Mad Dog

Blood was pounding in his ears. He snatched at air in ragged gasps. His eyes hardly saw the pavement as he strode jerkily forward. His heavy trunk bounced over uneven paving stones. He didn't even notice. An angry red surge filled his mind. His feet moved of their own accord, one in front of the other, taking him further and further from Privet Drive. He was never going back there. Never! They could come and plead with him as much as they liked – as if they would! - but he was never ever going back. He hated them, he hated them all with a passion that consumed him. He hated Dudley, he hated Uncle Vernon, and, most of all, he hated Aunt Marge. He never wanted to see them ever again – any of them.

But hidden behind that passion and hatred, there was an icy finger of fear at the back of his mind. He'd done magic at home again. Well, not again. It had been Dobby that first time. But it didn't make any difference now. It was done, and the letter would be on its way from the Ministry. Using magic under age again. Expelled from Hogwarts. They'd come and take his wand, snap it in two, cast him out, make him live as a Muggle – which meant going back to the Dursleys. It would mean he would never see Hogwarts again. It would mean he'd never see Ron or Hermione or any of his other friends ever again.

He tried not to think about that. He tried not to think about anything. He just wanted to be as far away from Privet Drive as his feet could take him. It didn't matter where, so long as he was far away as possible from the Dursleys. And Aunt Marge, On and on. His legs swung back and forward. Left, right, left, right.

But he couldn't keep it up for ever. He began to slow down, his legs tiring, his muscles beginning to ache. His trunk seemed to be getting heavier and heavier. How far had he gone? Where was he now? Eventually he stopped, bending down, panting, out of breath. He had been walking – but for how long? He'd no idea. He looked at his watch – but that didn't help. He'd no idea what time it had been when he'd run out of the house. Just where was he? How far had he come? He straightened up, and looked around, the red mist slowly clearing from his vision.

He was near the park – which meant he was at least a mile or more away from Privet Drive. Exhausted, he put his trunk flat on the ground, and then sat down on it to catch his breath. He leant forward and put his head in his hands, breathing in great gasps of anger.

Well, what now? He knew he had to calm down if he was going to think clearly. The letter from the Ministry would probably have arrived by now. And Aunt Marge – had she been deflated yet? If she hadn't, what would Uncle Vernon do? Would he come looking for him? Perhaps at this very moment, Uncle Vernon was in his big new shiny company car, driving round the streets trying to find him, so he could put Marge right again. Well, if there were people from the Ministry at Privet Drive already, they could look after Marge. And if not, then as far as he was concerned, she could stay inflated. She deserved it. Deserved every moment of it.

He looked up, looked around. No car. Well, not terribly surprising, really. He could feel the chill of the sweat drying on his body. Right then. Forget the Dursleys. Forget Privet Drive. Think about what to do now.

But exactly what was he going to do? Where would he spend the night? It might be summer, but he didn't fancy sleeping under a park bench. Or in the bushes. And if he did, there'd be bound to be someone taking their dog for a walk, and the dog would sniff him out, and then he'd have to try and explain himself, which would lead to even more trouble. Whoever found him would call the police, and the police would want to take him back to Privet Drive, and he was never going back there again. Never again!

Where was he going to go from here? No point trying the Weasleys – they'd want to send him back, and they'd tell the Ministry as well, and that meant losing his wand. Perhaps he could try Hermione – her parents were Muggles. They might put him up for a few days. But then they'd want to send him back to Privet Drive as well, and of course Hermione would want to get the Ministry involved – no. And, anyway – there'd be no point trying to get in touch with them. They were both on holiday, weren't they? Ron was in Egypt, Hermione in France.

But he couldn't sit here on his trunk all night. There must be somewhere he could go – but he didn't know where. All the friends he had now were wizards and witches, and he had to keep clear of them, at least for the moment. Perhaps – perhaps when the fuss had died down, he could get in touch with Ron, find out what would happen him. Maybe they'd overlook it this time. Maybe not. Ron could find out and tell him. But he better not ask just yet. Give it a day or two.

All well and good – give it a day or two! More important now - where would he spend the night? He shivered and looked round at the houses, with their lights glowing behind curtains, then at the playground, with its swings and roundabouts. The street was empty at the moment, but sure enough some old codger would be along soon, walking his dog.

Talking of dogs – he could see one lurking over in the shadows, and it didn't look like the sort of dog you'd usually find in Little Whinging. All the dogs round here were nice and tame, and people took them for walks on leads, and threw sticks for them to go and fetch. This one didn't look as though it was used to a lead. Or fetching sticks. Somehow it looked too big and too savage. A bit too savage for Harry's liking.

It stepped out a little further from the bushes, and Harry reached nervously into his pocket, where his wand was, and felt re-assured by its touch. He didn't want to have to do magic again, though. He wasn't sure if the Ministry could track his wand or not, but he didn't want to find out the hard way. The dog was on the move now, padding across the road – it wasn't quite heading his way, but seemed to be skirting a path round him. Well, thought Harry, I can live with that. But he kept a cautious eye on the beast. He didn't mind dogs really, despite Ripper, but this one had a savage and untamed look about it.

The dog stopped. Harry eyed it warily, and the dog seemed to be staring straight back at him. Harry stood up, facing the beast. He knew that he mustn't appear nervous. Dogs sensed that. Should he shout something? 'Shoo!' didn't seem to be quite the right word, somehow. The dog took a couple more steps, getting closer, eyeing him as if considering which part of him might be the most tasty. Now Harry did reach for his wand, and slipped it out of his pocket, ready for any attack. The dog seemed to look at what he'd got in his hand, and then back to Harry himself.

“No, I'm not throwing sticks for you,” he said out loud.

It didn't look the sort of dog that fetched sticks. There weren't any on the ground near him, anyway. The dog took another step forward. It seemed to be looking at Harry very closely. Harry was liking this less and less. The dog seemed to be very intent on him, and that couldn't be a good sign. It did have a starved sort of look, too. It wasn't rabid, was it?

