Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. This work is published not for profit. All rights are reserved in the original, non-derivative elements of this story.

Acknowledgements: A number of people have helped me in planning this story. I would like to name four especially: Newcomb, MattSilver, Selethe and OllieK.

Canon status: The approach to canon in this story can be summarised as "canonical world, non-canonical events after book 3". That means that, for example, you can assume that the Deathly Hallows exist, because they're a part of the canonical HP world. But you can't assume that Harry's invisibility cloak is one of the Deathly Hallows, because that discovery is an event which occurs after book 3. In this story it may just be an invisibility cloak.

Harry Potter and the Forgotten Labyrinth

By Taure

Chapter One: An Inspector Calls

Harry Potter's birthdays were never so much celebrated as they were begrudgingly recognised. He had always been unwelcome in the Dursley household, considered on a level somewhere between immigrants and readers of The Guardian, and not even the threat of Harry's newly discovered godfather could change that.

The looming presence of Sirius Black had gifted Harry with a relatively peaceful summer, the mere mention of his name enough to send Vernon's eyes darting suspiciously for the hedges, but the Dursleys were still the Dursleys. So it was that Harry's fourteenth birthday arrived just like all the others: with a curt nod from Petunia and a meticulously calculated invoice from Vernon. His aunt was even so generous as to permit Harry to cook breakfast for the whole family.

Harry fidgeted all the way through the long and awkward meal, rushing back to his room the moment he was excused. Just as he had expected, a small flock of owls was waiting on the ledge by his window, each one laden with birthday greetings and gifts. Harry sat on his rickety bed and opened them with a reverence that was out of place on a boy of his age, careful not to tear the wrapping paper, reading every letter several times over before moving on to the next.

Hermione had sent him a book on the Shield Charm ("since we get into so many scrapes!"), a very Hermione-ish present that came with a four page letter. His best female friend was in Italy this year, playing tourist with her parents in Rome, Florence and Venice. Ron's letter was much shorter by comparison, consisting mostly of commentary on the upcoming Quidditch World Cup Final (which, Harry read with envy, the Weasley family would be attending), but also noting at the end that his present-a wizarding wireless-was a gift from the whole family. A pair of knitted socks must have been from Dobby, though they came with no message (did House Elves even know how to read?), and Hagrid had given him a wizarding compass, a confusing sphere of glass containing three wandering needles. A poorly-spelt birthday card promised a lesson in how to use the device.

It was a good haul, probably his best yet. And yet, as Harry moved over to his desk to leaf through Hermione's book, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that Sirius had sent him nothing. Of course, a man on the run like Sirius had far more pressing worries to attend to. And it wasn't like Harry expected presents… yet all the same, he couldn't help but glance towards the summer sky every few minutes, wondering if he might spot an owl.

His half-hearted reading was interrupted by Vernon's bellowing voice.

"Boy!"

For a moment, Harry was tempted to ignore it. But then it came again, louder and angrier:

"BOY!"

He plodded down the stairs to find his uncle waiting in the kitchen, a large tool box sitting on the table with an impressive collection of drills next to it.

"Took your bloody time," Vernon said, putting down a tape measure. "Don't they teach you punctuality at that school of yours?"

Harry ignored him, looking around the kitchen curiously. He'd never seen it so clean: the post had been cleared away from its normal place next to the kettle, and there was no sign of Petunia's gossip magazines. "You called?" Harry asked, a suspicion already growing in his mind.

"It's about time you started pulling your weight around here," Vernon said, embarking upon a now-familiar speech, "we give you food and board, and what do we get in return? Owl droppings and bleeding snakes in the garden, that's what."

Harry didn't think that was a fair assessment. "I already do all the laundry and the weeding," he pointed out, "and what about Dudley? What's he doing? He's got more weight to pull, after all…"

Vernon's eye twitched. "Don't get smart with me, boy-you know Dudley's working on a computer project this summer." Harry snorted. As far as he could tell, Dudley's project consisted of playing DOOM. "Now," Vernon continued, "since he's got a project, it's only fair you have one too."

