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"Ready to lose, baby Potter?" Sirius asks, his voice lively and thrilled with an edge of competitive mocking. His eyes haven't completely lost their sullen, broken look from Azkaban, yet Sirius looks far better and more handsome than Harry has ever seen him outside of photographs and his suicide trek in the Forbidden Forest while holding the resurrection stone.
After defeating Voldemort, Harry had wanted to destroy the elder wand. It's power was too great; it had been directly responsible to promoting three wizarding wars in the past century alone. But the grief of losing his entire family and the power of the three hallows were far too strong, so Harry had made himself a compromise. He'd give himself one thing, one chance to get Sirius back. Then he'd destroy the wand and lose the stone.
Wearing the cloak, holding the stone and wand, Harry had apparated to the veil of death in the DoM. He had entered, found Sirius body floating around looking exactly how it had the moment Bellatrix had stunned him, and pulled him out. One rennervate with the elder wand had awoken Sirius, and as far as the healers at St. Mungo's could tell, the only trauma - physical or mental - Sirius held were the ones he gained pre-veil. Kingsley had named the incident classified and pushed story that Sirius had been held captive until Harry defeated Voldemort and freed Sirius, an innocent man illegally persecuted by two corrupt ministries.
Ever since, Sirius had been a free man and he had been intent on using every bit of freedom. He'd helped George, Lee and Angela repair the shop and re-ward the building while they grieved Fred. He'd gone back to Hogwarts and helped Madam Pomphrey treat the wounded and dying. His knowledge of dark arts far exceeded her own, so he managed to save a few people who might have died otherwise. He even helped save Snape - if only to gload about it later on. Kingsley had awarded him a Second Class Order of Merlin, which Sirius accepted, before contacting his solicitor to start a case against the Fudge and Bagnold administration. Luckily - or perhaps not luck at all, both former ministers had survived Voldemort's rule.
It hadn't all been smooth sailing. They were both plagued with nightmares, sometimes even three or four a night. As much as Harry tried to convince Sirius otherwise, he would forever feel guilty that Harry had been forced to face Voldemort's Horcruxes without him - or any seasoned auror or cursebreaker. He would forever he livid at Dumbledore for planning for Harry to take Voldemort's Killing Curse to the head a second time. He would never get back the 14 years he lost to Azkaban and death, nor the dead best friends Harry had dragged him away from: James and Lily.
Yet, the days were better and brighter than they'd ever been for Harry. Every morning they woke up and made breakfast together, like a true family. Not with Harry doing all the work while dodging Aunt Petunia's frying pan. They spent their days putting the pieces of their lives back together - Harry going with Sirius to St. Mungo's for his appointments, and Sirius proudly cheering Harry on at his professional Quidditch matches. Sirius took Harry out to all the best restaurants in Wizarding Britain (they hadn't changed much in sixteen years) and muggle Britain (they had nearly all changed; in appearance, location, menu and taste). For the first time, Harry could invite his friends over, talk on the floo or telephone whenever he wanted. He saw Sirius - got to hug Sirius everyday, anytime he wanted.
Harry laughs, equally ecstatic and thrilled. Sirius is alive. Voldemort is dead. They're living together just like Sirius promised him so many years ago - Harry is finally living with family that loves him, and he loves in return. Life has never been this good.
He grips the handle of the Firebolt between his legs tighter. No way is he going to let Sirius and his loud and oily motorcycle beat his beautiful, sleek firebolt. "In your dreams, old man."
Either playfully offended by the old man statement or that his precious, precious Rolls-Royce engine would lose to a 'piece of wood and a bunch of straw', Sirius's response is to thrum the engine loud enough to drown out anything either of them could've said.
Sirius flicks his wand. The sky in front of them flickers. Opaque red numbers start counting down. Sirius tucks his wand back in it's arm sheath with a flick and revs the engine. Harry leans down until his chest is practically touching the broom handle; the best position for speed.
Three
Two
One
Zero!
They both shoot off into the distance faster than a blink, only echoes of their laughter left behind.