Innocence Lost and Found

Sirius smiled. ‘Harry, we have interesting plans for the rest of your summer . . . .’ He allowed his voice to trail off.

‘Well?’ asked Harry.

‘We'd better get out of here,’ said Sirius abruptly. ‘Ready to Apparate?’ he questioned Remus.

‘If you are.’

‘I thought you couldn't Apparate here,’ Harry interrupted.

‘Just not into your house,’ Remus explained as if they were back in his classroom and discussing Red Caps. ‘We can't Disapparate from inside, either, but from your front yard we can.’

‘Why didn't you?’

‘We wanted to see that you were all right. It's hard to do when you're not prepared.’

‘You also shouldn't Apparate when you've just been threatening to commit murder,’ Sirius added. ‘You try it when you're as angry as you can get and you're likely to splinch yourself.’ That explained, he turned back to Remus. ‘From behind those buildings, you think? Does that look safe?’

‘I think so.’ The three, with Hedwig still fluttering above them, and presumably with Harry's invisible luggage in tow, wandered as discretely around the building as they could. The high brick wall had no windows, and gave them the privacy they needed to avoid a citation from the Ministry of Magic, which was not, in all likelihood, pleased with them to begin with.

‘Trust me, Harry?’ asked Sirius.

‘Yes,’ said Harry doubtfully. He did trust his godfather, of course; and Hermione had babbled cheerfully about the experience of being Apparated when he had seen her the week before.

‘What's wrong?’

‘I really screwed up the first time I used Floo powder. I ended up in Knockturn Alley instead of Diagon Alley.’

Sirius raised his eyebrows. ‘That can't happen with Apparating. Well-- it can, but it won't, because you aren't doing anything except not putting up a fight. And even though the theoretic concepts behind Floo powder and Apparating are connected, the actual experience isn't the same. Okay?’

Harry felt slightly better. ‘Okay.’

Apparation certainly turned out not to be worth his anxiety; in the blink of an eye, he moved from the gloomy back door of a Muggle shop to a small, cozy house in what seemed to be an isolated area.

Once they had gone inside, Harry began a campaign to find out just what Remus had meant by ‘undercover.’ His quest was in vain, though. Sirius and Remus seemed to have entirely forgotten that they had suggested anything of the kind, and insisted on giving Harry food and healing potions, which he was forced to admit did stop the pain in his head.

‘I know what you want to know,’ Sirius finally announced.

‘What?’ asked Harry with as much mock-annoyance as he could muster. He could see that Sirius was teasing him, gently feeling him out, but he did not have the energy to react strongly.

‘You want to know when you can go outside and visit your friend.’

‘My friend?’

Sirius nodded. ‘He's still out behind the shed?’ he called to Remus.

Remus answered in the affirmative.

‘Fine, Sirius. Who or what is out there?’

Sirius shrugged. ‘Let's go see.’

He escorted Harry outside and around the mentioned shed, which Harry took care to notice had been reinforced in such a way that it could easily contain an untreated werewolf once a month. There, lazing happily in the sun, was a large, gray, horse-like animal. ‘Buckbeak!’ Harry exclaimed, and hastily bowed to the hippogriff, which lowered its head in return. Harry gently stroked the feathers that covered the great beast's front half. ‘He's doing okay?’ Harry asked Sirius.

‘Very well. He's a nice animal. Always gets me where I want to go, and he has a friendly disposition, by hippogriff standards.’

‘I know he does. That git Malfoy provoked him and then had his father make a big deal out of a little scratch just to get at Hagrid. And the Gryffindors.’ He looked Sirius in the eye. ‘Speaking of Gryffindors, what do you plan to do with me for the next four and a half weeks?’

‘I plan to have you play with Buckbeak for the rest of this afternoon.’

‘What do you play with a hippogriff?’ asked Harry, reluctantly allowing Sirius to dodge his original question.

‘This one likes fetch.’ Harry favored his godfather with a disbelieving look. ‘Go ahead. Try.’

A thick, sturdy, bright purple stick appeared at Harry's feet. Seeing that he had nothing better to do, he flung the stick from his body as hard as he could, loudly calling ‘Fetch, Buckbeak!’

