Disbelief to the Highest Degree

Disbelief to the Highest Degree

By Potterworm

"No spell can reawaken the dead," said Dumbledore heavily.
-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter 36

It was not the words of the prophecy that haunted Harry at night (for neither can live while the other survives)--at least, not as much as you would think. It was the words spoken by Albus Dumbledore over a year previously that haunted him the most: "No spell can reawaken the dead."

He wanted it to be a lie. He rationalized with the Muggle raised part of his brain that it had to be.

When Harry had first encountered magic, one of the first thoughts that came to him had been one of his parents. This was magic. Magic could do anything. Then, of course, he realized that his parents had belonged not just to him, but also to the wizarding world. If they could have been brought back to life, it would have already been done. Still, his eleven-year-old self hoped in the corner of his mind and the dusty crevices of his heart.

By the time his first year had come to a close, his hope of seeing his parents again had flickered out like a candle in a drafty room. He was more knowledgeable, more mature, and more logical. He was more.

Killing a person affects you in a way that is subtle at first. At least it is subtle, when you kill in the way Harry killed Professor Quirrell. His professor's life slowly crumbled away, literally.

Harry didn't remember Professor Quirrell's life slipping from his clenched hands, because technically Quirrell did not die until after Harry had passed out, until his master fled their shared body. Though, you could also say that Quirrell died the moment Voldemort possessed him. (Though, many would believe that was a matter of opinion.)

Harry didn't notice the change Quirrell's death created in him, until reflecting back many years later. When he reflected though, he realized that after his first year, he believed in death. He believed in endings.

Ironic, that the neglected orphan was once the dreamer? Yes.

Unrealistic? No.

But, no, he no longer dreamt of his parents coming to rescue him from the Dursleys. They were gone. They weren't coming back. Out flickered his childhood daydreams.

He thought not of his parents returning. He thought not of the powers that magic must have involving the dead for much of his second year, though the thoughts flickered through his mind occasionally, like someone flipping through the radio stations. They flickered on when he encountered ghosts and when he encountered the memory of a sixteen-year-old boy, but he squashed them down again and again.

No need to waste time on senseless dreaming.

It was during his third year that Harry's hopes flared back to life. Pettigrew was thought dead. He came back.

Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew--all on the same grounds on the same night in a twisted twist of fate. Even Prongs came back in his silvery form. Harry knew it was stupid that he didn't recognize himself that night, but his resemblance to his father truly was uncanny (The hundreds of dementors may have also contributed to his senselessness. He wasn't sure).

He wanted his father to be back that night. He ached for him.

And when he was feeling rather foolish later on that evening, he remembered his self-made rule, a rule truly fit for an orphan. It taunted him from within his mind, prancing around and shouting, 'I told you so.'

No more senseless dreams; at least, not when he was awake.

Still, that night of doubts and second-guessing had one good result--Sirius, his godfather, was free. He had a family. Unconventional, sure, but Sirius wrote him letters. Sirius cared. And that was enough for Harry.

At the end of fourth year, when Professor Dumbledore unintentionally confirmed that which he had rationalized to himself for all those years, he showed no emotion. He knew without a doubt now. There was no question. No more secret hopes.

No spell could reawaken the dead.

'What about the diary?'' his inner voice nagged.

'But that wasn't someone who was dead. That was Voldemort, in a different form. Plus, Voldemort is always the exception to the rule. Along with me, that is,' his logical side countered immediately.

So his face showed no emotion. No shock. And truly, he was not shocked, for he had already known. And yet, his heart still ached.

Afterwards, no one believed Voldemort was back. He was insane, certifiable. Just because someone tells you a lie multiple times, does not make it any less of a lie.

'Whoever came up with that phrase should be shot,' he thought. 'You try getting told you're insane everyday. You try having everyone look at you like you are vicious and will spontaneously combust if eggshells are not walked on around you. You would get a little anxious, too. You'd start to wonder about your sanity, too.'

Still, Ron and Hermione stood by him. Sirius stood by him, too. He had his family, that unconditional love and loyalty in ways much more important than blood. And that got him by, that got him through the night.

