Shadow of a Doubt

Chapter 2 - Black as the Pit

The captain of my soul... I am the captain of my soul... the captain of my soul... unconquerable... I have not winced... bloody, bloody but unbowed... I am the captain... the captain... the captain of my soul...

~*S*~

If you were a thirteen year old wizard boy, living with your magic-hating Muggle relatives, you'd have to find a way to go about certain things. Like not letting your Magic books lie around in the open. Like keeping your owl out of sight and, if possible, hearing distance. Like trying to never say the w-word or the m-word, if you were not trying to provoke someone on purpose that is. Harry still had to be a bit more careful with the last one. He tended to let his temper run away with him. But if he wanted this to work, if he wanted to talk to the man who apparently was his godfather, he couldn't risk another Aunt Marge Fiasco.

Last summer, when Uncle Vernon's sister had been visiting the Dursleys, Harry's temper and, with it, his magic had gotten the better of him, and he had accidentally blown her up. Like a balloon. Making her airborne. The Ministry had to catch her and bring her back to normal, and wipe her memory, and it had all been a huge mess. And Harry had been explicitly told that any more such things would have unpleasant and dire consequences for him. They hadn't exactly said what kind, but Harry wasn't eager to find out.

So he had to go about this more underhandedly. If he had learned one thing from the disaster last year, it was that you couldn't try to get something from Uncle Vernon by asking nicely. And if you wanted to bargain, you'd better be damn sure that you were holding an ace. Unfortunately, Harry had very little to bargain with. He didn't own anything his relatives wanted and couldn't just take, apart from the gold in his vault, and he'd rather they didn't find out about that. But it had actually been that story with Aunt Marge that had opened his eyes to a few facts. One was that his Uncle not only hated wizards and magic in general, not only was he scared of them, he also knew very little to nothing about wizards. The other one was that the one thing Uncle Vernon seemed to strangely approve of was wizard bureaucracy. It seemed Uncle Vernon just liked there to be rules, even if they were made by wizards.

After the thing with Aunt Marge there had been a lot of bureaucracy. A whole pile of bureaucracy and papers to be signed. Confirmation that Aunt Marge had been brought back to her original size, and that no vital parts were missing. Affirmation that Marge had not been subjected to levitation charms before. Permission to remove certain memories involving her floating through the air and circling a chimney in Surrey. There had been so many papers, that Harry had found it no problem at all to smuggle a certain letter into the pile which, after his uncle had signed it with an important face, gave Harry permission to visit the village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends during his time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy.

So what he really needed now was a reason for his Uncle to sign the application form that would give Harry the possibility of visiting his criminal godfather in a high security prison. It was obvious that this was not something he could tell his uncle. Harry studied the paper thoughtfully. It didn't really hold any information about what you were applying for. Why should it, the applicant knew anyway, and so did the Ministry. But his uncle didn't. So what kind of appointment would his uncle approve of...?

~s~

Harry knew that he couldn't rush things. That would only make his uncle suspicious. But he also couldn't wait too long if he wanted to give the impression that Professor Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley's visit had been related to the very appointment he now needed his uncle to sign his name for. So he waited till after dinner that night. It was always important to not bother Uncle Vernon during meals, especially if it was a meager one.

So after Harry had cleared away the dishes, he approached his uncle with the slip of parchment in hand.

''Uncle Vernon?''

A grunt was all the answer he got.

''Professor Dumbledore told me today that I need to see a doctor because of my head injury as a kid.''

''What!?''

''You know, the one that left the scar,'' Harry explained with a serious face. ''It's very uncommon, and apparently he wants me to see a specialist to confirm that there is nothing wrong with my head.''

The lie had come smoothly, and Harry was almost sure that the suspicious look Uncle Vernon gave him was not because he didn't believe him, but because he had in fact always thought himself that there was something wrong with his nephew. Harry bit his lip, only partly pretending to be worried. He had to make this work.

''Hmph. So they finally caught on that you're a freak? Now you're even more so than the other freaks?''

Harry's cheeks heated with irritation. Not that he had expected any compassion from his uncle, but a little worry might have been appropriate.

''They just have to make a few tests,'' he said, trying not to snap. He couldn't mess this up just because his uncle was indifferent about his nephew's fake health issues. ''I need to make an appointment at that place in London, you know, where they treat my kind.''

Uncle Vernon glared at him, even though he hadn't said the bad word, only proving that it really didn't matter what he said, it was Harry's existence alone that could agitate the man.

''London!? Do you think I have time to drive you around to some freakish voodoo doctor?''

