Disclaimer: Nothing recognizable is mine. Except Dani if you've read my stuff before.
Author's Note: This story is dedicated to my beta, becca, who loves Sirius and Dani so much, I felt I needed to write them another story. If you've not read my other Dani/Sirius fics, that's fine--this one has nothing to do with those (btw, I recommend them! How long can you hold your breath? and Six Months to Daylight, the sequel.) If you have read those, then I hope you don't get too confused with between them.
Okay, that's all. Enjoy! h
The Theory of Chaos
Harry stayed still as death as he watched the butterfly staring back at him through beady black eyes. A fair amount of guilt settled in the wizard's stomach as he watched the pale yellow wings beat lazily together; he'd used similar ones in many potions. It seemed a shame now as he watched the little critter that so many had lost their freedom to Snape's retched class. The butterfly, sensing Harry's guilt, walked across the young wizard's leg, stopping its slow fluttering completely.
"At least you can fly away from this place," Harry breathed. His gentle words tickled the butterfly's wings and it shook them off with a tremendous beat of its appendages. Harry instantly felt a cold chill take over his body and dogs began barking all around number four, Privet Drive. Clambering to his feet and pulling his wand from his back pocket, he looked around for the looming threat. Was it Death Eaters? Dementors? The chill was there but he wasn't filled with despair. Surely they wouldn't attack him two summers in a row.
His eyes flickered to his shirt where the butterfly was walking, its black orbs staring at him with an almost curious expression if butterflies could look curious. Just as Harry tilted his head in confusion and wonderment, the insect took flight, circling briefly over his head before gaining altitude and flying from sight. The feelings of unease passed.
Harry ran a hand through his already messy hair. "That was strange."
----h----
The tired wizard let out a slow sigh and grinned softly to himself. He was back. Whether it was kismet, shear dumb luck, or the results of a butterfly flapping its wings he didn't care. He was on his third chance at life and nothing—or anybody—was going to ruin it for him.
"Number four, number four…Ah, there it is." He stepped up to the drive and glanced upward to the second floor with a smile where a boy of about fifteen was sleeping with his face planted against the glass. The man wasted no time knocking on the front door, growing anxious with each passing moment that was keeping him from his quest. Finally the door opened; a skeptical, pudgy face with narrow slits for eyes greeted him.
As cheery as he could muster, he explained, "I'm here to claim my godson."
The slits for eyes popped open. "You-you're that Black lunatic—"
"Yes, I am. And if you don't wish your neighbors to know you're consorting with the likes of me, you'd best let me enter."
Uncle Vernon turned his usual shade of puce and stepped back quickly, scanning the street for unwanted eyes before slamming the door shut behind Sirius. The wizard stepped into the main room off the foyer and quietly observed the muggle family, noting that Harry hadn't exaggerated in one detail. Sirius watched the elder Dursley as, despite his huge girth, he maneuvered deftly around the room obviously with the focus of staying as far from Sirius as he could. He sized up the couch where his son sat gaping and then decided on an armchair. Taking his cue from the muggle, Sirius leisurely sank onto the sofa next to Dudley, wasting no time to get comfortable as he draped his arms over the furniture's back, enjoying the exasperated looks from the family.
"The boy said that you were dead. I see it's not beneath him to be labeled a liar as well as a freak."
"Doesn't surprise me," Petunia declared, sitting delicately on the chair's arm that Vernon had flopped into. "Look at his parents."
Sirius took slow, deliberate breaths and said evenly, "I must insist you not speak of Lily and James like that seeing as how I was their best friend and am now in possession of a wand."
Petunia simpered nervously and tried to hide better behind Vernon's stoutness.
"Where is he? Locked in a cabinet somewhere?"
Vernon narrowed his eyes back to a menacing slit, growing angrier as his penetrating gaze had no effect on the other man and bellowed for Harry to come downstairs. Above came a solid thump as if a body fell from a chair followed by resistant footsteps that clunked down the steps.
Not waiting for the young wizard to join them, Vernon began releasing his aggravation with as much heat as he could project. "Is your head filled with so much nonsense that you couldn't spare two words to tell us that one of your kind was coming, Boy? Is that the thanks I get for letting you stay in my house all these years?!"
Harry's disembodied voice replied angrily, "I've had other things on my mind more important than telling you that Professor Dumble—," he stepped into the sitting room and stopped mid-thought, "—Sirius?!"
The elder wizard's face beamed as he climbed to his feet and welcomed a crushing hug from his godson with a chuckle.
"Sirius, you're dead!"
"So I've been told." He held his godson by the shoulders and appraised him with a loving eye. The youth looked older, if at all possible, from just the few weeks prior when Sirius had last seen him. Of course, that was a life and death ago.
"How, I mean, when—"
"There's time for that later, mate. Go get your things."
"Okay! No, wait. Dumbledore's supposed to be coming any moment."
There came a very distinct sputtering of anger from Uncle Vernon's direction.
-----h-----
Sirius entered his bedroom later that night with a warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach—something he was having to grow used to again. He had relived the conversation he and Harry had with Dumbledore a dozen times since he left his godson and, with each new time, his smile grew. The thing that really pleased and amazed him was that the wizened professor wasn't at all surprised when the two wizards greeted him at the door.
"Greetings, Harry, Sirius. Just the two men I needed to see."
He remembered the twinkle in the old man's eyes, the shock in his godson's and a chuckle escaped his lips again.
The three had entered the living room and joined the Dursleys who were nonplussed by the greeting. Was returning from the dead a normal thing in the wizard world?
"Sirius," Dumbledore began, taking a seat, "unfortunately, there was no clause in your will for if you returned to the living. I'm afraid that all your things belong to Harry."
"Good. He can take it. Too many…memories with all that stuff. New life, fresh start."
The three parted some time later, Harry going with the headmaster and Sirius back to Grimmauld Place to pick up a few personal affects.
And that's how he now found himself sitting on his bed for, hopefully, one of the last times. He realized that he'd been wondering, along with all his other thoughts, if his name would be cleared now that he was dead. But since he was dead, or supposed to be dead, perhaps it was better if he changed his appearance completely. He made a mental note to speak with Tonks later.
Looking around his room, he felt indifferent to leaving it. It had its memories, good and bad, but, they were just memories. Staying there wasn't going to bring either back. He threw some clothes in a bag and smiled at the pictures the old gang smiling back at him from the walls. What a difference time had made to the group of once carefree teenagers. His attention turned to a smaller snapshot of girl who his pictured self kept throwing his arms around and spinning off her feet. Dani. His Dani who he'd viciously attacked and hurt for the rest of her life. At least, that was what his ego had him thinking.
But she wasn't without her faults either. After the initial shock of her original betrayal had waned—and yes, she betrayed him first and greatest, he reminded himself—he'd always hoped to be the one to change her back for good; he had yet to be given the chance. He hated to admit it but she still had a good portion of his heart in her hands. Uttering the counter spell to remove it from the wall, he shoved the picture deep into his pocket to take her with him.
If asked, he'd never be able to explain why he wanted to keep her in his memories. She was part of the reason he left home at sixteen all those years ago. Those memories were the very ones of why he was glad to be leaving Grimmauld Place behind. They were the thoughts that most replaced his happy ones when the Dementors wandered by his cell. With a shudder, he tried to push them from his mind but knew he'd have to think them out one last time to see if he could have changed what happened if he wanted to forget them.
With one last long look at the room, he closed the door and left that part of his life behind. It was just a room but, somehow, he felt like everything from now on would never be the same.
Comments? let me know what you think!
