My dears, we are approaching the end… I've said it before and it might still take me some time but the end is nigh. Thank you for reading.

Chapter Thirty-Three – Traitors and Mudbloods

"Harry?" Sirius' voice slowly made its way into his system. "Harry!" A hand was shaking him frantically. "Fucking hell, Harry, talk to me!"

He had not even known he had closed his eyes. When he opened them, they stung. Sirius, dark hair falling around his face, was looming over him in the gloom, scanning his face with wide eyes. Eyes like a ghost's. Blood was smeared on his cheek but underneath it he was pale as a sheet. "Harry?"

Harry tried a smile. It might not have been the most charming one he had ever produced but it seemed to satisfy his godfather who crashed down upon him. Sirius' weight on top of him was the only thing he needed, Harry decided dimly as he wrapped an arm around the older man. Harry breathed him in, pressed his lips to Sirius' neck and felt the first shudder run through his godfather. He felt the tears wet his neck.

Sirius' voice was only a faint rasp against Harry's skin. "Thought I'd lost you."

Harry hugged him closer. He could have stayed like that forever but before long Sirius pulled back and helped him sit. "How are you feeling?"

Harry cradled his wrist in his good hand. "Looks like we'll need Hermione again." Then with a jolt he remembered. "Your wound!"

"Oh, this?" Sirius lifted his t-shirt for Harry's benefit. "Only a scratch."

It did not look bad, Harry conceded. The red stain had more or less dried and the wound, too, seemed to be drying up. Even so… Swallowing turned out to be difficult. "I thought…"

"No." Sirius cupped his cheek and made him meet his eyes. "No. I'm not going anywhere, Harry."

That was when Harry heard it: the faint sobbing. The smoke was dissipating now and with a shudder he spotted Yaxley's lifeless body at the bottom of the stairs. And then the source of the noise: Kreacher, curled up into a ragged ball in the most faraway corner, sobbing into his rags and bony knees.

Sirius had followed his gaze. "Yeah," he said quietly. "He lost his mistress."

It took him a moment but then realisation dawned on him. Glancing up at the wall where Mrs Black's despised portrait should have been was now only a sooty black frame and a blasted-through canvas. Harry gaped at the sight, really quite unable to do much else. "Is she…?"

"Don't know."

"But…"

They got to their feet together, the floor wobbling only a little under Harry's feet. Harry watched as Sirius ran his fingertips over the frame. "She could have fled to another painting, I guess. If she had the time."

"I guess…" Harry bit his lip. "Sirius, we should let somebody know what happened." He did not want to look at Yaxley's corpse again but he glanced over at it now. "Mrs Weasley… Kingsley…"

"Right. Yeah." Sirius pulled himself together. "You or me?"

"I'll do it." His wand was still in his hand. He felt rattled. Taking a long, deep breath he closed his eyes and forced his mind back to happier days. He saw Sirius smiling at him over breakfast and Padfoot in the park, digging what might end up becoming a tunnel to the French northern coast. He saw himself, Ron and Hermione laughing in the Gryffindor common room. Then Sirius again, in the candlelit night, looming over him, naked and burning with desire.

And as if his godfather had sensed his thoughts, Harry felt strong arms around him and the brush of lips to his hair. Harry smiled and directed his wand at nothing in particular. "Expecto Patronum!"

o.O.o

The house was swarming with Aurors. They were examining the walls, the fireplace, the stairs and the holes in the carpet and the ceiling – every place Yaxley's curses had struck. Grimmauld Place was teeming with activity. In fact, Harry was certain he had never seen so many people in the house at the same time ever before.

Mr Weasley had received his Patronus and he had promptly alerted his wife and Kingsley. Kingsley had roused the Ministry. Mrs Weasley, on her part, had brought Ron and Hermione. Or rather, if Ron and Hermione were to be believed, they had refused to stay at The Burrow once they learned what had happened. Harry had no desire to question that. All in all, it had taken less than ten minutes for Grimmauld Place to be invaded.

"There, that should do it."

Harry gingerly moved his wrist under Hermione's scrutinising gaze. The result made him grin. "Yeah, that's much better. Thanks. And thanks for fixing my ankle, too."

She was gnawing on her lower lip, pale and visibly still worried. "Maybe Mrs Weasley is right. I'm not a trained Healer, Harry. Maybe you should go to St Mungo's?"

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "But I'll go the moment I feel worse, I promise," he added, since she apparently had become immune to smiles.

She held his gaze for a moment but then her shoulders dropped in a long sigh. She shook her head and laid aside her wand on the kitchen table. "I thought it was over." She looked up at him. "What happened? It was supposed to be over, Harry."

"It is over," he said decisively. Because it had to be over.