He was grounded. He was who he was. He did not dwell on dreams anymore. His parents were dead, but he had Sirius. The letters were enough. The fact that Sirius cared was doubly enough. The fact that he was keeping Sirius sane mattered too.

Sirius was all the parental figure he needed.

But now, here he was at home after fifth year, with his so-called 'family', the heartless family that is. He was taunted by his past. He was haunted by it.

It was mid-afternoon. He was lying on his musty cot, hollow eyes staring at the bleak, mustard-colored wall. His eyes focused on that color, devouring it as if it were a lifeline. It was color he could handle. Staring in space he could handle.

Living life, he could not handle. Being, he could handle. Simply being was all he could handle.

He was breaking his rule to live by, no senseless dreams, and he didn't care. He knew Sirius wasn't coming back. He knew he had screwed up so badly, that there was no redoing or second chance. Not for Sirius, at least.

But still he hoped. He knew it was a stupid hope, but he wished and he hoped, and he hoped to stop hoping all the same. For he was smart and knew his hopes would lead to nothing. But still he clung desperately to his false hope, while his intelligence sat riled up in a corner.

He knew it was impossible for Sirius to come back. He was dead--Harry had seen him die. But, in the corner of his mind, he wondered what would have happened had there been no debacle at the Department of Mysteries. He wondered what would have happened if Sirius hadn't fallen through the bloody veil.

He wondered, and he wished, and he hoped. And his logical side countered back all the time. So he simply stared.

His thoughts overwhelmed him. That was why, when he heard several noisy locks being undone outside his door, he did not immediately react. That was why he only slowly turned his head as the door finally swung open. That was why his hand only just made it to his wand in time.

Not that having a wand would have helped him...bloody underaged wizard laws.

His eyes flickered to his open door. In the doorway stood a medium-sized figure. The light was reflecting just so, streaming in behind the figure as though he were Harry's knight in shining armor.

The scene quite reminded him of Hagrid coming to rescue him before first year.

He would have smiled had he not been pissed off. Because smiling when he was pissed off would have ruined the moment. The pissed off moment, that is.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" he enunciated, anger rising. Couldn't the Death Eaters leave him alone? They had taken Sirius from him, and still they couldn't leave him alone.

His hope threatened to overwhelm him for a moment, before his outrage squashed it. Dumbledore had said the dead could not come back, and though he may currently dislike him, he did believe him.

The figure came closer. Harry was broken from his mustard wall stupor and focused his eyes on the man. His pasty hand gripped his wand tightly underneath the sleeves of his hand-me-down, baggy, gray, long sleeved t-shirt.

"Harry, you haven't been responding to any letters. The Order's been worried," the man said as an explanation.

Harry's thoughts raced. So they knew all about the Order.

He regained his mental composure and commanded the man to back up, praying he was still willing to follow pretences.

The man's bushy eyebrows crinkled in confusion, but there was no hesitation. He backed away.

"Harry," the man started. The man's voice haunted him. It taunted him.

"Shut up," he said, his knuckles white from his strong grip on his holly wand. There was life in him yet.

"Harry?" he said concerned.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he said wildly, his eyes dilated, moving wildly from his own position, to the locked window, to the doorway, needing an escape plan.

"Are you alright?" the man questioned.

Harry stood, swaying slightly. Maybe eating was an idea to be considered after all...

The man made as if to move forward, to catch him, to be the hero.

Harry wanted no part of that and regained his own balance, pointing his wand at the man's chest.

The man dropped his wand to the ground instantly in a sign of surrender, raising his hands in the same manner.

Harry wasn't stupid. Constant Vigilance! Death Eaters had access to extra wands. The black market was not limited to Muggle society.

"Harry, did you even read your letters?" the man said, beginning to understand Harry's erratic actions.

"Would my letters have brought warning of this twisted plan?" he questioned bitterly.

The man's cracked lips transformed into an "oh!" of understanding. Without meaning to, he chuckled.