''I can take the bus,'' Harry said quickly. ''It won't be a problem.''

His uncle stared at him out of his little beady eyes for a moment.

''Is it dangerous?'' he finally asked, and Harry felt a strange pang in his chest. Maybe he had underestimated the red-faced man. Maybe he did feel worried for Harry after all. ''You know, I don't want you to accidentally blow up the house or anything.''

Or maybe not.

''Well I have never heard of something like that happen, and Professor Dumbledore didn't say anything like it, but I guess the best way to be sure would be to see that specialist.'' Harry held out the parchment. ''You need to sign as my guardian, so that I can get an appointment.''

Uncle Vernon looked at him sharply, but then took the application form as if he was worried it might explode at any moment. Looking at it he frowned. ''Azkaban?''

''It's the name of the hospital,'' Harry lied quickly.

''Hmph. They'd better know what they're doing,'' he grunted, and then, under Harry's gleaming eyes, he signed the form.

''I'm sure they do,'' Harry said brightly. He only hoped the same was true for him.

~*S*~

Sirius Black, the man on the other side of the wall, was obviously on edge. His eyes were darting around the room, as if he was expecting something bad to happen. Harry still couldn't see his face properly, as the filthy black mane was obscuring the man's features. He watched as the wizard made a step further into the room, slow and staggering, steadying himself against the wall with his shackled hands. That was when Harry noticed that Black's feet were bare. They were dirty, and maybe even bloody and, in the cold of this place, and against the rough stone floor, it looked almost obscene. No, this wasn't at all what he had expected.

~*S*~

Harry's hand had been shaking when he had filled in the date of the 1st of August on the parchment for the requested visit. A Monday. One day after his fourteenth birthday. Then he had written the name of the man he wanted to visit. The name of the prisoner. Sirius Black. He had stared at that name in his own handwriting for a long time. Rolling the form up, he had then bound it to Hedwig's leg. There was a moment of hesitation, when he took her over to the window and she looked at him expectantly. It was that moment, where he could still have drawn back, changed his mind, put a stop to something he felt would leave a mark on him forever. Things would be different, he was sure of that, although he didn't know where that feeling came from.

He stroked over Hedwig's feathers tenderly. ''To the Ministry,'' he whispered, and then gave the owl a little nudge, and she took flight. Watching his snowy companion disappear behind the treetops, he let out a heavy sigh as relief and anxiety fought a raging battle inside of him.

Lying down on his sparse bed, Harry wondered if he should tell anyone about his plans. Anyone being Ron and Hermione of course. He assured himself that he wasn't doing anything wrong. No one had forbidden him anything. Okay, so he had lied to his uncle to get the signature, but he had to do that all the time. His relatives weren't exactly reasonable after all. So it wasn't like he had to keep it a secret really, although it might be better if Professor Dumbledore or any other teacher or Mr. and Mrs. Weasley didn't know about it. Especially not beforehand. He could tell Ron and Hermione not to say anything of course, and he was sure they wouldn't. It was just that Ron might have to lie to his Dad. And that Hermione wouldn't approve of him going against Professor Dumbledore's wishes... In the end, Harry was guiltily glad that Hedwig was gone, and there was no way to contact his friends right now anyway.

Of course his luck changed already the next morning, when Errol, the Weasleys' family owl, arrived in broad daylight with a huge parcel, almost dropping it before he collapsed right on the windowsill of Harry's bedroom. Luckily the owl fell forward, into the room and not backwards. That would have been all kinds of bad. And luckily it wasn't dead either, but regained consciousness after a few minutes. And while the content of the package made Harry actually very happy, since there was a huge fruitcake in there which would secure his survival for the next week, there was also a letter from Ron, full of excitement and questions.

You have a godfather? And you never knew about him? How strange is that? What do you guess he wants from you? Dad has not let on very much, just that Black is a really bad guy. Maybe he thinks he'll have a chance to get a pardon if you ask for it?

Harry had no answers to these questions. Not yet. Although he sure hoped to find out about them soon. He just wasn't sure if he should tell his friend about that. He thought about Ron's idea that Black was after a pardon, but if he thought the Ministry would let a murderer go, just because he, Harry Potter, said so, the man had to be delusional. Then Harry remembered what Ron's dad had said. That the prisoners in Azkaban all went mad. So maybe Black was delusional. That thought opened up an abyss of despair inside his belly. He wasn't exactly sure why, but the idea of Sirius Black being nothing but a madman was very disconcerting. But he didn't really want to explore these feelings of disappointment that made his stomach churn.

