Chapter 12: Day 12 - 12:32

The dining table groaned under the combined cooking efforts of Mrs Weasley and Kreacher. Molly, finally putting her foot down and ploughing through the grumbles and exclamations of discontent from the ancient house elf that he was the primary cook of the household, had arrived half an hour before lunch with a trail of bowls and steaming dishes floating behind her. A feast, she'd said, as a feast should be. For instead of a dinner celebration, the temporary residents of Grimmauld Place would be sharing drink and good food to farewell the school-aged members of their company before they left the next day.

It was, as was customary for any meal with the Weasley family, a raucous affair. Sirius, though he found he rather enjoyed the excessive noise, the babbles of indiscernible conversation broken by louder exclamations and bursts of laughter, had always found it hard to get a word in edgewise. He could see from the expression on Remus' face at the other end of the table that his friend felt similarly, though Tonks at his side seemed to slot herself into pace with the craziness with ease, nearly sending Ginny toppling from her chair in hysterical giggles over something or other.

The dining room was not quite as cluttered for space as it had been at Christmas, but even so it was a full enough house. Molly skirted the table more often than she sat down to eat her fill, filling up bowls and unnecessarily slicing at the roast lamb that served as the centrepiece and ignoring Remus' thanks and repeated suggestions to "Please seat yourself". Arthur barely even seemed to notice, evidently much used to his wife's bustling, and was instead engrossed in a conversation with the twins; Fred and George had taken an hour or two off from the shop, leaving it in the capable hands of their latest employee and old school friend Lee Jordan to partake of their mother's cooking. They were apparently discussing some of the latest inclusions of Muggle artefacts in their wares that their father found fascinating.

A little further along the table, Hermione and Ron were locked in a fierce argument about something or other that Sirius hadn't bothered to listen out for. Whatever it was, Hermione seemed to be winning and as such Ron had taken the approach of nonchalance and disregard, assuming a thoroughly bored countenance while filling his mouth more excessively that a chipmunk. Harry, seated alongside his friend, had adopted a faintly baffled expression as he observed Hermione's wild gesticulations and increasingly flushed cheeks. Draco, as always right next to him, looked… amused? And faintly satisfied. The smirk on his lips was firmly affixed, though Sirius hazarded that there was little maliciousness in that expression now. Not even a hint of disgust directed towards Hermione for her 'Mudblood' heritage.

Had he only just demonstrated such a distancing from his usual prejudices? Or was it just that Sirius was only just realised it now? He couldn't be altogether sure.

"Sirius?"

Glancing to his left, Sirius almost started at the unexpected and entirely unwelcome figure of Mundungus at his side huddled at his side. The scrappy little wizard, shoulders hunched beneath the loudly patterned shoulders of his jacket as though expecting a blow, rung his hands like he would a dishcloth. His eyes as always darted nervously about himself. Sighing, Sirius lowered his knife and fork. "What is it, Dung?"

Shifting uncomfortably, gaze drifting with their eternal wariness towards Sirius, the man cleared his throat wetly. Sirius fought to hide his distaste. "I's been sent from Mad-Eye, I has. Says he'd got some more intel for you on Lestrange, if you're keen. Would like to talk to you this afternoon if you've got a moment."

Eyebrows rising in interest, Sirius sucked distractedly at a piece of lamb caught between his teeth. "That so?"

"Mmhm," Mundungus nodded rapidly. His eyes swept around the room once more, scanning for Sirius could only guess at what. He had to wonder if it was simply a nervous tick of the man's or if he truly suspected an attack to come flying at him from nowhere. "Just at your earliest convenience, like."

Nodding, Sirius deliberately turned from the little man and hefted his knife and fork once more. He felt no hesitancy in disregarding him after he'd delivered his message; Mundungus deserved each and every menial task he got after his botch up in Greenwich two weeks ago that had nearly gotten himself and the Dedalus Diggle killed for his stupidity. Moody was doing right by using him as a runner. Maybe he'd try a little harder next time, act a little less foolishly. "Right. Thanks for that, Dung. I'll pop over after lunch."

Another three bites into his meal and Sirius became aware that Harry had turned his attention to him curiously. He raised an eyebrow to his godson quizzically. "Something wrong?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope. Nothing. Just wondering what that was all about."

