Shadow of a Doubt

Chapter 3 - Looms but the Horror

Cold. Cold. Cold. So cold. It's so cold. Always cold. But there was... He was here. Harry. He was here. My Harry. Harry. Harry. He was... wasn't... wanted him... happy... should have been happy. All I ever wanted. My fault. All my fault. James. James... James. Lily. All my fault. I'm so sorry... so sorry...should have protected.... should have died. For you. My fault. All my fault. Harry. He was here. He came. Didn't he? Was he? He was here. No, no, he was here. Saw him. Won't forget him. Need to protect him. Need to... need to... so cold. It's so cold. Harry. It's so cold.

~*~*~

Coming back had been like slowly rising from a dream while the world around him returned to reality in a rush. Like waking up from a nightmare without the waking up part. It all seemed to take no time at all. The walk down the grey stone corridor, the boat trip across the high crashing waves, even getting squeezed through a too tight space when apparating back to the Ministry. What had been an endless journey of trepidation on his way to meet his godfather, flew past Harry without him even realizing it. He only became aware of it when he was back at the Ministry, back where he started only about two hours ago. Two hours ago in what felt like a whole different lifetime.

And all the time Harry had not been able to think of anything else but Sirius Black. The mysterious wizard with the intense eyes and starved features, who was his godfather, and had known him as a baby, and whom nobody ever told him about. Sirius Black, who remained back in the tower, where he was forever trapped in the cold, with the cloaked figures sucking out all happiness from everyone around them. With every step he took away from the room with the stone walls where his godfather had sat, shackled, the wizard prison seemed crueler and darker and more unreal. Harry couldn't shake the guilty feeling of having left him in such a place, even though he knew very well that he couldn't do anything to change that. It was Sirius' punishment for his crimes. For the murders.

Sirius Black was a murderer.

He had almost forgotten that when he had been sitting across from him. Sirius Black had made him forget about a lot of things. But even now that he guiltily remembered that the man was a criminal, it seemed too cruel to lock him away in a place like that. He couldn't forget the fear written on the wizard's face when the cloaked figures had taken hold of him. He couldn't forget the gaunt look and the bloody feet. And even more, he couldn't forget the awe and the amazement in the silver grey eyes, apparently for the simple fact that he, Harry, had come to see him. He wondered why Professor Dumbledore had been so insistent that he shouldn't meet Sirius. Nothing about him had seemed dangerous or vicious. He had not been at all like Harry imagined a murderer to be or to act and talk.

He said he didn't do it.

Yeah. Sirius had said that. And a part of Harry wanted to hold on to it and believe it. But another part wished the strange wizard had not made such a claim. An explanation, that might have been a different matter. Maybe if there had been an explanation, maybe then there would have been a chance that it wasn't so bad. If there were circumstances... Although he couldn't think of any circumstances where killing thirteen people on purpose was kind of okay.

And then, in the end, Sirius had asked him to come back, and he wasn't sure whether he should, and he wasn't sure why he wanted to. And he had no idea why now, when he was back at the Ministry, back in the real world, he felt more alone and lost than ever before.

They were back in the Apparition Room, and apparently Mr. Hardstone's job was done with that, because he only gave a curt nod towards Harry, and then turned around to walk out the door. Only when he realized that Harry was still standing in the middle of the room, not making any attempts to move, he turned back to him.

''You know how to get back?'' he asked impatiently and Harry nodded silently.

So the man was already half way down the corridor when something else occurred to Harry. ''Wait!'' he called, running after him. ''Please!''

Mr. Hardstone stopped, turning back to Harry with his eyebrows raised in a questioning frown.

''If- if I want to go back,'' Harry asked, watching the tall man hesitantly. ''What... do you know what I have to do? If I want to go and... if I want to visit again?''

The wizard's frown deepened as he studied Harry through narrowed eyes. ''Seems he still got it,'' he said in distaste.

Harry stared at him in confusion. ''Ehm, what?''

