Of Western Stars

“‘T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die…
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”
-Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson


which seemed to reflect Sirius’ goal quite well, his desire to succeed, his impatience, and the injustice against him.



Story dedicated to Moppet Poppet, Cheating Death’s 500th reviewer!


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Of Western Stars
By neutral

Chapter seventeen - of lessons of faith

Remus’ hand was trembling when he threw the pinch of green powder into the fireplace. Still winded from his run back to Arabella’s house, his voice came out raspy when he called into the flame.

Dumbledore seemed to have sensed his distress; he appeared almost instantly, the lines on his face deeper and the rings around his eyes darker. His blue eyes were weary and tired when they rested on his former pupil.

It was hard for the headmaster, with the minister more in denial than ever, to trace the boy and run a school at the same time. At the news of Harry’s disappearance, Fudge became even more desperate.

Terrified that the hush-up of Sirius Black’s escape would whiplash him and brand him with the fault of failing to protect The Boy Who Lived, he covered up the entire news with inches of thick cement. When that threatened to crack, he sought to place the entire blame of the Dursleys, fabricating a story that they had been guilty of murder and turning the fault to Dumbledore for ever leaving Harry there (as much as Remus thought the Dursleys deserved that guilt, having Dumbledore incriminated outweighed that good by tons). Only the fear that Dumbledore would expose Black’s escape made him stay his hand.

Remus drew a deep breath, the words were ready to burst free in a flood of suppressed frustration and bitterness of the past days. “I know where they are… Sirius took a taxi four days ago… he had Harry with him…”

Dumbledore tensed, eyes brightening with a restrained relief. “Where are they?”

“Thirty miles northwest of here, in a small suburb. He drew me a map, but said he couldn’t remember the exact location,” Remus said, still paler than usual. “There’s about an area of five miles they could be in. I’m guessing it could take me about three to five days to track them down, unless Sirius moved already…” he trailed off, pushing back his hair wearily.

“How is Harry?” Dumbledore urgently asked.

Remus drew a shuddering breath, the chair all but forgotten as he sat on the floor. “I don’t know… I don’t know. That man was pretty vague.”

Dumbledore’s frowned thoughtfully, eyes glazing out of focus. “What about Sirius?”

Remus shook his head again. “Sirius was trying to help him.”

Instead of appearing surprised or even confused, Dumbledore became more thoughtful than ever. A brooding distant look passed over his demeanor like a mask. Remus couldn’t help but wonder if Dumbledore had foretold this somehow, or even expected it. But whatever speculations the headmaster had, he kept them to himself.

“Did he?” Dumbledore asked softly.

“The man said he wasn’t paying attention, but Sirius had a first aide kit and was trying to bandage his wrist or something. He said Sirius looked really upset, really worried,” Remus trailed off, staring at the floor numbly. “The man thought Sirius was Harry’s father.”

A suffocating quiet filled the room as both men sat, lost in their own thoughts, not even aware of each other’s presence.

“He’s too young…” Remus whispered.

Dumbledore dropped his head, his blue eyes almost grey with the darkness swimming through them. “He is. He’s too young to sustain that sort of damage regularly. Harry’s condition could be much more serious than we all assumed. Only two months ago, he came dangerously close to catching pneumonia after lying ill with the flu for over two weeks. For a six year old, undernourished boy, it takes a while to fully recover. If he caught another illness in this short period of time, the repercussions could be rather serious.”

Remus swallowed, his throat almost choking him. “Then… Harry’s life is completely in Sirius’ hands, isn‘t it?” he whispered, dread sinking like ice in his stomach.

Dumbledore sighed, turning away. “Yes, it is.”

“Then, he may use Harry against us, or he might have… disposed of him altogether,” Remus whispered hoarsely.

Dumbledore said nothing, but another shadow passed over his face. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions just yet,” he said.

Remus was too preoccupied to notice the thoughtful look of the headmaster. Apart of him was still whispering bitter betrayal, but inwardly praying that Sirius had a soft spot for James’ son. He’d be relieved and thankful enough to even embrace the traitor if he found Harry carefully taken care of. The other was still logical, wondering why Lily and James’ murderer would stop short of their son. It just didn’t add up.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Remus said suddenly. “The only explanation to this is that Sirius wants to use Harry as a tool for Voldemort…”

“No, we can’t conclude that, Remus. There’s more to this than what meets the eye,” Dumbledore muttered. “Act with discretion. I know you have many emotional ties to this, but please don’t do anything if you find them; bring them to Hogwarts immediately.”

*

Harry was stiff, the fiery rage of the dream still lingering in the back of his mind. He squeezed his eyes together tightly, trying to block out the light.

That man, the stranger who helped him was Sirius Black. He was being aided by a murderer the entire time! Harry shivered at just the thought.

But… that couldn’t be right.

Sirius seemed to care about him. He was going out of his way to help him, to make sure that he would recover and to make sure that he was well. He even called a doctor for him, bandaged the cuts, even sat by his bed through the night when he felt ill. He was pale with worry when Harry retched every single one of his meals during the first few days, and thinned out even faster than the child did. Sometimes, Harry wondered if Sirius wished those injuries were inflicted on him just to spare Harry the pain.

How could he be evil if he was so kind?

// ‘I trusted you, Peter. I told James to trust you.’ \

Harry stilled.

// ‘You betrayed them to Voldemort!’ \

That name felt like ice in his stomach, making his skin prickle and crawl. Was it…?

Harry forced those voices away, nestling deeper in the warm blankets. His body was numb and heavy, but his side only stung mildly at the movement. That was when he noticed his inclined position, as if someone was holding him upright. He was leaning against something stiff and bony, but reassuring in its presence.

A hand lightly brushed his hair, a foreign gesture that made Harry startle and slowly open his eyes. The person beside him immediately stilled, waiting from him to adjust. Harry took in the wrinkled shirt against his cheek, the blankets tangling him in a small cocoon, and the slightly blurred, but visibly nervous face of the stranger staring down at him.

The contrast between him and the man in that dream was disorienting. For a long moment, Harry just stared, unsure of what to think. Tentatively, almost fearfully, the man laid his hand the child’s hair again, and when Harry didn’t flinch or whimper, brushed some stray locks from his forehead. Sirius’ movement pulled the collar of his oversized shirt from his shoulder, and for a brief second, Harry caught sight of a thin, discolored line etched between his neck and collarbone.

Harry stiffened, and Sirius instantly pulled away.

“That’s…” Harry didn’t even realized he had moved his hand until he was almost tracing the frayed flesh. “That man with the knife gave it to you. He…”

But the moment Harry brushed his fingers over the scar, high pitched shrieks echoed through his mind. Harry jerked as if stabbed, snapping his hand back.

Sirius was so silent that he could hear his shallow breathing rattling through his chest. “What…?” he finally choked out.

“That man was evil,” Harry whispered, shuddering.

Sirius froze. He was so aggravated that Harry wished he could take those words back. “Who was evil?” he asked softly.

Harry paused, trying to recall the name. Was it Peter or Wormtail? He couldn’t remember. He turned his attention from the sniveling, beady eyed man, and looked up curiously. “You’re Sirius.”

The color drained from Sirius’ face at those words, the conflict almost audible in his mind. He seemed to be desperate to admit and deny it at the same time. His shoulders slumped in defeat. The arm across Harry’s shoulders tightened painfully, almost as if he was afraid the child would flee in terror.

“I don’t know what Remus told you, but I swear, I did not kill anyone,” he choked out desperately. He rubbed his eyes harshly, hand shaking with weariness. “You have to believe me, Harry. I didn’t kill anyone. I was…” He broke off abruptly, indecisive again.

Harry blinked, perplexed by his unease. No one ever reacted towards him like that; the man seemed so worried about frightening him. His hand was trembling violently on Harry’s shoulder, so tense that it was painful. He tilted his head, looking up to examine Sirius’ expression with bafflement. But Sirius only became more upset, dropping his head back against the sofa.

“I didn’t,” Sirius repeated, voice strained as if recalling a distant memory. He seemed dangerously close to breaking down completely. “I didn’t. I didn’t.”

“You were at the street. There was a man with black eyes… you were angry… you wanted to kill him,” Harry whispered softly, squinting as he recalled the details of the dream. “ He gave you that scar.”

Chapter eighteen - of confessions and explanations

Those words sent a jolt down Sirius spine, as if someone had dripped fire on his skin. He nearly knocked Harry to the floor as he jumped to his feet, completely blind to everything but the body sewn street still livid in his memory.

A pile of steaming ash lying above a sewer, the scalded face of a young girl, and the flames, licking at the blackened concrete…

Sirius staggered back, stumbling when the room swam in his vision. He sank heavy to his knees beside the child, the strain of the past week collapsing over him in an overwhelming wave. He barely registered the weakness in his limbs, the sandiness in his eyes, Harry’s words echoing in his mind.

Harry knew his name… knew what happened… thought he was the traitor… hated him…

Sirius didn’t even stop to question how he knew. All he could think of was how much he lost. He lost, he lost completely. How could he even explain it to a six year old child? How could he explain that Harry’s own parents were betrayed by one of their best friends because he placed them in that position? He didn’t know where to begin; he didn’t even want to start. Would Harry believe him even if he did?

This was too much. He couldn’t take much more of this.

Something in him snapped then. It was as if a dam had splintered and cracked inside of him, and the five years of anger, frustration, and bitterness poured out in a torrent. His shoulders were shaking uncontrollably; the hope of Harry ever trusting him was slipping through his fingers. Sirius buried his face in his hands, struck with something between choked gasping and dry tears.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, beside the child he was afraid to approach but reluctant to leave. He was not even aware of the stiff frame on the bed gnawing into his back.

There was a light, tentative brush against his arm. Sirius lifted his head slowly, and when Harry’s clear emerald eyes stared back at him, fell still, unsure of what to say. The child looked apprehensive, uncertain, but there was a strange sort of concern in his demeanor.

“Don’t be sad,” Harry whispered almost fearfully, eyes wide at the react his words incited. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

He must have stared in shock at Harry for a long time, but he couldn’t remember. But in a moment, Sirius had the child enveloped in a suffocating embrace. The child was a stiff board in his arms, but he wasn’t flinching or pulling away. Sirius didn’t even stop to think how horrified Harry would be in the presence of an alleged murderer. He just hugged the child tightly, feeling as if he could never let go.

“It wasn’t me, Harry,” Sirius said almost desperately, voice muffled against the child’s unruly hair. “I didn’t kill those Muggles. I… I can’t tell you the details, but it wasn’t me. I wasn’t the secret keeper. I wasn’t.”

“I know…”

Those words caught him completely by surprise. He tried to discern Harry’s expression, but it seemed so muddled that he could make it out.

“You… you do?” Sirius asked, surprised and relieved at the same time.

Harry nodded slightly. “I trust you. I don’t know why, but I do. You remind me of… of… I don’t know…” he chewed his lip; his thoughts and emotions obviously perplexing even himself.

Sirius slumped forward again, resting his chin on the child’s head, more relieved and overjoyed than he could remember. The lack of sleep must be catching up with him; he was far more compulsive than usual; the flickering emotions were disjointed and made no sense even to him. But he still couldn’t help but feel a huge weight lifted from his back, and an absurd urge to laugh in respite.

“Why?” Harry suddenly asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Sirius pulled away, smiling slightly as he brushed strands of hair from his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Harry chewed his lip again, twisting a piece of the blanket between his fingers. “Why… why are you helping me? Why do you care?”

Sirius’ expression faltered. Harry never had a person he could remember who cared or displayed any sort of affection towards him. He must be so bewildered; Sirius swallowed thickly. He averted his gaze, unable to meet Harry’s inquisitive eyes, and took the child’s thickly bandaged hand carefully in his own. How could he explain?

“I knew you when you were just a little infant, you know?” he said slowly, giving the child’s hand a light squeeze. “I always visited on Wednesdays and Fridays; my job wouldn’t let me off any other times. I remember barging into your house at Godric’s Hollow, watching you crawl around the house with your father balancing milk bottles and your mom trying to cook. I think I just made your parent’s life more hectic when I came.”

Harry’s emerald eyes were wide almost beyond recognition. But Sirius was too lost in his memories to notice.

“You were really a bright, really sweet little boy. You could speak where you were only nine months old, and after that, you wouldn’t stop talking,” Sirius grinned wistfully at the memory. “Your first word was daddy, only you said it to the wrong person. Your dad blew a lid at that one… nearly gave me two black eyes. But you kept calling me that anyway; if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were purposefully trying to get me in trouble.”

Sirius sighed, leaning back in the chair. Things seemed to perfect then, even with Voldemort stalking their every move.

He changed so much, Sirius couldn’t help but note, as he watched Harry lean stiffly against against his arm. The child seemed to be slowly digesting his words, eyes clouded with a storm of bewilderment, confusion, fear.

“We’ve met before?” Harry asked hopefully, nervous at the same time.

“Your dad was my best friend,” Sirius murmured slowly.

Harry’s eyes brightened, “You knew them.”

Sirius nodded. “They were… some of the nicest people, the most loyal friends you could possibly wish for… ” Sirius trailed off. He desperately wanted to tell Harry about James and Lily, but when he finally had the chance, he found himself unable to continue. Those memories brought too much pain and guilt and Sirius wasn’t sure if he could even put those thoughts into words. He glanced at Harry apologetically. “They made me your godfather, but I did a horrible job.”

But Harry didn’t seem to hear his voice after that word. “Godfather?” Harry repeated, eyes widening again.

Sirius nodded guiltily. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

For not being there when you needed me. For leaving you with people who never loved you. For taking away your only chance at happiness.

But those words caught in his throat, and all Sirius could do was sit mutely. Harry stared, eyes wide with a mixture of unreadable emotions. But slowly, a small, timid smile broke across the child’s face.

*

Remus inspected the slightly dilapidated two story building with the neon sign hung at an angle.

Doublecross Inn, it flashed.

The windows were clouded slightly with thick muck from smog of the nearby city, and nearly all the rooms looked deserted. This was the closest hotel within the region that the driver could possibly drop them off, although it took him a over sixteen hours just to trace it. There weren’t many places that could house travelers; the buildings nearby were so scattered that he couldn’t decide whether to risk apparating to cut down time or agonizingly walking.

Could it be possible that they were here? If Sirius had wanted to just disappear underground with the child, this would be the perfect place to start. What if they already vanished? Remus paled at the thought.

He pushed open the squeaking door slowly, stepping into a thickly carpeted hall with a sparkling bright chandelier. The differences between the interior and exterior was alarming. Marble columns and carefully scrubbed glass lined the colossal room. The rusted hinges alerted a sleepy receptionist. She glanced at him irritably.

“What is it?” she snapped.

Remus cleared his throat, wondering why they didn’t hire a lady as kind as the interior of the shoddy hotel. “Excuse me, I’m looking for a…” he hesitated, ranking his brain for a suitable lie. “friend of mine. He’s in this area. Have you seen a man and a boy around here?”

The lady’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Remus instantly realized that was the wrong thing to say. As to why, he had no clue.

“No! No man and child in here!” she screeched, jumping up angrily. “Haven’t seen one!”

Her reaction was so acute that it made Remus pause. She knew something, that much was obvious. It was suspicious; could she know about them and was trying to protect Sirius’ location? Or perhaps that traitor tried to use some of his charm and implanted lies in their heads?

“Then, in that case, is it possible that I get a room for the night? I’ve traveled all day,” Remus said with his characteristic smile.

The lady scowled deeply. “There’s no man and boy here, so why stay? Go somewhere else!”

“Martha!” another voice ran shrilly through the room.

Another older woman in an oily apron stood at the entrance, hands full with groceries. The cook, Remus decided, but at the authority she commanded the receptionist, she was probably much more than that. Hair trapped tightly in a bun and eyes pursed in a stern frown, she reminded Remus oddly of his transfiguration professor.

The cook glared at Martha pointedly, setting the two bags on a stray chair by the door. “Martha, that is no way to treat a customer! You are a hostess.”

Martha glowered even more bitterly, but thankfully said nothing. She turned away, purposefully ignoring the two. Remus tried to be as unobtrusive as possible and held his tongue.

The older woman turned to him, face transformed into a welcoming smile. “I’m sorry, sir. You were saying something about a room?”

“Yes, just one bed. I’m not quite sure how long I’ll stay just yet,” Remus said.

The woman nodded, “Yes, of course. Follow me. I’m sorry about Martha. My little sister really isn’t suited to this sort of work.” she sighed resignedly once out of earshot.

Definitely not like McGonagall. Way too open and outgoing.

But it was still fortunate to find someone talkative, Remus realized with some amount of relief. This lady seemed much more communicative than the receptionist. If he treaded carefully, he could just discover something useful.

“Do you maintain this hotel by yourselves then?” Remus asked, fringing interest and feeling a bit guilty at the same time.

“Yes. Our parents left us this place, and we don’t have much money to restore the building. The second story is completely abandoned,” the lady shook her head, smiling softly. “We tried to sell this place many times but we could never carry it through.”

“It’s a nice place,” Remus said kindly, “The interior outbalances it all.”

“Well, the interior is easier to maintain than the exterior.”

“I take it that there aren’t many customers then?” Remus asked in mock surprise, inwardly praying. It was taking all his patience not to throw the question right at her.

Please… let Sirius be here… please, please, please… let Harry be alright…

“No, not particularly,” the lady muttered. “But once in a while, we have a stray customer.”

“I see,” Remus said sympathetically. He scanned his mind for another seemingly innocent phrase that could probe some information. He used to be a master at this, along with James. But it had been so long ago. But Sirius was best when it came to charming the ladies…

Remus sighed softly.

The lady misinterpreted it by a mile. She glanced at him with a grin tugging at her lips. “You must understand that feeling then. In the past month, we only had two customers. One actually, since they only rented one room.”

“Really?” Remus could barely keep his tone nonchalant and detached. His hand trembled, and he stuffed it in his pocket to hide. “Only one room?”

“Yes, just a little more than a week ago. They’re still here actually. Three customers in two weeks. Guess it’s our lucky month?”

But all those words slipped right past Remus without registering in his mind. His steps faltered slightly.

“Oh, it’ll be nice to have some company,” Remus said, his voice deceptively calm.

“Well, I’m not sure you’ll see them much. I’ve only taken meals to them, a man and a sick little boy, poor thing. He’s quite a sweet little dear. Really shy, unlike most four year olds.”

Four? But Harry was six and a half, was it the right person?

Chapter twenty - of dreaming of birthdays

“He has the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen. It’s a pity he’s so weak. That man rushed him in at two in the morning and drove us all mad running around with towels, hot water, and the like. He had to call a doctor too, that was how ill the child was.”

It was Harry. And Sirius was helping him. Sirius tried to save him.

Remus let a small sigh of relief, façade slipping altogether.

“He’s ill?” Remus echoed.

Could Harry’s condition be as serious as she described? He hadn’t thought it was that grave…

He was sure if the lady had glanced at him then, she would have declared him a ghost with the extent the color drained from his face.

The lady sighed again, “Yes, I’m not sure about the details, but it’s not contagious, don’t worry. I didn’t hear what the doctor said, but it seems that the boy was…” she lowered her voice mysteriously. “abused.”

Remus’ chest clinched painfully.

“That man has been taking good care of him, right?” he asked shakily.

“Yes, as far as I know. I don’t believe it was him who hurt the poor child. That man has been by his side day and night since they came. He had to practically feed the boy a few times,” the lady smiled softly at the memory. “The little boy was so embarrassed, but you could tell he loved his father very much. If all fathers would be that attentive to their children…” she sighed.

Remus nearly tripped in shock at her words. James and Lily’s murderer, the traitor, trying everything he could do to save the one boy that was his downfall? How could that be possible? Did Sirius have really want to use Harry as a tool, as Arabella described? That was the only plausible explanation for his actions.

Whatever she said after that, Remus couldn’t remember. It was all a haze, following the lady into his room. He wasn’t even sure of the color of his bed or the walls. Numbly, he took the key from her hands and gave her a rather forced smile.

The whirlwind of thoughts and confusion was so strong that it just became a blur.

Sirius was helping Harry.

Which room are they in, I wonder? They’re all in the first story…

Sirius had been taking care of him. He even called a doctor for him and treating him like his own son.

I wonder how Sirius will react when he sees me…

But Sirius did rescue Harry from the Dursleys. What if he really had ulterior motives?

Sirius, what are you trying to pull? Remus desperately wondered.

*

Harry closed his eyes in an imitation of sleep, muffling one ear against the pillow and covering the other with the uncast hand. He couldn’t seem to move his neck enough to drag the cushion over his head; the gash stung far too much after several days of laying on it. The flash of light illuminated the curtains with an eerie brightness, making shadows dance across waxy walls, so bright he could even sense it behind closed lids. Harry stiffened, bracing himself for the thunder that followed.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of thunder, but it was the voices that those rippling light always left in its wake. Every time the skies screamed, he would have odd memories of a woman pleading and a green light flooding his vision. He could never sleep during those nights.

A low rumble shook the glass.

Harry flinched. The figure beside him shifted immediately, and a weight was at the edge of his bed. There was a hesitant though on his forehead, as if he was afraid to disturb him. It still took a lot of self control not to cringe in response; he knew the person meant no harm, but it was so difficult to break the instinct.

“Can’t sleep?” Sirius asked quietly. “Does the storm bother you?”

Harry blinked, trying to bring the face into focus, a bit disoriented at the tone.

It had been two days since he gained a godfather, and he still had trouble adjusting. Ever since he could remember, he had always wished for some long lost relative to rescue him from the Dursleys. Anyone, he didn’t even care who. After Uncle Vernon was especially angry, Harry would huddle in a corner of the cupboard and think about a faceless person visiting him the next day; those imaginations kept the tears at bay, kept him from falling completely. But he never actually believed they could be true.

And when that wish suddenly came true, Harry was caught between joy and fear.

