Castles in the Sky

Chapter 1

This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form. If you see a mistake, be a friend, be a pal, and point it out to me, will ya'? :v I'll try to get to it when I can!

Warnings: Still a NonMagic!Au, Sky!Harry, and will have SLASH. Snarky!Harry. Brief OCs mention. Slowbuild. Rushed writing.

A/N: Oh. Hey. Fancy seeing you here. :v Almost three years later—howdy! Welcome back! If you haven't before, do you mind taking a re-read of the previous chapter? I rewrote it earlier a month or two ago, to hopefully make things more coherent and less cringy coming from a teenage!me, haha.

Also! I reread my notes for this story—and man, I have no idea what younger!me was blabbering on about. So I just took the rough outline of them and started running with it, haha. I tried to make Harry as in-character as possible considering the circumstances, though I apologize because Harry doesn't really seem to have a solid characterization in fanfictions. :v I'm also not a UK citizen, nor do I really know how police and legal systems work that well—so take everything mentioned with a grain of salt, yeah?

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I know I didn't reply to most of them (if I did, I can't really remember D: ), but I do appreciate them! I'll try to be better about it! ^^

With that said—

Enjoy!

[IPLDP = Initial Police Learning and Development Program ]

The cruise ride back to Japan was going to be a bit longer than their trip to Mafia Land.

Tsuna could only sigh when he was informed, Bianchi sighing for an entirely different reason. Her expression was elated and dreamy at the thought of spending a few more days of a romantic cruise with her 'darling' Reborn—Tsuna could only eye her warily, a bit uncomfortable because Reborn was physically a toddler and the utterly besotted look on Bianchi's face always brought that unsettling feeling prickling along his skin.

And plus, meeting Harry had spun an entirely different perspective for the young teenager.

Did she not know? Did she care? Because Reborn never seemed to entertain her declarations of love and loyalty towards him seriously, which he always thought was just Reborn—but could there be more? Because Reborn wouldn't introduce Harry like, like that to people if he was just being a troll- would he?

Tsuna could never understand his tutor.

Still, whatever the case—it was still rather cruel of Reborn to keep stringing Bianchi like that, if she didn't know. Or maybe she did, and just didn't really care for the relationship between Reborn and Harry. If—if there was one. Tsuna ran a frustrated hand through his hair, letting out a low sound bit between his teeth.

It was too confusing!

It didn't help that Reborn refused to tell them anything, after that night of failed storytelling. When prompted, Reborn just gave them a blank stare and a sharp reprimand of curiosity killing cats, and all that—his teasing and innocuous smile shouldn't have been paired with such a threat.

To be fair, Tsuna was undeservedly curious of Harry.

He couldn't forget the warmth, Harry's general presence. It practically haunted him, always in the back of his mind. It wasn't exactly wariness, wasn't exactly eagerness—but it was there, it made Tsuna want to dig deeper in, know who Harry is. Just to know, just to feel a bit more comfortable again, because if he didn't know, then—

Then what?

How confusing.

Tsuna briefly remembered feeling vaguely like this when he first met Dino, though after spending a day or two with the older man had the feeling dissipating well enough. He wondered if he spent a bit more time with Harry, or at least knew more about the baby, the feeling would go away as well.

"You know, if you keep making a face like that—it might get stuck." A small voice observed, making Tsuna startle with a yelp. It was early, too early for the other passengers to be up and about on the deck, making it an ideal place for Tsuna to mope about for a bit before heading down to breakfast with his family.

Harry's aimable expression peered up at him, as Tsuna clutched at his chest, to calm his racing heart. "H-Harry?" Tsuna questioned, eyes wide.

"I would hope that would be my name, considering people call me that a lot," Harry nodded, smile turning a tad mischievous. Tsuna couldn't help but feel slightly relieved, a bit awkward, but relieved at Harry's presence. Finally, he could probably get some answers—at least, get that nagging feeling away. "Penny for your thoughts, little Vongola?"

