My, my, am I feeling inspired of late! Here's the next instalment.

Chapter 23 – Truths

It was with his fingertips performing small soothing circles on Harry's neck that Sirius managed to persuade him to walk back to meet up with the Weasleys. The crowd was thinning now and they found the others without trouble, huddled as they were nearby the stone wall encircling the graveyard. Only Hermione and Ron stood a little apart and, intrigued in spite of himself, Harry immediately recognised the way she was speaking: low and eagerly and with a dangerously familiar light building in her eyes. Ron, on closer inspection, looked rather dejected.

"Sirius..." Harry mumbled. They were not touching but walking very close. "I'll be right back."

His godfather glanced down at him, one eyebrow lifted but he did not object. But he did sort of sweep his palm over Harry's shoulder blades in parting, and that was good enough.

"Harry!" Hermione called the moment she spotted him, and turned her excited face to him. "We wondered where you'd gone off to."

"Hey mate," said Ron. He nodded sideways at Hermione. "Talk some sense into her, would you, yeah?"

A raindrop landed on Harry's forehead as he approached. "What happened?"

Ron shook his head. "McGonagall happened, that's what." When Harry did not exhibit major surprise, he eyed Harry thoroughly. "So I reckon she found you too, then? Well, that's good. We can be the united front." He grinned.

"Ronald, really!" Hermione pursed her lips disapprovingly. "I think it is extraordinarily generous of her to offer us a possibility to achieve our N.E.W.T.s."

"Sure," said Ron. "Grand and generous and all that, but we don't want to go back to school, do we, Harry?"

"No," said Harry, frankly. Not since that means leaving Sirius.

"Harry!" Hermione's wide eyes settled on him. "Not you too?! I'm very disappointed with you both." Frustrated, she brushed away a raindrop that landed on her cheek. "And what were you planning to do instead?"

Ron glanced at Harry and shrugged. "Find a job?"

"Without you N.E.W.T.s?"

"Yeah..." said Harry, wishing he had a more elaborate scheme to present to Hermione.

She huffed and raised her chin at him. "You want to be an Auror, Harry. You can't be an Auror without a degree."

"Oh, c'mon, Hermione!" said Ron in exasperation. "He's Harry bloody Potter, no one's going to ask about his degree." Then his eyes, too, suddenly widened and he stared at Harry in something that looked uncomfortably like awe. "You could be Minister, Harry!"

Harry grimaced. "I don't think..."

"No, it'll be brilliant!" said Ron hurriedly, ignoring Hermione's groan. "And I could be your Deputy Minister, eh?" He grinned and gave Harry a nudge with his elbow. "And Hermione could write all the laws, or whatever."

"There are already laws, Ronald," Hermione ground out behind clenched teeth.

But Ron only favoured her with a shrug. "As I said: whatever."

Before Hermione had regrouped, Harry seized his opportunity. "I don't want to be an Auror any more," he confessed, keeping his voice down for some not entirely obvious reason. "I'd like to do something else."

"Yeah?" Ron looked nonplussed. "Like what?"

"Harry?" Hermione was quickly exchanging her expression of utter annoyance for one of concern. She took a small step closer. "But you always wanted to become an Auror...?"

"I know." He pulled at his cloak. The light rain was turning into more of a drizzle. "I guess I've changed my mind."

"See?" Ron said offhandedly. "He doesn't need his N.E.W.T.s."

Hermione glared at him. "And what about you? Are you going to ride the wave of Harry's fame too?"

Ron flashed a lopsided grin. A drop of rain fell off his nose. "That'd be sweet."

Harry used his cloak to rub the water off his glasses. "Hermione I just think that..."

"Oh, be quiet!" She produced her wand and pointed the tip at his spectacles. "Impervius. Now, you were saying?"

Blinking behind the glass, Harry adjusted to clear vision again. "Thanks. Anyway, it'd feel strange to go back, you know... After all that happened..."

Of which there was a good portion he had not told them. The familiar sensation of guilt clawed its way through to his stomach and settled there.