Then he gave a gasp. It wasn't a dog any more. It had changed. It was now ... a man! A tall, gaunt faced, long haired, ragged man. Then came a sudden flash of recognition. He'd seen this man's picture before somewhere – on the television back at Privet Drive! That mass murderer that had escaped from prison. It was him – or his double. But how had he turned into a dog? And back again? Unless, of course, he was a wizard as well ...

“Keep back,” said Harry in as firm a voice as he could muster, raising his wand and pointing it at the man.

The man looked at him again, as if not quite certain about something, opened his mouth as if speak, hesitated, then spoke in a croak of a voice.

“Harry?”

Harry blinked. Of all the things he might have expected the man to say, this was the least likely.

“Er, yes ... but ... how do you know my name?”

The man looked as amazed as he did. “Harry Potter?”

“Yeah, that's right, but what's it to you? What's your name then?”

A faint smile. “Sirius Black.”

So he was that mass murderer who had escaped! What was he doing in Little Whinging? And how did he know who Harry was?

“Don't come any closer,” Harry warned, wand pointing at the man's heart, his hand shaking slightly.

Sirius Black raised his arms slightly and showed empty hands. “I'm not here to hurt you, Harry.”

“Yeah? An escaped convict? On the run? A mass murderer? And one who just happens to know my name.”

The man looked around at the empty park, gloomy in the darkening light of late evening, then turned back to Harry. “Look, I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“What do you know about me, Harry?”

“Well, I know that you've broken out of prison and the police are looking for you. Apart from that, not much,” Harry told him, wand still pointing at the man.

“Nothing else?”

“Not really. Anything else I should know?”

“Aren't you curious about how I know your name?”

“Lots of wizards know what I look like. And you must be a wizard, changing from a dog like that. How did you do that?” he added, curious.

“I'm an Animagus.”

“An Animagus – oh, right - like Professor McGonagall?” The man nodded. “I thought they were supposed to be really rare.”

“They are,” said Black. “There're only two people alive – no, three now – know about me.”

He was swaying slightly, as if very tired or very hungry, or both. He looked as if were about to collapse. He didn't look much of a threat, standing there looking as exhausted as he did, but Harry wasn't going to take any chances.

“You still haven't told me how you know who I am.”

“The last time I saw you,” the man said slowly, “you were about a year old.”

Despite himself, Harry felt a jolt of excitement. “You knew my parents?”

Black nodded. “Lily and James. You look just like James.”

“So? I bet loads of people knew my parents.”

“James and I were best friends at Hogwarts.”

This was too much. “Hasn't stopped you becoming a mass murderer,” Harry sneered.

The man's face twisted. “Do you really think I am, Harry?” There was a note of sadness in his voice.

“Well, the rest of the world seems to think so.”

That twisted smile again. “Yeah, they do.”

“And I suppose you're going to tell me you're innocent, or something like that.”

“Something like that.” The man swayed again. “Look, can I sit down before I collapse?”

Harry hesitated. Then he stepped back from his trunk. “Sit on that. But where I can see you.”

“Thanks.” Black sank down gratefully onto the trunk. He really did look exhausted. There were dark rings under his eyes, and his shoulders drooped. He rubbed his hands over his face, then looked up at Harry. Slowly, wearily, he said, “I'm not innocent. I didn't do what they said I did, but I'm not innocent.”

This baffled Harry. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

“Lily and James.” The man sighed. “They might have been alive today if I hadn't been so stupid.”

Again, this was all too much for Harry. He gazed at the man in disbelief. Then he lowered his wand slightly. “Look, I don't really know what you're going on about.” He wasn't sure what to do next. The man might be ragged and exhausted, but there was something about him. He didn't seem like Harry's idea of a mass murderer. But then – what did mass murderers looked like?

Harry came to a sudden decision. He nodded over to the swings and park benches. “Why don't we go over there? Then you can tell me what you're going on about.”

The man glanced round, looked at the little playground, then nodded. “All right.” As he turned his head back, he suddenly stiffened, something obviously amiss.

“What is it?” Harry asked, then glanced over his shoulder. He saw why Black was suddenly so alert. There was a young couple walking down the path towards them. Luckily, they seemed wrapped up in each other, paying Harry and Black little or no attention. But what if they too had seen that picture on the television, or in the papers, and recognised Black?

As Harry turned back, he realised Black had reverted back into his canine form. The dog sat by the trunk, looking watchful, but making no move, and Harry kept his wand close to his chest, not wanting the Muggles to see it. At least a boy and a dog were less conspicuous than the ragged figure of an escaped convict.

Footsteps passed him, then he heard a voice: “Good evening.”

He turned, and did his best to smile at the woman. “Good evening.”

Her eyes flicked over him, and he did his best to pretend that he often spent the evenings sitting in the park with a fully packed trunk and a dog to guard it. But with the greeting returned, the women turned back to her boyfriend, and he watched them as they slowly walked out of sight. He did a quick scan round.

“It's okay. The coast's clear. You can change back now.”

The dog became a man once more. Black jerked his head towards the playground, and began moving. Harry reached down for his trunk. As they approached the bench, Black turned and asked with a frown: “Why've you got your trunk with you?”

Harry could feel his face going red, and was thankful for the darkness. “I ... er ... I ran away from my aunt and uncle,” he finished in a gabble.

Black stopped abruptly. “What?”

“I ran away from my aunt and uncle,” Harry said more loudly, defiant now.

“Ran away?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Ran away. Like, left home. Like, never going back.”

Black stared at him. “Why?”

“Long story.”

“Sit down,” Black told him grimly.

Suddenly Harry felt the tables had been reversed. One moment he'd been guarding an escaped convict, the next moment he was been told off like the thirteen year old he was.