To his great surprise, the hippogriff sprang to its oddly matched feet and dashed across the field after the stick, turning quickly once it had clamped the purple rod in its sharp beak and skidding to a stop in front of Harry.

‘Is this a joke?’ wondered Harry aloud.

‘Would I make this up?’ Harry suspected that the answer to that question was actually ‘yes, you'd make just about anything up,’ but in this case the hippogriff and his love for the game were both obviously as real as Harry.

The rest of the afternoon was spent happily engaged in the mindless game. The sun was warm and comforting, and the magical if dangerous beast was familiar in a way that a bedroom at Number 4, Privet Drive, could never be. He had just brushed a very receptive Buckbeak with the grooming implements he had found leaning next to the shed, and thought to himself that he had indeed learned something from Hagrid's class, when he was called inside.

His evening was punctuated by a dose of frightening-looking dreamless sleep potion which Sirius and Remus were of the opinion could do him no harm since any horrid event that might invade Harry's dreams had occurred months earlier anyway.

Sirius and Remus, for their part, had a private motive in giving Harry a sleeping draught. Primarily, of course, they wanted him to sleep through the night, since the circles beneath his luminous eyes made it painfully evident that he had not been doing so. Additionally, though, they wanted to ensure that Harry would not happen to wander downstairs in the middle of the night, as they themselves planned to do.

When Remus padded quietly downstairs in the early hours of the morning, he was surprised to see Sirius standing idly next to the curtained window, half-heartedly using his wand to make various objects soar around the room.

‘You're early,’ commented Remus, not wanting to startle Sirius while the other man had a wand in his hand.

Sirius gave him an ironic glance. ‘Want to guess why?’

‘Why?’

Sirius waved the wand toward the window. ‘The rain.’

‘Was there thunder?’ Remus asked. He had noticed the rain, too, but it hadn't awakened him; in fact, it had seemed rather gentle.

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Did the roof blow away?’

‘No, as it happens. I just woke up and heard the rain on the roof. And you know what I did?’

‘Came downstairs?’

‘Before that.’

‘What?’

‘Panicked. Just panicked. Went for my wand. I'd completely forgotten what rain on the roof sounds like. I thought there was some kind of strange invasion and I was wondering how whoever it was had found out where Harry was so fast, and wondering if he and you were all right, when I realized what it was. Rain. Can you imagine forgetting what rain sounds like when you're inside a house?’

‘I'm sorry.’

‘Don't be sorry.’ Sirius made an obvious effort to snap himself out of his reflective, sad mood. ‘Start working. Think he knows we remember?’

‘I'm not sure he remembers himself. No one's ever made a big deal of his birthday. It's a shame we can't throw him a real party, and invite all of his roommates and classmates and Quidditch teammates.’

‘He's not up to it, even if it were safe.’ Sirius paused, forcing Remus to meet his gaze. ‘Truth, Moony. How bad was that room the Muggles had him in?’

‘The room wasn't bad.’

‘Wasn't bad how?’

‘It was a perfectly ordinary bedroom, except the windows were barred, and the door was probably intended to seal a vault in a bank. The air was stale, obviously, but it wasn't unlivable. At least, it wouldn't have been if he had been allowed out for more than a few minutes once a day.’

‘Do you think they hit him more often than he says?’

‘He doesn't have the bruises to show for it. He obviously got threatened on a regular basis, and cuffed sometimes, but honestly, you've seen him play Quidditch. You can't hit what you can't catch.’

Each face saw disgust raised to its highest power reflected in the other. ‘It doesn't matter how good the seeker is. He still needs beaters,’ Sirius said grimly. ‘Do you think he's sick?’

Remus gave the question some consideration. ‘I think he's mostly hungry and tired. He's in a good place to come down with something, but he hasn't been exposed to any germs. And he is extremely magical. I certainly didn't notice anything when we were checking him out.’

‘That was what I thought, too, but I didn't want to hold a teenager to my standards. The 'if I'm in one piece I'm perfectly fine' philosophy is all right for me, but not for him. It's mad, thinking that I can help him. How can I convince him that he isn't responsible for this mess when I haven't entirely convinced myself that I'm not responsible for his miserable life? How do I stop him from having the dreams you know he's having when I'm probably going to have Azkaban dreams for the rest of my life?’