Hermione's brown eyes met with his. "It would be a bit odd, at first, perhaps," she agreed. "But I think... I think it could be a good thing." A self-conscious smile tugged at her lips, then. "Not just sensible."

"Don't give in, mate," Ron muttered under his breath.

Hermione didn't deign him with a glance. Her gaze was soft on Harry. "Listen, I know you don't have to go back. Ron's..." She sighed, "Ron's right." (Ron made a triumphant noise beside her which she also ignored.) "You're Harry Potter, you can do anything you want but..." She bit her lip, and turned her eyes on Ron instead and said softly, "I'm going back, with or without you."

There did not seem to be much to say after that. They stood for a while in silence, Harry feeling the water creep down his neck, and shivering. Ron was staring stubbornly anywhere but at Hermione. A wave of relief passed through Harry when Mr Weasley called their names.

"Time to go," he announced as they joined the others.

Fleur was positioned in the midst of the group, elegantly holding her wand aloft and a light Shield Charm in place. Underneath it, all of them were quite dry and warm, by the looks of it.

"You look like a drenched rat," Sirius murmured in Harry's ear as he came to stand beside his godfather. The warm puff of air on his wet skin made a portion of the anxiety in Harry's stomach melt away. There was no way he would return to Hogwarts, not while Sirius was willing to hold him or touch him or...

...love him...

He stepped a little closer to Sirius, telling himself that he was simply evading the silvery film of rain that poured down from around the edges of Fleur's Charm.

"Sirius?" Mr Weasley had advanced on them and was speaking in low tones. "What do you say?"

Confused, Harry looked to his godfather, but Sirius was shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "Thanks, Arthur," he said quietly, "but I think we should be heading home. Leave you... to... Well..."

But Mr Weasley nodded. "Yes, I suppose..." He glanced back over his shoulder. His wife was hugging Ginny to her and Bill stood with a hand on her shoulder, speaking so softly Harry could not make out a word. With a troubled expression Mr Weasley turned back to Sirius. "I suppose. But... listen, I know things got a bit..." He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. "You're taking good care of Harry, eh?"

A tendril of fear shot through Harry at the question but Sirius only smiled. "I'm trying my best."

"Good! Good." Mr Weasley nodded again, pushing his shoulders back. His smile, Harry thought, was a bit wobbly but he clapped Sirius on the shoulder. "Very good." Distractedly he smiled at Harry, too. "Yes, best get you home to dry up. There's only so much magic can do. Nothing like roaring a fire, after all."

"Right," said Harry.

Mr Weasley nodded again. Then, with a final clap to Sirius' shoulder, left them to join his wife.

Harry wanted to ask something, to search Sirius' face for some type of clue, but then his godfather smiled down at him. "He's right. Let's get you home."

They said their goodbyes, moving methodically under Fleur's Shield. Ginny did not give Harry another hug but she did sort of smile at him, and Hermione left him with the promise of an impending fire chat about Professor McGonagall's offer. Ron thumped his shoulder and Charlie did much the same. Mrs Weasley sniffled as she hugged him to her, but thankfully did not urge him to come back with them to The Burrow. George was most difficult to speak to, Harry found. He seemed empty, and did not even lift an eyebrow when Fleur leaned across him (her wand hand never wavering) and kissed Harry's cheeks in the most French manner he had ever known.

"Take care, 'Arry," she smiled at him. "Zank you for ev'ryzing."

"Hey," Bill interjected, feigning annoyance. "I also did some things."

Fleur rolled her eyes but kissed her husband's cheek too.

After that, Harry and Sirius were set to leave. Percy had wandered off (most likely bothering Kingsley, Ron had suggested) and the rain was coming down so hard that going looking for him was not a very appealing idea.

"Ready?" Sirius reached for him and Harry took his arm.

"Yeah."

"Home, then," Sirius smiled. And spun around.

They ended up, neatly, outside the front door to Grimmauld Place, Harry with a distinct nauseous feeling rising in his stomach, and Sirius with not so much as a grimace. The weather had apparently travelled with them and in the short while it took Sirius to open the door, his hair was turned a shining inky black, and he shuddered.