Sirius glanced to his side, to the now-absent spot of air where Mundungus had stood. "You mean Dung?" At Harry's nod of affirmation, he shrugged. "Nothing much. Just asking me to swing by and see Moody after lunch to pick up some intel. Apparently my house arrest is temporarily alleviated when it suits some people." He kept his tone mocking to hide his disgruntlement for the fact.

"Intel? Order stuff?"

Quite without meaning to, Sirius cast a quick glance along the table for eavesdroppers. It wasn't like there was anyone's presence to object to; pretty much all of those seated at the table were in the loop already. And most of them were ignoring Sirius and Harry's conversation entirely. In fact, the only one who even appeared to be listening with half an ear was Draco, with Ron and Hermione still ignoring and fuming respectively. Sirius paused at that, his usual misgivings as to the true loyalties of the boy arising, but he struggled to dismiss them. Struggled hard, but manage he did.

Don't start this again, he coached himself. Stave off the habit. I can't keep suspecting the kid anymore. It wouldn't be fair to Harry. And with such a resolution, he turned from the listening blonde and gave his sole attention to Harry. "Moody's apparently found something on Lestrange."

"Bellatrix?" Harry asked, his face hardening. After Sirius' close encounter he too had developed a seething hatred for the woman.

Sirius nodded, chewing on a wedge of potato. "I don't want to get my hopes up, but there's a possibility we've narrowed it down a bit over the past few weeks. The reports McGonagall sent me the other day suggested we were close to finding a lead." He gave a grim smile. "Hopefully, Merlin willing, we'll be able to pin the bitch and finally nail her to the ground."

It was only after the words had escaped his mouth that Sirius noticed the increased attentiveness of Draco in the full turn of his head. His immediate thought was negative – the little shit really was a double-faced traitor – until he noticed the slight frown of thoughtfulness on the young man's brow. Thoughtfulness and something else.

And Sirius abruptly realised, even felt a hint of remorse at the realisation, that this was Draco's aunt that he was talking about.

Chewing the last of his potato and swallowing thickly, Sirius hardened himself. He had to do it, to speak the words that needed to be said next. Every urge within him was screaming to smirk satisfyingly or, if not that, then to at least overlook the offense with feigned ignorance. That wasn't the resolve he'd set himself over the last day, however. That wasn't the best he could do for Harry.

"Um… S… Sorry about that. No offence intended." He cleared his throat. "Nothing personal, Draco."

The startled blink and subsequent failure to hide the delighted smile that flashed briefly across Harry's face made his struggles well worth the effort. Even if it did hurt like a physical pain in Sirius' chest to do so. He fought the urge to disgorge the contents of his stomach and turned expectantly towards Draco. If I've taken a step forwards the least you could do is meet me halfway, you bastard, he thought. Uncharitably, he knew, but he wasn't feeling particularly charitable at the moment. His disagreeable stomach forbade such generosity.

And Draco, damn him, didn't look unsettled in the slightest. Quite the opposite, a passing observer may have supposed that he was witness to such displays from Sirius on a regular basis. He simply inclined his head in a regal nod. "None taken." And he turned back to his dinner.

The sodding bastard.

It was only slightly quelling to see Harry's smile widen further, even if he did direct it towards his half-eaten lunch rather than either possible recipients for his attention.

Before Sirius could dwell too greatly on the matter, however, there was a disruption a little way down the table. The source of that disruption readily became apparent with a moment's study. And Sirius, feeling a smile spread across his own face, settled his cutlery down in eagerness for the show. He noticed with a brief glance around the table that he wasn't the only one watching attentively.

Ron, his cheeks still bloated with lunch, was frozen in the act of leaning down to splutter a request through said food onto the mildly disgusted, upturned face of Kreacher beside his chair. The cause for his immobility lay in the looming, red-faced Hermione as she leaned across the table and shook her finger at him.

"Ron, you will not ask Kreacher to cook you up an entire chicken just because you 'think it might go nicely with the stew'. He is not your slave. For goodness sake, isn't there enough food on offer already?"

Ron struggled to swallow enough that his reply would be intelligible. When he finally managed, he replied with arms raised in placation. "Look, 'ermione. 'Snot like he really minds or anything. I mean, look at 'im, 'e loves to cook! And Mum took away 'is opportunity and all –"

"He does not love to act on your every beck and call," Hermione fumed. She turned gentle eyes upon the house elf, who only scowled back up at her. It was disconcerting to see, the tenderness in her gaze so quickly replacing anger. "It's okay, Kreacher, you don't have to do anything he asks."