“You sit down first,” defiantly.

“All right.” Black sat on a swing, and Harry reluctantly settled on a park bench a few feet opposite. “Now what's this about running away?”

Harry shrugged. “Simple really. I packed my trunk and walked out of the front door. And I'm never going back,” with a touch more bravado than he felt.

“Really? Any particular reason for running away?”

Harry guessed that Black thought that he was just being a typical rebellious teen, not really meaning it, just doing it for the gesture. “I really am not going back.”

Black swatted this away. “Why did you run away?” he asked again.

“I blew up my aunt,” he muttered.

“You did what?”

“Blew up my aunt,” he said loudly.

“Your aunt? Petunia?”

“No, my Aunt Marge. She's not really my aunt, she's Uncle Vernon's sister.”

“And you blew her up? Bang?”

Harry realised that Black had got the wrong idea: he thought that Harry had made his aunt explode.

“Not blow up as in bang, but blow up as in inflate,” he explained.

Black's mouth quirked, and suddenly Harry saw the funny side of it. He almost laughed, despite what he'd been feeling about it earlier.

“Yeah, but it's not so funny,” Harry went on, “because I'm not allowed to do magic out of school, and something like this happened last year, and now they'll expel me from Hogwarts.”

“Why did you blow her up?”

“Long story.” But Black sat waiting. “Well, they were being rude about Mum and Dad. Uncle Vernon told Marge that they'd died in a car crash, and Marge hates me, and she started going on about them being drunks and layabouts. She was pretty drunk herself, mind you. Then I lost my temper, and Aunt Marge – she's fat enough already – she just began sort of inflating.”

Black looked at him for a moment or two, then burst out laughing. “Just the sort of thing I can imagine James doing.”

“Really?” asked Harry eagerly.

“Yeah. He was always one for practical jokes.”

“This was no joke,” said Harry grimly. “I meant it!”

“Oh dear. And you think you'll be thrown out of Hogwarts?”

“I know I will be,” said Harry gloomily. “I got a warning last year.”

“What was that for?”

“Something – well, it's a long story. But the thing is, it wasn't even me that time. But I still got the letter.”

“And you think you'll get one this time?”

“For sure.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

“I've no idea.”

The two of them sat there in the gathering darkness. Being summer, the sky never really got completely black, but it was dark enough now for Harry to have difficulty seeing Sirius' face.

“So, then, you broke out of prison?”

“Yeah.” Another silence.

“Going to tell me about it?”

Sirius sighed. “It's a long story.”

“We've got all night.”

Even in the gloom, Harry could see Sirius smile. “I suppose so.” Then, after a pause, “Harry ...”

“Yeah?”

“Do you believe I'm a mass murderer?”

Harry hesitated, not sure what to say. The man seemed rough and ragged, but underneath he sensed there was more to him. As to whether he'd been a murderer, Harry had no idea. But, after all, he had been locked away all those years. And they didn't lock people away for nothing. He'd heard of cases where people had been proven innocent years later, but they were pretty rare.

“I suppose it is a bit much to ask,” Sirius went on, again with a tinge of sadness in his voice.

“Well,” said Harry awkwardly, “it's not as though I know you that well.”

“True enough.”

“You are on the run, aren't you?”

“Oh, yeah, I'm on the run all right.”

“So where are you going to go?”

Sirius gave a soft laugh. “Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts?” Harry repeated, startled.

“That's right.”

“Mind telling me why?”

“I'm tracking someone down.”

“And he's at Hogwarts?” A nod. “A teacher?” A shake of the head. “A pupil?” Harry asked, now completely baffled.

“Not a teacher, not a pupil.”

“Who then?” Harry thought desperately. “Filch?”

That brought a deep rumbling laugh. “No, not Filch. It's not something I want you involved in, Harry.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” savagely, “I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for!” Harry reeled back in shock. Black did want to murder someone! “It's not as simple as you think, Harry,” he went on more gently. “And I don't want you involved.”

Harry blinked. “Okay. Fine.”

“I'm a wanted man, Harry. You need to keep clear of me. It's dangerous.”

“So why come to Little Whinging if the person you want to kill is at Hogwarts?”

Another long sigh. “To see you, Harry.”

“To see me??”

“I did say James was my best friend at school. I was the best man at their wedding, you know.”

“I didn't.” Had Sirius been in those wedding photographs? Perhaps he had – but then trying to picture this man fourteen or fifteen years younger, and without those gaunt lines on his face – he wasn't sure.

“And ...” Black was going to say something else, but his voice tailed off.

“And?”

“Nothing,” said Black flatly.

“You were going to tell me something else.”

“No, I wasn't,” said Black sharply.

“You were!”

There was silence. Harry felt frustrated – he knew Black had something else to tell him, but he didn't know what. But the man remained silent, staring down at the ground.

Then: “Where are you going now you've run away?” Black asked, changing the subject.

“Dunno,” Harry said gloomily.

“You must have somewhere to go.”

“Nope.”

“No other relatives?”

“Nope.”

“No friends you can stay with?”

“Only magical ones. And that's no good, now I've been thrown out of Hogwarts.”

Harry could feel Sirius staring at him. “You must have somewhere!”

“I've told you, haven't I? Nowhere!”

“What are you going to do then?” in a quieter tone.

“Dunno.”

Sirius was silent again, but Harry could tell he was thinking something over. Finally: “I've got a place,” in a tone that was intended to be casual, but just failed.

“Oh?”

“A house in London.”

“Yours?”

“The Black family home.” And there was a touch of bitterness in his voice now.

“But won't your family be there?”

A laugh, the bitterness more apparent. “Brother died a long time ago. Mother some years back. No, it's empty. Has been for years.”

“So you're an orphan like me.”

“In a sort of way.”

“And the house is empty?”

Black nodded. Harry stared at him. Sitting in a park talking to an escaped convict was one thing, staying with him at his house was another. There was a long silence.