The nickname made Tsuna wilt slightly. His height wasn't something he could control, damn it. "I was just—" Tsuna wondered briefly how to word this, if he should even say it. In the end, he decided to be honest. "I was just thinking of you, actually."

Harry, surprisingly, didn't look all that surprised. "Hm."

"Is that all you can say to that?" Tsuna complained, averting his gaze in embarrassment and awkwardness. At least he didn't make fun of him for it, like a certain someone would. Speaking of—Tsuna's brows furrowed and glanced back at Harry. "What are you doing here, by the way? Is that Giglio Nero place in Japan as well?"

"Nope," Harry replied, hoping up on the guardrail to sit next to Tsuna. He popped his 'p' cheerfully. "I've decided to reach the main Giglio Nero estate by getting an airplane from Japan. I would have taken a helicopter from Mafia Land itself, but that's always risky. And noisy. I'd prefer something a bit more casual."

Casual, huh? The admittance warmed Tsuna a bit, as he slouched against the rail next to Harry. It felt oddly relatable. "That's—cool," Tsuna offered lamely. "Does Reborn know you're with us?"

"Reborn wouldn't be Reborn if he didn't, at this point," Harry snorted, and Tsuna felt a smile grow on his face. That was true, this was their second day on the trip back to Japan. They had a few more days to go, due to the fact that Mafia land apparently isn't landlocked and drifted freely around the oceans.

The silence that followed wasn't exactly uncomfortable.

Harry seemed almost expectant when Tsuna let out a low breath, and turned towards him. He hesitated briefly before shaking himself and asking, "who are you, Harry-san?"

The vacant look Harry shot him was damning. "I'm Harry." At Tsuna's exasperated look, Harry grinned mischievously. "That's really—that's really all it is. I'm just Harry, nowadays. Despite what people might think, I've never been anyone, or anything, different. Just. Harry."

No fancy titles, nor any definite claims of Family—Tsuna felt almost awed.

"Even if that's the case, I'd still like to know you," Tsuna sighed, staring imploringly at Harry. Harry hummed, turning away to stare at the sea. The sun that was slowly rising was higher up in the sky, the wash of warm colors turning a bit more brighter around them. "Harry-san?"

"Skies are so weird," Harry observed, and Tsuna cast a quick, confused, glance at the sky. Was it? "I suppose I could tell you a bit about myself—I'm sure Reborn hasn't said anything, has he?" At Tsuna's affirmative that no, Reborn doesn't tell anyone anything most of the time, Harry let out a huff of amusement. "That's good. I hate it when people talk about me behind my back—things always kind of get skewed that way, doesn't it?"

Tsuna thought of his childhood, of bullies meanly whispering behind him and mocking him. "They sure do," he agreed, lame and slightly bitter. "So I'm glad you're doing this! Thank—thank you," Tsuna rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, and Harry spared him an assuring smile.

"Hm, I don't really know where to start or how long it might take—is that okay?" Harry mused, and Tsuna shrugged. Just by talking to Harry, Tsuna felt a million times more relieved because Harry was a good person. "Alrighty! Let's see, let's see—hm, how about I tell you a little bit about how I kinda fell into the underworld. It was kind of weird, nothing really too special about it—it just sort of happened, you know?"

Reborn literally came crashing into Tsuna's life with all this mafia bullshit. Tsuna gave Harry a bland stare, and Harry laughed. It was obvious Harry knew Tsuna knew, with Reborn being his personal tor-tutor from hell. Tsuna couldn't help but smile, feeling a bit like being a part of a personal joke between comrades.

He briefly wondered if Harry would explain his relationship with Reborn as well—that would be great to have cleared up before Tsuna could make any assumptions and make a fool out of himself.

"Well, I remember it starting one day when…"

…

..

.

Life, Harry decided, was unfair.

