Chapter Thirty-Four – The Apology

Some blurry dream woke him. The bedroom was still dark and he was warm. They had moved in their sleep and now it was Harry holding Sirius. The peaceful sound of his godfather's breathing filled the night air. Grimmauld Place was quiet.

Harry buried his face in Sirius' hair and tried to sink back into oblivion. Skin to skin. He shifted his top leg and his godfather's arse pressed against his length. It stirred a need deep within him, deeper than sleeping. He tried to will it away, really tried to ignore the way Sirius felt in his arms. It was after all only hours ago that Yaxley had hunted them down the stairs and the Killing Curse had whizzed past them.

But perhaps that was exactly why Harry needed this. He moved again, aligning himself with his godfather and leaving a kiss on his neck, in his hair. Sirius' breathing changed its rhythm. Harry held his own breath as his godfather reached for his hand and tightened Harry's hold on him.

So close to the other man, Harry felt himself swell. Sirius made a sound. Lost to the darkness of night Harry closed his eyes and pushed experimentally against Sirius' backside. This was different. Almost as if he were in another world. Sirius grasped his hand and guided it downwards and Harry found him hardening.

He took Sirius' cock in a firm grasp and stroked. His godfather's response was a moan mixed with a sigh. Harry kissed his neck again and worked his hand up and down Sirius' hard flesh. They lay like this for a while, Sirius letting go of small noises, moving more and more restlessly against Harry as he sank deeper and deeper into pleasure. Instinctively Harry rubbed his own cock against Sirius' arse. He breathed heavily against his neck and his hand was now slick with precome.

He was so absorbed by this that Sirius' fingers on his own at first barely registered. Then, decisively, they impeded his ministrations but before Harry could find his voice to ask Sirius guided his hand to another place. To a whoosh through Harry's stomach Sirius placed Harry's fingers there. This time it was the older man who adjusted his position, sliding his top leg forwards.

In the dense darkness, Harry swallowed. Then he slid a first finger between Sirius' buttocks. It was very warm. He found the entrance. Even as his own courage wavered his cock jumped. Squeezing his eyes shut Harry tested the ring of muscle. Only a month ago he had never thought he would ever do anything remotely similar to this. His godfather groaned into the night. Harry paused for a couple of frantic heartbeats to gather his scattered wits but then he pushed the tip of his finger inside.

It was addictive. That was the only way to describe it. And it was scorching hot. After the initial, instinctive resistance Sirius accepted him hungrily. Harry slid his finger in and out, fighting to keep himself under control. He had thought being claimed by Sirius was the best thing in the world but this slow preparation of his godfather was quickly becoming equally fantastic. Sirius reached behind him, finding Harry's arm and urging him on. Harry added another finger, then a third, as if by instinct he knew what to do. His head was swimming and his own cock was aching. Sirius' heavy breathing mingled with his own and Harry's skin felt almost too tight over his body.

He could not say how he knew it was time but he replaced his fingers with the head of his cock and pushed. His own groan, and Sirius', reverberated through him as he buried himself deep in his godfather. He thought he tasted blood in his mouth as Sirius' inner muscles clamped down around him and added a pressure Harry could never have imagined. He lost his breath and his heartbeat to the burning tightness and tears stung his eyes. Sirius caught his hand and his grip was almost numbing. Harry did not know what else to do but to thrust deeper into that engulfing heat. It was the best thing he had ever done.

Sirius moved with him. His godfather fell onto his belly and Harry followed. He stretched out on top of Sirius and pushed deeper and deeper and deeper until he could no longer tell them apart.

Their fingers twined together in the sheets and Harry kissed the nape of Sirius' neck, kissed every patch of skin within reach. Harry felt like laughing and crying and screaming, and when he came, anchored in the deepest heat, he just might have done all of it.

o.O.o

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains. Sirius was holding him, tracing patterns on his belly and thigh with lazy fingertips. Harry shuddered and smiled. He had retrieved his glasses but was really in no hurry to persuade his godfather to stop and get out of bed.

"I already miss you," Sirius murmured. "It was so good, Harry, to have you in me."

Some warmth wandered over Harry's cheeks. "I didn't plan it," he said, for some reason.

"You should start planning it."

"That's very romantic," Harry laughed. He opened his eyes. Sirius' grin made his heart perform a little dance. "Once a week? On Tuesdays?"

"Mmm…" Sirius dropped a kiss to his mouth. "Five o'clock. After homework."

