Prologue
The weather was bitter, of course. It had to be bitter in a situation like this, otherwise it would seem to mock the young man as he stood before the smoking ruin of the house before him, limbs shaking and mind screaming in grief and fear. The young man stood frozen, his head craned to take in the sight of it. He wanted to go inside, to turn over every piece of rubble and find the people he loved inside, but his feet seemed to have disconnected and kept him frozen, staring with a horror that he'd never felt before.
In the end, what moved him was the last sound he expected to hear. An infant's wail. He turned his head a little, his hands slowly easing out of their clenched fists, and his left foot lifted from the ground to step forward. His right foot followed, and then he was striding across the damp grass, reaching out towards the front door even as it swung inwards with the breeze.
The ground floor was fairly intact still, and as he pushed the door further open he had to light his wand to see in the pitch-dark hallway. Instantly, the light fell upon the prone form on the floor, and he felt his heart spasm beneath his ribs. His bending down to check for a pulse in his best friend's neck was arbitrary, a final clutching of straws, as after three years fighting a war he knew the effects of the Killing Curse upon sight. James Potter was dead.
But the baby's cry, Harry's cry, that was still coming from above him. The staircase ahead looked very unsteady, but he ignored the creaking and cracking as he hurried up it two at a time. The blow of Lily's body, sprawled across the floor of the nursery, struck him so hard it might've been physical. Her eyes stared up at him, unseeing yet still full of beautiful expression.
Harry's cries had subsided a little at the sight of him, he now only choked an uncertain sob, staring up at him with wide, questioning eyes that matched the sightless ones of his mother. Sirius Black stepped forward, and lifted him from the crib. He was warm, and wriggling, and alive.
A cut on his forehead, a jagged lightning bolt, was bleeding a little yet apart from that he was unhurt. Sirius stared at him in disbelief. Voldemort had been here, he'd killed Lily and James, why had he left a little boy? It wasn't in Voldemort's style to be merciful.
The sound of footsteps crunching over the glass and rubble outside jogged Sirius a little, and he turned on his heel. Harry nestled against him, whining a little as Sirius moved to look out of the smashed frame of the window. A gigantic figure was stood in the front garden below, looking up at the ruined house in much the same way as he had before. It was Hagrid.
Sirius stepped back from the window, concealing himself in the shadows of the room as his mind raced. It was clear that Dumbledore had sent Hagrid - why would the man come of his own accord? He wasn't close enough to the Potters to arrive for a visit at three-twenty-six in the morning. Dumbledore knew something had happened, and had presumably sent Hagrid to bring Harry to him. Instinctively, Sirius held the boy closer against him, and his confused, terrified mind latched onto one thing: whatever Dumbledore wanted with Harry, it was not in his best interests. Sirius knew Dumbledore, and respected him, and yet he understood that the man always had an ulterior motive. If he wanted Harry, especially after an incident like this, it would not be to benefit the boy.
In that moment, Sirius understood what he had to do. Taking a deep breath, he took one last glance out of the window, saw Hagrid begin to stride across the lawn towards the house, and then as he clutched Harry tight against his chest he turned on his heel, and Disapparated from the house.