Here we go…
Chapter 28 – A Surprise Reappearance
The next morning Kreacher showed up. Harry was still rubbing sleep from his eyes as Sirius pushed open the kitchen door and froze mid-step, causing Harry to walk into him.
"Kreacher wishes his masters a good morning," the house-elf croaked as they stumbled into the kitchen. He had tied an old washed-out towel around his hips and had apparently been scooping still-steaming scrambled eggs onto two plates but now he hurried to jarringly bend his back before them in some sort of bow.
"Kreacher?" Harry blinked at him when he had regained his balance and righted his glasses. "Where have you been?" He was so surprised that he barely registered how Sirius' warm arm had snaked around his waist.
"Contemplating his sins," the house-elf announced solemnly, his bloodshot eyes trained on the floor. "Kreacher is a bad elf and he has been thinking about that very long and very hard."
Harry glanced up at Sirius. His godfather had one eyebrow raised in a silent challenge and disbelief rolled off him in steady waves but thankfully he refrained from voicing his doubts.
"You're not a bad elf," Harry said before Sirius changed his mind about what might be the best strategy. Then he drew himself up a little as Hermione's warning came back to echo in his mind. "But you must show us respect, Kreacher. We are your masters. Both of us."
"Oh Kreacher is respectful!" the house-elf moaned. "Kreacher can be good!" His bulbous eyes shot to Harry. "Kreacher will grovel at Master's feet." Then he promptly set about to demonstrate exactly that by flinging himself to the floor.
"Stop it!" Harry took a step forward. "And get up. Please!"
With a series of creaks from his old joints, Kreacher laboriously scrambled back to his feet. "Kreacher begs Master's forgiveness," he wheezed, trembling from head to toe.
"You have it!" Harry assured him quickly. "Just... don't... grovel. And be nice to Sirius. You won't call him 'dog' anymore."
"Harry..." Sirius murmured under his breath. "You don't have to..."
But Kreacher was nodding furiously in agreement, gaze absolutely beseeching. His bony hands were wringing the towel in such agony that it looked painful. "Kreacher will be a good elf! He will not call master Black a dog. Never will he say that word again!" Then he spun around and picked up the plates with scrambled eggs. "Kreacher will serve his masters a fine steady breakfast that will make them strong and happy. He guesses that they have not been eating properly since he disgraced himself and disappeared."
Sirius' eyes were narrowed in suspicion but he did not say a word as he followed Harry to the table. He took the seat next to Harry's, however, and in a blatantly provocative way draped an arm around his shoulders and brought him in for a deep kiss. Harry meant to protest but the confident way Sirius' tongue swept into his mouth made his objections implode in his throat. Sirius' mouth was warm and wet and moved against Harry's so deliciously that he very nearly moaned in response. His own tongue slid against his godfather's, quickly learning the ways of the game. Sirius was smiling, Harry realised hazily, nipping, licking, playing. His fingers were in Harry's hair, messing it up and tugging gently on it. When they parted, Harry' breath came in tiny stutters and Sirius' eyes were glittering.
Kreacher had turned his back on them and was busying himself over by the stove. Hard as Harry tried, he could not hear one single curse from the house-elf. Sirius had followed his gaze but now he grinned at him. "Victory," he mouthed, lips beautifully reddened by the kiss.
Harry felt like laughing but he kept himself in check. It wouldn't do to risk their new good fortune any time soon. Neither of them were good enough cooks for that and even though he hadn't said as much to Hermione, he was relieved to see Kreacher back in the kitchen again where they could keep an eye on him.
So instead of laughing – or replying – Harry dove back in and dropped a kiss on his godfather's lips. Sirius' hand on his neck gave a gentle squeeze and then slowly slid down his back until it came to settle at the base of Harry's spine. He looked very pleased.
Kreacher even brought them the paper. Flipping past the first three pages or so – they all still seemed to deal with Sirius' return to life and his new profession – Harry had a hard time finding anything else that was worth reading. In the end, he only half-heartedly flipped through the rest of the pages, folded the paper up and laid it aside. "Nothing," he concluded. "Nothing at all is happening."
Sirius was doing his very best at exercising a one-handed attempt at scooping up the last of his scrambled eggs on his fork. "That's good news."
Harry leaned in and used a piece of toast to shuffle the eggs onto Sirius' fork. He grinned. "You have a knife, you know."