“I can understand if you don't want to,” Black said eventually in a low tone. Harry still said nothing, still wondering whether this was a good idea or not. Suddenly Black stood up, swaying slightly, and looked away. “I can find my own way there.”

“No! Wait,” Harry burst out. Black stood there watching him. “What happens when we get there?”

“When we get there – if we get there – I'll tell you the story of what really happened to your parents that night.” Harry looked at him open mouthed. No one had really told him about that before. Just that they'd been killed by Voldemort. Did Black know what had happened? Had he been there? As Harry gazed at him, wondering, Black sat down on the trunk again. “It's a long story. But – you remember I said I wasn't innocent?” Harry nodded. “Well, I didn't kill all those people. But – well, I'm the reason why your parents are dead.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to be able to tell you the story properly. But just let's say this – they were in hiding. I was supposed to have been their Secret Keeper. At the last moment we switched to someone else. I was too obvious. And it was the other person who betrayed them.”

Harry's wand was up. “Who? Tell me!”

Black shook his head. “You get the full story at Grimmauld Place.”

Harry screwed up his face. “Where?”

“Sorry. The Black house – in London.”

“How do I know it isn't a trap of some sort? That you're not going to take me there and hold me to ransom or something?”

“You don't. You have to trust me.”

Harry still wasn't convinced and gazed at him silently.

“You could help me track him down,” offered Black.

“If your story's true.”

Black nodded. “Yes. If my story's true.”

What choice did Harry really have? To sleep under the park bench here? And then what? Sooner or later the police would find him. What if he went up to London by himself? What chance did a thirteen year old have walking round London alone?

He lowered his wand. “Okay then.” He could sense the relief. “How do we get there?”

“You know more about Muggle stuff than I do. A train?”

“Yeah. But I'm not sure if they allow dogs on trains. And you can't go as you are.”

“That's true,” admitted Black.

Harry was suddenly struck by an idea. Yeah, it could work. “There is one way.”

“What's that?”

“Blind people. They often have guide dogs. I could pretend to be blind, and you could be my guide dog.”

Black sounded impressed. “Good thinking. So - have you got enough Muggle money to get us to London?”

As it happened, Harry had quite a lot of Muggle money. He'd changed a load of galleons last time he was in Gringotts. It wasn't for spending – the Dursleys would soon have noticed if he started buying stuff. It was an emergency fund, intended for times like this. If you didn't have money, you were stuck, and although Harry didn't have running away in his mind at the time, he thought having some sort of backup would be a good idea – just in case.

He'd scooped the money from the drawer of his bedside table on his way out, thankful that he had something to tide him over. He was a little reluctant to spend much of it just at the moment – he didn't know how long it'd have to last. Mind you, it'd just be his train fare, and a child's fare at that. And what was the alternative? Hitch hiking? Not a good idea.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I've got some.”

Black looked down. “What are you going to do with your trunk?” That was a good point. The station was a mile or two away. He didn't think he'd be able to lug something as heavy as that all the way to the station then halfway across London. “Transfigure it into a knapsack or something?”

Harry thought about that. “Yeah – but I don't want to use my wand unless I have to. The Ministry will have some way of finding out.”

“I could do it for you,” Black offered. “That way, no one would know.” Harry stared at him. Hand over his wand? To an escaped convict? Black obviously guessed what he was thinking, and Harry saw the look on his face, a look of disappointment at Harry's lack of trust.

“I can understand if you don't want to,” he said somewhat stiffly.

Harry realised he was going to have to trust him sometime if they were going to London together. He might as well begin now.

“Okay - here you are,” handing it over.

Black weighed the wand in his hand for a moment, and Harry wondered if he'd done the right thing. Then Black bent over, tapped the trunk, and it shrunk down to the size of a small backpack. He lifted it for a moment to feel its weight, then tapped it again.

“Try that.”

Harry hefted the bag onto his back. It was comfortable and very light. “It's fine,” he said.

“Your wand,” said Black, slightly formally, proffering it.

“Thanks.”

Well, he'd survived that. He put the bag down on the ground, then opened Hedwig's cage. The owl hooted slightly, then fluttered out and perched on his shoulder. He reached up to stroke a few feathers.

“Hello, old girl. I'm off to London. I'm sure you'll be able to find me when I get there. In the meantime – if you want to go off hunting ...?” Another soft hoot. “Okay then. Off you go. Good hunting. See you soon.”

Hedwig stretched her wings, took off, and glided off into the darkness. Harry watched her go with a slight pang.

He turned back to Black. “You'll have to shrink her cage.” He handed over his wand. Black tapped the cage, and it shrunk to the size of a matchbox. “Thanks.” Black handed the wand back, and he stuffed the tiny cage into the bag.

“Right. We need two more things,” Harry said. “A white stick for me, and a guide dog harness for you.”

“A guide dog harness?”

“Yeah. It has straps that go round the dog's chest, and a handle that sticks up. The idea is that I hold the handle, and the dog is supposed to lead me.”

Black thought about this for a moment, nodded, then looked round. He bent down and picked up a pebble, then reached out a hand for the wand. Harry passed it over. He could see Black pause for a few seconds, then he tapped the pebble lightly with the wand.

“Like this?” Black handed it over. Harry looked at the harness.

“Yeah, that looks good.”

“A white stick – I'll put a camouflage spell on your wand. That means you'll have it to hand as well.”

“Good thinking.”

Black murmured something else, and the wand suddenly became three foot long, with a handle at one end. Another mutter, and it turned a gleaming white.

“Just the thing,” as Black passed it back to him.

“And I didn't attack you,” said Black lightly.

“Perhaps you need me – to get to London, or as a hostage or something.”

