Characters: Sirius and Harry; no pairings

Meeting Again

"Is it-"

"Oh Merlin, it's-"

"Someone call-"

"-me get him up!"

"No, don't move him you fool!"

"No," he managed to choke out. "No, no!"

They were trying to hold him down.

Hands. Too many hands, touching him…

"Don't touch me."

The light was hurting his eyes. The air was hurting his lungs. The smell was hurting his nose. The noise was hurting his ears. Everything was too much. Too much...

Then he felt it. The tingling feeling of a spell washed over him and numbed it all.

Everything stopped.

Sirius woke up in a clean white bed, in a clean white room that took in clean white light. Everything looked so sterile it was disturbing.

"Sirius!" he heard someone say in a familiar voice. His heart constricted. He looked at the owner of the voice, and the man rose from the chair he was sitting on. The man, not the boy… Although he was sure he had heard the boy. Was he confusing James and Harry again? He did that, time to time, he couldn't help it. His memories mingled, he lost control sometimes, and he slipped. He should remain in control, this time. So he looked at the person trying to decide.

Was he James? He was almost sure he had heard Harry, but Harry was fifteen. This man was not fifteen. He was James, but then again James' glasses were rectangular, and this one was wearing round ones. Sirius couldn't be sure.

He hated not being sure.

Not-James-and-not-Harry must have noticed his confusion because he hesitated for a moment and then in a gentle voice he spoke: "It's Harry. Harry Potter. Do you know who I am?"

Sirius looked at the green eyes of Not-James-and-maybe-Harry. "Harry is fifteen. You are not fifteen."

Maybe-Harry sighed, and it seemed relieved to Sirius, but what did he know? Where was his wand anyway? If this man were not Harry, how would he protect himself?

"You fell to the veil," maybe-Harry said. "Do you remember the…" here maybe-Harry hesitated, and gulped. Worried. No. Embarrassed. No. Ashamed. Guilty. "The Department of Mysteries? Bellatrix stunned you and you… Ah… You fell. Into the veil."

Sirius squinted and focused his eyes on the bangs that were falling and covering the place the real Harry's scar should be. He moved his eyes over his figure. The man looked healthy. He seemed healthier than his godson was. He should have never listened to Dumbledore. He should have just taken Harry and leave, because then he wouldn't do things like running to the Department of Mysteries with half-arsed information.

Oh, wait.

Maybe-Harry had said something, hadn't he?

"I remember the stunner," he said. His voice was dry. Maybe he should drink water. Was this thirst?

"Right," maybe-Harry said. "Well, it was seven years ago."

Sirius didn't know what to do with that information. Seven years. Seven was better than twelve. The veil was better than Azkaban.

"Seven?" he asked unnecessarily. He had to fill the silence with something. Control was important. If you could control the silence, you could control the memories.

"Sirius, how do you feel?"

Probably-Harry's voice was concerned, and it broke Sirius' heart. He didn't like that. "I- the light," he began to explain. Not that he knew what to say, but silence was worse so he spoke. "It's a bit too much. But nothing hurts, if that's what you are asking, and…" he stopped. He looked at Harry. "Are you really Harry?"

He hated asking that. He wanted to ask a safer question. What was the first thing I told you? Would be a better question, but he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything worthwhile. Everything he remembered seemed superficial. Unimportant. Did he know his godson at all?

Had his godson grown up to be older than the age his father had died?

"Yes, Sirius," probably-Harry said. "I'm Harry." He felt the bed dip and Harry was closer now, sitting on the bed tentatively. He smelled right, not exactly like Harry but similar and right. He realised he was sniffing the air, like a dog, so he stopped. "And we met in the Shrieking Shack, but the first time I saw you was the day I escaped from the Dursleys. I was walking down the street and saw you as Padfoot. I fell down. Do you remember that?"

Something only he and Harry knew. He was Harry. Old. Older.

Older than James…

He could cry, if he hadn't control his tears.

"The Knight Bus came," he said, proving that he did remember.

Harry; real-Harry, his godson Harry, James and Lily's Harry, grown-up Harry; smiled.