‘You'll manage.’

‘He was incredibly pale when he first came downstairs with his cousin.’

‘He was also sweating like he had a fever, but the fresh air and the food seemed to help. If we're lucky, just taking care of his basic needs will be enough, from a physical point of view.’

‘Moony?’

‘Yes?’

‘No one in this house is ever lucky.’

‘Then we're due.’ Finding the depressing subject exhausted, Remus searched for a more satisfactory one. ‘Where did you put the gifts?’ he asked, although he knew the answer full well.

Sirius grinned-- a welcome sight. ‘Up there.’ He pointed at the far corner of the ceiling, muttered a revealing spell, and floated several boxes down to places of honor on a nearby table.

‘Ron's and Hermione's are there, too?’

‘On top.’ Sirius made a face. ‘I wish we could give him more.’

‘You can. Later. We decided that that was best.’

‘I just want to see him spectacularly spoiled. Don't you?’

‘Yes, but we both know he doesn't know how to be spectacularly spoiled. Additionally, we both know that we don't know exactly what to spoil him with. Finally, we both know that you can't throw your money around the way you'd like to. You don't have any way of getting more.’

‘I'm going to demand interest from the Ministry when they declare me innocent.’

‘If that even happens, it could be a long way off.’

‘Don't remind me.’

‘I don't want to see you get carried away.’ Without responding, Sirius began to use his wand to paint the walls with swirls of bright color, and Remus followed by adding glittered letters that spelled out ‘Happy Birthday, Harry’ as they crawled through the curls of color as if alive. Balloons were summarily conjured and affixed to the ceiling, along with a banner adorned with a wish for a happy fifteenth birthday.

*************************

Harry hesitantly walked downstairs the next morning. He inwardly remarked on his unfitness to be in the House of the Brave at Hogwarts, since the mere thought of walking down a flight of stairs that did not even feature a trick step frightened him; but then he decided that as long as he walked down the stairs anyway, it did not matter that he was scared.

It did matter, however, he thought guiltily, that he was not able to draw a distinct line between the Dursleys, whom he had known were not the nicest of people for as long as he could remember, and Sirius and Remus, his parents' friends, who were every good thing you could think to say about a person. Someone did not have to be as exceptional as Sirius or Remus, though, not to believe that Harry should be locked in his room and unallowed to come to the part of the house where everyone else was.

Harry reminded himself that he did this every time he stayed with the Weasleys. The Weasleys even rescued him from the Dursleys on a regular basis.

He wondered if Uncle Vernon was still a spider.

That thought brought enough of a distraction from the stairs to allow Harry to propel himself down them. Reaching the bottom step, he was hard put to keep his mouth from falling open in shock.

The entire room before him seemed to sparkle with decorations that rivaled those found at Hogwarts on Christmas Day.

‘Harry? Are you just going to stand there?’ Sirius' voice cut through Harry's shock.

‘It's his birthday,’ said Remus, coming into view as well. ‘He can stand there if he wants to.’

‘All right,’ agreed Sirius amicably. ‘But we get to bring his presents over to him if he stays there.’

Remus nodded his consent. ‘Okay, Harry. Are you going to stand there or walk over to the table? And happy birthday,’ he added as an afterthought.

‘Happy birthday,’ Sirius repeated.

‘Is it really my birthday?’ Harry felt the need to ask. He had completely lost track of time.

‘Last time I checked, it was,’ said Sirius. ‘But I could be wrong. Are we sure it's his birthday, Moony?’

The two of them, Harry reflected, were beginning to sound like partners in a comedy routine, what with the way they incessantly played their words off of one another. He knew that such behavior was common among friends-- he and Ron frequently staged entire conversations just to tease Hermione-- but in the past he had almost always seen these two men separate, solemn, and, at least in the case of Remus, behaving like reasonably mature adults.

‘We're pretty sure,’ Remus was answering. ‘We were there, after all.’

‘You were?’ asked Harry, interested. Sirius snickered.

