So sorry for the wait - I gave my Beta Joelle 8 a very short time in which to read and beta this chapter, which she did manage to with some excellent suggestions for improvements, and then it took me an age to get round to the improvements! I'm so sorry, but hopefully, this chapter was worth the wait. And thanks so much to Joelle 8 for betaing this chapter - she was absolutely fantastic. And thanks to everyone who reviewed, but especially Violet Queen for her wonderful review, which was the reason I decided to update today and not tomorrow. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Love comforteth like sunshine after rain. - William Shakepeare

A few weeks later I was again to be found in the Head's Common Room, this time alone. I was working late on a particularly gruesome Potions Essay, whilst Lily and James were doing rounds, Remus was ill, Katie, Megs and Alice were in detention for late homework, and Peter, Frank and Sirius were nowhere to be found.

Tired of struggling through the essay, I decided to take a trip down to the kitchens, in order to grab a coffee to keep me awake. The corridors were silent, and I arrived thankfully into the warm and cosy kitchens, a far cry from the cold and draughty corridors a scant few metres away.

As always, the house elves were hospitality itself, pressing me to take cakes, muffins, buns, and everything else. I declined, asking for only a coffee, and sat down in the comfy sofa in the corner to await my shot of caffeine.

My eyelids began to droop as I settled myself on the snug sofa, arching back into the snug cushions, my head dropping to my shoulder. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

I awoke sometime later, a cold cup of coffee next to me, the lights dimmed in the area I was in, and the kitchens deserted except for two house elves, sitting nearby, talking quietly.

When they became aware that I was awake, they started, apologising for not waking me up.

"We is so sorry, Miss. We didn't know if you wanted waking or not, and you looked so very tired Miss, that we was thinking you needed some sleep. We does the right thing?" they asked, their faces twin masks of concern.

I assured them that it was, and repeated my request for a mug of coffee – the essay was due in in two days, and I had barely started. I really needed to have written at least half by tomorrow. Or today. I checked my watch – it was almost two in the morning. Today then.

My coffee soon arrived, and I made sure not to sit again, lest I fall asleep, after thanking the house elves assiduously, receiving two giant grins for my pains, I made my way slowly back to the Heads Common Room, unwilling to embark upon my essay once more.

I gave the password and climbed in silently, relieved that I had made it back without being caught. It was against school rules to be wondering around after curfew, and even though I was pretty sure that neither Lily or James wouldn't put me in detention, Filch was sure to do so, if he caught me sneaking around after hours.

Once inside, I leant back against the wall, steeling myself to begin working again, but my thoughts were interrupted by a dull thud and a half-choking, half-sobbing sound. My gaze travelled towards the couch, where it encountered the back of a head, covered in silky black hair.

I gasped and stepped forwards. Immediately, Black spun round, startled and stared at me. I stared shamelessly back, at the pale cheeks, purple bags and red-rimmed eyes. The knuckles of his right hand were swollen and purpling, and putting two and two together – the swelling and the thud I had heard, I deduced that he had been venting his feelings by punching the wall.

"Black? I mean – Sirius? Are you alright?"

Of all the inane questions I hate, this one is the worse. When you have obviously been crying or are obviously upset, and someone asks you if you are alright. I mean, duh! I'm crying because I'm having so much fun. Who wouldn't, when they've just been dumped/ broken an arm etc. Still, maybe I know why people ask it – it seems to be the most natural response.

He ducked his head so I couldn't see his face, and muttered "I'm fine." in a hoarse voice.

I took another step forward, ignoring his answer.

"Have you been... I mean... Have you... been... crying?" I whispered the last word.

His gaze whipped round to mine so fast that I thought he might have whiplash.

"No." The one word was as uncompromising as the grim set of his face.

"Look, I-"

"No." He interrupted me again, standing up. I saw that he had a letter clutched in his bruised hand.

"Look, Sirius." He made to speak again, but I was determined and ploughed on. "There is obviously something wrong, otherwise you wouldn't be sitting alone in a common room at 2 in the morning, crying, and very upset."

"I was NOT crying." He insisted forcefully.

"It doesn't matter, okay. Men have tear ducts too, ergo, they can cry. There's nothing wrong with crying. It's healthy – washes out the eye whilst at the same time releases emotion."

