The water is cold despite it's early summer. I move my paws, paddling. Don't stop. You've got to make it before the tide changes. I concentrate on what Sirius had in mind. Once you've gotten away from the rock, go with the tide. The flood will take you to dry land. The tide doesn't matter on the open sea. Try to be in the open during ebb tide and the upcoming flood will be your ally when you think you can't go any further.
The salt bites in my eyes and my nose. I am so thirsty, but Sirius said I must not drink salt water.
Move your paws, doggie. My wet fur doesn't keep me warm. It used to repel water in the old days when I was young. When the woman, Lily made pies and James gave me delicious treats for fetching a stick he had thrown. They are all dead now. I must live. I must reach the shore. Their puppy is in danger. The rat is still alive.
I feel something under my paws. It's only seaweed. It tries to wrap around my legs and pull me down. Don't panic! Swim! The seaweed floats by.
There are seagulls. They say the water is coming. Follow the upcoming tide. It will take you to the shore. It smells like land. The waves are pushing when I can't push with my legs. There's a seagull swimming next to me. It laughs. It picks at me. Go away you nasty creature! You won't dare to pick on me on dry land! I splash and growl to keep it away.
Another bird! A duck! Ducks are nice. They taste better and they mean the shore is near. There are more ducks. If you show me the way, I'll promise never to eat one of you again. The ducks ignore me. They just float on the waves. I float with them. I only paddle to keep my head over the waters. You've nearly made it! Don't give up!
My hind legs touch the ground, barely. It hurts. A wave throws me forward, firm ground, broken shells, rocks and pebbles. Another wave rolls over me. I yelp and swallow water. I could stand, but my legs don't bear me. The tide is your ally. It will take you to the shore. It has. I smell salt and seaweed and blood. My paws burn like hell. I can't stand up. The seagulls pick at me again.
"Oh my goodness! What is that?" A female voice. "Shush, shush, nasty birds! Leave the dog alone!"
I feel soft hands on my fur. Something rough touches my paw and I twitch.
"You are alive. Good dog, you won't bite me, will you? I'm trying to help."
I try to open my eyes, but the salt hurts. I move my tail.
"That's all right. You know I'm not going to hurt you. You are a terrible mess, dog. Where do you come from? You can't have crossed the North Sea? You can't stand up, can you? Doggie, you're too big for me to carry. Let me see. If I remove the shards from your paws, do you think you can do it? My house is only half a mile up there. The grass is soft. Try it, please, Doggie."
I really try. My eyes are open now. She looks so kind, so worried. Her hands are warm. I lift my head. No use! I can't stand up! She looks at me and pets my head.
"All right. I see, but how can I move you?" With a resolute gesture she puts off her coat and spreads it out. " I have to pull you onto it, you see? I'll be as careful as possible."
She takes my front legs and pulls. I whine a little bit. She pauses and strokes my fur.
"I know it hurts. You've come so far, just a little more. You can do it. In my house I can give you fresh water and chicken broth."
There's something in her voice and in the memory of chicken broth that gives me strength. I push with my hind legs while she pulls at the front. I try to keep my head up. The coat is soft and clean. It smells faintly of soap and food and a real human house. I had thought I would never smell those things again. I thought they don't really exist. I wasn't allowed to remember. Thoughts of goodness feed Dementors. They can't take from me what I don't feel.
The woman pulls her coat with me on it up the beach.
"You're less heavy than you look, dog. How did you get so thin? Only fur and bones."
The grass on the path is soft like she said. We reach her doorsteps. She stops to wonder how to get me up. My legs move without me really knowing. I put my paws on the first step. She helps by lifting my chest.
"Yes, dog, that's right. You're going to make it. Only a few more inches."
It's warm in the house and clean, so clean. Not the faintest smell of rats. The woman moves around. She stokes the fire in the hearth. A warm wave rolls over my body. The air smells of flowery soap and the promise of warmth and softness.
"I've put a blanket in front of the fire. Come on, move a tiny little bit."