‘Your father was acting, well, like your father. Your mother kicked him out of the delivery room, so he called us over to keep him from climbing the walls. Fifteen years ago today. Now go open your presents. We want to see what you got.’

So did Harry, now that he thought of it. He went right to the business of unwrapping more presents than he had ever had at once before. From Hermione, along with a note pleading with him to be ‘all right,’ was a miniature model of a Quidditch field, with miniature players bewitched to re-enact some of the most famous Quidditch matches in history. Ron had gone with an old standby and sent Harry a box of the best jokes and sweets from shops in Hogsmeade. His card had also been signed by Ginny and both of the twins-- Ginny had noted that their parents and Percy weren't home, and Fred had injected that Harry didn't care and didn't want his card signed by them anyway, and Ginny had argued, and Ron had told them all that he was going to remove their contributions from the card. All in all, the signature section of the card went on for several pages and was one of the more entertaining things Harry had ever read. He decided to leave his internal debate as to which of the Weasley siblings to feel sorry for until a later time and open Hagrid's present, which was a seed from a rare-- but so far as Harry knew, harmless-- plant that grew in the Forbidden Forest. The plant was exceptionally magical in nature, and the coveted seeds were seldom available for private purchase.

The remaining four boxes had no cards attached. Harry reached for the largest square one, and carefully unwrapped the paper before nearly dropping the gift in surprise. Sirius mumbled something about how educational presents were horrible, but Harry's senses were full of the sight before him, even more impressive than Hermione's gift. It was a model of the galaxy, correct to the last detail, which revolved inside a glass ball. He had nearly bought a similar model himself just before his third year at Hogwarts, and was barely able to tear himself away from it to peek inside the next package.

This package was soft and pliant, and obviously contained clothing. Dudley had always loathed gifts of this sort, had not even included them in his overall ‘present count,’ but Harry, who had seldom owned clothes that fit, was as pleased with them as any others. The clothing, to his surprise, was Muggle in nature, and two watches, one of a Muggle variety and one of a wizarding variety, lay atop it. A stack of Quidditch books, and another stack of wizarding games, were hidden in the final two boxes.

Suddenly aware that he hadn't spoken during his unwrapping process, Harry looked up guiltily. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For everything. Thank you so much.’

Sirius shrugged. ‘Whoever left those didn't send a note. There's no need to say thank you.’

‘Well, if you happen to run into any suspicious-looking people who might send me birthday presents, would you let them know I said thank you?’

‘Of course. But I believe your breakfast's getting cold.’

His breakfast, Harry soon discovered, was more comparable to a Hogwarts feast than to any other breakfast he had ever eaten. The good food, combined with the fact that twenty-four hours earlier he had wondered if he would ever again have enough to eat, caused him to continue chewing and swallowing well after he felt full. When he at last put his fork down, he found that Professor Lupin-- Remus-- was watching him carefully, and he responded with a questioning glance.

‘Harry, can you answer a question for me honestly?’

‘I can try,’ Harry answered cautiously, hoping that he would be able to answer.

‘How do you feel? Physically?’

‘My head doesn't hurt anymore.’

‘Good. But that's not entirely what I meant. Do you feel sick, or very tired?’

Harry considered before answering. ‘Yesterday I thought I might be catching something horrible, but I feel a lot better now. Just . . . .’

‘Just?’ Remus prompted.

‘Nervous. Sort of. I don't know. I mean, I'm fine. Nothing hurts. You could send me back to the Dursleys. I'm healed.’

‘I'll try to forget that last suggestion.’

Harry winced. ‘I'm sorry--’

‘You don't have to be sorry. But since you're feeling up to it, there's another birthday present for you floating around somewhere.’ With that, Remus pulled a West Ham football hat from thin air. It apparently had been floating around.

Dean Thomas will approve, thought Harry as he examined the logo.

‘Know what that is?’ asked Sirius.

‘Other than a hat?’

‘Other than a hat.’

‘Not really.’

‘Put it on.’ Harry did so. ‘Now, look in a mirror. Accio.’ Sirius summoned a mirror from the next room. ‘Notice anything?’

‘No,’ said Harry, feeling extremely stupid. He marveled that Crabbe and Goyle could handle feeling this way on a daily basis.

