Disclaimer: I don't own, JK does.
Harry watched in wonder as the house suddenly shifted, and number 11 and 13 began to move away from each other, revealing that another house was lodged between them. He glanced up at Sirius, who was looking grim as he watched the newly appeared house. "Wouldn't someone have noticed that?" Harry wondered, still plastered to Sirius side after their strange, highly unpleasant travel.
His godfather let out a laugh. "Muggles can't see this place," he explained as he led the boy up the stairs.
"Muggles?" Harry was thoroughly confused. Wasn't dogs turning into humans enough?
Sirius made a humming sound in the back of his throat, carefully examining the door. "Non-magical people," he explained. "People like your aunt and uncle."
"Oh," Harry said, blinking. Then a small frown creased his brows. "I don't think I like muggles very much.
The look Sirius gave him made him look away, his face heating up. Apparently that was something you were not supposed to say. "Why can't they see this house?" Harry quickly asked, trying to distract his godfather. It worked.
"My father," the word was spoken with a certain hint of bitterness, "put enough spells and wards on this place to make it nearly impossible for wizards to find it, let alone muggles who can't seem to notice a hippogriff even though it's prancing through their garden."
Harry nodded, stepping back a step as Sirius finally opened the door, letting out a gust of stale air. It did make sense, after all. Only... "What's a hippogriff?"
Sirius paused mid-step, glancing down at the boy. "It's a... I'll show you a picture later, okay?" Harry nodded. "Good, now, stay behind me, and don't touch anything. Gods knows what might be lying around here."
A bit disconcerted at his godfather's orders, Harry still complied, staying as close to the older man as he could without walking on his heels, staring around with wide eyes. They had come into a large, dark hallway, and Harry saw Sirius bring out his strange stick again, mumbling something under his breath. The end of the stick lit up, and for a moment Harry forgot about the hallway as he stared at the magical light.
Sirius grimaced at the state of the place; the wallpapers were practically coming off from the walls, and there was a thick layer of dust covering everything in sight. A quick glance into the dining room showed that the room was practically uninhabitable, with the furniture upended and dust everywhere. The man grimaced; it seemed he would have to do some serious cleaning. Or, rather, some Sirius cleaning.
Snickering at his own mental pun, he then led Harry up four flights of stairs, grimacing at the house-elf heads still on the wall of the lowest staircase and promising to explain it to Harry later, with the side comment "My mother was bonkers." Once at the highest point, he only had to glance into his own old room to see it was inhabitable. Strangely enough Regulus room seemed to be in an alright state - albeit a tad bit dusty - and even though it did bother him, he figured it would be a good a room as any.
Vanishing most of the dust with a flick of his wand, he then turned around to face Harry, who was staring around curiously. "This," Sirius began, "was my brother's old room. It's probably the only habitable room in the house at this moment which means we will probably set camp here, at least until we've cleaned up the other rooms."
Harry nodded, still a bit confused - and very curious - and just a tad bit uncertain about his strange godfather, but he decided he liked the way Sirius had said "we". As if they were a team. As if Harry was supposed to stay. Yes, he liked that a lot.
Sirius did wonder a bit at Harry's eagerness to agree - Regulus' room wasn't that amazing. Sirius' room was much, much cooler - but he shrugged it off, figuring the boy was just... dazed. Yeah, that must be it. Also, hungry, he noted with a smile as Harry's stomach suddenly rumbled quite loudly, making the boy blush in embarrassment.
Laughing, Sirius ruffled the boy's hair. "I know what you mean," he said, glancing mischievously at Harry's stomach. "Wait here, I'll go down to the kitchen and see if there's anything edible." At the boy's suddenly afraid look Sirius' smile softened. "I'd take you with me," he assured the boy, "but I don't know what state the kitchen is in. Quite frankly, I'm not sure I want to go there. Except for, you know, food."
Harry still felt a bit peeved at being left alone, but Sirius did make a convincing argument - judging by the look on the man's face, Harry began to think that he, too, wouldn't want to go to the kitchen - and so he sat down by the desk in the room, putting his backpack down onto the floor. Sirius ruffled his hair again, and then left with the promise to "be back in a minute". Harry watched the man go out the door, and then sighed, resigning himself to waiting.
Quickly walking down the stairs, Sirius grimaced as he took in the run-down state of his old home. He knew his mother had died some three or four years back - a minister official had told him during an inspection - but he didn't quite think the place would fall apart so quickly. Snorting at his own thoughts, he couldn't help but shake his head as he started down the stairs leading to the kitchen. If someone had told him he'd return to Grimmauld Place 12 a week ago, he'd most likely hexed that person to oblivion. Or perhaps he'd hit the person with a brick. Probably both.
Finding Harry had changed quite a lot, though. When Sirius had seen the scrawny boy walk into the playground, his first thought was that he must've been sent back in time, somehow, because he certainly didn't remember James being that young, and he was quite sure Prongs shouldn't even be alive, but then the boy had looked at him with green eyes, Lily's eyes, and Sirius' stomach had neatly tied itself into an impressive knot.