"If you really want to move onto Phase 2, young man," his advisor said, voice and posture exhausted. It was somewhat irritating. "Then you should have considered the possibility of repercussions when you provoked Mr. Greenly."

More like that asshole provoked him. From the very beginning of IPLDP, Wesley Greenly was nothing but a pain in Harry's arse. Greenly was the most uppity prick Harry ever had the pleasure of meeting—and that's saying something, because for god's sake, he grew up with the Dursleys. It was honestly insulting fto Harry to be in the same program as him, because Harry was there for a reason.

Greenly was there just to stand around with a stick up his ass; he didn't even seem to give a damn about the career they were training for.

'Count to ten, Harry, just count to ten,' a voice that sounded suspiciously like Hermione's insisted quietly in the back of his head.

Damn it.

Harry finally managed to grind out, "I'm sorry, Mr. Stans." His fingernails were digging into his palms, his fingers flexing uselessly at his sides because he had nothing else to do but stand stiffly in front of his advisor's desk. "Is there anything I can do to make up for it? It was just this one time."

Mr. Stans' mouth pursed into a tight line. He looked like he never heard of a more ridiculous statement in his life. "Just this one time?" He questioned, bland. "Just like the other 4, or so, times?" Humiliation burned deep in Harry's gut, his face warming uncomfortable. "Harry, look," he sighed, mouth twisting slightly. "We can't just let you keep getting away with this because of who your father was."

Anger stabbed hot in his chest, tearing into him. Harry inhaled sharply. "Leave my fa—" Harry bit his tongue, relishing in the sharp sting and the sudden burst of copper in his mouth, reeling back slightly. His breath was coming in tight little bursts, fueling the sudden and irritatingly hot anger that burned through him, trying to cloud his mind.

Punish him for his mistakes, sure—judge and scorn Harry's own personal decisions, fine! It was just that bringing up his parents was not needed, was never needed, because Harry was his own damn person and he was so fucking tired of people bringing them up. He had enough of that from the Dursleys. He didn't need it here, didn't need it when- he—

Count to ten.

Mr. Stans stared glumly at him.

"I managed to get you the lightest punishment I could," Mr. Stans informed, leaning back in his chair. "I apologize if bringing up your father bothered you, but you need to understand how it appears to the higher ups, and to others. I managed to convince them based on your classwork and practical scores to keep you on the program." There was a hidden but in there, and Harry swallowed the hard lump in his throat, willing the simmering annoyance away and settled into dread.

"What's the catch?" Harry muttered, scrubbing at his face with his hand.

"A month long suspension," Mr. Stans, quickly holding up a hand when Harry started and began to protest. Harry snapped his mouth shut, grinding his teeth together. "This is the most generous punishment I could get you." It sounded as generous as a cactus being thrown into his face, and someone pushing it into him with their foot.

That would put him a month behind on community service hours, with only a month left to make up all the classwork, practical work, and the damn hours.

Harry was briefly tempted to ram his head into the nearest wall repeatedly, just for the sweet side effect of temporary amnesia. It would make him forget the dangerous anger lurking within him, and the cold empty feeling that somehow encompassed it.

Still, Harry was nothing if not stubborn. Like hell he was going to give up on this program. "I understand, Mr. Stans." With bitterness on his tongue, Harry forced himself to also manage a strained, "Thank you."

With a short nod, Harry turned stiffly on heel and stalked out of the office. He almost knocked a few other passing students, as his stiff strides became more forceful with barely concealed tension. Harry sort of wanted to take a run, to feel the aching pound of his feet hitting the ground and the burning ache in his lungs until it was all he could focus on—but no, Harry intended on heading back to the dorms to get his shit, because he wasn't going to be spending his suspension at the place he was suspended from.

Oh wait, fuck, he forgot.

