A/N: A brief note on the previous chapter, regarding what several of you have pointed out regarding the Neville/Boy Who Lived discrepancy: At this point, all I can say is, "well spotted!" This was an intentional inaccuracy on my part, and I must simply ask you to wait for a few chapters, after which you will start seeing the answers to your questions. Can you trust me for just a short while?


Chapter Four

"Tell me the three F's of your technique," Two Rivers said patiently.

"Focus, Form, and Free!" the tiny class (consisting of just five boys) said with self-importance and some boredom at what they considered a ridiculous little memory key thought up by an old man who thought they were younger than they were.

"Flub, Fluke, and Failure," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Very well, you are all dismissed for today," the elderly man said, and four of the boys scrambled to their feet, noise immediately exploding from them in the way only preteenaged boys can achieve. Harry, however, got up slowly.

"Harry?" Two Rivers queried from his seat in the corner of the little room, which constantly smelled of woodsmoke and herbs.

"Here, Grandfather," Harry said softly.

"Come here."

Harry approached the old man steadily, and allowed the questing hand to come to rest on his shoulder. He gazed into Two Rivers' milky white-gray eyes without hesitation or intimidation. Two Rivers knew when a boy was avoiding him, and Harry wasn't trying to. At least, he didn't think he was. He had no secrets from Two Rivers, whom all the children in this small community referred to as Grandfather.

"Will you give me the longer version of your technique, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," he said tonelessly. "Focus on the being in the shadows of your mind, allow the creature to form and reveal its nature clearly, and free it to take control of your whole being."

"Good, Harry. Now, let me ask: can you see the creature clearly? Is it hard to focus for you?"

"No, sir. I know what it is."

"Then your trouble is freeing the creature, correct?"

"Yes, Grandfather," he mumbled. Like it wasn't obvious to everyone. He just couldn't do it. He didn't have the right magic in him.

"Do you respect it, Harry?"

"Sir?" the boy repeated in surprise.

"I don't know you very well yet, Harry. You've only been with us . . . what, three months?"

"I think so. I'm nine, now." Quite a bit younger than most of Two Rivers' students, but the Grandfather didn't take students unless he thought they were ready.

"Yes. Ordinarily, I'd know without asking, but you're a mysterious boy. You do not have to tell me what the creature is, if you do not wish to. But you must tell me if you have respect for the creature you see."

"I think so."

"Does the change that will come frighten you?"

"No, Grandfather," he said, suddenly passionate. "I want to do it, I want to know for myself what it's like. I think it will be amazing."

"It is," Two Rivers said, a smile pushing the many, many wrinkles in his face into bunches. Harry was becoming very fond of the old man, and the sight of those deep canyons made him feel affection and gratitude for the patience he'd shown. But the smile faded as he held his blind eyes on the young tousle-haired boy in front of him. "You do not believe in the creature, somehow. You wish for another."

"Maybe," Harry said, unable to speak above a whisper.

"Will you tell me why it troubles you?"

Harry broke his gaze, knowing that Two Rivers would know he had but unable to meet the steady blank eyes anymore. "Sirius will think it's stupid. My . . . my dad would have thought so, too."

"You know this for sure?"

"Noooo," Harry dragged the word out. "But they would. They were big, powerful things."

"And are you to be a mouse, Harry?"

"No."

"Do you want to tell me what you will be?"

"A bird," Harry said scornfully.

"What kind of bird, do you know?"

"An owl."

The blind eyes fell on him again with utter shock, and Two Rivers' hand, still on his shoulder, tightened into a death grip. "You are sure?"

"Yes, Grandfather."

Two Rivers slowly pulled him into an embrace, a rarity where he was concerned and something he'd never shared with Harry before now.

"You are more mysterious than I knew, young one," the old man murmured. "Perhaps I should tell you what the owl symbolizes." Then he pushed Harry back a little bit, shaking his head, but with his hands still holding the boy's shoulders. "No, not yet, I think. First you must speak to Sirius."

Two Rivers, the oldest, wisest, and most dominant member of White Valley, was the only one who knew Sirius wasn't his father. They all thought it was strange he called his father by name, but they weren't big on asking questions, which was why they'd chosen to settle here for a while.

"Now, go, enjoy your afternoon," the old man said, patting him and pushing him out the door. Harry lingered for a moment, then gave the gnarled old hand a squeeze of gratitude before emerging from his little home into the sunlight.

