Doors of Perception

Chapter Two: "Open The Door"

(Robert Burns)

Harry opened the door with his own key, trying to get into the house silently, not wanting Sirius to know that he had come home a day early. Sirius had agreed to drive to Bangor to pick Harry up from the train station, but Harry had taken an earlier train and then a bus and walked to Plas Isaf. He wished that he could have shrunk his trunk to a more manageable size, but, remembering Dumbledore's words on the subject, he had dragged it himself by hand, vowing to himself that he would attach casters by his next visit.

He stuck his head around the door into the kitchen, and then from there abandoned his trunk and peered into the main living room. There was no sign of his godfather, the patio doors were closed, and the world outside looked inhospitable. He crossed to the other door and looked into the little sitting room. A roaring fire was crackling in the old fireplace filling the old room with the heavy, rich scent of wood-smoke.

Sirius had put up shelves in the alcoves either side of the huge slate fireplace to house his ever-growing book collection. Beneath one of the shelves, on the old, beaten sofa, fast asleep, was Sirius. Harry couldn't help but smile. The shelf was fairly precarious, the ancient wall far from straight and the tilt meant that the books were leaning severely towards the edge.

Harry debated how he should wake Sirius, because if his godfather sat up too quickly he would hit his head, and Harry feared that the whole shelf would collapse. He cleared his throat softly, staying in the doorway. Sirius stirred and blinked sleepily, murmuring to himself.

Harry leant forward but he couldn't quite catch the name. He would have sworn that it was a name, but it wasn't his name. Then Sirius's eyes opened fully, focussed instantly, and he did speak his godson's name clearly.

"Harry! You're here. You're early. I must've..."

He rubbed his head in confusion as he sat up, luckily avoiding the shelves. "Did I miss something?" he asked with a look at Harry.

Harry laughed and sat beside him. "Nope, I just came home early. There was nothing to stop me - I have free periods sometimes now that I'm in my final year - and I happened to have one on Friday afternoon and so I had a chance to catch the earlier train. So I did. Since we only have four days until we go to the Burrow, I thought that I would make the most of it."

"It's great to see you," Sirius said, finally blinking away the final traces of sleep and hugging Harry. "I just wasn't expecting to." He glanced around the room at the piles of books and the sweaters casually slung across the chairs and floor. "I was going to pick up before you came," he confessed. "In fact, that's what I came in here to do. But I got distracted by that - " he waved in the direction of the book that had been open on his chest, "and then I guess I fell asleep."

Harry laughed, "No problem. You should see the Seventh Year Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory. It really makes this look tidy. Seamus is incapable of containing his mess and Ron..."

They stood together to go through into the other room as Harry filled Sirius in on the term's worth of gossip: the new girl in Hermione's dorm from Beauxbatons; the fact that Dean was beaten up by Malfoy's goons; the scandalous romance between Lavender Brown and a Slytherin; the nasty, snide machinations of Professor Snape...

Just as they got to the door the shelf over the sofa gave one last shudder, the nail gave way and the books cascaded over the seat Sirius had just vacated. Sirius let out a stream of curses. Harry was actually quite impressed by the comprehensive variety of his godfather's vocabulary. "I have been meaning to secure that for days!"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Glad to see you're getting better at D.I.Y.," he quipped.

Sirius aimed a swipe at Harry's head, but Harry ducked. "Watch it, you little... If you don't mind your words then I'll make you cook this evening and we can see who is good with his hands!"

"Ah," Harry replied with a smile. "You won't make me cook, because then you'd have to eat it too."

Sirius had to concede that this was true. "Okay. How about we drive up to the village and eat at the Dragon Arms? I'm not in the mood to cook and I need to go shopping and it's too late to go at this hour."

"The pub sounds fine to me." Harry grinned impishly at his godfather, "I'm so glad that you were prepared for my visit!"

"Hey man, you were early!" Sirius pretended to sound hurt. "I would have been had you come tomorrow afternoon like you told me!"

* * *

It was pouring with rain when Harry woke in the morning and even though it was nearly nine o'clock it was hardly light. He staggered across the room in his boxers to peer out the window, pushing aside the blue curtains. The heavy, dark clouds hung low and pregnant over the hills, their shadows engulfing rock and grassland alike. Harry hated the rain, especially today because it put a halt in his plans for the day, but he had to admit that the sinister sky was beautiful, all swirls of black and rose and purple, over the ancient mountains. The air felt laden with age, with knowledge, and Harry would have been able feel the sentient magic of the landscape even had he not already been aware of it.

He had wanted to go out that morning and cut greenery to decorate the house for Christmas, but now that wouldn't be. Through the rain-streaked glass he saw Sirius go out to the car at a run and set the windscreen wipers moving at a blur before driving in the direction of the village. He had said that he needed to go shopping, Harry remembered.

He sorted through the pile of clothes that he had unpacked the night before and dumped on the chair by the door. Picking a sweater and trousers to wear, he set about folding and hanging the rest out tidily. Hermione would be proud of him, he thought. Then he wandered downstairs, not in a hurry, knowing Sirius could be several hours, and having a deliciously empty morning ahead of him.

The torrential rain against the windows in the living room made both that room and the adjoining kitchen almost unbearable, the sound was so intense. Harry made a slice of toast and spread it thickly with honey before wandering over to stand at the glass doors. It was like being outside but without being wet, everything grey, noisy and surrounding him. It was how he supposed that it would feel to stand under a waterfall. Through the murk he could hardly see the sea, although he knew where it should be, the sky as grey as the water. The sound was calming, ferocious though it was. Harry found himself wanting to compete, wanting to shout, to sing at the top of his voice. He put on Sirius's CD player, the throbbing chords of electric guitars filling the room as he turned the knob up to full volume. The lashing rain combined with the drums to form an insistent percussion so forceful that Harry could feel it thrumming through his body. Irrationally glad to be able to make so much noise after the enforced consideration of sharing his room in Gryffindor Tower with four other boys, Harry began to add to the noise vocally.

