"Didn't you get my letter, Sirius?"

After having spent twelve years tormented in Azkaban, living as an escaped dog and feeding off rats for months, the sight of Mrs Weasley's cooking had miraculously expanded the size of Sirius' mouth, so much so that he had stuffed it to the point of only being able to pronounce the letter m.

"Maybe you should swallow first."

After Sirius' near death experience from a failed attempt at swallowing his body weight in roasted duck, and after two-thirds of the Weasley family had calmed down to a level of merely hysterical sobbing, Harry learned that Sirius had not, in fact, received his letter clearly indicating that he will be staying at the Burrow for the remainder of the summer in light of the Quidditch World Cup.

For the first time in her life, Mrs. Weasley had to take away Sirius' plate from him, no longer allowing him any more food, for fear of him killing himself from the gorge. Harry had grown quite impatient from waiting to hear Sirius' story, and between the choking incident and the tantrum and death threats he had thrown after his plate was removed from the table, his patience had grown thinner than Sirius while locked in his prison cell.

"But I don't understand why you went over to Privet Drive to begin with, you could have been seen!"

"Seen? Hardly. That aunt of yours stared right at me for about a week and gave less notice in me than when your neighbour's wheelbarrow tipped over."

"Well it was an old wheelbarrow."

"A very old wheelbarrow indeed, I'm surprised they're still using it."

"Now what exactly DOES a wheelbarrow do?"

At the topic of muggle tools, Arthur Weasley seemed to have suddenly appeared on the couch between Sirius and Harry.

"Dad, I think Sirius' encounter with Harry's uncle is a little more important now."

"Oh, yes, of course. Quite right, Ronald. Go on, but you must tell me more of this wheelbarrow later on."

"I can get you one."

"Can you?"

"DAD."

"Sorry!"

Sirius leaned back in his seat. The soft plush of the thick cushions felt so calming to him. He imagined Vernon's -

"Are you alright, Sirius?"

Sirius caught hold oh himself gently stroking the cushion, while a small pool of drool was forming on the barely-definable remains of his shirt.

"Now that you mention it, no I'm not. Someone took away my treacle tart before I had finished it."

"YOU NEARLY CHOKED TO DEATH, WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE?"

"I would never have taken it away. I WOULD HAVE DIED!"

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, knowing full well that between mistaking James Potter for a piece of tart, and going starry-eyed at the mention of of Vernon Dursley, something was deeply the matter with Sirius. Arthur noticed the scene had become concerning, so he led Sirius off the sofa, and into the guest room where he could finally rest. Off in the distance, Harry and Ron could hear Arthur muttering about pillows and wheelbarrows.

"What's gotten into Sirius, you reckon?"

"Dementors."

"No, I mean other than that. He looks odd."

"He looks odd because Dementors have been eating away at his soul for years."

Much like Sirius' restlessness, this didn't sit well with Harry. He knew something strange had been going on but was unsure what it was. Even though he'd only known Sirius for a few short weeks, and spent most of those weeks believing Sirius was a cold blooded murderer, he somehow knew this was odd behavior afoot. Either way, there were far more important things to worry about.

"Is there any tart left?"

"Tell me more about the Muggle house, Sirius."

"Arthur, the tale of the fallen wheelbarrow can wait for the morning, I'm tired."

"No, I mean - oh, but must it? Can't you tell me anything?"

It might have been the fact that Sirius was an animagi and had spent so much time as a dog, or that his body had gone into such a state of exhaustion that he had lost any conscious control of his muscles and his face had simply sunken that way, but his ability to produce pleading puppy eyes immediately melted Arthur's ardent Muggle fixation.

"What I meant, Sirius, is what happened with Harry's Uncle? Was magic involved? Do we need to send Ministry Officials over?"

The thought of other men storming into Vernon's home in the middle of the night shook Sirius to full alert. He lunged at Arthur and grabbed the lapels of his cloak. He spoke curtly and with tremendous restraint.

"Don't. You. Dare."

Realizing what he had done, he quickly let go of Arthur and tried to brush the wrinkles out, where his hands had nearly ripped the cloth.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I don't know what's gotten into me. That man...Vernon...the thought of him. Well, it does things to me."

"Hmm, yes, I've heard stories from Harry. He sounds like an awful man."

It's a good thing that Sirius was lost in the thought of feeling Vernon's evening stubble brushing against his hand as he held the blade to his quivering neck. Had he heard what Arthur said, he would have lunged at him and grabbed the lapels of his cloak, speaking curtly and with tremendous restraint. Then, realizing what he had done, he would have quickly let go of Arthur and tried to brush the wrinkles out, where his hands had nearly ripped the cloth. But he had no intention of repeating that process again.

"Well, goodnight, Sirius. We've got a big day tomorrow world. Quidditch Cup preparations and all."

Yes, Sirius thought. Tomorrow will be a big day indeed.