Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Hello everyone, and thank you so much for the awesome reviews. I'm really glad you like where I'm going with the story. I was very excited to get to this point, because I wanted to give Harry and Sirius a chance to truly get to know one another, and to heal. This chapter starts at the true beginning of that journey. We will be with Harry and Sirius for a couple of chapters, and then we will return to Hogwarts because, after all, what happened with the Aurors?

Anyway, please enjoy!

Xxxxxxxxxx

Harry let out a deep sigh as he tried to gather his thoughts. Sirius was still holding him close, and he couldn't help but soak up the comfort his godfather provided. The only sound in the room now was the clock on the wall that ticked the seconds away.

In a matter of less than twenty-four hours, his world had come apart at the seams and had turned itself completely upside down. At this time yesterday, he had been preparing for the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. His stomach had been tying itself in knots as he wondered whether he'd be able to accept the challenges of the task. He'd had no possible idea that things could go so horrifically wrong.

Yes, he had been worried for what was to come, but never in his wildest and most lurid nightmares would he have expected last night's tragedy to occur. He remembered the words of Ludo Bagman as he had given the champions a pep talk before going into the maze. "This will change you," he had said. "You might never be the same after this night." Harry's reaction to this melodramatic statement was to almost snort with laughter; Bagman had spoken as though the champions had to save themselves from the apocalypse.

But, Harry reflected sadly, Bagman didn't know how right he was. Last night had changed him. He'd honestly thought he knew what evil was; he'd heard plenty about the vile deeds Voldemort and his Death Eaters performed. But to see it happen right in front of his eyes was something completely different. He'd never forget the weight of Cedric's lifeless body in his arms, that final look of terror on his face a testament to the power evil could hold.

And now, less than a day later, events had spun even more out of control, and he was now in hiding. Sirius had taken him away from Hogwarts, and to a place he had never set foot in before. He'd taken him away from the murder accusations, from the people who didn't believe Voldemort was back. Here, in the safety and comfort of Sirius's arms, there was no one howling for his blood or telling him he was dangerous to hang around with.

Truth be told, Harry had never been more relieved in his entire life. But this thought also made a well of self-loathing rise up inside of him. He was a coward, plain and simple, wasn't he? He should have been able to face those Aurors with the strength to fight for himself. He should have been willing to tell them in no uncertain terms that Voldemort was back. Cedric Diggory was only the first casualty in the war that was about to wreak havoc on both the wizarding and Muggle worlds.

But he hadn't. He hadn't fought at all. With a pang, he remembered Ron's words: "Aren't you going to fight this?" Those words had hit him hard, because he knew the Harry of twenty-four hours ago would have fought with everything he had in him. But right now, he seemed to have no strength left. He felt shattered and broken, and needed to find a way to put himself back together. Sirius had offered him an out, and he had taken it.

And it honestly seemed to him as though Sirius didn't think any worse of him because of it. In fact, he seemed extremely vehement in making Harry understand that he needed to heal. Therefore, Harry was fighting a war within himself as the minutes passed. His instinct to fight against the injustice battled with the despair and guilt he felt, and the feelings bludgeoned him on all sides, making it extremely difficult to think clearly.

But the feeling that was currently rising above any others was the complete and utter gratitude that was running through him at the fact that Sirius had dropped everything to keep Harry safe. Never in his life had he been treated with such care by an adult before. The closest he had come to it was when he'd stayed at the Burrow. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had shown him what being in a family truly felt like. But now, there were no other children around; it was just Harry and Sirius. No one else to take up their time.

"Harry?" Sirius asked softly, ruffling his godson's messy hair. "Would you like anything to eat?"

Harry could see uncertainty in the man's face. Now that the panic, fear, and adrenaline from their arrival had passed, their situation was really starting to sink in. Harry could see in his godfather's eyes that he wanted nothing more than to give Harry everything he wanted and needed, but wasn't sure how to do so. In a strange fashion, this comforted Harry; he was equally as unsure of how to handle this sudden change in pace.