Harry almost faltered, making a face. Almost as quickly as the problem sprung up, he had his answer, and he dug anxiously around his pocket for some cheap knockoff of a cellular phone and quickly dialed a number into it. Harry didn't have anywhere to go, the Dursleys having kicked him to the curb as soon as they were able, and Harry didn't have the time nor will to find his own place with the inheritance Sirius left for him yet.

Harry had no home.

But luckily for him—his two best friends did.

-0-0-0-

"Man, that's shitty," Ron whistled, thoughtfully. He slurped his drink, eyes distant. Harry nodded glumly, playing with his straw, and keeping his eyes glued to the table in front of them. Both of them had met up at some downtown market, and were currently stationed outside a cafe of sorts.

Bread Ahead, was a great name for a place with great donuts.

Too bad Harry's stomach disagreed quite often with his sweet tooth. With a sigh, Harry determinedly picked apart the rest of his chocolate glazed Cinnabon, and shoved it into his mouth. He wasn't worried about manners, not with Ron.

"You can say that again," Harry wiped his sticky fingers with a napkin, crumpling it up and flicking it back onto the table.

Ron smiled deviously. "Man, that's shitt—jeez, I was just making a joke!" He rubbed at his side, where Harry had managed to jab him with his finger. "What kind of fingers do you have there, anyways? Old, haggy witch fingers?"

"Witches aren't real," Harry rolled his eyes, though he glanced at his fingers dubiously afterwards. They were normal looking, thankfully. Ron snorted, leaning back in his seat to stretch and stare contemplatively at the rest of the baked goods he ordered.

Ron had agreed to meet him, while Hermione went shopping for things Harry would need while slumming it at their apartment. It made Harry feel guilty, and he gripped his coffee tighter.

"Man, magic would be cool. Don't you think?" Ron decided on his next victim, a poor glazed truffle that he pinched in between his fingers as he picked it up. He popped it into his mouth, speaking past it. "I would love having magic— casting fire and turning people into frogs sounds wicked."

Harry considered it. "Life would certainly be easier," he murmured, thoughtful. Magic sounded nice, though he felt a bit childish at wondering. He remembered daydreaming a lot when he was younger, to get away from the dull and glaring reality of living with the Dursleys.

"I doubt it," Ron laughed.

"Why is that?" Harry raised an eyebrow, partially offended.

"Considering your luck, mate—I highly doubt anything could be easy for you," came Ron's delighted reply. Harry felt irritation tick his forehead, though amusement bubbled in his chest.

"Too true," Harry sighed, letting his mouth twitch into a grin. Knowing his luck, his life would still be as troublesome as it was now, magic or not. It was something he should be used to as this point, though that didn't stop the awash of bitterness seeping into him. Suddenly fed up, he downed the last of his drink, burning his mouth. "Enough about me. How about you? You and Hermione?"

"What, are we a package deal?" Ron huffed, with a slightly mirthful grin. "Just cause we're recently married? Is that it? I have you know that I'm my own independent person, who has a life outside their relationship with their wife!" Harry wanted to snort, knowing full well of Ron's current position of basically being a house husband.

Not that Ron seemed to mind all that much. It wasn't like he didn't have some sort of income, often working odd jobs here and there like emergency shifts at the local convenience store and such. It was no way a permanent career, Ron had insisted; it was just something he could do while he figured himself out and such.

Harry often felt a bit envious of it, of Ron's seemingly carefree approach to his future; it would be a lot easier if Harry didn't have his sense of duty towards his family.

"Shove off—you know what I meant," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "But fine, I'll give it to you straight: how's Hermione?" Ron shot him a affronted look, causing Harry to give him a callous smirk in response, amusement bubbling in his chest.

"You can be a right bastard!" Ron laughed. "But as for your question – your original one, arse –, I've been fine. Hermione as well—honestly, ever since you left, life's been pretty boring." As disgruntled as Ron appeared, Harry couldn't help but wince slightly. Things could be pretty hectic in Harry's life, and he hated dragging others into it.