It was Two Rivers who had granted them permission to stay, after sniffing out more of their secrets than they would have thought possible. And the very next day, Harry had been invited to join the other young boys in the Animagus transformation class. While it was a demanding subject in any land, here in the backwaters of Wyoming among a group of Native Americans, the transformation was almost a religion. Harry had learned to hold what Sirius could do with a deeper awe than he had before. Sirius, too, had learned it. He was always so self-deprecating, but the community had taught him some measure of respect, especially for the dog always resting in him. It was considered part of a man's soul, out here.


Harry walked comfortably down the dusty little street between the rows of shabby little houses and trailers with their scrubby little yards. Maybe he and Sirius didn't fully fit in here, being neither Native American nor particularly poor, but they were accepted well enough. He'd never be in any danger in this community. They looked out for each other here. He and Sirius both liked that. They liked that somebody might ask you what you were doing at the corner store so late at night yesterday. It was nice to feel so noticed. Maybe that, not Harry's lessons, nor Mona, was the real reason they had settled in here.

Jonny caught him up when he was getting close to Jonny and Mona's house, his expression curious. "What did you and the Grandfather talk about?"

"Nothing," Harry said, knowing he sounded sullen. He just didn't want anybody to know yet.

"You're having trouble manifesting your spirit guide, aren't you?" Jonny asked companionably, and began to chatter about all the boys he new—adults now, some of them—who'd had trouble with the Animagus transformation. Harry knew Jonny made some of them up, and he really got irritated sometimes by the older boy's never-ending stream of words, but he always tried to get along with Jonny. Just for the sake of his godfather, who had become the center of Harry's world since taking him from England several months ago.

When they got to Jonny's house, they went in, and Harry banged the screen door loudly. Sirius and Mona had been extremely lucky Jonny had been with some of the other boys, not Harry, the time that Harry had caught them on the sofa in the living room. Jonny would have had it all over town by now. Even Harry, child that he was, knew that was liable to get them kicked out of this little community long before he'd successfully achieved his Animagus form. And while he knew it was inevitable at some point, he was eager to stay a little longer. Even if it meant putting up with Jonny's prattle.

"Mom, we're home!" Jonny shouted, which turned out to be unnecessary. Mona was right there in the kitchen, and it was a small house.

"I noticed," she said with a mocking wince. "Don't shout indoors," she added, giving him a little swat on the butt as he slipped past her to reach for the fruit basket on the counter.

"Hello, Ms. Mona," Harry said, giving her a smile.

"Afternoon, Harry. You want an apple?" she asked, snatching the basket from Jonny before he could take a second orange.

"No, thank you," Harry said politely. Sirius had promised to grill steaks tonight. He didn't want to spoil his appetite. Sirius made great steaks.

"Jonny, don't you see me making dinner?" Mona asked in exasperation as Jonny swiped another orange right in front of her. She fixed him with a look that made him drop it back into the basket.

"I'm going over to George's house!" Jonny shouted gaily as he ran off, unperturbed by his mother's light smack on the hand and waving the permissible orange over his head. Harry's eyes trailed after him with an amused, almost confused, smile. He didn't follow him.

"Someone told him that if he eats more, it will feed his spirit guide and it will manifest sooner," Mona said, rolling her eyes.

Harry laughed at that, almost betting it was Sirius who told him. The look in Mona's eyes said she knew it, too, and he lost his laughter for a moment. It had never occurred to him before, since he'd never had anything of his own while living with his mother's family, but it was hard to share what was yours. Even if it was a person.

"Is Sirius here?" he asked.

She shook her head. "He was here fixing the screen earlier, but he went over to the Long's to see about their door."

Harry's smile came back, remembering the story that had gone quickly through the town, with knowing chuckles all around. Rob Long had finally freed his Animagus form at his fourteenth birthday party—a boar. He'd been so surprised by his transformation that he'd gone right through the door and it had taken half an hour to calm him down and bring him home. It was such a perfect picture of the way this community was. They had a strange magic here. Hardly a one of them could so much as heat a cup of water or light a candle, and you could forget stirring a potion, but Animagus forms were the norm rather than the exception, openly talked about even among the members of the community who had no magic. You didn't stay if you couldn't be trusted with that well-known secret.