She puts another blanket on top. Is it possible that so much warmth and softness really exists? A bowl is set in front of my nose. Fresh water, clean water, sweet water. She helps me to lift my head and my tongue touches the water. It is real! I lap and lap and lap and lap. Then my head falls back again.
"I put some broth on the fire. While it warms, I'm going to remove the salt from your eyes and nose. You'll be feeling better soon."
I am feeling better than I have for many years. A cloth with lukewarm water rubs over my nose. It's easier to breathe now. The salty crusts on my eyes are gone. I look at her. She looks like what Sirius would call an angel. Dogs don't have a name for it. She is good.
Now she has started to clean my paws. It burns. It smells of blood and salt. I know she doesn't want to hurt me. I trust her. The soup is ready. It's hot, too hot.
"A few more minutes. I know you're hungry. Let it cool down."
I look at her and lick her hand. It tastes of the broth. She has put the bowl on the window sill and cuts some bread. I remember bread. Hers smells differently. Fresh and wholesome, not wet and rotten. The only thing which smells wet and rotten around here is me.
It it possible that one can feel so warm?
She sits by my side on the floor and feeds me small pieces of bread dipped in broth. I swallow hastily. Give me more. I cough and she waits until it's over.
"Slowly, dog, you'll get it all."
I know she's right, but I'm so hungry. I lick the last drops out of the bowl. Warm inside, warm outside, I don't want to move ever again. I sneeze. It hurts. She tells me to rest, to sleep, promises more broth when I'll wake again. I rub my nose against her. My eyes fall shut. I sneeze again. The woman rubs my back and wraps me in another dry blanket.
"Sleep, dog, you'll feel better when you wake up."
I doze away, start dreaming. Cold water, paddling, rats. My body twitches. She strokes me. No water, no rats, no smell of death.
The sun shines brightly through the small windows, when I open my eyes again. The woman is moving around in the kitchen. There's another pot of broth on the hearth and the smell of fresh herbs and honey all around.
"Are you better now?"
I raise my head and try to lean on my p...hand! I stare in shock. She'll be screaming like hell any second!
The Muggle woman smiles kindly and completely unafraid.
"Are you a kind of Selkie?"
"Kind of, yes. I'd better go..." My voice sounds rasp, unreal and the effort to speak makes me cough. My chest and my whole body hurt like hell. I shiver. I'm burning in fever.
"The only place you're going is upstairs to bed, young man. You're in no state to leave today."
There's a determination in her voice which leaves me helpless like a child. I am helpless. I try to rise, but I can't.
"Calm down, I haven't called the coppers. We just need to get you out of the kitchen before my neighbour comes to visit. She's a gossip."
The coppers? I notice that I'm naked. My clothes are lying in a corner. She must have seen the prison tags.
"I won't hurt you. I'm not a murderer. They …. I was innocent."
"You don't need to explain. I know a bit of dogs. You're a good dog. I've seen it in your eyes. Anyway, whatever you have done or not done, I wouldn't surrender any living being into the hands of people who put them in such a state."
I remember what Padfoot thought of her. She is an angel.
"Thank you, Madam."
"It's all right. I like a bit of company other than old Peg Martin." She kneels down with a steaming cup of herbal tea. "Drink this. Sip for sip. Be careful it's hot. I hold the cup, just drink."
I obey like a small child. I trust her. I don't have a choice anyway. I simply try to cover myself with the blanket as much as possible. She seems to be amused.
"You have nothing I haven't seen a hundred times. I had 5 brothers and was married for nearly 30 years. I would have dressed you again, but you have been so much in pain that I thought I wait until you're awake."
I can hold the cup by myself now; it has soothed the burning pain in my chest. She lets me drink and gets some old pyjamas. With her help I put them on.
Leaning onto her I manage to stand up. We slowly move upstairs to a very small bedroom. It looks like boy's room. There are faded newspaper snippets with pictures of boats and fighter planes and motorbikes.
"I had one of those, before... " I say while she slowly places me on the edge of the bed.