“Getting to London's no problem. And, actually, if I did want to attack you, I'd be much better off doing it as a dog.” Harry remembered the huge beast he had first seen. He shivered slightly – he wouldn't have liked to have been in those jaws. “But I can look cuddly enough if I want to,” Black added. “Guide dogs aren't supposed to be fierce. Though when we're in London, I'll keep an eye open for you.”

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were always going on about thieves and muggers lurking round every street corner, and he knew some parts of London could be pretty dodgy. Posing as someone blind, he'd be an obvious target.

“Give a good growl if you see someone dodgy.”

“I'll do that.” Black paused. “You know, that's the first bit of magic I've done in nearly twelve years now. Glad to see I haven't lost my touch.”

Harry looked down at the bag and harness. “Must have been Professor McGonagall's teaching.”

“Yeah. Something like that. Right then, shall we be going?”

“Hang on a sec.” Harry had two hundred pounds stashed in his back pocket, and he didn't want to flash it around. He had trusted Black with his wand, but he still didn't want the convict to know how much cash he was carrying on him. He turned sideways a moment, whipped out the money, peeled off a twenty pound note, and stuffed the rest back as quickly as he could. “Sorry,” he said awkwardly.

“Very sensible, actually. You get all sorts of people in parks like this.”

Harry gave a sudden giggle. “Runaways and convicts?”

“Exactly,” said Black, gravely.

“Right then. Going to change?”

“You'd better have a name for me – as a dog, I mean. Calling me Sirius might not be a good move.”

Harry stared at him. “Good point.” What would be suitable for a dog's name? “You were in Gryffindor with my dad?” Black nodded. “How about Gryff?”

“Sounds okay. Better than Rover.”

“Yeah.”

And as Harry watched, the tall man began to shrink and change in a blur of motion. Before Harry could sort out what was happening, the dog stood in front of him, tail wagging slightly.

“I've got to get this harness on you,” Harry said apologetically. The tail wagged again, and Harry bent down and and picked it up. It felt awkward, fastening the harness round something that had been a man a moment or two ago.

“Okay then,” as he straightened up. “The station's a mile or two away. I know a short cut through the woods. When we get close to the station, I'll do our blind boy impersonation.”

Another wag of the tail. Harry set off down the path, the dog trotting along at his side. He knew the woods quite well; he had spent many an afternoon exploring the neighbourhood in preference to staying in Privet Drive. It was different in the dark however. He kept telling himself that if he'd survived the horrors of the Forbidden Forest, then a clump of trees in suburban Surrey was not going to hold any terrors. And he felt strangely re-assured by the large dog walking by his side – even if that dog was an escaped convict and mass murderer. Or was he? Harry didn't know what to believe any more. But Sirius had known his mum and dad. He said he'd been best friends with James. Didn't mean he couldn't have turned nasty later. On the other hand, he didn't get any sense of menace from the man. A feeling of weariness, perhaps, but also of great determination.

He sighed. Whatever Sirius was – he'd started thinking of him as 'Sirius' now, rather than 'Black' - he'd cast his lot in with him now. He could turn back, but it was leaving things a bit late. And he didn't fancy getting into a fight with a dog that size. Sirius in dog form could rip out his throat without any problem.

They walked along the path, dark underneath the overhanging trees, the breeze rustling the leaves, and it was some while before he saw the lights of the main road ahead.

“Gryff? There's the station. We'll be on the road in another hundred yards, then it's time for the blind boy act.”

The dog kept on walking, but they slowed down as the path meandered right and started heading towards the station. Harry reached down and grasped the handle of the dog harness. It was just the right height. Then he remembered - he still had his glasses on. He slipped them into a pocket, and the street lights took on a hazy outline. Being without his glasses would help in his impersonation, he thought. He certainly wouldn't be able to read notice boards or anything like that without them.

He held his watch up close to his face. Only just past eleven o'clock. Somehow he felt it ought to have been much later. He supposed it had been about eight when he'd stormed out of Privet Drive. And he only hoped there'd be no one at the station who'd recognise him. Another thing – he hoped there were still trains running at this time of night. There must be, he thought – the last one was after midnight.

Now out on the road, he started tapping the ground ahead with his stick. They had to go slower now, and gradually they made their way along the road to the station entrance. Sirius was leading him now, in a good impression of how a guide dog should act. The ticket office would be closed at this time of night, so he didn't have to worry about that. He knew the trains to Waterloo went from Platform One, nearest the ticket office, so he wouldn't have to go over the bridge either. The ticket office. That'd be closed at this time of night. He'd have to get a ticket on the train.

Sirius led him slowly onto the platform and stopped. Harry looked round, not focussing on anything, but noting things from the corner of his eye. At the far end of the station was a rowdy gang of teenagers, obviously coming back from a night out. One was kicking an empty can around, the sound echoing around the platform. Harry could see Dudley in that lot in a few year's time. A middle aged couple with some luggage. Keep clear of them too, he thought, otherwise he'd find himself being asked questions as to why a blind thirteen year old boy was on a station at this time of night by himself.

He didn't know when the next train was. Judging by the number of people on the platform, there hadn't been one for some time. Standing there waiting, doing nothing, was trying on the nerves. He moved sideways a little so as to be clear of the platform entrance. The youths at the far end were getting noisier. Sirius growled a little.

“Hush,” he said quietly, giving the smallest of tugs on the handle. He caught a glimpse of the dog looking up at him.

A few more people were coming on to the platform now; he did his best not to look at them directly, and to keep his eyes unfocussed. He was grateful his wand was in his hand, even if was disguised as a white stick. Not that he wanted to use it. He imagined the penalty for performing magic here in front of all these Muggles would be far worse than doing it at home.

Ah. He could hear something. Your hearing was supposed to become more acute if you couldn't see – or so he'd read somewhere. A train. But it was from the wrong direction, and it swept through the station in a roar of noise, not stopping. More waiting then.