With a sigh, Harry pulled a piece of parchment out of the pile on his desk, grabbed his quill, and paused. He felt even more reluctant now to tell Ron what he had done, but he also felt uncomfortable with lying to his friend, or not addressing the issue at all. And he also longed to have Ron in this whole godfather business with him. Scrunching up his nose, he dipped his quill in the ink and wrote.

Dear Ron,

Yes, it's all very strange and mysterious. Professor Dumbledore and your Dad came here to talk about it all with me, but they didn't tell me much either. Only that Black has killed a bunch of people and is generally bad news. Seems he killed thirteen people with one spell, but it wasn't an accident. I know that sounds really bad. Professor Dumbledore said I should just forget about it, but to be honest I'm still kind of curious. Please don't tell anyone about this, but I think I would kind of like to visit Black anyway. I mean, I don't see what the harm would be, you know?

I hope I'll be able to see you soon, and that we can go to see the World Cup. Please tell your Mum that I said thank you for the cake.

Harry

After he had finished the letter, Harry stared at the parchment with a frown. He had not said that he had already contacted the Ministry, had not told Ron that he was not only thinking about such a visit, but had put the whole thing into motion already. But what if the letter got intercepted? What if Mr. or Mrs Weasley read it? He could probably tell Errol to only deliver it to Ron. Errol might be old, but he was very responsible. But it might still be better not to risk anything. Feeling just a little guilty, Harry rolled the letter up and put it aside. It was better to wait until the evening, when it was dark and Errol had had some time to rest.

~*S*~

Harry felt that pit of despair opening up in his stomach again. He had not been able to forget about what Ron and his dad had said. About the possibility that Sirius Black was crazy. Harry had tried to push it aside, but it had popped up in his head with an annoying insistance, and while he was looking at the trembling man now, he couldn't help but feel the disappointment creep inside his heart. Sirius Black for sure looked like he was not all there. Why had he wanted to come? What could this man tell him? He had lied and cheated, just to meet him, his godfather, and now he wasn't even sure he would be able to communicate with him. He felt so stupid. Maybe his uncle had been right the whole time.

~*S*~

Everything had turned out better than Harry had dared to hope. The Ministry didn't question his request, but send a reply within the next few days, confirming the appointment. He was going to be taken to Azkaban by a Ministry employee on August the 1st, for a visit with his godfather at ten o'clock in the morning. He would be able to see him for precisely one hour. There was another parchment which gave a lot of instructions. Directions how to reach the Ministry building in London from where he would be taken to Azkaban Prison, regulations at the Ministry, safety instructions for the visit itself... Visiting someone in Azkaban seemed to be rather complicated.

... Visitors are requested to report to the Auror office at the 2nd floor, Room 24, one hour before the appointed visit.

...Visitors cannot bring gifts and supplies which have not been approved by the Azkaban Prison Service beforehand.

... Visitors will be accompanied by a trained Auror throughout the visit, and are requested to stay close to him at all times, as well as listen to his instructions. Should a visitor neglect to do so, the Auror can and will cancel the visit at anytime.

... Visitors have to hand over their wands, since they are not allowed in the vicinity of the prisoners, with the exception of the trained Aurors of the Ministry.

...Prisoners will be bound according to their level of security.

Harry read it all carefully. He didn't want to make a mistake, didn't want to risk blowing the whole thing, now that he had come so far. He had not thought about it too much before, but now all these safety and security measurements made Azkaban Prison, the place where wizards send the ones they wanted to punish for their crimes, even more mysterious and unreachable.

Although the real problem would probably be getting to the Ministry building in London. Turning the parchment over, Harry looked at the directions on the back. There were three safe apparating areas close to the Ministry, which were of no use to him of course since he had no license. There was also the possibility of flooing in, but since the fireplace at the Dursleys' was not only not connected to the floo network but actually bricked up, that wouldn't work either. The Ministry also advised visitors not to travel by broom, since the danger of being seen was too high in such a populated area. But apparently the Knight Bus frequented the Ministry's visitors' entrance regularly. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He had taken the Knight Bus last summer, when he had tried to run away from the Dursleys', and therefore knew what was required to hail the purple triple-decker. He would have to get up rather early to be at the Ministry at nine o'clock, but then it might be better if he didn't run into Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia on the morning of the visit. You never knew what kind of last-minute nonsense they might come up with.

~*S*~

Harry turned around to Mr. Hardstone, who was watching him with a slight frown on his face.

''My friend's dad, he said that the people go mad here,'' he began, looking at the older wizard uncertainly. ''Is that true?''