"Duh...dee...duh duh duh....yeah... duh duh..." He swallowed the last of the toast and raised his voice even louder, no longer trying to follow the music. "Woohooo!" he yelled. "Yeah! Listen to that!" The need to let off steam was irrational. There was nothing to say, but tension needed to be released. He shouted his name a number of times, liking the sound, then Sirius's. "Sirius! Sirius! Yeah! Plas Isaf! Harry!" It was just words, noises, the sound of his own voice, battling, being overwhelmed by the racket all around him. "Ron! RON! Hermione!! Ginny! Ginny! GINNY !" He sank back onto the sofa, overwhelmed, letting the clamour sweep over him, then, turning the remote control, flicked off the music. Only the drumming of the rain on the windows continued, constant, incessant, keeping time with the hurried beating of his heart. His breathing was ragged as if he had been running, and he spoke again, softly, his voice tearing hoarsely from his throat, "Ginny?"

* * *

The rain was easing when Sirius came home, but he and Harry still got soaked carrying the grocery bags in from the car. They put everything away in silence, and Sirius watched Harry with mild concern. When, in the middle of the afternoon, Sirius walked through the living room in search of the newspaper and found Harry lying on the sofa and staring out the windows with a glazed expression, he frowned and asked his godson sharply, "Is there something wrong?"

"No," Harry's voice was soft and sounded as if it was coming from a long distance. "No, there's nothing wrong. I just realised something, that's all."

"Something important?"

Harry's brow furrowed slightly, abstractedly. "Something I guess I've known a long time, but never seen."

Sirius had the feeling Harry was talking to himself. He waited for a minute, but Harry said nothing more. He sat in the chair facing Harry and spread the newspaper. After some time he looked up from his page and told Harry, "It looks like it will be grey tomorrow, but they aren't forecasting rain. You want to put the tree up?"

He didn't get a reply for a long time, and then Harry asked quietly, "Do you think it is possible to know someone for a long time and then suddenly see them in a new light?"

Sirius was puzzled, but he wasn't about to pry. Harry would tell him when he wanted to. "Yeah, sure it is," he replied, knowing that was the answer his godson wanted to hear and happy to supply it. He was carefully not thinking about a certain one of his godson's friends of whom he had seen nothing since that afternoon on Bangor station when she had brushed her soft lips across his cheekbone...No, definitely not thinking about her at all.

Harry made a small noise of agreement in the back of his throat, and Sirius went back to reading his newspaper.

* * *

It wasn't a huge Christmas tree, because, although they had both wanted one, it had seemed pointless to get one over six feet since they were going to the Burrow for Christmas Day. Molly Weasley had invited them both as well as Lupin to arrive on Christmas Eve. Hermione was going to join them in the middle of the morning with her parents ready for Christmas Dinner.

Harry would have liked to spend their first Christmas with a home at that home, here at Plas Isaf, but he knew that Sirius had been delighted at the invitation. His godfather couldn't go anywhere very often, and Molly had carefully only invited people who knew of his innocence, and so it was more than Harry could bear to suggest that they might refuse the invitation.

And of course, Christmas at the Weasleys' was always great fun, the house filled to bursting with happy, excited redheads and their friends. And it meant that Mrs Weasley could cook the turkey, for which both Harry and Sirius were immensely relieved, although neither would have admitted it to each other.

Sirius had bought two strings of fairy lights which they carefully wound around the fir. Then they unpacked the decorations and hung them on the tree. Sirius couldn't help his mind making the comparison with the last time he had decorated a tree with Harry...

Lily was standing in the centre of the room, five-month-old Harry in her arms, his deep, green eyes, the image of his mother's, observing the proceedings intently. Vivian and Ana were kneeling either side of a huge cardboard box, carefully unwrapping the decorations and keeping them out of reach of tiny Robin's grabbing fingers. Peter and Remus were hanging the ornaments as the women handed them up and James was balanced on a ladder, glass angel precariously dangling while he tried to attach it to the topmost branch.

Sirius stood and watched for a while before rescuing James and the angel and preventing the whole tree collapsing onto his son. So many ornaments, so many memories. Lily had once suggested that they might have a tasteful tree, colours coordinating. But James had at once looked horrified, "These are heirlooms," he had told her. "Some come from my parents' tree." And Remus's ornaments, and Peter's and Sirius's own had all been added to that tree at the Potters' house, and it had been as if they were all one big extended family.

Sirius supposed that the box had been in the attic that night in October when the Death Eaters had visited. Certainly there was nothing left of that tree but memories now.

He wanted to tell Harry, to share the memories that would die out one day if there was no one left alive to recall them. It had seemed such a small thing at the time, an insignificant loss among such overwhelming devastation, but now Sirius wished that the box had been kept at Remus's house instead of James's. Then perhaps they would have something to hand on to Harry.

The happy, festive glow on his godson's face was too much for Sirius: he couldn't share his thoughts. Let Harry begin his own collection, Sirius decided, without the overload of grief that would accompany his parents' memories.

We all have to start again.

Harry had cut boughs of holly and ivy and spruce to lay along the window ledges, interwoven with golden candles and tiny metal stars. They had decided that mistletoe was out of place in the home of two bachelors, but in the time after Christmas when the crowd were all staying, someone hung a bunch over the living room door. Sirius never found out who, but then he never asked either.

It looked lovely when it was done, the sun had set while they worked and the lights from the tree were reflected dozens of times in the panel of windows opposite, creating thousands of tiny stars against the night-dark sky. The midnight greens and deep-russet reds toned with the vibrant gold, all glowing softly in the candlelight when Sirius switched off the electric bulbs.

Harry grinned at him from across the room, the lethargy from the day before forgotten, and Sirius thought that age gaps could be bridged by happiness, by this shared anticipation, knowing that the excited glow in his godson's eyes was a reflection of his own.

* * *

The morning of Christmas Eve, Sirius stood at the base of the well-trodden stairs, his battered case of clothes and presents at his feet, waiting for Harry. Sirius loved his godson dearly, but it did seem, when Harry was staying, like Sirius spent an awful lot of his time waiting for his godson. With an ungainly clatter, Harry and his bag descended, sped past Sirius and out the open door. They were taking a bus to Bangor, so that Sirius could leave the car at home, and then a train to within walking distance of Lupin's house in Cambridgeshire. Then the three could floo together to the Burrow. Sirius remembered the days when he could have just called the Knight Bus, but now that was dangerous; he might be recognised. At least on Muggle transport no one would know him, he looked so different now from the photographs that had circulated on his escape.