''Never mind.'' Mr. Hardstone shook his head. ''If you want to visit Black regularly, you have to go to the Prison Service down the corridor, where I picked you up this morning. They can grant a visit every two weeks for family members. Not that anyone would be crazy enough to do that.''

''W-what do you mean?'' Harry asked uncertainly.

''Kid, you have been the first visitor to go to Azkaban in at least two years. Normally people are not too keen to acknowledge their criminal relatives. Never mind going to that place to see them.''

''B-but I can...?''

''Yeah. If you are so hell bend to visit a damn Death Eater, you can!'' Mr. Hardstone shot Harry a glare and then he brusquely turned away and walked off.

~*~

It had been surprisingly easy, Harry thought when he was back on the Knight Bus, trying to hold on to his seat while the bus jumped and swayed and broke every road traffic regulation in England. The witch had only looked at him curiously, and then had handed him a form and a purple information sheet, and told him that he would have to call ahead at least two days before a visit. So if he wanted to, he could go back in two weeks. If he wanted to. Which was the problem.

Harry wasn't sure what he wanted. Or maybe it was that what he wanted and what he knew he should want were not the same thing. Being back in what felt like the more real world, he wasn't sure what to think about the man who was his godfather. He felt bad for him, yeah, but that didn't mean that he was going to trust him. He wished he had more information on Sirius Black but no one had so far been very forthcoming. Harry kept pondering the question how he could find out more about his godfather for the whole journey, but he couldn't really come up with a solution.

It was strange stepping of the bright purple bus in front of Number four Privet Drive when magical transportation seemed so very much out of place in the proper Muggle neighborhood. Harry could see that the lights were on in the living-room and for a moment he hesitated, wondering how he could sneak in without his aunt and uncle noticing, and whether that would get him around explaining about non-existing doctor's exams.

He had made it up half the way of the stairs when his uncle stuck out his head through the living-room door.

''Hey, boy!'' he bellowed. ''What is it now!?''

''Don't worry!'' Harry said hastily, ''I won't explode!'' and vanished up the staircase towards his room, before his uncle could get another word in.

When the door had fallen shut behind him, Harry leaned back against it, breathing out heavily. His first sensation was relief. Relief that he had made it back, and nothing had gone really wrong, and that even now he couldn't hear the heavy footsteps of his uncle on the stairs. But when he opened his eyes again and looked around the room there was a feeling of disillusion.

He suddenly realized how sparse the room was, how impersonal. There were no bars at the window anymore but he still felt constricted. It some way it was still a cell. Dull and unwelcoming, with furniture that was ugly and old and made up out of the stuff the Dursleys didn't want anymore. Just like they didn't want him. He had always lived with that knowledge, and it had become so much of his normality that he didn't really think about it anymore. It was just a fact of life, like that the sky was blue and that Professor Snape was a git. But now... now that he knew that things had been supposed to be different, that there had been another life, a real one, that had been taken away from him, now the room and the house he had been dutifully coming back to each summer, felt just as much as a prison than the one he had just left.

Like some mysterious magical pull, or maybe it was just his subconscience, his eyes were drawn to his open trunk and the small leather album that was laying on top of a pile of clothes. Pushing himself away from the door he picked the book up and sank down on the bed with one of his most valuable treasures on his knees. He stared at it for a moment before he opened it to the first page and a photograph he knew all too well. A photograph of his parents, forever young. His father was swirling his mother around in a circle, both of them laughing and happy and alive.

''James...''

Suddenly Harry wondered who had taken the picture. Who had been the person behind the magical camera, probably laughing along with them? Had Sirius taken some of these pictures? He had been his father's best friend, they must have been together a lot. Quickly Harry started to turn the pages, until he suddenly stopped frozen at the sight of a picture of his parents wedding. He had not lingered on this one too much before. He liked those pictures better where his parents concentrated more on the photographer and less on each other. And he had never paid much attention to the man next to them. But now that stranger had a familiar face. It still took Harry a second look to be sure. Fifteen years had passed since the moment in the photograph. Sirius had been so much younger and had not spend half his life in prison. The difference was so overwhelming that it hurt. Sirius must have been the same age as his parents. Twenty, and handsome, and full of joy and happiness and life. And for a second Harry wondered what his own life would have been like, if he had grown up with this man. Whether there would have been the same joy and laughter. Harry stared at the picture for a long time. He couldn't comprehend how this smiling man had become a murderer.