Harry smirked: it was time to bring out his trump card. "Well, if that's the way you feel," he said, adopting an airy tone, "I'm sure I can help out a bit. Maybe my godfather can come too-you know, the one accused of mass murder?"

Vernon's eyes lit up and Harry's smile froze. Something was wrong. Normally, this would be the moment for Vernon to glance around the room nervously and send Harry back upstairs.

"Aha!" Vernon said, wagging his finger victoriously, "you're not going to trick me with that nonsense again, boy! I've got you all figured out. No wiggling your way out of this one with some pretend godfather. You'll be helping me with the kitchen and that's that."

It was with no small bitterness that Harry realised he had been outplayed. Vernon had called his bluff and there wasn't anything he could do about it. With Sirius on the run, there was no way Harry was going to call him back to England for something as trivial as escaping chores.

"Fine," he said. "What's the job?"

"We're putting in a new kitchen," Vernon said. "The new units are coming tomorrow-very modern, far more expensive than the tat the Masons got. But before the new ones can go in, the old ones have to come out."

He passed Harry a screwdriver. "You'll be unscrewing all the old fixtures while I'm drilling for the new shelves." Vernon then picked up one of his drills, gazing upon it with pride. "You see this, boy? One of Grunnings' own. The result of good honest labour-no shortcuts, no funny business, just good old fashioned British engineering."

He raised the drill into the air and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

"Damn Chinese batteries," Vernon muttered, his face colouring, whether out of embarrassment or anger Harry didn't know. "Well, what are you looking at? Get to work!"

Harry had barely started unscrewing a cupboard door when the doorbell rang.

Vernon put down his drill. "Another bloody salesman, no doubt." He pushed his way past Harry into the hall, moving to open the front door with a pre-prepared scowl.

Harry dared a quick peek around the kitchen door and felt his heart leap: standing at the front step was none other than Sirius Black. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had lost much of the gauntness of Azkaban, almost to the point where he could be called handsome. There was a wiry strength in his forearms and his skin glowed with a healthy tan. The transformation was completed by a caesar cut, which had replaced his long, straggly mane.

He was also dressed as a Muggle policeman.

"Mr Dursley, is it?" Sirius said, his voice businesslike, keeping his poker face even as Harry grinned at him from the hall.

Vernon cleared his throat. "Something I can help you with, officer?"

"I believe so, Mr Dursley," Sirius replied. "May I come in? It won't take long."

"Of course, of course," Vernon said, and he stepped aside to let Sirius in. Harry ducked back into the kitchen, hoping Vernon hadn't seen him. Nothing made his uncle more suspicious than Harry showing happiness. He knelt down and busied himself with the cupboard door, trying to school his expression into one of boredom.

Harry heard their footsteps enter the kitchen, but he didn't look up.

"Cup of tea?" Vernon asked.

"No, thank you."

Vernon ignored him. Water sprayed. The kettle switch clicked. China cups were taken out of a cardbox box on the floor, making a clink-clink sound as they jostled together. "So," Vernon said, now looking for some teabags, "what can I help you with, officer?"

"I've come concerning your nephew," Sirius said, and now, finally, Harry looked over his shoulder. Sirius was pulling a small notebook out of his chest pocket. "Let's see-" he licked his finger and flicked through the pages "-ah, here it is. One Harry Potter of Number Four, Privet Drive." He glanced down at Harry. "This is him, is it?"

Vernon shot Harry a dark look. "That's him, alright," he said. "A real trouble-maker, that one. What's he done now, then? Vandalised the park? Robbed an old lady?"

"Oh, no doubt all that and more," Sirius said, still flicking through his notebook. "Quite an impressive list I have here… trespass, assault on a teacher, property damage, assisting a known felon… I could go on."

The Shrieking Shack incident, Harry realised with a frown. What was Sirius playing at?

"Just as I thought!" Vernon declared, clearly struggling to hide his glee at the news. The end result was a rather constipated look. "From the moment we took him in, I knew he was no good."

"Indeed," Sirius said. He placed the notebook back in his pocket. "But that's why he's enrolled at St. Brutus', of course."

Vernon froze, but recovered quickly. "Of course, St. Brutus'… yes, we did enroll him there. Everyone knows it."