The man's face didn't give much away. Just like he had throughout the whole journey so far, Mr. Hardstone lived up to his name, not showing any emotion on his calm and almost blank face. Now he gave a curt nod. ''Most prisoners start to lose their hold on reality after a while. I have never seen one who's not affected.''

''Why is that?'' Harry asked.

Mr. Hardstone looked at him with suspicious surprise. ''You don't know what the Dementors do?''

''Are they those flying things with the cloaks?'' Harry asked, unable to suppress the shudder that ran down his spine.

''Yes. They are called Dementors. They are guarding this facility.''

''And what do they do?''

''They suck out all your happy thoughts and memories, until all that is left inside your head are the worst experiences you have ever endured.''

~*S*~

Harry's birthday usually was a rather gloomy event, and it really was no exception this year. He had received a present from Ron as well as Hermione, and a birthday cake from Mrs Weasley, which once more solved the diet issue. And he was thankful for all of it. But he had still spent his birthday weeding his aunt's backyard and washing his uncle's car, and when he had eaten a large piece of his birthday cake later, he had done so in the solitude of his sparse bedroom. Alone. Just like every other birthday before.

The only thing that had been lightening his mood was the knowledge that tomorrow was the day he would travel to London and solve the mystery of his godfather. He was nervous and excited and maybe just a little bit scared. Not of the man himself, more of the possibility that he might really only want to milk Harry's popularity in the wizard world for his own purpose.

His friends had not been much help in encouraging his hopes. Ron had not said much in his birthday card, but it had been obvious that he was puzzled why Harry would want to meet with a criminal, just because the man had asked him to. Ron must have also written to Hermione, telling her about what had happened, because she had written him a long letter with his birthday present. She had reacted pretty much the way Harry had predicted.

Harry, Ron told me all about the request from that man. You really shouldn't let it bother you! If he is a criminal I don't think you should meet with him. You'd better listen to Professor Dumbledore...

I think it all sounds really bad. It takes powerful dark magic to kill so many people with just one single spell. Maybe I can look into old editions of the Daily Prophet to find out more about him. Or we can look in the library when we are back at school...

Yes, that was Hermione all right. Listen to Professor Dumbledore and if you want to know more, go and look in a book. Well, he had no intention of waiting another month until they were back at Hogwarts. Not when he could just go and ask the man himself.

~*S*~

Harry stared at Mr. Hardstone with wide eyes. The idea of living with just your worst memories to keep you company sounded really bad. Was that the reason for him feeling so uncomfortable, so sad and hopeless when they had first arrived?

As if Mr. Hardstone had read his mind, he said, ''You probably felt it when we arrived, although only very moderately, due to my Patronus.'' He nodded at the large silvery cat sitting close to the door. ''It shields us from their influence.''

Harry swallowed, shooting a glance at the prisoner in the next room. ''Is he... I mean, is he crazy too?''

Mr. Hardstone narrowed his eyes. ''I don't know. Although from what I've heard, Black is unusually coherent. Especially considering the long time he has been here already.'' He studied Harry blankly for a moment before he asked, ''Have you changed your mind?''

~*S*~

The morning of the 1st of August had presented itself with a dull grey sky and a light drizzle. Harry had not slept much, and had crept down the stairs with the first light of dawn. It was only five o'clock, but Harry was awfully nervous and worried that he might be too late and miss his appointment at the Ministry. He had no idea how long the journey would take, since the Knight Bus didn't seem to operate with a preassigned timetable. He had walked down the drive and positioned himself on the edge of the road, preparing to jump out of the way, since his last experience with the Knight Bus had taught him that it was driven by a short-sighted lunatic.

Full of nervous anticipation, Harry stuck out his wand arm, like he was hailing a Muggle taxi. After he had stood there for what felt like eternity, but probably was just a minute or two, feeling rather stupid, there was suddenly a loud bang and the sound of screeching wheels, and, as if out of thin air, the purple bus had appeared in front of him.

''Aye, Neville, long time no see!'' Stan Shunpike, the conductor, greeted him with a toothy grin.

There were no beds this time around, but squashy armchairs, and like the last time Stan asked him if he would like a cup of hot chocolate. But Harry felt too nervous to trust his stomach with any food or drink.

''Where are ya headed?'' Stan asked, and Harry told him his destination.

''Ministry of Magic? Whatta you need ta go there for?''

''I have an appointment at nine o'clock. Will I be able to make it? I wasn't sure how long it would take.'' Harry bit his lip nervously.

''Sure, don't ya worry, tha's no problem at all! Ain't that right Ernie?''

Ernie, in way of an answer stepped down on the gas, and propelled the bus and everything in it forward, as if it had been released from a slingshot.