Sirius locked the door behind him and, pocketing the key, followed Harry down the road towards the village and the bus stop and the outside world.

* * *

Their return was noisy. Harry and Ron had run the last few yards to the gate, but then had to wait, calling and whistling at the others, until Sirius arrived with the key. Hermione pointed out to Harry that if he had been more organised he might have remembered to bring his own key. Lupin raised an eyebrow over Hermione's head to Ginny, who ducked her own head to avoid her friend seeing the smile that flashed across her features. Harry saw however, in the middle of his laugh, and something in his heart thudded as he looked at her.

Ginny wasn't looking at him, she was adjusting the blue scarf that Molly had wrapped around her daughter's neck when she had heard that they were going to have to walk up from the bus stop. All five of the others had assured Molly that it wasn't far, but she had fussed all the same. Harry examined the girl in front of him seriously, from the muddy splashes on her boots to the curl of her copper hair against the tantalizing whiteness of her neck. Then she followed Sirius through the door and was gone.

Ron was going to sleep on a folding camp bed on the floor in Harry's room, they had decided, leaving the smaller spare room for Lupin's use. Ginny could have the second bed in Hermione's room. Although they were a year apart, a friendship had begun to grow between the two girls due to the frequency with which they were the only girls around. Admittedly the older Weasley boys did bring home girlfriends, but, with the exception of Percy, who was now engaged to Penelope Clearwater, the girlfriends changed with an alarming frequency and there was hardly time for Ginny to form a friendship before the other girl fell from favour and the relationship was terminated. All this Hermione had related to Harry when he had asked her about her suggestion that Ginny join the party returning to Sirius's. The youngest Weasley had been thrilled to be included, and Harry had to admit that he too was pleased to spend more time with her. He wondered whether Hermione knew this and whether the girls had concocted this together. No, surely Ginny's willing participation in such a plan was too much to hope for.

Hermione glanced back at Harry over her shoulder as she entered the house, and her smile was knowing. He frowned at her, and she laughed. He suspected that she knew, or at least had partly guessed that his feelings for Ginny were changing and his face flushed red. He hurriedly offered to carry his and Ron's bags up to his room.

"Harry, would..." Sirius called, but he vanished up the stairs, hiding his embarrassed face from Hermione and Ginny.

"Come on through here," Sirius suggested as Harry disappeared. He was somewhat annoyed; it wasn't like Harry to be so rude.

Ginny had crossed straight to the window and was looking out at the frosty grass. Suddenly, Sirius felt a flash of comprehension and he wondered if this redheaded girl was the reason for Harry's unusual behaviour. Sirius fervently hoped that he wasn't as easy to read as his godson!

The greenery that they had hung had wilted slightly in the three days since they left, but Sirius still felt a warming in his heart as he looked around the spacious living room at the gathered people. Plas Isaf really did feel like a home now: he hadn't truthfully realised it until he had been away.

Remus and Hermione were engaged in conversation, sitting on the sofa and Ron had crossed to speak with his sister by the time Harry came back down, looking noticeably calmer. Sirius saw that his first reaction on entering the room was to scan it quickly with his eyes. Those green eyes only rested momentarily on Ginny before he turned to greet Hermione and Remus, but Sirius saw, and it confirmed his suspicions.

They had stir fry that evening because Sirius knew that it had always been a favourite of Remus's. When he explained that he had found a new recipe, Harry looked at him as if he had grown a second head and then began mercilessly teasing about how Sirius was becoming a self-reliant housewife. Remus clearly found this entertaining and Moony surfaced for a moment, the boy who Sirius had once known, the troublemaker, the teaser, the best friend, before being engulfed once more in the care-worn, greying appearance of Professor Lupin. But Sirius saw that Ron was not amused by the jibe, and it touched him to see that Hermione agreed, calling the stereotype 'hurtful' and 'degrading'.

Remus insisted that everyone call him Remus now that he was no longer their professor. Harry had done so for a while, since Remus had come to stay a few times since Sirius bought Plas Isaf. It was nice to get together again, the remaining members of the group, now both old and single and living lives cut off from civilisation. Sirius had once suggested that Remus come live at Plas Isaf and make a home with him and Harry. Remus had declined gracefully but with enough force that Sirius knew not to offer again. His old friend had always been solitary and it seemed he wanted his own space, he needed to be alone. It reassured Sirius to know that Remus could always come by when he wanted companionship, and so he did at difficult times, on anniversaries when ghosts and memories threatened to overwhelm them and it took a companion and high quantities of alcohol to beat the apparitions back into submission. Yes, there were difficult times, although, quite how difficult they were Sirius had refused to admit to Harry. They had spectres in their pasts and ghouls that needed exorcism, things that they would likely bear to the grave, but there were good times too, times like this, Sirius told himself, dragging himself back to the present and the chatter of happy faces in his cosy kitchen.

Hermione's eyes were on him, big and liquid and concerned. But she didn't say anything, and, although Remus and Harry exchanged a glance, neither did they.

* * *

That night Sirius lay awake in his bed. He hadn't realised how much it would mean to him to have Hermione back in his house. He could hear, though the thin, modern wall, the sound of the two girls chatting and giggling in their room. He could tell, even without hearing the words, which voice was Hermione's. He wondered what they were talking about. Then he thought that maybe he was happier not knowing.

He turned over, trying to go back to sleep. The bed was big and cold. He curled up, wrapping his arms around his body and tried to imagine that he wasn't alone. It had been such a long time that the memories almost wouldn't surface. Spectres of long dead lovers floated through his mind and with a shuddering breath he realised that he was crying. One face in particular wouldn't leave his mind and he whispered her name between his sobs, feeling the ghost of her long dead body beneath his fingertips.

"Vivian..."

He buried his face in his pillow to muffle the sound and eventually drifted off to sleep with the sound of Hermione's gentle laughter in his ears.

* * *

Two days later it snowed. Harry was quick to point out that it wasn't 'proper' snow like they had at Hogwarts. It blew in flurries on the ground, light and impossible to form into snowballs. The air was icy cold, and they could see that the mountains had received the majority of the snow, looking as if they had been dusted with heavy icing sugar. Down around the house it was just about possible to leave footprints, which of course they did, all six of them, regressing to childhood. Then Sirius piled everyone into the car - which was quite an achievement and involved Ron and Harry moaning that the girls were squashing them the whole way, to Remus's amused irritation - and drove them up to park in a lay-by high above Nant Tywyll.