~*~

The thought had not been letting go of him for the next days. Days that were spend with weeding and cleaning and cooking and being largely ignored. It was no difference to other summers, if anything the Dursleys were bothering him less, but he felt bored and frustrated and angry to be stuck at this place, and most of all he felt lonely. He missed his friends. He wished he could talk to Ron and Hermione, and in his most honest moments he wished he could talk to Sirius.

So it was one evening after dinner while he was doing the dishes in the kitchen, only listening with half an ear to the news that were running on the television in the living-room, talking about some catastrophe or other somewhere far away in another country, that it occurred to him. Even if all the people he knew where not willing to tell him more about his godfather, there must be information somewhere on a murder case where a single person had killed thirteen people in one strike. Newspapers would cover such a thing, wouldn't they? Maybe even the Daily Prophet? Was there any means to get a hold of such old issues of the wizard paper, or any paper at all? Frustrated he tossed the rag in the sink. How he hated to be stuck here! He couldn't go anywhere looking for information. It was always the same, wasn't it? But maybe someone else could...

It didn't take a genius to think of Hermione. Hermione loved reading up on things. She would happily move into the Hogwarts Library if Dumbledore or Mrs Pinch would allow it. So Hermione would probably be glad to help him if he could convince her that he wasn't trying to break any rules. And really, he wasn't, he was perfectly entitled to do this. What ever this was what he was doing. Getting to know his godfather, he supposed.

So that night Harry sat down and wrote another letter, explaining to Hermione how he would like to know more about the man who was his godfather and what he had done. He asked her if she thought it was possible to get any information on him, and, only feeling slightly guilty, finished with a remark on how bored and frustrated he was, and how he wished he could see her and Ron soon or at least talk to them. It wasn't like that was a lie.

It only took two days before Harry held Hermione's answer in his hands.

Dear Harry,

of course I will help you! You can order old issues of the Daily Prophet, I found out in second year when we tried to find more information about the Chamber of Secrets, but they hushed it all up and there were no newspaper articles on that. There is also a pretty well stacked Muggle library close to my parents and I will go have a look there too. I will be visiting my grandparents for a few days, but I get on it as soon as I am back.

But, Harry, you have to promise me that you won't do anything stupid! I know you, you are thinking about going and visiting Black, aren't you? I don't think that's a good idea, Harry! If Professor Dumbledore didn't want you to meet him, he must have his reasons. He is probably a really horrible man!

I do hope to see you soon too. And Ron, of course. I guess we'll meet at the Weasleys later this summer. I send you a letter when I've found out more about Black.

Take care,

Hermione

Harry stared at the letter with a puzzled frown. Hermione was really too damn observant. Fortunately she didn't know that he already had gone to see Sirius, nor that he was very much planning to do it again...

Harry still had not told his two best friends. It wasn't that he didn't trust them. It was just... both Hermione and Ron had a family, they just didn't really understand what it was like for Harry. And this was just about him. It was his decision. And he had made it. After days of brooding, Harry had made up his mind. What he really wanted was to find out more about his godfather. All he had right now were pieces of a puzzle. Pieces that did neither match nor show a picture of the mysterious wizard who looked at him like Harry was... precious.

He was glad that Hermione was helping him to gather information, but he reckoned that the best way to learn more would be from the source itself. When he had said goodbye, and Sirius had asked him to come back, he had assumed that Harry had more questions, had practically offered to answer them. It would be stupid to not seize that opportunity. So all he needed to do was send word to the Ministry, sneak out without the Dursleys noticing, and go to Azkaban again. Piece of cake.

