A Promise Worth Keeping

Chapter Nine

Harry stared in horror as the man's eyes rolled up in his head and he crumpled to the ground. He put his hands up to his mouth to stop an involuntary moan getting out. Not again!

Although his first instinct was to flee, he had to make sure the man wasn't dead. Then as he peered at him in the dusk he realised it wasn't John at all. Because the man had called him by name, he had jumped to the conclusion that it was the care worker John from St Brutus. But it wasn't. All Harry had seen was the tall skinny shape of the man. Now that he was a little closer, he could also see that although he had long hair like John, this man's hair was filthy and matted, his clothes tattered and ragged. Harry had never seen this man before in his life.

Fear fought with a reluctance to leave the refuge he had found and an unaccustomed curiosity. In the end he compromised; as the man's eyelids began to flutter, Harry withdrew back to the overgrown bushes that grew in a tangle across what had once been a lawn. He watched from his hiding place as the man groaned and slowly climbed to his knees. "Dunno wossmatter wimme," Harry heard him mutter. Then suddenly he sat up straight, looking wildly about him. "Harry!" he exclaimed in a hoarse voice.

Harry didn't budge, but just stayed where he was, so he could see what the man was going to do.

After a moment, the man sank back, shaking his head. "Too late, you fool." He brushed a hand across his eyes, as if wiping away something. Then he said something that sounded like, "I'm so sorry, James, I tried I really did." He sounded terribly upset rather than mad. Harry wondered who James was.

Then using the trunk of a gnarled apple tree as a support, the man hauled himself to his feet, took two steps and collapsed again. This time he didn't get up.

Harry watched from his hiding place for a few minutes, but the man didn't move. Cautiously, he emerged and crept across the long grass towards where the man was lying, crumpled on his side. As Harry approached, he could see in the bright moonlight, the slight movement of the man's chest, so he wasn't dead.

Harry realised he would have found the man more frightening if he had looked like any other adult. This man, looking as he did like a fellow outcast, was somehow less threatening. And Harry felt somehow, that the man would be as happy to run into the police as Harry would be himself.

Maybe, if he just left him, the man would wake up and go away. Harry's head turned towards the gate. Anyone walking past and looking in would be able to see the man lying there in the garden. People did walk past, not many and not often, but they did and he mightn't wake up until the morning, so they would easily see him. Harry realised he couldn't leave the man where he was. He could move him out of sight of the road or… his eyes strayed towards the house. In the end he decided to wait, but all that happened was that he got cold and started to shiver.

The man had started to shiver too. He really would be much better off inside, but Harry was still reluctant to try and get him into the house. What if he wouldn't leave? Of course if he left, Harry would never find out why he was looking for him.

Harry stood up, and looked down at the man, screwing up his face in concentration. He was awfully big, and Harry wasn't quite sure how he was going to move him. He tried pulling him by the arms and was surprised at how easy it was.

When Harry had found the house two weeks previously, he had eventually managed to get in through the scullery window, which had a broken lock. It had clearly not been lived in for some time, and Harry suspected that someone like Mrs Figg had lived there. It was very damp and musty, and there was a faint smell of cats. It looked as if someone had half-heartedly begun to clear the place and then given up. Some rooms were full of the most appalling junk and others were completely empty. It didn't look as if the person who had lived there, had ever thrown anything out. Some of the stuff had probably been there since the house was built. Harry thought it was quite an old house, but it wasn't a thatched cottage or anything like that so it wasn't really old. It just seemed rather uncared for and neglected.

He had got the fright of his life two days later, when a man and a woman had appeared. He thought at first they were police or social workers but they were wearing suits and didn't seem to be looking for him at all. They were more interested in the house.

"If there's not been anyone to look at it, then someone has to pop over once a week just to make sure it's still secure," the woman had said.

The man had stood looking at the house, an expression of disbelief on his face. "How long has it been on our books?"

"Two years. You can see why, can't you? We've said to the old woman's solicitors that the only way it'll shift is if they spend some money on it. I mean, people read, 'in need of some re-decoration' and think they might have to paper a few rooms, not re-plaster the whole house."

The man had laughed. "Spooky place too," he had commented.

"Gives me the creeps," the woman had said, frankly. "I expect that's why we've never had any problems with squatters."

They had gone inside, but hadn't stayed long. Harry had been relieved when they left, but he realised they had told him something very important. People only came here once a week.