He didn't know if it made it better or not when Hermione and Ron both insisted that the messes they often got into was voluntary on their end. It was both flattering and guilt-inducing at the same time.

"Boring, you?" Harry wondered. "I'm guessing the rest of the Weasley family hasn't visited in a while, eh?"

Ron grimaced. "Thank goodness for that—I love my mum, I do, but I do not appreciate being coddled like I'm a kid! It's embarrassing. Ugh, not to mention everyone else—last time, Fred and Ginny managed to visit – I dunno where George was, probably on a date or somethin', but it took forever for the glitter they brought to wash out of the floors!"

Glitter, and Fred shouldn't be said in the same sentence. Harry huffed in amusement and sympathy, reaching over to pat Ron's hunched shoulder comfortingly. "At least George wasn't there?" Ginny wasn't as bad as George, though she could be as devious as any of them on a good day.

"Small mercy, that," Ron muttered.

"At least George would have the bloody decency to help clean up afterwards," a new voice said succinctly, causing both Harry and Ron to startle and whip around with wide eyes. Hermione stood beside their table, glancing up from a manila folder with a dry look of amusement.

"Oh, hey," Harry blinked, thrown off.

"When—how do you always do this?" Ron questioned, wrinkling his nose. "Always appearing out of thin air—it's getting creepy, 'Mione."

"Don't blame me for your lack of perceptional awareness," Hermione huffed, patting Ron's head with her folder before setting it down on the table. She turned towards Harry, sharp eyes taking him in. Harry stiffly let her, resisting the urge to fidget. "You look like the dead, Harry," Hermione tsked in disappointment, making Harry slouch.

Guess he failed her wellness check. "At least I'm alive…?"

Hermione cast him another quick once-over. "Doubtful."

"Rude."

"You do look like shit, mate," Ron agreed sagely, leaning back in his chair and observing him. Harry rolled his eyes, and began to absently play with his straw again. Great, just great—when the two were together, they had it all down to a science of tag-teaming Harry down into nothingness, picking him and his 'emotional constipation' apart.

Wait—picking apart was too gentle of a term. They utterly ripped him to shreds.

"And you didn't tell me? How could you?" Harry bit back with a huff. "Letting me embarrass myself in public—some best friend!" It was a weak attempt, but it was an attempt nonetheless. Hermione seemingly took pity on him, and shifted her gaze, observing the fallen victims of both Ron and Harry's snack escapade.

The table was littered with various crumpled up napkins, wrappers, and half-eaten baked goods. Her vacant stare was enough of an answer to how she thought of it, making Harry slouch a bit more while Ron eyed her suspiciously.

"I'll get a to-go box for your leftovers," she offered at last, turning away and heading inside the café. Ron let out a huge sigh of relief, turning back towards the table and hurriedly packing away their trash into his empty cup to throw away.

"She's getting better," Harry observed, lazily following Ron's motions. He had a bit of a trouble shoving the last of his napkins into his cup, shoving it down as far as he could with his finger before giving up and letting bygones be bygones. "Usually, she'd have our heads."

"I'm really proud of her," Ron admitted with a grin. "Communication and compromise is key in relationships, Harry. I'll work on my wrong-doings, she works on hers, and we both keep each other in check! It's a perfect formula!"

As if Harry had any experience in relationships other than a few awkward flings here and there that never went anywhere. "Don't you mean… Ron-doings?" Harry at last said, dragging his words out and relishing in Ron's expression.

It was torn between exasperation and glee. "I will murder you in your sleep, Harry," Ron warned, voice far too fond for his words. Harry smirked.

"If that's the case—then that would be a dream come true," Harry assured him, Ron's sharp bark of laughter pleasant to hear. Though the way his fingers twitched on the cup full of trash was ominous, and Harry eyed it warily.