~*~

It was what helped him survive the next week. He had send Hedwig to the Ministry with his request on the same evening, and now the letter from the Prison Service confirming the visit was hidden underneath the mattress, burning a whole into the lumpy thing.

The Dursleys were harder to take than ever during these days, although Harry wasn't sure why that was so. He had been used to taking whatever crap they threw at him with a dull resignation for years. Occasionally, when the nagging and sneering and insulting had become too much or had hit a sensitive spot like Harry's parents, Harry would have blown up. Then there would have been words and sometimes yelling, and he'd be confined to his room for a day until Uncle Vernon realized that Harry did most of the work around the house. It was just the way things were, and Harry didn't dwell on it anymore.

But now, since he had learned about his godfather and went to meet him, it was almost as if he had taken a step away from it all, as if he was a spectator in his own life, and it... hurt.

The dull days of not being able to talk to anyone. The cold contempt alternating with hot fury and silent disregard. And he didn't like the Dursleys, he didn't want them talking to him, but he wanted someone.

Harry had seldom felt so alone. Had seldom felt such a need for someone to talk to, someone who was on his side. There were Ron and Hermione of course, but they were far away, and owl post took ages, and then... Harry was afraid that they wouldn't understand. And he didn't want them to pity him either. Hermione's parents were Muggles, but they were awfully nice people who seemed to have no problem at all with their daughter being a witch or with her staying in contact with the magical community during the holidays. Hermione was always excited to go home and see them at the end of the term, and then came back full of stories of some holiday trip or another. Ron's parents might not have the money for travelling, apart from their trip to Egypt last year that was, but Ron spend his summer playing Quidditch with his brothers, lazing around and maybe now and then degnoming the garden, something he moaned about but that was actually fun in Harry's book.

Each year when he stepped on the Hogwarts Express at the end of the school year, it was like he was suddenly set apart from all his friends who were chatting cheerfully, making plans for the long free weeks of summer. Harry felt more glum and depressed the closer they got to their destination. If he could, he would have gladly skipped the summer holidays all together. At King's Cross they took their leave with encouraging words to keep his chin up and promises to write, and Harry smiled to dismiss all worries while inside he felt as if heavy weights were settling on his shoulders. But it was what it was. He had no choice and no way to get out of it. But he still watched the other students go, with a spring in their step, feeling envious and secretly, maybe, just a little begrudging.

~*~

Even though time had been moving like molasses, the day of his next visit had finally come. He had known that he couldn't claim another doctor's visit without the Dursleys becoming suspicious, and they wouldn't just let him take off to London as he pleased either. So the only possibility was to sneak out without them noticing.

The perfect day for that, or so Harry thought, would be the upcoming Saturday. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been talking about an invitation to some fancy golf club from a client of his uncle for the past two weeks, and his aunt was all occupied with deciding what kind of outfit was appropriate while Dudley had been whining about not wanting to go.

On the day Harry had been increasingly nervous, waiting for his aunt and uncle to leave. This time he could estimate how long it would take him to get to the Ministry, and he knew that he wouldn't have to leave in the early hours of the morning. But if the Dursleys didn't get going soon, he would be cutting it rather close. Also, Dudley had got his way, and was staying home. Harry just hoped he would be too engrossed in his video games to take notice of Harry's absence. Anyway, he wasn't going to back out now. He had been eagerly waiting for this day all week. He was getting out of the house, he was going to see his godfather again, and he wouldn't let anything, least of all the Dursleys, stop him.

When the door had shut behind his relatives, Harry had listened to the noise of the car engine fading, and the next moment he'd been out on the street, jogging down towards the park where he might look less conspicuous flagging down a purple triple decker. Luckily, it was a rainy day, and the only person he saw was Mrs Figg from down the street, and only from afar. Harry breathed a sigh of relieve when Ernie set the bus in motion, and only listened with half an ear to Stan babbling about Hungary sweeping France of the pitch in the preliminaries.

~*~

Harry reached the Prison Service Office just in time, and was surprised to see a pretty blonde woman turning towards him, holding out her hand for him to shake.