"All boys love those machines, don't they?" she says. "My Geordie saved every penny for a bike, worked hard on the boats and then he stayed at sea."
I wish I could say something. But she still smiles.
"It's been more than 30 years now."
She pulls up the pillow and makes me lie down in Geordie's bed. She tucks me in like Kreacher used to do, when I was little.
"Are you going to tell me your name?You don't need to, but I can hardly call you Doggie."
"My name is Sirius Black."
"Sirius? The dog star, brightest in the summer sky. I know about it being the daughter and wife of fishermen."
"Not much left of a star, burnt out."
"You have just a bad cold and need feeding up. I'll see to it. Want another cup?"
I nod. The tea was really good, almost like Madam Pomfrey's potions. She reminds me of Poppy. 'Lie down and shut up, Mr Black. You're not going to leave before I'll tell you.'
Poppy never asked what happened, never told anyone. Nobody ever asked questions, never questioned anything, never doubted what was said. I haven't asked questions before Azkaban. None of us did.
The woman returns with the tea.
"You haven't told me your name, Madam."
"I'm not a madam. My name is Annie, Annie Fraser. Just call me Annie, everybody does, except the hag from the NHS."
"Hag? From NHS?" I'm confused. What does she know about hags? Is she a witch, a Squib? Is that why she wasn't afraid when I transformed? Has she called the Aurors?
"Hag like nasty old nurse, tries to order me around, tells me what to do and what not, what to eat and what not. You don't speak like a foreigner. I thought you're from the South, London or not far from it. You must have heard about the NHS. ….. You have not? National Health Service."
"I'm sorry, I've been away for some years, not familiar with Mugg.. modern terms. You are right I am from London. Haven't been there for twelve years."
"Twelve years?" she repeats. "You've been in prison for twelve years? You can't have been more than a boy when they put you in."
She looks more angry than pitiful.
"I was almost 22."
"Like I said merely a boy."
"No, I was a grown man. We all were grown-ups or so we thought. It was all my fault, my fault alone. I deserved it, though I didn't kill them."
She looks at me quietly, doesn't ask, doesn't demand an explanation. I should not tell her. The Statute of Secrecy. I've waited so long to tell someone. I'm an out-law. I don't owe obedience to Ministry laws anymore. Maybe I'll tell her, but not now. Tomorrow when I don't feel so tired. There must have been something in the tea. I can barely keep my eyes open.
Annie takes the cup out of my hands and puts it on the bedside table.
"Sleep, my boy. Sleep it off. You're safe."
She leaves me alone. I can hear her downstairs for a few minutes until my minds floats away into dreams again. Dreams without Dementors, happy dreams.
There has been something in the tea. I sleep until the next morning. I slowly sit up on the bedside. My clothes are nowhere to be seen.
Searching for hold along the furniture and the wall I manage to reach the door and listen. My ears are trained enough even in my human body to make sure that there's only Annie downstairs. I open the door. The stairs are barely one yard away, steep and narrow. The railing creaks when I lean against it and Annie emerges from the kitchen.
"Good morning. Stay where you are. I'm coming up to help you."
"Good morning, Mrs Annie. No need, I can get down on my own. "
My hands and feet are still sore and swollen from the cuts and the salt, but I manage to climb down the stairs.
"Breakfast is almost ready, but I guess you want to use the bathroom first."
"That would be very welcome."
Bathroom, a word from a forgotten past. Annie offers me her arm as support while I stagger through the narrow hall to the back of the cottage. I try not to lean on her too heavily, but I'm grateful for the help. I stare in wonder at he small, tiled room. It looks like the height of luxury. Clean like the rest of the house and there's hot water from a tap.
"Call for me when you need help." Annie says and closes the door.
The sight of my face in the mirror over the basin scares me. How could Annie not be scared? I am only capable of the most essential washing. It must do for today. There's a very inviting tub, but I know I won't be able to get out, if I climb in. Annie has supplied me with a razor and soap. Geordie's or her husband's? I wish I could renew the spell the guards cast on us every week. I'll probably kill myself, if I tried the Muggle way.
