1.

The sun was blazingly hot that day in mid-July. It rose steadily, burning down on the south-east English coast. Lowestoft Beach had always been popular in summer, and this year was no exception. Holidaymakers, mostly harassed-looking parents with wildly excited children, trickled onto the beach to spread towels and straw mats on the yellow-brown sand.

A girl and a boy, freckled and sunburnt and aged about eight or nine, were playing together near the sea edge. A huge and wildly misshapen sandcastle stood between them.

'Let's put shells on it,' suggested the girl brightly, tossing back her long brown plaits and brushing the wet sand off her hands.

''K,' said the boy amiably. 'C'mon then.'

They set off along the side of the water, stooping down every now and then to pick up a shell, usually broken or grimy or even, to their disgust, containing some revolting half-rotten sea-creature.

'Say,' said the boy, suddenly. 'Ain't this one a beauty?' He dropped to his knees and scrabbled about in the sand, digging out a large, pure-white shell. 'Look, Mandy,' he said in a pleased voice. 'Ain't it – Mandy?'

But the girl wasn't listening. She was shading her eyes against the glare of the sun and frowning at something sprawled on the sand a little way away. The boy followed her gaze.

'Rob,' said Mandy slowly. 'What's that over there?'

The boy stood up, clutching the white shell. 'It's a dog,' he said in surprise. 'Let's have a look.'

Seconds later they were crouched by its side. The dog lay lifeless, drenched to the skin, its long black fur matted and, where the heat of the sun had begun to dry it out, thickly crusted with salt. The shape of its ribs could be seen through the wet hair plastered to its skin.

'It stinks,' said Rob, truthfully.

'Poor thing,' said Mandy, and reached out to stroke it.

'Amanda! Robert!' cried a sharp voice, and they both jumped. A tall woman with curly blonde hair was hurrying towards them. 'Don't even think about touching that – thing.'

'What if it's hurt, though, Mum?' argued Mandy.

'Hurt!' exclaimed the woman, dragging her daughter away. 'It's dead. For heaven's sake. Covered in germs – disgusting, someone really should remove it. Now, come on you two – it's time for lunch, I brought sandwiches.'

The two children followed her reluctantly, casting curious glances back at the dead dog, whose body was being washed gently by the lapping waves.

They were eating their sandwiches when it happened. Rob heard or sensed something very big standing just behind him, or perhaps he heard its hungry panting. The boy turned his head in vague fear, and met the eyes of a giant dog – dark, shaggy, and very much alive.

Rob let out a strangled yell. The eyes of the dog were no longer fixed on him, but on the large pack of chicken and tomato sandwiches in his hands.

The dog gave a ravenous bark and leapt forward, knocking the young boy into the sand. Mandy screamed and the children's mother leapt up in horror, beating at the dog with her handbag – but the dog was running, the sandwiches in its jaws, and soon the startled and terrified cries of the children dwindled to nothing in his ears.

The dog ate the sandwiches as it slowed to a halting lope. They disappeared in a very short time. The animal was starving and exhausted and in no condition to run for very long. But the bread and meat satisfied the immediate sharp pangs of hunger and all it wanted now was somewhere safe, to lie down and recover its strength – just for a few moments. There was no time for a long rest, but the creature needed somewhere to stop for a moment and gather its thoughts.

The dog was off the beach by now, and in the tourist-crowded streets that faced the sea. Growling savagely at the people who pointed and stared at him, the dog slipped through the crowds and into the quieter side streets. There was a dark gap beside a fish and chip shop, conveniently barricaded off by the shop's huge rubbish bins. The dog wriggled on its belly beneath one of the bins, and found itself in a narrow, crooked alley. A quick glance round showed the alley to be deserted, and likely to remain so. The dog crouched in a narrow beam of sunlight and then slowly it began to change.

Its long curved back straightened, the fur shrank from its face and body, the long muzzle retracted and its paws became human hands resting on the dirty gravel.

Sirius Black was almost too exhausted to move. He sank from his crouched position to a sitting one, leaning his back against the cold wall. His body was heavy with fatigue and he was soaked to the skin and shivering despite the warmth of the air around him, but his mind was alert. He knew the Dementors would soon be on their way, and he could not afford to fall asleep in an alley right by the coast.

So it was not long before Sirius reluctantly straightened up, still leaning against the wall for support. His bones creaked and his muscles screamed in protest.

'Hell, I'm a wreck,' he muttered sourly to himself. Then he laughed suddenly, a humourless bark of a laugh, and added, 'But I know someone who'll be worse, when I get to him.' A manic light burned feverishly in his eyes. He put one hand inside his drenched, ragged grey robes. The paper was still there – wet and crumpled, but intact. Sirius smiled grimly. The thought renewed his ragged strength. Sirius had been fighting so hard for his life in the sea that the thought of the rat had been temporarily pushed aside.

'I'll get you, Wormtail,' he said with a dark ferocity that was laced with resolve. Sirius pushed his body away from the wall with long, bony fingers. 'I'll get him for you, James,' he breathed.