"Sirius, we will have to be caref–"

"I know." This time Sirius' tongue tip worked its way between Harry's lips and the kiss quickly deepened. "I know," he said as he drew back again. "I won't lead you down the low road." But the twinkling light in his eyes suggested something completely different.

Harry shook his head and bit down on his lower lip to keep from smiling.

They lay for a while in silence, Sirius' fingertips still idly walking over Harry's skin. Then he cleared his throat. "Listen, Harry, about something else…. I know it might be hard for you but… Have you considered a new owl?"

Jolted from his pleasant doze Harry frowned. "What?"

Sirius licked his lips. He looked rather uncomfortable. "Well, just that… I've been thinking about it. You'll be going back to school… Arthur and Molly will want to be able to write you, if nothing else. And they might like a response sometime… you know"

Something cold crept over Harry's heart. It was difficult finding words, all of a sudden. "I… I can't. Hedwig…" Memories of that awful night she had died flooded back to him and made his throat tight. "She saved my life."

"I know…" Sirius' hand came to a rest on his belly, palm down. "And there is nothing, Harry, I can say to that. You are… You are everything to me and if not for her…" His voice was low and steady. "But owls… you will need one. At some point at least."

Harry swallowed hard. He did not want a new owl. He wanted Hedwig. However impossible and childish that was. Quite simply, he was not ready to think about this, much less talk about it.

When he made no attempt at an answer, Sirius lay back down. "Tell you what," he said, pressing a kiss into Harry's shoulder, "when you're ready, we'll go to Eeylops, if they're still in business, and have a look. You don't have to decide. You don't have to buy one. We'll just… have a look."

Harry said nothing but as far as he was concerned he was never going to be ready for that either.

o.O.o

During the days that followed, it was as if the good old times when Harry was the Chosen One and Voldemort was not yet dead were back. The front page of the Prophet was once again roaring with frantically flashing photographs of the war, the Death Eaters, the trials and Ministry officials – of Kingsley – repeating the same chant over and over again: there was no new war, the foe was defeated, all was well.

And Harry. Old pictures of Harry, somewhat newer pictures of Harry, pictures of what was allegedly a corner of Harry Potter's cloak as he hurried around a corner to escape reporters. Most exclusive interviews with people who just might have once or twice seen Yaxley at a distance five to ten years ago and lengthy articles of a varying literary quality discussing in detail the history of the wizarding wars of modern times flooded the paper.

Harry and Sirius stayed at home. It was a strange feeling to walk around the house deprived as it was of the old house-elf heads, the Black family tree and most of all, Mrs Black in her frame behind the curtains. It took a full week before the Aurors' investigation was completed and they gave Sirius their permission to alter the look of the house if he so wished. Sirius suffered through their presence with a grim look and a clenched jaw. Harry was relieved when it was finally over since he was expecting his godfather to explode any moment.

It was another week before they removed the curtains from the hallway and burned them. Kreacher did not show up for the event. He kept mostly to his cupboard from which sobbing could be heard now and again. Harry had not yet dared to approach him on the subject of his mistress' ultimate demise and as the days passed he lost more and more of his will to do so. Kreacher dutifully cooked and cleaned, as was evident by the state of the house and the meals they found in the kitchen every day, but he managed to stay invisible.

It was an odd time. Not spring, not autumn. The weather was fickle and summer never really arrived. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was quiet and gloomy.

Ron's head appeared in the drawing room fire one day to relay some news: Hermione's parents had arrived to pick her up and there had been lots of crying and hugging and emotions. Now she had gone back home, naturally. Mrs Weasley was still dealing with her loss and her view on Harry's relationship with Sirius. George, however, was exhibiting a desire to return to business at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes at some point in a not too distant future and that was a good thing, both Harry and Ron agreed on. From Ron's report Harry surmised that Mrs Weasley did not share this sentiment. And neither of them mentioned Ginny, something which made Harry feel a bit bad but he was too happy to have Ron speaking to him at all (and of his own free will, at that) that he felt reluctant to risk pouring salt into old wounds.