Annie allows me to take my breakfast in the kitchen, but she insists that I return to bed immediately afterwards. She promises that I can stay up for a while later today. I don't put up much resistance. No matter how much I want to move on, see Harry and get my hands on the rat I know I need to recover first. I won't underestimate Pettigrew a second time. The rat has survived for twelve years under the eyes of Albus Dumbledore, deceiving everyone.
See little Harry again. Thinking of it feels strange. It's a happy thought. It's full of hope that I get a chance to tell him the truth. Little Harry! He's not little anymore. He won't remember me. He will only know what they have told him, if they told him anything at all. Where has Hagrid taken him? I try to remember. Hagrid said something about family, but I can't believe it. Dumbledore can't have given the boy to Petunia Evans. She hates wizards. Who knows, maybe she has changed her mind after Lily died. She had a boy herself. Lily said so. Petunia got married to a horrible Muggle. James had met the guy. A git, he said. Dursley was the name, wasn't it? Living in Surrey?Dumbledore can't have left Harry with them, can he? This is not how Harry should have grown up. James had so many plans for his son. From the day Lily had told us she was expecting we made plans for his future.
" Men! …. You're going to spoil the boy rotten!" Lily accused us after listening to our fantasies. When Harry was born she was as bad as we were. It all came to nothing. It is my fault. I couldn't keep a single promise I've made at his Christening. I sink back into sleep dreaming of how I will approach Harry. I'm allowed to have happy dreams now. No Dementors to feed on them.
It hasn't worked. I've forgotten how to dream happily. Dream-Harry didn't listen. He believed I betrayed his parents.
"Harry, Harry... James was my best friend. I'd never... My fault, my arrogance, but …. Not the traitor..."
Everyone believes it. I have no proof, only my word.
"James! Lily!"
They were the only ones who trusted me. I try hard to think of anyone who might listen. Remus perhaps? No, he won't. I wouldn't have believed him. I cannot talk to anyone without the rat to prove it.
"Peter! It was him! The rat is at Hogwarts! Remus, please... I'm sorry."
I dream that Harry called the Order in. My former friends, now deadly enemies. Dumbledore handed me back to the Dementors like he has done before. Crouch read the transcript of his testimony to me with cold satisfaction. Dumbledore is never wrong!
I scream for them to listen as the Dementors draw near.. I scream for the only one who would listen.
" Please! Regulus! Forgive me! Regulus! It's so cold. Dementors! My Bear Guardian!"
He has come to me. Holding my hand, comforting me. The bear is chasing the Dementors away.
"Wake up, Sirius. It's all right. You're safe."
Annie has started shaking me to wake me up. She's telling me again and again that I'm safe.
Safe? There isn't such a thing as safety for me. I once wanted it to be that way, danger and adventure. But the danger isn't an adventure anymore. It's in my head; it's in the cold and loneliness. It's real. Annie's kindness is the illusion. The memory of something that is lost forever. Regulus!
"Who's that Regulus? Another star?"
I smile reminiscently.
"He is... he was my little brother. He's dead, another star burned out before his time."
"I've said you don't need to tell me, but it might help..."
"I'd be getting you in danger. They are looking for me, the Ministry, my former friends..."
"Danger doesn't mean much for a woman my age. I've lived my life."
"Spoken like a true Gryffindor."
At her questioning look I start explaining. I want to tell.
"I am a wizard. Gryffindor is a house at the school we all went to learn magic. Me and my friends were in Gryffindor. 'Their daring nerve and chivalry sets Gryffindor apart'. "
Annie laughs at the preposterous quote. It is laughable thinking what became of us.
"A wizard? Like Merlin?"
Of course, Muggles have heard about Merlin.
"No, not like him, not nearly as powerful," this should be obvious considering the state I'm in. "Very few wizards are nowadays. We're living among you Muggles – non-magic people – in secret, not trying to meddle in your affairs."