Walking into the kitchen, he grimaced at the mess the place was in, much like the rest of the house. Sirius began to wonder if maybe it had started even before his mother died. That woman had never did have all her screws fastened properly. In fact, he was pretty sure all her screws had been loose. Every single one of them.
Shaking thoughts of his deceased nutter of a mum out of his head, Sirius continued his scavenging, rummaging through the many cupboards, nooks and crannies. His search found him two rats nests, something which looked suspiciously much like doxy-droppings, a jar of something he really didn't want to examine closer, and, after a while, he managed to dig out a few loaves of bread that seemed to have been put under an ever-last spell, making them edible - if a bit dry. He also took a couple of mugs from one of the top cupboards, vanished the dust in them with his wand, and then began the ascent up to Harry again.
Waiting patiently for Sirius to return, Harry looked around the strange room, decorated in green and silver. The bed and the desk were made out of a dark wood, and despite still being a bit dusty it was in no way near as bad as the other rooms he'd seen. On the far end of the room stood a large book-case, seemingly made out of the same dark wood as the other furniture, and the books occupying the shelves looked old and worn. Unable to stifle a sudden burst of curiosity, Harry carefully made his way over to the book-case, only looking over his shoulder towards the door once.
Harry had always had a fascination with books; the thought that such a little thing could hold heaps of information, and, if one was inclined to imagination, whole worlds could be explored simply by turning a page. Of course, one reason for his affection for books was the simple fact that Dudley didn't like them. Many times, when Dudley and his little gang of friends enjoyed their favourite sport, Harry-hunting, Harry had been forced to hide in the library, a place Dudley never would set his foot in willingly, and if Dudley wouldn't go, neither would his friends.
Thus, Harry had found himself in a world of books, and had spent many a free periods determined to read them all. Needless to say he hadn't been quite successful in that endeavor - not for lack of trying, though.
The books before him now were different from those at the school library; dark, old musty tomes, leather bound and Harry was certain all of them were older than him. He was almost afraid to touch them; some of them had titles he couldn't read, having faded away with time, and others had titles he could read, but didn't understand. A few books even had a certain feeling about them that gave Harry goosebumps whenever his eyes trailed over them. He couldn't quite decide whether it was a bad feeling or not.
Not quite knowing why, he began reaching for the books. His fingers almost ghosted over the backs of the leathery tomes, but then he heard a strange pop coming from behind him, and startled, he twirled around, trying to see what had made the sound.
It was, he had to point out, the strangest thing he'd ever seen - and he had seen a dog turn into a man and a house grow out of nowhere, that very same day. It was a tiny creature, with many folds of grey skin, and a really large head. It reached up to his waist, and, seemingly unaware of Harry's presence, the little creature began to shuffle around, muttering darkly under its breath. It didn't seem to have noticed Harry.
Harry wasn't sure what to do. Glancing at the door, he began to wish that Sirius hadn't left, no matter how hungry Harry was. It would've been okay, really; he'd gone without food before, he would've been just fine.
The creature turned, laying its large, tennis-ball like eyes upon Harry, and immediately stopped speaking, as if shocked into silence. It didn't last long, however. "Nasty, filthy thief thinking he can come into Master's room," it said, voice surprisingly deep for such a tiny thing. "Kreacher won't stand for it, oh, no he won't."
The thing snapped its fingers, and Harry suddenly found he couldn't move.
"Poor old mistress, what would she think if she saw what had become of her Grimmauld, oh," the thing bemoaned, more to itself than to Harry, the boy suspected. He also suspected it was the cause of his sudden immobilization, and he got the inkling that whatever the strange creature would do, it wouldn't be pleasant for Harry. He began, not for the first time, to wish that Sirius hadn't left. Or that Harry had gone with him. Even being back at the Dursleys' would've most likely been an improvement, but he wasn't entirely sure about that one.
As the creature began to advance on him, still muttering darkly about its mistress, Harry felt this to be an appropriate time to panic. He was about to do so, too, but then he suddenly heard someone coming up the stairs.
"Sirius!" he called, not quite managing to keep his voice from acquiring a certain shrillness. A moment of silence followed, and then the door burst open, Sirius rushing in with his strange stick held high.
"Prongslet!" the man shouted as he dashed into the room. Wild-eyed, he searched the room for whatever had made Harry shout for him, and he was more than a little surprised when he laid eyes on a tiny, grey little thing who had up until now been advancing towards Harry, still muttering bitterly under its breath.
Putting his wand back in his tattered clothes, Sirius made a disgusted grimace. "Kreacher," he spat, and the little creature visibly flinched. "Release him, now."
The creature did so, albeit not without reluctance, and it muttered darkly under its breath about filthy blood traitors and its poor, poor mistress. Sirius gave it a last, dark look, and then he went up to Harry.
"Are you okay?" he asked, kneeling down to Harry's level.
The boy, visibly shaken, nodded. "Y-yeah," he mumbled, glancing towards the bitter little grey thing. "Sirius, what is that?"