Auror Jones dropped by one afternoon – hair and eyeshadow impeccable as always – to let them know that Mr Windyfield was being treated at St Mungo's for exhaustion and memory loss. He had been found, three days after Yaxley's death, in an abandoned shed on the outskirts of Bath, where according to recent discoveries he had an old aunt whom he visited once a week. At this point in her account, Sirius' sudden arm around his shoulders had Harry's concentration do a backflip and so the Auror had found herself forced to explain in a rather deliberate fashion that, no, Mr Windyfield's aunt did not live in said abandoned shed. She owned a house. But, as I am sure you understand, Mr Potter, hiding an unconscious body in the house of said victim's close relative is generally not a very successful tactic.

Harry nodded, trying his best to focus despite the warmth of Sirius so close to him. As far as he understood, however, the prognosis was encouraging and the Healers expected Mr Windyfield to make a full recovery.

This, too, was good, of course. But when she had taken her leave and Harry's heartbeat had slowed to its normal pace, he could not shake the feeling that he was waiting for something. Something else. Something more…

He and Sirius had made camp in their bedroom as to not disturb the Aurors' work or be in their way. Now that they were done it proved surprisingly difficult to expand their living area. They spent long hours in bed, holding one another, mostly talking about anything that crossed their minds, but also lying silent, just breathing. Sometimes it led to sex, sometimes not. Somehow, the shadows that seemed to be permanently draped over the house wove themselves into Harry's mind and it was only with Sirius that he was free of them. He opened up, or his godfather did so, and when they lay sweat-soaked and tangled in the sheets that was when he was alive.

Contrary, that was, to most reports on his doings, coming and goings and whereabouts in general, as presented by the Prophet. Harry was in London one day, but the next he was spotted in Hogsmeade – only to be sighted in Chelsea or even Aberdeen that same afternoon. What he was actually doing in any of these places remained a mystery (he was certainly not shagging his godfather – that piece of information had not made the news yet) but most probably it was something spectacular.

One afternoon, in an attempt to sort of befriend the house he had brought his reading to the dining room and now, upon closing the newspaper, Harry felt strangely like a disappointment. The room lay swathed in unmoving shadows and Harry was doing nothing at all, as far as he knew. Not anything that somebody would thank him for, at least. He might have been on the verge of sliding into a new slough of despondency if there had not come a rather sharp knock on the front door. Before Harry had even got up from his seat, the familiar clicking of the looks was filling the compact stillness of the hallway.

Grabbing his wand, Harry stepped out of the dining room just in time to see the front door swing open and reveal Kingsley Shacklebolt on the threshold.

They greyish daylight crept warily over the threadbare carpet. Kingsley was wearing a light cloak and his fez was embroidered with fine golden threads. "Harry," he inclined his head. "Forgive this unannounced intrusion, but may I come in?"

Harry's wand was warming in his hand. Perhaps he had been shut in for too long, probably he was being rude but he was not risking it. "Who are you?"

There was a moment of dense silence but then the tall man gave a slight smile. With graceful ease he lifted his wand and a large, shimmering lynx leapt into the gloom and seemed to make the very air quiver. It moved so smoothly that it seemed to glide over to Harry, circled him once before, in the middle of a new leap, vanished into nothingness. After it was gone, the hallway seemed even darker than before.

Harry's grip on his wand eased and he nodded. "Sorry. Minister," he added, because he supposed he should. "Please come in."

Kingsley accepted the invitation and shut the door behind him. The gas lamps flickered to life but their muted glow only achieved to highlight the dark corners.

"Forgive me for not announcing my intention of calling on you beforehand, Harry. I have been… quite busy, to say the least." He took off his cloak and hung it just inside the door.

"No problem." Harry wondered if Kreacher was up to the task of producing some tea. "Can I… offer you anything?"

But Kingsley shook his head. "Thank you. Some other time. I cannot stay long but I need to speak with you." He drew a deep breath, and it looked to Harry as if some of his ministerial splendour slid off his shoulders. He took a couple of steps closer. "I have come to apologise to you, Harry. On behalf of myself and the Ministry."

Harry frowned up at him. If he had expected anything, it was not this. "For what?"

"I know it must have seemed heartless. And I understand that you were frustrated, angry even…" The older man took another few steps deeper into the house. "You must understand that we thought it would be for the best, to keep you out of it... And by that I mean the Malfoy issue."

Harry swallowed. "'We'?"

Kingsley's dark eyes were soft. "Myself, for one. Arthur and Molly. Minerva. The Order, Harry. Or what's left of it." He sighed. "You had gone through too much. You are too young. You have seen things that…"

"I was too young," Harry corrected him bitterly. "I am of age now."