"But I wasn't – "

"It doesn't matter. I'm not going to stand here arguing about semantics all night with you. There's obviously something wrong, which you don't feel you can even go to James about, otherwise you'd be with him right now, not alone." I sighed. "You don't have to tell me what it is, just if there's anything I can do."

I walked forward and sat down on the sofa, next to where he had been sitting. He stared down at me, his face inscrutable.

"Come on. It's not like I'm going to tell anyone. And I won't think you're weak just because something or someone has hurt you. Personally, I admire men who are in touch with their feelings, rather than some annoying show of bravado. I'm a girl - we cry all the time, so who am I to judge another person for crying, hey?"

He glanced towards the door, back at my raised face, and then slowly sat down, putting his head in his hands, rubbing his fingers and palms across his face.

Then he leaned down and picked up the crumpled letter which had fallen to the floor, its edges curling insidiously. He thrust the letter into my lap with a terse "Read it" and then let his head fall back into his hands.

I glanced down at the letter on my lap, curious and yet fearful of what I would find that had so obviously upset him.

It was an awful letter. Never in my life have I encountered such hate, such malice, such wilfulness to do harm, to upset. The stark green ink injected its poison into the reader, creating a crushing sense of worthlessness, inadequacy and one's own insignificance. It was from his mother.

At least, I thought it was. The greeting was a swearword which I won't repeat, the signature of one Walburga Black, but I couldn't believe that any mother would write such a... such a venomous letter to her son. But I knew from Sirius's defeated attitude that she would.

I read it twice, unable to believe what I was reading. I had read love letters before, indeed I was greatly enamoured of John Keats's love letters to Fanny Brawe, and yet this letter seemed the complete opposite of that. All the ardour which was evident in Keats's letters was a sinister outpouring of utter loathing.

Amidst all this hatred was the reason for the letter – an aunt and cousin had died in a potions experiment gone wrong. Walburga consigned them both to the devil, stating, in words which I would remember for the rest of my days:

"My only grief is that you did not die along with them, you worthless boy. But one day I shall see you dead and I shall dance on your grave as I did not dance at your birth, I shall spit on your remains as a dog would void his bladder on his territory, for even in death will you belong to me. Do not think that the mudbloods and traitors with whom you keep company will stand up for you then. Who would stand for a traitor, a malignant child who has betrayed those who raised him, to whom he owes everything. That everything which they will one day take back."

The letter continued on in this vein. Having finished my second reading of it, I sat in silence, my mind blank. What could I possibly say, what good could I say in the face of such evil? Such hate?

Finally, Sirius spoke.

"My dear mother." His voice cracked on the last word, as harsh guttural sound. I turned and surveyed his profile. Anything I had to say seemed so inadequate, so blatantly a lie, that I kept silent.

"My cousin, second cousin, actually." He suddenly said. "And my aunt. They lent me a broom to fly to Prongs's. I had told my mother that I was leaving, and so she locked me up, took away my wand and left me in my room for four days. By the end of it I was so thirsty that I had to drink... well – I'm sure you get the picture. My aunt got my wand and unlocked the door, and my cousin gave me her broom, and they helped me escape. I don't think my mother ever proved it, but I'm sure she suspected. And now they're dead." This last word was inaudible under the sound of another sob, but I guessed.

His body began to shake as his hands fisted in his eye sockets, and my heart broke for him. Before I knew it, my arms were wrapped around his shoulders, his head buried in my neck, holding him tightly to him.

I would have thought I was holding a young boy, were it not for the power in the way his arms clung to me, the musky smell of his cologne washing over me. It was ironic that when I was at last locked in an embrace with Sirius Black, he was upset, instead of enjoying himself, as I had imagined in the few daydreams I allowed myself. However, I pushed down these inappropriate feelings, and concentrated on Sirius, stroking his soft hair, stroking his back, as he clung to me like a child.

Whoever said that men weren't in touch with their feelings was clearly wrong: I had seen two of the Marauders, probably two of the most masculine men you would ever meet, cry in the space of about six months.

I began to whisper softly, finding my voice.

"It's not your fault. They would have died had they helped you or not and there's nothing you could have done. You know there isn't." I think he nodded, although it was difficult to tell when it was interspersed with the sobbing.