She is listening with interest while I explain about pureblood mania and dark magic, about the secret war we fought. I'm not sure she really understands, but I don't know how to explain it better.
"That's horrible. Brothers fighting on different sides. Your poor mother."
"My mother was a hag. She didn't care about me once I'd chosen the side of the Order."
"You shouldn't talk like that. She must have been devastated. All alone, after your father died, one son dead and one imprisoned."
"She probably wished I was dead. I'm sure she never believed I changed my mind, changed sides."
"You don't understand a mother's heart."
"You don't know my mother. Walpurga Black didn't have a heart."
Annie shakes her head. She can't imagine what my mother was like.
"But your brother, you love him. You've called for him in your nightmare. You called him your guardian."
"My brother was an idiot who believed their lies. He hated me in the end. I called for my bear guardian. That's the meaning of his middle name, Arcturus. I remember what he was like before he sided with them. He wasn't bad or cruel, much kinder than I was."
"He died fighting your friends?"
"No, he disappeared and was pronounced dead about a week later. I don't know what happened to him. Maybe he tried a freak curse he couldn't handle or was killed by his own folks for being too soft."
"Who are you trying to fool? You care what happened to him," Annie sticks to her conviction.
"Maybe I do, but he's been dead for more than a decade. Finding out about him is not the most pressing matter. It's my godson, Harry. He needs me. Peter, the man who framed me for his own crimes is still alive and he's close to Harry. I'm the only one who knows. I need to find Peter and protect Harry. "
I pause thinking of how pathetically I failed the boy. Regulus always accused me of running away from responsibility. He meant my duty to the family name, but I really have been running away from my duty to raise Harry. When I found James lying among the rubble at the bottom of the stairs, I couldn't think straight anymore. It was so easy to leave the boy with Hagrid. I didn't care what happened to me. The only thought was to catch the rat... and kill him. Now I've got to finish the job.
Annie has waited patiently until she thinks I'm ready to continue.
"Do you want to tell me about Harry? What became of him? How old is he?"
"He's thirteen soon, on July 31st. He was the most beautiful baby you can imagine"
Annie smiles. I know everybody says that.
I tell her about Harry, about what I am allowed to remember again. How tiny the crumpled little bundle was, when James placed him in my arms asking me to swear to protect him with my life. He was born with unruly black hair like James', not bald like other babies. He looked just like his father except for his eyes. They became emerald green like Lily's. At first I was scared to drop him. He looked so fragile, so easy to break. He didn't break. He grew and became stronger each time I saw him. Each of the rare times I saw him... I remember how Dumbledore gave me all kinds of pointless tasks to keep me away from them. He didn't succeed. I always found a way to see them. Often in the middle of the night, but I managed to see him sleeping. Sometimes Lily woke him up. Not too often, just sometimes. Sometimes I was so tired that I almost fell asleep myself. Lily put Harry between Padfoot's legs and I curled up around him and we both slept on a blanket in front of the fire. I used to wake up at sunrise, because Harry had started to kick and his little fingers grabbed and pulled my fur. 'Pad, Pad, want to ride!'
He loved to ride on Padfoot's back with James or Lily holding him. He was never afraid. He was never afraid of anything. I sent a toy broom on his first birthday; order duty kept me away again. Lily told me in a letter how he flew through the living room. James and I were sure he'd be a great Quidditch player one day. Chaser! No, seeker! No, chaser! We'd take him to the next World Cup wherever it may be... whenever. We'd take him to Olivander's for his first wand just like our fathers had taken us. My father... he put his hand on my shoulder. He was so proud of his eldest son... for the last time. Harry would get the best racing broom money could buy. Who cared that he wasn't allowed to take it to Hogwarts? He'd be top of every class at Hogwarts with the three of us teaching him as soon as he would be able to hold a wand. Who cared about the 'Ridiculous Restriction of Under-age Magic'? James wasn't so sure about that, but Lily and I overruled him.