"But what if there are others? Others we haven't even thought about? I mean, none of us remembered Yaxley..."

"Hermione. It is over." Harry righted his spectacles. They needed a clean. "Yaxley was the last. Kingsley said so himself."

"But can we really know that?" she objected. "What if…"

"Stop it," Harry ordered her. "There's no point in worrying. As far as we know, all of Voldemort's supporters have been either killed or arrested. If someone else should show up in the future, claiming to be a follower, we'll deal with that then. There is no point in wasting time and energy fighting imaginary foes."

That drew a grudging smile from her. "You sound like me."

He grinned. "Which means you should take my advice."

"Oh, Harry!" She suddenly threw her arms around him. "I've missed you!"

Smiling, he hugged her back. "I missed you too."

"Oi, mate! Thought you were supposed to be gay."

Harry disentangled himself from Hermione. Ron was leaning against the doorframe, eyeing them both with his chin raised. He was wearing a faded blue jumper Harry had seen a hundred times before and well-worn trainers. It was such a familiar sight that it was almost painful. But… if Ron was willingly striking up conversation with him and even – maybe? – cracking a joke then perhaps Harry could let go of his fears a little.

"That's why I can hug your girlfriend without you accusing me of anything."

Ron's grin was slow in building but soon enough his face had lit up enough for Harry to breathe much easier. "Yeah? I just might be keeping an eye on you two. But now, if Harry's healed, you have to come and see something."

"What?" Hermione's eyes had narrowed in some very genuine suspicion of her own.

Ron clicked his tongue. "Not telling. But it's a right sight."

They trudged after him, up the first flight of stairs, and then further up still. Harry's ankle was still throbbing dully but Hermione's magic had done a world of difference to the wound.

"Wait…" Harry stopped dead on a step. He scanned the wall. "Where are…?"

Ron's smile was shrewd. "I'm telling you, mate. This is something all right."

He led them all the way to the drawing room. The floor had been swept clean of all the splintered glass and wood and the remains of the cabinets now lay in two separate, neat piles on both sides of the fireplace. That was a good thing, too, because the room, more so than the rest of the house, was attracting the most attention from serious-faced, low-murmuring Aurors.

"Ready?" Ron's grin reached his ears now. "Look at the wall."

Harry looked. And saw nothing.

To be quite clear, he saw absolutely nothing at all.

Hermione made an odd little noise beside him. Her mouth had fallen open a fraction. "The tapestry... It's… gone?"

"Mhm," Ron said knowingly.

They had to step aside to let a black-haired Auror with green eyeshadow and a firm set of her jaw through the doorway. Hermione's former expression of worry had been exchanged for one of incredulity, sprinkled with a heavy dose of doubt. "But it was impossible to remove… We tried, remember?"

Harry glanced through the moving, frowning Aurors. It took a moment for the surprise to melt away enough for his thoughts to line up properly but then he thought he understood. "She must really have died," he said slowly. "Old Mrs Black, I mean." He turned to Ron and Hermione. "Yaxley sent the Killing Curse after us but Kreacher knocked us aside… and it hit her painting instead." He could feel his own eyebrows rising towards his hairline. "The magic died when Mrs Black did."

Ron was looking pleased and he nodded sagely in agreement. "Seems like it."

"And the house-elf heads… They just vanished?" It was almost possible to see the wheels turning in Hermione's mind.

"Harry!"

Harry's heart leapt. He peered through the throng and, true enough, over by the fireplace Sirius had materialised, standing with Mr and Mrs Weasley. He had not changed and so the dried blood was still clearly visible on his t-shirt and he was covered in a sheen of soot and dust. Much like Harry himself probably was.

"Blimey," Ron murmured under his breath. "They're in the same room together?"

Admittedly, Mrs Weasley was half turned away from Sirius and her mouth was a thin line of malcontent but at least she was not yelling. Harry and Ron exchanged glances. The way Ron was looking at him made it so easy to believe that they had never fallen out. That Ron had never been hurt. Harry tried his luck. "So are we."

Ron flashed him a crooked smile. "Yeah, I guess."

"Listen, I'm sorry, OK?" Harry met that blue gaze straight on. "I should have told you sooner, I know that."

"I know you know."

Harry nodded. "I just…"

"No, I get it." Ron glanced down. "I do."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You wanted to work it out for yourself first." He gave a one-shouldered shrug.

Harry's mouth was dry. He was beginning to sense relief building around his heart and the sensation was so strong that he was afraid he would implode if Ron suddenly took it all back. "Ron, you don't have to…"

"Oh, c'mon. Listen. I…" He grimaced. "You're my best mate, Harry, and Sirius is a decent bloke, even though he's your godfather and twice as old as you but whatever. I get it." His mouth twisted. "At least some of it, y'know."