Did Sirius help him because he was his godfather? Dudley didn’t have a godfather, so Harry wasn’t sure. But whenever he got sick, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia waited on him hand and foot. But the differences between him and his cousin were so great that Harry never really thought about being treated like that. But now, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Sirius wasn’t there and he was still at the Dursleys.

But what if Sirius suddenly thought that Harry was a freak, like Uncle Vernon? What if he realized that Harry was a worthless, annoying child who didn’t deserve any attention? Would he leave? But Harry wouldn’t bring himself to believe someone so kind would throw him away. Padfoot didn’t, so Sirius wouldn’t either. Harry had no idea why he often compared Padfoot’s actions with his godfather’s, seeing that he wasn’t human, but it was so instinctive.

He abruptly remembered Sirius was still waiting for a response, and hastily shook his head.

“Alright,” But Sirius seemed unconvinced, expression clouding in even more concern than before.

“It’s just that… it the light reminds me of something…” Harry said, feeling an odd obligation to explain when his godfather seemed so worried. “I can’t remember the details…”

“Halloween,” Sirius suddenly breathed, paling as he sank back against the headboard. “There was a storm that night.”

Those words made no sense to the child, but that wasn’t what he was distracted by. Sirius seemed pained again, as if there was a demon eating at him from the inside. Harry noticed, not for the first time, the weariness in his countenance, and the sunk rings around his eyes.

“You look tired,” Harry blurted out suddenly, after a few minutes of tense silence.

Sirius looked taken aback at his remark, and he stared at him with a sort of incredulity as if he didn’t quite believe Harry was there. He shook his head as if clearing his thoughts, and forced a shaky smile. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. You need to get some sleep.”

He stood again, purposefully avoiding Harry’s eyes as he tucked the blankets snugly around him. Harry chewed his lip guiltily as he watched his godfather. Sirius had gone from an unusually thin to unhealthily undernourished. His shoulder length hair fell in thick, tangled strands, and his paleness was close to matching the child’s. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of him.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered brokenly.

Sirius stiffened at the word, eyes wide with disbelief. “What…? Harry what are you talking about?”

Harry shook his head, throat constricting so tightly that he could barely breathe. He jerked forward abruptly, and buried his face against Sirius shoulder in an action that surprised them both. “Sorry! Sorry… that you have to take care of me… I’m so sorry! I… I’m always making you sad… I…”

“God, Harry… please, no,” Sirius choked out, so strained with pain that it made Harry flinch. Arms wrapped around his shoulders so tightly that his back screamed in protest, but Harry barely even registered it. There was a weight as his godfather buried his face in his hair, completely crushing him against his shirt. “No, Harry please don’t apologize. No, no, no, you don’t understand…”

*

//

Harry shielded his eyes against the blinding summer sun, watching the passing crowd with a mixture of awe and fear. The walls were tall around his head, and he had to stare straight above him to see the curve of the arch.

A part of Harry’s mind smiled. He knew this place. He dreamt about it before. And this was a dream he liked, but he could never remember why. The details were always lost, but something about this dream kept coming back to haunt him. What was it…?

Voices intertwined in an endless echo through the narrow, cobblestone streets reached him clearly. Harry shrank back, intimidated. He never liked crowds; they were too loud, too frighteningly loud, just like Uncle Vernon when he was angry…

Something soft and silky brushed his arm. Harry turned, smiling in relief when he noticed the towering form of Padfoot beside him. It wasn’t surprising to see him in this dream. Now that he thought about it, Padfoot was always in this dream, he just didn’t remember. Perhaps that’s why he seemed so familiar.

Padfoot nudged his shoulder encouragingly, offering comfort and urging him to step out into the street. Harry shook his head, shrinking back behind the wall. The dog seemed to sigh resignedly.

Padfoot took a few steps back, and instantly, his body began to change. It happened so quickly, yet it seemed so slow at the same time. The fur vanished, and skin took its place. Padfoot grew longer and narrower, his nose pulling into his face, and the paws lengthening into fingers. Seconds later, a man stood in its place. A man with black hair, pale blue eyes, wearing a long cloak that didn’t seem to be the natural fashion that Harry usually saw.

Sirius…

Harry should have been shocked at the sudden change, but he wasn’t. He just smiled widely and took the proffered hand. Without protest, he followed Padfoot, or was it Sirius? into the thickly packed street. A tall, white, classically designed building towered overhead in the distance. The trail was curved haphazardly, shops crowded into every available corner. It looked like an ancient mall without the overhead ceiling, together with rotting wooden signs in front of every store and glass windows that fractured light unevenly.

Madam Malkin’s Robes for all Occasions said one sign.

Eelops Owl Emporium said another.

One store that stood out distinctly in his mind was the musty, dark bookstore that looked like a library all stuffed into Dudley’s room. Books stuck out from every crack and corner imaginable, and some books chased each other or held long debates of which one was more important. Harry stared at everything and anything with fascination.

Suddenly, he was very much aware of how tightly Sirius was holding his hand. Harry glanced at him questioningly, noticing for the first time the eyes watching them. The noise subsided as they neared, whispers following their passage.

“Blimey, that’s Harry Potter!”

“The Harry Potter?”

“…just a little boy… so hard to imagine…”

They watched him with a strange foreign expression, it seemed to be… reverence? But to Sirius, they scowled and hissed.

“Sirius Black!!”

“… he’s innocent!”

“…you never know. He could be lying…”

“Someone get Harry Potter away from him…”

Sirius placed an arm around him defensively, glaring at those who stared. Harry cringed from those stares, paling in embarrassment and some fear when he realized they were speaking about him. He buried his face in the folds of Sirius’ cloak, trying to hide. He shivered when some enraged words and shocked gasps reached his ears.

“The poor boy! He doesn’t even know he’s being led by his own parent’s murderer…”

“Hush!”

“… traitor to his own parents! It’s cruel!”

“Quiet! They’ve…”

Sirius’ arm jerked convulsively. He lifted him hastily, and half walked, half ran down the street away from the low whispered and enraged glares.

“Don’t worry about them,” Sirius whispered, although he sounded bitterly aggravated. “Ignore what they say.”

Harry nodded. He trusted him. It was so instinctive.

He looked over Sirius’ shoulder as they walked through the teeming street, to a display window packet thickly with people. Children ranging from early to late teens plastered their faces against it as if what lay inside was their salvation. The crowds parted like the sea before them with just one glance at his godfather, scurried away to avoid eye contact. Harry blinked at them in confusion, then at Sirius. But when the older man’s wasn’t intimidating at all. He ruffled Harry’s hair with a fatherly affection that sent a warm feeling of comfort that he never knew before.

“So, Harry,” he began with an eager smile. “What would you like for your birthday?”

And that’s where the dream always ended.

\

Chapter twenty - of opening doors

The moment the lady’s footsteps faded into a distance, Remus forcibly tore himself from the numb haze. He stood, dropping his luggage haphazardly on the bed, and concentrated on keeping his hands steady.

The recent information puzzled him to no end. If the lady had blatantly stated that Sirius was treating Harry horribly, he would have searched every single room until he found them. But to hear that Sirius was actually helping the child, he wasn’t sure what to do. A part of him still wanted to storm through every door, but the other was afraid. Afraid that he would find Harry alive and possibly even loved, he would lose some of the reason to hate the traitor. Remus had built the hatred against the murderer for five years already, and to have it suddenly torn away was disconcerting. Remus wondered if he’d ever get to the bottom of this without remembering Sirius with mixed feelings.

But he couldn’t leave Harry with that traitor. Who knew what sort of lies Sirius could be planting into the child’s head?

Systematically, he unpacked his nearly weightless belongings, demeanor much calmer than he felt.

The portkey he placed in his pocket, his wand he placed in the other. He drew a bottle full of colorless, tasteless sleeping potions that would probably stun Sirius until he was taken to Hogwarts, expression slipping into one of bitterness as he examined it in his hands. He could probably slip it in their food tonight before Martha took it to them.

An unfamiliar crinkled package stared at him from the depths of his small cloth bag. It was bulky but flimsy at the same time. The uneven surface caved in when he placed his hand against it. He never packed it, that much was certain. Arabella must have slipped it into his luggage before he left. Curious, Remus peeled back the paper wrapping, and stepped back in surprise.

James’ invisibility cloak…

The silvery mesh stared back at him innocently, shimmering faintly in the dimly lit hotel room. With trembling hands, he lifted the feather light cloak, feeling the liquid cloth run between his fingers like mercury. It caught the rays of the sun that just peeked through his window, sending seams of rainbow glows that reflected across the walls.

Remus smiled wistfully despite himself, recalling all those adventures he had in his teenage years under the same cloak. They were so foolish and careless then…

Slowly, gently, as if fearful that the silky cloth would dissipate under his touch, Remus slipped it over his shoulders.

It as ironic, using James’ cloak to track down his son. And possibly throwing Sirius back in Azkaban with the dementor’s kiss.

Remus scowled inwardly at the thought. A small note slipped out between the folds. Remus picked it up with a steady hand.

Remus

James cloak, use it well. Try to locate them but do not act.
Send us your location. We will be there by that night.
Be careful.

Dumbledore

Dumbledore really thought things through, Remus decided. Invisibility charms were too complicated to cast and difficult to maintain. Just one slip would give him away. With the cloak, he no longer needed to wait. Remus wondered what the headmaster was thinking, doing one thing and telling him another. Sending the cloak was an obvious request for him to act, knowing that once his former pupil received it, no amount of logic would make him stay.

Slipping on the cloak, Remus moved from the sanctuary of the room. Mentally, he was already bracing himself for an intensive search. He half expected Sirius to cover them both with obscurity, even in a near deserted hotel with just twenty rooms. He half expected Sirius to use whatever dark arts he learned to make their presence next to invisible, and he would have to dig through the front desk’s records just to find them. But as he paced the distance between his room to the receptionist desk, a black bag caught his eye. A trash bag most likely, stuffed full of stained bandages and plastic utensils. It hung on the door knob of an inconspicuous door, a deliberate giveaway.

Either Sirius never expected to be found, or whatever occurrences were making him careless. Remus entertained the thought of Sirius purposely misleading people who would come in search.

He broke the lock with a whispered unlocking charm and slowly creaked the door open only hesitantly. Even from the crack, he could see jackets lying haphazardly on the floor and various utensils that scattered over the desks. Old habits were hard to break, and Sirius was never someone known for his cleanliness. Plastic bottles lined the dresser, and even from a distance, Remus could tell they were muggle medicine. He wasn’t sure what to think of it. He strained his ears to pick up any sound, but there was none.

Cautiously, he opened the door.

The room was empty.

*

Sirius had to blink several times to rid the graininess in his eyes, and even then he was only partially conscious. With the extent his thoughts tend to stray, he wondered just how much the lack of sleep was getting to him. His jaw was numb from where it was pressed against the unforgiving wood of the headboard, and his back was twisted between his chair and the bed. But he barely felt those, gently rocking the sleeping child back and forth.

Sirius pushed a few stray locks of hair to hide the jagged curse scar, and lightly traced a fading bruise over the child’s cheek. He apologized… to him. The child was sorry about the trouble he caused, sorry that he even was hurt to begin with, sorry that he always made him upset. Sirius wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

Carefully, he extracted himself from the tangled blankets, gently lifting the child from the bed. The room was suffocating; he just realized neither of them had breathed fresh air in a week. Sliding open the bay windows to the balcony, Sirius stepped outside. There was no chairs on the slab on concrete; Sirius settled on leaning against the closed door with the child’s small form resting against his shoulder. Drawing a deep breath, he stared at the dimming sky.

Disturbed by the cool breeze, Harry stirred in his cocoon of blankets. Sirius shifted his weight, easing him into a more comfortable position.

Harry squinted at him, looking even younger than the already undernourished boy without his glasses. Noticing his hand latched onto his godfather’s sleeve, he dropped it as if burned and pulled away awkwardly.

“Sorry,” he whispered quickly.

Sirius cringed.

“Harry, don’t be sorry,” Sirius murmured, making an obvious effort at suppression. “I should be the one apologizing.” He trailed off, unable to continue.

Harry stilled, emerald eyes almost piercing in its intensity as he watched him.

Sirius drew a shuddering breath, running his hand over his face harshly. “It’s James and Lily, your parents,” he whispered hoarsely. “I… things happened, and I…”

“Do I… remind you of them? Is that why you’re always unhappy?” Harry asked timidly, sinking in the cocoon of blankets as if trying to hide.

Sirius didn’t stop to question how someone his age would understand something so complicated. He was already shaking his head, furious and horrified at the idea that the child could even think that. “No!” he said firmly, louder than he intended. “I made a mistake that hurt them a lot… and it… it hurt you too. It’s too complicated to explain, and I promise I will tell you everything when you’re old enough. But… not now. I’m sorry.”

Harry was silent, but his gaze never drifted from his godfather’s face. Sirius wondered for a moment, with the strange sort of glint in his eyes he only saw in Dumbledore, if Harry already knew and understood.

“You didn’t mean to hurt them,” Harry finally whispered with a quiet determination that made him seem far older than just six years of age.

“No, I didn’t. I swear, I would never hurt James and Lily,” Sirius choked out, too lost in his memories to register that Harry’s words was a statement rather than a question.

Harry didn’t answer at first. Tentatively, the child lifted his hand as if trying to touch his face. Sirius lowered his head, confused as to what he was trying to do, and once his arm could reach, placed his hand on his head. Sirius stilled, thoroughly perplexed by the odd gesture.

“You… you’re…” Harry’s eyes glazed, blinking up at him as if recalling a distant memory

“What is it?” Sirius asked, immediately concerned.

Harry gave his hair an odd pat that was frighteningly reminiscent of Padfoot’s morning head rub; Sirius could feel the color draining from his face.

Harry’s eyes flickered.

“You’re Padfoot,” Harry whispered, sounding a bit bewildered.

Sirius nearly dropped the child in surprise. He staggered, openly gaping. The confusion and shock in his mind completely stole his ability to speak for a moment.

How was it possible that Harry knew? He was delirious when Sirius first told him over six days ago, and he was asleep the two times he transformed. How could Harry know?

“How did you know?” Sirius choked out.

“A dream,” Harry whispered timidly.

Sirius was speechless for another minute. Harry dreamt of these things? Could it be possible? But the art of divination passed through bloodlines and both Lily and James practically failed the class. And for someone so young to have such accurate dreams were rare.

Sirius swallowed, bewildered. He couldn’t decide how Harry could have known. Perhaps the child had hidden talents that accelerated his abilities far above the norm? Or perhaps the years of abuse had twisted his abilities into another form?

Harry frowned slightly in puzzlement. “But… how?” he finally asked.

That was what I want to know too, Sirius thought numbly.

“It’s magic,” Sirius said slowly.

“Magic?” Harry echoed. He sounded oddly hopeful, but a cloud passed over his features. “But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon said…” Harry trailed off.

Sirius scowled bitterly at just the mention of his relatives. He remembered Lily’s older sister’s absolute aversion to anything out of the ordinary. But Harry was easily startled already, and Sirius had to be very careful about reacting violently. He drew a deep, calming breath. “Don’t worry about what they say. They’re just the type of Muggles that hate us or anything that has to do with us.”

“Muggle?” Harry echoed again, looking as if he had just tasted his first chocolate.

“Non-magic people, it’s…. sort of complicated to explain everything,” Sirius sighed in frustration. “I’m not good at explaining these things”

But when Harry tilted his head to one side inquiringly, Sirius found himself launched into long description about wizards and their abilities. He talked about anything and everything he could think of: animagus transformations, Hogwarts, quidditch to the child resting quietly against him.

“Then Remus must be a wizard too,” Harry whispered. “He can change into a silver wolf.”

Sirius almost choked at the extent his throat pinched. Harry knew about Remus’ lycanthrope? Sirius was pretty sure his friend would never tell Harry about that. They never spoke of Remus’ condition, and it would be impossible even if he did retain his memories from infancy. And no type of magic could tell such things, especially as inexperienced as Harry was. Unless Harry was really…

Impossible.

“He is,” Sirius admitted haltingly.

Harry knitted his brow as he gathered his thoughts, “Mum and Dad…”

“Were wizards,” Sirius said softly.

Harry’s eyes glowed with excitement, and he leaned forward eagerly.

Sirius smiled, brushing his fingers through Harry’s thick and unruly hair. “They were some of the best in their time. They met in a wizard school, you know? I went there with Remus, your father, and your mother used to hate us because we would make fun of her all the time. She charmed our clothes to stick to the ceiling of the common room after James turned her hair into quills…” Sirius trailed off, speaking mostly to himself than to Harry.

Soundlessly, the door, hidden by the heavy curtains, swung open on oiled hinges.

Chapter twenty-two - of invisible men

Remus scanned the empty hotel room with mounting unease. In his agitation, he nearly tripped over the helm of the invisibility cloak as he made this way through the room.

Could Sirius have ran again? Could he have taken Harry and just left? Or was he entirely misled? What if something happened?

Those questions played like a broken record in his mind. He was sure in two hours time, he would be insane.

But all the signs said that Sirius was merely outside with the child. There was money hidden in duffle bag, laundered clothes folded neatly on the table, warm soup in the coffee machine. Sirius had substituted that as a stove, and Remus noticed several packages of powder lying to one side. Curious, he held it up to the light.

Protein it said simply, followed by a list of ingredients that made no sense to his mind.

Remus slowly placed it back on the counter, returning to his position beside the window. He frowned thoughtfully. The lady had been truthful when she said that Sirius was taking care of James’ son. The signs had said that Harry received medical care from muggle doctors. He seemed alive and well, but…

The soft platter of water against the window echoed through the room listlessly. He peeled back a corner of the curtain, watching the overshadowed sky and the moist earth that stretched beneath it. It must have started to rain seconds ago, and by the sight of the sky, it was threatening to be an overnight downpour.

A shadow behind the glass suddenly swam into his vision through fractured glass; Remus took an involuntary step back.

The bay windows slid open with a sudden lurch, and a figure burst inside. For a moment, Remus almost didn’t recognize the man. His hair was long, combed neatly and tied in a low ponytail, moist and glossy from the dewdrops of rain. He was unhealthily thin, even under the thin cotton blanket. He had a small bundle in his arms that he was obviously trying to shade from the rain, hutched over the form protectively.

Remus could feel his hands shaking violently; he forcefully kept his gaze unwavering. Sirius changed so much the past five years; he lost the mischievous gleam in his eyes, the energy that he lit the room by just being there. Sirius’ usually pale blue eyes were overshadowed with gray, there was a shadow in his face that spoke of pain, but at the same time, relief? It made no sense…

Remus had prepared to curse him on the spot, but then, seeing how cruel the years had been on him, Remus didn’t seem to be able to. Those childhood memories were holding him back. Even if Sirius had betrayed them, he had still been his friend once.

Sirius pushed the door shut with the edge of his shoe, and instantly made his way to the bed. It took Remus a moment to register the slight form of James’ son, nested securely in the murderer’s arms. Remus’ throat constricted even further at the brief glimpse of the child. Harry seemed to have lost the little weight he had; the paleness in his skin was disturbing.

“Did you get wet?” Sirius asked, prodding him lightly on the hand.

Harry blinked groggily, shaking his head before leaning against his godfather again.

Sirius smiled, “Go to sleep. You look tired.”

“Only a little,” Harry admitted reluctantly, but he rubbed his eyes with a hand as if trying to stay awake. There was a fragility in his tone, like those who had suffered a degenerative illness and found themselves physically and mentally drained. But at the same time, the child sounded oddly blithe, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Harry was obviously much more than a little tired, but Sirius seemed well acquainted with his character. He sighed and shook his head, “Don’t try to push yourself. The doctor says you’re not recovering as fast as you should.”

Remus hand tightened in its fist.

Sirius placed the child gently on the bed, carefully removing the makeshift coat before tucking him under the covers. The blankets were unusually thick on Harry’s bed, stacked with multiple layers that cushioned the surface. Harry sank against it like a limp puppet the moment he was laid down, burying himself in the bleached folds. His thinness was frightening, but Remus couldn’t decide whether it was from the Dursleys or from Sirius.

“Is it cold in here? Should I turn up the heat?” Sirius softly asked.

Harry shook his head again, nestling deeper in the covers.

Sirius smiled widely, lightly ruffling the boy’s hair. Retrieving a small mug, he poured a steaming, creamy liquid from the coffee cooker, no longer used for coffee, and brought it to the bedside.

“Well, you should take some antibiotics. The doctor will kill me once he finds out it you were out in the rain,” Sirius said quietly. “Here, drink something warm before you sleep. You won’t feel so dehydrated.”

He lifted Harry with infinite care, almost as if handling fragile glass, and leaned him against his shoulder. Harry made a small noise of assent, sluggishly stirring. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away; the child even nestled closer against his godfather and rested his head against his chest. Remus stiffened in shock, unsure whether it was Harry’s weariness that took away his shyness, or the trust that Sirius managed to gain.

He did care for Harry, he had to. There was no way to falsify the parental affection Sirius had for the child. It just wasn’t possible.

Sirius’ eyes would soften as he watched Harry with a sort of concern that Remus only saw shades of during his years at Hogwarts. And Harry was far more at ease than Remus could ever remember. He seemed less haunted and less afraid, more like his age.

“What about you?” Harry asked suddenly, looking up at his godfather past heavily laden eyes.

Sirius stilled; he seemed unsettled by the focus somehow, avoiding Harry’s eyes and distractedly wringing out the edges of the blanket.

“Don’t worry about me. You just worry about getting better,” Sirius said, giving Harry a rather forced smile. He simply set the mug at the desk, and eased the child back against the pillows.

Harry blinked, giving Sirius an odd, searching look, and a heavy gloom passed over his eyes. He sank back against the pillow. There was something bothering him that he was hesitant to voice; his emerald eyes spoke far louder than his words.