~*S*~

Glancing back at the prisoner, Harry contemplated the other wizard's question. He had come so far already, it would be stupid to just turn around and go back now. And he probably wouldn't get a second chance.

He shook his head. ''No..., I want to... I want to talk to him.''

''Alright.''

Mr Hardstone turned towards the door, and the silver cat followed him closely. When he opened it, there seemed to be an icy cold breeze invading the room, and Harry could see the fluttering of a ragged, black cloak, could hear the rattling breath of one of the creatures. A moment later Harry saw the door to the next room opening. The prisoner whirled around in panic, as two of the cloaked figures entered, gliding towards him, and reaching out with long, dead-looking fingers. They grabbed him and pulled him towards one of the chairs, and only now did Harry see that it was anchored to the floor, and that there was an iron ring in front of it with a heavy chain attached. The Dementors forced Black down on the chair. He was struggling, flaying in his restraints, but the cloaked creatures had to be really strong, because they didn't even sway.

''Come on,'' Mr. Hardstone said from the doorway. ''You only have one hour.''

~*S*~

Harry had arrived at the Ministry early actually, which turned out to be a good thing, because getting through the security took longer than he would have expected. The entrance itself was in a Muggle telephone box that descended into the pavement like an elevator, and brought him down into the lobby, which was huge, with a blue and gold ceiling and a dark polished wooden floor. Then there had been the wand registry at the security desk, and only after that had he been allowed to move on to the elevators, which took him up to the second floor where the Auror office was located.

When the cubicle stopped, announcing the offices that were located on that level, Harry nearly had a heart-attack as he remembered that Mr. Weasley worked at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, which was right on this floor as well. With his heart beating like mad, Harry looked around almost sure that Ron's dad would appear in front of him at any moment, demanding what he was doing here. But, while the floor was full of busy people, Harry didn't see the familiar redhead, and quickly stalked down the long corridor, following the directions to the Auror office.

Everything went smoothly. In room 24 a middle-aged woman with a stern face but a friendly voice sat behind a desk, welcomed him, and asked him the purpose of his visit. When she heard that he had an appointment she directed him to the waiting area and told him that the Auror who was assigned to accompany him would be around shortly.

Only five minutes later Mr. Hardstone had stood in front of him, piercing him with his sharp blue eyes, and told him with an otherwise blank face to follow him.

~*S*~

And now, here he was. The door to the visitor's room opened, and Harry swallowed hard against the draught in his mouth and the butterflies in his stomach.

The man, his godfather Harry reminded himself, sat behind the table with his shackles attached to the chain and the iron ring in the floor. He looked up when Harry entered the room, and for the first time Harry could really see his face. He was shocked. Sirius Black looked awful. It wasn't so much that the man looked rough with his stubble and filthy black mane. It was that he looked like he was starving. His face was thin, and the skin stretched over sharp bones and carved into hollow cheeks. But the worst were his eyes. There was something wild in them, fear and hunger and desperation, and for a moment Harry was sure that he was really insane.

The door closed behind him, and then Harry was alone with the man. A man who, a long time ago, had been his father's best friend, and now looked like a half starved homeless madman. Harry remained standing, just one step into the room, watching the man hesitantly. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. Nothing of this experience had so far been anything he had expected or even prepared for. He wished the man would say something, but it didn't look like that was going to happen any time soon. He wasn't really scared. The man was bound, and Mr. Hardstone had assured him that he wasn't able to hurt him in any way. Harry didn't really think the man wanted to hurt him.

It was just that there was something very unsettling about the way those stormy silver grey eyes kept staring at him. Almost as if Harry was a ghost. And then the man opened his mouth and spoke in a raspy whisper, as if he hadn't used his voice in a long time.

''James...?''

There was a small, almost non-existent ring of hope in it, and with a painful pang in his chest Harry understood what the man must be thinking. The man thought he was his father. Harry had been told often enough how much he looked like his dad. Some strange hollow seemed to open up inside of him, a hurt that he couldn't grasp. But it was like there was a pain that he shared with this stranger, and he felt almost cruel for destroying that small ray of hope that he had seen on his face.

''N-no...,'' Harry said apologetically, carefully inching closer to the table. ''I-I'm Harry. Your godson,'' he added. But the man's face was already lighting up, as if the sun was suddenly shining on his face, something that had certainly never happened in this place.

''Harry,'' Black breathed, and the way he said it, it was like that name was the key to the most wonderful place of magic. ''Harry,'' he repeated, like he had to convince himself that it was true.

The man just stared at him in wonder. It was an expression that Harry couldn't remember having seen ever before. Not directed at him.

