Lost Souls

~ AlwaysPadfoot & The Royal Scribe ~

Disclaimer: We don't own it; anything you recognise belongs to the wonderful JK.

Rating: T

Authors Note: Please enjoy and R&R :)

SIRIUS' POV

Dying is not something I recommend.

In fact now I know why people return as ghosts, but I guess I know that that is because they are afraid of death. It wasn't so much that I was afraid, more like I felt that someone had been cheated, and that person who had been cheated; it wasn't me.

It was Harry.

To make things worse, I'd left him when he needed me most; when the war had truly begun once more. That last look I saw fall across his face behind my deranged cousin as her stupefy spell hit me square in the chest at close range was painful in so many ways.

I felt like I'd had the shit beaten out of me as my breath whooshed from my body like I'd been winded and slowly my vision swam and I saw no more. At the time, I guessed I'd just blacked out, but it was later when I figured out that actually it had just got a hell of alot worse that I'd thought.

When I'd finally come to, I ached all over. My whole body felt like lead and for one sinister moment I wondered whether I'd been captured by the Death Eaters. Then I realised that it was completely possible that I could be back at Azkaban, where I was imprisoned for over twelve years for a crime I didn't commit. What eventually gave it away that I was in neither of those places was when I opened my eyes, the light stung and it took a good few seconds for my eyes to focus.

After a minute or so I had managed to drag myself into a sitting position on the soft ground beneath me. In front of me was an awfully familiar looking house; cautiously I approached the front gate of the house and went to push it open, except when I did I fell through it. My whole body tensed; what the hell was this? It had certainly felt like something was really wrong.

"James!"

Lily? I pushed on up the garden path; the scenery distorted, fuzzy and bright.

"James! It's too early. It's too early!"

I broke into a run; Lily sounded distressed to say the least.

"Prongs! Lils!?" I shouted. I burst into the house, or rather sprinted through the door, searching every room I could find until I realised what was happening. This was Godrics Hollow. I was in Godrics Hollow for the first time since I stood in its ruins, holding baby Harry and for the first time in many years I remember tears escaping from my eyes.

"Sirius?"

I whirled around, stunned into silence at the sight of my dead best friend; his arm was looped around Lily, who seemed to be very upset.

"J-J-James?" I stuttered out a response, feeling half confused, half relieved and half seriously considering that I may have hit my head a little too hard when I hit the floor.

"You're too early," he responded. Early for what? What am I early for? I'm never early.

"What are you - " I began.

"Sirius, you need to go back," Lily interrupted me, "Please." She was practically begging me to listen to her.

"Anything, Lily. You know I'd do anything for James and you," I breathed, still confused as to where I needed to go and what I need to do, "Where am I going?"

"Go, Sirius, you need to go." Lily moved forward slightly, looking right up into my eyes with her bright green ones, "Now, Sirius, go now before the veil closes. You need to help; you're too early."

What does she mean the veil? I'm where? What do I need to do? What am I too early for? I opened my mouth to ask all the questions that were spinning around in my head. When Lily seemed to push me with a jolt, making my whole body convulse.

I awoke abruptly.

It had been thirteen years since I'd died. Thirteen years since I'd stood for the second time in the ruins of my best friends house with their child in my arms. I wasn't going to get it wrong this time; I didn't go after Peter and I most certainly wasn't going to abandon my Godchild again. Not this time.

This time I wasn't going to screw it up like everything else.

So far it was going well.

I swung my legs out of bed and headed downstairs into the kitchen; today was the day of the Quidditch World Cup. In the old 'timeline', the Cup was less than successful and for a long time I thought about stopping them from going but then I realised it was entirely possible that what happened to Harry wouldn't happen in this timeline. Then again in was always possible that it would so I was going too.

I booked the time off work; I didn't work that much anyway but they had but me as an on call Auror for the event. I had no choice in the matter, Old Mad-Eye had screamed CONSTANT VIGILANCE down the corridor at me after I muttered about how ridiculous he was. I always forgot he was creepy like that.

Slowly I made a very strong coffee; it was becoming an addiction more than anything these days. I vaguely remember when I was at Hogwarts I had an addiction to coffee from about fifth year onwards and Prongs had likened it to Moony's major chocolate problem. It was nothing like that.

Okay so maybe it was.

As I began to think more and more about the World Cup, the less and less I thought it was a good idea but even as that happened my Gryffindor instinct was butting in and telling me that I should face the risk head on.