‘Neither do I,’ answered Sirius. ‘I don't see your scar, and I don't see your rather distinctive hair.’

‘I tried to brush it.’

‘I don't know why you bothered, but that's not the point. This is not just a hat. It's a disguise. As you may have heard the other day, we're going undercover.’

‘What for?’

‘Basically because you're in the most obvious place you could possibly be, except maybe for Ron's house, and I don't think you should be disturbed for the rest of the summer.’

By ‘disturbed,’ Harry assumed that Sirius meant ‘taken back to the Dursleys and thrown under the stairs.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Muggle London. It's a big place, full of people, and if we don't use magic we'll be hard to track. Think of it as a holiday.’

Harry had already been thinking of the suggested adventure as a holiday. He'd only been to Muggle London a few times, with the Dursleys of course, and then it had been no more than an extra opportunity for Dudley to flaunt what he had and Harry did not. Even if he was putting Sirius, and probably Remus, at unnecessary risk, and even if to some degree he deserved to be sitting in the prison the Dursleys had built for him, he could not help but think that a trip to London, with his parents' best friend, would be nothing short of wonderful.

‘Are you up for it?’ Sirius asked.

‘Yes,’ said Harry firmly.

‘Good.’ He pulled a rather Muggle-looking duffel bag from the air near where the hat had been. ‘Go put on your new clothes. Put the ones you're wearing, and the school books you need to write your summer essays, and anything you can't live without for a few weeks in there.’ Harry nodded, and returned quickly, clad in clothes that felt strange because they fit. After a brief whirlwind of activity, which consisted largely of Sirius and Remus tossing back and forth a collection of acronyms that Harry was unable to decode and was quite sure he never wanted to learn about, Sirius Apparated him to what he assumed was a tube station.

‘Where are we?’ he asked.

‘Heathrow, unless I've lost my touch.’

‘If we're already in London, why are we at an airport? Especially considering you can Apparate us somewhere else?’

‘We can't Apparate directly to somewhere we expect to stay. The magical activity could be detected as odd. I don't imagine that anyone's actually looking for you if Dumbledore really did drop the spells for Remus and me, but we're better off safe.’

‘And they are looking for you.’

‘Not bloody hard, but that's true, too.’

‘So, where are we going? Specifically?’

Sirius plucked a map from a nearby pile. ‘We're going to . . . Ealing Broadway. Then we're taking the Central Line to Bond Street, and the Jubilee Line to Waterloo, and the Bakerloo Line to Elephant and Castle, and the Northern Line to Moorgate, and the Hammersmith and City Line to Paddington, and the District Line to Gloucester Road.’

‘You do know that the Piccadily Line goes straight from here to Gloucester Road?’ asked Harry as nonchalantly as he could, because some wizards, such as Ron's father, would have been unable to drag that detail from the depths of the map.

‘Obviously.’ Sirius gave Harry a playful nudge.

‘So are we doing this to cover our trail or just because you think it's funny?’

‘A little of both.’ Sirius began walking toward a stopped train, and Harry trotted beside him. ‘Do you have something against it?’

‘We don't have passes. We need them to get out.’

Sirius pulled a pair of passes from his pocket. ‘Any problem other than that?’

They were already on the train by now, so Harry guessed that any objection on his part would have to be rather important to stop Sirius' plan. ‘No. I almost wish--’ he broke off suddenly.

‘Wish what?’ The doors slammed shut in a manner oddly reminiscent of the door Uncle Vernon had put on Harry's room, and the train began to rock.

‘Wish Ron was here. He'd get a kick out of this. He loves doing things the way Muggles do them.’

Sirius smiled sadly. ‘Harry, I'm sorry that I couldn't throw you a real birthday party. I honestly am. You should have had Ron and Hermione and the rest of your friends, and a huge celebration, but there are so many things in the way.’

Harry turned sharply to face his godfather. ‘The celebration this morning felt pretty real!’

‘Oh, it was, but it's not what you should have had.’

‘I liked it. It was the best birthday I've ever had. The only one that came close was my eleventh.’ He nearly laughed at the memory.