''You must be Harry Potter. It's an honour of course,'' she said with a warm smile. ''I'll be accompanying you today.''

She was much more talkative than Mr. Hardstone had been, and also more impressed by Harry's supposed fame, something that always made him uneasy. It was strange to be famous for something you couldn't even remember and, really, it wasn't like he had done anything that night. If anything his parents had been heroes, not him.

When they arrived on the little island close to the prison and entered the boat, the blonde witch too conjured a silver animal, but this time it was a large horse trotting along over the waves, its long mane fluttering in the wind. Harry stayed close to it when they reached the main island. The sight of the Dementors alone made him shudder inside.

He was brought down the same dark corridor, but this time they passed by the first wooden door, the blonde Auror immediately went for the one that led to the room he had met Sirius for the first time two weeks ago.

''There you are,'' she said, looking him over with a concerned face. ''When ever you want to stop, or you need my help, you just have to call. I will be waiting right here.''

Harry ducked his head. He knew she meant well, but right now he would have rather foregone the reminder that everyone thought of his godfather as a dangerous criminal. So he just smiled at her and nodded, trying to convey to her that she didn't have to worry.

And then the door opened and Harry caught the first sight of his godfather, once more sitting at the wooden table, shackled to the floor.

~*~

Sirius looked up when Harry entered, startled, hopeful, a myriad of emotions on his face. And then there was a real, a true smile spreading out over his features, turning the wild looking prisoner into a person, a man Harry was becoming desperate to know. The smile, as small as it was, extended a warmer welcome than Harry could remember to have ever received, and that shouldn't be possible in a place like Azkaban.

''Harry.''

Once more, his name was spoken like it held a promise.

''Hey,'' Harry said only a little embarrassed, and came shuffling forward to sit opposite his godfather who looked him over, his eyes drinking him in.

''I'm so glad that you came back,'' Sirius said, and his voice was quiet but clear, and when Harry studied him, he thought that he looked... better. Not well, not that. He was still painfully thin and awfully dirty. But the light in his eyes was bright and alive, and so intoxicating that Harry couldn't help but smile back.

''Well,... we didn't have much time to talk last time,'' he said uncertainly. ''You said you could tell me more, answer my questions...''

''I will if I can. And I hope you will tell me more as well. About you. I want to know everything about you Harry. In all those years...I have missed so much.''

Harry shrugged shyly. ''There's not so much to tell. I'm... I'm not so special, even if everybody seems to think so. I'm pretty ordinary.''

''I doubt that very much,'' Sirius said and his voice was dry.

''I am! It's just that stupid Voldemort stuff that has all the people gawking at me. Which is silly, because I was only a baby when he vanished, and I can't even remember it.''

Harry had noticed that Sirius unlike most people he knew had not flinched at the name of the Dark Wizard. The black haired wizard leaned back a little and looked him over with a gentle expression.

''You are very special Harry. But not just because you defeated Voldemort. You are a very special boy just because of who you are. Harry. What do you think how many fourteen year old boys would have the courage to come here, to this place, to meet a godfather they can't remember having ever met?''

''Hermione would probably say that makes me stupid, not courageous,'' Harry mumbled.

And Sirius Black laughed. It was just a short, barking sound, but it was a laugh and it seemed to come from somewhere deep, deep down and long forgotten. It was the most amazing thing ever.

''Sounds like a girl with her head straight on,'' Sirius said with a sparkle in his eyes. ''Who is she?''

''One of my best friends,'' Harry explained with a grin of his own. ''Hermione Granger. She is really clever, the best in our year, and she has a knack for rules. Or for not breaking them.''

''Which is something you do often?'' Sirius asked amused.

Harry blushed a little. ''Now and then. There are circumstances1''

''Ah, yes, those...'' Sirius nodded, and there was still a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. ''Your father and I were not too keen on rules either to be honest.''

''What did you do?'' Harry asked curiously.