We'd get sand from the moon to built sandcastles for Harry and everything he could wish for.
Annie laughs at the idea.
"You really were still kids, weren't you?"
Maybe we were, maybe it was our way to forget about the war for a moment. The war we wanted to fight and win, all of us, to let Harry grow up in a world without blood prejudice and hatred.
James wanted to fight and Dumbledore forbid it.
'You're top of Voldemort's list, James Potter. The Death Eaters consider you the worst kind of Blood-traitor. Worse than your friend. They still hope to find a way to make him come to reason as they call it.'
'It can't be that bad. Voldemort has even tried to recruit Lily despite her...'
'Has he indeed? I wonder...'
We wondered, too. My Death Eater cousins barely thought of Muggleborns as human. But Lily was a remarkably talented witch, wasn't she?
Was that the first sign of distrust towards me? Did Dumbledore also think I might 'come to reason'? The idea was absurd as far as I'm concerned, but he must have believed it. He never suspected anyone to be the spy but me. How much I wish he had openly confronted me about his suspicion, given me a chance to prove my innocence or at least asked the one question I'm still asking myself. Why should I have betrayed my best friends? He never asked. He never came to hear my reasons. He never spoke to me after my arrest. If he did, I could have told him about Peter. I can't stand the thought that the rat managed to stay so close to Harry for years. The only thought that made me endure Azkaban was the conviction that Harry was safe with Dumbledore.
But can I blame him? Had I tried to talk to Remus? I believed the obvious, because it never occurred to me that Peter Pettigrew...
"My incredible arrogance caused their death. It seemed such a clever idea to make them change to a Secret Keeper who nobody suspected. I convinced them to trust the spy."
"You thought he was your friend. You couldn't have known."
I shake my head.
"No, it was conceit. I didn't even really like him. He just happened to be there, in our dormitory for years, trotting along with James as his protector, as his admired idol. He was there the day when we discovered the mistake we made about the Fidelius Charm. He seemed too weak, too incompetent to be a danger. I rather believed my good friend Remus to have changed sides than imagine that the rat could have fooled us all for months. The rat! We should have known when he turned out to be a rat in his Animagus form! The animal form reflects not only looks but also your true character."
"Which makes you a faithful companion at heart."
I laugh bitterly. "Which makes me a deadly hunter, a ruthless killer. I will hunt down the rat and kill it! I swear I will!"
Annie gently brushes the hair out of my face to calm me down.
"Not today and not tomorrow. You need more rest before you can hunt down anyone. I'll get you another cup of tea and then you will sleep again."
When she returns with the brew I drink obediently.
"Sleep, my boy. Dream of your godson and how happy he will be to get to know you."
Nobody has ever called me "my boy". From afar I hear a proud voice softly whisper "My two cunning little snakes" , "Wild like Cornish Pixies". The whisper turns into shrieks, into a curse "Blood traitor!", "Shame of my flesh!". No! Don't think of her! Think of Harry! He was so much like James. He will give me a chance to explain. James gave me a chance despite my family.
I wake up in the afternoon, hearing voices from the kitchen. I remember Annie's warning, turn into Padfoot and wait. I can hear that Annie tries to get rid of her nosy neighbour. I try to be as quiet as possible, but being a huge dog this isn't easy. The floorboards creak. My tail knocks against the cupboard. Finally I hear them say goodbye and the front door snaps shut.
"Come down, Sirius! Peg's gone."
I trot down the stairs and rub my nose on Annie's side. She fondles my ears and pets me.
"We've done a lot of talking this morning, haven't we? What do you think? Shall we sit a bit outside?"
I wag my tail.
