- Chapter One -
Moony's Arrival
Harry was standing at the door of a long, rectangular dark room made of descending stone bench-like steps leading to it's sunken center, where stood on a raised stone dais a black veiled archway. And there, standing before the archway with his back to him, was Sirius.
Harry could feel his heart racing, pounding painfully inside his chest. Excitement and anticipation running through his veins, Harry broke into a run. Down one stone step, down a second and a third -"Sirius!" cried Harry, overwhelmed by joy at the sight of him. But instead of turning around, Sirius was stretching out his hand to touch the veil. "Sirius! SIRIUS!" screamed Harry desperately, tripping and falling in his haste to reach the archway. Down he fell, finally coming to a stop at the foot of the dais. Still dizzy from his fall, Harry looked up at his godfather. "Sirius…" stammered Harry, gasping for breath. As though deaf to Harry's cries and without so much of a glance, Sirius took one step, and disappeared through the archway.
"NO!!!" yelled Harry with what strength he had in him. "Don't-" but words had failed him and an eerie darkness swept over him, engulfing him in cold stillness.
- - - - -
It was in the early hours of yet another hot summer's day, seemingly free of all strange, bizarre or out-of-the-ordinary happenings, when Harry awoke to find himself covered in cold sweat again. The dream of Sirius and the archway has been haunting Harry ever since the night at the Department of Mysteries.
Harry turned in his bed, thinking he should try to get back to sleep. After several futile attempts, he realized that was not going to happen. Resigned to the fact of getting no more sleep and not wanting to wake the Dursleys up, Harry dressed quietly, tiptoed his way across the upstairs landing, went down the stairs, instinctively avoiding the creaking bottom one and noiselessly walked through the entrance door.
The skies were pinkish-grey, cloudless and unnaturally clear. The neat gardens lay motionless and still, untroubled by any breeze or passing creature.
A young man, not older then sixteen, black haired and bespectacled- was the only moving thing that showed any sign of life in the deserted neighborhood.
Every day for the past fortnight he could be seen walking alone. The neighbors did not dare approach him –whether for the terrifying prospect of being associated with such a delinquent boy, or for fear of catching something horrible. "Look at his cloths- what a disgrace…" "Awful boy, never liked the looks of him," whispered the neighbors amongst themselves when ever he would pass.
But Harry did not mind being left to himself. On the contrary, life in Privet Drive seemed to be more bearable this way.
A few hours later, Harry was sitting on the grass of Mrs Figg's garden, absent-mindedly stroking the basking Mr Tibbles, Mrs Figg's cat. Harry had been coming here since his return from school at the pretence of tending to Mrs Figg's garden ("Maybe hard work will knock the nonsense out of him," said Uncle Vernon the day of Harry's arrival). Fortunately for Harry, the Dursleys were completely ignorant to Mrs Figg's true nature. If they were ever suspicious that Harry was actually enjoying himself or even being treated to kindly- they would be most disappointed to say the least. And so, with the Dursleys happily smirking behind, Harry went every day to Mrs Figg's- doing no actual work at all and having quite a pleasant time. At Mrs Figg's Harry was free from the Dursleys, free to talk openly and be at ease.
"Would you like some more cake, dear?" asked Mrs Figg for the third time, handing Harry his fourth helping of cheesecake. "I'm afraid I'll have to pass- in this rate I'll be the same size as Dudley by next month," said Harry, smiling at the thought of perhaps then actually having his cloths fit as they were once Dudley's.
"Oh I wouldn't worry too much about that if I were you, dear. You could do with some fattening up. Pumpkin juice?" offered Mrs Figg, not waiting for his response and already pouring a glass.
"Thanks," said Harry before taking a huge swig of the ice-cold liquid, which felt wonderfully cool and chill running down his throat.
Mr Tibbles purred loudly, then stretched, gently scratching Harry's leg.
"Hungry again are we? But you've just had breakfast, dear. Sensible eating, Mr Tibbles. Sensible eating, that's what I always say," said Mrs Figg as though carrying a conversation with her cat.
Mr Tibbles simply replied with a loud disgruntled Miaow before protestingly walking away with his tail raised high in the air.
"Fine- don't listen to common sense. But don't you come crying to me again once your stomach becomes your fifth leg…" cried Mrs Figg after the cat, which turned a corner and disappeared from view.
"Ah he'll be back in time for lunch," said Mrs Figg, waving her hand dismissively.
"Anything new in today's Prophet?" asked Harry in an attempt to divert the subject of the conversation.
"Same as every day in the past three weeks. The Prophet is full of articles of so-called sightings of Voldemort, idiots saying how they knew all along he's returned, Malfoy's trial- may he rot in Azkaban, praisings of Dumbledore and yourself and erm…what else…" Mrs Figg screwed her face up in concentration, giving her the appearance of an old tortoise deeply immersed in thought. "There was something about the Department of Mysteries, Fudge's replacement-"
"What did they say about the Department of Mysteries? Anything about Sirius?" said Harry very quickly, cutting in on Mrs Figg, leaving her looking slightly puzzled.
Mrs Figg never heard Harry mention Sirius before, nor what had happened the night he died.
The Dursleys were also aware of Sirius's death, but they chose to ignore this as they do with anything involving Harry or his abnormality, something which Harry was very grateful for. He did not wish to discuss what had happened- least of all with the Dursleys.
"Well, they cleared his name. But there's not much. Perhaps the Ministry doesn't want to admit they were wrong about him as well as everything else," said Mrs Figg carefully.
Harry could feel the rage rising inside of him. Cleared his name? That's all? No apology? No setting the record straight?
"Dear dear, look at the time- you're late! Better tell the Dursleys I kept you here busy working hard," said Mrs Figg while taking Harry's empty glass. "See you tomorrow, Harry," she added cheerfully.
"Tomorrow. Thanks for everything," replied Harry.
Once out of sight of Mrs Figg's house (he could now hear her calling: "Mr Tibbles! Mr Tibbles! Come on- I've got better things to do than stand here all day and hold the door for you") Harry turned, not in the direction of number four, but in the opposite one. He did not feel like returning yet.
Harry was walking, angrily muttering to himself, completely unaware of where his feet were taking him, dimly thinking of writing a letter to Ron when he gets back when all of a sudden he hit something hard, causing him to stumble backwards and trip.
"Ouch. What-"
"Harry! Are you OK?"
It was Lupin. Harry had walked straight into him.