Remus got out of the passenger side and opened the door to the back seat, allowing the others to tumble out into an immediate snowball fight. There was a path that ran along the side of the valley towards the lake and it was along this that the group headed. The air was brisk and clear, the sky almost cloudless now, and icy blue. Looking down the valley Sirius could see that Llyn Tawel was partly frozen over. Everything looked black and white in this light, dark shapes contrasting against the white snow, leafless trees like burnt skeletons of their summer glory, grey-blue slate walls decorated with pale freezing drifts and slushy snow along the path, where the brown of the mud had bled into the pure white, revealing that they were not the first to have chosen this safe venture into the snowscape.

Hermione had a red hat and matching gloves that had been a Christmas gift from Ron and Harry, and she along with Ginny were walking the furthest ahead, the two scarlet heads bent together in conversation. Sirius watched them as he walked, attempting to be oblivious to the snowballs that pelted him from Ron and Harry's conflict. He suspected that Remus was not exactly helping the peace, and Remus could make a mean snowball.

When Hermione, with a teasing glint in her eye, bent to scoop a handful and fling it at him, Sirius resigned all pretence of dignity and joined in wholeheartedly. He and Remus set up a hurried fort the far side of a slate wall, clambering over the stile and keeping each other covered as their constant bombardment of snowballs prevented any of the younger four following them over.

After a shambolic scuffle, Hermione and Ginny too banded together, both against the boys and the men. Harry and Ron were having too much fun trying to get snow down inside each other's sweaters to form an alliance, and so it was the girls who formed the greatest risk to Sirius and Remus's barricade.

A well-aimed shot by Remus exploded against Hermione's forehead, knocking her new hat to the ground and releasing her bushy, chestnut hair. Sirius felt a jolt of lust course through him, and at the same time as the smile came unconsciously to his face, he felt a guilty disappointment in himself. He had hoped that he had smothered the budding feelings he had for the girl, but now they came surging back. Her cheeks were reddened by the cold, her damp hair swirling around her face as she dodged the snow, her lips parted to breathe heavily, gusts of misty air drifting from her warm mouth, her eyes shining with enjoyment.

Then he was blinded by the splatter of snow that Harry successfully launched at his face, and then Remus, in what Sirius later described as 'a dastardly Machiavellian betrayal', grabbed him behind the knees and tipped him over. As soon as Sirius was sprawled on the ground Ron and Ginny were over the wall and pelting him and Remus with snowballs. With a roar of mock-outrage Sirius turned on them with the aid of Harry and Hermione and drove them out along the path to the road. Everyone was so wet and cold that, although they hadn't actually got as far as the lake, they retreated to the relative warmth of the car. Sirius suspected that the four in the back were even more uncomfortable on the way home than on the way out, expecting dripping hair and numb extremities to cause further irritation. But the four were so happy and relaxed that they piled in on top of each other without complaint. Sirius noticed that Hermione was squashed between the boys, perhaps not entirely accidentally forcing Ginny to crowd in beside Harry. He kept his smile to himself as he saw their dual expressions of embarrassment, but his merriment faltered as he saw how close Ron and Hermione were.

It's nothing, he told himself. They're friends. The he tried to deny he had thought anything, it didn't matter what was going on. If Hermione was happy with a boy her own age then so much the better. And he liked Ron. Yes, it wasn't a problem.

But the sight had still drained away his enjoyment of the afternoon.

* * *

It was cold on Friday and Sirius built a big fire in the huge slate fireplace that dominated the little sitting room. Although there was less space than in the big living room, he had taken to using this room more and more during the winter months, the old, thick walls doing exactly as they were designed to do and insulating the heat, the battered sofa and worn rugs cosier than the more modern, open, windowed living room. Remus and Ron were engaged in a long tactical game of chess and Harry and Hermione were curled up at either end of the sofa, their feet in the middle, each ensconced in a novel. Admittedly, Hermione's tome looked somewhat weightier than the light paperback his godson was reading, but Sirius was secretly pleased to see that Harry had taken an interest in books in the last year or so. Ginny was perched on the window seat, curled among the pile of cushions and gazing out at the heavy grey clouds. It had been snowing again, although it was beginning to ease off now, and Sirius could see that she was bored.

"Do you want to play a board game?" Sirius offered. "I have a few Muggle games that I can teach you." It would also give him a chance to get to know a bit better this girl who had so enchanted his godson. She acquiesced with a word of thanks although Sirius could see that her heart was not really in it.

Harry volunteered to join in and the two spent the morning explaining the tactical intricacies of Cluedo to Ginny. Sirius had to admit that she was a sweet girl. Somewhat shyer and quieter than Hermione, but she had a vibrant sense of humour and Sirius could see, even if they wouldn't admit it, how happy she and Harry were in each other's company. Sirius was aware that Hermione was watching them over the top of her book and he felt surprisingly self-conscious lying on the rug in front of the fire. Not for the first time he wished that he could transform into his dog form, not only would he manage to look more graceful, but he would also do a better job of hiding his emotions. But transforming would require magic, and it was a risk that he couldn't take. He knew that Remus couldn't stay during the full moon, even transforming due to his lycanthropy would be a homing beacon to anyone searching for magic in the area.

Twice since moving here, Sirius had driven well up into the mountains and inside the border of the dragon reserve. Here there was such an abundance of magic that he could transform and run freely as Padfoot to his hearts delight. Once he had caught a glimpse of a Welsh Green as it soared high above a mountain peak. It had been an exhilarating experience, but not one that he tried frequently: being Padfoot still brought back painful memories, the happy times in his boyhood overshadowed by being on the run, by the dark memory of empty nights spent in Azkaban, of years of having his heart and life sucked away from him, those long years with nothing to live for except revenge.

As a dog he might be able to hide his emotions from the others, but it was so much harder to control his feelings. Everything was much more basic, much more intense and much more frightening.