"I'll head over to the Long's, then," he said. "Thanks, Ms. Mona."

Before he could react, she'd caught him up in a big hug. Startled, he froze in her embrace and wondered what had prompted it. She let go after only a moment, seeming to realize he didn't quite know how to react to her.

"You're a good boy, Harry," she said, her smile as warm as the rest of her. "You can come here anytime, no matter where Sirius is, you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, trying to grasp what she was saying, just barely getting it. She liked him. Just him. She didn't mind if he came around. Like she cared about him. Harry flashed a grateful smile at her, then hurried out. He heard her muttering behind him something that sounded suspiciously like, "won't hug his own kid, I'll have his head on a stake," as he closed the newly repaired screen door.

He started to go the Long's house, then stopped. Sirius and Mr. Long got along pretty good, and Harry didn't want to bother Sirius if he was developing a friendship with someone other than Mona. Sirius liked to joke and say they'd be long gone if it weren't for her (not where anyone else could hear him say it, of course), but Harry knew better. Sirius liked it here.

He decided to stop at Buster's house. He liked talking to Buster. He was the town's resident hippy. Harry had discovered through the joys of American television that every town was supposed to have one. Well, Buster was it for White Valley. And he did an excellent job of falling into the cliché. He grew his own weed in his trailer, and he was always talking about peace and love. He was nearly as wrinkled up as Two Rivers, and Harry had the feeling he'd already been grown when the free love movement became popular, but Buster had obviously embraced it fully. He was a lot of fun, sometimes.

Harry knocked, but wasn't sure Buster would care enough to come to the door to see who it was. He had the door open and the screen shut, and Harry fidgeted for a moment on the creaky little metal steps, noting that Buster was liable to tip over if he didn't fix the blocks on this side of the trailer. Maybe it would be a job for Sirius, who was pretty much the official handyman now. Finally, he pressed his face to the screen and found Buster, straining his peripheral vision. Buster was reading a book, which made Harry hopeful. He was usually writing a book when he was too stoned to make much sense. No doubt if he ever finished writing it, it would be wildly successful. Reading seemed harmless.

"Buster, it's Harry."

Buster looked up from the book and blinked at the shady interior of his home, seeming surprised that the sun was going down. He must be reading something good.

"Come on in, Little Man," he said, sounding genuinely pleased to see him.

Harry pulled open the door and came in, breathing the familiar odor of Buster's weed and body odor. He did bathe . . . sometimes. Harry suspected the smell actually came from his soup catcher of a beard, which probably had the accumulated leavings of every meal he'd eaten since he'd been old enough to grow it.

"What are you reading, Buster?"

"Mein Kampf." At Harry's blank look, he added, "you know, Hitler?" He shook his head, and grabbed a bag of weed off his end table. "You don't have to agree with a person to want to know how he thinks, why he does things," he said, shaking his head seriously as he rolled a joint. "It's deep shit, Little Man." He looked up briefly. "Want one?"

Harry snickered. "What, a shit?"

Buster gave him a playful smack on the back of the head. "A reefer, son."

Harry shook his head, pretend-glowering about the pretend-abuse. "Sirius would probably kill you if I ever took one," he said.

Buster shook his head. "Naw. Beat me up, maybe. But I think your father's more of a learn-as-you-go type of teacher. He ain't gonna give you a lot of rules, less you ask for them."

Harry shrugged, finding this likely true but unable to really get his mind around it. It would probably make more sense—and be more appreciated—when he was older.

"You been at one of those spirit guide classes?"

Harry nodded. "Just finished."

"You turn into an animal yet?"

"Not yet. I wish you could come, Buster. You'd like it."

Buster chuckled, blowing smoke out around Harry. Harry settled back in the beanbag chair he'd claimed, ducking under the rising smoke. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, just too thick to breathe. "Yeah, I'd get a kick out of it. Old Grandfather says I don't have it in me, though."

Harry had often wondered how such a completely unmagical person had ended up in a town like White Valley, but he didn't ask. Buster was all right, anyway.

"You commune with the animal before you become it?" he asked, sounding interested.

Harry puzzled over that for a moment. "What's commune?"

Buster took a deep drag. "You know, connect to it, share your minds and feelings. Not talking, just being."

Harry frowned, tossing one of Buster's carvings around in his hands. "I don't think so. I don't know what you mean."

"People can do it, you know," Buster said casually.