Luckily, before Harry's impending death via cup, Hermione came back and only raised a mere eyebrow at them. "I don't want to know," was all she said, tossing the empty cartons onto the table.

"What is there to know?" Harry agreed, tossing his own cup at Ron. Ron barely caught it in time, giving him a shrewd look as he got up to throw the trash away. Harry made a 'shooing' motion at him, gesturing at himself carefully packing away their leftovers like the good friend he was.

"You can be incredibly lazy, you know?" Ron complained good naturedly as he walked away.

"I prefer being called exhausted at all times, thanks," Harry replied. Once the food was all packed, he stood and turned towards Hermione expectantly. She was glancing over her manila folder again, a furrow between her brows. "You know, if you keep making a face like that—"

"Harry," was all Hermione said.

"Okay." Harry nodded sagely. Shut up, got it—Harry was exhausted, and an exhausted Harry was even worse off than a normal Harry. It was difficult—for both Harry, and the people around him.

Harry picked up his duffle bag and they caught up with Ron, who was eying a pigeon guarding the café's outdoor trashcan. Harry swore the pigeon was eying Ron back, and snorted slightly; it was a comical sight, and Harry briefly wondered if there'd be a scuffle between the two. Hermione saw as well, and a gave a short, "not again, Ron!"

Again? A grin broke out on Harry's face.

It was unfortunate that Harry's face almost broke in the next instant. It was thin air that he tripped on, and it made Harry almost burn with shame because he didn't push himself in his practical physical training courses to end up like this. Hermione and Ron both choked out surprised little warnings, of his name. Landing harshly on his hands and knees, Harry stayed in that position due to reorienting himself and dammit this is embarrassing!

"Woah! Be careful!" Ron said, as if Harry didn't just fall down right now.

"Harry," Hermione anxiously bit out, kneeling beside him instantly. Her hands fluttered and fretted. Harry sat back on his heels, rubbing his stinging hands. Small little scraps littered his palms, a bit of blood bleeding to the surface.

"I think I'm dying," Harry informed them. "But no, seriously, I'm fine. A little fall never hurt anyone." Unless they fell on a knife, or a stick, or into a wood chipper—or maybe off a cliff- majority of falls never hurt anyone. Least of all Harry.

A flutter of paper caught his attention as he waved Hermione's help off. Harry huffed, snatching it up as he stood. "Hey, you dropped something," Harry called out to Ron, smoothing the paper out with his thumb before frowning at it. It was a piece of scrap notebook paper, which they decidedly didn't have at their table—great, Harry just picked up random liter off the ground.

"I did not," Ron huffed, coming over as Hermione leaned into Harry to catch a glimpse of the paper. Harry raised his eyebrows at the scrawled words written on it—it wasn't in English, though. The accents given to some of the lettering were a dead giveaway. Spanish or Italian, perhaps? "What is that?"

"A note," Harry replied jovially, ready to crumple it up and be done with it.

"There's an date and an address on it." Hermione observed. Harry took a closer look at the note, and hummed; the date was only a few days away—hopefully whoever lost it already marked it down somewhere else, or had a good memory.

"Oh, like a confession?" Ron mused, taking the note away from Harry to peer at it curiously. Harry rolled his eyes, Hermione letting out a dry snort of amusement. "What? Those can still happen in the real world!"

"This isn't secondary school," Harry informed bluntly, taking the paper back and making the point of crumpling it up in his fist. He started his way towards the trash can, intent on throwing it away but the pigeon that was guarding it perked up at the sight of him. Harry paused, blinking. "Hm," Harry only faltered for a second before taking another -albeit cautious- step towards the trash can.

The pigeon copied him and took a threatening step towards him.

"Okay. What the hell?" Harry asked Ron bluntly, turning to him for an explanation. Ron had stepped up beside Harry, and had his eyes narrowed at the pigeon. "Is that pigeon normal? Is this normal?" What the hell had Harry missed the past few months he was away at training?