He sat up, still feeling awkward under her gaze, wishing that this didn't feel quite so much like a schoolboy crush. He hadn't been paying attention to the game and Harry, with a wink at Ginny that made Sirius suspect that they had been cheating, said, 'It's Professor Plum with the spanner in the conservatory.' It was, and to be completely honest, Sirius didn't care. He wanted to get out of the room, his shirt much too hot in this proximity to the fire and Hermione's smouldering gaze.

He had almost made it to the door when he heard her voice calling his name. "Ginny and I wanted to go for a walk when it stopped snowing."

His complete lack of comprehension must have shown on his face because she said patiently, "It's stopped snowing."

"Yes," he said foolishly. "It has."

Ginny was on her feet now too. "We want to go up to the lake."

"We need some time alone for girl-talk."

Sirius wished that Hermione hadn't told him that. "Do you want the car then?" he asked.

"Um, I was hoping that you would drive us," she said, looking at him with her big puppy-dog eyes. "I only passed two weeks ago. I'd rather not drive in the snow."

He smiled at her with an over-exaggerated sigh. "I suppose I can manage that." She grinned at him, and it was all worth the effort.

Hermione got in the front with him and Ginny slid into the back. He drove in silence while the girls chattered mindlessly about issues that didn't interest him in the slightest. He didn't once turn his head to look at the girl sitting beside him, knowing that it would be dangerous to let his mind wander as it was want to do when he began to contemplate Hermione.

In less than ten minutes he pulled over to let them out. He felt old and awkward saying it, but he did all the same: "Be careful. Stay together and don't go off into the mountains. The snow is deceptive and you could fall."

"Yes, Dad," Hermione called over her shoulder, cutting him painfully. He was old enough to be her father and it was time that he remembered it. But her safety was what mattered. She was sensible, but she didn't know the mountains or the precautions that were needed to go walking here safely. Raising her ire and looking overprotective was better than regretting keeping his mouth shut when she was rushed to hospital.

He drove back slowly to the house and wandered into the kitchen. He could hear that Ron and Remus were still playing chess and Harry was upstairs in his room. Sirius walked down into the main room and looked out at the snow. The water was grey and the sky dark, but lightening in the south. Maybe that would be the last of their snow. Harry and the others had to go back to school in three days. Half of Sirius was pleased, longing once more for the simplicity of his solitary life. The other half was missing them already, the brotherly comradeship that he shared with Harry, the amusement that Ron provided, the rush of feelings that surfaced in Hermione's company, even the quiet, gentle presence of Ginny.

He was glad that they had agreed to take their five days at Easter and come stay. He had mentioned his intention to redecorate the living room to Harry and Harry had reminded him in horror that he was incapable of putting up shelves. So his godson had suggested that the four of them come back for a few days at the beginning of April to help with the painting. Sirius had been relieved to agree, and only partly because it would mean more time in Hermione's company.

He was suddenly aware that this was her last year at Hogwarts. What would happen next year? His precious time with her was bleeding away, vanishing, slipping through his grasp.

Maybe it would be good for him. If he didn't see her then he could get over this stupid crush. He needed to move on with his life, begin to rebuild, and surely there was no place for this girl in his future.

Or more precisely, surely there was no place for him, this man who belonged to a different generation, in her young, successful, ambitious future.

"Sirius?" Harry's soft voice broke through his ruminations. "Where did the girls go?"

Ron and Harry stood in the doorway, both their faces showing tension, Ron looking so nervous that he was turning grey.

"They went for a walk,"

"Yeah we know. Where?"

"Up by the Llyn. I'll go up in about half an hour and pick them up. Is something wrong?"

The boys exchanged a glance. "No," Harry said. "Can I go?"

"If you want. But first tell me what's bothering you so much. Ron looks like he is about to be sick."

Remus came in from the sitting room and suggested that they all take a seat. It was clear from his expression that he knew what was going on.

With a glance at his friend, Harry, as always, became the spokesperson. "What the girls went out to discuss was, um, about Ron. That is... Hermione needed to talk to Ginny."

Oh, shit! No, please no!

Sirius looked at Ron. The boy was looking at his hands which were twisted nervously in his lap.

Harry took a deep breath, and then gestured to Ron to continue. Ron looked up to meet Sirius's eyes and then said, falteringly. "Well the thing is... the thing is... I'm gay." There was a question in his eyes. Sirius's heart went out to the boy, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place.

"And Hermione is going to tell Ginny," Sirius finished for Ron.

Ron nodded. "I haven't told anyone at home. I'm afraid, we're, um, quite a conventional family. I thought that Ginny would be the easiest to tell, but when it came down to it I couldn't. So, after much begging, Hermione agreed to. I think that she is a bit fed up with me - she thinks that I should tell my sister myself." As he saw Sirius's positive reaction Ron's words became more and more lucid. "Hermione worked it out months ago. I..." he flushed, "I actually asked her to kiss me, so that I could know for sure that I wasn't interested. It sounds stupid, but I know Hermione is a really attractive girl..." Here Sirius was sure that Harry was watching his reaction. He made sure that there was no reaction to see. "Anyway, then I knew. I told Harry, and that took some courage. He's been fantastic though." Ron grinned at his friend. "They've both been really supportive. I was so afraid that it would change everything, and Harry was a bit uncomfortable for a few days, but then it was all okay."

Harry laughed. "I was afraid that you fancied me!" he spluttered. "Then I realised that was not only paranoid but really conceited and that you were too good a mate to lose over something so stupid."

Ron smiled embarrassedly at the floor. "They both told me I needed to tell my family, but I haven't felt ready. When I told Remus yesterday he said that I should do what I felt was right, but that I would have to tell them sometime. So that was when I decided to tell Gin."

"I'm pleased that you felt that you could tell me," Sirius said gently.

"Telling you was okay," Ron replied with a hint of a smile. "And telling Remus. I pretty much knew that you would both be okay with it. I mean you both know what it feels like to bear the brunt of prejudice, Remus with his lycanthropy, and you with a criminal conviction. I knew that you would be open minded."

"I think we should be flattered by that, Moony," Sirius said with a smile. "Adults who understand!"

Sirius could tell that Ron had relaxed. "You aren't exactly old!" the redhead teased. "Remus at least pulled off the guise of a teacher, but you act like you're no older than us!"

Sirius felt that familiar mix of insult and compliment. "And so the two of you want to go up and see how she had taken the news?"