Harry's heart was threatening to burst through his chest. "Thanks. Really, I mean it. Thank you."

Ron's crooked grin was back in place. "No probs."

A brush of fingers to his hand made Harry start. Hermione was standing a little to the side, watching them with tear-filled eyes. When none of them objected she firmly took their hands and drew them close to her. "I love you," she said. "Both of you." She was beaming.

Ron cleared his throat. His ears were reddening. "Yeah…" He licked his lips. "Right."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What was that, mate?"

"Sod off. You know what I mean."

"No..." said Harry slowly, his own grin widening at Ron's obvious discomfort. "I'm not sure I do."

"Well…" Ron made a face and rubbed his chin with his free hand. "What she said."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's so lovely to see how in touch you are with your emotions, Ronald."

"Hey, I've got emotions and all kinds of… stuff," Ron objected. "That doesn't mean I'm willing to talk about them." He nodded at Harry. "Right?"

"Um, yeah…?" Harry glanced to Hermione, trying to school his features into something more serious. "Right?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" She dropped their hands. "Maybe you two should go out. I bet you would have a grand time together, chatting only about Quidditch and broomsticks and… and… not confessing your love for one another."

Ron smirked. "Maybe. Seems much simpler to me."

Harry grinned. "Fair warning, then. Sirius and I talk quite a bit about our emotions."

Ron groaned while Hermione drew herself up triumphantly. "There you go," she told Ron. "I was right when I said I had managed to find the only caveman left in England."

"Oh, no!" Ron rounded on her without hesitation. "If we're talking cavemen, your darling Viktor…"

Harry left them to it. He slid through the Aurors and went to join Sirius and Mr and Mrs Weasley by the fireplace. He wanted nothing so much as to wind his arms around Sirius' waist but he managed to refrain from touching his godfather as he slid up to them.

And that proved just as well since Mrs Weasley immediately caught him in her arms for quite possibly the fourth time that night. "Harry! Are you all right?" She hugged him fiercely to her and then pushed him away to hold him at arm's length. Her brown eyes scanned his face intently. "Should we bring you to St Mungo's?"

"No, Mrs Weasley, I'm fine. Hermione did a good job," he smiled.

"Oh, but she's not a trained Healer… Harry, dear, you really ought to…"

"Molly," Mr Weasley laid a hand on his wife's shoulder. "I'm sure Harry can decide for himself."

She reluctantly let go of him. "Very well." She swallowed and nodded bravely. "It's just, I…" Tears welled up in her eyes. "Harry, I…"

"It's all right, Mrs Weasley," he told her, and let her hug him once more.

"Have they talked to you yet, Harry?" Mr Weasley asked upon his release.

"No." Harry adjusted his spectacles. "Hermione got to me first." He could not help his smile. She had been quite purposeful.

Sirius shifted beside him. "They'll be here for a few more hours, they say." When Harry looked up at his godfather it seemed to him that Sirius was restraining himself as well. Harry knew that look in his eyes, he realised. The one that said his godfather wanted him alone, to hold him and kiss him and… just be with him. To be alive with him.

He took a deep breath and caught Sirius' hand in his own. He noted the flicker of surprise in the other man's face but he resolutely twined their fingers together and gave Sirius' hand a squeeze. Then he did it. "I love you," he said.

It came out loud and clear. Sirius' grey eyes widened at first but before Harry could even begin to regret what he had just done, his godfather smiled. "I love you." And in front of Mr and Mrs Weasley and all of the Ministry Aurors he pulled Harry to him, to settle him with his back to his chest. Sirius wrapped his arms around him from behind and dropped a kiss to the crown of his head.

Mrs Weasley's eyes were on anything but them and there was a pale streak on her cheeks. Mr Weasley, however, was sporting a rather peculiar expression. Harry could almost have sworn that he was fighting a small smile.

"What are they looking for?" Harry asked any one of them willing to answer.

Mr Weasley jumped at the opportunity. "Traces of Dark Magic, I gather. As you well know – naturally – this is an old house with a… an, ah, an impressive history."

Sirius snorted. "Don't bother, Arthur."

Mr Weasley coloured slightly. "Well, hrm, it is most unusual that Aurors should be given the opportunity to examine a place such as this. I suspect they will make the most of their time here."

As if on cue the crowd parted for a moment to the let the Auror from earlier through. Her hair was long, straight and a glossy coal-black, and she looked entirely too immaculate and, well, clean for someone who had just taken part in the extensive – and extraordinarily dusty – search of the Black residence. She did not bat a heavily painted eyelash at the sight of Sirius' arms around Harry.

