The Sharpest Lives
Prologue
It smelled something like brimstone, maybe a campfire…mmmm marshmallows…wait! This is important; think about the yummy gooeyness of marshmallows later, you have a best friend to save.
Sirius Black, notorious prankster and ladies man, flew over the scenery of northern England on his enchanted motorbike. He had just been to Peter Pettigrew's 'hideout' and was royally pissed. The little rat had disappeared! That could only mean one thing—Sirius was a bigger idiot than his mother originally thought. Peter was the traitor, not Remus. He lifted a hand off the handle of Betty, his motorbike, and slapped his head before cranking the gas and speeding off into the distance.
This could not be happening. James and Lily were dead. Really dead! Sirius had tears running down his face when a thought suddenly occurred to him…Harry! Where was his godson? Then he heard it, a faint whimpering coming from a pile of blankets. He rushed over and tore through the pile, which was slightly smoldering, and found his godson.
Harry's onesie was ripped to shreds and he had a scar, in the shape of a lightning bolt, etched into his forehead. Tears were pouring down Harry's face and his whimpering slowed, but continued. Sirius clutched him to his chest and patted his back, trying to calm the distressed baby down.
What had happened? Obviously Voldemort had been there, but he wouldn't have left baby Harry alive. Harry must have been the Chosen One…he had defeated the Dark Curse!
Sirius was shocked out of his reverie when Harry had finally quieted down and he did the first thing he could think of. He apparated home.