And he was aware he'd caught the attention of the yobbos at the far end. One or two were pointing at him. That was the last thing he needed, to draw people's attention to himself. He could sense Sirius' hackles rising.

“Ignore them,” he whispered.

Another growl.

Thank Heavens! A train was coming. The yobbos turned away. He felt the brush of air as it came past, slowing down. The doors hissed open. He took a step forward.

“Want a hand?”

A voice from behind his shoulder. A young woman, by the sound of it. He half turned his head. A rather attractive young woman. Early twenties? Sirius gave a slight 'woof'. 'Down, boy,' he whispered mentally, with a slight chuckle.

“Thanks. Gryff's very good, though,” as the dog began to lead him forward. He swept his stick in front of him, keeping up the act.

“I'll make sure they don't close the doors on you. That's it – step up now.”

Harry made his way onto the train, the woman just behind him. He could smell her perfume.

“Where'd you like to sit?”

“Oh, anywhere there's room for Gryff here. I'm not worried about the view.”

“No, I suppose not. Over here,” she said, leading him to a pair of seats facing each other.

Sirius sat on his haunches, looking from the woman to Harry. Harry did his best not to smile. It was going to be difficult talking to this woman all the way to Waterloo without actually looking at her.

“What's your name?” she asked.

“Oh, um, Neville,” grabbing at the first name that came into his head.

“I'm Kate.” He gave a smile in her general direction. “It's a bit late for you to be out on your own, isn't it?”

He hadn't got a cover story worked out yet. “I like to be independent,” he said.

“Of course. Well, you seem to be coping. And your dog must be very helpful. What's his name again?”

“Gryff.”

“Right. He does look a bit fierce.”

“Very protective,” Harry assured her.

The train was swaying through the darkened countryside now. Forty minutes to Waterloo. Harry realised he wouldn't be able to look at his watch, and he thought asking the time might not be a good idea. Don't draw attention to yourself – that was the mantra running through his head.

From further down the train he heard the cry, “Tickets, please.” He reached into his pocket for the twenty pound note, and clasped it until he heard the man next to him, then held it up.

“Single, child, Little Whinging to Waterloo.”

“That's eight pounds then.”

He felt the note being plucked from his fingers, and he held out his hand, open, palm up.

“Your ticket.” He slipped into the top pocket of his shirt. “And your change.” A note, and two pound coins. He stuffed the money away in his trouser pocket without looking at it.

Kate paid for her ticket, then as she was putting it away, asked: “How do you know if you're not being cheated on your change?”

“I can tell the coins easily enough by touch.” She nodded. “Notes are more difficult. But they feel very slightly different between the fingers,” he added inventively. “Doesn't always work, but usually does. I didn't bother checking this time – I didn't think he'd try anything on with you sitting opposite.”

“I suppose not. Do you mind me asking ...” - she paused, and Harry knew what was coming next - “can you see at all?”

Harry shrugged. “Some. A little. If I hold the notes right up to my nose, I can usually make out the colour.”

“Right.”

Sirius had settled himself down, and was asleep by the look of things. Harry decided that wasn't a bad idea. Besides, it might stop the questions. He let his eyelids droop. The train rattled along. He saw in his mind's eye Aunt Marge floating off into the sky; Uncle Vernon was yelling at her, and Aunt Petunia was standing back, looking terrified. Somehow Sirius was there too, first as a man, then as a dog; barking and taking great impossible leaps into the sky at Aunt Marge, who was swaying at the end of a long rope.

“Neville? We're there now.”

He felt a tap on his knee. So he had actually fallen asleep. “Um, thanks,” he said groggily.

The train had almost stopped and people were getting to their feet. He knew that his next problem would be in getting rid of Kate. She'd almost certainly want to stay with him until someone came along to collect him. He had to think fast.

“Could you do me one last favour?” he asked.

“Of course. What's that?”

“If you could just take me to a phone box, so I can ring my aunt and uncle?”

“No problem.”

The doors were open now, people were getting off, and the train was almost empty now. Guided by Sirius, and sweeping his stick in front of him, Harry made for the doors, being careful not to make it obvious he knew where he was going. Once on the platform, he hesitated for a moment. Walking through the crowd of people getting off the train, whilst pretending to be blind, would not be easy. Then he realised that with his white stick and 'guide dog', people were giving him a wide berth.

He pointed his stick left. “This way?” he asked Kate.

“That's right.”

He felt the tug on his handle as Sirius moved off. They came out onto the station concourse, nearly empty at this time of night.

“The phones are over there,” said Kate. “Turn a little to your right – that's it. About twenty yards ... that's it.”

He fumbled his fingers up and down the door to find the handle, then pulled it open.

“Won't be a minute,” he said.

“No rush,” Kate replied cheerfully.

He squeezed inside with Sirius, and lifted the receiver. He dialled a number almost at random, but with his finger over the bar. When he'd finished dialling, he lifted his finger off, and listened to the buzz of the dialling tone. After a moment or two, he mimed putting a coin into the slot.

“Right, Sirius,” he said, “we've got to get rid of her. After that, we find the gents, and you can become human again for as long as it takes for you to tell me how to get to Grimmauld Place. Taking a bus won't be easy unless you do your guide dog impression again, and a taxi will be too expensive. Got that?” There was a 'woof' from by his knees. “Okay then. Now to send Kate on her way.”

He replaced the receiver and stepped out. “My aunt and uncle are coming to collect me,” he lied, “but they'll be twenty minutes or more yet. You get on – I'll be fine.”

Her face screwed up in a frown. “Are you sure?”

Yes, I'm sure. Just leave me be, will you? But he put the smile back on his face. “Yeah. Just guide me to a seat in the middle, and I'll sit and wait for them. I'm fairly conspicuous – they can't miss me. And Gryff is a good guard dog as well as a guide dog.”

Sirius gave a very ominous growl, and Kate stepped back for a moment. “Yeah, I see what you mean. It's almost as if he could understand what you said just then.”