Harry nodded, but Ron suddenly looked worried again.

"I actually might stay here," he whispered.

Harry frowned, "Putting it off won't change anything. And I'm sure you haven't got anything to worry about."

"I know...but...I'd still rather wait here."

"Your choice." Harry took the keys that Sirius passed him and, with a last glance over his shoulder at Ron, sitting slumped on the sofa beside Remus, went out to the car.

* * *

A few minutes later, when Remus had gone back into the sitting room and Ron was upstairs, a knock drew Sirius to the hallway. Hermione stormed in.

"Where's Ginny?"

"We had a... a disagreement," she replied vehemently. "She told me in no uncertain terms to leave her alone. So I did."

Sirius took her firmly by the shoulder and turned her to face him, "You left her on the side of a mountain in the snow? And what? Walked back here?"

"Yes," she said shortly, not looking him in the eyes.

He knew it was the wrong thing to say but the words came out unbidden in his worry and anger, "Hermione, I'm disappointed in you. That's not the kind of behaviour I would expect from you. You've always shown yourself to be a mature young woman, but that was the action of a petulant child!"

The tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks, whether from his anger or her shock or the long, cold walk, he wasn't sure.

With a sigh he tried to calm himself. "Harry just left to go pick you up. So I'm sure that she will be alright. But why did you do it? Was it about Ron?"

She looked up at him for the first time, her eyes wide with surprise. "No, of course not. That was fine. We argued about Harry. She said I was interfering and told me, in very coarse language, to mind my own business and to go away. I was furious because I was only trying to help her. The pair of them are so useless! We can all see how much they like each other and I was only trying to nudge them together." She sank into the armchair, her hands covering her teary face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I was so angry with her. I didn't mean to be irresponsible. I just... I wasn't thinking..."

Sirius felt his heart soften, it was impossible for him to remain unmoved in her company however angry he was with her. But it brought home the realisation of her youth. She was still only seventeen . She was on the cusp of adulthood, far more adult than the boys, it often seemed, but she still made mistakes, she still had to learn.

He wished that he could be the one to teach her.

* * *

Harry parked the car at the side of the road and vaulted the low wall rather than walk down to the gate. The wild grass was long and icy-wet with snow and he could feel the hems of his jeans growing heavy with absorbed moisture.

He clambered down the rock strewn hillside to where it levelled out, and from there followed the path among the scattered trees to the pebble beach that marked the shore of Llyn Tawel. He stood on the pebbles and let the tiny waves lap at the toes of his walking boots. The air was cold, and white ghosts of warm, moist breath floated away from him every time he opened his mouth. The lake's surface wasn't frozen, but patches were icy crystals floating along the edge of the dark water.

From here he couldn't see anyone, for all he knew he could be the only person alive. There was no sound, the wind scarcely more than a breath, the black and white hillsides daunting and grim. He set off slowly along the path that circulated the lake, knowing that if they were on the other side and got back to the car before he caught up with them, that they would wait. He had the keys in his pocket anyway: Hermione could drive but she wasn't capable of hotwiring a car. Or at least he didn't think so. You could never tell with Hermione; she was full of surprises.

Somewhere up diagonally ahead he though that he saw a flash of colour. But then it was gone. He might have been mistaken. He might have thought that he had seen Ginny's hair between the trees. But on the other hand, in this landscape there was precious little that was red.

He walked onwards, his trudge becoming a stride as he thought about Ginny. If he walked at this pace he would catch up with the girls before they reached the car - if they were going in this direction. They might be circulating the opposite way. They might be on their way towards him now.

While he walked he let his mind dwell on Ginny as he had in the few weeks since he realised how he felt about her. How he had felt about her for a long time - he had just been too dense to realise it. It had grown so gradually that it had been quite a shock to discover that he no longer saw Ron's little sister as a surrogate sister, but as a prospective girlfriend. He could call her face to mind instantly, her laughing eyes, her flushing cheeks, her delicate, infinitely-kissable mouth.

He remembered when she had had a crush on him. Or rather, on The-Boy-Who-Lived. Maybe it was embarrassment that had driven him to avoid her. He hadn't thought that he could cope with being her knight in shining armour, especially after the incident with the Chamber. Really rescuing someone from mortal peril tended to put a damper on daydreams of doing so. No, daydreams of Ginny were far more tangible, besides the regular teenage fantasies, he dreamt simply of holding her in his arms and of talking to her, of sharing his thought with her, of making her laugh, of making her cry, of hearing her say that she loved him. It frightened him. He wasn't sure that he could handle the depth of emotion that she provoked. Sometimes he just wanted it to go away, wanted it to be no more than lust, wanted to ignore it, to ignore her. But then she walked into a room and he knew that it was impossible to walk away from her, from that tingly-happy-melting feeling, that warmth that built up in his chest and suffused his body whenever she was near, so warm that he was amazed that she couldn't feel the heat radiating from his bare skin, the tongues of flame licking at her arms and neck and face...

Then he saw her and stopped in his tracks, no longer capable of making one foot move in front of the other. She was sitting on a large, flat stone which she had cleared of snow. He could see the tiny crystals in the rock catching the light in an imitation of the light on the tiny ripples of water at her feet. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her hair was loose down her fleece-covered back. There were tear trails on her porcelain cheeks and she held a shredded tissue in her delicate hands.

She looked so beautiful, so melancholy and so untouchable.

He didn't mean to make a sound, but somehow she knew that he was there and turned her head hopefully. "Oh, Harry," she said with a sigh as if she had wanted someone else. It twisted a spike of barbed wire into his chest.

His presence disappointed her.

"Who did you expect? Where's Hermione?"

"I thought that you might be Hermione. We had an argument," she turned back to look at him. "I was furious: I swore at her and told her to leave me alone. She stormed off and I don't know where she went. She said she was going back but I don't know if she did."

"When was this?"

She glanced at her watch. "Almost an hour ago."

"Well, if she hasn't come back then she's probably back at Plas Isaf already, but we can wait if you want."

He moved towards her tentatively, sitting on the edge of her rock. "Are you cold, Gin? Do you want to go back? If she's not there then I'll come out and find her."

She didn't say anything.

"Gin?" When had he started using such an intimate form of her name? "Gin? What did you fight about? Did she tell you about Ron?"