I sighed and sat down at the kitchen table with my coffee just as Cyclone, my gloriously ungraceful and bloody clumsy owl, hit the window outside. I wouldn't mind but the window next to it was open. It finally managed to find its way through the open window and dropped The Daily Prophet on the table.

QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP TODAY

That headline was followed by a lengthy piece talking about the event itself. Frankly I was just glad the front page wasn't written by Rita Skeeter; I hated that women. She spread rumours and passed on gossip idly, and it wasn't just now; she'd done so in Hogwarts too. Okay, so I admit if I hadn't have got with her and then ignored her afterwards she probably wouldn't have spread the rumour about my -

Probably not the topic of conversation to get onto really.

I sifted through the paper until I reached the sport, intending to see if Puddlemere United were once again at the top of the Quidditch League only to see that the damn Chudley Cannons had thrashed the Tutshill Tornados yesterday and pushed to the top again.

I huffed irritably; Tonks was going to have a field day when I saw her next.

If there were but a few people in my family I was glad I could continue to see now that I had a second chance it was my niece, Nymphadora Tonks and her parents (my cousin and her husband): Andromeda and Ted Tonks. Andromeda was probably the nicest person that my family had spawned apart from perhaps my Uncle Alphard, but he died while I was still in Hogwarts.

Andy was my favourite cousin and I was glad that my second chance allowed me to rekindle my relationship with her and her family. This second chance had made it so I could do all the things I had been stopped from doing by Azkaban: not lose my favourite family members, work hard as an auror and last but not least, protect my Godchild as if it was my own child.

You could only imagine the shock though when I stood at Godric's Hollow once more and there was one thing that may seem small but it really and truthfully changed things so much. Still till this day, I had no idea how it happened and what had happened in the veil that made it spit me out in a completely different timeline. That one thing changed everything from the expected to the realm of complete and utter confusion.

When I looked down into the bright green eyes of Harry Potter, the child of my best friend and his wife, I practically jumped out of my skin.

Harry Potter wasn't Harry Potter; he was a she.

SHABBY'S POV

Legally, my name is Tabitha Potter. No one uses that, though, it's a bit of a mouthful. I'm told that my Dad immediately shortened it to Tabby as soon as I was born. I doubt that Mum was very happy with that, but she must have changed her mind at some point because when I was taken into the Dursley home I was introduced as Tabby. Mind you, I didn't keep that name for a long time either.

I must have been about 5 at the time. Dudley - my oafish cousin - had started to make a group of friends that were just like him. Loud, bossy, bullies. I was sitting outside, sulking, but mostly minding my own business. Aunt Petunia had just started to dress me in Dudley's old clothes, perhaps realising that she could save money by doing so. Neither Dudley or I were very pleased with this new arrangement: I was drowned underneath the dirty, threadbare football shirt and shorts and he was irritated by his unused, outgrown clothes going to his "freakish" cousin.

Anyway, Dudley slid up on his new tricycle - the thin frame wobbling under his immense weight and stopped. His friends rode up on either side to effectively pen me in. I remember being annoyed at myself for allowing them to sneak up on me; it looked like Tabby Tracking would end quickly and painfully. Unfortunately for me, Dudley had thought up something far worse - the gears had been turning within his thick skull and he had come up with a somewhat creative, insulting nickname for me. It was a rare occurrence, Dudley having a brilliant idea, but like the miner that digs randomly for gold, it would have to appear eventually.

"Alright, Tabby?" He had said, his piggish eyes gleaming with premature triumph for what he was about to do. Of course, I don't think he was aware of the consequences it would have, but there was an unusual amount of glee on his face for sure. I merely nodded, thinking that keeping quiet would make it all end more quickly.

"You know," he said, his tone resembling that of Uncle Vernon's whenever he was mocking a celebrity or politician in the newspaper, "Tabby isn't a good name for you."

At this point, I remember getting a little frustrated, and despite my resolution to keep quiet, let out a small, indignant, damning, "Oh?"

Dudley had smirked then, knowing he'd already gotten to me. He pointed a singular, chubby finger at my second-hand clothing, a vicious smile between his engorged cheeks.

"No, you should be called Shabby!"

His friends started to laugh breathlessly, and I couldn't defend myself, not over the mocking noise assaulting me from every direction.

After that humiliating moment, Dudley started to call me Shabby at every opportunity: at school, at the park, even at the dinner table! Then, much to my annoyance, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon took to calling me Shabby too, and after a particularly brutal parents evening, so did my teachers. Three weeks after its genesis, it had became a nickname. I had stopped correcting people long before that.