''S-So... you're my godfather,'' Harry said finally, feeling stupid, just standing there and being stared at.

But Black just nodded, swallowing, as if he had no voice, and there were actually tears brimming in his eyes.

''I got this letter,'' Harry explained helplessly. ''It said you wanted me to come and see you.''

Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he might have detected just a hint of a smile on the man's face. It had barely been there, like he didn't know how to smile really, or didn't dare.

''I've waited for so long,'' Black whispered. ''So long to see you.'' His bright eyes seemed to take in every little detail of Harry's appearance, and he reached out with one of his dirty hands, bound with heavy shackles around a bony wrist. ''You can... come closer. Won't bite.''

Taking a deep breath Harry moved forward, towards the table, and pulled out the other chair, slowly sinking down on it. He sat a little stiffly, with his hands folded in his lap, as he watched the man who looked so glad to see him.

''You don't know... how happy I am... that you came. You really came...'' Sirius Black seemed to have trouble believing this. ''You've grown so much... and you look like James, just like James... ''

Harry nodded. ''Yeah. I know. I hear that often, but I got my mother's-''

''Eyes. Lily's eyes.'' He nodded. ''Right from the beginning. You were...'' He trailed off, his gaze lingering on Harry, like he had forgotten that he had just been talking.

''So, you knew my parents, didn't you? You were their friend?''

''My family. Your parents... were my family. You...'' He stopped, staring at nothing, like he was lost in a thought. ''The last time-... the last time I saw you, you were a little baby boy. Sleeping on my lap. So many years... so many, many years.''

Harry swallowed. He was feeling breathless. This was... if he was honest with himself, this was exactly what he had always wanted. Someone who knew him before he became a wizard. Some connection to a life he would have had without Voldemort. The life he should have had. He just wished it would not be a criminal, a murderer, probably a slightly insane one, who was his only chance to have that. But Harry had long since learned that good things in his life always came with a catch. The world, his world, was not a fairy tale. So he just had to find out what this one was about.

''Mr. Black,-''

''Sir-Sirius.''

The way he said it, his own name seemed to sound foreign to him.

''Sirius,'' Harry tried it out, and the man gave him one of his fleeting ghosts of a smile. ''Why did you want me to come here?''

''Needed to... needed to see you,'' Black said quietly, carefully, bowing his head and staring at the rough wooden surface of the table between them. ''All that is left... All that I have. You. I just wanted... needed to know that you are fine.'' He looked up at him again. ''Apologize.''

Harry frowned uncertainly. ''What for?''

Black's eyes widened in true surprise. He studied him for a moment and there seemed to be a million thoughts running through his mind.

''How much do you know... about why I am here?'' he asked after a long minute of silence.

Harry blushed and looked down, he didn't know why he felt so uncomfortable about it, but it felt rather rude to tell the man he was a murderer. But then he was, wasn't he?

''Just that you... killed people. Thirteen people with one spell.''

When his godfather didn't say anything else, he looked up to find the man studying him with an unreadable frown of his own.

''That is all? You don't know anything about.... the circumstances?''

Harry shook his head. ''No...'' He bit his lip, feeling uncomfortable. ''Why... why did you?''

There was still a look of incredulous surprise on the wizard's face. But there was also a kind of hesitant hope in his eyes. Harry didn't know what to make of it. The gaze of the bright silver grey eyes seemed to reach deep inside to his very soul, but it held no threat.

''If I told you...,'' his godfather began carefully, and Harry suddenly felt breathless again. The wizard's voice was filled with an urgency, like there was something incredibly important about to be revealed. But then Black hesitated. He stopped and shook his head a little, his eyes closing, as if he was berating himself. ''You have no reason to believe me,'' he whispered, and the spell was broken.

''W-what...'' Harry gawked. ''What do you mean?''

But Sirius Black just shook his head. ''I didn't want to see you to tell you my own sob story,'' he said quietly.

''Then what did you want?'' Harry asked, starting to get angry. Why was no one ever telling him anything? ''What did you want to apologize for?''

''For not keeping you and your parents safe.'' The man's voice was steadier now. ''For not being able to be there for you when you grew up.''

''Yeah, well, not like anybody else did any better, did they? After all, Voldemort was gone, so what did they care what happened to me?'' Harry spat bitterly. He knew he shouldn't say that. He knew he was being unfair and ungrateful, that they had tried to keep him safe. It was just that he never had felt safe, all he ever had felt was unwanted and a bother. ''No one ever wanted me, so why would you?'' He didn't know why he had said that, he knew it didn't make any sense, he knew he sounded like a little kid, but it had just come out, and he couldn't, and wouldn't, take it back.