"Think this is funny?" Harry said, while moving his foot forward to push the Death Eater's wand back under his bed. He kept both eyes on the Death Eater the whole time.

"Honestly, this is sick. This is a whole new low. What kind of a sick, twisted Death Eater joke is this?" His voice cracked as he screeched.

"Harry, I've been worried all summer. I thought you weren't responding because you were upset with me. I am back. It's all in your letters. I never would have come by myself if I thought you didn't know. I'm not a joke. We didn't come sooner, well mainly because Dumbledore held us back. Said you'd need to vent, that you needed privacy. That you would come to us when you were ready."

"You're back? Honestly, what are you, a new recruit? You could have come up with something better than that. Every semi-smart wizard and witch knows there is no back. Hell, Dumbledore told me himself. He told me while you," he said making air quotes, "were sitting right next to me." His voice was filled with malice and sarcasm.

"Harry, what do I have to do to prove to you that it's me?"

"Hmm, I dunno, make pigs fly?" he said, his Muggle heritage showing.

The man looked bewildered, but indicated that he would need his wand.

"Not literally, you idiot. It's a saying," Harry said, disgustedly.

"So...." the man said trailing off.

"Sooooo?" he mimicked. Sleep deprivation does change one's personality.

The man's eyebrows rose, as if to say, 'you know exactly what I mean.'

"So, we wait," Harry said with nostrils flared.

"Wait for what?" the man said, placating the teenage boy.

"For the Polyjuice to wear off. It only lasts an hour you know, I've used it."

Without thinking, a chuckle burst out of the man.

"Something funny?" Harry said, indicating for him to speak.

"Erm, just, the fact that you used Polyjuice sounds very Marauder second generation."

"Oh, screw you, coming in here pretending to be my dead godfather. Do you all have nothing better to do with your time? Is my mum going to be paying me a visit in a minute? My dad next? Cedric perhaps? A little living nightmare for the boy-who-screwed-you-all by living? Couldn't you come up with something more clever than impersonating the dead?! Aren't the majority of you the cunning Snakes?" he said, sneering, shaking with anger and exhaustion. He truly hadn't stood in a while.

"I'm not pretending," 'Sirius' said. "Ask me anything that only I would know."

Harry thought to ask, just to placate the man, keep him occupied, but as his thoughts ran, he could not think of something only he and Sirius would know. This frustrated him beyond belief, the time between godfather and godson cut so bitterly short. And oh, he wished it was Sirius in front of him. Oh, he hoped, but he knew it was not true. His past experiences and his strong belief in Dumbledore's word, despite his failings, had proven that. The dead did not come back.

But you could never let them see you falter, so Harry continued.

"And I should negotiate with a clear Death Eater, because...?" he said covering his heartache well, his voice a long drawl. "I am truly curious to see who 'you' are. Lestrange? Malfoy? Macnair? So many people. Or are you a new recruit?" he wondered out loud, his wand still pointing at 'Sirius's' heart. "Which of my year mates have already joined your lord?"

'Sirius' backed away slightly. "I can come back with proof."

"Oh, no," Harry said. "You think I'm stupid? I'm not letting you return to your master, to deliver whatever information you've gathered. We're going to wait right here. Then, we'll find out who you are, and eventually, an Order member on duty will see you."

"There are no members on duty," 'Sirius' commented on the flaw of his plan.

Harry jerked. "Who was on duty?"

"I was," 'Sirius' replied.

"Who. Was. On. Duty?" Harry commanded.

"I was," 'Sirius' said forcefully.

Harry's thoughts raced. So, they had killed whoever was on duty? The Death Eaters were watching his house? Were the Dursleys already dead? Did the Death Eater have backups coming? Would the Order be sending someone for the next shift soon?

"Prove it. Prove you're from the Order," he mollified the man slightly while his eyes flickered towards the old alarm clock. Only a little more time until the potion would wear off. Should he break the decree? Risk getting expelled? Or should he simply wait?

"I can't. If you'd like me to explain how I came back, I can," his 'godfather' offered.