“What is it?” Sirius asked, smoothing out the child’s hair. He seemed well acquainted with Harry’s character, and read his facial expressions with expert skill.

“What’s going to happen afterwards? Am I going to go back to the Dursleys?” Harry asked almost fearfully.

Remus’ stomach clenched and plummeted at the sight. The expression on the child’s face made him wonder just how much that question haunted him.

“Of course not!” Sirius stood up with a jerk, voice harsher than before. He sounded bitterly angry, but made an obvious effort to suppress an outburst. “I’m not letting you go back there. In a few weeks, I’m going to book us tickets to America, and you’re going to live with me.”

“Really?” Harry’s face lit up in excitement. He examined Sirius expression, trying to discern the truthfulness of those words.

Sirius grinned, ruffling his hair slightly. “Where would you like to go? Do you want to choose a place?”

Harry broke into a shy smile. Remus stared in surprise; through the short week he spent with the boy, he had never seen the child display any signs of happiness or relief. The extent of Harry’s attachment to Sirius stretched deeper than Remus ever imagined. If he was told the truth, he would reject it outright. Remus paled; to take the one person Harry had grown to trust away would hurt him more than any beating ever would. He would never trust again.

Sirius moved from his position at the bed, smoothing out the sheet, and arranging it more snugly around the child. “If you’re tired, sleep. I’ll wake you later, okay?” Sirius said, giving the child’s hand a comforting squeeze before tucking his arm under the covers.

Remus backed away, unsure of what to think or do. To see Sirius so defensive and protective of the child was something he wasn’t prepared for. It was suddenly hard to imagine Sirius guilty. But could Sirius be lying? Could he…?

Sirius lingered at the edge of the bed even after pulling the sheets securely around him, watching the child with a sort of sadness, and even regret. Tentatively, he reached out and smoothed the child’s windswept hair.

It was impossible to discern Harry’s expression from his position beside the window, but Remus noted Sirius’ with mounting confusion. Sirius looked truly concerned, with a demeanor that was fooling even him. Even for his blatant betrayal five years ago, Remus found his hatred and bitterness faltering.

He took a few hesitant steps towards the door, torn between leaving the pair or contacting Dumbledore. He knew he had a task to fulfill, but the idea of abandoning the child to a murderer, however kind he seemed, was still caustic. Remus lingered at the side of the bed, fingering the wand in the depths of his pocket.

“Will you finish the story?” Harry abruptly asked, eagerness audible in his childish voice.

Remus had paused right above the doorknob. He turned back jerkily, apprehensive about the stories Sirius was telling the child. If the traitor was truly turning Harry to the dark, he had to be stopped immediately.

“You’re never going to rest until I do,” Sirius said with a resigned sigh. He ruffled the child’s hair fondly, a familiar grin tracing his features.

Harry’s eyes brightened in excitement, but clouded by a film of weariness.

“Well, that night was our first real venture into the Forbidden Forest in our animagus forms,” Sirius slowly began, drawing up a chair to the bedside and resting his arms on the edge of the bed. “And we still didn’t know the place very well. We were too dense to think about exploring and testing out our forms on a long term basis, so things didn’t exactly go… that well…”

Remus froze, blood draining from his face. A mixture of shock, anger, and disbelief was stirring in a torrent in his mind. Sirius was telling Harry their childhood experiences, the memories he discarded the moment he turned to the dark. How could he? He never had the right!

But as he listened to Sirius’ account of their first full moon in the forest, he began to notice that they were not fabricated. Everything he was telling the child was true, although somehow, all the events that involved Peter dropped out of the narration. Perhaps it was the event at the street that made Sirius bitter, seeing how it was Peter who tracked him down. Remus inwardly frowned.

“… wandered into some odd place in the forest with human sized spiders. We got chased for a whole hour; your dad kept getting his antlers caught in the branches…”

The wave of fury struck so violently that Remus had to catch onto the edge of the divan to steady himself. To hear Sirius speaking of James, the friend he betrayed, and to James’ son, was just too much. Remus gritted his teeth, withdrawing the wand from the depths of his pocket, hand forcibly steady as he pointed it at the back of Sirius’ head.

Harry’s eyes widened with an emotion akin to terror. He made a move to sit up, but Sirius placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“What is it?” Sirius asked quickly.

Harry didn’t answer at first, his eyes darting through the room wildly. But when he saw nothing out of place, he hesitated.

“I… I don’t know,” Harry admitted slowly. “I thought there was something…”

Harry jerked up, entire body stiffening. The expression dropped like lead from his face, and he stared past Sirius at a patch of deceptively empty space. Remus froze when the child fixed a piercing gaze on him.

“Moony?” Harry whispered.

Chapter twenty-one - of miscommunications

Sirius jerked convulsively, elbow grazing the half-empty mug as he jumped to his feet. Remus staggered back, too stunned to utter a sound.

Harry saw… How?!

The corner of the divan snagged the helm of his cloak, and the fabric slipped from his head and his shoulder like solid water. Remus groped for it before it fell completely, desperately trying to salvage his position. There was a deafening crunch as his shoe met a brittle styrofoam cup.

“Re… Remus?”

He stilled. The invisibility cloak slid from his loosened fingers, pooling into a shimmering mass on the shabby carpet.

Remus wasn’t exactly sure how long they just stood, staring at each other. The silence between them was almost tangible, like the icy fingers of early morning. It sank against them with a heavy hand, muffling all sounds in the room to the barest of sounds.

Sirius was right there, in front of him. His friend of nine years. James and Lily’s closest confident, their murderer, their traitor. Remus wanted to curse him with the killing curse right then, but he couldn’t even bring himself to raise his wand.

//

So you think it’ll work?

Sirius, no! How many times do I have to tell you, don’t even think about it! How the hell did you even get James and Peter to agree to this?

Aw, come on, Moony! We’re over that stage already! We’re suppose to be searching for the spell. Besides, James was easy enough. Peter took a little convincing though…

Do you have any idea how difficult that would be?! And even if you do, by some ridiculous stroke of luck, find the spell, learn to use it, then manage to transform, the risks involved?

You sound like McGonagall…

I’m serious!

Moony, I would laugh right now, but I don’t think you’d appreciate it.

Sirius! Urg… god… the… wha… waz… Sirius!

I heard you the first time there. Listen, we’re got it all figured out. We’re going to try.

No!!

What’s the worse thing that could happen?

Do you really want me to say? I could go on and on…

No, Remus. I mean, to you!

… Sirius, if anything happens to you, James, or Peter, I’ll… you know the sort of guilt I’ll have to deal with? Do you have any idea… you’ve all been such great friends already, I… Don’t. Okay? just listen to me this once. I promise I’ll do your potions homework for a week. Just don’t!

\

It was Sirius who first thought of the animagus transformations, Remus mused bitterly. He had been the most loyal friend, a bit rash at times, but the most loyal. How much things have changed then…

Sirius’ pale blue eyes, now clouded with hidden demons, watched him with a sort of desperation and anxiety. His lips moved soundlessly every now and then, but could never seem to speak aloud. Remus stood as if he was rooted to the ground, the invisibility cloak lying useless and discarded on the floor.

“Sirius, what…?” Remus broke off abruptly when his voice threatened to fail him. He glanced at Harry, as a statue, face as pale as one as he shrank deep in the sheets. Remus’ eyes softened sadly as returned to his friend. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of my godson,” Sirius said firmly, squeezing Harry’s hand like lifeline that was going to be torn away without a moment’s warning.

His fist clenched compulsively in response, and Remus could feel his hands trembling in restrained anger. “What are you planning to do with him? Let Harry be, Sirius! He’s been through enough already.”

“That’s exactly why I’m getting him out of here!” Sirius snapped, glaring at Remus accusingly. “Did you see how badly he was hurt? He almost died that night! If I hadn’t gotten to him, Harry would have bled to death in that cupboard. Don’t tell me for all the time you were there, you didn’t suspect those… those Muggles that they were abusing him!”

Remus stumbled back, a bit caught off guard when the ex-convict turned his anger against him. But it was true, in a way. He should have suspected it long ago…

Remus looked at his hands in defeat. “I suspected it… but I never thought…” he sighed, rubbing the dreaded scar on his elbow out of habit.

He’s trying to distract you, he’s trying to make you feel guilty so he has the advantage, a voice told him.

But another part of him desperately argued for Sirius. He helped Harry when he didn’t have to. He treated him like a son…

“If you really wanted to help Harry, why didn’t you take him to us?” Remus asked, an accusing edge to his tone.

Sirius hesitated, chewing his lip. “I… I didn’t want to leave him.”

Remus drew a sharp breath, “Sirius, this isn’t amusing anymore.”

“It was never amusing to being with!” Sirius hissed, suddenly angry again. “Do you think I’m playing a game or something? Do you think I’m going to kill Harry off when I get bored, and I’m some insane mass murderer?"

Remus shook his head, unable to bring himself to answer the question. “Sirius, I don’t know what you’re planning, but just leave Harry out of it! What sort of lies have you been planting in his head? What sort of…”

“Are you implying that I’m teaching him to follow Voldemort?!” Sirius nearly shouted. Harry visibly flinched at the sound, and Sirius lowered his voice immediately. “You think that I’m Death Eater, don’t you?”

“And you’re trying to deny it?” Remus gritted out. “What you did to James and Lily, what you did to Peter…”

At the mention of Peter’s name, Sirius’ eyes blazed with a fury more potent than Remus had ever seen before. “That bastard deserves to die! I should have…”

Remus snapped. All the frantic concern for Harry’s safety, anger, bitterness, and pain of betrayal came flooding onto him in an overwhelming wave of emotions. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing until he had lashed out. And then things happened so quickly that he couldn’t even remember.

He wanted to strike Sirius. He wanted to slam his fist against his face for all the agony he had placed everyone through, for James and Lily, for Harry, for countless other people. There was a shuffle and a blur. His fist connected with bony ridges and there was a muffled cry of surprise. Remus found himself standing numbly by the low table, his hand tingling at the contact. Sirius staggered back, hand pressed tightly against his shoulder. His blue eyes were wide as they stared at his friend, shocked, accusing, hurt…?

Abruptly, the anger was replaced by an overwhelming wave of guilt. He didn’t know why. He should be angry. He had every right to be angry. But then, why?

“No!”

A slight weight launched itself against Remus so suddenly that he stumbled back. Tripping to the ground, Remus’ head missed contact with the coffee table by inches. He registered the mop of unruly hair and bright green eyes dazedly.

“No. No. No. No!” Harry choked out, looking more frightened and angry than Remus could ever remember.

The child blindly pounded his fists against the older man, but his damaged arm was obviously causing him a lot of agony. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his face was draining of the little color it had, his breaths coming in short gasps. Harry was too weak to cause him any pain; but to Remus, it was as if someone had raked through his flesh with claws. He stared at the boy numbly, reluctant to act but reluctant not to.

Harry wanted to defend him… didn’t want him to hurt Sirius, his parent’s murderer! Remus was torn between guilt and rage at the thought.

“Harry, stop,” Remus whispered almost pleadingly. Discarding his wand, he caught the child’s fists gently but firmly, afraid that Harry could be hurting himself more. The child recoiled so violently that Remus instantly drew back.

“Harry!” Sirius sounded just as stunned as he.

In a moment, the weight was gone. Sirius pried Harry free, lifting him away. He pulled the nearly hysterical child close, running his fingers through his hair soothingly.

“It’s okay, it’s alright,” Sirius repeated in a low whispers in the boy’s ear, wrapping his arm around the slight frame protectively. Harry buried his face in Sirius’ shirt, trembling.

Remus was too stunned to stand, openly gaping at Harry.

“Why did you do that? What did you think you were doing?” Sirius muttered softly, looking pained.

Harry loved and trusted him…

He wanted to curse Sirius to pieces right then at the extent he corrupted James’ son.

“Sirius, what have you done?” Remus whispered weakly.

Harry stiffened at those words, and he turned so suddenly that his face contorted in a grimace of pain. He grasped Sirius’ sleeve. “No! He didn’t to it! He didn’t!”

Remus’ stomach clinched at the sight, and he could have landed another punch on the traitor’s face if it wasn’t for the child between them. “Harry, what has he been telling you?” Remus said, his voice dangerously soft.

“Remus, if you would just listen to me for a moment…”

“What sort of lies have you been telling James’ son?!” Remus hissed, trying to pierce Sirius right through with his glare. He reached for his wand blindly, unable to break the gaze. “You’ve been using his loneness against him, taking advantage of him when all Harry had his entire life was neglect… you…”

“Shut up!!” Sirius shouted, crushing Harry tightly against him. “I haven’t been telling him any lies!! Listen to me…”

Sirius broke off abruptly when Remus dragged himself to his feet, holding the wand right between his eyes. His face was ghastly pale, and his arm shook violently. But a determined gleam shone with the fury raging in his eyes.

“Don’t!” Harry gasped out, struggling, but Sirius’ restraining hand kept him still. With one desperate attempt, the child tore free and lodged himself between the wand tip and his godfather. Remus nearly dropped the slab of wood in shock; even Sirius staggered back.

“No! Stop. That’s enough, Harry.” Sirius loosened his weak grip with ease, still stunned as he ran his fingers through his untamed hair. Hw rubbed this child’s back soothingly, trying not to aggravate the partially healed wounds. “Cast a sleeping charm on him, Remus. He’s going to hurt himself if he keeps trying to move like this.”

“No!!” Harry trashed feebly in his arms, eyes wide and frantic. He opened his mouth to speak, but his next words dissolved in a fit of coughs. He hid his face against Sirius’ shirt, his shoulders wrenching painfully. “It wasn’t him…”

Chapter twenty-three - of wand points

“No, it wasn’t him. Please…” Harry whispered, obviously drained as he slumped against Sirius’ shoulder. His eyes fought to stay open, and his hand fell slack and he coughed weakly.

“Harry?” Sirius said sharply, steadying the child as he sagged backwards. Harry was limp from exhaustion, so drained that he could barely lift his head. He only moaned softly in response, the sound lost in the folds of Sirius’ shirt.

Remus stood stiffly in the middle of the room, Harry’s words still echoing in his ears. He watched Sirius carefully, but the convict made no sign of having heard at all. Rather, he was more concerned about Harry, as he picked up a stray coat, wrapping the child’s slight form in the clothing for warmth. He seemed almost unaware of Remus’ presence, backing towards a stray chair and sitting with his back completely unguarded. Harry stirred feebly, but sleep seemed to be quickly claiming him.

Remus was devastated, bewildered, but oddly relieved at the obvious attachment Harry had to his godfather. He was comforted that the child had found the ability to trust someone so deeply. Sirius really seemed to care; he had been taking care of him, saving him in ways that he had not yet understood. But Remus was still perplexed by Sirius’ actions. There was a strange sort of hope that was settling in the back of his mind; it made no sense, but could it…?

Remus watched, numb, as Sirius ran his fingers through Harry’s unruly hair in an effort at comfort. He picked up the cooled mug and brought it to the child mouth, slipping the tonic down his parched throat. That seemed to alleviate Harry’s coughs, and he drew several shuddering breaths. Sirius rubbed his back soothingly, whispering quiet words of reassurance. Remus took a step back, some of his previous anger fading into confusion and concern.

“Is he alright?” Remus found himself asking despite himself, talking several cautious steps towards the pair.

Sirius nodded distractedly, “Harry’s fatigued. I think trying to move like that… it really drained him. He should be okay,” the last statement had a desperate edge to it. “We should stop yelling. It’s frightening him.”

Remus nodded, averting his gaze guiltily. Sirius, a murderer, was taking better care of Harry than him in the few days he had known the child. It was almost sad.

But… could it be possible that Sirius wasn’t the traitor? The child had voiced the possibility of Sirius being innocent ever since his arrival, but that could be Sirius’ influence. Remus wasn’t sure what to believe, but he couldn’t accept the idea of Sirius teaching Harry dark magic.

Remus swallowed uneasily; Dumbledore was right, there was no way he could treat this rationally. He should have contacted the headmaster to moment he discovered them. Remus reached into his pocket and drew out a pale colored stone, tapping it lightly with his wand. It was a small message sender and receiver, designed to relay his location with a more urgent undertone. His movements caught Sirius’ attention, and the convict watched him with a mixture of defeat, hurt, and disappointment. But there was resignation in his demeanor that sent a wave of guilt crashing over him.

“Are you calling the ministry?” Sirius asked softly.

“No, Dumbledore,” Remus was surprised to see relief, and even hope written in Sirius’ pale eyes before he looked away.

A strained silence settled over them. Remus fingered the polished stone between his fingers agitatedly, keeping his face neutral.

Sirius shifted the weight in his arms, easing him carefully under the covers. The movement jarred the oversized shirt, and the fabric fell from Harry’s thin shoulder, revealing a patch of discolored flesh. Lashes crisscrossed the unnaturally pale skin; it was as if someone had etched purple and red lines all across the six year olds body. A footprint was still livid against his shoulder blade, a mass of black ink was stained against his neck.

“Oh god…” Remus choked on his words, blood draining from his face.

What…? How badly had the Dursleys hurt the poor boy? He knew that Harry was hurt, but he never suspected it to be this serious!

“What did they… how could they do this to him?” Remus whispered.

At those words, Sirius’ glare hardened. “They left him, bleeding to death in that cupboard, just because he stole some food from his cousin.”

Remus took a halting step forward, as if wanting to retrieve the child from his friend but unsure at the same time. He dropped his wand to his side, averting his gaze. “I went there the next morning,” Remus finally whispered. “There was blood on the sheets, but I never thought…”

“Bruised possibly cracked ribs, fractured wrist, anemia, severe malnutrition,” Sirius hissed bitterly, but there was regret in his eyes that veiled the rage. “Three hours later, Harry would have been dead.”

Remus couldn’t find the words to reply. He touched Harry’s shoulder hesitantly, the threat of Sirius forgotten as he traced a reddish contusion that cut across half the child’s cheek. The thick palm that struck him left an imprint so deep that the off coloration even spread onto his neck. Harry unconsciously flinched at the gesture, but Remus barely noticed. This was what his carelessness cost the child. This was what he could have prevented.

This was all your fault!

Remus snapped back into attention, the gravity of his situation returning. But he was completely caught off guard when he found Sirius watching him with an expression akin to concern.

“Remus?” Sirius asked cautiously. “You blanked out for a moment there.”

Remus blinked, a bit disoriented by the overlapping memories of present and past. It was almost as they were at Hogwarts again, and he was returning to his classes a day too soon, and both James and Sirius would pester him and watch him like hawks.

Reality returned to him in a wave; Remus stiffened, quickly taking several steps back. “Sirius, why are you doing this?”

Sirius’ arm tightening around Harry defensively at those words, almost as if he expected Remus to tear his godson away without a moment’s warning. “Remus, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” Remus echoed, his weariness making him unusually bitter. “A misunderstanding so grave that you wouldn’t have confronted us unless we caught you first?”

Sirius’ eyes darkened at his tone, but when he spoke again, his voice carried an edge of desperation. “Would you just listen to me for a moment? You have to know, even if no one else does. I…”

“Black!” the shrill voice cut Sirius’ next words short.

Remus spun around, a bit startled to see a flustered and breathless Professor McGonagall instead of Dumbledore, bun loose as if from a run, caught between a cluster of trash bags and empty styrofoam cups. Her wand was held out threateningly, and there was a fury in her countenance that Remus never seen before.

“Get away from the poor child right this instant,” Minerva ordered sternly.

Sirius looked stunned, as if Minerva had just slapped him and flung scalding hot coals at his face.

“Move aside!” Minerva urged, raising her voice threateningly. Sirius snapped back into attention when she took a step forward, jerking to his feet so abruptly that his chair clattered against the edge of the table. He backed away from the bed haltingly, surprise and pain etched in his features.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Remus found himself stepping between them defensively.

Minerva didn’t seem to notice the message behind his action. She didn’t even seem to acknowledge him, her gaze unwavering from Sirius’ face. “Portkey to Albus’ office and contact the rest, Lupin. Albus wasn’t in his office when the alarm was activated, and I came before I could alert them.”

“Wait, Professor,” Remus stepped back in an effort at restraint, reluctant to leave. He had been bitter against Sirius before, but when faced with the possibility of having his former friend thrown back in prison, he suddenly felt the need to listen to Sirius’ side of the story. “I don’t think its wise to contact everyone before Dumbledore arrives. There’s a risk that Sirius can be seen. Knowing Fudge, he would never give Sirius a chance at a trial.”

Minerva glanced at him sharply, lips thinned into a grim line. She opened her mouth as if to utter an enraged retort, but shut it again. She shook her head, oddly sympathetic. “The man deserves Azkaban for what he did. Don’t defend him, Lupin. I know you two were good friends.”

A soft moan.

There was a soft rustle of blankets. Everyone fell silent as the slight figure beneath the covers turned, aroused by the voices in the room. Remus could feel his back stiffening in apprehension; Harry would be nothing short of horrified with Minerva’s treatment of Sirius. He was already close to hysterics before.

Sirius instinctively took a step towards his godson, Minerva forgotten as he turned his attention to the child. But the professor completely misinterpreted the gesture.

In two large strides, Minerva was directly in front of the convict, wand stayed above his heart.

“Don’t move!” Minerva’s voice was close to a hiss. “If you even touch the child…” The threat was left hanging.

“No, you don’t understand,” Sirius snapped, equally exasperated. “Harry’s going to be frightened half to death when he wakes up. He’s not going to understand what’s going on.”

“It’s time someone saved the child from your influence,” Minerva muttered. The normally stern, but inherently kind professor was unusually angry, but faced with a former student, the only student in the history of her house to betray light magic, strained her far beyond endurance.

“Saved?” Sirius repeated indignantly. “You don’t even understand!”

“Padfoot?” came a soft, timid voice.