''Oh, many things. Exploring mostly. And not always where we were supposed to explore, and often at times when we were supposed to lie sleeping in our beds in the first place. We were-'' Sirius faltered, his face grew tense, and he closed his eyes with an almost desperate expression.

Gripping the table, Harry leaned forward. ''What is it?'' he asked worriedly.

Sirius shackled hands balled into fists. ''It's... they... I'm trying to... remember,'' he whispered. He opened his eyes again, and there was a pain or sadness that he seemed to be trying to hide.

Harry stared at him wide-eyed.

''It is difficult sometimes,'' Sirius explained quietly. ''The Dementors... you have seen them, haven't you?''

Harry nodded.

''They exist... what they do is... they live on other people's emotions and... memories, but only the happy and joyful ones. They suck all that out of you, and... it gets difficult... to remember the good times. Like back then, when your father and I were young and carefree and happy. It becomes... fleeting and washed out.''

Harry stared at Sirius horror-struck. He didn't have all that many really happy memories, but the few that he had were precious to him. When he was stuck at the Dursleys during the summer, he would lie in bed at night and replay them again and again. Flying over the hills around Hogwarts, catching the snitch in an important match, laughing with Ron and Hermione, their first trip to Hogsmeade Village... that sort of thing. If he would lose that, and if he would have no possibility to ever leave his prison to fly and laugh and eat tons of Honeyduke's chocolates again, if he wouldn't be able to make new memories, that must be the worst nightmare ever. And that must be what it was like for Sirius.

''Maybe... if you tell me more,... maybe then it will come back,'' he said with desperate hope.

''Maybe,'' Sirius said with a soft, sad little smile. ''And I will have the memory of you, of telling you about it. At least for a while.''

~*~

Sirius had resumed to tell him stories, and sometimes it seemed that he had to try hard to get it together, and sometimes it was easier. He told him about the Marauders, which was the name they had given themselves when they were attending Hogwarts back then, Sirius and his father, and apparently Remus Lupin. Huh. Professor Lupin had never said anything about it, never even explained that he had indeed been such close friends with Harry's father. The three of them sounded a lot like he and Ron and Hermione.

''I so have to tell my friend Ron all about this,'' Harry exclaimed excitedly. ''And then we will have to go and explore those secret passages! Is there really one that leads to Honeydukes?''

Sirius nodded. ''There is. But don't let Filch catch you, or there will be hell to pay. I really wish we hadn't lost our map to him. That one was really helpful.''

''What map?''

''The Marauder's Map. We made it ourselves. It showed the whole grounds of Hogwarts. But the best was, that it also showed every person in the school, and where that person was. It was really useful if you wanted to sneak around the teachers.''

''What happened to it?''

''It got confiscated by Filch in our last year. He didn't know what it was, because you could only read it if you said the password, but he probably had a feeling that it was something sneaky.'' He smiled. ''We had a certain reputation.''

''Wow, I wish we had such a thing. That would be awesome. Although my dad's cloak is really useful as well, but there were a few times when I was close to running into a teacher.''

''You have your dad's invisibility cloak?'' Sirius asked with a strange look.

''Yeah. Dumbledore gave it to me in my first year.''

''Did he... I had wondered where it had got to...''

''So my dad already had it in school?''

''Yes. It's a family heirloom. It has been in your family for a long time and got handed down from one Potter to the next.''

''Oh, I didn't know that it is so old. I don't know much about the family of my father.''

''The Potters are one of the oldest wizard families. Even older than the Blacks. But they were always good and righteous people, not like my family.''

''What's about your family?'' Harry asked with a frown.

''The Blacks have a reputation of Pureblood fanaticism and meddling in the Dark Arts.''

''Oh...''

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. That sounded awfully like the Malfoys to be honest. He didn't want Sirius to be like that. ''My friend, Hermione, is Muggle-born,'' he said after a moment, looking at the other wizard firmly, waiting for a reaction.

Sirius nodded. ''I guessed as much. Granger is not a name I came across in wizard society before.''

Harry bit his lip.