The Dementors would be looking for him already, Sirius knew. He could not skulk in this alley all day, nor did he desire to. His direction was north. Wormtail would be at Hogwarts in two months. Sirius stood a few moments, relishing his human form and brooding on his dark thoughts. It would take him all those two months to get to Hogwarts, and there was little time to waste. Harry was at Hogwarts, little Harry, and he was in danger... little Harry? He wasn't a toddling one year old anymore, Sirius reminded himself, as he readied himself to return to his Animagus form. He would be thirteen soon, older than he and James were when they first met...

Seconds later, a mangy black dog sprang from behind the dustbins into the streets of Lowestoft. The dog padded slowly but purposefully through the streets, occasionally glancing at road signs and scavenging near-edible food from bins on the way. But Sirius' thoughts were not on what he was eating (and a good thing, too – it was a maggot-infested sausage, discarded from a hot dog at least a week ago); he was remembering a day, nearly twenty years ago. A good day, and a fragment of memory that only came back to him now – now that the Dementors were not around to suck it out of him.

He was on the Hogwarts Express, sitting in a compartment with two other new students, both of whom looked excessively nervous. None of them were speaking. Sirius had tried twice to start a conversation, but finding that the girl and boy seemed only capable of speaking in monosyllables had given them up as a bad job. He had settled back in his seat and closed his eyes, feigning indifference. Soon Sirius was extremely bored.

So he jumped to attention at once when a loud bang! issued from the corridor outside, followed by the sound of much shrieking and laughter.

Sirius leapt up without giving his travel companions a backwards glance, and slid open the compartment door. A girl with long red hair reeled into his arms, waving her own furiously.

'Whoa!' said Sirius, supporting the girl awkwardly – she seemed incapable of righting herself. She was extremely pretty, with startling green eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose.

'Take it off me, you ––!' she yelled, hardly noticed Sirius' wince as one of her flailing arms smacked him in the face.

Propping the girl up as best he could, Sirius searched the laughing crowd in search of the offender. He spotted him without difficulty – a boy of his own age with hazel eyes, incredibly messy hair and a look of total shock and contrition on his face.

'I'm sorry!' the boy yelled, above the noise. 'Here – er –' and he shouted a garbled spell, jabbing his wand at the girl with long red hair.

The girl immediately stopped her uncontrolled fall against Sirius' body, and straightened up with immense and freezing dignity.

'It was a mistake,' said the messy-haired boy hastily, 'honest. I wasn't aiming at you, I...'

The sentence trailed feebly away into nothing as the girl flounced past him and down the corridor to a compartment. The boy was left staring after her with an odd mixture of remorse and amusement on his face.

Sirius squirmed his way through a group of sixth-years and found himself next to the boy, who, now that the excitement was over, was soon forgotten.

'Nice one,' he said, grinning.

The boy grinned back sheepishly. 'I really wasn't aiming at her,' he said. 'I was trying to get him. But he dodged.' He pointed at through a compartment window. Sirius saw a sallow-skinned boy with dark hair staring at them with resentment.

'Why, did he do something to you?' he asked the boy, who shrugged.

'Not really. But he's ugly and I wanted to try out the charm,' he said, another grin flashing across his face. 'It's called the Jelly Legs Charm – just invented. Only, I missed.'

'I gathered,' said Sirius drily, rubbing his sore nose. 'She'll hate you forever, you realise that?' And they both laughed, though James gave a slightly wistful look in the direction of the red-haired girl's compartment. After a pause in which the two boys studied each other briefly, Sirius stuck out his hand.

'Sirius Black, honoured to meet you,' he said formally, as he had always been taught to introduce himself.

The other boy looked slightly surprised, but took the proffered hand and pumped it vigorously. 'I'm James Potter.'

Twenty years later, Sirius the dog ran through the hot streets of the small town and shook his head at the memory. The pain of losing James was still unbearably fresh – Dementors had sucked his thoughts dry over the twelve years he had been under their guard, and now that he was free, fragments of memories and unconnected images all came tumbling back to him with dreadful clarity. Sirius forced himself not to think of the later, worse memories. He could not cope with them right now – he needed time. For now, he was content to remember James – James, younger than Harry would be at now.

Harry... Sirius felt a sharp pang pierce him. He wondered if Harry looked like James now that he was in his teens – he had certainly had the messy black hair when he was a baby.

Sirius suddenly had a crazy, burning desire to see James' son again. He stopped dead in the street, torn. It was impossible, he told himself. For one thing, he had no idea where Harry now lived – seeing as the little house in Godric's Hollow was – gone. Sirius swallowed. Then he began to pace.

Remus, he thought suddenly. Moony will have taken him in – surely he would.

The thought of Remus caused another pang. If Harry was at Remus' he could see them both. It would give him strength for the long journey before him...the sight of dear old Moony, and James' son, would be all the food and drink he needed. Sirius gave a decisive shake of his fur, and began moving once more. He didn't care. He was going to Remus', just to get a glimpse of the two of them. He needed it.