The Locked Room - 8

"Sirius," Harry choked.

Sirius stopped, frozen to the spot, squinting. He put his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes. "Harry?" he whispered, astonished.

Unable to stop, Harry leaped from the chair and barreled onto the pitch, flinging himself into Sirius's arms and clutching him fiercely.

"Harry," Sirius said, wrapping his arms around Harry's shoulders and pulling him tight, pounding him exuberantly on the back. "What the… Where are we? Did you – oh, no," Sirius said, pulling away and staring at Harry, horror-struck.

"No, Sirius. Harry is still among the living, and his body remains back in the Ministry," Dumbledore said, placing a steadying hand on Sirius's shoulder.

Sirius visibly relaxed, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment before he threw back his head and released a pent-up bark of laughter.

Harry kept his face buried in Sirius's shoulder, unable to make his fingers release their grip. He stood there, shaking, as he clung to his godfather and wondered how he could possibly pull out of this with his pride somewhat intact.

"Why don't you pull up a chair, Sirius?" Dumbledore offered, giving Harry a moment to collect himself before he had to speak.

Never releasing his grip on Harry, Sirius maneuvered them both over to a couch, where he pulled Harry down beside him. Another cup of hot chocolate had appeared on the table, and Sirius took a shaky sip.

"Bugger, Harry, couldn't you have at least laced it with some Firewhisky? This has been quite a shock for an old man," Sirius said, grinning. "So, tell me – what's happened to make this visit possible? I've never heard of anything like it done before. Have you got yourself knocked out again, Squirt?"

Harry suddenly found his voice, and he turned accusing eyes on Professor Dumbledore. "I thought you said they'd been watching me," he said, his voice croaky.

"I have been keeping an eye on you, but not twenty-four seven," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. His gaze flickered back and forth between Harry and Dumbledore. "Does this have anything to do with Voldemort?"

"He's in your realm now," Harry said softly, digging his nails into his palm.

Sirius blanched. "You did it?" he asked, holding his breath.

"Yeah," Harry replied, shifting uncomfortably.

Sirius leaped up, pumping his fists in the air and whooping with glee.

"Sirius, I think that Harry is not quite ready to celebrate yet," Dumbledore said, gently resting his hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry kept his eyes firmly on the ground, staring at the dragon-hide boots Sirius wore and trying not to think about anything.

"What? Why not?" Sirius asked, dumbfounded. He used his finger to raise Harry's chin. "You're finally free. You'll no longer be hunted. No more Dursleys, or guards, or any of it."

Harry forced himself to meet Sirius's earnest gaze, his stomach churning unpleasantly. "I know. It just… It's not real yet," he said lamely.

An incredulous expression crossed Sirius's face. "Harry, think of all the parties. Every bloke in Britain will want to buy you a drink, and every witch will want to–"

"I am certain Harry is fully aware of that, Sirius. He is merely asking for some time to adjust," Dumbledore said, interrupting Sirius before he could voice the possibilities that were blatantly on his mind.

"Right," Sirius said, clearing his throat. "Besides, you already seem to have your hands full with the one witch you've got. She's a looker, that one."

The corner of Harry's mouth quirked. "I'll be certain to pass that on," he said dryly.

"So, how long have we got?" Sirius asked.

"I would surmise not very long," Dumbledore said. "Once the Healers get hold of Harry's physical body, they will most likely ply him with potions that will break this connection. Besides, Harry has friends and family waiting for him in the land of the living."