"In!" he ordered as the door swung open and the gloom of the hallway appeared before them. "And," he added with a grin, "don't stain the carpet."

Harry did as commanded and hurried inside – and brought half of the English Channel with him. "Sorry," he told his godfather when the door was closed behind them. He bit his lip to keep from smiling.

Sirius snorted. "Yeah, sure." He proceeded to wring his cloak off his shoulders. "You know you can Apparate on your own?" His eyes narrowed at Harry. "Because you can, right?"

"What?" Harry pushed his sodden fringe from his forehead.

"Just saying you didn't have to take my arm," Sirius shrugged. "The unpleasantness caused by Side-Along Apparition is more extensive than that of single Apparition."

Harry blinked at him but before he could think of something to say, Sirius had stepped up close to him. His godfather's grin was toothy. "You are sporting a green hue, Harry."

But Harry's nausea was draining away by the second; for every heartbeat spent with Sirius looking at him like that he grew less and less interested in the mechanics of Apparition. "Oh."

"Mhm." Sirius was dragging the cloak from his shoulders. "Not that I mind you holding on to me." His skin was glistening in the muted glow of the gas lamps. His mouth was drawing nearer. "Just for future..." he leaned in very, very close, "reference."

Harry would have supplied another 'Oh' if Sirius had not kissed him then. His godfather's lips were wet and tasted of rain and Harry eagerly drank everything down. He barely noted when Sirius' hands tugged at his jumper and shirt until his half-chilled hands could press against Harry's lower back. He gave a yelp as cold skin met his own and heard Sirius chuckle low in his throat.

"Thought I'd warm myself," Sirius murmured into Harry's mouth, and then proceeded to slide his tongue alongside Harry's.

Harry's knees were melting away from his body, threatening his balance. He caught Sirius' lower lip between his teeth and nibbled at it, blushing when his godfather let out a small moan. He let him go, pushing his tongue into Sirius' mouth this time, and bravely cupping his godfather's hip bones. The denim was dry and warming. Harry's palms were itching for more. He slid his hands around Sirius' waist and hesitantly fingered the waistband.

Sirius made a new rumbling noise and pulled back, but only long enough to catch Harry's eye. "You're learning," he purred. "I like it." He leaned back in and dragged his tongue tip over Harry's bottom lip.

Then, through the thickening air, a voice dripping with venom creaked, "Master Harry Potter. And... the dog."

Kreacher, complete with a ladle, was standing by the stairs leading down into the basement. His bulbous eyes were shot with red and his mouth was twisted in contempt. "Have returned," he finished. The words stung like a curse.

Harry's first instinct was to let go. To spring away from Sirius. But although his godfather tensed, he maintained his hold on Harry. And strengthened it. His voice was strained, though. "Kreacher."

"Kreacher sees things," the house-elf hissed. "The filth! Oh, yes, Kreacher knows. The blood traitor!" Spittle shot from his mouth. "The Master and the dog."

Harry felt the floor give way under his feet. Kreacher knew. Kreacher had seen. Panic wrapped around his heart and squeezed. Hard. He tried to worm his way out of Sirius' embrace but the other man held on. "No, Harry," Sirius muttered through gritted teeth. "He already knows."

"Kreacher hears things, oooh yes. Noises..." The house-elf shuddered from top to toe, looking as if he was about to throw up. "Disgusting noises, filthy noises! Stains on my Mistress' house!"

"We are not a stain, Kreacher," Sirius said quietly.

"The dog thinks he is better," muttered Kreacher, contempt rushing from his gnarled form in suffocating waves. "Always thought he was better... always a disappointment... SHE WEPT!"

Then he screamed.

Further down the hall, the curtains covering the painting of Mrs Black were thrown away by some unseen force and her raw, piercing voice cut through the house, like a saw performing a mad jig on iron. "Mudbloods, TRAITORS! Yoooou... the ABOMINATION!"