"You are," Kingsley conceded after a moment. "But…"

"But I am already involved!" Harry felt anger rush through him, quick and dangerously hot. "I always was. I am this!" He had not meant to raise his voice but it was too late now.

Whatever Kingsley had been about to say in return was drowned in the call that came from somewhere upstairs, "Harry!"

They heard a door banging and a rush of footsteps. Harry had time to think how strange it was that Mrs Black was no longer around to be woken up before Sirius came crashing down the stairs, wand in hand. "Harry what's go–" He came to a halt on the steps when he spotted their visitor in the hallway. "Kingsley?"

"Sirius." The Minister offered a small nod. "I'm sorry for disturbing you but I came to explain some things to Harry."

Sirius pushed his hair back and slid down the last couple of steps. There was a furrow of deep suspicion between his dark brows. As if taking on a challenge Kingsley had not proposed he quite demonstratively laid a palm on Harry's spine, letting it slide slowly downwards until it came to a rest in the small of Harry's back. "Very well. Let's hear it."

Kingsley watched them, his piercing gaze making Harry's heartbeat nervous again and his breathing rather shallow. In the end, however, the Minister chose to say nothing about it.

"What is it you wish to explain, Kingsley, hm?" Sirius' voice had an edge to it that rang quite sharp.

But the tall man opposite them shook his head. "Sirius, don't. I'm not here to fight you. You know me. I care about you both."

Something in his deep voice and the way he spoke made the anger that had so quickly sparked in Harry's chest melt away. He glanced up at his godfather. Sirius met his gaze and there was that softness again, the one that always flooded his eyes when he looked at Harry. It made the whole day brighter.

"Fine," Sirius said, finally, he too relaxing a little. "Will you be coming in or do you prefer standing around our hallway?"

A small smile, with just a hint of wryness, made a mild curve of Kingsley's lips. "Let us sit down."

They filed into the dining room and settled into chairs, Harry and Sirius on one side of the table with Kingsley opposite them. The Minister wasted no time. In a display of perfect command, a flick of his wand lit the candles in the chandelier above them. Then he placed his palms flat on the table top and leaned forwards.

"As I was saying, it is my wish to apologise to you, Harry. We were a few who decided, not long after the battle at Hogwarts, that you should be given time to heal and rest." He made an explanatory gesture with a hand. "In the light of what happened I assume it is safe to say that we were wrong. When we understood that your intention was to help Draco Malfoy, I should have spoken with you. Told you the Ministry's plans."

"I wouldn't have approved," Harry told him flatly.

"I know. And that is a good thing." Kingsley's smile was self-conscious. "It is a good thing indeed when people are not afraid to raise their voices against their leaders. I can only say that our choices were made out of concern for you."

Beside Harry, Sirius snorted. "Should've known better, the lot of you. He can't help but get involved." He cast a sideways glance at Harry. "Believe me when I say I tried to talk him out of it."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but closed it again without a word. He had defended himself before on this issue and he was not too keen to do it all over again but he wanted to explain. Needed to, it seemed, too, because when he opened his mouth a second time the words came rushing out of him.

"I care about Draco. I think I started caring about Draco a really long time ago… Ever since that night in the Astronomy Tower, when Dumbledore…" he followed a dark vein in the wooden table, finding that he could not look neither Kingsley nor Sirius in the eye, "when Dumbledore died and Draco had the chance to kill him but never could. I saw him then, really saw him and he was terrified. I think I've known ever since that Draco was… That he didn't really want any of this." Forcing the memories of that dreadful night aside he looked up. "I needed to do what I could for him."

"It makes perfect sense, Harry," Kingsley said quietly. "And we – I – should have respected your compassion and repaid you in kind."

Harry nodded, quite unable to find anything to say to that.

Kingsley, however, straightened a little. "Also, I wish to let you know that I am undertaking an all-encompassing reformation project. My intention is to rid the Ministry of any trace of corruption and my aim is to restore its name and good reputation."

"That doesn't sound like a job for an appointed Minister," Sirius interjected. When Harry looked up at him there was a gleam in his eye.

"Ah, well… It has not been made official yet but…" Kingsley's smile was modest but there was pride in it too. "If I can ever be of service to you…" He inclined his head and left the rest of the sentence unfinished.

"Actually…" Sirius scratched his chin, "since you and your Ministry apparently are in a generous mood today, there might be something…" He reached for Harry's hand and twined their fingers together. "If you've been in touch with Arthur and Molly lately I'm sure you know this already but Harry and I are… Well, you know." He grinned. "And I think Harry would very much appreciate it if none of your Aurors who spent an insufferable amount of time fine combing this place in search of whatever they were in search of went to the Prophet with this information just yet."