"I don't like to bother with it."
"Oh?" Harry watched his godfather chew. There was a spark in Sirius' eyes that made something melt in his chest and flow into his stomach. It spread out warmly, softly.
"Mhm," Sirius managed before he swallowed. "Because that would require two hands and I am not removing this one." His left hand gave Harry's back a small pat. His palm occupied the place where Harry's t-shirt met his jeans and it would take very little for it to find bare skin.
But Sirius did not seem interested in any more suggestive themes right now. He just seemed happy to share this moment, Harry realised. It was comfortable. Relaxing. His godfather smelled of soap and... Sirius smelled like Sirius. Harry leaned in even closer and accommodated himself in his arms.
Sirius conducted his own examination of the Prophet but soon enough put it down. "I only get two full pages today," he concluded. "And half of the 'news' is already old. But it does seem that the old Hogsmeade woman from yesterday – you remember? – woke up this morning to find that her half-finished knitting had un-knitted itself during the night. Apparently the yarn has been dragged all over her house and is now so tangled and torn that she has to throw it away. It's a sign, she says, of the return of the Dark Lord's minions."
Harry could not help but smile. "You're a terror, Sirius Black."
His godfather chuckled. "You know, I'm almost tempted to take credit for it – if it hadn't been for her cat that's in the photograph with her." His hand caught Harry's. "And before you work yourself up over these ridiculous accusations, I don't mind. I don't care. We're going to Hogwarts, Harry, you and me. I don't care what anyone says about that. It's you and me I care about. Not this nonsense."
Harry had squirmed around in his embrace and was now watching how a fond smile spread over Sirius' face. "Really? Are you sure?"
"Let it go, Harry," Sirius said softly. "For once, as you said, nothing of consequence is happening around us. I prefer to think about that for a change."
"All right," said Harry, unable to argue. "I won't say a word."
Sirius' smile broadened even more. "I like that." He brought his face close to Harry's, lips only a breath away. "And since you went to see Draco yesterday and we haven't yet been told the date of his trial, could I possibly persuade you to take a walk with me?"
Harry's lips tingled at the proximity. Sirius' grey eyes were shining. "You mean that you want me to watch as you torment some more poor roots in the park. I had thought there weren't any left by now."
"Don't forget the local rabbits." Sirius' mouth was almost on Harry's now. His breath was a warm promise of an even warmer kiss.
"There are rabbits?" Harry asked, stupidly.
"Stop talking," said Sirius and kissed him.
o.O.o
They stayed out for the most part of two hours. Padfoot seemed almost delirious with happiness as he roamed the park and chased a flock of pigeons that appeared just as intent on defending their territory as Padfoot was. Harry spent his time with one eye on the great black dog bounding about the trees and shrubberies but most of his attention was on the upcoming trial. He didn't care in the least that Draco so blatantly dismissed his determination to save him. When Draco was finally set free there would be other opportunities for Harry to honour his wishes. If they ever saw one another afterwards, that was.
Because Harry, of course, had no idea what Draco would do after his imprisonment. Where he would go, even where he would live. He suddenly realised that he didn't know what had happened to Malfoy Manor after the final battle. Was it Draco's now? Would Draco even want to live there?
Harry shuddered. He could not think of anything that might tempt him enough to make him move into that house. Ever. But perhaps it was different for Draco? He was a Malfoy after all and Malfoys were peculiar about their ancestry and self-ascribed rights and whatnot.
Harry wiped a drop of rain from his forehead. The sun had not yet made an appearance today but now the sky had grown a thick grey and looked decidedly threatening.
"Padfoot!" he called across the grass.
The black dog raised its head at the sound of his voice. He seemed reluctant, though, to give up mid-chase. The pigeons were strutting around not ten feet away, ruffling their feathers and cocking their heads temptingly.
"Leave them alone and get over here!" Harry called. "I think it's going to rain." When an elderly man with a walking stick gave him an odd look he dodged it.
He should have known better than to think Padfoot would care. The dog regarded him for a moment, big eyes bright with the joy of the chase. Then he set off after the birds.
Harry rolled his eyes and gave him a few more minutes as large raindrops began to sprinkle the grass, his shoulders and his hair. This was certainly part of the downside of these small excursions back into Muggle life, Harry concluded miserably as he tugged at the collar of his old jacket. His wand might be in his sleeve but he was not exactly about to whisk it out to perform a shielding spell. "Come on Padfoot!" he called again. "We'll be drenched before we get back! Again."