Sirius cocked his head to the side. ''I think Muggleborns are no different from Pureblood or Halfblood witches and wizards. If anything, they are better equipped to succeed because they combine the best of both worlds. Pureblood families are often stuck in the past. They are lazy and depend too much on their status and fortunes they didn't earn themselves. They think they are preserving wizard society, but what they really do is restrain it from developing.'' Harry felt a deep relief hearing those words from the wizard, and it probably showed in his expression, because Sirius smiled knowingly. ''I was a bit of a Black Sheep in my family. Or maybe a white one if you think about it.''

Harry looked at him sheepishly. ''It's not that I thought-''

''It's perfectly alright, Harry. I know I'm not in a position that evokes trust exactly.''

He wasn't. He was a criminal in a high security prison. So why was it that Harry was so sure that everything the other wizard said was true, and even more, heartfelt? He didn't know why, but if he was honest with himself, he did trust Sirius. Probably more than any other adult he knew.

''So what about your other friend? Ron?'' Sirius asked, changing the topic to something lighter, and Harry wasn't sure if he did it for his own or Harry's sake.

''Ron Weasley,'' Harry confirmed.

''Ah, a Weasley. Now, there you have a really unconventional Pureblood family. It seems like you have made a good choice with your friends. I'm very glad to see that.''

A shadow passed over the black-haired wizard's face, a sadness, that Harry couldn't place once more. Maybe, he thought, Sirius was just sad because he had to think of his own friends, Harry's parents, who, as far as Harry had gathered from listening to his godfather,

must have meant an awful lot to him.

''Yeah... Ron is a great friend,'' Harry said, feeling a bit hesitant. Sometimes the other wizard seemed so... breakable. ''His whole family is really nice. They've let me stay for a few days over the summer before, and this year his dad had got tickets for the Quidditch World Cup! Hopefully I'll be able to go stay with them later this month.''

Sirius eyes lit up. ''Quidditch... do you... you like Quidditch?'' And there was eager and hopeful in his voice.

''Sure.'' Harry nodded happily. ''I had no idea about it before I came to Hogwarts of course, but I still got to join the house team in my first year.'' He blushed. That had sounded a bit like he was awfully full of himself. ''I mean, they were looking for a seeker pretty badly, ever since Charlie Weasley had left two years previously, so...''

''You made the house team in first year!?'' Sirius asked incredulously. ''Oh, he would have been so proud... he would have been prancing, is what he would have been...''

''You mean, my dad?'' Harry asked eagerly. ''I know that he played, but...''

''He was in love with Quidditch. The only thing he loved more was Lily. And later you.'' Sirius smiled. ''We both played for Gryffindor in our time. He was Chaser. I was Beater. But James... he was crazy about it, even more than I was. Flying and playing... I guess it was in his blood. And he would have loved it, that you are taking after him.''

''And my Mum?''

''She... tolerated it. She never used to be a big fan, but I guess she couldn't ignore James' enthusiasm, so... she let us boys have our fun. Lily was wonderful like that. She had the biggest heart, she...'' He swallowed. ''She was wonderful, your Mum.''

Horrified, Harry felt the tears rising in his eyes, and he looked down quickly, trying to blink them away.

''Don't,'' Sirius said softly. ''Don't feel ashamed for being sad. I've cried a river for James and Lily, and they deserved every single tear. It's true, they wouldn't want you to dwell in misery, but it's okay to be sad that they died, and that you couldn't spend more time with them. It's the cruelest thing of all, that they loved you so much, and you had so little time together.''

The tears spilled then, running down over his cool cheeks, salty and warm. And then he felt something cold and rough touching his hand, and he looked down to see the dirty fingers of his godfather closing gingerly around his own. And he didn't mind the grime. He could only stare at their hands, thinking that this man felt the same, that he wasn't just sad for him, but with him. It made all the difference.

''Always remember, Harry, you are very special. Your parents were great and talented wizards, and they were good people with good hearts. You have inherited that from them. I know it, because I can see so much from both of them in you.''

''Y-You do?'' Harry asked hopefully, sniffing a little.