"And as for what your mother wrote – it's all lies. The problem is, being your mother, she knows you well enough to know exactly where to hurt you the most. You are not a traitor. You are not. Do you realise just how incredible you are?" the words came pouring out of me, every good thought I had had about him, but never told anyone. "You have shown such a strength of character, such strong moral fibre, to be able to question all that you are taught, to question the people who raised you and to decide they were wrong.

"And not only to decide they were wrong, to act upon it. To stand up to them. I could never do that. When I think about questioning what my parents taught me, especially the values that were instilled into me at an early age, I wonder at your strength of character that you could do that. As for not standing up for you, I think James and his parents proved that they would do anything for you – like the way they stood up to your parents at the station.

"You have James, and Remus, and Peter, and even Frank, with whom I know, I know with an utmost clarity, that you will be friends for life. And for what it's worth, you have me. And Katie and Lily and Megs and Alice. You are so much better, so much more, than your mother, than your family could ever be. You're kind, and you're loyal, and you make people feel good about themselves.

"Your family has no hold over you: your mother may have given birth to you, but that's all. You proved the quality of your personality, not when you were sorted into Gryffindor, but when you gave up wealth, connections, everything which is valued in pureblood society, when you gave that up. When you accepted that muggleborns are your equal, when you do not disregard or judge people because of their blood.

"Your mother has no power over you, not now, not in the future. You are your own person, and what a great person you are, Sirius Black, what a great person you are. And you have a potential for even more greatness. As for your mother dancing on your grave, she will dance, if we let her, which we won't, but my point is she will dance on the grave of a person she couldn't have power over in life, and whom she has no hold over in death." With this statement I finished my impassioned tirade, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

I realised to my horror that it was most likely very obvious that I was practically obsessed with the guy. My horror grew as I remembered, and comprehended, what I had said.

Sirius lifted his head off my neck and regarded me with an ambiguous expression. He stared right into my eyes, and I dropped mine downwards, wanting to avert his gaze. He was having none of it, lifting my chin with a commanding finger, till my eyes met his once more.

I sat there, my heart pounding, feeling like a complete idiot. He kept on staring, not removing his finger from my chin. Gradually, I began to relax, taking the opportunity to scrutinize his eyes.

I had heard, from the gossip mill, that his eyes were grey. Cloud grey, silver grey, deep grey, radiant grey: romance novels were obsessed with these descriptions for grey eyes. I thought eyes were either dark grey, or light grey, and scorned the romanced descriptions in such trashy novels.

I think though, and I know this sounds so cheesy that I actually want bang my head against a wall, that I understood at that moment, as I stared into Sirius Black's eyes, what those romance books were getting at. (The truth hurts, what can I say?)

His eyes were stormy grey, a description I had never before understood. But his eyes were also cloud grey and silver grey and sea grey. Deep grey, with lighter flecks: sunbeams bursting through stormy grey clouds, which lit up the rest of his eyes in the same way that the sunbeams speckle the turbulent waves with silver, slate grey swirling with platinum grey, depicting the tumultuous cacophony of his emotions. (AN: - see link at bottom of page for visual.)

I was interrupted from my reverie by Sirius beginning to speak.

"Thank you. I mean that. Not in the way you'd think someone who passed the salt. In the way you would thank a friend who'd really been there for you."

I smiled in response.

"I would never just walk on by. I'm glad I could help. And I won't tell anyone. I promise." I said.

He smiled back. "I trust you. Now, how about getting back to the Tower?"

"I can't – I've got that essay for Slughorn to finish."

"The one on the uses of milkweed in strengthening potions?"

"Yeah. If there are actually any uses for milkweed in strengthening potions."

He grinned. "Sound like you need some help there, Loganberry. I'm free right now."

"Oh – it's fine. It's three in the morning – you should be getting some sleep."

"What, and leave the person I have just been not crying all over to struggle over an essay which I distracted her from in the first place. I won't hear of it. Sit down, Loganberry, and get your quill ready. We're in for an exciting ride."

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Above is the link for what I imagined Sirius's eye colour to be like.

Thanks so much for putting up with me and my late chapter. The next chapter will not be so late, I promise!

Have a great week, lol EllieBaby xxx