Remus paled, as if someone had spread ice in his veins. Sirius froze, blood draining from his face. Impulsively, he took a step towards the drowsy, but bewildered child, emerald eyes fearful as he took in the odd scene beside his bed. But a sharp prod at Sirius’ neck halted him midway.

“Hush, child. Everything will be okay,” Minerva murmured, sparing a quick glance in Harry direction. But those words passed Harry completely unheard, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on his godfather.

Harry stilled, eyes widening. “Padfoot?” he asked again, a desperate undertone laced in his voice. He grasped the edge of the bed with his undamaged hand, dragging his unresponsive body closer to the pair.

“Harry, just stay still,” Sirius said haltingly, his breath logged uncomfortably in his throat with Minerva’s wand embedded against his neck. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep trying to move like that.”

“No…” Harry whispered shakily. He struggled to sit despite his bruised and lacerated back, propping himself up with his elbow unsteadily. He turned to Minerva pleadingly, “Please, don’t hurt him. He didn’t do anything!”

Minerva was stunned into silence, jaw dropping in utter shock.

“Harry, don’t. Everything alright, don’t worry about me,” Sirius choked out, expression twisting into a slight grimace of pain as he watched the fearful child. “Remus, stop him. Don’t let him move around like that, he’s straining his ribs… they’re bruised; they really hurt him.”

“Black, what have you done to the child?” Minerva whispered brokenly, question an echo of Remus’ own only minutes before.

Sirius bristled with impatience, caught between wand point and his godson. “I didn’t do anything to him!! I just didn’t want to see him hurt…” Sirius trailed off as Remus approached, extending a cautious hand towards the shivering child. “Harry, just stay still. Everything’s going to be okay. Trust Remus, alright? He’s going to help you. He’s…”

“No!” Harry gasped out, making a frantic grab for his godfather’s hand. But his sprained wrist gave out under stress, and he made a small sound of pain. Remus caught Harry before he fell completely from the bed, placing a gentle but firm hand to restrain him. But Harry cringed at the touch, and he futilely tried to move away.

“Harry, calm down!” Remus urged, throwing a few helpless glances Sirius’ way as he tried to subdue the frenetic child. But when Harry lashed out, pushing and almost clawing at his arm as he writhed to free himself, Remus wasn’t sure how to react.

Harry scrambled towards Sirius again, unusually agile despite his injuries. “Let him go. You don’t understand, he didn’t do anything! Please…” his sentence broke in a fit of coughs, and Harry collapsed weakly against the tangled sheets.

Sirius’ self-control cracked then, and he shoved Minerva’s hand carelessly away as he dove for the child. Minerva responded with a sharp warning and retort, thinking to protect an innocent six year old from a murderer. It was pandemonium within seconds, with Sirius fending away his former professor as he tried hard to reach Harry. Harry was wide eyed and trembling, the screams and yells too reminiscent of his uncle’s rampages. He was ghastly pale, curled in a defensive ball against the headboard. Remus urged them both to be silent, wanting to help Minerva, but wanting to side with Sirius at the same time. He had seen how attached Harry was to his godfather, saw the parental affection Sirius had to him. He faced the convict with mixed feelings.

“Stupefy!” Minerva’s voice cut through the confusion like a knife.

A blinding red light filled the room for a brief instant, before Sirius fell limp and slumped heavily to the floor. Minerva dropped her shoulders, inwardly sighing in relief as she straightened her rumpled robes. Remus’ throat was too dry to speak, but he stared at the still form of Sirius lying awkwardly on the carpet, feeling a surge of regret and guilt.

It was wrong, this was all wrong.

“Professor, I don’t think we should have done that,” Remus whispered softly, not meeting Minerva’s stare. “I’ve seen how Sirius treated James’ son, and I can assure you, he had no ulterior motives. He cares for Harry very much, that’s undeniable. There’s a possibility… Sirius could be… innocent.”

Minerva drew a sharp breath, turning to Remus disbelievingly with an edge of anger.

“No…” A tremor ran through the soft, childish voice.

Remus stilled, jerking around to the child.

Harry’s emerald eyes were large, glazed as if recalling a distant, horrifying memory that shattered his life overnight. He was white as a sheet, so still that he barely seemed to be breathing.

“No!!”

With a frantic lunge, Harry flung himself from the bed, stumbling into a heap on the thinly carpeted floor. Dodging Remus’ restraining hand, he half crawled, half dragged himself to the still form.

“Padfoot?” Harry whispered timidly, tugging at Sirius’ sleeve. But when he failed to respond, Harry became more disconcerted. He called his name again, prodding him on the shoulder, dangerously close to breaking down completely.

“Harry, Sirius is okay. Padfoot is okay, he’s just sleeping,” Remus said soothingly. He knelt beside him quickly, concerned at Harry’s abrupt subdued countenance. He placed a reassuring hand on the thin shoulder.

Harry didn’t flinch. He made no reaction of being aware of his presence at all. The child’s bright green eyes were oddly dull, and he dropped his head against Sirius’ shoulder as if he was too tired to even sit upright.

“Harry?” Remus said again, more urgently this time.

Harry was unresponsive, his haunted appearance out of place on his young face.

“What happened here?” asked another voice, a calm, commanding voice of a wizened old man.

Chapter twenty-four - of convergent understandings

Dumbledore digested their brief summary of occurrences with a grim expression, side stepping the stray chair, now lying on its side. He paused when he caught sight of Sirius, lying with his arm twisted awkwardly under him, and Harry, clinging to his godfather’s neck as if the world around him was falling apart. A heavily weariness passed over his face for a moment, before he knelt alongside Remus and touched the child lightly on the shoulder.

To Remus’ surprise, Harry slowly turned, a flicker of life returning to the childish face.

Dumbledore paused, an expression akin to surprise passing over his features for the briefest of moments as he watched the six year old boy. He seemed to have saw something in Harry that no one else saw, but Remus wasn’t sure. Slowly, Dumbledore bent down to meet at eyelevel with him, and Harry stared back unblinkingly, still distant. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, a old man and a young child watching each other with eyes mirroring in intensity as if entrapped in a discourse only the two could hear.

“Why?” Harry asked suddenly, his haunted eyes out of place in his young face. The bright green had dulled into almost a gray, and his voice sounded dazed as he spoke, as if he wasn’t completely with reality.

“What do you mean, Harry?” Dumbledore said quietly.

“He didn’t kill those people,” Harry murmured, lying his head tentatively against his godfather’s shoulder again. Sirius was still motionless, and Harry shivered visibly. He looked weary somehow, as if a heavy weight was weighing him down and slowly drowning him. “He’s innocent. Why… why did you hurt him?”

Minerva frowned in a mixture of bitter anger and pity. “Child, did Black tell you that?”

“No,” Harry tensed when she drew nearer, edging himself in front of Sirius defensively.

“Harry, Sirius isn’t hurt,” Dumbledore said soothingly. His words brought a flicker back into Harry’s emerald eyes, but his expression were still of a lost and haunted boy.

“But he’s… he’s not responding,” Harry choked out, a tremor making his way into his words. The first signs of true distress was showing through on his face, and his shoulders shook as if holding back an outbreak. “He never… he…”

“He’s only resting,” Dumbledore said firmly in a tone that exude comfort and drew trust. Harry chewed his lip nervously, hand tightening around his godfather's sleeve. “Tell me, child, how did you know Sirius was innocent if he never told you?”

Harry stared him, gaze unwavering from the wizened wizard’s face. “It was… in a dream.”

Minerva made a sharp intake of breath. Remus paled, recalling the previous insight Harry had when he wandered the room under an invisibility cloak. He turned to Dumbledore questioningly, but the headmaster’s expression was still deceptively calm.

“What happened in the dream?” Dumbledore carefully asked.

“There was a man on a street. He was scared,” Harry said slowly, detached and distant as if recalling an abstract memory. “Padfoot hated him, he wanted to kill him. I think the man’s name was… Wormtail… or Peter. I can’t remember.”

“Sirius was angry and Peter was afraid?” Minerva said with some amount of disbelief. “Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?”

“Padfoot was angry. He… he said something about betraying them to…” Harry furrowed his brow in thought. “to… Voldemort.”

“He… said that?” Remus choked out, grasping the edge of the bed to steady his balance.

“Wormtail was afraid… he didn’t want to die. He had a knife, screamed into the street, and everything… every thing turned white,” Harry visibly shuddered, hand convulsively grasping onto the folds of Sirius’ shirt.

There was silence.

Slowly, Dumbledore drew his wand from his cloak. Harry’s head snapped up in an instant, and he dragged his wasted body over his godfather as if trying to shield him.

“No!” Harry buried his face in Sirius’ shoulder, hugging his neck tightly. “Don’t hurt him anymore. He didn’t kill anyone, please…”

Dumbledore lowered his gaze, expression clouding with a heavy sadness and sympathy. “I’m just going to wake him, Harry,” he said gently.

Harry tensed, but it was impossible to distrust Dumbledore. Slowly, hesitantly, he relinquished his death grip on his godfather, drawing a sharp breath when he attempted to sit. Desperation had dulled the pain before, but as the fear filtered away, all the shearing heat in his back returned in a cascade. His arm trembled violently under pressure. Harry swayed dangerously to one side before his strength gave out altogether, and he collapsed weakly against Sirius again.

Remus was on his knees beside the child in an instant, gingerly lifting him. Harry was too drained to struggle, but he made a small sound of protest. Even through his half conscious haze, he never relinquished his clasp on Sirius’ shirt. Remus eased him into a sitting position; Harry sagged like a boneless heap against his shoulder.

Dumbledore watched the two knowingly, a small but sad smile crossing his face. He turned his attention back to the stunned figure, and at a softly whispered counter curse, Sirius stirred.

It took a moment for him to reorient himself; no one spoke. As Sirius fought the stiffness in his limbs and the graininess in his eyes, the blurred form of the headmaster came sharply into focus. He blinked, surprised and relieved at the same time.

“Dumbledore,” Sirius croaked, his throat dry and raw from the aftereffects of the stunning curse. Another thought drifted into his mind, and he sat up with a jerk. “Harry?”

“With Remus. He’s resting,” Dumbledore’s expression lightened somewhat at Sirius’ reaction.

Sirius scrambled to his feet, the headmaster momentarily forgotten as he half stumbled over the fallen chair tangled bed sheets. He fell on his knees beside Remus, eyes unwavering from the still form lying limply against him. The room was silent. Lightly, Sirius brushed his fingers over the child’s forehead, and Harry blinked up at him groggily.

“Harry?” Sirius whispered, concerned at the clamminess of his skin. He reached forward as if to retrieve the child, but thought better of it last minute.

“He’s exhausted,” Remus explained softly at Sirius’ worried expression. “The injuries are really wearing him down. Harry needs to go to the infirmary.”

Harry made a soft sound in the back of his throat, a flicker of recognition passing through his eyes. He turned towards him feebly, reaching for Sirius’ hand with his undamaged arm. In a moment, Sirius had him enveloped in a loose embrace, tucking the child's head under his chin and whispering quiet words of comfort.

Still, no one said a word of protest.

A light tap on his shoulder brought Sirius back into reality.

Dumbledore stood behind him, expression blank to the point of stoicness. “Sirius, I believe you all owe us an explanation.”

Sirius stilled, but instead of fear, a mixture of hope and apprehension flooded his pale eyes. He chewed his lip, downcast and if purposely avoiding their gazes as he gently eased Harry back in Remus’ arms. The six year old was unresponsive, exhausted past the point of consciousness. When Sirius lifted his head again, there was a stubborn explanation in his demeanor. “I didn’t betray James and Lily. I didn’t kill those Muggles. And I would never hurt Harry in any way,” Sirius said firmly. He glanced at Remus searchingly, as if mutely pleading for him to understand. “I didn’t kill Pettigrew, although I wish I had.”

“Sirius, tell us the details of the events leading up to Halloween of 1981,” Dumbledore urged, eyes never drifting from Sirius’ face.

Sirius drew a deep, calming breath, silent willing himself to suppress the buried anger. He turned his attention to the sleeping child, resting against Remus’ shoulder, oblivious to the events around him. “The day before Halloween, I asked James… to switch to Pettigrew, just the night before. I thought it was the perfect ruse. Voldemort would naturally assume that I was the secret keeper, and if I was ever captured and placed under the imperious, I would give their position away immediately. He never suspect someone as weak, unsuspecting as Wormtail, but…”

Remus clenched and unclenched his fingers around his wand, forcibly keeping them steady.

“He was the spy. When I realized, I tried to track him down,” Sirius’ voice was almost a low growl; he frowned darkly, “I located him in the Muggle street the next day, and cornered him. I said some things to him. Then he caught me off guard, and screamed out to the entire street that I was the traitor. He blew up the street with the wand behind his back, transformed into a rat, and ran into the gutter.”

Dumbledore was silent, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the convict standing awkwardly between the two beds. His countenance was deceptively neutral, but his eyes lit with a triumphant gleam. But Sirius couldn’t bring himself to look at his friend at all.

“I suppose that’s how I managed to stay sane in Azkaban,” Sirius added, mostly to himself. “I knew I wasn’t guilty, and that wasn’t a happy thought. The dementors couldn’t take it away from me.”

“But his finger?” Minerva asked weakly.

“He cut it off himself, didn’t he?” Remus spoke up suddenly.

Sirius glanced at Remus, visibly surprised. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. Jerkily, he nodded.

“But Harry’s picture,” Remus asked quietly. “Why did you rip it?”

Sirius scowled at the memory. “That poor excuse of a Muggle was in it.”

The room was subdued in a thick hush after that as everyone slowly absorbed the news. Minerva was stiff, her normally stern façade a mask of confusion and disbelief. Dumbledore’ eyes darkened in defeat, but there was a strange reprieve in his demeanor. He examined Sirius intently for a moment with a restrained hopefulness. But he was well acquainted with his former pupil’s character, and he understood even without proof or witnesses.

Sirius must have noticed and misinterpreted the dark shadows in his eyes, because he spoke hastily again. “I’ll take the truth serum.”

Dumbledore slowly shook his head. “No, that’s unnecessary, Sirius. I believe that you are telling the truth.” He straightened as if having been relieved of a horrible burden. “Minerva, could you please call back the search team and tell them that Harry has been found unharmed; give them no further details. Remus, please take Harry to the infirmary by portkey. Sirius, use James’ invisibility cloak. You can take refuge at Hogwarts in the guestroom behind my office,” The gleam was back in his blue eyes, and it was as if the two weeks of tense worry had never occurred.

Remus lingered in his position at the edge of the bed, looking as if he wanted to speak, but afraid at the same time. Feeling Sirius’ eyes on him, he met his gaze slowly. A small smile, barely discernable, stretched over Remus’ face, but it lit his countenance that gave him the appearance of that distant teenager. He inclined his head with an apologetic gesture, and shifting Harry’s weight more comfortably in his arms, disappeared with a soft pop.

An answering smile, however small, appeared on Sirius’ face. He sighed inwardly in relief, slouching against the edge of the table wearily. He turned when Dumbledore stopped beside him, silently questioning.

For a brief moment, the headmaster’s mood seemed overshadowed by sadness as he took in the hardships carved in his former student’s face. It was gone in a moment, and Dumbledore smiled warmly. “Sirius, you have a very remarkable godson.”

Chapter twenty-five - of reconciliation

Sirius sat uneasily on the thick carpet, leaning against the four poster as he stared up at the vermilion drapery. After over five years of sleeping on boards, a week of using leaves and grass for insulation, and another of sleeping in chairs, he suddenly found a bed uncomfortable. No, it was the large and richly room that made him uncomfortable. It felt so much like a prison, simply redecorated.

Sirius rubbed his eyes harshly, willing them to stay open. He wasn’t at ease without the child in sight. He hadn’t seen Harry since Remus portkeyed away with him four hours ago, and since then, not one person had stepped into his secluded room. The image of Harry lying alone in the infirmary was plaguing him past the point of endurance; the shy little boy must be frightened half to death, with Madam Pomfrey fussing over him. Sirius chewed his lip worriedly, increasingly anxious. He didn’t have the invisibility cloak; that was folded neatly on Dumbledore’s desk. He had finally grown so desperate that he attempted prying open the door, subtly be damned, but the seal that kept intruders out seemed to have locked him in. He had tried everything since, pounding on the walls for hidden passages, scrounging the room for floo powder, then finally prying at the picture frame.

He was starting to feel claustrophobic.

He was beginning to worry that the entire thing was a trap to turn him over to the ministry, but logic spoke against that. Remus believed him. Dumbledore and McGonagall did as well. Sirius had a vague idea why they were trying so hard to keep his position a secret, but he was still indignant.

The ministry wouldn’t readily accept his innocence, especially with only Sirius’ story as proof. The bits and pieces he picked from the discarded notes and papers left lying on the table was enough so show just how incompetent the Minister of Magic was. Fudge was a selfish fool would do anything to salvage his reputation, including flinging him back into prison or executing him with the dementor's kiss, as long as they kept his escape a secret. The chance of him openly pardoning him was equivalent to Sirius miraculously running across Pettigrew. But Sirius didn’t care about freedom as long as he could have his godson back. Sirius inwardly sighed, rubbing his eyes. The sun had risen hours ago, and he still hadn’t slept. He couldn’t remember a time he actually slept through the night for the past week. His body was screaming for rest, but he fought it. If Remus or Dumbledore came to bring news on Harry, he had to be awake to hear it.

The door cracked open with a soft creak.

Sirius scrambled to his feet eagerly, ears attuned to any noise.

“Sirius?” his name was spoken in a cautious whisper.

The heavy picture frame opened further, falling into the room with a shaft of morning sunlight. A lanky form peeked out from behind it, grey eyes scanning the room before falling at the dark corner. The man paused, a brief look of uncertainty passing over his gaunt face.

“Remus,” Sirius greeted slowly.

And for several minutes, the two friends just stared at each other.

Slowly, Remus stepped into the red and gold room, the door fusing into the wall behind him. Sirius stilled nervously. He was never uneasy before, but that was always in the company of another. Meeting his friend of nine years, with five years of misunderstandings in between, he was unexpectedly agitated.

He hadn’t noticed how much Remus had changed since the past five years. The robes he wore were patched and frayed; it must have been hard for him to find employment. His face was worn as if he hadn’t slept well for weeks. But knowing the situation, that was probably the truth. The glossy brown hair he had during school had thinned out, and looking ready to grey. But his eyes seemed younger than before.

Sirius wasn’t sure how to put his thoughts into words. He knew he needed to apologize for the mistake he made and for the misjudgment he made that cost him for than anything he could imagine. Tell him how relieved he was when Remus believed him, how happy. But seeing the same guilt mirror in his friend’s grey eyes made the words clog in his throat.

Oddly, it was Remus who spoke first. He made his way to a stray chair, but hesitated to sit, resting his hands over the surface lightly.

“Harry gave McGonagall quite a shock after she stunned you,” Remus murmured, trying to keep his tone light. It was a simple statement that shattered some of the tension between them.

That caught Sirius’ attention immediately. “He did? What did he do?”

“He… he didn’t take it very well. He was very upset, very worried,” Remus said awkwardly, beginning to regret bringing up the topic. He was just starting to understand the depth of their bond, ever since he saw the attachment Harry had to his godfather. Sirius cared for the six year old far more than himself, but it was guilt that tied him. If he realized the extent that Harry went to keep the only family he knew safe, Sirius would probably drown himself in another wave of guilt.

Sirius seemed to understand some of his unspoken words, however. He averted his gaze, a shadow of regret and sadness passing over his face. "Harry must have been terrified."

“Harry’s alright," Remus said quickly, forcing a small smile for reassurance. "He's resting in the infirmary right now.”

“You shouldn’t leave him alone. If he wakes up, he’ll be really confused and frightened,” Sirius’ words came in a rush, and he stood as if he was preparing to barge into the infirmary.

Sirius still hadn’t changed despite the years with dementors. Remus shook his head slightly, grinning in amusement. “Harry’s been given the sleeping potion, Madam Pomfrey thinks he’s probably too exhausted to wake up within the next eight hours. She’s rather territorial, wouldn’t let me stay with him for more than half an hour.”

But Sirius missed the lighthearted words altogether. “How is Harry? Is he going to be okay?” Sirius asked worriedly.

“Harry’s fine. Madam Pomfrey healed most of the damage, but the blood loss and bruises would have to heal by themselves.” Remus’ expression darkened as he recalled the memory. “The Dursleys… they went too far.”

Sirius swallowed an enraged snarl at the mention of Harry’s relatives. Scores of murderous passed his mind, but he could find no coherent words to express it.

“Harry’s very fond of you,” Remus said suddenly, eager to change the subject. “I’ve only seen him for a few days before the… incident and he was always very silent, very shy.”

“He is. He used to be so afraid of me,” Sirius softly murmured, dropping heavily onto the edge of the bed. “He used to flinch every time I came near, wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t eat.”

“That seems so hard to believe,” Remus whispered, thoughtfully. He watched his friend sympathetically when Sirius fell silent again. “Harry really trusts you. You did a good job taking care of him, Sirius. Even Madam Pomfrey admitted it.”

Sirius only managed a shaky smile, making no attempt to reply. Without Harry to anchor them, both lost in their own thoughts of the past. After five years of separation, it was as if a thick wall was built between them, and they lost the closely knit understanding of their friendship. To tear it away was difficult; they had changed so much.

“Thank you for believing me,” Sirius slowly said. It was rather uncharacteristic for him to be so formal, but it would have been uncharacteristic for him to be ambiguous.

Remus tensed at the abrupt change of topic, his gray eyes darkening and his lips thinning into a line.

“I should have known it wasn’t you,” Remus whispered, leaning against the back of the chair wearily. “I’m sorry I believed everyone else.”

Sirius frowned bitterly. “I shouldn’t have suspected you in the first place. Moony, did you know I thought you were the spy?”

