in an English sprinkled with an assortment of French words. In comparison to Ron and Hermione, the sound of their voices had a rather more soothing effect.

It was impossible to say what he was feeling as Harry allowed his feet to carry him in whatever direction he was supposed to be going. Behind him, beyond the lake, far away in another time, lay Hogwarts – that place of magic and wonder, of friendship and – he caught a flash of Ginny's red hair ahead – and what he had once thought might be love... He briefly closed his eyes.

And pain and destruction and loss and death.

He raised his eyes to look about him. And he was surprised. He had thought them quite cut off from the rest of the funeral guests but now more and more people seemed to surround him, popping up all around himself, Ron and Hermione, until they became part of a endless stream of dark-clad wizards and witches, moving steadily onwards. They seemed to come from every direction, all of them joining the long row of people walking slowly southwards, out of Hogsmeade and into a small field that lay beyond it.

The sway and flow of robes was almost hypnotic and Harry let his thoughts stray. It was not until the first faint whisper of "Harry Potter" sliced through the bleak midday air that he realised the magic from before was gone and curious eyes were seeking him out and soft murmurs rose around him where he walked. That was also when he saw the Weasleys' cleverly thought-out plan for the first time: trying to reach him would never work because Harry Potter was safely shielded by a stubborn wall of friends. The realisation hit him hardest when George slid out of his mother's grasp to block the passage of a middle-aged wizard with a camera and a bright blue quill tucked behind his ear.

Friends, Harry thought, with a hard lump forming in his throat. Family.

Thankfully, he was saved from being caught crying in a photograph by Ron who grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him closer. "Harry, tell Hermione that nobody's ever had their brains turned into pudding from eating too much dessert!"

But their bickering gradually died down, as did the building excitement around Harry, as the road rose gently and then fell to flow down into a shallow valley. The wet air grew silent around them once more as the old, cracked and beaten, stone wall encircling the Hogsmeade graveyard came into view. A dark green ivy wove its way through the stone and here and there holly trees with sharp, glistening leaves presided over particularly grand and intricately carved tombstones. Over the monotone crunch of gravel, Harry could hear Mrs Weasley sobbing again. The world was grey and green, and it became heavier to breathe.

Then there was light. High up in the cloud-ridden sky, beyond the stone wall that encased the graveyard something glistened of gold. It held still for a while as the train of funeral attendants crept closer. Harry craned his neck to see, having no choice but to move with the others, but he could not make out what it was. Then, as the first guests filed through the wrought iron gates, the golden light began to pour down, fanning out from a pinpoint in the sky. Down it flowed, like a gentle rain of stardust, creating a shimmering canopy. There was nothing else, no music and no singing, only this ever-flowing gentle light set to hold the gloom of the day at bay.

Long rows of cushioned benches were arranged in a secluded corner of the graveyard and Harry would have been content with a seat in one of the back rows, but obediently followed as Mr and Mrs Weasley wove their way through the benches until they stood before the very front row. Harry was about to ask when Percy one again appeared at his elbow and nodded regally at the arrangement, apparently undisturbed by Charlie's earlier attempt at shutting him up. "As a representative of the executive powers of the witches and wizards of Great Britain it is my pleasure to announce that the Ministry has organised it so that you and yours may share seats in the front row," he told Harry proudly.

Harry frowned, confused. "By that you mean me and, well, you?" He gestured at Percy and his family.

A small frown settled in Percy's features. "Yes," he said, somewhat awkwardly.

"Great," said Harry. "Thanks."

He was not feeling great, however, as he took his seat. The grass was wet and more raindrops were falling through the cascade of light above. Hermione picked the seat on his right and for a moment Harry was worried that someone else would...

He looked around and caught Sirius' eye over Charlie's shoulder. Harry did not know what kind of message he succeeded in sending but when his godfather quickly came to claim the seat to his left, Harry felt some of the anxiety drain from him. They did not touch, but Sirius' mere presence was comforting. Harry meant to say something while all around him the guests filled the benches, but nothing came to him. Ron was seated beside Hermione and for once, he too, was silent.

It felt surreal, Harry decided, as a tall solemn wizard in a heavy black cloak stepped out before them on the sodden patch of grass, under a gnarled old holly tree. He was joined shortly by a more familiar face: Kingsley Shacklebolt was dressed in a full-length sea blue tunic with the sleeves edged in silver embroidery. He wore a matching fez and though he did not smile, his eyes were kinder as they swept over the assembled. Following his example, Harry threw a glance over his shoulder and discovered that all the benches had not been enough. People were standing, sitting on the stone wall, had Conjured their own stools and chairs, while others were actually floating, seated, in mid-air. Unlike the scene at Dumbledore's funeral, this ceremony looked to be attended only by humans.

His gaze swept over pale faces and red-rimmed eyes. Many were already crying. He saw an elderly couple clutch at each other and the man turn his face away and say something to his wife when Harry happened to catch his eye. He saw a small girl pointing at the source of light above and her mother brushing away tears before managing to answer. Then he noticed the Muggles. Harry did not make the connection at once, but they were too expertly dressed in Muggle wear to be wizards and witches. There were not many of them, but they were there. Harry saw a Muggle mother and father standing by their wizard son's side as he stared blankly into space, a single pink rose in his hands. Sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers... It was only now that he realised that far more people than he had ever understood had been affected by Voldemort's cruelty. So many people Harry had never known existed...