"These pigeons have been getting wild, Harry," was all Ron said, ominously. "I think it's the water, or somethin'. These damn birds have been a good pain the arse, and it's getting on my nerves." Hermione heaved a huge sigh, still standing a little ways back from them.

"You two are overly paranoid," Hermione snipped. "It's just a bird."

"It's just a bird until it snaps and kills us all," Ron insisted back. Harry eyed the bird for a moment or two before sighing, and shoving the crumpled piece of paper into his back pocket. "Haven't you seen that movie about when all the birds go crazy?"

"I'd rather not wait around until that bird snaps," which looked like it could happen surprisingly soon, with how the pigeon was staring at them, unblinking. Harry averted his gaze to give his two friends a quick glance. "Let's just head back to your apartment." This day has been draining from this morning's reprimand meeting to taking public transport half the day to reach this part of London—Harry's endurance of usually being exhausted was the only thing keeping his numb limbs up and running.

Hermione hums, as all three of them cautiously bypass the bird. "Harry's right—let's go get you settled in. I managed to get some extra necessities for your stay with us—don't give me that look, Harry, I know damn well you don't always buy the best of products for your hygiene and wellbeing."

"They were on clearance," Harry muttered. While cheap, they also got the job done—nothing more, nothing less needed. The 3-in-1 body wash and shampoo/conditioner was a godsend in Harry's life, especially when he found it when he was a younger teenager. It was considered a luxury item compared to his usual bar of soap from his childhood, which he used to clean everything.

Having three separate bottles when one could clearly do seemed excessive.

"I would agree with you there, Harry," Ron wrinkled his nose in distaste. He weathered Harry's seething and betrayed glance with a contemplative look. "But that was before you tried to teach me how to live off of one apple and a piece of bread for a week—"

And that was when 13 year old Ron knew something was up with Harry's intermediate family. Harry winced at the memory, and glanced away. At the time, he thought it was a cool little trick, while also serving as something that might be useful to Ron in the future. He had only brought it up because Ron kept on complaining about how the twins kept on stealing his food off his plate.

"You deserve to indulge a little, Harry," Hermione informed him, voice surprisingly gentle and yet admonishing. As if chiding Harry for not indulging himself—Harry gritted his teeth, keeping his eyes straight ahead. Indulgence wasn't for him, wasn't needed.

And it suited the Dursleys far more than it ever would him.

"Don't worry— it's nothing too excessive," Ron assured him, knocking into his shoulder with his own. Harry let himself be rocked by the motion for a bit, fixing his footing as he shot a bland look at Ron. The redhead grinned back at him. "Hey, we said indulge a little—it's not like we got you shampoo made with molten gold."

"I apologize for getting you actual brand-name products, Harry," Hermione chuckled, smiling a bit herself. Harry soaked in this for a moment, mulling the irritated bitterness inside his chest for a moment before letting it melt away. It lingered, but wasn't important, not compared to the slight relief and fondness his friends brought with their words.

Unneeded—but not entirely unwelcomed.

"I still refuse to support capitalistic ideas by giving into brand-named products," Harry said, at last. At Hermione's exasperated groan and Ron's snickers, Harry grinned crookedly. Despite the morning events that lead him here—

He was glad to be home.

-0-0-0-

Harry blearily blinked up at the dark ceiling.

The ceiling fan swung lazily above him, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. A cold sweat drenched the collar of his shirt, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to his back as he shifted. As he hefted himself up, Harry pulled at his shirt, trying to find some type of orientation between his rapid heart beat and his racing mind. He couldn't remember what he dreamed about.

To be honest—he never remembered his dreams much.

All he knew was that they terrified him.

He knew it probably had something to do with his childhood, with Sirius as he grew older—with the truth that lingered in so damn close yet so far, so unattainable to Harry that it was frustrating. Harry gritted his teeth, kicking the tangled blankets off his feet and he glanced around the dark living room lazily, trying to decide what to do now.

