Chapter 27: chapter - 27 : Family Bonds part - 2
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Harry had never seen Sirius as angry as he was right then. He could feel the rising well of magic pouring off his godfather, pressing down on their surroundings. He shivered at the sensation. He'd only ever felt such a thing around a few wizards and then only when they were extremely angry; Dumbledore in the face of Fudge's denial, Voldemort, of course, as well as Bellatrix Lestrange and, rather surprisingly, Neville Longbottom when he'd fought the last of his parents' torturers.
"You c-can't do anything!" The saleswizard's face was pale and he stuttered from fear. "Y-you'll be thrown back in prison!"
"I know exactly what Azkaban is like," Sirius said quietly. "I also know I'm willing to endure it if it means I keep my son safe."
The tense standoff was finally broken when the saleswizard nodded shakily and dropped his wand. The overwhelming sensation of magic gradually died down as Sirius stepped back and lowered his own wand-arm. He grabbed the two brooms from the counter, and with one last glare turned sharply on his heel and left the shop, Harry following silently behind him. By unspoken agreement they headed back to Grimmauld Place, Sirius side-along Apparating them both straight into the kitchen. Kreacher was there by the stove, cooking something over the old-fashioned range.
"Muggle-loving master and master's bastard son are back," Kreacher muttered as he shuffled towards them. "Kreacher is preparing dinner for masters, is they needing anything else?"
"A cup of tea please, Kreacher," Harry said to the wizened old elf.
"Make that something stronger," Sirius ordered, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs and slumping down at the table. Harry joined him and they both sat there, staring at the stained old tablecloth.
Harry didn't know what to say. He found it difficult to wrap his head around what had happened. He had hoped this world would be somehow better than his old one; more honest, more tolerant, less corrupt. He'd managed to free Sirius after all, making him hope that this world was less hate-filled than the war-torn one he'd left behind. He shifted restlessly in his chair, angry at his own naïveté.
"As my master ordered," Kreacher said hoarsely, directing a cup of tea and a tumbler of firewhisky to float over to the table and settle down in front of the two wizards.
"Thanks," Harry muttered and picked up his cup. He took a sip, wincing slightly as the scalding hot liquid burnt his tongue. Catching Kreacher's eye he saw the elf smirk at him. Harry heaved a sigh. "Why don't you just serve dinner and then go clean the rest of the house or something, Kreacher."
"As the bastard child commands," Kreacher mumbled resentfully. With a snap of his fingers, plates and cutlery came flying out of one of the cupboards and landed with a clatter on the table top. Seconds later food materialised on the tarnished silver platters in front of them. Then with one final snap of his bony fingers, Kreacher popped away to no doubt create havoc somewhere else.
"I wish he'd stop calling you that," Sirius said, scowling as he picked up his glass of firewhisky and took a swig.
"Doesn't matter," Harry said dismissively.
Dinner passed in silence. Harry picked at his food, partly because of the uncomfortable sensation of pins-and-needles all over his body due to the adoption ritual, and partly because Kreacher had made sure the meal was overcooked and oversalted. House-elves were very good at the whole passive-aggressiveness thing, Harry thought with a sigh. He really needed to talk with Kreacher about Regulus and the possible Horcrux. If he was lucky, he'd be able to win the old elf over as he had in his old world.
Sirius didn't seem to enjoy the meal much either, spending a lot of time staring moodily into space - although he was apparently trying to heed the Healer's advice on regular nutrition, since he managed to eat a fair bit of the unappetising food.
"You shouldn't pay attention to what that bloody saleswizard said," Harry said at last, deciding not to tiptoe round the subject any longer.
Sirius glared down at his plate and viciously speared a soggy potato. "I'll bet he's not the only one who thinks that way though," he said.
"Yeah, but they're all idiots," Harry said matter-of-factly. Sirius gave a rather half-hearted laugh, but didn't look up. "What I mean is, it might take some people a while to get used to you. You were only declared innocent a few weeks ago, after all."
"This wasn't the first time someone's treated me like that, Harry," Sirius told him heavily.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused. Had something happened while Sirius had been at St Mungo's?
"I'm a Black," Sirius said flatly. "Which was a difficult thing to be during the war, believe me. My brother Regulus was a proven Death Eater and anyone with any sense suspected the Malfoys and Lestranges of being ones too. Despite my public split with my family, people thought I must have gone the same way as the rest of them."
"But you worked as an Auror, you were friends with muggleborns. You were a Gryffindor."
"Didn't matter," Sirius said, shaking his head. "Some people just avoided me, others were actively aggressive. The worst were the ones who were absolutely terrified of me… a man once begged me not to have his wife killed just because he'd accidentally let slip she was a muggleborn."
"Merlin, Sirius," Harry breathed, horrified. "That… I can't imagine what that was like."
Sirius shrugged in what looked like an unconvincing attempt to appear unbothered. "I got used to it. It's not as if I could really do anything about it, no one trusted anyone back then."
"You shouldn't have had to get used to it," Harry said, still angry on Sirius' behalf.
"It doesn't matter," Sirius said, before looking straight at Harry, his expression regretful. "It's you I care about."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't want you to suffer the same hatred and suspicion, just because you now share my name."
"I don't care if I do," Harry said. "I don't," he repeated stubbornly at Sirius's sceptical look. "The whole wizarding world hated me on a regular basis back in my old world. I can handle it - I'm not a child."
"I suppose you're right there," Sirius admitted, his tense shoulders finally relaxing.
They sat in a contemplative silence for a while, Sirius sipping slowly at the last of his firewhisky, before Harry decided to ask a question he'd been wondering about since the confrontation in Quidditch Quality Supplies.
"Sirius, did you mean it? What you said about protecting me?" Harry asked hesitantly.
"Of course I did," Sirius answered immediately.
"You'd… you'd really risk Azkaban, for me?" Harry said, feeling overwhelmed.
"Yes, I would," Sirius said firmly, making eye-contact with Harry. "I won't lie, the idea of going back to that place terrifies me… but that ritual this afternoon was more than just a few fancy words, Harry. You're my son now, my family, and I will always protect you."
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