Sirius nodded gravely. "I'm glad you say so, Mr Dursley. I was worried for a moment that you'd fallen victim to his delusions."

"Delusions?"

Sirius leaned towards Vernon as if about to share a secret. "He thinks he's a wizard."

A kind of strained, nervous giggle escaped Vernon's mouth. "How funny!" he said, his voice too loud for the small room, his eyes shifting between Harry (now removing shelves from inside the cupboard) and Sirius. "No, none of that nonsense here…"

Sirius frowned. If Harry hadn't known otherwise, he would have sworn it was genuine concern. "Are you quite all right, Mr Dursley? You're looking rather pale."

"Yes, yes, quite all right… have you met my wife? I'll call her down." He moved to the kitchen door and shouted up the stairs: "Petunia!" There was an unmistakable tone of panic to his voice.

"Aunt Petunia went shopping," Harry supplied.

Vernon spun to face him, as if just remembering he was there. "You! A word-now!"

He marched off to the dining room, leaving Harry and Sirius alone. Sirius winked at him and Harry's lips twitched.

"Off you go, Mr Potter," Sirius said, keeping perfect composure. "Your uncle seems quite distressed."

Harry followed Vernon to the dining room, where he was immediately accosted.

"All right then," Vernon said, slamming the door, "what's the meaning of this?"

Though he would surely regret it later, Harry couldn't resist the temptation to maintain the charade. He frowned in mock confusion. "Meaning of what, uncle?"

"You know what-all this St. Brutus' nonsense. There's something funny going on here, I just know it!"

"Nonsense?" Harry asked. "Does that mean I don't have to go back to St Brutus'?"

Vernon looked just about ready to explode. "Don't play with me, boy! We both know you go that that ridiculous-" Vernon's face twisted in disgust "-magic school!"

Harry cocked his head. "Don't be silly, Uncle. There's no such thing as magic."

For a moment, Harry thought Vernon might faint. He deflated like a popped balloon. His face, a moment ago red with anger, turned an unhealthy shade of white. The moment stretched out, becoming a long silence.

"No… no, of course not," Vernon said at last, his voice dazed. He blinked several times, as if trying to focus properly. "There's no such thing as magic."

Sirius poked his head through the door. "Everything all right in here? I heard raised voices."

Vernon gave Sirius a weak smile. "Not to worry, officer. Just, ah, disciplining the boy. You have to be careful with these criminal types, after all."

"That you do, Mr Dursley," Sirius said, patting the large man on his shoulder. "That's why I'm here, after all-I've come to take Mr Potter back to St. Brutus'. He's just too dangerous to have walking around, I'm afraid."

"Take him back?" Vernon said, straightening up. The news of Harry's impending departure never failed to bring cheer to the Dursley household. "A capital idea, officer. Yes, he's far too dangerous here."

"Wonderful," Sirius said. "Well, Mr Potter, I think you had better go get your things. It's back to the Centre for you."

It was only then that the reality of Sirius' arrival sank in: he was being rescued. There would be no more weeding or laundry, and no kitchen re-fit. No sitting around in his bedroom rereading school books and going over already-completed homework. Just like that, the summer suddenly filled itself with possibilities in Harry's mind, magic and adventure replacing the monotony of the Dursleys.

He raced up to his room and packed in record time, throwing everything into his trunk haphazardly, only to realise he couldn't shut the lid. He was forced to take everything out again and pack properly, making sure to keep his wand, cloak and map at the top. When he was finally done, he opened up Hedwig's cage and let her hop onto his arm.

"I'm going away with Sirius," he said to her as he moved over to the open window. "You'll be able to find me, right?"

Hedwig hooted.

"I'll take that as a yes," Harry said, never quite sure how much she understood. "If you can't find me, go to Ron at The Burrow, okay?" Another hoot. "Well, so long!" He extended his arm through the window and Hedwig launched into the air in a flurry of wings. It wasn't long until she was out of sight.

By the time he returned downstairs-his trunk making a distinctive thud-thud-thud which would surely have annoyed Petunia-Vernon was nowhere to be seen.

Sirius was waiting by the front door. "All ready?"

"Ready."

"Then let's go."