There's a sunny patch on the back of the house. Annie sits down on an old wooden bench. I sit beside her feet and put my head on her lap. There are small red and white flowers in neat beds along the walls. They move in the ever-blowing sea breeze. Flowers... I need to see them close. I need to sniff their sweetness. I walk along the flower beds taking in the smell of life. The sun on my body, the wind in my fur, Annie's wrinkled face, her bright eyes smiling. A cloud moves over the sun and I shiver. Dementors! No, there aren't any Dementors here. Dementors don't like the sun. They don't like flowers. They don't like the fresh smell of the grass and the earth. I roll on the grass which is warm and soft. Azkaban is the past. I can stretch my legs in the air, roll on my back and I'm alive. A tuft of dried grass dances in the wind. I am a dog. I have to chase it. It evades me and soon I am exhausted. I lap sweet water from a small bird bath. Annie laughs.
A little bird sits on the fence post. I prick my ears and watch it.
"No, Sirius! Leave it alone! Listen to its singing."
It sings, it really sings. No crying seagulls telling the endless change of tides. No cries of madness and despair from neighbouring cells, no harsh orders or curses from the guards. Annie's crystal clear laughter, almost like Lily laughed. I bark happily in response. It's strenuous. I cough. Not today, not tomorrow, Annie has said. I still need rest. I return to lie at her feet.
Annie has brought a basket with needlework and I watch her pull the thread through the fabric, slowly, precisely. We sit in the sun until the sky turns red.
Annie makes bangers and mash and insists that I turn human for supper. I protest when she only has bread and butter for herself. She won't listen to anything I say.
"Eat, my boy, you need it."
She makes fire and lets me sit for a while in the kitchen. I watch the flames dance.
Now I notice what she had been sewing all afternoon. Annie let down the seams of old calico trousers and makes me try them on. They're still too short and much too wide, but much better than the pyjamas. She also hands me a frock-like shirt, seamen's clothes. I thank her.
"I'll make another pair tomorrow. You can't wear those rags anymore. We should burn them."
I shake my head vehemently.
"No, I still need them. I can't wear your gifts when I leave. If they catch me, they might suspect that someone has helped me and come looking for you."
"How should they find out about me?"
"They can do magic," I smile. "Do you remember? They are wizards, too."
"What can they do to an old woman like me?" Annie dismisses my worries.
"They can force you to do whatever they want, they can confund you, they can erase your memory and that's the least they will do. They don't care much about Muggles. They don't care much about anything except the Statute of Secrecy."
Annie looks at me quietly for a long time, then she asks the question I've tried to ignore.
"The people who are looking for you? Aren't they what you called the good side? Your friends, the authorities?"
I don't reply. The flames are still dancing in the fireplace. Gryffindor red and gold, bright and hot, turning everything they touch to ashes.
Annie lights the lamp, but I pretend to be tired. I don't need to pretend much. I am tired. The fever has returned. Another cup of tea sends me back into dreamland, happy dreams. Harry will listen, Remus will listen, Dumbledore won't condemn without evidence.
The next morning the fever is gone. I'm feeling strong and capable of anything. Annie has prepared a hot bath. Paradise in a tub, the smell of lavender soap, glittering foam on the water. It crumbles to grey smear all around the rim of the tub. 12 years of grime, the darkness of Azkaban doesn't wash away in one hot bath. I still don't dare to use the razor. Annie does and she knows what to do. She also cuts my hair to no more than ten inches over the shoulders. She'd rather done more, but I... can't explain. It doesn't feel right to get rid of it. It was my only armour, the only way to hide in Azkaban. The only thing I kept from family tradition. James and Remus wore their hair short after Muggle fashion, not too short in the 70s. James accused me of leaving mine longer, because the girls liked it. Maybe I did, the girls really liked it. And I have learned to deal with those who don't, since the first day I managed to sneak out of my parents' house. Regulus and I might have looked like girls in our frilled, white shirts and old fashioned jackets, but the boys on the streets learned soon enough that we could fight like boys. One of them paid with a tooth for pulling Reggie's locks. It was a matter of pride not to use magic against them. They respected me after a while, frills or locks or buckled shoes. Maybe it helped that we had Honeyduke chocolates. I liked to play with them. I liked football and all those wicked gadgets you couldn't get in Diagon Alley. And I liked their bikes! Muggles are quiet clever. They need to be without magic. Honestly some wizards are pretty stupid. You don't need to know anything when you just flick your wand to get what you want. I always wanted to know how things worked. James usually laughed about it and he got furious, when we were late for a date with Lily and one of her Muggle friends, because I had to change a gasket on my motorbike – by hand of course. The Muggle girl wasn't amused that I had grease under my nails. All right, I secretly used a cleaning spell to pacify her. Usually girls liked my bike. They only complained about the times it takes to keep her in perfect condition. My Norton had her own mind, but she never complained about the girls. I wonder what became of her. I gave her to Hagrid, before I went after Peter. Has he kept her?