“The thought crossed my mind last night. But it doesn’t matter anymore,” Remus waved it off lightly, tone determinedly resolute. “We both made mistakes. Lets just be relieved that they were corrected.”

*

Harry was very uneasy when he struggled through the thick haze of sleep. The blankets, however warm and thick they were, carried to sense of comfort and reassurance. It was as if he was back in the cupboard, only with sheets this time. Days ago, he would have shuddered if anyone touched him. But now, Harry found himself terrified at the prospect of being alone.

He blinked, a bit bewildered by the unfamiliar, whitewashed wall staring back at him. The ceiling was unfamiliar from the low tan of the hotel room, far larger and far more intimidating. The room was deafeningly quiet, so quiet that Harry was sure he could hear the blood pounding in his ears.

That was when he realized something was different.

Harry sat up, scarcely aware of the bleached sheets that covered him, and the cotton shirt that hung on him like a blanket. There was no ranking flash of pain through his ribs; no throb in his wrist. It didn’t even hurt breathing. Confused, Harry pulled back his sleeve. The splotches of blue and purple were still imprinted in his skin, but it stung only mildly.

What...?

The memory of the past day dropped like stones in his mind. Harry drew a sharp breath, tensing fearfully. The last image that lingered in his mind was the old man asking questions about his dream, the fear of the wolf person taking him away. Remus was in the room, under a silvery thing that faded and reappeared like a flimsy half ghost. He called a thin lady that reminded him disturbingly of Aunt Petunia, and everything slid into murkiness from there. Harry shuddered as the loud shrieks and accusations replayed themselves in his mind.

Sirius was gone, Padfoot was gone! He was the only person who ever sat at his bedside patiently, and treated him with a fatherly affection. He was the only person never yelled at him, screamed at him, or hit him. And now he was gone!

He hadn’t realized how attached he became to his godfather until Sirius was gone. It was strange without the blurry shadow of the man at his bedside. If was as if the warm comfort that reassured him for the past two weeks was suddenly gone, and Harry was lost. His godfather was the only person he was at ease around. And they took him away! He was innocent, he didn’t do anything. Harry’s hand trembled, a dampness stinging his eyes. It was unfair, Sirius never deserved it…

He lingered on the bed listlessly, holding his breath to choke back the prickling in his throat. Years of neglect had taught him to be silent, and without his godfather to block them, those fears drowned him in waves. He clenched the blankets so tightly that his hands shook, drawing his knees against his chest defensively. After some minutes of deafening silence, shakily sat up.

He was going to find Sirius even if it took him hours.

Harry crawled off the bed clumsily, too short to reach the floor without a jump. His legs shook violently under the weight, but it was the first time the week since he could stand without aid. Using the wall was a guide, he slowly made his way to the door.

By the time Harry reached passed the heavy oak frame, he was coughing and gasping for air. His legs were shaking so violently that he had to lean against the door knob to keep from falling, and the room swayed in his vision. Taking a deep breath, Harry forced himself past the door, stumbling into a medieval hall that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Harry sank against the stone wall at the impossible impediment.

Harry slumped to the floor, gripping his bruised leg with a grimace. Although the cast was removed and the bone healed, it still stung bitingly. Harry drew several calming breaths, wiping at the sweat that trickled down his face. The thought of giving up never crossed the child’s mind. Gritting his teeth, Harry dragged himself to his feet.

Harry staggered through the hall, using the wall as leverage. Once in a while, he had to latch onto a protruding rock to keep from stumbling, but soon his hands startled to tremble from the exertion. His legs felt like water beneath his weight; he fell so many times he had lost count. He had no idea where Dumbledore’s office was, but his legs seemed to know where to go. Harry followed the instinct; it never failed him before.

But when he sank against a picture frame to steady the undulating floor, an icy hand gripped his heart.

A plump, white rat curled on a thickly cushioned chair, sleeping in front of a roaring fire. Its whiskers twitched slightly in irritation every once in a while, turning so that it laid on his back, his tiny paws poking skyward. Its front, right paw was toed with four joints; that seemed to scream for attention.

Harry froze.

The rat was familiar somehow, just like Padfoot and Moony. But at the same time, it was different. There wasn’t that calm, trusting quality about it; rather, just seeing it made Harry’s hair prickle and skin crawl. Harry wasn’t sure whether to trust of fear it. Instincts told him to leave it, but the rat didn’t seem harmful.

He apprehensively turned his gaze to the picture frame, twice as tall as himself. The picture had a distinct outline of a person, but it was empty like someone had carved him out. Whoever used to occupy it was a wide lady in a dress. Harry brushed his fingers over the smooth surface, and the entire frame swung open.

Harry stared at the back of a red velvet chair, sitting innocently in front of the roaring fireplace.

Chapter twenty-six - of re-acquaintance yet again

Sirius found a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. Even though appearances had changed, his friend’s blind optimism would never go away. “Always looking at the bright side of things, Moony. You never change, do you?”

Remus opened his mouth as if wanting to speak, but instead covered it with a grin. The conversation between the two was still sparse, but after five years of misunderstandings, it was expected. Remus’ smile it faltered quickly.

“I made mistakes because of it though,” Remus said finally. “I always suspected the Dursleys, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Look what happened.”

“We both made mistakes,” Sirius repeated firmly, an echo of his friend’s earlier words to reiterate his point.

Remus shook his head. “Too many…” he murmured with a sigh. He leaned against the chair, quietly thoughtful, but gradually, a teasing glint made its way into his eyes. “I’m surprised the Dursleys were intact when I came the next morning. Knowing your temper, you probably would have set fire to the house or something similar.”

“I wanted to. I really wanted to skin that piece of meat, but Harry was more important then…” Sirius trailed off, growing distant again.

During their conversation, Remus couldn't help but notice Sirius’ disjointed thoughts and frequent lapses into silence. Azkaban must have affected him more than previously thought. It was subtle, but five years with dementors would torment anyone, even an innocent man. It must have been hell for someone like Sirius, who already begun to place some amount of blame on himself for his best friends’ deaths. He seemed trapped under an unbearable load of guilt that he left himself sink into, that no amount of redemption would ever wash away. Remus averted his gaze, flinching inwardly but trying hard to keep the sadness from seeping into his face.

“You didn’t do anything to them, did you?” Sirius suddenly asked, eyeing Remus skeptically.

Remus suddenly flushed. He cleared his throat nervously, “Not much…”

“Not much?” Sirius echoed. He leaned forward with a suspicious stare.

“I just… he said some things that made me angry,” Remus admitted reluctantly. “I didn’t mean to actually break his jaw though.”

Sirius gaped, staggering back shock. It took a good half minute for him to recover, still visibly stunned.

“Moony, you’ve acquired quite a temper,” Sirius said, looking quite pleased. “You punched two people in a week, and I was the one accused of murder?”

It was a wild attempt at turning a touchy subject into something humorous, but Remus sobered.

“I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have hit you. I…”

Sirius waved it away indifferently. “If you could break that fat lard’s jaw bone, I’m sure you would have been able to give me something more than a bruise. You were holding back.”

Remus sighed, leaning against the armrest. “I don’t know what I was thinking then…” he ran a hand through his hair; it was obvious he hadn’t slept at all the night before.

“So what’s going to happen now?” Sirius asked, trying to keep his tone nonchalant.

Remus’ expression darkened even more. “The minister isn’t… completely competent. He covered up your escape and nearly had a heart attack when Harry disappeared. We’re afraid that he caught wind of Harry being found, and is hoping to use that as a stepping stone. He’s going to frighten the child half to death, or get him ripped to pieces by reporters. If he finds that you’re here as well, then…”

Although those words were spoken bitterly, Sirius’ mouth twitched in an odd grin, “Maybe I should kidnap Harry again.”

“Don’t even consider it, Sirius,” Remus muttered, smiling nonetheless. “Harry’s condition isn’t fit for excessive traveling. But he’ll be moved to a secluded location before Fudge comes. We need to gain some support within the ministry in the meantime.”

“When did life ever become so complicated?” Sirius grumbled, mostly to himself.

“Since we aged,” Remus said. He averted his gaze to the floor, sighing inaudibly in thought. Abruptly, he smiled. “Padfoot, what did happen at Mrs. Figg’s that day?”

At the change of topic, it took a while for Sirius to realize what he meant. He found an answering smile tugging at his lips, albeit sheepish.

“Oh, that,” Sirius mumbled. “Harry tried to give Padfoot a bath.”

Remus mockingly glared. “Tried? The garden was completely maimed. Harry was dead tired afterwards.”

“Harry’s ticklish,” Sirius said simply. “And the shampoo smelled like flowers.”

Remus despairingly shook his head. “I won’t even ask.”

*

Sirius sighed, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted. He still had one true friend left. Although he knew they both restrained their subjects to only more fortunate memories of the past, maneuvering around the subject of Sirius’ predicament, it was still a relief.

Sirius was too distracted to hear the portrait slide open a second time. But when loud, raspy breathing met his ears, he stilled. Sirius’ position on the bed gave him a full view of the room, and he jumped the moment he saw the frame slide shut again.

The figure of a child was leaning heavily against the wall. Clouded emerald eyes blinked back at him from the shadows, swaying dangerously in his precarious position. In an instant, Sirius was kneeling beside him, steadying the six year old when he threatened to collapse. But Harry all but sagged against him like a boneless heap, half falling, half throwing himself against his godfather. His breath came in erratic gasps, and his entire body shook from stress and weariness. Sirius was alarmed by the cold sweat that seemed to have soaked through Harry’s shirt, making him shiver from the chill. Instinctively, he slipped off the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around the shivering child.

“Harry?” Sirius whispered incredulously. He brushed some thick strands of hair, plastered to the child’s forehead, surprised.

Harry was suppose to be in the infirmary, sleeping. From what he heard from Remus, the sleeping potions that the child was drugged with should have kept him asleep until tonight. Madam Pomfrey, despite Dumbledore’s request to move him to Sirius’ guestroom, wanted to keep Harry for the day for observation in case his condition worsened. Harry’s recent injuries were only partially healed, and the nurse didn’t want to risk it being aggravated. Having the child suddenly burst into his room gave Sirius some amount of shock and confusion.

Harry lifted his head with obvious effort, giving Sirius an ecstatic smile before falling against him again. He seemed to be too tired to speak, and his limbs hung lifelessly when Sirius lifted him. He tugged the sheet lose and fit it snugly around the small form. Harry hung in a sort of exhausted unconsciousness as Sirius leaned him in the divan and knelt beside him. The child made no response when Sirius tapped him lightly on the arm.

“Harry?” Sirius asked gently.

Harry uttered a soft moan, shifting feebly. He seemed too wasted to even turn his head.

Sirius chewed his lip worriedly, rubbing the thin arms to warm the shivering boy. “Harry, how did you get here?”

“Walked,” Harry murmured softly. His words were slurred and thick in his throat.

“What?” Sirius sharply asked. Despite the mended bones, Harry’s bruised frame still wasn’t able to sustain the strain of walking. He held the child at arm’s length, examining him worriedly. “How? You weren’t suppose to be moving!”

Harry slowly looked up, eyes glazed with weariness. “You’re angry?” he asked apprehensively, tensing reflexively but too drained to move much more than his head.

Sirius sighed, running his fingers through Harry’s hair soothingly. It was impossible to be exasperated against someone so timid, naïve, and innocent no matter how ridiculous his actions were.

“No,” Sirius murmured, tilting his head to one side to peer him. Harry’s bangs were plastered to his forehead with perspiration, appearance so washed out that he seemed ghastly. Sirius dabbed at the child’s face with his sleeve, concerned. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. How? Weren't you tired?”

Harry nodded jerkily, dropping his head on the armrest. Sirius moved to sit beside him on the divan, easing him from the awkward position and letting the child rest his head on his shoulder. Harry walked from the infirmary? That must have been nearly impossible with the recently healed injuries; it must have cost him over an hour of unbearable pain. Sirius chewed his lip guiltily; the child must have been so terrified and confused when he woke up alone. He should have fought against harder Madam Pomfrey.

“How did you find your way?” Sirius asked quietly. “Hogwarts is huge. How did you manage?”

Harry shifted, glancing Sirius groggily with a half open eye, the other still hidden against the shirt. “Don’t know,” he admitted wearily, dropping his head as the endeavor of keeping it upright became too tiring.

“But you need a password to cross the door,” Sirius said, perplexed. “How did you pass the gargoyle?”

Harry shrugged slightly, “It moved by itself.”

Sirius’ hand tensed convulsively around the child, and he bent to examine his face. Harry was so drained that he dropped his head against Sirius’ arm, entire body slackening flaccidly.

How could the statue move by itself? Dumbledore guarded his office with countless protection charms, it would be impossible for Voldemort to even bypass it without triggering the wards. Unless the headmaster preset the gargoyle to recognize the boy, it would be impossible.

Sirius frowned slightly as he watched him. He should probably call Dumbledore and ask, or at least inform him that Harry escaped from the infirmary. But that would mean they’d take the child away again, and he was reluctant. He would wait a bit, let Harry rest, and then wait until Remus returned before he told them what happened.

Harry shifted feebly, grip loosening on his sleeve, and sliding away to leave pale red stains on his shirt.

“Oh god, Harry, your…” Sirius broke off abruptly when he gently lifted the child’s small hands. Harry’s palm was laced with countless shallow scratches, raw and bleeding. He pressed an edge of the blanket against it lightly; the child didn’t even flinch. “What were you doing? What did you think you were doing?” he said haltingly, feeling his stomach clinch.

Harry abruptly tensed; Sirius could feel his arm stiffen uncomfortably and a tremor run through his slight frame.

“I thought you left… those people said you were guilty,” Harry whispered, sounding close to tears at the extent his voice shook and broke. “I thought they took you away.”

That statement drove all the previous questions and confusions of Harry’s appearance away. Sirius gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, wary of the numerous scrapes and gashes. He couldn’t imagine the kind of blow Harry had suffered, when two people seemingly appeared through thin air and all turned their wands on him. He knew how sensitive the child was to any raised voice, especially during his agonizingly slow recovery. Harry must have been petrified.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s fine now,” Sirius said as reassuringly as he could. “They know I’m innocent, and they know what happened. They’re going to try to work everything out.”

“That lady tried to hurt you!” Harry choked out in frustration, huddling against the divan in a shivering ball. He buried his head against his knees in an action that was aimed to hide his face.

Harry seemed terrified at the memory. Sirius paused, unable to meet the child’s eyes. The six year olds attachment to his godfather sneaked up on them so suddenly that it caught them both by surprise; Sirius was torn between guilt and relief at the thought. He drew the child in an reassuring embrace, slinging an arm around the thin shoulders and resting his chin lightly over the unruly hair.

“She was just upset, and so was Remus. They’re really good people,” Sirius explained softly. He rubbed the frighteningly thin child's back calmingly in an action that soothed them both. Another memory slowly made his way to the surface of his mind, and he looked down at the top of Harry’s head curiously. “How did you know Remus was there?”

“I… I’m not sure,” Harry murmured, words slightly muffled against his shirt. He was still trembling from his earlier outburst, and had to take several unsteady breaths before he could speak again. “I thought there was something in the room, like when Padfoot, you were hiding in the park. Then there was a… silver thing, and he was under it. But it was so fast, I thought I imagined it…” Harry broke off, voice breaking into a weak cough.

Harry saw through an invisibility cloak? Sirius thought with some amount of bewilderment. Distractedly, he rubbed the child’s back to alleviate his coughs. Either Harry was a disturbingly powerful wizard, or his clairvoyant abilities stretched far above the norm. The six year old was an enigma; Sirius had been surprised so many times that he was already numb against it.

“You’re beginning to scare me,” Sirius whispered under his breath, tone teasing.

Harry startled, blinking at him, obviously stunned. “I… I am? Sorry…”

“No, it’s not that,” Sirius said hastily, lightly ruffling Harry’s hair. “It’s just, you do really surprising things every now and then. Like when you figured out I was Padfoot, knew my name, saw Remus… How do you do all these things?”

“I don’t know,” Harry looked truly at a loss.

Sirius sighed inwardly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Go to sleep, you look tired.”

“But…”

Sirius brushed back a few strands on the child’s hair reassuringly at Harry’s suddenly frightened expression. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to go anywhere.”

Harry made a small noise in the back of his throat that was lost in his shirt. Sirius grinned, arranging the thin cloak more snugly around his godson, letting him rest his head sleepily against his shoulder. They sat in a tranquil, comforting silence, with Sirius gently patting the child’s back, lulling him into a soothing calm. Harry was still, his hand still stubbornly clutching Sirius’ shirt sleeve, but his eyes were peacefully closed, his breathing even.

A grey rat squeaked sleepily in the child’s pocket.

Chapter twenty-seven - of uncompromising circumstances

It was with reluctance that Harry awoke; the cocoon around him had regained it’s reassuring sense of comfort, and he didn’t want to leave it. He was a bit disoriented as he opened his eyes an hour later to find the ceiling had changed yet again. It was a thick red velvet instead of a solid wall, and it took him a while to realize he was staring at the top of a four poster bed, with thick blankets wrapped warmly around him.

Padfoot…

Harry struggled to sit, but his back screamed in protest. He fell back in the bed with a muffled gasp; the previous strain of walking had left his body flaccidly weak and sore. scanned around for his godfather, He turned his head with obvious effort, breathing a soft sigh of relief when he caught sight of a blurry head lying close to his pillow. Sirius had fallen asleep in a chair again, back twisted awkwardly over the edge of the bed. He seemed so tired, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if he slept at all the previous night.

He tugged at the covers, but it felt like he was lifting rocks. His wrist stung with numbed dullness, red and swelling from the previous exertions. Clumsily, he draped a corner of the blanket over his godfather’s shoulder. Sirius was oblivious, eyes closed and half hidden by his hand, head resting on his arm in the position he slept in so often since he took Harry out of his relative’s care.

Harry sat very still on the bed, unwilling to disturb Sirius when he seemed so weary. There were so many questions that surfaced in his mind since their last conversation, and so many things he didn’t understand. Remus and that man knew that he was innocent now, so didn’t that mean he could live with Sirius? He desperately wished that was true. He would live in the small, shoddy hotel room and not complain, just as long as he could stay with his godfather. But what if they would returned him to the Dursleys? Uncle Vernon was probably furious at all that occurred; Harry shuddered at the thought.

Something brushed against his leg, making Harry jolt in surprise. It took a while for him to register the tickling prickle against his skin.

Slowly, Harry reached into his pocket and drew out a large ball of fur. It was warm and twitched in his hand, its long whiskers tickling his skin. Harry held the rat gently in his hand, peering at it curiously. Even through the movement, the animal was still asleep.

He didn’t know what possessed him to hide the animal into his pocket. It was the same instinct that told him to fear and run from it, yet he carried it with him. The rat seemed so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. Timidly, Harry reached out and stroked the animal on the head. Its whiskers twitched irritably, and it shifted as if stirring awake.

“Hello,” Harry whispered, using the same word he greeted Padfoot two weeks ago.

The animal squeaked, sluggishly moving its fat body as it cracked open the small, slit-like eyes. It froze when it noticed the strange room, then jumped almost an inch in the air when it saw him. The rat stared at him with a human-like fear; Harry was sure if the rat could speak, it would be stuttering and whimpering. At first, neither of them moved.

Harry lightly smoothed its fur.

The rat only trembled.

“You’re awake already?” Sirius murmured, slurred from sleep. Harry’s voice had alerted him, and he had long since been attuned to noise of any sort. He lifted his head, giving the child a small grin as he groggily rubbed his eyes.

Harry gave him a bright smile as greeting.

At the sound of Sirius’ voice, the rat gave a blood curling screech and sprung from Harry’s grasp. He caught the round lump before it struck the floor, but the animal hissed and bit at his hand. Muffling a sharp gasp of pain, Harry dropped it on reflex. The rat scurried under the bed.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Sirius sharply asked, snapping into attention instantly.

“There was a rat,” Harry muttered distractedly, rubbing his palm gingerly. He crawled off the bed, pulling the sheets aside as he searched for any sign of the animal.

“What?!”

Harry stilled; Sirius sounded unusually harsh all of a sudden. But before he even had a chance to answer, a fat hand locked around the child’s wrist. Harry shuddered, the grip too reminiscent of Uncle Vernon’s whenever he was violent. A brutal tug dragged him off balance. Harry fell to his knees, slamming his head into the frame of the four poster bed. Distantly, he heard a shout.

Harry disappeared from sight behind the four poster bed, surprise etched in his features. There was a sharp gasp, and a crack as his head met the wooden frame. Sirius scrambled forward, dread filling his stomach.

“D… don’t come an… any closer, Sirius!” a voice squeaked.

Sirius jerked to a stop. His blood froze cold in his veins when a balding head with waxy blood hair peeked from behind. Slowly, the man crawled to his feet, his squinty watery eyes blinking nervously.

“Wormtail…” Sirius growled, his hands clenched. He could barely keep the sea of rage at bay, staring into the face of his best friends’ murderer. The thorn in his side ever since Azkaban five years previous. “You bastard!” Sirius gritted out. “You’ve been at Hogwarts the entire time, you little…”

Both Peter and Harry winced at the transparent rage in his voice.

The traitor. The murderer. I ought to…

“I’d… I’d stay there if… if I were you,” Peter stuttered shakily, hauling the small form of his godson into view. Harry was stiff and wide eyed, staring at the chubby hand around his throat numbly. Sirius recognized the hollow emptiness in the child’s gaze with a sinking heart. They were the same when he first saw him without Padfoot’s disguise, it was the same after every nightmare. Harry was expecting to be hurt.