He was about to turn back when he spotted her. With a pang of affection, Harry watched as Minerva McGonagall, her chin held high and her lips a thin line, but with dark patches under her eyes that were too prominent to be missed, led a small procession through the settling crowd. Harry's throat tightened at the sight of the other heads of the Hogwarts Houses as they followed their Headmistress into the small grassy opening before the guests. They lined up beside her: Professor Flitwick for Ravenclaw, with a large handkerchief loosely stuffed into a coat pocket, Horace Slughorn for Slytherin, slightly less polished and thriving than normal, and Professor Sprout for Hufflepuff, eyes glistening with tears but with a gentle smile for the crowd. Harry supposed, as they arranged themselves, that Professor McGonagall for now at least retained her position as head of Gryffindor. Somehow, that constant comforted him.

And it was as though their arrival sparked a clearer vision in Harry. Slowly emerging in the crowd were now familiar faces, and small, bleak smiles aimed for him. There was even a timid wave or two. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan stood shoulder to shoulder over by the stone wall, only a few paces from Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet. He spotted Padma and Parvati seated only two rows behind him, with a man and a woman Harry could only assume were Mr and Mrs Patil beside them. More faces: Lee Jordan appeared from out of nowhere to punch George on the shoulder in a wordless gesture of support. And there was Neville and old Mrs Longbottom, looking calm and collected but proud most of all, as she ushered her grandson to a couple of empty seats on Harry's front row with the help of her bright red handbag, the stuffed vulture atop her hat bobbing in tune. Harry found he could smile at Neville's obvious discomfort at his grandmother's wordless insistence.

"You know," Hermione suddenly whispered to him, "Viktor wrote me and asked if I would appreciate him coming over for today."

Harry tore his eyes away from Mrs Longbottom's hat. "Krum?" he asked, perplexed.

"Yes," Hermione hissed, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Ron, but he did not appear to be listening. "He had read about the funeral and wrote to tell me that it would be no trouble at all for him to journey here to stand by my side in 'these times of sorrow and trial'." She gave a crooked smile. "It does have a certain charm."

Harry scanned her face. "Would you have liked that?"

She grimaced. "I don't know. No. Maybe? I mean, we are friends."

"Yeah." At least that was true for Hermione's part. Harry was not so sure if that corresponded perfectly to what Krum had in mind.

"In any case, I told him it might not be such a great idea," said Hermione. "What with... everything. And all."

"You mean Ron?" asked Harry.

She looked as though she were about to roll her eyes. "Yes, Ron," she almost mouthed. "I haven't really told him yet, about us."

Harry frowned. "You haven't told Ron..."

"Viktor."

"Oh, right."

"Really Harry..." she huffed imperiously, "It's no wonder it didn't work out for you and Ginny." But as soon as the words had left her mouth she clasped a hand to it and her eyes grew wide. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harry!"

He stared at her, not really sure what he was hearing. "You know?" he said, finally, barely able to get the words out. He felt a first squirm of fear deep in his stomach.

Hermione nodded wordlessly. Slowly she lowered her hand from her mouth and clutched it to her heart instead. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... See, Ginny was so upset and at first she wouldn't tell me anything but in the end I really do think she needed somebody to talk to."

"Right..." Harry felt numb and his head was spinning. He had completely forgotten that he was in the Hogsmeade graveyard waiting for the funeral to begin. He was, however, acutely aware of Sirius sitting next to him and possibly overhearing every word Hermione was saying. "So, um, what did she tell you?"

Hermione sighed. "That it is over between you. Oh, Harry, really? Don't you think that you could maybe... work things out?" Her brown eyes were pleading with him. "She's not angry with you, I promise."

"Uh, good," said Harry distractedly, because, well, that was good. Mostly, however, he was trying to find anything in Hermione's earnest gaze that would tell him if she knew about him and Sirius. A very uncomfortable sort of tension was wrapping around his lungs.

"Yes," Hermione said with emphasis. "That is good. Harry, please just consider it, won't you? She misses you so much and you were always in love with her. I mean, I know you fancied Cho for a while but I always know that you actually..."

"Hermione," he cut across her, quietly but sharply. "It's not going to happen." Before she could protest, he ploughed on, keeping his voice as low as he possibly could. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but I can't."

"But why not, Harry?"

Would she ask if she knew? He decided she would not, if only to be able to breathe properly.

"I..." he hesitated. He wished he could tell her, he truly did, but there was no way he was going to share his feelings for Sirius with Hermione. Not here and not now. And especially not before he knew what Sirius felt... If there was any chance at all that his godfather could reciprocate his feelings. With an effort he pushed his worries aside. "I just... can't," he said, weakly. "It's just not... what's going to happen."

She looked crestfallen but did – thankfully – not press the matter further. Harry tried to give her a sympathetic smile but he very much doubted that she bought it.

With a sense of powerlessness, Harry settled back in his seat. He did not much relish the notion of keeping secrets from Ron and Hermione – not from anyone, really – but certainly not from them. Yet he could think of no other way to go about this.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost jumped when Sirius covered his hand with his own. Harry's eyes shot to his godfather's face and stayed there, even as Sirius slowly pulled his hand down between their thighs to hide their physical contact from plain view. Sirius was looking at him with an unreadable expression in his features. His grey eyes seemed darkened somehow and deeper, yet his face was curiously blank. Still he kept looking at Harry, as though he might – if he tried hard enough – read his mind. Before that intense gaze, Harry lost track of his breathing and a low burning began somewhere in the pit of his stomach, taking the place of the fear of discovery. Then the moment was gone, and Sirius' face relaxed. Not sure of anything any longer, Harry tried his luck and twined his fingers with Sirius'.

In the bleak light tinged with gold he was almost certain his godfather was about to smile, but then the ceremony began.

TBC