Harry pulled the door key from his pocket. He had found it in one of the kitchen drawers and tried every door until he found the one it unlocked, which had turned out to be the front door. Opening it, he went through into the kitchen. It was a large room, not like Aunt Petunia's neat, modern matchbox of a kitchen. There was a contraption against one wall, which Harry thought might be a very old gas cooker, but he wasn't sure. It seemed to have gas rings but it didn't look like any cooker he'd ever seen. He'd tried turning the various taps on the front - it didn't even have knobs - to see if any gas came out, but there was no hissing noise and no smell and he assumed the gas had been cut off like the electricity. The kitchen was also unlike Aunt Petunia's one in that it had a fireplace. There was a funny old-fashioned grate like they'd looked at when they'd done the Victorians at school. Every night he lit a small fire there to keep warm.

He walked over to the windows and carefully drew the tatty curtains before lighting a candle. He'd have to be careful; there weren't very many left.

Then he went back outside. Part of him was hoping the man had gone, but he was still lying where he had left him, so he dragged him inside. He left him in one of the empty rooms, lying on his side on the dusty floor. He stood looking down at him for a moment then went off to one of the bedrooms. He had found piles of blankets stacked up on the floor of the wardrobe, and he pulled one out. Back beside the man, he covered him with it, tucking it round the man's thin shoulders, then left.

---

Sirius opened his eyes and looked around, confused at the unfamiliar surroundings. The last thing he remembered was, Harry! He sat up, as if he expected to see the boy.

Daylight was making a heroic attempt to filter through dirty windows and filthy net curtains. Sirius saw that he had been lying on the floor of a room empty save for a table against one wall and a ghastly Muggle picture of flying ducks over the mantelpiece.

"Harry?" his voice echoed into the still air of the house. There was a slight scuffling sound from one of the other rooms then, silence. For a moment he wondered if he had somehow dreamt the encounter with the boy last night, but that wouldn't explain how he had got inside the house. Someone must have put him here and, as he noticed the blanket for the first time, covered him up.

Slowly he managed to crawl to his feet, swaying slightly as the now familiar spots danced before his eyes.

"Harry?" He walked into the hall, but there was no one there. Scuff marks on the dusty floorboards showed where something had been dragged from the front door. Well, that explained how he had got into the room.

The hall led through to a large kitchen that didn't smell as damp as the rest of the house. On the kitchen table sat two bottles of milk. One had been opened and the cream either poured off or drunk. The other had been pushed a little to one side. Well the boy was obviously still here. Finally the messages that had almost given up trying to get through to his brain got there and he realised he was hungry, ravenously hungry. It occurred to him that the last time he had eaten anything had been the day before yesterday, and he picked up the unopened bottle and pulling the silver top off, took a long drink from it. It was cold, but not too cold, and he started to gulp back the rest, but then sense told him to stop before he was sick.

Putting the half-empty bottle back on the table, Sirius looked round. Beside the range was a very battered armchair. The fabric covering was moth-eaten and in places the stuffing was poking through. As his eyes drifted over it and over the range, he noticed the ashes in the grate. Touching them he felt the last, faint vestiges of warmth from them. From where he was crouched, down by the grate he could see something crumpled up on the floor behind the chair. His stomach gave a lurch and he stood up too quickly. He steadied himself against the mantelpiece until the dizziness went away, then staggered over to the corner behind the chair.

In the dim light he had thought the shape was a body, but now he saw that it was a pile of old blankets, roughly body shaped, where someone had been sleeping. Definitely still here.

He explored the rest of the house, all the time an itch between his shoulder blades telling him he was being watched. He knew he would be able to nose out where the boy was hiding quickly enough as Padfoot, but felt equally, that was a good way to terrify Harry into fleeing. He desperately didn't want to do that; having found the boy he didn't want to lose him. It said something that after being so frightened the previous night he was still here. He wasn't quite sure what to do, but since Harry had left the milk, the least he could do was to return the favour and get some food.

"Harry!" he said to the empty house. "I'm going out, but I'll be back later." There was no response. "My name's Sirius," he said after standing and listening for a moment, in case the boy responded, but there wasn't even that slight scuffle he had heard earlier. He tried to open the back door but it was locked, then discovered the front door was locked as well. Eventually he managed to squeeze out of the scullery window.

The weather had turned mild, and the air smelt of rain and wet grass. It touched a chord in his memory, but it was too faint and fluttered out of reach before he could grasp it and see what it reminded him of. He walked through the overgrown garden and climbed through the rickety fence into the woods beyond. Once out of sight of the house he transformed and set about finding himself something to eat.