‘Was that the day you got your letter?’

Harry nodded. ‘They'd been trying to send it to me for a while, but my aunt and uncle wouldn't let me see them. We ended up on a boat in the middle of a storm, and I was lying there on the floor trying to sleep, when all of a sudden Hagrid burst in. It was wonderful-- he scared them almost as badly as you did yesterday.’

‘That was when he gave Dudley the pig's tail?’

‘Right. Hey, is Uncle Vernon still a spider?’

‘It should have worn off by now. I would have done something more permanent, but you didn't seem to want me to.’

‘You're in enough trouble already.’

‘A little more won't hurt.’

‘It could. If it's Dumbledore you upset.’

‘He has a sense of humor. An odd sense of humor, but a sense of humor nonetheless.’

The train pulled to a stop at Ealing Broadway, and Harry and Sirius went off in search of their new train. Upon finding it, Harry began to study the map on the wall. ‘Where are we going after we get to Gloucester Road?’

‘Believe it or not, there are still some people out there who owe me favors and are willing to let me cash in. We're staying in a flat near Gloucester Road-- just a bed-sit, nothing fancy, but the locks are on the inside of the doors. As far as I know.’

‘That's a good part of the city! A really good part. Do you know what Muggles pay to live there?’

‘I wasn't going to take you into a slum, Harry.’

‘What are we going to do while we're there?’

‘First, we're going to complete your disguise.’

‘What else do I need?’

‘Contact lenses.’ Harry shrank back. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to put anything directly into his eyes. Maybe he could just take off his glasses without wearing contact lenses. He'd still be able to see. Sort of.

‘At the very least, less distinctive glasses. Do you even like those?’

‘Not at all.’

‘I suspected you didn't. Why do you wear them?’

‘They're what I have. I've always hated them, but I never thought of changing them. I couldn't, at first, when I was living with the Dursleys all year. There wouldn't have been a point, anyway, since Dudley was always punching me in the face and breaking them. And then, when I found out I was famous, and that everything I did ended up in the newspaper, I thought that if I changed them, there would be stories about how vain I was getting, and how I wanted to attract Hermione's attention, and whatever else. Besides, my Dad wore glasses almost like this.’

‘That's true, but there was a big difference.’

‘What?’ asked Harry interestedly.

‘He liked them.’

‘Why?’

‘He thought they were amusing.’

‘Why?’

‘Had a sense of humor stranger than Dumbledore's.’

Harry considered this statement. ‘I guess I'm not as much like him as people say.’

‘You aren't his exact duplicate. The physical resemblance is striking, but you couldn't be mistaken for him at the same age, not up close anyway. It's not just that you have Lily's eyes-- your posture is tighter, and you have a set to your jaw that he never had, not even toward the end. The scar, obviously. He had a few freckles that you don't. You share a lot of his personality traits, too, but you're more careful about some things, and less experienced in others-- you're Harry, you're not James, part two.’

‘I knew I couldn't be exactly like him.’

‘Of course not. And no one's asking you to be exactly like him.’

‘Why wouldn't they? He was practically perfect.’

‘You don't remember him at all. How can you possibly say that?’

‘Well, he was everything good about me, plus smarter, and a better leader, I mean, he was Head Boy, he was better at being a friend, there was just nothing wrong with him. Perfect and noble.’

Sirius laughed his dog laugh, the one that sounded like a bark. ‘I don't think it's fair to say that he was everything that's good about you. Some of the good in you comes directly from your mother, and some of it's all your own.’

‘But still--’

‘I can't swear to his intelligence or yours. I know that you have a fantastic gift for Defense Against Dark Arts that I've never heard of anyone else having, your father included. And I sincerely can't figure out why you don't think you're as good at being a friend as he is.’

‘It's not that, exactly. I'd do anything for Ron and Hermione, but sometimes I just need them.’

‘That's how it works.’

‘But I literally wouldn't be alive if I didn't have them. It's not only fighting trolls together or Hermione dropping her life to teach me a summoning charm, it's that I need to be patted on the head and told that they like me. The first summer after I went to Hogwarts, Dobby stopped my letters to try to keep me from going back. I felt horrible, thinking about how I didn't have any friends. And then we have me acting like an idiot, calling Hermione last week.’