Kreacher was obviously torn, and Sirius knew exactly why. The little cretin was at odds deciding which order would be less disagreeable to him; acting on the request of a 'blood traitor' and cooking up the unnecessary extra food or bowing down to the suggestion of a 'Mudblood' and doing nothing. It was a dilemma that the stooped, ancient elf was evidently struggling with.

"He likes doing it, though. That's what house elves like doing."

"Only because they've been brainwashed to think that way."

"Doesn't change anything. He still wants to do it!"

"Doesn't change -?! It changes absolutely everything! How could you even say that?!"

The pair descended into explosive argument, drowning out even the laughing conversation of Ginny and Tonks at the other end of the table. Molly had stopped in the act of rising from her chair, caught between speaking to reprimand and stuttering at a loss. Even the largely dismissive Arthur had turned his attention to the two of them. It was like a stage show being played out in the middle of the table.

One that Sirius was thoroughly enjoying. Even more so when Hermione turned abruptly towards him and enveloped him as an active participant. "Sirius, tell Kreacher he doesn't have to do what Ron says. Tell him. He'd listen more to you than he would to me."

Sirius shrugged, leaning back in his seat with casual thoughtfulness. "Oh, I don't know about that."

"Sirius, please."

"Honestly, Hermione, I doubt Kreacher would listen to me anymore than he would to you. And besides," he tipped his head towards Ron. "Ron's got a point. House elves actually do like working. Call it weird or wrong or whatever, but they do."

"Cheers, mate," Ron said, hailing him with a fork loaded in broccoli.

"You are both disgusting," Hermione seethed, though Sirius could tell that her anger came more frustration than genuine disgust. "Where do you get off thinking like you do?"

"I'm a pureblood. Blame my upbringing."

"Most purebloods are actually raised to think as much about house elves…"

There was a brief quell in the conversation as all eyes turned to Sirius and Draco. For surprisingly it was Draco that had spoken almost in sync with Sirius. Almost synchronous and almost exactly the same in sentiment. By Harry's rekindled grin, one that he didn't even bother trying to hide, he'd very much noticed it too.

Sirius affixed Draco with a stare. And Draco stared straight back at him. A thousand words, of threats and repentance, of warnings and acknowledgments, passed between them in a matter of seconds. Then, by unspoken agreement, they broke their gaze and turned back to their temporary audience. Even Hermione appeared to have put her anger on hold for the moment. She snapped her gaze to Draco as he spoke. "You can hardly blame purebloods for the standards that have been drilled into them from birth, Hermione," he began, and subsequently continued to rationalise his side of the argument. In self-defence, naturally, as though it was he Hermione had directed her disgust towards. It didn't take long for her to rear her head once more and fall to objections at the very notion itself.

Sirius didn't listen. After a brief struggle with the urge to stand up and punch Draco in the face for the mortifying embarrassment that arose at their like-mindedness, he set about polishing off his plate with single-minded determination. And when he'd finished, he felt able to lift his gaze without staring daggers at Draco.

And he met Harry's eyes once more. Harry, who didn't look to have turned away from him since he'd shared words and an entire unspoken conversation with Draco, despite the increasingly raucous debate ensuing between Hermione, Draco and Ron. A debate which spilled over to include Molly as she attempted to quieten them and the twins as they sought to only increase the madness with suggestive and unhelpful comments.

Harry was smiling. Smiling with that consideration, with that gratitude that Sirius didn't deserve. But even undeserving as it was, Sirius appreciated it. And even hating Draco for the happenstance of his words, he felt an iota of appreciation that it had occurred in spite of it.

For anything that could make Harry that happy couldn't be such a bad thing. Sirius could put up with Draco Malfoy if he had to. He could and he would. He'd commit himself to making his godson happy if it meant cutting off the extra limb that was his pride.

It would sting, but he could do it. And maybe after a while, that sting would even disappear. Because there were certainly more important things, things of greater priority, to consider. And one of them was making sure that Harry kept smiling for as long as he could.

In the state the world was in, it needed every glimmer of happiness it could get.

~fin~

A/N: Thank you for reading and sticking it out throughout the entire story! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did - or even if you didn't - I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you have a second to comment, I'd greatly appreciate it.