"Oh, it wasn't that. That was a bit of a surprise but as soon as she said it I could see. Why would that bother me? No, it was a stupid argument, it wasn't about that. She was just being too interfering. Like I said: it was stupid. And it doesn't matter now. I just overreacted. I guess I was more shaken than I thought by what she said about Ron." Her tone was final so he didn't ask any more.

"I think we should walk the rest of the way around the lake and if she isn't at the car by then we'll go back and then if we don't see her on the way, and if she hasn't arrived back then Sirius and I will come out in the car and look for her. Don't worry there are still hours of daylight left and Hermione is sensible - I'm sure she's around."

Ginny nodded. Harry noticed that she was shivering. He thought about giving her his scarf, but wondered if it was too presumptuous. Did it look like he was trying too hard?

In then end compassion won out and he wrapped it around her neck and she smiled gratefully back up at him. It was worth the extra chill to see that.

They walked in silence, Harry having no idea what to say, but not needing words. It was enough just to savour her companionship. There was no sign of Hermione, and as they approached the car again Harry sped up to see if she was waiting there on the other side of the wall.

He hit an icy patch and, to his horror and embarrassment, his feet slid out from underneath him and he hit the ground. It felt like he was moving in slow motion.

Ginny hurried to him, bending to help him up, and, to Harry's mortification, she began to giggle. Her entire body shuddered and she ended up doubled up with laughter on the cold, hard ground beside him.

"I'm so sorry," she giggled. "Oh, Harry! That was priceless - you should have seen your face. I'm so sorry." She kept trying to maintain a straight face but failing miserably. "Oh hon, I'm sorry."

He wasn't sure whether it was the endearment or whether the ridiculousness of the situation hit him, but suddenly it wasn't quite so appalling and he found himself laughing too. He got to his feet and hauled her up too. She was still laughing so hard that she couldn't stand. Harry wondered if it was a reflex, an almost hysterical release of tension. She stood, clutching at his coat to keep her balance, her pale cheeks flushed red with cold and laughter, tears of painful merriment streaming down her face. Gently, diffidently, he put his arm around her, just below the shoulders, to guide her back up through the gate and along to the car. She didn't seem to mind, she even leant in against him as they approached.

Then in fear, he dropped his arm, and they drove home in silence.

* * *

Ginny greeted an anxious Ron with a huge hug, and the relief on his face was palpable. Then she turned to Hermione, and, although no words were said, whatever had angered them so intensely had passed. A small smile passed between them and a nod on Ginny's part, and then that was it. There was a light in Harry's eyes too that hadn't been there before, and his godfather wondered what had happened in the time the two had been alone.

Sirius couldn't help feeling that a lot of tensions had been relived that day, a lot of worries, if not dissipated, at least eased. It was as if chances that could be taken had been, and perhaps opportunities had opened up that had been less obvious than before.

He could be happy, here, in the company of these people he loved. As they sat around the table that night he saw that their eyes were shining too. Hermione lifted her lovely eyes to his and she smiled and he thought life can be good.

* * *

They celebrated New Year with wine and champagne and all six became slightly more drunk than they had planned. Remus, who was the most sober, tried to discourage Harry and Ron when they suggested playing party games, but the two insisted and Sirius found himself embroiled in a loud game of truth or dare.

Luckily, he later thought, they had all had too much to drink and couldn't really remember what they or the others had admitted to. Or at least so they claimed. Harry and Hermione were sprawled on the rug in the sitting room, their backs propped against the sofa on which Ginny and Remus sat. Ron was on the window seat and Sirius was in the armchair by the door. The fire had mostly died down to glowing embers which lit the room with an eerie half-light and cast rosy shadows on haunted faces.

"It's Ron's turn," Hermione declared, her slurred words evidence of how much alcohol she had consumed.

"No!" her friend protested. "Ginny hasn't been yet!"

"Okay," Hermione agreed. "Ginny then you. Gin: how many crushes have you had on people in this room?"

It was indicative of Ginny's drunken state that she had to count to four on her fingers.

Ron stared around the room. "There are only six of us, Gin. Have you counted right?"

"Yes!" she insisted. "Four crushes."

Now Hermione too was peering around the room. "Let me guess. It doesn't make sense. It must be Siri and Remus and we know about Harry. Who's the fourth?"

"Can't I have two crushes on the same person?" Ginny complained.

Sirius felt about as confused as Harry looked, although Hermione's use of a pet name, even when drunk, had not gone unnoticed.

"Well," Hermione had somehow, as questioner, ended up with the role of adjudicator. "I guess so," she concluded. "Does it mean you've had a crush on him twice? Or it's twice as much a crush?"

Remus appeared to have given up all hope of following the girls' conversation.

"Both," Ginny decided. Hermione looked as if she was going to ask which crush, but she thought the better of it, obviously deciding that getting her friend to admit to having had crushes on both Sirius and Remus was enough for one turn.

"Now it's you," she said to Ron.

"No!" he protested again. "Let me ask you first."

She stuck her tongue out at him and then came up with a compromise. "How about I do a dare and then you do? No truths."

"Agreed. No truths." He paused and looked around the room. "I'm too drunk to think of one, Hermione. And you're too drink to do one. I'd say down the rest of the bottle of wine, but there's hardly a mouthful there."

Sirius looked in surprise at the bottle, which had slid from Harry's unresisting hand and was threatening to spill its contents onto the carpet. He leant forward to move it, but it was such an effort, and before he did he became distracted by the terms of the dare. "Kiss Harry," Ron pronounced.

Both Ginny and Sirius protested at once, Harry was too drunk to do so. Sirius had the brief feeling that he hadn't really been acting the responsible adult. It shouldn't have ever got to this stage. It should have just been a glass of champagne. Molly Weasley would skin him if she ever found out...

"No," came Ginny's voice. "Kiss Sirius, not Harry."

Everything slowed, the air thickened and to Sirius the seconds lengthened. Hermione made some gesture of refusal that Ron wouldn't accept. He got hold of his sister's idea and repeated it. "Go on, Herm. Go kiss Sirius."

She got unsteadily to her knees and clambered across Harry's somewhat prone figure. Sirius took his eyes off her long enough to glance at Remus, who was watching through half-closed eyes.