‘You did exactly the right thing.’

‘They shouldn't have to take care of me all the time. I'm always getting dragged into things, and they get dragged with me.’

‘Again, that's how it works.’ Harry began to reject Sirius' statement, but Sirius would not allow him to interrupt. ‘You haven't noticed that I need, as you put it, Remus? You didn't see him keeping me from doing one stupid thing after another in the Shrieking Shack that first night we met? Would you like to hear about how when I first got to his house this summer, he practically had to spoon-feed me and tuck me into bed? This is how it works, Harry, for you and for your father and for everyone else. Most of what you know about your father comes from his reputation, correct?’

‘Correct.’

‘The reputation and the man aren't the same. Your father wasn't larger than life. He was life, but so are you. I don't want you competing with the ghost of someone who never existed. It can't be done.’

Harry was slightly embarrassed at having provoked such an impassioned speech from Sirius, and was glad when they had to switch lines again. That would provide a good opportunity to change the topic of conversation, although the previous topic had followed them on and off several trains. ‘What are we doing besides getting contact lenses?’

‘You're getting clothes. You're getting dropped off at a department store after I feed the salesperson a story about our house burning down and your needing an entire new wardrobe. Then you get whatever you want.’

‘That's a lot of money.’

‘And worth every knut-- er, pound.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do. You do understand that just about every child in this country takes properly fitting clothing for granted, right?’

Harry shrugged. He had often felt that way while growing up, spending his time being teased for wearing baggy hand-me-downs, but that had been the Dursleys' fault, not Sirius' fault. Sirius had spent that time in a situation far worse than Harry's; and Harry was now nearly an adult, old enough to buy his own clothes. ‘You really don't have to buy clothes for me. I mean, I wear robes at Hogwarts anyway.’

‘Do you think Hermione's parents, or Ron's parents, should buy clothes for them?’

‘I don't want you to--’

‘Don't want me to what?’

‘Do all of this for me. It's not your fault that I haven't always had nice clothes. It's the Dursleys' fault. You shouldn't try to make up for what they did.’

‘I'm not. I'm not even trying to make up for what I did, this time. I'm trying to make my fifteen-year-old, underage, not old enough to make these decisions for himself no matter what he might think, godson wear clothing that actually fits him. That's it. Understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry, leaning back in pretended fear.

‘Good. So you get your eyes examined and you get to go clothes shopping. Is this still the best birthday you've ever had?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Better than seeing Dudley with a pig's tail?’ They were changing trains again, and Harry wondered how much magic would be required to make the recorded voice say something other than ‘mind the gap.’

‘Better than that. Dudley's eleventh birthday was pretty great, too, though.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, we went to the zoo. They couldn't work out a way to leave me behind, and I was thrilled. I'd never been before. I ended up accidentally letting a boa constrictor out of its case. That was when I found out I could talk to snakes.’

‘Want to go to the zoo now?’ Sirius asked suddenly.

‘What?’

‘You don't have to talk to the snakes, but we're already in London.’

Harry had never considered returning to the zoo, but the Hammersmith and City Line did go right past Regent's Park, and Regent's Park was the home of the London Zoo. ‘Okay,’ he agreed willingly.

The walk through the park to the zoo was not inconsiderable-- Dudley would never have survived it-- but Harry decided that if he became tired that would only mean he'd lessen his chances of dreaming that night, or, worse, awakening Sirius while in the throes of a dream. Besides, Sirius told a wonderful story about soaring over the park at night on a broomstick, just barely staying hidden, that reminded Harry yet again of the strange ways in which the wizard and Muggle worlds overlapped.

Somehow, they found themselves in the reptile house soon after entering the zoo. (The ticket-sellers had not, as Harry had feared, recognized him from the incident of four years earlier and refused to admit him.) The building was not especially crowded, and Harry was far from being certain that his presence near the homes of the snakes was a good idea.

‘I want to see it again,’ he finally declared.

They approached the darkened corridor filled with glass cases and signs encouraging patrons to ‘Go Wild at the London Zoo’ but not to knock on the animals' cages.