Harry's cheeks reddened even as Kingsley's eyebrows rose and he rather unexpectedly flashed a grin not unlike Sirius'. "My Aurors operate under strict protocol. They are not to discuss any details of their investigations with the press unless directly ordered to do so."

"Excellent."

Kingsley's grin faded. "Ah, but Sirius, as for yourself, I've had some people look into the matter of your recorded status but unfortunately that is a most complicated case and I'm afraid it will take quite some time to declare you alive."

"No matter, really." Sirius shrugged. His fingers were still firmly wrapped around Harry's. "For a dead man, my life is proving to be very rewarding. But I think we could do without any reports on our private life, for a while longer." He nodded at Harry's discarded copy of the Prophet on the table.

"I ensure my Aurors' silence on the subject," Kingsley promised. "And I will do one more thing for you, Sirius." He locked eyes with Harry's godfather. "Tomorrow I will issue a ban on the use of Dementors at Azkaban."

Harry's eyes widened. Beside him, Sirius' eyes did much the same. He watched as a shadow drew across his godfather's face and left a shade of sorrow in its wake. There was a tightening in his jaw and he nodded. "Thank you."

Kingsley's nodded. "We will be evaluating the use in general of Dementors in the judiciary system but we have to start somewhere."

Harry gave Sirius' hand a small squeeze. His godfather's eyes were brighter than usual when he looked up. "Thank you," he repeated.

"Now, Harry," the Minister said. "I know through Minerva that you will be returning to Hogwarts this autumn but if there is anything I can do, or if you wish to get involved…?"

Harry pondered that for a moment, the offer hanging tantalising before him. "I don't know," he said, honestly. "I mean, I did really want to help Draco and I also want the Ministry to function properly but I'm not sure I…" He frowned, digging deep to find the right words, but in the end failing rather badly at eloquence. "I feel like I am… done with all of this, for now." It was a very, very strange thing to say but it felt more right than anything else he could think of.

"Well, in that case allow me to suggest something?" Kingsley smiled. "I suggest, Mr Potter, that you engage in something I believe you have never really done before. I suggest that you give yourself permission to enjoy a long, completely normal and highly uneventful summer holiday." He winked. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to the Ministry. Just before I left I received word of a breakthrough in the excavation of this absolutely inconvenient crater that opened up in the Atrium after the war. I'm quite eager to hear what's been found."

They saw him out, Harry and Sirius still hand in hand. Kingsley Shacklebolt smoothed out his cloak on the doorstep to Grimmauld Place and smiled at them. "When things have calmed down, dinner perhaps?"

Sirius grinned. "Want to trade old battle stories?"

The Minister snorted. "Hardly. No, but I seem to recall that you used to have some old, rather decent, Firewhisky stored away somewhere in a dark corner." He was gone with a crack.

It was only fifteen minutes later that a sleek silver lynx with a deep, resigned voice interrupted the kiss Sirius was bestowing on Harry.

"Eighty-three mouldy cinnamon rolls and two bagpipes," the Patronus sighed into the dining room, "were found at the bottom of the crater. I sent the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes people home to rethink their careers."

Harry grinned up at Sirius, trying to gather his thoughts that had scattered as soon as his godfather had driven a knee between his thighs and pushed him up against the table. "I have an idea."

"Mm…" Sirius dragged his hands up Harry's back and took his t-shirt with him. "So do I."

"Well, that too," Harry agreed, "but first…"

He twisted around to snatch the Prophet off the table. Slithering out of Sirius's embrace he hefted his wand and pointed it at the newspaper. "Incendio." The paper crinkled and smouldered and soon the flames were reaching upwards and licking across the pictures of Harry and Yaxley and Kingsley. Harry dropped it and they watched together as the screaming headlines were reduced to a scatter of ash on the floor. A quick Vanishing spell later and all traces of the paper were gone.

Satisfied, Harry then did what he should have done weeks ago: a sweep of his wand turned the heavy curtains a bright yellow. Though the windows were far from clean a little more light now fell into the dining room. It made him smile. And it made Sirius wrap his arms around him and leave open-mouthed kisses all along his neck and jawline. A long summer holiday suddenly seemed like a very alluring prospect.

TBC