''Oh, yes. It's like James and Lily are alive in you. And they loved you, more than anything. That's what makes you special. Just like you are special to me.'' He swallowed, and then added more quietly, ''Because I love you just as much.''

It was a feeling Harry couldn't have described. It was like flying on his broom with the wind in his hair. It was like the best Honeydukes chocolate, only better. It was like being told that you are a wizard and you won't have to stay in a cupboard any longer. It was like seeing his parents smile at him for the first time. It was all of that, and so much more. Because it weren't only the words. They were reflected in Sirius' eyes. He meant it. He really meant it.

Harry swallowed. His bottom lip trembled.

With a screeching sound the door to the room was pulled open, and the blonde woman stepped in. ''I'm sorry, but we're already overdue. We really have to go back now.''

''What!? No! I-... not yet! I need-'' Harry looked at his godfather desperately, but Sirius only lightly squeezed his hand, before he let go.

''It's alright,'' he said gently. ''You can always come back. We will see each other again.''

''But I wanted to-''

''Next time, okay? Just don't forget what I have told you.'' Sirius looked at him imploringly.

''Okay...''

He felt dazed when he stood up and walked to the door. He cast a last look back at his godfather who gave him an encouraging smile. And then the door fell shut behind him, cutting him off from what felt like the only source of warmth in his life.

~*~

The blonde Auror had rushed Harry out through the winding corridors. She seemed to be in a hurry to leave the dreary prison, and apparently the Dementors were getting impatient to get back to their prey. Harry's stomach flipped when he thought about it. He didn't want those creatures to hurt his godfather. He wished he could have stayed longer. He hadn't even had the time to say goodbye properly, and while he would come back, of course he would, that had to wait for another incredibly long two weeks. And then, after that, he would be back at Hogwarts. And how would he be able to get away for a visit then?

He didn't want to stop seeing his godfather. He wanted to talk with Sirius more, wanted to know so much more about the wizard who, only a month ago, Harry hadn't even known existed. But Sirius had known about him. For all those years, Sirius had known about him and cared about him.

The visiting hour had been over too quickly again, and, although he had intended to, Harry had not asked anything further about Sirius' crimes, about the murders he was supposed to have committed. Sirius had wanted to know all about Harry, and Harry had been happy to oblige. And he had loved hearing about his parents. It was just that time had been running away. There was so much to ask and learn.

That Sirius had been a Gryffindor and played Quidditch at Hogwarts as well, together with Harry's dad. That they had been best friends with Professor Lupin, and that they had not exactly walked the straight and narrow all the time. He had learned that Sirius' was at odds with his family, who were all about tradition and Pureblood fanaticism and had a reputation of practicing the Dark Arts.

And then... Sirius had said that Harry was special. To his parents. And to him. Just because he was Harry. Not the Boy Who Lived. Just Harry. His heart leapt in his chest, when he remembered his godfather looking at him, saying those words. He closed his eyes, and he gripped the rail of the boat tightly.

Sirius had said that he loved Harry.

No one had ever said that to him before...

And Harry only wanted to concentrate on the warm feeling in his chest, trying to hold on to it for as long as possible.

When they had reached the little island again, the blonde Auror held out her arm and told Harry to grab it, so that they could appartate back. He reached for it, and a moment later felt the suction and the ground dissolving, and then they were spat out back at the Ministry, in the grey room they had come from. They stepped out into the corridor, and Harry was just about to bit the friendly witch goodbye, when he caught a movement from the corner of his eye.

A man with a long white beard and a flowing cloak in blue and purple rose from a chair, exuding an air of absolute calm and authority. Harry's eyes widened.

''P-P-Professor Dumbledore,... Sir... what... what are you doing here?'' he stammered.

''Hello Harry,'' the headmaster said gravely, and the disappointment that met Harry in the stern blue eyes made him bow his head and cast his eyes to the ground. ''Is there anything that you would like to tell me?''

Harry bit his lip. It didn't look like he would be able to talk himself out of this one.

TBC