All the color drained from Sirius’ face when the realization suddenly struck him. “No, Wormtail. Don’t hurt him…”

Some of the fear evaporated from the man’s countenance at those words, and he smiled with a sickening sort of satisfaction. “Oh, I don’t know, Sirius. My hand could slip, and you know…” his hold on Harry’s neck tightened abruptly, making the child’s eyes widen in terror.

“No!!” Sirius stepped, ready to lunge forward. But Peter took another step back, dragging the child roughly with him.

“Stay right there!” he ordered, pointing with his free hand. “I’ll kill him if you come any closer!”

“If you touch one hair on his head, I’ll kill you!” Sirius hissed.

Peter lips twitched, a mockery of a sneer. “What can you do right now, Sirius? I have Harry, I can do I want!”

Peter’s fingers moved from Harry’s neck, leaving dark stains of his fingerprints on the child’s skin. Harry drew a shuddering breath, the air rushing back into his lungs, his legs sagging weakly. Peter caught him by the back of his oversized shirt, yanking him sharply to keep him standing. But after the exertion a few hours ago, and the previous injuries still lingering, the child was obviously not going to take much more. Harry was deathly pale, almost as pale as the wasted boy a week ago. It was taking all of Sirius’ self control not to rush to the traitor and tear out his throat.

“If you hurt him, I’ll kill you,” Sirius gritted out, seething.

Peter sniveled and shuddered, his eyes drying. “You can’t do anything! You won’t dare…”

He trembled with suppressed rage, his blood pounding erratically in his head from the fire coursing through his veins. He glared at Peter as if he was ripping him piece to piece with his eyes alone. “First, James and Lily, and now Harry? How low will you sink?! Harry’s just a boy, he’s been through so much already! You’ve already taken his parents away from him, and now this?!”

Peter seemed to falter slightly at those accusations, “I… I didn’t mean…”

“You what, you didn’t mean for them to die?” Sirius snapped.

“He… he was too strong!” Peter yelled, his voice scratchy and eyes darting around the room fearfully as if afraid that his lord would appear. “He would have killed me!”

“Then you should have died!” Sirius shouted, “You should have died as we would for you!”

“I… I’m not brave like you…” Peter continued, his beady black eyes watering pitifully. “I… he’s too strong! What could I have done?”

“You knew exactly what you were doing then, you bastard! You know exactly what you’re doing now. Give it up, Wormtail. Voldemort’s dead,” Sirius growled out, taking a cautious step forward.

Peter shivered fearfully at the Dark Lord’s name, but he became more vindictive than ever.

“This boy’s the reason why Master left! It should have never came to this!” Peter shrieked, pressing his back against the furthest corner of the room.

He grasped a handful of Harry’s messy hair, twisting it painfully. The boy whimpered as he arched his back against the strain, squeezing his eyes in agony. He didn’t protest much further than that; he didn’t even cry out or struggle. That was not the reaction Peter had anticipated. He had hoped to grind out a few screams of pain from the child to aggravate Sirius, but at his unresisting silence, he faltered. Harry fell forward, only Peter’s tight grasp of the back of his shirt kept him from falling.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!” Sirius choked out, noting the dull emerald eyes with mounting anxiety. “He’s just a child, he’s James’ son for god sake. How can you do that to him after everything you’ve done?!”

“He’s the reason why I have to be here, to do this!” Peter screeched, waving his hand about wildly. Harry visibly cringed, his hand on his mouth as if desperately muffling a cry of pain.

“That’s a pathetic excuse, and you know that! Just let him go,” Sirius insistently shouted, taking a faltering step forward again.

“Harry’s life is in your hands, Sirius!” Peter voice dropped into a whisper, his watery eyes scrutinizing him fretfully. “I won’t kill him if you’ll promise me some things.”

Sirius drew a deep breath, feeling his nails dig into his palm. “What things?”

“Let me leave. I’ll just run off, disappear. I won’t touch Harry again,” Peter muttered beseechingly.

Sirius scowled bitterly. Peter’s utter and complete selfishness was close to making him sick. He couldn’t decide whether he hated Vernon or the rat more. Even to the end, all he cared was his own survival. How much he wanted to wring the worm’s neck…

Harry or his freedom? Was there any question to that?

“Alright,” Sirius agreed without a moment’s hesitation. “Now let Harry go.”

“No! There’s one more thing,” Peter’s hand moved to Harry’s neck threateningly. “You’ll go back to Azkaban.”

Chapter twenty-eight - of broken glass

Sirius staggered as if the floor beneath him was suddenly ripped away. All the ability for form coherent words were lost. Sirius stared dumbly at Peter’s rat-like face for a long moment.

Return to Azkaban? To the dementors? Never see Harry again?

He glanced at Harry’s ashen face, his emerald eyes glazed and distant. If Harry was frightened by the prospect of dying, he didn’t show it. And for some reason, that made Sirius even more upset.

“You can’t do this, ” Sirius whispered, never shifting his gaze from his godson.

“Why can’t I? Go back there, Sirius! Turn yourself into the Ministry! I can’t have everyone hunting for me!” Peter shouted bitterly, his voice cracking and squeaking as he trembled.

“Dumbledore knows; Remus knows. They’ll be hunting for you anyway!” Sirius snapped, taking another tentative step forward.

“Then tell them you’re guilty!” Peter urged without stuttering. His confidence grew when he realized he had the upper hand.

There was a dull crack when Sirius’ knuckle refused to take any more strain. “They won’t believe me,” Sirius gritted out, trembling.

“Tell them!” Peter jumped a little in frustration. “I won’t have them telling everyone about me! Turn yourself into the ministry or you’ll never see Harry again!”

“I won’t be able to see Harry again if I do,” Sirius nearly shouted.

Harry’ eyes broke from their glazed unresponsiveness at those words. He stiffened under Peter’s thick hands, entire appearance shifting from apathy to horror in seconds.

“No…” Harry choked out. He shook his head frenziedly, crawling at Peter’s hands as he struggled to reach his godfather.

“Stay still, Harry. Everything’s going to be alright,” Sirius said as reassuringly as he could, but the anger laced through his words shattered the affect.

“No, Padfoot!” Harry pleaded, struggling to pry Peter’s fingers from his shirt. “You can’t leave! You promised you wouldn’t.”

Sirius’ throat clinched painfully as he took a small step forward. “Harry, I… I’m really sorry, but…”

Sirius’ next words were drowned out by a loud shriek.

Gasping and shaking, Peter shoved Harry aside roughly. Harry was sent sprawling to the floor, missing contact with a wooden bedpost by mere inches. Peter stumbled back, face contorted in agony, loud whimpers wracking his body as he clutched at his wrist with the four fingered hand. Steam sizzled from his wrist and a distinct smell of scorched skin hung thickly in the air.

As to how Peter came across with such a strange injury, Sirius had no clue. But that was the last thing on his mind as he bolted forward, slamming into the fat lump and trapping him against the floor. He knocked the traitor into an edge of a table, overturning glass vials and shattering them into fragments.

“No, Sirius! Take pity, take pity!” Peter begged. He was reduced into a sobbing, pathetic lump within seconds, writhing with rat-like jerks.

“Pity?! How can you say that?” Sirius hissed, garroting the thick, meaty neck. “Pity… after what you did to Lily and James, after what you did to Harry, you’re asking for pity?”

The kind of fury that possessed him then was almost blinding in its intensity. All he could see was Wormtail’s ghastly white face and beady black eyes wide in terror. He trashed helplessly, digging his nails into Sirius’ hand to free himself from his hold. But Sirius barely even registered the incessant stinging in his arms, he was just pounding the pudgy face.

The traitor…

A satisfying crunch as he connected with the side of Peter’s jaw.

Lily and James’ murderer…

Sirius slammed his fist against the rat’s face with such a force that Peter’s head met the floor with a resounding crack.

… tried to hurt Harry, tried to take him away…

Peter yelped when Sirius’ bony hand wrapped around his neck.

Sirius’ breath was coming in sharp gasps, his knuckles sore and burning. Small rivers of blood was running in streams down Peter’s face, and the man was squeaking loudly at every strike. Sirius didn’t notice the pudgy hand until it was too late.

A sudden stab of pain shot through his side. Sirius almost didn’t notice it at first, but as each increasing breath became shorter and shorter, and water seemed to lace the air around him, he hesitated. A shard of glass, murky with a crimson hue, was logged deeply between his ribs. Sirius choked, stunned.

“You…” Sirius broke off, his words lost in a muffled wheeze.

He cried out in agony when Peter pressed his palm against the protruding glass, stabbing it deeper in his chest. Sirius coughed, tasting the bittersweet coppery fluid in a sort of daze. The rage numbed the branding pains shooting through his chest, but the room dimmed oddly.

Peter’s smile was one of exultation, although it looked more like a grimace through the film of scarlet. He pried Sirius’ hands from his neck, and even though Sirius was far stronger, he just couldn’t seem to fight against the rat faced man with the momentary lack of air. Sirius glared in fury, but couldn’t form any articulate words.

“It… it punctured you… your lung, Sirius,” Peter gasped out, his words slurred from his swollen jaw. “You… you’re going to die.”

With a low growl, Sirius slammed his fist against his eye, strength escalating from anger coursing through his body. Peter yelped and scurried against the wall pitifully. Still rash and clouded in his judgment, Sirius trapped the glass between his finger and ripped it out with a groan. The pain barely registered in his mind, and blood gushed from the wound in streams. The room dimmed even more, swimming slightly.

“Padfoot!” Harry’s childish voice, soft but terrified, cut through his thoughts like a knife.

Harry, oh god…

He dragged his head up just in time to see a slight figure flinging himself on the sniveling rat, raining blind blows on him. Still weakened by the injuries, he only managed to bring a look of surprise on Peter’s features. There was an odd prickling sensation in the air that made the hair on the back of Sirius’ neck rise; he wasn’t sure whether it was his injuries that produced the strange effect.

Sirius stumbled to his feet, making a desperate grasp for the child. But before he even stood, Peter had a piece of broken glass in his hand and a pale and frantic child in the other.

No, you bastard! Let him go! Sirius tried to scream, but no sound left his mouth.

Sirius coughed when he struggled to speak, blood pouring through his fingers. It was like inhaling water every time Sirius opened his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. Peter’s face swam dangerously in his vision, and the strength was sapping from his veins with the blood that poured from his side. Sirius rasped, making a frantic lunge at the traitor, but Peter scurried out of the way. His legs faltered under his weight, all his limbs heavy and rusty. Sirius caught the edge of the four poster, screaming silently at his helplessness. The desperation must have leaked onto his face, because Peter gave a squeaky laugh.

Sirius groaned. He couldn’t die! Especially not by Peter. Sirius grinded his nails against his palm, his entire body trembling uncontrollably. He had too much to settle with that bastard, he couldn’t give him that satisfaction. He couldn’t!!

Sirius forced his legs to stay steady and drew a few futile breaths.

“You didn’t comply to our agreement, Sirius,” Sirius’ face twisted into a scowl at Peter’s words. Roughly, the man jerked Harry’s head back by his hair and brought the shard of glass to the six year olds neck threateningly, holding it for emphasis. Harry whimpered, clawing at the hand that bent his neck past endurance. “I don’t know what I’ll do to Harry…”

Sirius’ eyes widened.

He’s just a little boy, he didn’t do anything to you… god…

He could almost see Harry’s frightened face, pale as a sheet and emerald eyes wide behind the glasses. Those eyes that spoke of experiences and visions years past his age, hollow with the realization of the fate that would beset him. And that dull acceptance, knowing that he didn’t have a chance at happiness, that he’d never have a chance at happiness… But he was too young. Decades too young!!

Sirius took an unsteady step forward.

Don’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him. Please!!

Peter spoke some words that Sirius didn’t hear, backing away. There was something wrong with Peter’s face. His skin was reddening, scarring, boils rising on the surface like burned rubber. His mouth opened in a silent shriek, and his arm twitched and flexed.

Light refracted off glass.

There was a sharp gasp, and Harry’s oversized hospital shirt dyed with a rapidly growing patch of crimson. The child’s arms fell to his side, limp and lifeless.

Sirius silently screamed.

With a frantic gasp, Sirius lunged at the traitor, tearing them both off their feet with Harry still trapped in Peter’s grip. Sirius plunged the blade of glass into Peter’s shoulder with a strength that buried it inches into his flesh. The beady black eyes widened in horror and agony, but Sirius was blind to everything but his own anger. He ripped the glass out, and dug it into his neck. Then his chest. Then his scalded face. Until the room had been stained a deep vermilion, and all Sirius could see was red. But he was rapidly sinking into darkness, drowning in the air and his own blood. A cold numbness was soaking through his veins, and he was tired, so tired.

Sirius discarded the shard, leaving it protruding from Peter’s neck, and turned to Harry, lying unresponsively on the carpet, limbs tangled awkwardly and glasses discarded a short ways away. Slowly, as if living a dream, he brushed his fingers over the rapidly cooling fluid.

Choking, he lifted the child in one desperate movement, sinking onto his knees. He enveloped Harry’s slight form with a tight embrace, crushing the limp child against him, the one most precious possession he had left in the world. He failed Harry again. How many times had the six year old been abandoned? How many times had he been lied to? And to think that Harry had so much faith in him after all the efforts he took just to teach him trust again, he’d be the one to let him down.

With an unsteady hand, he traced the jagged gasp carved deeply in the six year old’s neck, as if trying to wipe it away with the sticky blood. But when Harry’s head lolled to one side, his neck blotted with fresh crimson blood that splattered his face and shirt in handfuls, he let his arm slide to the ground. Sirius buried his face in the child’s hair, as if trying to shield himself from veracity, and cried.

Chapter twenty-nine - of blood

Remus drew a sharp breath, staggering violently. He caught the wall of the empty hall reflexively, barely catching himself from falling.

And then, as abruptly as it came, it was gone.

Remus stood haltingly, eyes darting through the darkened hallway in panicked confusion. His ribs were unhurt and undamaged, the air pleasantly cool in his throat. All of the previous stab of agony felt like a wisp of some distant imagination.

Remus frowned, oddly uneasy.

Something happened…

He reached for his wand in his cloak pocket. He and Dumbledore had cast the wards protecting Sirius’ room, and if any were damaged, he would receive signs of it immediately. He knew that odd flash of pain wasn’t the warnings of protection wards shattering, but he couldn’t help but feel suspicious. He lifted the polished wood into the dimming evening sun, and froze.

The tip was glowing red.

Without another thought, Remus spun around, heading for the nearest shortcut to Dumbledore’s office. He tapped at a dusty painting, squeezing behind it as it slowly cracked open, and blindly ran down the rocky stairs. He tore through the narrow passageway, running into stray cobwebs and centuries worth of dust.

That sharp pain was a warning? How could that be possible? Perhaps it was his heightened senses that magnified it, but even then, whatever triggered it must have caused severe damage to generate a backlash that strong.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what happened. Could the ministry arrived unannounced, and somehow broke their way into Sirius’ hiding place? Could they have executed him without a trial? He had just rediscovered his friend, and he couldn’t lose him again. He couldn’t…

Remus threw the password at the gargoyle haltingly before dashing up the stairs two at a time. He knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the headmaster’s office.

The magic was so thick it was suffocating, permeating the air in waves and drawing its icy fingers through his flesh. Remus reeled back, coughing. But the office was the same by all appearances, papers disorganized and meticulous at the same time; only the phoenix was missing from its perch.

“Sirius?” Remus called urgently, rushing to the familiar portrait with a sinking dread.

The oil painting of the stern peddler was missing from the frame; the entire picture hung on one side as if something had tore and ripped it away. He squeezed inside through the narrow crack, eyes scanning the room worriedly.

And stilled.

The acidic scent of blood struck him in a wave of solid ice, so acute that Remus could almost taste the bitter sweetness on his tongue. It was almost as if Dumbledore’s vermilion room was dyed with blood.

He took a tentative step forward, eyes darting through the room agitatedly. The floor was glossy and fluidic under his feet, like…

Blood.

His breath hitched in his throat, Remus glanced down. A scarred face stared up at him, beady eyes wide and unseeing with a sort of horror as he laid on his back at the foot of the door. Blood streaked his face in long, raw gashes, soaking the entire length of his worn robes. Remus stumbled back, catching the wall, stunned.

Pettigrew…

Remus gritted his teeth, feeling a surge of anger more potent than he ever felt before. He didn’t know how the traitor came to be there, and he didn’t care. Right then, if it wasn’t for the concern for his only friend preoccupying him, he would have kicked and stomped on the body by the doorway.

Reality returned to him abruptly like a ton of bricks.

“Sirius!!” Remus called out, with hints of panic leaking into his tone. “Where…?”

A warm presence tickled the side of his face. Remus distantly registered Dumbledore’s phoenix settling on his shoulder, singing a mournful thrill before spreading its fiery wings again. He flew as if guiding him, circling a shadowy form once to land gracefully on the four poster.

Remus took several cautious step forward, squinting to see in the dimly lit room. A patch of black hair caught his eye.

“Sirius…?” Remus breathed, throat constricting painfully.

Sirius was twisted in an awkward position the ground, caught between kneeling and leaning. He hutched over himself, arms wrapped firmly around a form as if defensively protecting something in his possession. When Remus touched his shoulder tentatively, Sirius all but collapsed, falling stiffly to one side. His eyes were closed, expression frozen in grimace of pain and defeat. His arm fell to one side, revealing a thick patch of blood that seeped into his white shirt.

“No…” Remus choked out, pressing his fingers against the wound in a desperate action to staunch the flow.

This wasn’t suppose to happen. Not when he finally learned the truth, not when they finally had a chance…

With an unsteady hand, he reached up to search for a pulse, but his arm shook so violently that it only smeared the blood.

No, please… don’t die. He’d gone too far to lose it all again!

There was a raspy gasp.

A violent tremor wracked Sirius’ thin frame, before he fell still again. His head fell to one side, and a stream of blood colored his chin.

Remus caught his breath, carefully easing his friend to his uninjured side. Sirius’ body tensed, and choked, drowning coughs ripped from his throat. Thick, murky fluid flowed from his mouth in handfuls before Sirius drew a weak, shuddering breath.

Oh god…

“Sirius, hold on, just hold on,” Remus whispered, tone almost pleading. He groped for his wand, leaving patches of red across his robes. He needed to send for help, they both needed help…

He ripped at his tattered cloak, pressing the helm against the pulsing wound. The fluid was warm and sticky on his hands, but Remus forced his hand to be steady. But Sirius was losing too much blood too quickly; judging from the deep intrusion, it must have caused internal damage as well. He was dying.

A patch of wild black hair caught his eye. Carefully, Remus pried away Sirius’ stiff hand with difficulty. The slight form of Harry, slipped lifelessly from the crook of his arm, slumping indolently against Remus’ shoulder. His head lolled back, a splatter of brilliant red across his neck.

Blood was running in streams across Harry’s face, neck, shirt, staining his too pale skin crimson.

Remus could feel the color draining from his face, his stomach churning violently.

“No…”

A jagged gash was carved into the child’s neck, thick and swelling. Trembling, Remus pressed an edge of his cloak against the wound, the cloth already soaked with Sirius’ blood.

“No, no, no… Harry?” Remus choked out, dabbing at the blood on Harry’s face. He was silent, so pale that Remus could see the blue veins on his neck. As he brushed against the child’s cheek gently, his head fell flaccidly to one side.

No, please not Harry too! They’re all he had left… no…

Lightly, he rested his head against the child’s chest, holding his breath. But his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that it drowned out all other sounds.

His throat constricted so tightly that it hurt to even breathe. The air was heavy with the bitter tang of blood. And the only two people he had left in were lying, limp and lifeless on the vermilion rugs. Remus dug his nails into the flesh of his palm, desperately wondering if everything was just a terrible nightmare.

Chapter thirty - of darkness and light

//

It was white.

That was all Harry could see, light so bright that he couldn’t even make out his own hands without squinting. He raised his arms to shield his face from the blinding brightness, but the light seemed to seep from the very air around him, and he could see nothing.

Harry closed his eyes, expecting the world around him to be an oddly placed dream. He didn’t remember falling asleep. Rather, all the memories drifting in his mind was muddled and blurred.

Where was he? Why was he there? Harry couldn’t remember, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was a feeling of peacefulness about the world around him that he could remember ever feeling before. The air itself was like a drug, veiling his senses in a thick cloud. Harry felt as if he was floating through water, free from everything that could possibly hurt him again.

‘Don’t think,’ a silky voice whispered in his ear. ‘Just close your eyes and let yourself go. You’ll be free.’

The voice was soothing, comforting, just listening to it left the lingering sensation of warmth in his mind. He wanted to reach for it, but something in the back of his mind cringed away. There was a strange bitterness in the back of his throat. It wasn’t right, something wasn’t right. There was something he was forgetting, something important…

Padfoot!!

The image of his godfather, swaying on his feet as he fought to breathe, with blood coating his side in thick patches of crimson flashed through his mind.

Harry jolted violently, the peaceful calmness shattered.

Sirius was hurt! He could have been dying, or perhaps… no! He was the only person who ever cared about him enough to save him; Harry couldn’t lose him too! He already lost his parents…

Harry fought to open his eyes again, but the light burned painfully. He struggled, but the air felt like water around him, thick and clammy. He kicked out, reached blindly around, trying everything and anything just to get away. But every attempt seemed to make the air thicker around him, and soon, it was like molasses that he was clawing through. It seeped into his mouth, clogged his throat, choking back his breath and flooding his lungs.

And the light grew brighter.

\

“Damnit! Please…” Remus choked out, his fist tightening around the wand so firmly that he could feel moisture under his nails where it cut into his palm.

Keeping his hand steady forcefully, he held the polished wood above the swelling cut above Harry’s neck.

The tip glowed a pale blue, before flickering out.

Harry was unresponsive. Remus rested his ear against the child’s chest again, his ears faintly registering the feeble beatings of his heart. His hands were ice cold, Remus couldn’t even find the pulse on Harry’s wrist. Every breath was soft and weak, as if Harry was fighting to breathe. The six year old had lost too much blood for someone already so frail. He was dying.