It's a man's face in the mirror now, but I still don't recognize it. I'd scare Harry, if I approach him like that. Another day's rest, maybe two and then I'll go hunting for the rat. Yes, that's a good plan. I won't waste time with talking and trying to convince anyone. I'll present the body of evidence.
After breakfast I grab a towel and help Annie with the dishes. She doesn't want me to, but I need to do something. There's more to do. The house is in need of repair and I know how to do things the Muggle way, a nail here, a tightened screw there, fixing the gutter. I wish I could use magic. Annie wouldn't let me climb the roof to check the slate tiles.
I feel like I can't sit still any longer, but she's adamant. She even insists that I lie down again after lunch. Do Muggles know how to cast a wandless Imperius Curse? I can't resist her orders.
I don't know whether I welcome the rest or fear the dreams. Or do I fear the inactivity and welcome the chance to dream? Am I allowed to dream of a future, when they died because of me?
Annie takes Padfoot for a walk along the beach in the afternoon. I chase the waves and the seagulls. I fetch drift wood. Am I allowed to enjoy myself so much?
I'm feeling so much better today. I'm strong enough to leave, but I like it here with Annie. I've decided to go to Hogwarts for the rat. I vaguely know where the Weasley family lives, but my chances to catch Peter are higher where I know the area. I know Hogwarts grounds better than anyone else except Hagrid perhaps. I won't underestimate Peter again. He will have heard of my escape and he knows I'm coming for him. I'll choose the place and the time. I imagine him trembling at every unusual noise, pricking his ears, twitching his tail. Revenge is a dish best served cold. When I catch him, I'll kill him swiftly as is my nature, but until that day let him suffer.
He has to die, because they died. His fear is my compensation for the last twelve years.
One last day spend in peace, with a clean bed, another hot bath, wonderful food and talks with Annie. She asks, if I will come back when it's over. I promise I will, knowing I'm lying. I don't expect to live. I may dream of it, but I don't expect it. I won't let them take me back to Azkaban.
It doesn't matter what happens to me as long as I can see to it that Harry is safe.
It's still time until September 1st. There are two things I want to do before I go north. I want to see Harry. I'm pretty sure Lily said her sister lives in Little Whinging, Surrey. A good place to start.
Then I'll go to Godric's Hollow to see James' and Lily's graves and renew the promise I've made. They have made me Harry's legal guardian in case of their death. In times of war you never know. I've sworn to protect him with my life on the day he was born. It's time to fulfill the vow.
Annie keeps me company for the first part of the way. I turn south and she remains at the crossroads. A small dark figure following Padfoot with her eyes. I want to return when it's over...
The following year people in the village start talking about strange things around Annie Fraser's house. Large birds seem to visit her, owls in daylight and Paul Walker insists that he even saw a large parrot sitting on her window sill one evening. He shouldn't have had that last pint in the pub.
Then those men from the south appear in the village. On their business cards there are outlandish names 'Boruk, Boruk & Ladkill Associates'. They hire local craftsmen to repair the cottage. Bills are paid immediately and the prices are never challenged. Only the best will do for Mrs Fraser. No questions are answered, neither by the strangers nor by Annie who doesn't seem to care much for her sudden fortune. She often walks to the crossroads like she had walked along the beach for more than thirty years. She stares down the southbound road like she stared at the waves. Annie Fraser believes in magic.