But he hadn't expected the reaction. Sirius Black was out of his chair, he couldn't stand up really because of the chains, but he was bowed low over the table, and his eyes were sharp and focused and serious. ''Don't you ever think that!'' he said urgently and insistently, like it was the most important thing in the world. ''Your parents loved and wanted you very much! And me too. From the first moment I laid my eyes on you, I wanted you, Harry. Wanted to protect you. To be part of your life. Be there for you. It was the happiest moment of my entire existence.''

''Then why did you go and kill all those people!?'' Harry cried, trying to blink the angry tears back.

His godfather fell back on his chair. For a moment he just watched Harry with a calm and resigned sadness.

''I didn't,'' he said.

~s~

It was like a punch in the gut. Absolutely unexpected.

''What? What do you mean?''

His godfather looked down and sighed, ''I know... that there is no reason for you to believe me, and I don't expect you to, but...'' He focused those burning silver eyes on Harry, almost making him squirm from the intensity. ''I am no murderer,'' Sirius Black said, and he sounded determined. ''I have never killed anyone. That explosion, I didn't cause it.''

Harry looked at him sceptically. ''You're saying, you're innocent?'' he asked uncertainly.

''Yes. That is what I'm saying.''

Harry didn't know what to say. It sounded a little out there. Too much like something out of a bad movie. But he didn't think that Sirius Black would appreciate it if he told him that. So he just bit his lip, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

''You don't believe me.''

There was no accusation, no disappointment. Black just stated it as a fact.

Harry shrugged and Black bowed his head with a soft sigh.

''Like I said... You have no reason to. But I don't have a reason to lie to you either. Won't change anything. I'm here in this hellhole for good.'' He looked up at Harry, and suddenly his face softened, and there was a real smile, a small one, but it changed the man's whole appearance. Made him look younger, and one could even imagine that he had been good-looking once. ''I just want you to know, if I would have had a choice, I would have wanted to be there. I wished things would have gone differently, Harry. But after over twelve years in here, I know that wishing doesn't get you anywhere. You don't have to believe that I'm innocent. But please believe me that you have always been wanted.''

Harry stared at the filthy prisoner sitting opposite of him. His gaunt face was open. And looking in those eyes, it did something to him. He tried to remember that he was a criminal. Whatever it was he was saying, Harry couldn't believe it, it seemed too much like those childish dreams he had had while lying in his cupboard at night. It opened up all those old wounds he had thought healed and forgotten. The longing he had felt when he saw his aunt hug and kiss his cousin when they were kids. He didn't want to admit it, but there had been a time when he wished she would hug him. Just now and then. Just once even. He remembered the burning pain when his uncle made a snide remark about his parents, who were strangers to him. Nothing more than the figments of his dreams. He didn't even have a photograph back then. He had now. But they remained unreachable phantoms in a mirror. He knew their faces, but he knew nothing about them. And of course he had always told himself that his parents must have loved him, would have wanted him. They were his parents. It was just the way these things worked, wasn't it? But it was different, so very different, to hear it out loud from someone who had known them, someone who had been there.

Black had been studying him calmly and in silence, while Harry fought with the turmoil inside of him, and feeling the tears rising in his eyes, tried to blink them away.

''So where did you... grow up? An orphanage?'' There was unmistakable pain in his eyes.

Harry shook his head. ''At my aunt and uncle's,'' he mumbled.

''Aunt? Who... Lily's sister?''

''Yeah.''

''She had a strange name... like a potted plant.''

''Petunia.''

Black nodded. ''But she didn't like...''

''Magic? No, she doesn't.'' It was said with audible contempt.

The silver eyes looked at him searchingly, and Harry blushed. When he had first entered the room, he had not been certain if Sirius Black was sane. Now he wondered if he was psychic in some way, he definitely seemed to see too much.

''I can imagine she would not have been too keen on raising a wizard child... but her own nephew... you were just a little baby boy... cutest little boy I have ever seen...''

The words were said carefully, questioningly, and Harry felt the eyes on him, but couldn't meet them. So he just shrugged. Standard response to all things uncomfortable.