It was a visit to my Godfather that led to me adopting the name as my own. He helped me make it something to be proud of. Sirius was good like that: I only got to see him once a fortnight, but it was always worth it! I'd always find myself counting down the days until I could see him again.

I remember that I had been quiet for most of the day and Sirius, obviously getting frustrated with my solemnity, sat me down on his knee.

"Alright, Tabby, what's up?"

I sniffed, wiping a hand roughly across my nose.

"You shouldn't call me that anymore."

He gave a frown.

"Why not?"

"Dudley's started calling me Shabby - so has everyone else!"

He paused, obviously realising where the nickname had come from after a glance at my dirty clothes and short, messy hair.

"Well, I know he said it to be mean, but that doesn't mean you need to take it in a bad way."

I remember turning to face him, pouting; even then I could be obnoxious.

"How can it be taken in a good way at all?"

He gave a small smile.

"Well, your hair for a start: it's scruffy. You get it from your Dad. But your Mum said that his hair was shabby once or twice. Mind you, it was usually when she was mad at him, but it works!"

Faltering, and perhaps realising that his argument wasn't strong enough, he bravely continued.

"It also shows that you don't belong with the Dursley's - you're not one of them! Shabby is everything that the Dursley's aren't and hey, who wants to be like them, anyway? You should wear it like a badge of honour!"

It made a lot of sense, and after some thought I started using the name to introduce myself, or whenever my name was needed. Eventually, it empowered me, rather than leaving me debilitated, which irritated Dudley to no end. It spoke to me, encouraged me: getting me through the difficult days spent with the Dursley's until I could visit with Sirius again.

Whenever I visited with Sirius he remained oddly tight lipped about his schooling. I knew that he grew up with my Mum and Dad there, but he told me little else. He had once said - with an odd smile on his face - that it was "literally magical". He told me why when I visited him on a day a few weeks before my eleventh birthday.

I remember thinking that it was odd on the day: I had last seen Sirius just three days before and obviously I wasn't expecting another trip for awhile. The Dursley's had never taken me to see him so soon after a visit, and it was ringing warning bells. Were they finally getting rid of me? Were they going to tell Sirius I wasn't allowed to see him anymore? Were they lying about taking me to see him, and were in fact taking me to enroll at St. Evangeline's Finishing School for Deranged Damsels?

Fortunately, for my continued sanity, I wasn't being taken to Petunia's favourite school-based-threat. No, I was about to find out something that would change my life for the better.

"Shabby," Sirius had said, upon letting me into the house, "I want you to read this letter, ok? Oh, and this isn't a prank."

I stared at him, incredulous.

"No, really! I'm as serious as my name!"

I simply ignored him, used to his default, terrible joke. It did tell me one thing, though. Whatever was in the envelope was important.

Written elegantly on the envelope in a flowing emerald green ink - my favourite colour - lay my name.

Tabitha "Shabby" Potter

Underneath that, was Sirius' address. I didn't care to read it; the mysterious green ink inciting my curiosity and making me tear into the envelope immediately.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Tabitha Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

The silence seemed to stretch out for hours.

"Magic then, huh?"

Sirius froze, confusion apparent.

"You're not gonna freak out? Scream? Shout?"

"Sirius, I found your Hogwarts trunk under your bed years ago."

"Well, shit."

And since that day, things changed. I went to Hogwarts, learnt magic, made some awesome friends - oh, and fought the man who had killed my parents twice, too. I can't seem to escape him, and recently I've even been dreaming about him!

Only, they don't feel like dreams; they're more like visions. The only problem is, I forget them as soon as I wake up! I haven't bothered Sirius about them yet: he'd get ridiculously worked up over them and I wouldn't get a moments peace. Still, they tend to leave me feeling out of sorts for a while and he sometimes seemed to get a bit too suspicious for my liking.

I found myself thrusting my worries to the back of my mind though. After cooking breakfast for the Dursleys, they would be taking me over to Sirius' so that we can go to the Quidditch World Cup. I was excited. Sometimes I forgot how much money we had between us; I hadn't realised that we could just buy them. Through letters, I understood that my best friends Ron and Hermione were going too; apparently the Weasley's had won tickets or something.

I started to get dressed into some of my best clothes, things that Sirius' had bought for me. I wanted to look my best for what I expected to be one of the best experiences of my life, however, I couldn't help but feel a slight sense of unease. I had a horrible feeling that - as so often happens in my life - my luck would run out and something awful would spoil such a special event.