So, he tried for a reassuring smile. He knew it came out shaky, but it was the best he could offer at the moment. "Um, yeah, sure," he said softly, even though he wasn't that hungry. Ever since last night, he'd had no appetite at all.

"Okay, kiddo. Is there anything in particular that you'd like?" Sirius asked.

"Uh, maybe just a chicken sandwich, please," Harry replied. "Do we have food here, though?"

Sirius's smile turned into a grin. "Of course," he said, and then he suddenly snapped his fingers. "Kreacher!" he said loudly.

Harry only had a fleeting moment to wonder what this was all about, because a second later, his question was answered. A dirty, decrepit-looking house elf shuffled into the room. He was wearing a filthy tea towel, and had an extremely sour and bitter expression on his wrinkled face. "Yes, Master?" he muttered in a low, gravelly voice. His gaze shifted to Harry, and if possible, his face grew even more disgusted.

"Bring us some chicken sandwiches and some pumpkin juice," Sirius demanded, surprising Harry with the harshness of his tone.

"Yes, Master," the elf said again, bowing so low that his nose reached the floor. As he shuffled out of the room, Harry heard him murmuring to himself. "Stupid fool of a master returning to our ancient and noble house, and he brings the Potter whelp into my sanctuary. Oh my poor mistress, what would she say if she knew the deeds of her blood traitor son? He broke her poor heart when he ran away from the fine nobility of ..."

"Shut up, Kreacher, and get us our food," Sirius snarled furiously, glaring so hard at the little elf that it actually looked painful. "My mother didn't have a heart to break, you foul excuse for an elf."

Harry couldn't help gaping in shock at the abrupt change in his godfather's demeanor. The look on his face had been downright frightening while talking to the elf, and Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't blindsided by it. True, he'd seen Sirius vibrating with anger before, when he and Remus had confronted Peter a year ago. But Harry would never have suspected that such a tiny elf would elicit such rage and hatred from the man.

But Harry was also shocked at the things the elf had muttered under his breath. Sirius had said he hated this house, and had run away when he was sixteen. He'd said his parents were the worst kind of people. Had Kreacher been part of the family the entire time? The elf had also used the term "blood traitor" when referring to Sirius. Harry had heard Malfoy and his cronies use that term, too. Slowly, several puzzle pieces began to fit together, and he once again was astonished at the fact that Sirius had brought them here even though it held such awful memories for him.

But still, the way Sirius was treating Kreacher made Harry feel intensely uncomfortable. But he instantly felt guilty for thinking so. After the length Sirius had gone to just to keep him safe, he didn't think he had a right to feel this way. And the things Kreacher had muttered had been abominable, after all. But there was something pitiable about the state of the elf, and Sirius's attitude towards him made Harry feel rather on edge.

There were a few seconds of very awkward silence, and then Kreacher returned, holding a tray with two chicken sandwiches and pumpkin juice on it. He plunked it down on the table next to the couch. "Here you go, Master. For you and the Potter boy," he croaked, the expression on his face still unchanged. "Master can call Kreacher if he requires his services again." Once again, he bowed so low that his nose touched the floor, then mumbled so softly that it took effort for Harry to hear him, "Kreacher is wondering what his old master and that Potter filth are doing here in my precious mistress's house. If it were up to Kreacher he'd have never let them in here. Oh my poor mistress, she would never let those vermin invade and infest her beautiful home, no, she would not."

"SHUT UP, KREACHER!" Sirius roared at the elf, making Harry jump. "You're the vermin around here! GET OUT AND GO BACK TO YOUR BOILER ROOM!"

And Kreacher did, without saying another word.

After Kreacher had left the room, Harry simply sat on the couch, staring wide-eyed at Sirius. The chicken sandwiches and pumpkin juice sat very close to him, but Harry didn't go and retrieve them. His mind was lost in the past, flashing back to things he didn't want to remember.

"Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"It's disgusting, how witches and wizards make house-elves obey their every command. Why doesn't anyone try and help them?"