Assured that the boy was okay, Sirius smiled and stood up again. "That," he said, "is a house-elf." At the boy's confused look, he opened his mouth to explain, but then paused. How did one explain a house-elf, anyway? "W-well, they cook and clean, and... stuff."
Harry made an "Oh," in understanding, and then nodded. "Like what I did for my aunt and uncle," he clarified, suddenly looking at the little creature - the house-elf - with understanding.
Sirius began to nod in agreement, but then stilled, Harry's words fully registering in his brain. 'Like what I did for my aunt and uncle.' The man felt his hands clench as he, not for the first time, felt a surge of anger towards the Dursleys. They boy was a part of their family, for crying out loud, and they made him work. Like a house-elf. What had Dumbledore been thinking, placing Harry with them? He shook his head. The old man had a lot of things to answer to, it seemed.
Harry, unaware of his godfather's grim thoughts, was staring at the house-elf with newfound curiosity. It was still muttering darkly, every now and then shooting sneaky glances towards Harry and Sirius. A smile forming on his lips, Harry gave the still brooding Sirius a quick glance, and then he slowly walked over to the house-elf, curiosity written over his features. He kneeled in front of it, looking at it with wide eyes.
Kreacher stopped muttering and stared suspiciously at the boy.
"Hello," Harry said with a friendly smile.
The house-elf became even more confused, and he glanced - almost against his will - at Sirius, his master, for some sort of guidance or order on how to handle this new development. Sirius was far too busy brooding darkly to notice his house-elf's plight.
"I'm Harry," the boy said, still smiling. "What is your name?"
Kreacher was sweating nervously now, seemingly frozen in place, not knowing what to do. When no orders came from Sirius, the house-elf swallowed nervously. "K-Kreacher, sir," he said.
Harry's smile turned absolutely radiant. "Nice to meet you, Kreacher," he greeted, and the house-elf almost fainted on the spot.
"Sir Boy thinks it be nice meeting Kreacher?" the elf asked tentatively, still very unsure on how to handle the strange child.
"Of course I do," Harry answered, as oblivious to the elf's discomfort as Sirius was.
Before-mentioned oblivious godfather had pulled himself out of his brooding by now, and turned to see the strange sight of his godson smiling brightly at Kreacher, who almost looked as if he was smiling back. Knowing he imagined things - Kreacher? Smiling? Hah, not in this world - Sirius shook the strange thoughts out of his head and walked up to Harry, softly ruffling his hair.
"Okay, Prongslet," he said, smiling down at the boy, "it's time for bed."
Harry sighed, but didn't protest - his uncle and aunt always got angry when he tried to protest against anything, and Harry didn't want to anger his newfound godfather unnecessarily - as Sirius led him towards the only bed in the room. The man easily lifted the child up, setting him down upon the covers. He brought out his strange stick, and Harry watched in wonder as his oversized clothes suddenly changed into a fitting, red pajamas with little lions all over it.
"Wow," Harry said before he could stop himself. "That was so cool"
Sirius smiled at the boy, and then proceeded to tuck him in under the covers, softly stroking his hair.
"But Sirius," the child blurted out before he could stop himself, "where are you going to sleep?"
The man blinked. He was about to say "The floor," but for some reason he didn't think his godson would accept that answer. Instead he said, "Kreacher!"
"Yes, master sir?" the elf immediately replied, still so stunned he forgot to be mean.
"Take one of the beds from the guest rooms and set it up in here."
The elf nodded, but his reluctance was back, and Harry watched in fascination how he popped out of existence, only to return moments later, bed in tow. It didn't seem like Kreacher had bothered to do anything except than just his order, however; the bed was covered in a thick layer of dust, and there was something that looked suspiciously much like mice-spilling by the end of the bed.
Sirius gave the elf a murderous look. "That's all," he spat out through clenched teeth, and as the elf popped out of existence again, Sirius took out his wand and quickly vanished the dust and the other stuff. He moved the bed so it laid next to Harry's, and then, without bothering to make a pajamas for himself, he kicked of his shoes and climbed in under the covers, lying down in a proper bed for the first time in seven years.
With another flick of his wand he put out the lights, so that the room became dark, except for a dim light from the street-lamps on the street outside. "You okay there, Prongslet?" he asked, trying to locate the boy in the darkness.
"Yeah," came a tired response. "Why do you call me Prongslet?"
Despite knowing the kid couldn't see it, Sirius grinned. "Your dad's nickname was Prongs," he explained, a myriad of fond memories washing over him at the mention of the name.
Harry let out a small "Oh," in response, and after a moment's thought he spoke again. "Did he have a nickname for you, too?"
For just a brief moment Sirius heart constricted, memories of his old friends - his old life - tumbling around in his mind, and then a sad smile formed on his lips. "Yeah," he said. "He used to call me Padfoot."
Shifting a bit to lie more comfortably, Harry smiled into his pillow. "Padfoot," he tried, tasting the word. "I like that." Then he fell asleep, leaving Sirius alone with his thoughts.
A/N: Okay, chapter two. I can do this. So, yeah, Grimmauld Place 12. Funny place, that. And spell-check thought hippogriff should be hippodrome.