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23

Chapter Twenty-Three: 

Harry doesn't remember a lot of things.

He doesn't remember why he hates the smell of lavender or why he doesn't like tomatoes anymore. Harry doesn’t even remember why everything sweet calls out to him -- mainly treacle tart, but also others like the Eton mess, caramelised sweets or apples dipped in tantalising honey. Greasy foods like chips covered in gravy or overly fried chicken are the same. 

There are times where he feels like he might know. It's the feeling of deja vu, like a thin line snapping back and forth trying to stay in the middle but failing miserably. It holds Harry back from remembering. 

What he does remember though, is the specific scent of Sirius -- leathery, metallic and full of smoke -- he smells like home, like expensive cologne, like grimmauld place and the burrow mixed into one, wild and free and utterly chaotic; doused in an ounce of black magic. 

Harry buries his face deeper into Sirius's chest and breathes in deeply and oh hold on, when did he move into the room and wrap his arms so tightly around the older male? He doesn't get to think when large hands settle onto his cheeks and slowly lift his head up. 

Sirius stares down at him with curious grey eyes and dark furrowed brows. He looks somewhat the same as the last time Harry had seen him -- haunted and tired from the side effects of Azkaban but slightly…better. His hair is longer and healthier and his skin isn't as pale anymore. 

The grey eyed male tilts his head in confusion, blinking owlishly when he finds dark purple hair and blood running down Harry's nose. Sirius opens his mouth to say something but all that comes out is a rush of minty breath. He's completely baffled. 

Harry rolls his green eyes so far back he feels like he might need an exorcism just to get them back down. "Don't tell me," he says, absolutely defeated, "it's the hair, isn't it?" 

"Harry," Sirius looks oddly serious for a moment, "no." 

With a sudden sharp grin, Sirius leads Harry by the small of his back, excusing them both from Bellatrix and Narcissa who don't even look the least bit confused about their hugging session. 

Apparently, all Black's have dimensionally time travelled and met their godfather who was supposed to be dead but in reality isn't. 

(It's the only way Harry can make sense of the Black sisters' reactions.)

"The Black blood is strong in this one," Narcissa simply says, nodding. She's completely monotone and she shows them a thumbs up. 

(And where did she learn that? Harry is so confused.) 

Bellatrix looks close to crying. In fact, she turns around to sob into her sister's shoulder. "Family reunions make me emotional," she wails dramatically, letting her wild and curly hair cover her face like a curtain. 

A little later, once Sirius has settled them both into a private room and warded it a little too heavily, Harry learns that it is apparently not his hair, but rather his presence as a whole that fucks shit up. He's a giant 'fuck you, universe' sign, flashing bright neon colours at everyone and everything. 

"Tell me something I don't know," Harry muffles into Sirius's chest. He's completely sprawled across the other male, leeching off any and all heat that he can. Sirius is lean with hard muscles and he's radiating heat like a furnace. Harry is so, so comfortable. He could die like this, wrapped up in the smell of smoke and leather and--

Sirius tangles his long fingers into Harry's hair and effectively turns him into a pile of goo. Harry makes a quiet, weak noise as Sirius pets his hair.