Harry's eyes flickered once more to the clock. What the hell?

Harry paced side to side, erratic in his motions. "Damn it!" he swore.

'Sirius' looked concerned and puzzled. Harry turned his full attention back to him.

"Did the wonderful, traitorous Potions Master make your master a new version of the Polyjuice?" he sneered.

"Huh?"

"It's been an hour."

"Oh."

"And why aren't you, 'you'? I don't take kindly to cruel pranks!" he said.

"I'll prove who I am! We met in the Shrieking Shack, home to Moony, A.K.A. Remus Lupin A.K.A. your Defense professor. He turned into a werewolf because he forgot to take his Wolfsbane, made by Snivellus, I add. He--"

Harry groaned loudly, cutting him off. "You're forgetting who else was there that night and for almost every night."

The man's weary face showed nothing until his features hardened. "Wormtail."

Harry paced once more. How could he get information? How could he get help? Break the decree? Get expelled? Not that he cared much anymore, everything hurt so much. But, didn't he have a duty? If his reckless plan got Sirius killed for nothing, and he didn't act on the new information about the prophecy from Dumbledore, didn't that make him twice as bad? He couldn't just give up, he had a destiny. One way... or another.

"If you truly are a member of the Order, than you have a method to contact the other members of the group," he said, his brain working overtime. "Pass it to me," he said, completely unaware as to what it was.

The man's face became distressed as he replied, "We use Patroni to communicate. It's a specialized spell Dumbledore made, or found, one or the other..." he trailed off.

A growl of anger came from the back of Harry's throat, and hope completely dissipated as he stalled for time, or so he told himself.

The man backed away slowly.

"I ask this jokingly, 'Sirius', you must have a way to I.D. yourself?"

The man's face crinkled in deep concentration, and nearly a minute passed before in brightened. "You studied Animagus right?"

Harry gave a curt nod.

"Well, they're individual to each wizard, or witch," 'Sirius' added as an afterthought. "Like, fingerprints!" He jumped up.

The corner of Harry's brain screamed at him, telling him "No, don't do this. Don't get your hopes up; don't rise to the top, only to fall once more. Stop torturing yourself. He's gone, you don't deserve him back. You killed him. There is no absolution."

But in an almost stupor-like-state, he replied to 'Sirius', "Do you need your wand for the spell?"

The man cringed, knowing what Harry thought. He replied, "I can manage without, I just need room." His face was a question.

His brain screamed at him, "Stop this, don't do it. Sirius couldn't have been the only unregistered Animagus. It could be Pettigrew standing in front of you for Merlin's sake."

But, his heart, the buried senseless dreamer from within, took control of his body as he gave consent.

A moment later, he held his breath, knowing this was the moment that could break him, would break him either way it turned out. And the man backed into a corner of the room, screwed his eyes shut tightly in a look of intense concentration, and there was a magical pop.

Dust flew from the corner of the room, causing Harry to cough slightly. He looked up, and his eyes widened in disbelief. His pale face whitened a bit as his mouth formed a silent gasp. He backed further into the opposite wall as Sirius stared at him with concern.

'Sirius?' his husky voice mouthed once before croaking it out on the second try. His once abated hope returned in full force.

"Yeah," the man replied, his previously concerned face breaking into a smile.

"You're... not dead?" he questioned, confirming the facts.

"Nope," the man said, shaking his head exuberantly.

"Oh," Harry replied, before taking a single step forward.

"Harry?" They were back to concern.

"Why haven't you replied or written to anyone?" he said just as Harry moaned, "I'm so sorry."

"What for?" Sirius said, forgoing his question for a moment.

Harry took a few more steps forward before practically leaping into Sirius's arms. (All in a very manly-man type of way, he would assure future generations he told this story to.)

Sirius jerked for a moment (had they ever hugged like that?) before returning his godson's hug.

Harry breathed in his godfather's scent deeply as he buried his head into Sirius's chest. Sirius returned his hug whole-heartedly. A minute passed, then another, before Sirius finally spoke.

"Harry, are you alright?" He wasn't sure he would like the answer.