"Oh give me a break, Hermione. They. Like. It."

"Shut up, Ron, and stop being an insensitive prat!"

"I'm not! I'm only telling the truth!"

"Harry? Kiddo, what's wrong?" Sirius's concerned voice pulled Harry out of his reverie. "Aren't you going to eat your sandwich?"

Without thinking, Harry blurted out the first thing that came into his mind. "Why did you treat that house-elf like that?" he asked, willing the flashbacks to stop. Sirius isn't Lucius Malfoy, he told himself angrily. Sirius wouldn't treat Kreacher like Lucius treated Dobby.

Sirius looked truly surprised by the question. "Oh, Kreacher?" He gave a bitter snort. "He's an ugly, foul, slimy little urchin," he said, his gray eyes dark with something unfathomable, and Harry had the distinct impression that the man was lost in his own flashbacks. "I've always hated him."

"But ..." Harry started, but didn't know how to finish. How could he tell Sirius the story of Dobby without making it sound like he was comparing his godfather to Lucius Malfoy? The two were nothing alike; he couldn't imagine Lucius caring for Draco the way Sirius was caring for him.

Sirius studied Harry's face, truly taking in the tinge of fear in his eyes. Instantly, his expression softened, and all the remaining anger and hate left his eyes. "Kiddo, did I scare you?" he asked quietly, the color draining from his face.

Harry looked at him, stricken. "You ... you were just so angry," he mumbled. "He's a really nasty elf, but you ..."

"I'm sorry," Sirius whispered, truly looking appalled now. "I never meant to scare you. I ... that elf just makes me so angry. I lose myself when I'm around him."

Harry was relieved to see sense return to Sirius's eyes again; for a minute, he had looked like a thing possessed, and Harry couldn't help but worry about what being back in this house was doing to him. "What did Kreacher do to you?"he asked softly.

"He agreed with everything my despicable parents said," Sirius replied, putting an arm around the boy and drawing him close again. "They believed they were royalty, and were complete pureblood fanatics. To them, Muggles, Muggle-borns, and half-bloods were beneath them, not even worthy to lick their boots."

Harry listened intently as Sirius poured his heart out, revealing much of his family story. Harry had the feeling that a lot of this had been locked up tight within Sirius for a very long time, and therefore, he didn't interrupt, not even when he had questions. Sirius told of his stiff, formal upbringing, where there was hardly any fun involved, only a strict education on how to become a perfect little pureblood. As he spoke, a weight seemed to lift off him.

When Sirius came to the part about how he'd been disowned, though, Harry couldn't help but react. "They disowned you?" he exclaimed in outrage. "How could they do that? You were their son!"

Sirius let out a laugh that held a lifetime's worth of bitterness. "Yeah, well, that didn't matter to them," he said in a low voice. "Their pureblood mania meant more to them than I ever did. Their love was conditional, and I didn't live up to their expectations. So they burned my name off the family tree, and that was that."

Harry was horrified. He'd always felt awful and unwanted at the Dursleys, especially when he saw how many other children were treated by their parents. To Petunia and Vernon, he knew he was regarded as nothing more than a worthless burden. But he honestly couldn't imagine being in Sirius's shoes, being cast out and disowned from your own family. Harry now had a better understanding of Sirius's loathing towards them, even though the way he'd screamed at Kreacher still made him uncomfortable. "After you ran away, where did you go?" he asked eventually.

For the first time during the conversation, Sirius smiled. "Your father," he said, his eyes full of reminiscence. "His parents, your grandparents, treated me like a second son, and James always said he wanted a brother. I stayed with them until I finished Hogwarts, and then I found my own flat."

Harry's eyes widened, thrilled and intrigued at hearing this tidbit of information. "Wow," he breathed. "What was that like?"