Remus gritted his teeth and whispered the healing charm again. But it was impossible. No dark creature could be capable of magic so pure.

He bit his lip to contain the storm of frustration, and tasted bitter acid. If he lost either of them…

Remus pressed the cloth against Harry’s neck more firmly, a futile attempt to seal the gash with his fingers. His gaze traveled to Sirius, slumped against the bed with a tightly bound, makeshift bandage against his side. In the dimly lit room, Remus could barely make out the slow, sluggish rise and fall of his chest. Instincts told him to help his friend, but the six year old held him back. He had to save Harry. He knew if Sirius was here, that would be what he wanted. If anything happened to James’ son, Sirius would never forgive himself. But Remus wasn’t sure if he could live with losing either of them.

Another agonizing gasp as Harry fought to breathe, and then silence.

“Oh god… no!!” he choked out, chest constricting painfully.

Remus carefully lifted the lifeless child, raking his mind for a spell, any spell that could help him.

Where was everyone? They needed help! Damnit… where were they…? Sirius’ dying, Harry’s dying…

//

It was black.

That was all he could see. Darkness on every side, darkness everywhere he looked, darkness lacing his fingers, darkness overshadowing his eyes.

Sirius took a small step forward, musing as the darkness beneath his feet rippled like pools of water. But it made no sound as he placed his weight on it, and stood resolutely firm. Sirius took another step, and another, and another, just so he could amuse himself by watching the solid water.

If this was hell, it was boring.

He had hoped he would be able to see James and Lily at least, but there was nothing. But he probably didn’t deserve heaven, and if he did, James and Lily wouldn’t want to see him. He had failed Harry.

Sirius fell to his knees.

The water churned violently, but held firm. Numbly, Sirius watched his reflection stare back at him. His hair was ragged, his eyes dead. He looked horrible to even his standards, which had significantly lowered since Azkaban. But not that it mattered anymore.

He deserved this place. He deserved to suffer, just as he did in Azkaban. He deserved to rot in darkness for eternity, after all that he did to James, to Lily, to Harry. He just hoped Wormtail wasn’t here too.

Damn that rat. Damn him!!

Sirius covered his face with his hands, tensing his fingers so harshly that he clawed as his skin. The jagged wound, slit across his throat of the young… too young child, was burned into his eyelids. His fault. His fault!! He never failed to drag the innocent child into trouble. If he had taken care of him, protected him, kept his promise, then Harry would never have been hurt.

Perhaps if he never escaped…? No, then Harry would still be in the care of those abusive relatives. He should have escaped sooner, yes, and done something. Something to help him!

Should have told Harry about Peter. Should have strangled that rat to death in the beginning. Should have helped Harry sooner.

Distantly, Sirius noted, with some grimness, that he was crying. Strange, really. He hadn’t cried since the night James and Lily died. Blinding, hot tears that threatened to rip him apart. He was sobbing uncontrollably in his hands, out of guilt, anger, fury all directed against himself. He didn’t even care that he was a twenty-five year old adult who survived the horrors of Azkaban.

He hid his face in his hands, eyes downcast. He wanted to move but had nowhere to go. He wanted to leave but didn’t dare. He wanted to rot where he knelt but didn’t think he deserved the decency.

Sirius drew a shuddering gasp and fell silent.

\

There was a sharp clash as the portrait was thrown completely aside.

Remus felt more than saw Dumbledore burst into the room, the hair on the back of his neck prickled at the flicker of power that passed through the room. There was an abrupt and thick pause as Dumbledore froze at the doorway. Remus couldn’t imagine how he looked, kneeling on the floor with Harry sprawled against him and Sirius slumped against his blood-stained arm.

“Dumbledore, you have to help them,” Remus whispered hoarsely. “I can’t manage the healing spell… they’re… Harry isn’t breathing…” Remus couldn’t seem to find the voice to continue.

In two long strides, the headmaster was across the room, unusually agile for someone so ancient. He knelt beside them, his blue eyes darkening further. With a carefully controlled wave of his hand, Harry’s slight form convulsed like a poorly mastered puppet. Remus flinched, a stab of pain raking his chest at the agony on the child’s face. There was a barely audibly gasp, and Harry gave a feeble gasp of air. Remus’ throat was too constricted to allow a sigh of relief.

“I can’t heal him completely, he lost too much blood,” Dumbledore murmured; the thickness of his voice was the only betrayal of how much the headmaster was distressed. “Remus, let me take Harry. Use the fireplace and bring Madam Pomfrey. Hurry.”

Remus nodded, lifting the child with trembling hands.

A warm presence brushed past his arm. The phoenix circled overhead, before gracefully on his shoulder, looking down on Harry’s still form. It lightly placed his head on the child’s neck; a mournful thrill stirred from its throat, before pearl-like tears ran from its eyes and seeped into the inflamed skin.

The frayed flesh reddened vividly. At each drop of fluid, gash mended around it as if sealed by invisible hands. Within seconds, the pulsing wound had faded into a faint scar, a jagged line of discolored skin that stretched from Harry’s ear to his collarbone.

Remus caught his breath.

The phoenix closed its red eyes and another note of sadness filled the room. A luminous, blood red feather slipped free from its plume, fluttering slightly before settling over the tattered sleeve of Harry’s wrist. It fizzled brilliantly, almost blinding him in its intensity. When Remus opened his eyes again, the phoenix feather was gone.

//

Sirius fell on his keeps, the solid water rippling violently under him. Dully, he marveled at how firm yet yielding the silky rock was. His bloodshot, hollow gaze stared back at him, blurred by the reflection.

It was so cold, so empty, so much like Azkaban that it made him shudder every time he looked skyward. He deserved this place, but Harry didn’t. Please, he didn’t care what happened to him. He could suffer with dementors for the next hundreds years, just don’t let the child suffer too! But it was too late…

Sirius let himself fall face forward against the glassy water, feeling too weary to even hold his head upright.

He had raged about everything and anything, about his own foolishness, Peter’s betrayal, about his rashly leading himself to his own downfall and taking Harry down with him. He had long since screamed himself hoarse, clawed at his face, and pounded the watery ground until his palms were raw and bleeding. And now, he was just left with an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the icy numbness seep into his face. He felt deadened, as if someone had carved out his blood and flesh, living behind a hollow shell of apathy.

Distantly, he could hear whispers of voices that triggered a warm memory. Help me, it seemed to plead with him. But his eyelids were so heavy, and he was so tired…

Sirius fought to open his eyes again, feeling as if just lifting his head was a desperate struggle. Darkness seeped into sight, and for a moment, he couldn’t decide whether he was looking at the inside of his eyelids or the dark expanse that surrounded him.

A pale light brushed past his field of vision, and Sirius jerked in surprise at the violent contrast. He sat up, the heaviness shattered and forgotten. The glassy floor under his hands was suddenly no longer black. There was a greyness that tinged its edges, as if someone had poured light through a small crack in its surface. Sirius peered at it closer, and nearly jumped to his feet in shock.

A child was trapped deep within its waters.

\

“Lay him down,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice was shaking slightly, without her usual composure. “Quickly. He’s not going to hold out for much longer.”

Dumbledore levitated Sirius’ prone form onto the four poster bed with a stoic and stony expression. But the dark glint in his eyes betrayed him. He had been unnervingly restrained with a silent fury since he rushed into the guestroom, minutes behind his former pupil.

“It cut too deep,” the nurse said hoarsely. “It cut too deep…”

Remus tensed, hand instinctively tightening around the child resting against him. When Harry had been healed and the nurse regretfully admitted she could do no more but hope, he found himself unable to relinquish him. He was beginning to understand what Sirius felt two weeks ago, when he had nothing else left in the world but a six year old boy and a nearly lost friend.

“What…?” Remus whispered; his voice sounded hollow even to his ears. “What do you mean?”

“His left lung collapsed, I’m not sure if…” the nurse trailed off, tracing invisible patterns in the air.

That was a warning not to speak, and not to disturb her.

Remus held his breath, willing the waves of panicked desperation into the back of his mind. He sank back in the duvet, wrapping his cloak around Harry more snugly and squeezing the child’s hand for reassurance. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sight of the nurse, muttering quiet charms above the emaciated frame of his friend.

This was wrong. This shouldn’t be happening…

If anything happened to Sirius, Harry would be shattered. His godfather was the only person he ever accepted into his life, the only person he trusted without reserve. If Sirius died, he’d never be able to trust again. He’d never be able to…

A sharp stab of blinding pain.

Remus choked back a muffled gasp, gripping the edge of the chair reflexively. He rasped for breath as a hand seemed to be squeezing his chest, but every mouthful of air was like water, crushing his lungs. Dragging himself unsteadily to his feet, he carefully placed Harry on the thick divan and staggered towards the door.

“Remus?” he could hear Dumbledore call behind him, but the voice was distant and convoluted as if traveling through liquid.

Remus shook his head, silently willing them to turn their attentions to Sirius and Harry, not him. But every step he took seemed to be heavier, his limbs sluggishly obeying. The lights that lit the small room were becoming blinding in their brightness, and Remus couldn’t even see his own hands. As he struggled to reach the portrait frame, the room swam in his vision. Dimly, Remus noted how his legs crumbled beneath him, and the floor swaying to one side before jumping up to catch him.

//

Sirius pounded his fists against the solid water, feeling it ripple beneath his hands in waves. But every attempt only stirred at the fluid, as if he was dropping weightless leaves on a darkened pond.

“Harry!!” he shouted desperately, willing that somehow, his voice could reach the child. He slammed his hand against the black glass, barely registering the biting pain that followed.

He didn’t know how the child came to be there, but all those questions were drowned out by the icy desperation that was filling his mind. His godson was there, trapped under a sheet of black. At that moment, he forgot where he was or why he was there. He forgot they could be dead or dying or lost. All that mattered was the child, and Sirius knew he had to get to him. He dug his nails into the ground beneath him, but all that followed was a burn of agony and blood flowing from the tip of his fingers.

Harry was still, form drowned out by the bleached hospital clothes that spread around him as if floating weightless. He was a stark contrast to the dyed black waters, face so pale that it was unnerving. At his voice, the child seemed to stir slightly, eyes fluttering to stare blankly at his surroundings.

“Harry!” Sirius shouted again, clawing at the transparent wall that trapped him. “Harry, do you hear me? Its Sirius… it’s Padfoot! Harry?”

The child squinted as if trying to see through the darkness, a small frown crossing the young features. He was unresponsive to his cries, every word passing unheard. Sirius banged his hand against the floor again, and as Harry stared unseeingly ahead, let his arm fall, feeling ready to crack from frustration and helplessness.

Sirius drew a shuddering breath, resting his forehead against the child’s with the clear glass between them. He placed his hand over Harry’s smaller one, the only sense of comfort he knew how to offer. “It’s alright, Harry. I’ll get you out of there. I’ll never leave, I promise this time.”

\

Chapter thirty-one - of unexpected occurrences

Sirius sat up with a jerk and a gasp, blankets dropping from his shoulder to fall to the floor. His eyes darted through the whitewashed room in frantic confusion, breathing shallow. There was a lingering echo in his memory, but it was rapidly slipping away.

Something about Harry… about darkness, water…. What?

Sirius inwardly frowned in bewilderment, but the sense of urgency didn’t fade. It took a moment for his numbness to fade; Sirius muffled a cry of pain as a stab of fire laced his lungs and tore at every breath. It rattled in his chest as if the air was filled with needles that pricked his body. Sirius coughed, but it only came out as a muffled groan, falling back against the bed heavily.

“Sirius!”

A gaunt, pale face with flaxen hair drifted into his vision. Sirius blinked disjointedly, and it took a few seconds before he recognized Remus.

“Harry,” Sirius croaked desperately, tugging at Remus’ cloak. “Where…?”

Remus’ expression softened, as he pressed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder when he threatened to move again. “Harry’s okay. Don’t try to move. You’re badly hurt.”

But Sirius wasn’t alleviated. He struggled to lift his head, searching the room for any sign of the child. Remus shifted the pillows to give him some leverage and gestured to one side. A hospital bed was stretched out across his own, a small form could be barely seen on its surface. Sirius gave a long sigh of relief, dropping his head against the cushions. It was impossible to discern his condition with the child’s back towards him, and Sirius stiffened when a thought seized him.

“How… how is…” Sirius struggled to speak despite his protesting lungs, but a raspy cough cut his words short.

“Relax, Sirius. Harry’s alright,” Remus reassured him, picking the blanket from the floor and spreading it over him.

Sirius pushed his hand away distractedly, “See him… let me…”

Remus hesitated, but the look on Sirius’ face was one of stubbornness. He shook his head in defeat. Carefully, he lifted the child from the bed, and carried him to his godfather. Sirius sat up jerkily, barely even registering the branding pain in his side. He drew the child close and lifted the thin arm, desperately checking it for a pulse.

Harry’s head fell against Sirius’ arm as he was jostled, and the child made a soft moan of protest. His eyes were peacefully closed in a drug induced sleep, breath soft and rhythmic. Cautiously, Sirius peeled back the edge of his collar. There was no gaping wound on the Harry’s neck, just a jagged line of discolored skin and a ring of purple bruises. Sirius drew a sharp breath, hand lingering on a purpling handprint etched in the child’s skin.

“Harry’s okay,” Remus assured him. “He’s alright. Don’t worry.”

Sirius fell back against the pillow with a long sigh, hugging the child close as if he was afraid someone would rip him away.

Remus smiled softly at the sight, and settled on spreading the blanket over them both.

“Don’t try to talk,” he said quickly, when Sirius opened his mouth again. “Your left lung collapsed, and it took Madam Pomfrey a good half hour to repair it.”

Sirius furrowed his brow in confusion.

Remus sighed and sat at a bedside chair, the shadows around his eyes more pronounced than ever. He never shifted his gaze from the pair, his expression a mixture of pensive relief. Cautiously, as if unsure, he reached forward and gave his friend’s hand a small squeeze.

“For a moment there, we weren’t sure if you two were going to make it,” Remus said quietly.

Sirius’ expression darkened, but he made no attempt to speak.

“The two of you almost died last night. Fawkes helped Harry, but he was still unstable. And you…” Remus trailed off, closing his eyes and letting his head fall wearily against the palm of his hand. “We were lucky that we got you to Madam Pomfrey in time…”

He drew an unsteady breath, releasing Sirius’ hand jerkily. The acute fear of losing his friend just a day before was driven by the situation. When Sirius was suddenly awake and recovering, Remus felt the barriers driven between them by the five years of misunderstanding slowly resurfacing.

Sirius must have known or understood. He caught Remus wrist before he backed away completely, clasping it firmly.

Remus smiled reassuringly at his friend, not trusting himself to speak again. But the strain of the last few hours was crumbling down over him, and he could feel his composure slipping. Trembling, he leaned forward and gave Sirius a tentative, one-armed hug to reassurance. It was awkward, with Harry’s slight form trapped between them, and the stiff bandages that coated Sirius’ side. The chair was eating uncomfortably into Remus’ legs, but he barely noticed it. All he could feel was an overwhelming wave of relief, feeling as if someone had finally thrown open the window after years of imprisonment.

“Next time you decide to pull another stunt like that, at least warn me beforehand,” Remus muttered, tone forcibly light. He stepped back slowly, giving Sirius a shaky smile.

Sirius made an small sound in the back of his throat, sounding oddly like a mixture of a cough and a chuckle. Remus finally managed a small laugh, but it came out more like a choked sigh of relief.

“With the wards going off like that, I’m surprised you didn’t alert half the staff,” Remus continued, resting an elbow against the edge of the bed and resting his head on his hand. Despite the weak smile in his features, he suddenly seemed very weary and worn, as if he aged years overnight. There was a deep discoloration of skin that spread from his cheek; Sirius’ countenance darkened in concern.

“Remus, what…?” Sirius coughed out, lightly touching the reddish bruise.

Remus dropped his head in an attempt to hide it, hand instinctively covering his face. “Oh that. It’s a long story.” He gave Sirius an almost sheepish smile. “I sort of… fell…”

“You collapsed?” Sirius choked out. Remus flushed slightly, exasperated at Sirius’ rather blatant words.

“Well, it had something to do with…” Remus hesitated, giving his friend an oddly searching look. He drew a deep breath, the smile fading from his features altogether. “a blood oath.”

Sirius choked, coughing roughly as he struggled to speech. All he managed to whisper was a strangled, “What?!” before he dissolved in a fit of coughing.

Remus offered a glass of water, patting his friend’s back sympathetically. Sirius didn’t accept it, searching Remus’ face fixedly. At his horrified expression, Remus hastened to explain, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible. “When I found you and Harry, I mixed our blood while trying to staunch the bleeding. It was a complete accident, but combined with the situation and the connection we already shared, it developed into a sort of… bond. Dumbledore thinks that’s what kept you and Harry alive…”

Sirius sank back, speechless and stunned. He had studied oaths in school before, and the marauders had attempted it multiple times without success. But those actions were childhood impulsiveness; such bonds required much more commitment then they understood. And a blood oath was the strongest, most difficult, and most rare…

“Dumbledore was very vague,” Remus continued quietly. “He described it as stacking three bricks together: breaking each one individually is easier than breaking all three at the same time. I suppose we’ll have to read up on it later.” Remus smiled again, somewhat apologetic. “I wasn’t really listening when he explained it. That was when Pettigrew…”

Sirius made a strangled sound, eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint. Reflexively, his arm tightened around his godson. “Wormtail…” he hissed bitterly. “Did…?”

“You were lucky, Sirius,” Remus said slowly.

Sirius tensed. “What…?”

“I don’t know how, but Pettigrew managed to get stabbed twenty-seven times by you and still crawled away with his life, especially after those burns...”

Sirius jolted, making a frantic effort to sit, Harry still caught in a desperate clasp against his shirt. Remus caught his shoulder in a restraining grip.

“No, Sirius, listen to me,” Remus eased his friend back against the bed slowly, and when Sirius protested, grasped him firmly by the arm. “If you killed him, you would have had to go to Azkaban. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth losing Harry again.”

Sirius’ expression was still grim, but his arm tightened around his Harry defensively. He was still bitterly angry and indignant against the traitor. After what he did to James and Lily, to Harry, Sirius couldn’t think of a suitable punishment that Peter deserved. The rat deserved to suffer for the rest of his life at the extent he tortured Harry.

But when it came between exacting revenge and raising his godson, Sirius already decided long ago. His gaze drifted to the six year old, sleeping peacefully with his head nested against his shoulder. He brushed back the thick tendrils of hair from Harry’s face as reassurance to them both.

“Its not worth losing him again, Padfoot,” Remus whispered beside him. “Harry needs you. You can’t leave him, especially not now…” Remus trailed off with a resigned sigh. He obviously had many more things to say, but could put his thoughts to words. Suddenly smiling, he added, “Dumbledore’s speaking with Fudge right now. With Pettigrew.”

Sirius’s eyes widened, the true meaning of those words sinking in.

Remus nodded, smile widening. “You’re free.”

Chapter thirty - of explanations

Sirius lingered in the secluded room of the hospital wing, impatiently waiting for the membrane of his lung to heal and the ability to speak coherently again. He saw little of Dumbledore and Remus that week, but he caught bits and pieces of conversations that passed.

Pettigrew was put on trial, with Remus and Dumbledore as witnesses. He was mercifully excluded, due to ‘health’ reasons that sounded suspiciously exaggerated, but Sirius was relieved he didn’t have to face those thickheaded bastards. His story, oddly, was sounding exaggerated as well. Fudge, as an attempt to save his flimsy reputation, changed his stance overnight from Sirius being the mad mass murderer to the valiant godfather who single-handedly fought off the dementors and tracked down his best friend’s betrayer for vengeance. Within days, Pettigrew was carted off to Azkaban, with an anti-transfiguration cell and stamped with a life sentence.

Sirius remained in the whitewashed room, as dull as it was small, and read the prophet headlines from the chair beside Harry’s bed. He couldn’t help a rueful smile at ridiculous articles he read that discussed theories on his escape, and yet more theories on how he managed to track down Pettigrew. He inwardly frowned when he came across an article that revealed the events of the day of the rat’s capture.

So much of that day came away blank.

How did Harry manage to find his room, much less break the two seals to enter? How did he find Peter, and then know to hide him in his pocket? How did Peter’s body burn, as if someone had poured scalding metal in his blood?

But sometimes, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Sirius rested his arms on the bed, lightly smoothing out Harry’s messy locks. But the child made so sign of having noticed him at all, eyes peacefully closed without stirring or making a sound. He was trapped in an almost coma-like sleep, drained by excessive blood loss. He seemed so small and vulnerable, hardly the child who defeated Voldemort and somehow managed to give him freedom.

Suppressing a sigh, he moved to the edge of the bed, where the mattress was beginning to get indented from his frequent sitting. Brushing back a few stray locks of Harry’s unruly hair, his hand traveled to the child’s neck. A faint scar, thin and jagged, carved from his ear to his collarbone in a mockery of yet another lightning bolt. Sirius gritted his teeth in the fresh wave of fury.

The anger that flared, whenever he recalled the events of that day, never faded in intensity. The image of Harry, eyes wide and empty with blood pooling around his throat, was burned into the back of his mind, haunting him in dreams. He was itching to grind more shards of glass into Pettigrew’s pudgy face. That rat deserved more than Azkaban for what he did to James and Lily, to Harry…

Sirius inwardly sighed.

No matter how many times Madam Pomfrey reassured him that Harry was fine, Sirius wasn’t convinced. He found himself hobbling to the child’s beside to check on him during odd hours of the night, a habit drilled into him after the week at the hotel. He practically lived on the chair beside his godson’s bed. Gently, he lifted Harry’s small hand and enfolded it in his own, something that he never really dared to do a week ago when the child was still painfully shy.