Harry didn't reply for a moment, before he finally raised his head. Tears streamed his face.

Tears. On. His. Face. Even Sirius was shocked, because despite loving Harry and knowing he was human, despite their closeness, despite his disbelief in the superhero worship, he didn't think he had ever seen Harry cry like that. Or much at all for that matter.

"Harry," he croaked out. "I'm so sorry."

That seemed to diminish the chances of hysterics, as Harry froze completely. "You?" His face showed no understanding.

"I ruined everything. I should have just stayed put, stayed right there. Everything should have been fine, but I was stupid and moody, and I put you through so much. I'm so sorry," Sirius rambled.

Harry looked baffled as he stared into Sirius' eyes. A second later, he said, "What on earth are you talking about?"

"The Department of Mysteries. The whole fiasco. I should have stayed at home," Sirius said as though looking for condemnation. "That's why I didn't come. I didn't want to make you see me. You have every right to be furious," he said in a Professor Lupin-like, accepting tone, his hysterics safe from view, tucked in the corner of his mind.

There was no condemnation in Harry's eyes, nor was there happiness. Instead he once more buried his head into his remaining family's chest as he breathed deeply, trying to hold in his sobs.

Sirius rubbed his back soothingly, muttering things like "Sorry, so sorry".

Finally, who-knows-how-long later, Harry looked upward once more. "What on earth do you mean?"

A mutter of confusion was Harry's only answer.

"What the hell did you do wrong? I... we...the things I did..." He rubbed his scar with one hard swipe.

"As I'm not Snape, I'm gonna need more information," Sirius said, referencing the 'mind reading.'

"I'm the one who's sorry," Harry said, their positions reversed. He now was terrified of damnation.

The sound of confusion and the murmur of thoughts that could not possibly be expressed, came once more.

Harry stepped backwards, pushing away the loving arms. "Why aren't you mad? You should hate me!" His volume increased. He was in hysterics.

Sirius' murmur of thoughts morphed into one obvious reply. "Why would I hate you? You didn't kill me. Plus, I'm not even dead," he said chuckling slightly in a non-serious but very Sirius-like way.

"I was so stupid, so arrogant. All the things I did that year. I pushed everyone away and yelled at them when I tried to help! I went into that stupid Pensieve and now I know about my dad. I snuck into offices and broke laws. I got Dumbledore kicked out, indirectly. I pissed off the major players in this war. I KILLED you! And on top of all that, I have to fix it all myself," he whispered at the end.

"In other words," Sirius replied, "you were a teenager. You were moody and bossy and reckless. You didn't push me behind the veil. Hell, even fate was angry that I landed back there, otherwise I'd be dead right now. If I meet up with Bellatrix, I'll get my vengeance, but for now, I'm fine."

"But, I ran off to the Ministry, without even checking," Harry countered.

"You did check. You just weren't told all of the information. You could blame Dumbledore for a fair amount of this."

"But that mirror," he screamed. "You gave it to me, and damn it, I didn't even look in it, because I was so worried you'd do something stupid and come to Hogwarts if I complained. And I swear I didn't want you to get caught, so I didn't even open it. And then, next thing I know, we're leading Umbridge off, and riding thestrals as we go on a bloody rescue mission. Then, you're dead, and I know everything was my fault. And I know fate screwed me, screwed us all. Then, after all that, I look in the blasted trunk and I find it!" He was in hysterics again. "And I find it, and I break it, and I pray you had it with you when you fell. I hunted down Nick to see what happened to dead people. And then, I'm sitting here, and all I know is that I killed the only person who cared!!!!"

In a surprisingly adult manner, Sirius answered. "So, based on all of that, it sounds like you didn't want me to die?"

"How could you say that? Of course, I didn't want you to die!"

"So why do you blame yourself?"

"Because..." Harry trailed off. Was being stupid and reckless really the cause of Sirius's death? Or was curses, prejudice, and simple evil the cause?

"Because I did it. I was the only reason you were there." It was his last resort for a reply.