''I never met her husband...'' There was a hint of something else in his godfather's voice now, a fear of a very different kind, that only deepened when Harry couldn't help but grimace at the mention of his uncle. ''Harry, you said... are they treating you alright? Are they-''

''They don't starve me or beat me or anything, if that's what you mean,'' Harry said in a rush. It wasn't like he was abused. His relatives just didn't like him very much. They didn't care about him, but then they had not asked for someone to drop him on their doorstep. They had not volunteered, he had been pushed upon them. ''It's just... they don't care about me-magic. And they didn't really want to take me in, but Dumbledore made them, so...'' He trailed off, not really knowing what he wanted to say. Not like he wanted to defend the Dursleys. It just... it wasn't that bad. And now he went to Hogwarts and it was just during the summer...

''Harry.'' Said with urgency. ''Are they treating you alright?''

There was no answer to that he would have felt comfortable with, so he shrugged.

For a long while neither of them said anything. And when Black finally spoke, it wasn't at all what Harry had expected.

''What about Remus?'' he asked, and there was something in his voice that Harry couldn't identify.

He frowned. ''Remus Lupin?''

Sirius eyes lit up for a moment, before he cast them down. He swallowed and then nodded. He seemed tense suddenly, more so than before.

''He was my teacher last year, at Hogwarts. Defence against the Dark Arts. But then he resigned, because word got out that he's a werewolf.'' Harry looked at the other man questioningly. ''He told me he went to school with my parents, but... what about him?''

''That's all?'' Black asked softly. ''That's all he told you?''

''Yeah. Why?''

''We were friends. We all were friends, very good friends. Even after school. But then... I just thought... thought he would have been around.''

''No. I mean, I didn't even know I was a wizard before I got my Hogwarts letter, so-''

''What?''

''You know. My aunt and uncle. They really don't like magic. I think they thought they could beat it out of me.''

''Beat it...?'' Sirius stared at him open mouthed and wide eyed and anguished.

''Oh, not like that, I mean not really, there might be... just when I did something to really annoy them, or they thought I did, I mean...'' Harry blushed, trying to explain. Explain that it wasn't that bad. It wasn't. He was not a baby after all. ''They just... they don't want me to talk about it. Magic and stuff. And they got really angry when I did things as a kid, like accidental magic, but I didn't even know it was me, so I thought it was really unfair, but...'' He trailed off, when the look on his godfather's face only grew more horrified. ''Look. It's not great, okay? They don't care about me. They never have. But I'm fine. I'm at Hogwarts now. I have great friends there. I don't need the Dursleys.''

He stated that last sentence with confidence, but Black looked like he had not even heard it. His hands were balled into fists, his filthy hair hanging down in his face, obscuring his starved features. He closed his eyes briefly, they were full of agony.

''I'm so sorry,'' he said quietly. ''This... it wasn't supposed to be like this.''

''Yeah, well, can't be helped.''

He knew that. Had accepted that. And when he looked at the man in front of him, he couldn't help but think that Black had gotten the worst lot in life. Harry might sometimes be hungry, but he wasn't starved. His clothes might be four sizes too big for him, but at least they kept him warm. He wasn't a prisoner. Not really. Not like Black.

There was a creaking sound and the door to the room was pulled open. Mr. Hardstone stepped into the room, eying the shackled wizard suspiciously, before he turned his eyes to Harry.

''Time's up. We need to get back now.''

''Oh. Okay. Ehm... can I...''

''One minute.''

He left the door open.

''Well...'' Harry looked at the man, his godfather, uncertainly when he got up. ''I need to get going. It was...''

''Nice to meet me?'' His godfather asked with another of those ghost smiles.

Harry shrugged, looking sheepish. ''Yeah.'' He hesitated. Absolutely without an idea how he should say goodbye. Suddenly aware that the man would remain here. In this dark, creepy tower. Probably starving and freezing. Even if he was a criminal, that didn't seem right. He really had been nice. And now... he had wanted to ask so many questions. Why hadn't he? Why hadn't he used his time better? But then it had seemed to be over so quickly.

''Harry...''

Harry turned his gaze back to the man. ''Yeah?''

''Will you... come back?''

It was a sudden and unexpected relief that flooded Harry at those words. ''You... want me to?''

''Yes.''

But... '' Why?'' Harry asked haltingly.

It was Black's time to shrug. ''You.... you must have more questions,'' he said a little hesitantly, maybe even hopefully, but that could have been Harry's imagination.

''Yeah.'' Harry nodded, once more feeling inept for not finding any better, any more words, really.

''I would love to see you, Harry. You are my godson... and l-.''

''Mister Potter? We have to go now.''

Mister Hardstone sounded impatient, and Harry nodded.

''Yeah, of course, I'm- I'm coming.'' He turned to his godfather, who remained in the room, shackled and chained to the floor. ''Ehm... so... see you?''

Black smiled that small smile and gave him an encouraging nod. ''Yes. I'll see you.''

TBC