‘That was it. Right there,’ Harry half-whispered. As if in a trance he walked back up to the glass, as if minutes, not years, had passed since his last visit. A sleeping snake suddenly raised its head, and most definitely looked directly at Harry.

Hello, it hissed.

Harry glanced around. No one but Sirius was paying him any mind. ‘Hello,’ he answered, not knowing if he was speaking English or Parseltongue.

You are the one. You have returned.

‘The one?’

You released the snake that used to live here.

‘Well, yes, that was me. Did he get to Brazil?’

I don't know. It is very isolated in here.

‘I'm sorry. It must be miserable.’

You know what you can do.

‘I can't. It would be too dangerous. For me, and for you.’

It never hurts to ask.

‘I really wish I could help you.’

Think nothing of it.

‘May I-- may I ask you something?’

There's no one else here for me to talk to.

‘Well, that's it, actually. How did you know it was me? How did you know you could talk to me, or that I could talk to you?’

It's a feeling.

‘Like a radar?’

A radar?

‘Did you know when I walked into the building? Could you feel me getting closer?’

No. I knew when I saw you that I had seen you before, not I, but another snake. All snakes are one, in a certain way. I wish I could explain to you.

‘Do you know how many people in the world can talk to you like this?’

Just two. You and one other.

Harry's heart was pounding. ‘Do you know where he is?’

No.

‘Harry! Harry!’ Sirius interrupted, grabbing Harry by the shoulder. Harry knew, without looking around, that other zoo visitors were starting to notice the unusual behavior of the snake.

‘But Sirius,’ Harry began to protest, when the mildly shaken expression on Sirius' face made him stop. Waving goodbye over his shoulder to the snake, Harry hastened from the building before turning again to Sirius. ‘Am I speaking English now?’

‘Yes. Harry, that was amazing! I've never seen-- nobody's ever seen--’

‘A real live Parselmouth.’

‘Well, yes. What did you say to him?’

‘Nothing really. He knew about the boa constrictor, and wanted me to let him out. I asked how snakes know that I can talk to them before I do, and he said something about, I don't know, a general snake over-consciousness. He said that there are only two people in the world who can speak to him. I asked if he knew where the other one was, and he said no, and that was when you pulled me away.’

‘I think you've just increased the knowledge of the magical world, but you don't need to worry about where that other Parselmouth is right at this moment. What good is it going to do you to know?’

‘We could send Cornelius Fudge over for a visit.’

‘I appreciate the irony, but it's not a very realistic plan.’

‘What is a realistic plan?’

‘Going to the restaurant for lunch.’

Harry had to admit that that was about as realistic as plans got, and he thoroughly enjoyed his meal, in part because comparisons to his life at age eleven were at the forefront of his mind. He had everything now that he'd wanted then, even the things he had not known he'd wanted-- and deserved. He wished that he could trade it back, though, and in return send Voldemort into exile once more, a permanent exile. The trade he wanted to make was an impossible one, he knew. Maybe he should just enjoy his dessert-- his own dessert, not Dudley's reject.

After lunch, Harry and Sirius wandered back through the zoo, not paying overmuch attention to the animals until an elk crossed its yard and planted its feet atop the low wall that separated it from its admirers. It craned its neck to reach above the iron bars (iron bars like the ones in the Dursleys' house) and, without provocation, nuzzled Sirius' cheek with its nose. Unperturbed, Sirius gave it a pat on the neck.

‘Sirius?’ asked Harry, as he gave the elk a scratch behind its ear, ‘Can it tell that you're an’ he dropped his voice ‘animagus?’

‘Not unless it's magical. And I've never heard of a magical elk.’

‘But why?’

‘Because it's friendly and it realized I'm a wonderful person?’

‘That's all?’

‘That's all. It doesn't know that I could turn into a dog and kick it into next week.’ Harry surprised himself by snickering, and Sirius turned to him, outraged. ‘You think I couldn't take it? It doesn't even eat meat.’ The idea struck Harry as at once completely Sirius and completely ridiculous from a Muggle point of a view, and his snickering turned to full-blown laughter. The smile almost hurt as it hit his eyes for the first time in a long, long time.