Harry thought his ears would burst with the sound. That was when Sirius finally released him and drew his wand. "Kreacher, shut up!"

The house-elf did. But his twisted grin was pure cruelty. To the deafening sound of his mother's howling, Sirius stomped down the hallway to point his wand at her portrait. There was a loud crack and a burst of blistering red sparks as the curtains slammed shut.

The house fell silent.

Harry barely dared to breathe when Sirius slowly turned towards the stairs, deep, dark shadows playing in his pale cheeks. His jawline was sharp and there was an edge to his person that made Harry want to recoil. His voice was low and would almost have been calm if it had not been for the tide of fury that boiled behind it, "Perhaps a late lunch, Kreacher."

The house-elf bowed slowly. Inch by inch his back bent, jarringly, until he had shown enough respect. Then, face towards the floor, he smirked. But never said a word.

o.O.o

Harry had not thought he'd be able to eat but when faced with the mashed potatoes and stew, his stomach actually growled appreciatively.

Sirius was pouring steaming peas from a pot onto his plate mechanically. Harry had not touched him since Kreacher started screaming. Where the house-elf was now, neither of them knew.

"Here." Sirius handed him the peas.

"Thanks."

They ate in silence, opposite one another at the table. Harry wanted to ask him what they were going to do now, or perhaps more importantly what Kreacher was going to do, but the words stuck in his throat.

Sirius, however, read his mind. He laid down his fork and surveyed Harry. "Nothing's going to happen. He's known for a while and he's done nothing about it yet."

"But what if he changed his mind now? Today. When he saw... us."

Sirius' grey eyes bore into him. "Then, it'll get out." His words were measured. "Does that scare you?"

Something near Harry's heart squirmed uncomfortably. He swallowed. "It's just that I haven't told anyone..."

"Except for Ginny."

Heat rushed into Harry's face. "Yeah."

Sirius leaned forwards a little, elbows on the table. "Tell me about Ginny, Harry."

It was difficult to find any words. "There isn't anything..."

"Ah, but you see, I've seen things too," Sirius said quietly, cutting across him. "I remember your fifth year at Hogwarts." Briefly, a rush of pain was on him but he shook it off. "You celebrated Christmas here, the lot of you. And Ginny's eyes would follow you wherever you went."

The heat refused to drain from his face. The squirming thing was sliding through his chest and downwards.

"Then she caught us kissing the other day, if you recall," Sirius continued, mercilessly. "And she is the only one you've spoken to about that. Not Ron, not Hermione. Only Ginny. Why is that, Harry?"

He didn't want to be here. He wanted to turn away from Sirius but he was held immobile by that stare. Harry's legs were numb. "I... I went out with her..." he whispered, finally.

Sirius nodded. "Thought so."

"But I wasn't unfaithful or anything!" The need to explain himself overcame his fear. "I broke up with her after Dumbledore died. When I decided I had to leave to find the Horcruxes. I told her we couldn't be together. It wasn't safe."

"But you had feelings for her." Sirius' face was blank. He barely even looked interested. But his gaze was heavy on Harry.

"Of course I did!" He bit his tongue. "I mean..." But, no, it was not fair to Ginny to deny what he had felt for her. "I did," he repeated firmly. "But then you were Returned and things changed." His cheeks still stung, though.

"That's what you told her?"

"Yes."

There was silence again before Sirius dropped his head and sighed. "I'm sorry. I've no right to be jealous."

Wide-eyed Harry stared at him in complete incredulity. "You're jealous?"

Sirius ran a hand through his shaggy hair and made a face. "She's pretty, Harry. And you have history and... shit, I'm old."

"You're not old."

Sirius' lips twisted. "So you keep telling me."

"It's true."

"No, it's not."

Harry pushed back his chair and stood, ignoring the question in his godfather's eyes. He rounded the table and smiled. "Make room."

"What?"

"Push your chair back."

Sirius' eyebrows lifted but he did as ordered. When he was at an appropriate distance from the table, Harry climbed into his lap, straddling him, so that they came face to face. He smiled down at his godfather's look of surprise. "Yes, I had feelings for Ginny. No, I don't any longer. I love you." He dropped a kiss to Sirius' brow. "And you're not old." Then he hugged him close.