A shower wouldn't hurt, though he'd felt like he'd be giving in to something if he did that. Harry settled for getting a glass of water, careful in his shuffling footsteps and the odd creaky board here and there. While he knew that he was the only one currently in Hermione and Ron's flat, with Hermione visiting her parents across the city for the night and Ron taking an emergency graveyard shift at an all-night grocer, old habits died hard.

The tile was cold beneath his feet, as he got a glass near the sink and quickly filled it with tap water. The water was lukewarm, but it felt almost good going down his parched throat. Harry inhaled sharply afterward, staring blankly at the sink in front of him before setting the cup carefully in one of the empty spaces, intent on cleaning it up later.

Waking up in the middle of the night was tiring, though the last thing he wanted to do was go back to sleep. But at least going back to sleep was a better alternative than staying awake with his thoughts.

It was only when he was passing the little hall that was off to the side of the room, in between the kitchen and living room, that he paused briefly. The small hairs on the back of neck prickled, goosebumps rising along his skin. In one second, realization and adrenaline flushed through him, the tension in his chest rising sharply because shit, he wasn't alone—

The next, he was throwing his upper body backward to avoid the hit, feet staggering to keep his balance. A shadow lunged from the darkness of the hallway, still eerily silent but carrying that oppressive presence that alerted Harry to their existence in the first place. Harry relied solely on instinct as his feet kept moving him backwards, body jerking in odd directions to keep out of the wide sweeps of the intruder's legs and the hands reaching for him.

Harry tore his attention away from keeping away from intruder, after realizing he was being backed into one corner of the living room. Fuck, he can't let himself be cornered like that—the door was off to the far side, and he needed to start thinking ahead and not in the moment in order to reach it.

With a deep breath, instead of moving backwards, Harry stepped forward while ducking underneath an arm; his leg lashed out at the other figure's knee. The intruder dodged him fluidly, side-stepping and blocking the way Harry was going to dart afterwards, towards the door. Impulsivity rushed through Harry, and he was weak against it.

He crouched and grabbed wildly at the intruder's legs, hooking an arm around both knees and yanking. The intruder grunted as they fell, grabbing a fistful of Harry's hair and pulling him towards them as they went down. Harry had ripped his arm from around the intruder's legs, lunging forward on top of the intruder to mount their hips and shove an elbow into the their throat.

It stung painfully when the man ripped out a slight piece of his hair, but at least they didn't have a hold on him anymore.

All of the action lasted only for a minute or so, but the adrenaline and panic lingered. Harry's ears were ringing with his blood, and his breathing was short and tight. The intruder gave a futile buck of their hips, trying to dislodge Harry but Harry had the upper hand and they both knew it.

Thank god for police training, Harry thought fervently.

"Who the hell are you?" Harry snapped, emphasizing his question by increasing the pressure of his elbow on the guy's throat for a second. The intruder -a man, from what Harry could tell- didn't answer, pointedly looking away from him. "Look at me, and answer the damn question," Harry demanded, voice rough.

The man gave out a grunt, but slowly did as asked.

It was his eyes that Harry noticed first. The stormy grey eyes paired with his dark hair, and the rough outline of his facial structure, had Harry's breath catching. His heart lurched in confusion, while his stomach seemingly fell off the face of the earth.

It couldn't be, because Harry knew well enough that he was dead. Had helped arrange the funeral and visited the cemetery where he was buried as much as he could, had even been there while he was—was dying—

The question was painful and traitorous as Harry let out a weak breath.

"Sirius?"

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do on stories that you read!

One of the main reasons I didn't even try and update was because expectations are hard to shake off—so I decided to hell with it, and hope people will enjoy the ride with me nonetheless. B]

If you have anything you might want to happen, or what you expect to happen in the story—it'll be fun to discuss them! Who knows, I might take inspiration from it, haha :D

See ya' around!

-mms