Several hours and several rats later he returned to the house, fearful that the boy might have gone. The blankets were still there, but the rest of the milk was gone, and while there was no sign of Harry, Sirius didn't think he had left.

He laid down the two rabbits he had also managed to catch. Somehow he was going to have to skin them, the Muggle way. He raked around in the kitchen drawers for a knife, and eventually found one. The blade looked dull and rust spotted. Really wishing he had a wand, he laboriously sharpened it on a stone from the garden then set to on the rabbits. It took longer than he thought it would, but it was still an hour or so until dusk and he daren't risk lighting the fire until after dark, in case anyone saw the smoke coming from a supposedly empty house. So he put the skinned rabbits to one side, and went out again to collect firewood.

When he came back, he once more had that sense that he wasn't alone in the house. Nothing had been touched though, and he laid a fire in the grate. As the twilight gathered in, he lit the stub of candle on the mantelpiece and then the fire, cooking the rabbits on skewers. When he was happy they were done, he left one for Harry and took his own through to the empty room he had woken in. He paused in the hall and shouted, "Harry, dinner's ready!" Then he closed the door behind him and wolfed the meat down.

He slept as himself that night, curled up in the blanket in a corner. But dark shapes stalked his dreams, mercilessly pursuing him and he woke suddenly to see a small shape silhouetted in the open doorway.

"You were screaming," the shape said.

Still shaking from the force of the nightmare, Sirius took a moment to gather his thoughts before he managed to croak, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

The shape stood in silence for a moment. Then it said, "Are you all right?"

The unwarranted concern hit him between the eyes like a crossbow bolt. "Y-yes, I'll be fine," he stammered out, wondering if it was true. But the boy was satisfied and left, closing the door behind him. Sirius sat in the dark hugging his knees for a long time after that, until the shaking stopped. Then he transformed and slept the rest of the night as Padfoot.

He didn't see the boy at all the next day, but there was milk on the table again and he reciprocated during the day by bringing back rabbits, which once again he cooked over the fire in the evening. With no wall of scratches, he found it hard to keep track of time, but Sirius reckoned they carried on like this for nearly ten days. Carefully dancing around one another, never quite meeting, but always aware of the other's presence. Sirius grew used to the small sounds the boy made when he was in the house. When he wasn't, he found himself listening for him coming back if he was later than usual, worrying in case something had happened to him. But he never tried to approach Harry, terrified of frightening him away and losing him completely.

One day, he found an ancient block of green carbolic soap under the sink in the scullery. He hadn't been sure what it was when he found it, but had picked it up and cautiously sniffed it. The harsh smell of carbolic had made him sneeze and told him what it was. He had shrugged and put it back, but later that day in the bathroom, he had glanced in the spotted mirror above the basin, eyes widening in shock as he stared at the haggard creature that frowned back at him. He reached out and touched the glass, tracing the gaunt shape of the creature's head. Bloody hell, no wonder Harry had been terrified and he determined to do something about his appearance.

However it did not prove as easy as he had hoped. The water that came out of the taps was brown and the pipes made horrible knocking noises, which suggested all was not well with the plumbing. The water that came out of the taps in the scullery wasn't quite as brown however and he retrieved the ancient carbolic soap. He looked at it doubtfully, but having decided on his purpose he set about feverishly pursuing it. Eventually he found a blunt pair of scissors and spent the best part of an hour hacking away at his hair before filling the sink and attempting to have a wash. Later when he looked in the bathroom mirror again, he wasn't sure if he'd made a great deal of difference - his eyes looked just as shadowed and haunted - but there was certainly less hair.

One morning, a few days later, things were different. There was no milk on the kitchen table, and Sirius was sure Harry wasn't in the house. He paced anxiously around the room for a few minutes, suddenly at a loss over what to do. Then he stopped, taking a deep breath. This wasn't helping at all. He transformed and satisfied himself that the boy really wasn't in the house, in the process sniffing out the various hiding places Harry used. He found a clear scent trail going out of the scullery window, and it hadn't come back.

Out in the overgrown garden, he slowly teased out the trail from all the other tracks Harry had left. He was about to follow it out into the lane, when he heard footsteps running towards him up the lane. Quickly he slunk into the undergrowth, but transformed as soon as he saw Harry climbing over the gate. The boy looked terrified, and his heart gave a lurch.

Harry jumped down into the long grass and started to run towards the house, looking over his shoulder as he did so, so he didn't see Sirius until he ran into him. He gave a terrified whimper, as he stumbled backwards, trying to push Sirius away.