It was only half a heartbeat before Sirius wrapped his arms around him.

o.O.o

The rain was moving on and the first beams of moonlight were working their way through Harry's yellow curtains in the drawing room. He was comfortably arranged in the sofa, with Sirius' arm around him and the firelight flickering over the grimy walls. The only sound was the wood crackling and the soft rustle as Sirius turned a page in one of the dodgy books they had found in Regulus' room. For himself, Harry was content to simply absorb the rise and fall of Sirius' chest against his heart.

They had spent the better part of the evening like this. Sirius had dragged forth the book which had moaned pitifully upon opening but had otherwise not protested, and Harry had leafed through a dusty copy of Which Broomstick, before deciding that is was hopelessly outdated. That was when he had removed his glasses and snuggled into Sirius, and smiled when a hand lazily started toying with his hair.

He was drifting off when a pop startled him and caused Sirius' hand to cease it caressing.

"Just the paper, Harry," Sirius said a moment later. "Kreacher must have gone out to fetch it."

There was some jostling before the book was deposited on the coffee table and the paper (or at least that was what Harry assumed it was) hovered in front of his face as Sirius held it up for scrutiny.

"Anything interesting?" Harry asked, fighting a yawn.

"Hmm... Mostly about the funeral. Says here that..." His voice ebbed out and there was a small intake of breath. "Um, Harry...?"

"Yeah?" He blinked his eyes open and frowned at the blur.

"Uh... there is a small mention here..."

"What?" Harry struggled to sit. He reached out for his glasses, relieved when he caught them. Jamming them onto his nose he turned to his godfather.

Sirius was wearing a peculiar expression. "There," he pointed at a small article, almost at the bottom of the front page. There was no photograph to illustrate it. Harry squinted at the small text, and felt his mouth fall open.

"Another Malfoy to Azkaban..." he repeated the headline dumbly. Then snatched the paper from Sirius and bent over it.

ANOTHER MALFOY TO AZKABAN

Today Narcissa Malfoy, wife of Lucius Malfoy, the ruthless Death Eater known for his devotion to You-Know-Who, was sentenced to four years in Azkaban, following her trial at the Ministry of Magic. Narcissa Malfoy, 43, was convicted for her crimes against the wizarding population of Britain by a distinguished court of most exemplary judges headed by Chief Warlock Algernon Pod...

Harry slammed the paper down on the table. "What the hell?!"

Sirius' hand landed on his arm. "Harry..."

"I was supposed to be there!" He shook off Sirius' hand and stumbled to his feet, pointing to the Evening Prophet that seemed to glare right back. "I told them I wanted to be there!"

"I know," Sirius said quietly, but it did not help.

Harry spun around helplessly, not knowing where to direct his anger. "I met that, that bloody... assistant! That man Hoye! I told him I wanted to be there! I told Kingsley!" He didn't care if it sounded childish. The pathetic phrase kept echoing through him: he had told them he wanted to be there.

"Most likely they wanted to get it out of the way," Sirius said, still in that same calm voice.

"Sure they did," Harry snorted. "With everyone at the funeral, they did not have to bother with us!"

Sirius did not seem to have an answer to that. Instead, he pushed himself up and gave the Prophet a nudge. "Bet you it was Kreacher's idea of ruining a nice evening, sending the paper up here."

But Harry had no energy to spare Kreacher's schemes. All he knew was that they had been wrong. Him and Ron and Hermione – all of them. Because it obviously did not matter that he was Harry fucking Potter and the Great Saviour of the wizarding world. No, in the end the Ministry did whatever the hell it wanted to do, and he had no say in it.

Feeling all the anger leave him in dizzying rush, he slumped down beside Sirius on the sofa.

You've still got a chance with Draco, he told himself stubbornly. There's still Draco.

Sirius, thankfully, said nothing. But his hand returned to Harry's hair.

TBC

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