[For Close Friends] Dated 2 September

[not_the_grim]

The first hour was a total blur, one event melting into the next. He remembers the feeling of Buckbeak strong beneath them, the flash of blue water skimming below. The intense feeling of relief that couldn't be blown away, not even when Rob had hustled him into a white, sterile room and poked him in the arm

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[seek_to_end]

That much time had not passed, but it felt as though the day had lasted a week. Harry had stayed out of the way and always in sight, but he had discovered that there was not all that much to do. The doctor had said something about malnutrition, exhaustion, but there were no spells to cast, no surgeries to perform. Just more sitting around, waiting for Sirius to feel better, waiting for him to wake up.

That was fine for a little while. Harry could sit and stare at his godfather, reassured that he was there, he was alive, he was in one piece. But at a certain point, he got restless and, much as Harry loved him, Sirius' face wasn't as interesting as all that.

Reluctant to leave to so much as get tea, much less to entertain himself, and unable to help out in any meaningful way, Harry had found himself a washcloth and a bowl, the latter of which he filled with lukewarm water. He didn't want to scrub or try to wash Sirius properly, not when he was so weak and Harry thought he might break in his hands, but he could at least get some of the dirt off his face, his arms. Maybe he could even do so without waking him...

[not_the_grim]

The moment the damp cloth touches his cheek, Sirius awakes with a start, sucking in a sharp gasp that turns into a violent coughing jag. Bent over, one hand grasped hard in the blankets, he catches his breath and wipes the spittle from his bottom lip.

He stares at Harry for a very long time with an air of cautious disbelief.

"It really happened, then," says a voice, rough and broken up, and it takes Sirius a moment to realise it's his own.

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So much for that hope. Harry nearly jumped and lost the bowl of water when the coughing fit started, but he kept his seat and only a little bit of wash sloshed over the edge and onto his jeans. He set bowl and cloth onto the side table and scooted his chair closer to the bed, ready to help somehow.

All he ended up doing was laying his hand on Sirius' arm. "Yes," he said. "You're back. I got you back."

[not_the_grim]

Of course he did. He's-

No, not James. James' son. Harry.

"I knew you would," Sirius replies on a heavy sigh that makes his whole body shudder. It's true, too: Even before the present and past had started to melt together, he'd been confident in that.

"I'm a bit turned around," he admits when his gaze falls to the hand on his arm.

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Even with Sirius in the state that he was, with Harry still stewing over the sick cruelty of the island, that note of faith in his godfather's voice warmed Harry through.

"It's been weeks," Harry said, trying to proceed with care. It wasn't something he was very good at usually. "I thought- We'd all thought you'd disappeared. You were both gone and no one on the island had seen you."

[not_the_grim]

Harry's words aren't anything Sirius has been unaware of. From the start, he'd understood how it would look to everyone else, his not being on the island anymore. He'd known the inevitable assumption. Perhaps he ought to have been consoled by the thought of being mourned, but it had been a cold comfort at best when he'd been near starving to death.

They're all familiar words, then, but for one. It reaches through all the others and hooks firm in his brain.

"Both?"

[seek_to_end]

Harry blinked, going cold as he realized what he had just done, stumbling. A part of him had hoped that, with Sirius appearing alive, Remus would, too. But it didn't look like they were that lucky, if that was the right word for these circumstances.

He took a deep breath and licked his lips, hating the pain he was about to cause Sirius and awaken again in himself. "Remus," he said quietly, staring at his hand on Sirius' arm. "He's gone. Disappeared."

[not_the_grim]

Amazingly, there's still a spark left in Sirius to kindle at that, a flare of bright, hot denial. It burns just long enough to cross his features and then snuffs out again as Sirius rubs a hand across his red-rimmed eyes.

It's happened before, and in a way, it isn't at all surprising.

"He hated it here," he allows in a quiet rasp, hand still across his eyes.

[seek_to_end]

Remus might have hated it here, but Harry didn't care. He was too happy to have the chance to spend more time with him, with both him and Sirius, to care about the other parts of life here that Lupin might not like. Maybe there were plenty of things to hate here, but the good things outweighed them. And acting otherwise didn't ease the pain for Harry.

He would have fought Sirius' words at any other time, but a glance at his godfather reminded him that this wasn't the time or the place. Harry couldn't fight him in this condition. Instead he slipped his hand into Sirius', squeezing it gently. "I know," he said quietly.