"Whoa! What's the matter?" Sirius asked, catching the boy's hands in his own.

Frantically Harry tried to pull away, gasping for breath and moaning, "Nooo, I won't go back, I won't."

Sirius crouched down, pulling the boy towards him, "Hey, it's all right. It's me, Sirius. You don't have to go back anywhere."

But then, as he heard other footsteps pounding up the lane, he realised Harry might not have the option. "Quick! In here!" Sirius pulled the boy into the undergrowth and they huddled down on the ground. Harry was shaking violently so Sirius put one arm protectively across the boy's shoulder; he shuddered even more at the touch and glanced up. Sirius gave a slight smile and put a finger to his lips. After a moment Harry nodded and relaxed a bit.

There was more than one person coming, Sirius could hear.

"Little bastard went in here!" an angry voice yelled.

Harry gave a convulsive shudder at this and Sirius whispered, "Shh, don't worry, I'll make sure you're okay."

From where he crouched beside Harry, Sirius saw a middle-aged man come running up to the gate. He was immediately joined by another man in a police uniform. "I'd be surprised if the boy was hiding up in here," the policeman commented.

"Well there's nowhere else he could have gone," the first man objected.

The policeman slowly climbed over the gate, scanning the ground for tracks. "Probably ran straight through to the woods if he did, Mr Brinklow."

"You're assuming he's a local kid and knows about the reputation this place has. I've never seen him before. Probably a run-away or belongs to some New Age travellers," Brinklow's tone was scathing.

"Possible, although we'd have heard if there were any travellers in the area. Still we'd better have a look at the house, just to be sure."

They walked round the building, peering into the dirty windows and trying the doors. "Doesn't look as if anyone's squatting there," the policeman commented as they came round to the front again. "Better get the estate agents to check, just in case."

Brinklow snorted. "I don't care about that, I care about the little bastard that's been stealing milk from the village." He put his hands on his hips, looking round. "Well we've lost him for now. Don't you worry though, we'll be watching for him."

"I'm sure you will, Mr Brinklow," the policeman responded. "We'll circulate his description and see what we come up with." With a last look round the overgrown garden they left.

As soon as they had gone, Harry pulled away from Sirius, but Sirius held on to his hand and said, "Come on, we need to get our stuff and get out of here before they come back."

Harry shook his head. "It'll just be the man from the estate agent's. He never sees anything."

Sirius was surprised. "He's been before?"

"Every week. Has a look round inside, checks everything's locked. He came on Tuesday while you were out."

"Well, we'd better make sure things look just the same as they did on Tuesday then, and you can tell me what happened this morning."

Harry flicked a wary glance up at him and Sirius amended this to, "If you want to, of course."

Tidying up meant principally putting the blankets they slept in back in the bedroom and clearing the ashes out of the grate. Sirius watched as Harry wedged the scullery window shut, so that it wouldn't open, and shot him a puzzled glance. Harry noticed and gave a shy grin. It was good to see, but at the same time painful. He looked so like James used to when they'd been in some mischief together. Sirius folded his arms and said, "All right, I'll bite. How do we get out?"

Harry's grin widened, and he pulled a key out of his pocket. "Through the front door," he said.

Sirius felt the muscles of his face stretch in an echo of Harry's grin. "Now that's good," he commented.

Later, once the man from the estate agent's had been and gone, looking very disgruntled and muttering about the "bloody waste of time," they went back inside.

"Where were you stealing the milk from?" Sirius asked, starting to lay a fire, ready for the evening.

Harry said nothing for a moment, but stood, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. "Erm, all over. A different house every day, so they wouldn't notice."

"The same village?" Sirius asked and then continued at Harry's look of incomprehension. "Different village every day, sure they might not notice, but not from the same village. People talk to one another, you know."

He turned back to the fire for a moment, and when he looked round again, Harry was gone. However, he didn't go after him, not wanting to crowd the child, and he cursed himself. Some godfather he was! But he'd been so scared of frightening him away that he'd done nothing apart from simply be there. He hadn't been following him or keeping an eye on him to see what he was up to. And now look what had happened. The boy had nearly been caught by the Muggle authorities and what was he doing? Giving him advice on how to be a better thief!

He sat back on his hunkers and brushed a hand across his eyes. A memory he had forgotten he even possessed surfaced. He had been standing with James looking down at Harry sleeping peacefully in his cot. "I'll expect you to lead him astray, Padfoot," James had said grinning. "It goes with the territory of being a godfather." Sirius remembered laughing saying, "Really? All my godfather ever did was send me the most awful religious tracts every birthday. I can't imagine him leading anyone astray."