"And, you were the only reason I was even alive last year in the first place," Sirius argued back.

"Oh," Harry said in a small voice. Sirius did have a point.

"And, you were merely a child, trying to work on the information you had. You rushed off to possibly meet your death in your third year. You rescued me from something a heck-of-a-lot worse than death, all at your own risk. You defied Snape, the Minister, and time, for Merlin's sake! If anyone should feel bad, it's me. I owed you one, plus I love you, so I came to help you out in the Department of Mysteries. I was the adult though, and I shouldn't have been cocky during the duel. And I shouldn't have been there in the first place. I thought you'd be pissed off at what I put you through," Sirius said.

Harry froze completely. Sirius loved him.

Sirius continued on, not noticing Harry's state. "And, seeing as we're family, it's a bit unfair for you to be able to risk your life for me once, and me be grateful, but be upset if you do it again and it doesn't work out..." he trailed off for a moment before adding, "Make sense?"

Harry nodded, still in a stupor.

Sirius, being Sirius, took another minute to notice his godson's state.

"Harry?" he prodded.

"It's just..." Harry said, flushing head to toe (in an eerily Weasley manner). "You love me, and you're the only one who's ever offered me a place to live. Sometimes, it's seems like you're the only one who cares, and here you are, not dead. I know people can't come back from the dead. It's impossible! Dumbledore said, and damn it, he may meddle, but he's right! And you care about me, and you were dead, but now you're not. How are you here?" he interrogated with complete confusion.

"Harry, uh, of course I love you; you're my godson," Now it was Sirius's turn to flush. 'So articulate.' "I'm not the only one, a lot of other people care about you. Plus, the Weasleys would've adopted you by now, if they could have. And I'm sorry I haven't been here for you to know that. But normally, it is impossible for people to come back at all. But technically, I wasn't dead."

Harry blinked once. He wasn't dead?

Sirius elaborated. "Because I fell through the veil, and the veil is a pathway to the dead. It was kind of faulty. You fall through into an abyss. Then, I got there, and I sort of saw shadows. Old friends and stuff," he said, choking up slightly as he continued. "Your parents, too. They came out as messengers from fate, and told me it wasn't my time, to go back before it was too late. And, had I been weaker, I wouldn't have managed, but I'm powerful enough that I left them behind. Next thing I know, I'm sprawled on the floor of the Department of Mysteries with a beady-eyed Unspeakable staring down at me. He called Dumbledore quickly, and then, I was recovering in the hospital wing."

Harry seemed stuck on one point. "My parents?"

"Yeah, they watch out for us and all, to make sure we're okay. Remind me to kill your relatives," Sirius said with a malicious smirk. "And they told me to tell you they love you."

Harry flushed with an emotion he could not identify. The pit in his stomach shrank slightly.

"So... you didn't want to see me when you came out?" The pit in his stomach expanded as quickly as it had shrunk.

"I wanted to see you, but Dumbledore convinced me to wait. He told me everything that he told you at the end of the year (that sucks by the way) and he told me how furious you were! I thought you hated me for being so careless. I was your guardian, sort of. I should have been more responsible!"

"Oh," Harry said, reassured. "I thought you'd be mad at me, I was so stupid."

"And we've established that I'm not mad."

"Oh."

"So?" Sirius said. "Why haven't you written anyone? What've you been doing?" Sirius eyed the room, and he saw a plate filled with uneaten food, a bed not slept in and a closed trunk. "Not much?"

"I just... couldn't..." Harry said. "I didn't want to see anyone, with you dead, and them injured. And, then, well, you know what Dumbledore told me. It was just... too much."

"So you've been...?"

"Staring," Harry said, pointing to the mustard musty wall.

"Fun?" Sirius said with a helpless shrug.

A moment later, Sirius spoke. "Well, I'll help you study and with your dueling, not that you need it from what I've heard. But, you'll be fine. You're a powerful enough wizard, and you'll kick Moldyshorts' butt!" There was a certain glee in his voice.

"Help me study?" Harry said. Confusion was evident on his blank face.