“Oh, he's a very intelligent dog. Sometimes.”

A sound very much like a snort came from below.

“Right then – well ...” She turned round to look. “Walk ahead – the seats aren't far.”

Sweeping the stick in front of him, he started walking. As he approached the seats, it was difficult not to slow down to avoid running into them.

“Stop.” He tapped the seats with his cane, then leaned forward to grasp an arm, and swung round to sit down. “You sure you're going to be all right here?” She was looking at him with a very dubious expression on her face.

“Absolutely,” he said.

“I dunno – it seems a bit much to be leaving you here like this – particularly at this time of night.”

“No problem,” said Harry. “You be on your way, and thanks for all the help.”

“If you're really sure ...” still very reluctant.

“Perfectly. I'll be fine. Honest.”

“Okay then.” Still hesitant, she glanced round and then back at Harry.

“Thank for your help, Kate.”

“That's okay. I must say – the way you cope is very impressive.” Harry gave a little shrug, suddenly embarrassed at the way he was deceiving her. “Bye then.”

He raised a hand. “Thanks. Bye.”

Harry stared off to one side as she walked away, but making sure she was in view from the corner of his eye. At the top of the escalator to the Underground, she hesitated, turned for a moment. Harry willed her on. Then she turned back and disappeared.

“Thanks Heavens for that,” he whispered to Sirius. “We'll give it five minutes, then head for the gents.”

He loosened his grip on the handle of the harness, and leaned back. Now Kate was gone, he felt a sudden twist of apprehension in his stomach. Alone, in London, and heading for the home of an escaped convict. Was this really a good idea? But he hadn't come up with an alternative so far. He closed his eyes. What a mess ... then suddenly he was jerked awake by a damp nose prodding his hand. He must have dozed off.

“Oh – sorry about that, Sirius.” He scanned the concourse. The coast seemed clear. He looked round for the sign for the gents. “Okay, over we go.”

He got to his feet and followed Sirius in the direction of the toilets. Once inside he relaxed. He scanned the cubicles. All empty. He bent down and unbuckled the harness.

“Right, Sirius.”

In a blur too fast to see, the dog had become a man. “Well done there, Harry. Now, Grimmauld Place is about five or six miles from here. It's a long walk. Are you up to it?”

Frankly, at this time of night, no, but he didn't have much choice. He certainly didn't want to spend any more money on a taxi. And he didn't want to do his blind boy impersonation in London at night. He nodded. “Yeah. What about you?”

“I've just walked the length of Britain, so don't worry about me. Just follow me, and I'll lead you there. Oh – give me the stick ...”

Harry handed it over, and Sirius tapped it. It shrunk back to a wand again. Sirius gave it back, smiled, then, in another blur, became a dog again. Harry remembered something else, and reached into his pocket for his glasses, and slipped them on.

“That's better – I can see now. Okay, lead the way. The faster we're out of the station, the better.”

They left the harness lying on the floor. Just as they were leaving, Harry had to dodge someone coming in. Just as well it wasn't thirty seconds earlier, he thought. He wondered what whoever it had been would make of an abandoned dog harness lying on the floor in the middle of the gents' loos. But they were out on the brightly lit concourse now, and heading for the exit. Once they had reached the darkness outside, Harry said: “You can slow down now.” Sirius turned and looked at him with an almost doglike smile, and reduced the pace.

The area around Waterloo station was distinctly disreputable in the daytime, and worse at night. The road led down into a pedestrian subway, then into a large open concrete space below ground level, around which the traffic circulated. Harry could see outlines of people in the shadows, people who had nowhere to go, people who might have a drug habit to feed, people who might see him as an easy target, and followed close behind the big dog. Sirius was heading towards an exit at the opposite end where two figures lurked, their tracksuit hoods pulled up over their heads. Sirius slowed and began a deep, loud growl. Harry saw the heads turn and take in the size of the dog facing them. They backed off, leaving the exit clear, and Harry made his way out, thankful for the protection.

They crossed Waterloo Bridge, the lights shimmering on the rippling water, then turned right, heading east. After fifteen minutes or so, they began to leave the more prosperous commercial area behind. Now the streets around were filled mainly with small shops and businesses. Sirius was walking on ahead, behaving in the usual doglike fashion: taking in smells, sniffing lamp posts, but all the time turning his head to keep an eye on Harry.

They passed a brightly lit MacDonalds, and Harry suddenly realised he was starving. He whistled, and Sirius turned. He jerked a thumb at the restaurant, and Sirius wagged his tail. Harry went in and ordered two of the largest and cheapest burgers he could find. Not very healthy, he knew, but he'd be burning off a lot of calories. He took them outside, and put one of the packages on the ground. Sirius eagerly snuffled inside it, and the burger disappeared in a couple of huge quick gulps. Harry tackled his more slowly – it would be something to occupy himself with as he walked along.

But the burger was soon gone, and they were tramping down street after street until they all merged into one as far as Harry was concerned. He looked at his watch – nearly 3 a.m. No wonder the streets were so empty. It had only been – what, seven hours? - since he'd blown up his aunt. And so much had happened since. His flight from Privet Drive, meeting Sirius, the train journey, and now this. He remembered he'd had to pack away his school books for Aunt Marge's visit. He'd been learning some of his Potions text book before her arrival. Let's see now, what were the uses of moonstone? Then he remembered with a jolt that it wouldn't matter any more – there wouldn't be any more Potions lessons now he was expelled. At least, he assumed he'd been expelled. If not, he'd put himself into a lot of danger for no good reason. Still, there was one silver lining – no more Potions lessons meant never having to see Snape again.

His legs grew heavier and heavier, until he found he couldn't walk any more. Not just for the moment. His muscles felt like jelly. He flopped down onto a bench; Sirius came trotting back.

“Sorry, Sirius, I've just got to take a breather. Legs are killing me.”