"Mr Potter?" Her voice was formal and somewhat detached, but pleasant enough. "I am Auror Demelza Jones, appointed head of this investigation. Is it safe to assume that you are feeling better?"

Harry shook her hand. Her handshake was firm and her nail polish gleamed a deep purple. "Yes, thank you."

"Very good. Now, I need to speak with you and Mr Black. Somewhere more private would be ideal."

Harry twisted his head to look up at Sirius. He knew his godfather was not keen on Ministry people in general but if Sirius was uncomfortable he was hiding it rather well. "We could use the kitchen?" Sirius suggested.

"I understand, Mr Black, that the kitchen is where your house-elf resides, is that correct?"

"Yes," Sirius admitted.

"Then someplace else perhaps?" Her smile was cool. "I prefer to interview my witnesses one at a time."

o.O.o

The house was finally silent. Sirius had dimmed the light in their bedroom and dropped down onto the bed. Harry kicked off his trainers and dragged his t-shirt over his head.

His godfather's bare chest gleamed in the candlelight. His eyes were closed. Harry took off his socks, pushed off his jeans and his briefs and climbed onto the bed beside him. He ran his fingers through Sirius' still damp hair and smiled when his godfather sighed contentedly.

The Aurors had indeed taken hours to finish. They had combed through the entire house and had spent ages examining the drawing room and the hallway. They had scrutinised every inch of the now empty wall where the house-elf heads once had been mounted and they had swept up the ash that was the only remains of the Black family tree and poured it into a large glass vial and carefully labelled it. They had even taken old Mrs Black's frame and destroyed canvas with them. Sirius had waved them off with all of it.

Auror Jones' interviews had been long. She had made Harry recount everything that had passed since the demise of Voldemort and his arrival at Grimmauld Place after the battle at Hogwarts. He told her about Draco first, of all things. The about the funeral, for some reason. Then about his and Sirius' visit to the Ministry when his godfather was proclaimed still not alive. About the attack. He searched his memories for anything that might shed light on something but he felt oddly disconnected.

He could see that she was keen to know. She wanted the details. In order, if you please Mr Potter. She wanted him to tell her exactly what Mr Windyfield had said the few times they had met. Perhaps Yaxley had been pretending to be him already at Mr Malfoy's trial, hm? Harry had shrugged. Perhaps.

And Sirius was an Animagus. How many walks in the park had they taken? Had they met anyone? Seen anything? Was Yaxley spying on them? Was he the old lady who had looked so disapprovingly at Harry when he had taken out all of his fears and anger on Padfoot and shouted at him?

They had not found the real Mr Windyfield yet but she had a team searching for him. And they would let Harry know when he was found. Very soon, Mr Potter.

When it was all done, she had made Harry summon Kreacher. The house-elf was a broken pile of tatters, rolled into a wailing and screeching ball on the floor. If Auror Jones got any useful information out of him she was truly competent. Harry had questions for him himself but they could wait

He knew he should care. He always cared. Mr and Mrs Weasley and Hermione were worried and even Ron seemed reluctant to leave when the time came. Auror Jones had ensured them all, coolly and calmly, that the Floo network had been put under strict surveillance and she had engaged specialised wizards whose task was to oversee an upgrade of the old charm that made the Black residence Unplottable.

Harry always cared. That was his specialty. He always got involved.

He traced Sirius' jawline with a forefinger. They had taken a long bath together, simply lying in each other's arms. If there had been any tears, they had been lost in the water. Then they had gone in search of supper. Now they were here. At last. Alive and together.

Sirius turned his face to Harry. Slowly he opened his eyes and the grey was shimmering. "It was Kreacher, you know."

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

"A service to the house of Black."

"He saved you. And me. Even though he despises us."

Sirius' expression was thoughtful. "Still, I guess, we're family."

"You are. I'm not."

"You're his Master."

"Maybe…" Harry shook his head. "I don't know."

"Harry…" Sirius caught his hand. "Lie down."

He did. Sirius pulled the covers over them and spooned up behind Harry. He was warm. Harry melted into him.

"I love you," Sirius' murmur teased his ear.

Harry smiled. "I love you."

"You love a blood traitor."

"Yeah…" Harry rolled onto his other side to be able to face his godfather. "You, and the Weasleys. And Hermione."

Sirius' lips curved into a soft smile. "We're all traitors. Traitors and Mudbloods. Even Kreacher has done his fair share of traitorous deeds."

"I'm not sure I love him, though," Harry admitted.

"No, but even so, such is the kind you surround yourself with, Harry Potter. And now we won't even have my dear old mother to remind us of that. Or the family tree, for that matter."

"I think I can live with that," Harry grinned at him.

"Oh yeah? Which of it?"

"All of it."

Sirius kissed him.

TBC