Sirius didn't really think helping Harry towards a life of crime was quite what James had meant and he felt a surge of overwhelming guilt, remembering other things he had done or failed to do. If it hadn't been for him…

He knew for the sake of his sanity he had to transform, but he didn't want to frighten Harry out of his wits. He managed to stagger to his feet, and called out, in a strangled voice, "Harry, I'm going out, I'll be back later." He ran out of the front door and had transformed before he was out of the garden.

---

When Sirius had left, Harry came back into the kitchen. He was surprised to see that the man had gone without finishing laying the fire and wondered why. Still shaken from the morning's events, he huddled down in his corner. He knew it was wrong to steal, but at first he had been so hungry and the milk bottles sitting on doorsteps so tempting that it had been easy to take one. He told himself people would never notice. After all, Aunt Petunia was always complaining that the milkman left the wrong number of bottles. But when Sirius had arrived he had started taking two bottles instead of just one. He hugged his knees tightly remembering how the men from the village had been waiting for him. He was lucky he had always been fast otherwise he was sure they would have caught him. He was really glad Sirius had been here when he got back, he'd grown used to the man being around he supposed.

Harry stayed inside for the rest of the day in case the police were still watching out for him. As dusk fell he lit the fire, wondering where Sirius was. He usually came back at some point during the afternoon and then set about preparing the food he had brought. Sometimes it was chickens, but mostly it was rabbits. Today though it was dark and he still wasn't back. Harry wondered if the police were after Sirius too.

Then something rattled the front door and Harry remembered he'd locked it again. He went to see if it was Sirius, but when he peered through the letterbox there was no one there. A sound of someone scrabbling through the scullery window told him what had happened and he went back to the kitchen. Sirius was already crouched down in front of the fire when he got there. Harry stood quietly in the doorway, but the man seemed to sense he was there, and without looking round said, "I'm sorry, I didn't bring anything back to eat."

"That's all right," Harry responded. "I can feed myself."

Sirius swung round and looked at him. In the firelight his face looked more drawn than usual, and his eyes were shadowed. "Be careful, if you're going out. I'd hate it if they caught you."

He sounded concerned, Harry thought, amazed. He nodded. "I will be."

Later, when he came back, stomach still growling, as he hadn't been hungry enough to go rummaging in dustbins again, he found that Sirius had banked the fire and retreated to the room he slept in. Harry left him alone and curled up in his corner.

Over the next few days, things were much the same as they had been, except that Harry didn't dare go out snatching milk from doorsteps. And now he talked to Sirius a bit more, watching him from the same room instead of one of his hiding-places.

The weather changed, and turned much colder. They dug out more blankets to stop from waking shivering in the night. On the second night of this, as Sirius once again retreated to his room, Harry said, "Why don't you stay in here? It's warmer."

Sirius looked as if he was about to say no, it was okay, but changed his mind and nodded. He brought his pile of blankets through and sat in the old armchair, with his long legs stretched out in front of him.

Harry was woken during the night by a strange noise. He sat up and groped for his glasses. Putting them on he peered round the chair legs. Sirius was curled up in the armchair now, cradling his head in his arms, whimpering. He seemed to be asleep. Harry remembered the second night when he'd started screaming in his sleep and hoped he wasn't going to do that again. He got up and stood awkwardly beside the chair, not sure what to do, but wanting to help somehow, anyhow. Eventually Sirius quieted and Harry went back to his corner, hoping his own dreams weren't going to be as bad.

The next night he wasn't so lucky. He was woken from a shattering dream of terror and pursuit by Sirius shaking him. Slowly calming down, he realised he was being held and pulled back. Sirius looked down at him. "Better?" he asked.

Harry gulped and nodded myopically up at him.

"You can come over here if you want." Sirius gestured towards his chair.

Harry hesitated, not sure what he meant.

"Come on, I'll show you." Sirius pulled Harry to his feet and wrapped a couple of the blankets round him, then led him over to the armchair where, wrapping himself in his own blankets he sat down. He reached out and pulled Harry up onto his lap, with his legs across the arms of the chair.

Harry wasn't sure about this at all, people never hugged him and he lay rigid, until Sirius said, "You are allowed to breathe, you know."

Harry suddenly relaxed, letting out his breath with a long shuddering sigh. And he snuggled up against Sirius, resting his head on the man's bony shoulder. Lying there, he could hear the soft thud of Sirius' heart in his chest and for the first time in he didn't know how long felt truly safe.