The dog sat on its haunches and panted slightly, its eyes on him. Harry felt a little delirious and wondered how further they had to go. It would be getting light soon – that might help. Grimmauld Place – he wondered vaguely where that was, and as he thought about that, he felt his head lolling down onto his chest. A wet nose made its way into his hand once more.

“Sorry about that, Sirius.” He gave a huge yawn. “How far to go now? Wag your tail for the number of miles.” He saw the dog think for a moment, then he gave a solitary wag of its tail. “I just hope you're right.”

He lurched to his feet, swayed for a moment, and began walking again. His feet were sore from pounding the pavement, his calf and thigh muscles ached. He walked along, oblivious to everything except the paving stones in front of him.

Then lights caught his eye. An all night store. They'd need food, particularly if Grimmauld Place had been empty for years. He stopped, and Sirius turned again.

“I'm going to get some provisions. There won't be anything at your place, will there?” The dog gave a slight shake of its head. “Okay then, wait there. I won't be long.”

He went inside, picked up a basket and went down the shelves. What would they need? Tea, coffee, milk, sugar, bread, butter. Eggs and bacon. Cheese. Some tins of beans. Not too much – he had to carry it some way yet. He took the basket to the checkout, and watched the sleepy checkout girl scan it all through. Two carrier bags full. Well, one for each hand. And another twenty pound note almost gone.

He left the minimarket to see Sirius a little way down the street. The sky was getting lighter now, and although weighed down by the bags, the break from trudging along seemed to have given him a second wind. Somehow the dawning of a new day seemed to put some strength back in him as well. He walked on, a little more aware of his surroundings, then realised Sirius had stopped and was looking up at a street sign. 'Grimmauld Place'. They were there!

Harry followed Sirius into a rather rundown and dingy square. Suddenly the dog stopped, and with that blur again, became a man.

“Okay, Harry?” he asked in a rather hoarse voice.

“I will be when I get inside and sit down.”

A slight grin from Sirius. “I know what you mean.” He looked round the square, but there was no one in sight. It was nearly five o'clock in the morning, after all. “Right. I shall need your wand to get in. Once we're in the hall, don't make any noise at all. I'll explain later. But no noise in the hall. Just follow me. Okay?”

Harry was too tired to argue. He just nodded. “Which house is it?”

Sirius smiled. “Follow me.”

As he stepped forward, something odd seemed to happen. The houses either side were moving apart somehow – and there, between them, appeared the gloomy forbidding fa&##ccedil;ade of a tall weatherbeaten house, its windows curiously blank. Sirius walked up to the front door, where Harry could see a big number '12'. He tapped the door with Harry's wand and muttered something. There was the sound of bolt after bolt being withdrawn, until finally Sirius turned the handle, and the door opened slightly. Sirius gave Harry his wand back.

“A bit paranoid, the Black family. Or just plain mad. Come on. And keep quiet.” Sirius pushed the heavy door half open, peered inside, waited for what seemed like an age, then turned back to Harry. “Follow me,” he whispered, and made his way into the darkened house.

Harry stepped inside, and immediately shivered. There was something ... wrong ... about the house. He couldn't have put it into words, he couldn't have explained his reaction – it was purely instinctive. In a sudden moment of panic, all his fears about following Black up to London boiled up in his mind.

“Come on,” hissed Black.

He had to make up his mind: turn and run, or follow Black inside. He took a deep breath and took a few more uncertain steps into the hallway. As Black closed the door, and the bolts slammed shut again, he nearly panicked, but he swallowed down his fear.

“This way,” Sirius hissed.

It was difficult to see in the gloom, but Harry followed the shadowy figure down the hallway, then further down some steps. Sirius pushed the door open and Harry followed him again. Murky light filtered in from tiny windows high in one wall.

“Your wand,” Sirius demanded, holding out a hand. Harry passed it over again, slightly reluctantly, but Sirius just pointed it at some lamps on the wall, which flickered into light.

“That's better,” handing the wand back.

They were in a dark dingy basement of a kitchen. Thick dust lay over everything. Sirius pulled out a chair, and brushed the worst of the dust off.

“Sit down,” he said. “I'm just going to scout around for a wand. There should be one in the house somewhere. You can use yours in here, by the way – this place is Unplottable.”

Harry felt relief at the thought of being able to do magic again. He brushed at the chair, then collapsed onto it, as Sirius disappeared back up the stairs. Despite his fears, his head fell forward onto his arms, and the next thing he knew was when Sirius was shaking him awake. He sat up, and Sirius put a plate of food and a cup of tea in front of him. Blearily he picked up a knife and fork.

But the food and hot drink gave him a momentary lease of life. Pushing the empty plate away, he saw Sirius sitting twirling a wand between his fingers.

“Found one?” he asked, nodding towards the wand.

Sirius nodded, a hard and distant expression on his face. “It belonged to my brother,” he said rather curtly. Harry remembered Sirius saying something about his brother being dead, so thought it better not to pursue that any further. “There's a room upstairs you can have. I'm afraid everything's pretty filthy, but it'll let you get your head down.” Harry nodded. “Come on.”

Sirius stood up, and Harry followed.

“Remember – quiet in the hallway.”

They went upstairs and Sirius opened a door. “In here. There's a bathroom opposite.”

“I think I need that now.”

Harry's bladder was near bursting. He used the loo and rinsed his hands: the water came out of the tap a deep rusty brown.

Sirius was waiting for him. Harry went into the room - there was a large bed in the centre, the cover dirty and ragged.

“The bedclothes will have been there for years, but there's an eiderdown you can climb under. Get some sleep, then we can talk. Okay?”

Harry nodded and slumped down on the bed, untying his laces and kicking off his trainers with a great sense of relief. He collapsed sideways, and was vaguely conscious of Sirius pulling an eiderdown over him before he lapsed into deep, dreamless sleep.