The door creaked open, but Sirius didn’t turn. Only three people knew about the secluded room, and he half expected it was the nurse telling him to return to bed.

“I see you read the headlines this morning,” Dumbledore said by way of greeting. He drew up a chair to Harry’s bedside and sat, a sign that he was planning for a long visit and complete explanation.

Sirius nodded impatiently, having gotten in the habit of conserving words to spare his raw throat.

Dumbledore smiled knowingly, his blue eyes twinkling and looking as if he had grown decades younger. “You don’t seem as excited as expected.”

Sirius sighed, but it came out more like a groan. “This room is getting to my nerves. Even if I’m not claustrophobic, I will be soon.”

Dumbledore’s expression brightened even at his weak attempt at humor. “You will be able to walk through the school freely by tomorrow. Or maybe tonight, if the proper precautions are taken.”

Sirius nodded, thoughts drifting again. He seemed to be doing that a lot of the late: never quite able to focus on anything but his godson, and lately, his only friend. “Where’s Remus?”

“Sorting out some last minute affairs,” Dumbledore said with an cryptic smile. “He’s trying to regain possession of Black Manor, your Gringotts account, and settling some unfinished business. You could accompany Remus as he goes to pay your bills.”

Sirius’ lip quirked in a slight grin. “I’ll stay.”

He had spent well over six hundred pounds in medical supplies alone, not to mention the daily room service charges, phone charges, and hotel room fees. Remus was going to throw a fit.

“What about the Dursleys?” Sirius asked, his thoughts drifting again. He spat out the name of Harry’s relatives bitterly.

There was a prolonged silence.

Dumbledore’s expression faltered and fell, the age returning to his wizened face. “There is very little I can do within the confines of the law. If we pressed charges, Harry would be required to stand in court. Do you really want to do that to him?”

“No,” Sirius said quickly, hand tightening firmly over Harry’s. His gaze returned to the sleeping child, as if seeking and offering reassurance at the same time. “But they deserve to be punished for what they did to him.”

Dumbledore nodded understandingly. “I’m sure they will be.”

“He’s been through enough,” Sirius continued quietly. “He doesn’t need to go through that again. He’s just a child.”

A small cryptic smile spread over the wizened wizard’s face, “Harry is a child. But he knows far more than we give him credit for.”

Sirius startled, a bit uneasy at the direction the headmaster seemed to be going.

“Harry seems to know, or do strange things, doesn’t he?” Dumbledore said in a tone that made his words more of a statement than a question.

Sirius hesitated, feeling an odd urge to convince Dumbledore that Harry was only a normal six year old. But the past years had instilled an innate trust in Dumbledore, and he couldn’t lie to the headmaster.

“Yes,” Sirius admitted quietly. “He found out who I was without being told, and what I was. I didn’t ask him how he knew.”

The headmaster nodded as if he already knew the answer. “Harry’s magic started manifesting itself far sooner and far more potent than I predicted it would. Those are signs of magical repression, when a powerful witch or wizard tries to hide magic because of domestic environments. It probably whiplashed and made him more powerful.”

“What are you implying?” Sirius couldn’t help but ask. He had a vague idea Dumbledore was alluding to something, and was too impatient to hear him speak in small circles.

“Harry is a very powerful wizard, not just for his age,” Dumbledore said with a tone of finality. “There is so much that I am unsure of, but I can say with certainty, that Harry will be able to surpass me when he comes of age.”

Sirius sighed, rubbing his eyes harshly. He leaned against the bedpost, only mildly shocked at the news. “Harry always seemed really intuitive, but I always thought it was because he had premonitory abilities. But…” Sirius’ voice drifted as his eyes strayed to the bed again. It hardly seemed possible that such a fragile boy could have such potential. But at the same time, he found himself suspecting it for some time.

“Sirius, turn over Harry’s hand.”

Sirius paused in bewildered, but under Dumbledore’s insistent stare, loosed his grip on Harry’s hand. “Is there something wrong?” he asked worriedly.

“It’s completely hidden, but in Harry’s wrist, Fawkes left a feather,” Dumbledore said with his characteristic calm. He treated the topic as if it was a daily, common occurrence. It took a moment for Sirius to fully interrupt his words.

“He what?” Sirius turned sharply, expression dark with concern. “Will it hurt him? A phoenix feather is made of fire, and…”

Dumbledore raised a halting hand at Sirius’ acute reaction. “No, it won’t harm Harry in any way. I’m certain about that. I cannot explain Harry’s gift. Phoenix feathers were never documented to react this way; their only use is in wand cores and everlasting torches. I don’t think I have a suitable explanation until we actually see the affects of it. Nevertheless, we should begin his magical education now, since he is exhibiting such strong signs of magic. He’ll still attend Hogwarts when he comes of age, but he needs lessons now on how to control it.”

Sirius paused, absorbing the news with some amount of relief. He sank in another lapse of thoughtful silence. “It seems like everything happens to him. I just want Harry to have a normal life,” he said finally.

Dumbledore nodded, eyes brightening with a sort of veiled understanding. “I understand. But with Harry’s past and his present reputation, that’s impossible. I’m sure you’ll try everything within your ability to protect him. You will be a very good guardian for him, Sirius.”

The headmaster stood slowly, and without speaking, drew a tightly rolled scroll from the folds of his robes. He held it with quiet reverence, laying it carefully in Sirius’ hand. Curious, Sirius unwrapped it, drawing it under the light to read the words. He drew a sharp breath in surprise.

“This…” Sirius turned to Dumbledore questioningly, but he had already left. He glanced back at the crisp sheet of parchment in his hand.

… adoption forms…

Sirius grinned.

Chapter thirty-two - of creation and invention

//\

On May 29th, an article that stretched over the entire front page of the Daily Prophet triggered an uproar in the wizarding community. Barn owls, tan owls, snowy owls dotted the open night skies, leaving muggle environmentalists to speculate habitat destruction was increasing owl activity. Dark cloaked people gathered in small corners, whispering, disputing, then outright shouting as they held the newspaper with shaking hands. The reaction came close to matching that of Halloween, five years ago.

It wasn’t that the news was as shocking as the downfall of the greatest Dark Lord in the history of the wizarding world. The news, compared to that, was quite ordinary. It was simply narrating the details of the trial between Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, quoted and supported with pictures.

But after five years of unbroken peace, people had come to view any news relating to the Dark Lord was a sort of evil omen. And Sirius Black was certainly one.

The people were horrified. Some were still in denial. Others were outraged. A select few smiled, claiming that they knew it all along. And a few more were simply confused.

But compared to the second story, the first lost every significance.

The Boy Who Lived was adopted. Adopted by the alleged murderer of his parents and thirteen others, and soon to be given a home by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Many were unsure of what to think. They had idealized Harry Potter so long that they never considered his family life. He was an idol, elevated to the position of someone untouchable, despite his age, and they never stopped to think that he was only a six and a half year old boy who needed a family, needed a bed, needed to sleep, eat, and play like any other normal boy.

Some were doubtful. They questioned Sirius Black’s trustworthiness, his innocence, and his ability to take care of any human being, much less a child. And the very few people who actually knew about Remus Lupin’s condition were nothing short of horrified. All in all, only three people were truly happy for them, Arabella Figg, Minerva McGonagall, and Albus Dumbledore.

\//

It was like claws were holding him down.

He remembered hearing a familiar voice calling, but no matter how he fought against them, he couldn’t move. He heard the person scream and shout, heard pounding above him that sent ripples through the air, urging him to struggle and tear away from the light. But he was so tired, and it was so difficult…

After a while, the voice was gone, and he was alone in the blinding whiteness. The silence grew deafening, and Harry began to feel the flickers of panic. He had fallen to that silence countless times before: after Dudley had pushed him down the stairs, after he tipped Uncle Vernon’s coffee over his suit, after the beating that sent him into Sirius’ care. He used to relish that peace, but now, it frightened him beyond anything he remembered.

Then, without warning, a searing heat on his arm burned into his skin, sinking like water seeping into a sponge into his flesh. As if the cloud dissipated around his body, the white water drowned into a pitch black at the blink of an eye, whipping around Harry ripping at the comforting numbness the light had offered him before. Harry gasped as a wave of biting pain assaulted his chest, clenching his lungs in an icy grip.

Harry rasped dryly into his hand, an attempt to silence the raking coughs. His body was stiff, his throat on fire, and there was a sinking heaviness in his limbs that made his blood feel like lead in his veins. Harry trembled despite the warm weight that engulfed him, unable to ignore the sinking desperation that something horrible had just happened.

Harry forced open his eyes in a desperate effort, blinking rapidly as cold air bit into his lids. He could barely make out the curve of a whitewashed ceiling overhead, grey in the dark room, and the soft covers tucked snugly around him. Harry frowned, struggling to recall how he came to be there, but the pervious dreams of the hollow brightness was slipping away like wisps of smoke.

Memories returned to him in a suffocating wave of images. Of the rat morphing into a short, beady eyed man. Of Sirius, bleeding and dying, but struggling to stand. Then a icy fire rippling across his throat, and dry water drowning his lungs.

Harry’s heart leaped into his throat.

Something happened to Sirius, Harry remembered with a sinking stomach. Harry knew, but didn’t understand what happened. He knew that man that Sirius hated, and Peter tried to hurt him. But that wasn’t on the surface of his mind. All of those confusions were overshadowed by a sinking fear in his stomach. Did Sirius leave? Did he die?

Harry struggled to sit, straining his eyes through the surrounding darkness. His bed creaked as he moved, the white frame shimmering in the dark night.

Sirius couldn’t die, could he?

Harry drew a shuddering breath, feeling a heavy weight wrap around his chest. Even the shock of drowning, suffocating, and choking faded at that fear. Sirius couldn’t be gone like his parents, he couldn’t be gone too! He was the only person that Harry felt at ease with, the only person who he trusted without reserve.

Please, please, don’t let Padfoot die! He’d go back to Uncle Vernon, if it just meant that Sirius was alive. Please…?

Choking for breath, feeling his neck prickle and sting, Harry hauled his unresponsive body across the bed. He tried to drag his legs over the edge, but the surface beneath him felt unevenly swaying. He half stumbled over the edge and barely caught the wall for balance. The linoleum floor was slippery under his feet. With a muffled cry, Harry fell in a helpless heap on the ground.

No, no, no, no, please…

*

A sound aroused him earlier than usual that morning, but after the years, Sirius had always been a light sleeper. When he struggled awake in the springy hospital bed, he was groggily confused to the room still dark, candlelight flickering off the walls. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he startled when he noticed Harry’s bed completely empty, the blanket thrown haphazardly in a corner. Sirius jerked into a sitting position, searching the room desperately. A soft moan caught his attention. He nearly fell out of bed when he caught sight of a small form curled up on the floor, huddled on the linoleum in defensive ball.

“Harry?” Sirius whispered incredulously. He scrambled to his feet, the surprise of Harry finally awakening overshadowed by concern.

Harry moaned again, shivering. He was lying in just a thin set of hospital clothes; it must be flimsy in the chilly castle. His emerald eyes were glazed and unfocused, but clouded with a frantic glint. The dimly lit room was too dark for the child’s poor vision; he held out his hands as if frenziedly searching.

“Harry,” Sirius breathed tightly, falling to his knees beside the child and catching a small hand. “What are you doing out of bed? It’s freezing.”

Harry jolted at the touch, a shudder raking through his slight frame. He turned his face in Sirius’ direction, opening his mouth soundlessly, but couldn’t seem to find the words to speak. Harry’s expression so muddled that Sirius couldn’t even understand.

Carefully, Sirius lifted the child, inwardly wincing when he felt how cold he was. He wrapped a thin sheet around him, hugging the child close for warmth. Sirius flipped back the warm covers of his bed to slip the child comfortably under snug blankets. Harry was still silent, but his emerald eyes never wavered from his godfather’s face. But as Sirius began to draw away, Harry’s hand reached out and grasped Sirius’ sleeve firmly.

The raw desperation in the child’s eyes stayed Sirius in his place. Somewhere along the timeline of two weeks ago, Harry transformed from James son, to his godson, to a child, his child, who desperately needed his protection. It happened so quickly, or perhaps so subtly that he didn’t notice until it completely sneaked up on him. Sirius lightly loosened Harry’s hand and enfolded it gently in his own.

“What’s wrong? Saying something, Harry,” he whispered almost pleadingly, moving to sit beside Harry on the thickly padded infirmary bed. There was a blankness in the child’s emerald eyes that unnerved him, and Sirius wondered if Peter’s actions was the final straw that cracked him beyond repair.

Harry didn’t stir, still gazing at Sirius as if he was the only person in an empty world. But when Sirius tentatively touched his cheek, the child’s expression crumbled. Small arms latched around his neck, and a mass of dark hair blinded him.

“You’re still here. You’re still here,” Harry whispered, voice strained with a sort of desperation.

Sirius hesitated at the six year old’s abrupt gesture, and for a moment, stared mutely at the trembling child. Watching his godfather stabbed and almost killed was probably a painful blow, and the trauma of having his throat slit with a jagged piece of glass only fueled it. Sirius drew Harry in a loose hug; silently wishing he would hide him there forever. Harry had been through so much, too much for his young age.

“Yes, I am. And I’m not going to go anywhere,” Sirius finally said, running his hand through Harry’s untamed hair in an action that seemed to comfort them both.

Harry just shook his head, arms tightening around his neck. Sirius wondered what exactly he meant by such a simple action.

Sirius swallowed uneasily, soothingly patting the trembling child’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Harry fell still, leaning stiffly his godfather with his face hidden in his shirt. He didn’t make a sound for what seemed like hours; Sirius thought the child had sunk back into slumber. But when his breathing became raspy and erratic, his shoulders tensing with discomfort, Sirius became concerned.

“Harry? What’s wrong?” Sirius asked, gently prying his arms from his neck. He brushed a few strands of hair from his forehead, but Harry turned from the touch, burying his face against his shirt.

The child’s shoulders trembled again.

“Are you hurt?” Sirius asked worriedly. “Do you feel ill? What is it?”

Gently, he tilted Harry’s chin up, and stilled, unsure of what to say. The child’s emerald eyes were glazed with unshed tears; Harry seemed to desperately holding them back. Sirius’ throat constricted at the sight. Harry never cried no matter how much he was hurt or how frightened he was; for him to be crying now must be like ripping away the frame that, for years, held together shattered glass.

“It’s alright,” Sirius said as soothing as he could. He had no idea what was wrong, but didn’t know what else to say.

Those words of assurance seemed to have the opposite effect. The bundle in his arms shuddered violently, and tears cascaded down Harry’s cheeks without restrain. But even then, he was silent and enduring, making no sound even as the tears streaked his face and stained Sirius’ hand. Feebly, he tried to turn his face away.

Sirius drew the child in a protective embrace, running his fingers through the windblown hair. But every attempt at comfort just made Harry cry harder. Soon, he was caught in a fit of full fledged sobbing, gasping his shirt sleeve distraughtly. His shoulders wretched and strained from the effort, and he coughed and hiccupped in between tears. Sirius whispered words of comfort, gently rocking the small child back and forth.

“Please, don’t leave… don’t go anywhere,” Harry rasped out between sobs.

“I won’t,” Sirius whispered softly. “I promise this time.”

*

“Sirius?”

Remus peeked from behind the door, a bit bewildered at the tense silence in the room.

“Speak softly. He’s asleep,” Sirius whispered, not looking up.

Those words must have make no sense to Remus, seeing that Harry had been asleep all week, but he didn’t pursue it. Soundlessly, he moved into the room, sliding the portrait shut behind them. He smiled when he caught sight of his friend leaning against the headboard, with his godson resting peacefully against the crook of his arm. The bed wasn’t wide enough to accommodate a six year old stretched horizontally across, and the blankets hung over the edge where his legs rested over the frame.

“Did Harry wake up?” Remus asked softly, drawing a chair beside the two.

Sirius nodded, still patting the child’s back rhythmically in a calming lull. “He cried,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “Harry never cried, no matter how much he got hurt. He never cries…” he trailed off, sinking back into a thoughtful silence. “He was afraid of being left alone.”

Remus countenance fell into a mixture of understanding, sympathy, and sadness. He couldn’t hold his gaze on his friend’s face without feeling a flicker of regret; dropping his head, he tentatively rearranged the blankets more around snugly the boy.

“He’s been alone for too long,” Remus said finally. “But Harry has a family and a person who cares about him more than anything else in the world. He’s going to be happy.”

Sirius nodded distractedly, still rocking the child gently back and forth. His hand tightening around the child’s thin arm was the only sign that he heard at all.

Abruptly, Remus smiled, leaning an elbow on the bed and resting his head on a hand thoughtfully. “It’s his seventh birthday in two months. We should celebrate, make up for all those years we missed…”

Rather than looking delighted, Sirius mood depressed even more. He sighed resignedly, twisting a corner of the blanket between his fingers.

“What is it?” Remus asked, a bit caught off guard by Sirius’ grim expression.

“I was hoping we could celebrate his second birthday or something,” Sirius mumbled. “He’s growing up too fast. I wish we could spend more time with him before he grows up. Five years is too short, we should have at least ten.”

Remus paused; he understood the message behind his words. Sirius was still bitter about his five year imprisonment, and although he never mentioned it out loud, Remus knew that he always wished he escaped Azkaban earlier.

“You shouldn’t hang on to ‘what if’s,’ Sirius. Think about now, the future, but don’t linger on things that you can’t change,” Remus said quietly.

Sirius lowered his head slightly, shoulders slumping. “I know, but…” He trailed off into silence.

“What are you planning to do for Harry’s birthday?” Remus asked with a rather forced smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Sirius shrugged, looking a bit sheepish at having never considered it before. “I… I don’t know. Probably take him to Diagon Alley. I was too preoccupied with the idea of moving back into Black Manor.”

Remus’ grin widened, “When are you planning to move? The reporters are all desperate to know.”

Sirius didn’t reply for several minutes, gently rocking the sleeping child. Slowly, an answering smile spread over his face, a bit sad and rueful, but a smile nonetheless. “I’ll hex them if they try ask Harry anything,” he grumbled. “As soon as that power grubbing woman lets us. We’re going to hide out in the estate. Want to join us, Moony?”

Remus sighed, grinning at the same time. The Black Estate was moderately sized, as moderately sized as magical residences were, buried deep away from civilization.

Five years ago, the idea of Sirius locking himself up in the European wilderness as some sort of hermit would have been a laugh. But after being convicted, even with a crime he didn’t commit, people would be suspicious no matter what the history books said, or how many times he proved himself. Sirius probably would never live a normal life until decades after his sentence.

Harry would be completely bewildered by his celebrity and hero status. The child had suffered from almost an entire lifetime of neglect. With the media chasing him left and right, an incompetent minister out to use him as a stepping stone, people who almost hero worship him, Harry would be ripped apart the moment he stepped into the public. Harry couldn’t live with that. He was far too young, far too innocent, far too timid.

They couldn’t be apart of either societies, magical or muggle. But Remus doubted that Sirius cared. His world consisted of only his godson and his friend, nothing else mattered in his mind. Sirius and Harry were in a world of their own creation, a haven that veiled them from the demons of the past. And to know that he was welcome in that sanctuary as well gave Remus a comfortable feeling of warmth that made the past five years seem like a distant dream.

“Of course,” Remus leaned back in his chair, pointedly glaring at Sirius. “Who else will keep the you in line? You’ll spoil Harry rotten.”

//\

On May 30th, a picture that spanned over half the front page of the Daily Prophet baffled, alleviated, and angered many.

It was a picture centered on two people, clad in bleached clothes of the hospital white, looking flustered and cornered, having just left the Hogwarts infirmary. Sirius Black, pale and thin from his five year imprisonment and two weeks of emotional strain, knelt on the smooth brick floor. Despite the weariness in his countenance, he still had the gleam that betrayed his young age, and clear blue eyes of flaming intensity. He glared out from the picture as if trying to bore holes through the reporter’s head, protectively clutching against his shirt a small bundle drowned in oversized clothes. Once in a while, the slight form would tremble, and burrow deeper in his shoulder, revealing tendrils of untamed black hair.

Sirius turned from his glaring, eyes softening as he watched the child, shifting so that he veiled him completely from prying eyes of the cameras. His mouth formed words that must have been soothing reassurances, because the dark haired boy relaxed and lifted his head timidly. Harry, far from the image of a boy of perfections, looked four instead of six, and had the gaunt appearance of someone recently recovering from a deathly illness. He so pale that the blended in with Sirius’ white shirt on the poorly printed newspaper. His large emerald eyes darted between his godfather, and the swarming crowd, and abruptly latched onto Sirius’ neck again. A sleeve of his large shirt pulled away, exposing an unhealthily thin arm that spoke of years of mistreatment in his relatives’ care.

More cameras flashed.

Sirius turned his back completely to the obtrusive reporters, lifting Harry with ease. He rubbed the small child’s back comfortingly, at the same time, slapped aside a hand of a reporter that came too close. A lanky figure with gray eyes, and light brown hair shoved his way into the picture with difficulty. Remus stopped beside them and spoke mutely to Sirius with concern. Taking off his cloak, he draped it over them both, and escorted Sirius by the elbow against the impeding crowd. Pushing the desperate people back with unnatural strength for someone so emaciated, Remus led them both from the picture frame.

People were unsure what to think. Those who still had doubts of Sirius Black’s innocence were alleviated, while others claimed that it was a purposeful display of deceit. And with the young boy so obviously attached to his godfather, people questioned whether it was wise to leave him in the influence of someone like Black. Even if he was innocent, he still had five years of Azkaban overshadowing him.

But whatever the response against the three people were, they didn’t know and didn’t care.

On May 31st, exactly five years and seven months after Voldemort’s downfall, Harry Potter went home.

\//

end.