"Well, you've got a lot of heart and power, but he does have more knowledge than you," Sirius said, afraid he had offended Harry.

"No, I mean, of course I need to know more, but I thought you were just checking up on me?"

"Oh, well," he paused. "You haven't read any of your mail? Not even the paper?"

Harry grunted in reply.

"You really, really should have read the paper," Sirius said with a huge 'I know something you don't know' smile.

"What happened?" Harry questioned, depressing thoughts gone, adrenaline and curiosity replacing it.

"You know, Fudge is listening to Dumbledore now," he said. "And, he is actually groveling a bit, seeing as he's about to get fired. And since Dumbledore has a lot of power, Fudge is willing to do anything on the off chance that Dumbledore will help him."

Harry nodded for him to continue.

"And, Dumbledore's not going to help Fudge, but he's let Fudge help us, anyway. So, what did Dumbledore and Fudge disagree on at the end of your third year?"

Harry's brain seemed to freeze, he couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped again, and he regained control of his mouth. "Free?"

"I'm free."

"You're free."

"I'm free, and I'm here to take you with me. That's why I came tonight, even though I didn't know if you'd see me. I was worried, and I told Dumbledore I didn't care anymore. I want you to live with me, if you want to."

Harry froze in complete shock, not just for a split second this time. This was something he had always wanted, despite his rational thinking. When he was young, he dreamt of someone taking him away from the Dursleys. As he grew up, he just dreamt of getting away. When Sirius had offered him a place in third year, he had been ecstatic. And this was better than staying with him in fifth year; no fear, no doubts. No worrying about when the door would be broken down and Sirius dragged off.

"You're really not mad?" he asked, reassuring himself.

"No," Sirius said, hoping Harry still wanted to live with him, though he was fairly certain he did.

"So..." Harry paused. Sirius stood in anticipation as Harry said, "If you're sure?"

"I'm sure," was the gruff, emotional response.

"When do we leave?" Harry questioned, his face splitting into his first smile since before Sirius' 'death.'

Sirius smiled too, once again reminding Harry of the picture of Sirius as best man, twelve-years-less fear. He was younger in ways more than appearance, too. He looked...happy.

Harry stood from his safe position that he had been in for the last two-and-a-half hours, since Sirius had first entered his room. He reached under his bed, pushed Sirius' wand out to him and then grabbed his possessions from under the floorboard.

He went over to his trunk, and he pushed the invisibility cloak, the map and his wand into it. As his eyes flickered to Sirius, he caught a glimpse of nostalgia.

"So, where are we staying?" Harry said as he packed up a few scattered items. He was never planning on coming back. "And, I mean, I'm not coming back, am I?" he added quickly.

"No, screw the wards, my place has enough power. After what your parents said, I'm never letting them near you again." Then came mutters of what sounded like "...cupboard...starving...dog flap...I'll show them."

"So, Grimmauld?" Harry said, changing the subject.

Sirius winced slightly before speaking. "I figure we'll fix it up. Really fix it up this time. Plus, in a few years, when the war's over, we'll move out and get a better place..." Sirius said, hoping that was okay.

Harry burst into another smile at the thought his godfather had put into this. "What makes you think it'll only be a few years before Moldyshorts is gone?" he said, picking up on Sirius' euphemism. He stood up with his trunk and Hedwig in her cage as he waited for a retort.

"Well, you're going to have a good teacher..."

An answer worthy of a Marauder.

Harry approached Sirius, who lightened the weight of his trunk immediately with a charm. He released Hedwig, so she could fly to their place. (Their place. Theirs. His heart swelled.) Sirius gave him a one-armed manly hug as they walked out of the room.

Harry walked out almost immediately, sparing the room only one last glance. It had been his room for the last few years, after all. Though, as he looked at the musty cot, dusty corners and broken toys, he was at a loss. It was when he stared once more at the mustard-colored wall that he realized the appeal was lost on him now.

Godfather and Godson walked out of the room and into the future, leaving nothing behind but scattered memories and mended dreams.

Perhaps, dreams aren't always senseless.