"They were a real family, and they truly made me feel like I was a part of it," Sirius said wistfully. "Even after I moved to my own flat, and James and your mum started living together, the Potters would always invite us over for brunch every Sunday. That became routine until ..." Sirius stopped, a sad expression coming over his face. "Until they both died of dragonpox in 1979, a few months before Lily became pregnant with you. There was an epidemic of that disease during that time, and your grandparents were two of the casualties."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, feeling very sad himself. He wished he'd had the chance to know his grandparents; they sounded like fantastic people. "What happened to my mum's parents?" he asked, unable to help his curiosity.

Sirius sighed deeply. "They were murdered by Voldemort in June 1980," he said. "He did it to hurt Lily, as a way to punish her for being part of the wizarding world."

"That's terrible," Harry gasped. He suddenly wondered if that was part of the reason Petunia despised magic so much, because after all, they'd been her parents too.

"Yes, that was a terrible time," Sirius agreed morosely. "We lost many good people during the First War."

Harry's heart sank when he saw the mournful expression on Sirius's face. The First War may be over, but a second one was about to begin. How many good people would they lose this time? Cedric had been the first. How many more would there be? And how many good people would die because they were associating with Harry?

"I'm sorry, kiddo," Sirius said, beginning to rub Harry's back. "I'm such a fool. We shouldn't be talking about this. You should be healing, and I should be reassuring you that everything's going to be okay."

Harry stared into Sirius's gray eyes, his own emerald ones looking tired and too old for his almost fifteen years. "It's okay," he said quietly. "I know we need to prepare for what's going to happen next."

Sirius ruffled Harry's hair, sadness still evident in his eyes. "It's so unfair," he murmured gently. "You're still a child. You should be allowed to be a child, and you should never have to deal with how vile this world can get."

There was silence for a few minutes after that, with the two just holding onto one another for comfort. Finally, Sirius released Harry and said, "Would you like your chicken sandwich now?"

Harry sat up and nodded quickly. The sandwiches and pumpkin juice still sat on the table; they'd been there the entire time, but the discussion had become so intense that they'd promptly been forgotten about. But now, Harry reached for a sandwich and began to eat, and he found it to be very good indeed.

It was while Harry was sipping at his pumpkin juice that Sirius spoke again. "Thank you, Harry," he murmured suddenly.

Harry put his cup down on the table and faced Sirius. "For what?" he murmured in confusion.

"For helping me get my head back on straight," Sirius said, and his gray eyes were full of love and sincerity. "For letting me tell you about my family. You're dealing with so much right now, and I know I scared you earlier. I'm truly sorry I lost it with Kreacher. I let being back in this house get to me when I know I shouldn't have. I told you that with you here, this house will become more of a home than it ever has before. I just have to try to not let the bad memories get to me."

At these words, Harry's heart flipped at the renewed realization of what Sirius was willing to go through for him. If anyone knew about being triggered by bad memories, it was Harry. Guilt tried to suffocate him again; Sirius had purposely gone to a place he hated, in order to keep someone he loved safe. Did he really deserve to be blessed with such a gift? "It's okay," he said softly.

Sirius seemed to sense the track Harry's mind was on, and he immediately pulled the boy close again. "What did I tell you about guilt, Harry?" His voice had adopted that stern tone again, but it was still gentle. "I told you, I'll do anything for you. This is the safest place we've got. Nothing and no one can get to us here. You can take all the time you need to heal here."

Harry's eyes gazed into Sirius's. "But what about you,?" he asked, his heart aching for the man who was holding him like he was the most valuable thing in the world. "You need to heal too, and you hate it in this house. Can you really heal here?"

Sirius's eyes adopted a look of wonder, and as Harry watched, tears gathered in the corners. But amazingly, he was smiling as he answered.

"Oh kiddo," he whispered, pulling Harry even closer. "I'm pretty sure I can. It's the people that make the house a home, after all. You're my home, Harry, whether we're at Grimmauld Place or on a desert island. We can make new memories here, Harry, just the two of us."

And for a moment, any feelings of doubt and uncertainty about the future melted away. Sirius was right; this wasn't an ideal situation, not even in the slightest. But, as Harry lost himself in the sensations of truly being loved by someone, none of it mattered. He was with Sirius; therefore, he was home.