In the end, the dog took pity on him. He raced back to Harry, tongue lolling and tail whipping hard. Harry shook his head, but smiled. He stroked the big head and scratched him behind an ear. "You'll get them next time."
The rain picked up as they hurried back towards Grimmauld Place. Water found its way down Harry's neck and under his collar. His hands were cold and his socks soggy in his trainers. He guessed he could have performed some small spell, really fast and out-of-sight, but now they were so close it seemed pointless.
Padfoot trotted beside him, elated despite the weather. He even gave a few joyful barks as a car or two drove past and sent a dash of water over the pavement. Harry shot him a glare. "Glad you're happy." As a conciliatory gesture, Padfoot shoved his nose into Harry's hand and licked his fingers with a warm tongue.
They tumbled into the hallway as one human and one dog, but it was only half a breath before Sirius was once more human. He was wet and streaked with dirt but he was grinning wildly. He caught Harry around the waist and pulled him in for a kiss.
"You're completely soaked through," he stated, warm lips trailing down Harry's throat.
"I told you we would be," Harry gasped, quickly forgetting his frustration. Sirius' mouth was hungry as it moved over his pulse point. "I... oh!"
Sirius left open-mouthed kisses on his rapidly warming skin as his fingers were busy with the zipper of Harry's jacket. Soon the wet fabric was pushed away from his shoulders and down his arms, and was relegated to cover up a patch of floor instead. Much the same happened to his shirt.
"C'mere," Sirius rasped against his throat. "I want you."
Harry tore at his godfather's t-shirt and urged him to drag it off. This was different from soft caresses in a bed cradled in early morning sunlight. Harry's head swam as their bare chests finally met and Sirius' wet tresses rubbed against his cheek as his godfather bent his head to leave kisses all over a collarbone.
"I could do it right here." Sirius' voice was rough.
But Harry shook his head, swallowing against the sudden rush of heat through his stomach. "No, Kreacher's not that accepting yet." His own voice came out quite breathy.
Sirius laughed, hands on Harry's hips now. He brought them together decisively and groaned. "You're hard, Harry."
He was. He placed his hands over Sirius' and pressed close. "So, do something about it?" he suggested quietly. It did not matter that his cheeks immediately flushed because Sirius' next kiss was so voracious that his own boldness really was nothing in comparison.
They stumbled down the hallway and up the staircase, into the brooding darkness that lay twined around the upper levels of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. When they reached the first landing, Sirius' fingers were fruitlessly tearing at the top button of Harry's jeans. To gain some advantage over it, Sirius steered them into a wall, pushing Harry up against it and once more seeking out his throat with his mouth. Harry squeezed his eyes closed and reflexively arched against the old faded wallpaper as Sirius practically devoured part of his throat. He groaned around a breath and steered his godfather's hips into his own, trapping questing hands between them. His own heartbeat was thundering through his body, making him virtually pound with desire. Sirius found one of his nipples and bit into it, sending a shockwave of heat through Harry.
"Bed," he managed to ground out. "Please Sirius..."
His godfather only gave a growl but dragged him away from the wall. He joined their mouths together and thrust his tongue into Harry's mouth and everything was a dizzying firework. For a moment there was nothing but that continuous explosion of light and colour as Sirius' hands and tongue guided him deeper into the house.
Then something was wrong. He just knew it. And Sirius knew it. And it was so, so, so wrong.
Because through that magnificent storm of pulsating energy something else wove itself, some strand of a horribly heavy silence, and made all the heat turn to ice.
And Molly Weasley was standing in the rain-tainted shadows, in the doorway to the drawing room, with a face as white as a sheet.
Harry saw her mouth move but didn't hear her words around the buzzing in his head. He saw her hands, though, and they were shaking. In fact, her whole body was shaking.
"...of him!"
Slowly, Harry's hearing returned and her scream pierced his skin and his heart.
"You will let go of him, Sirius Black!" Her voice was so shrill that it was on the verge of breaking. On the verge of hysterical. Her face was twisted with emotion. "Don't you hear me? Don't you hear me?!"
Sirius' hands were on Harry's hips. The top button of Harry's jeans was open now. His own breathing was scorching the inside of his lungs, dragging sharp talons of pure fear through them.