Hermione was wobbling, using the sofa and the chair to keep her poise. She balanced for a second on one hand on the arm of his chair, and then collapsed in an ungainly pile in Sirius's lap. He tried to fight back the waves of incomprehension that swarmed over him. He needed to tell her not to do this but he desperately wanted her to but he didn't but he did but he didn't, not like this, not drunk, but it was too late and her sloppy lips were on his, her limp arm around his neck. She was warm and soft and tasted of overwhelmingly of alcohol. If it hadn't been for that Sirius might have thought, hoped, that she was just a good actress as that she wasn't really that drunk, because as he began to react, so her movements became more concentrated and she deepened the kiss, finding his tongue with hers and Sirius was vaguely aware of the others cheering, but it was background noise and it was unimportant because Hermione was on his lap and she was kissing him as if her life depended on it.

Then she was gone, and sliding back onto the floor with her hands raised in triumph and Sirius was hurt. It was a dare, and she had done it and she was celebrating, nothing more.

Remus, still the most sober, wound up the game after that, when Hermione dared Ron to take off his trousers and boxers and to dance on the coffee table. But Sirius barely noticed the four teenagers being hurried upstairs by their former teacher, his fragile world was shaken and in danger of collapsing in on him.

* * *

The house was blissfully quiet when the others had returned to school or their homes and Sirius was left alone with his thoughts. Harry and his friends had promised to visit in April, and Remus to be back before then. For a few days Sirius did nothing but wander about the house, missing them, finding an endless trail of objects that had been left by the teenagers, Ron's sock behind the cushion on the sofa, Ginny's pen on the floor under the kitchen table where she had been doing her homework, Harry's room, the tip it was always left in, and three hairclips on the table in front of the mirror in Hermione's room. He had picked them up softly, holding them tightly and snapping one by the force of his grip before tucking the other two safely into the pocket of his favourite shirt.

He knew that he should put them away until April, or throw them out and forget them as she surely had. She didn't want him; kissing him had been a drunken triumph; she was the age of the daughter he never had; she would break his heart if he was foolhardy enough to entrust it to her care.

But all the same he tucked the hair clips in his pocket.

* * *

March 4^th was one of the most difficult days of the year. October 31^st was hard, painful; May 7^th was also painful, memories of a happy day filling his unconscious; September 15^th was agonising, it was all he could do to get through that day; but March 6^th was the worst.

It was morning of March 4^th that Remus came to visit, as he always tried to do, to help Sirius get through the anniversary. Sometimes he couldn't come, if the date coincided with a full moon, but this year he could be there until the fifth. Sirius would have to struggle though the sixth alone this year.

Sirius was already in tears when Remus arrived. His friend simply embraced him and let him cry. Someone had once said to Sirius that there were only so many tears that could be shed, but that someone had lied, and every year there were more tears, just as fresh and unrelenting, on October 31^st, the anniversary of James and Lily's deaths; on May 7^th, the anniversary of his wedding day; on September 15^th, what would have been, what still was, his son's birthday; on March 6^th, the day on which his life, too, should have ended; and on March 4^th, Vivian's birthday.

There was nothing Remus could say that hadn't already been said.

Sirius didn't even have any pictures of her. Lily had been the photographer in the group, the albums yet another loss on that night in Godric's Hollow. There had been a wedding photograph, Sirius handsome and smiling, beautiful, black haired Vivian by his side, smiling and waving to the camera. That too was gone, lost with all his personal belongings when he went into Azkaban.

All that were left were the fading memories of those scarce years together, snatched and preserved, hoarded like treasures. The clarity of her face was fading too, he had to concentrate to remember the exact colour of her eyes, and sometimes it wouldn't come, the remembrance just out of reach, floating below the surface of the water, and when he stretched out he could almost, almost touch it, and then it was gone.

But he didn't love her any less for not being able to see her face. She was always there in his dreams, smiling at him, chiding him, watching over him like his personal guardian angel, their infant son cradled in her arms.

It was easier to remember when Remus was there, some essence of the old crowd still lingered on in the air between them. Memories of when they were all together, when they had their bright futures spread before them.

Before it had all gone wrong.

And sometimes the memories weren't painful, sometimes they could sit together and reminisce about the old days without the tide of horror and grief. Those moments were special, those times when the ghosts were friendly, when the spectres came with lights and music and the air was perfumed with love.

If they tried hard enough they could sometimes keep the pain at bay.

It was no easier for Remus. He had never been married, but Ana, his long-time partner, had left him after the fall, when Remus had become embroiled in a depressed downward spiral. James and Lily were dead. Vivian and Robin were dead. Peter was dead and Sirius to blame, so he thought. She had tried for two years to pull Remus back to life, to give him something to live for, something to love. But he had been self-destructive, enclosed, inaccessible, and eventually she had gone, in pain and in tears, unable to do any more.

Remus had made one half-hearted attempt to find her in the years that followed, an attempt that failed. He had never tried again, unable to resurrect the feelings for her that had once overwhelmed him.

And so there they were: the remnants, the remainders, the residue, the last vestiges of the once golden crowd of Hogwarts, the young promising idealists of the Wizarding world, the heroes fallen from their jewelled thrones and sprawled on a battered sofa passing back and forth a bottle of vodka to try and ward off the visions of what could have been.

* * *

The fifth was easier and they stayed sober all morning.

Remus had to go before lunch, but they hadn't had breakfast because they hadn't slept, they'd just drunk themselves into oblivion.

Sirius picked up the house, still vaguely drunk and not quite awake, but feeling considerably better than he believed that he had any right to feel. The weather mirrored his gloomy mood and the grey, damp, heavy spring rain fell in blankets around the house.

He already feared the next day and his ability to cope through the anniversary of that day alone. He tried to keep his mind on other, temporary things, but in vain.

What he needed, he realised, was something to take away his attention. Something arrived at 2 p.m. with a desperate, pounding attack on his front door.

At first Sirius hardly heard it over the drive of the rain, and the fact that his brain wasn't firmly rooted in the present. But the banging persisted and penetrated his consciousness and he went to open the door. And there, tears mingling with the raindrops that were coursing down her face, saturating her hair and her robes and congregating in puddles at her feet, was Hermione.