"Let go of Harry! LET GO OF HIM!"
It was nothing less than a miracle that old Mrs Black downstairs did not wake up but Harry barely gave that a second thought. His whole body had gone numb and he could no longer feel the floor.
"Molly..." Sirius' voice was alarmingly low, frightfully unsteady.
"Don't you Molly me!" Mrs Weasley was pointing at Sirius with a trembling, accusing forefinger. She was wearing a pretty green dress with blue lace at the collar, Harry's brain absurdly informed him. "Don't you dare speak to me, Sirius Black! You disgust me!"
Something in Harry's chest broke. Sirius' face had blanched, too.
"Molly... please..."
"I said: do not speak to me! Harry, come here!"
He stared at her. His tongue felt as though it were glued to the roof of his mouth so he just stayed where he was.
"Harry..." She was breathing heavily but was visibly trying to collect herself as best she could. She licked her near-bloodless lips. "Come here, Harry. Right now."
"No," he finally managed. He shook his head.
That surprised her. "Don't be silly now," she said, voice thin and strained, and there was nothing motherly about it whatsoever. "You will come here and we will floo you back home."
"I am home," he said, automatically. On some level he knew he was hurting her. On another level – on most other levels – he realised that he did not care. And that was dreadful.
"No." It was her turn to shake her head. "No, Harry. This is not your home. I will not allow you to share this... place with... that... man." She did not even look at Sirius.
A first spark of anger shot through him. "You can't decide that."
Her eyes widened, shining with horror. There were angry red blotches on her cheeks and throat. "You will listen to me now, Harry Potter. You will step away from him and come with me back to The Burrow..."
"No," Harry told her again. He was regaining some kind of power over himself. Suddenly it seemed less important that he was half naked and could still feel the lingering frisson of energy that Sirius had woken in his body. "No, Mrs Weasley, I won't come with you." He covered his godfather's hands on his hips with his own. "I'm with Sirius. I love him."
Before she got a word in between, Sirius came alive. He slid one of his hands out from under Harry's and trailed his fingertips down Harry's cheek fondly. It was an odd gesture in the midst of all this and it was even stranger how his face suddenly softened. "I love you," he said quietly. Then he turned to Mrs Weasley. "Molly, Harry and I are in love. I know it's a surprise and believe me when I say this was not how you were supposed to find out but... now you know."
"Now I know?!" she spluttered. Finally, her rage seemed to overcome her shock and her brown eyes flashed. "Oh, I know what I know... I know that you are a despicable, sorry excuse for a man Sirius Black and I know that you have somehow managed to make Harry think that he fancies you but you... You will use him!" Her voice shook with anger. "You think you can bend him to your twisted will! He's a child, do you hear me! A CHILD!"
To Harry it seemed that the walls reflected the words back at him a hundred times and every time it hurt just as much. But Sirius only let out a long breath.
"But he is not," he enunciated carefully, his own anger barely restrained; Harry saw it in the set of his jaw. "Harry's no longer a child, Molly. He's a grown man and he makes his own decisions."
"Not if you're telling him what to think and say and do!" she screamed at him and took one step closer.
"I'm not going with you," Harry blurted. "I'm staying."
"Go home, Molly," said Sirius, and it sounded suspiciously like a snarl. "Go home."
It took ages. It took ages for her to comprehend enough to not come any nearer. She was breathing rapidly through her mouth, in tune with Harry's thundering heart. She opened her mouth and then closed it. Then, with a face full of revulsion, she spat at Sirius' feet.
The emerald fire in the drawing room fireplace swept her away but somehow that did not make it any better.
They were left staring. Absorbing. Harry couldn't think straight, simply could not form any thoughts in his mind. The darkness around them was solid now and the rain tapped hard against the windows, its incessant need for attention making it impossible to focus. Then the stairs creaked.
Up, through the gloom, crept Kreacher, hungry eyes like ghostly beacons in the gathering shadows. They were brimming with disgust. "Master..." his voice grated against Harry's skin. "Kreacher is a good elf. He gave the blood-traitor witch tea. She came visiting, you see. Looking for Master, she said. And Kreacher told her he was out but bade her wait here." His lips curved into a cruel smile. "Like a surprise, for Harry Potter and the dog."
He was gone with a crack.
TBC