"Commune? Like, share minds?"

"Yeah." Seeing Harry's look of doubt, Buster smiled. "You got magic, Little Man. You don't think you could? Try it."

Harry just rolled the carving—a woman's body, surprisingly tasteful rather than vulgar—around in his hands. Sirius had never mentioned whether or not this might be possible, for a wizard. Buster seemed certain it was so. Maybe Two Rivers had told him. But how could he do it with Buster, if Buster had no magic even to take an Animagus form?

Buster held out his joint, only half-smoke. "Here, it's easier this way."

Harry eyed the grizzled, salt-and-pepper haired man, and shook his head again. "I'll try it," he said. "How do I do it?"

"I dunno," Buster said calmly. "You just . . . float. Try to find me, with your mind. Don't think about it too much."

Harry locked eyes with Buster. Buster's eyes were a muddy brown colour, and full of lazy satisfaction with life. Harry knew eyeballs were just eyeballs, so the feelings expressed through them had to come from further back . . . behind the eyes . . . in his mind . . .

Harry almost didn't notice when his vision shifted from looking into Buster's eyes to seeing through them. But for a moment, he caught a glimpse of a woman. A woman with bleached-blonde hair and a figure that had inspired the carving Harry held in his (forgotten) hands, rising above him, head tilted back, lips parted with a sharp pant—

Harry's hands trembled and he dropped the carving. The thunk of the wood on the hollow floor of the trailer jerked him back into his own mind. He stared at Buster with fear, thinking Buster would be angry. But Buster just smiled and took one long, last drag, blowing it out with a chuckling puff.

"Now you know Barbara," he said with no apparent concern. "Thought you could do it, Little Man. How's it feel?"

Harry shivered, and got up. "I have to go. It's dinnertime, Sirius will be looking for me."

"See you around, then."

"Yeah. Thanks, Buster."

Harry ran out the door, forgetting to be careful with the screen and letting it slam shut. It echoed down the quiet, dusty street, and there was a slight snapping noise when one of the hinges broke. He wasn't scared—yet. But he was startled. He hadn't known he could do that. He hadn't known anyone could do that.

He saw Sirius coming down the road from the Long's, hands tucked comfortably into the pockets of jeans with dirt on the knees and a plain cotton t-shirt shifting loosely with each stride. He was watching his feet in their biker boots scuffing the rocks on the side of the road, not Harry, and Harry slowed down. He watched his godfather for a moment. Sirius had filled out pretty well from the gaunt spectre he'd been in England, and he didn't look scary anymore. He'd lost two teeth in prison, but they were both off to one side and you couldn't see it unless he opened his mouth wide. He'd shaved off that scraggly beard and even though his hair was still long, it wasn't a tangled rat's nest anymore. It was tied back at the nape of his neck with a leather thong right now. He was whistling while he walked, a look of weary contentment on his face. He'd gotten the door fixed, then, and Mrs. Long had probably given him one of the renowned brownies she was always making.

Harry decided that Sirius didn't need to know about his somewhat invasive look into Buster's head right now. Sirius didn't need to worry about anything. He was still getting better from what had happened to him. Harry just wanted him to get all the way better, so he didn't stop what he was doing and stare off into space with a haunted look anymore. He did that all the time. Harry was afraid to ask him what he was thinking about. He wasn't sure Sirius would talk about it, anyway. They were still figuring out this whole child-guardian thing. They were just starting to be comfortable with each other.

Still, when Sirius looked up and saw him and smiled a greeting, Harry hurried to him and hugged him. They didn't hug much, but it was good to feel strong arms around him while he was in such a confused state. Sirius could take care of things. Harry had never doubted it.

Sirius' hug was hesitant and careful. Harry didn't know it, but Sirius had become so disused to physical affection that he couldn't remember how it was done. He was having to learn it all again, with a child he'd basically kidnapped just a few short months ago. It was no wonder he was cautious about it. He was cautious about everything. Mona, and the easygoing ways of White Valley, were finally starting to relax him, but it took time. He still dreamed he was back in Azkaban at least once a week, usually more often. It was hard to keep it from Harry, sharing a little trailer as they did, but he managed. Harry was just a little boy, and he didn't need to be worrying about that.

"You must be starving," Sirius remarked. Harry had lunch at school, but lunchtime and dinnertime were awfully far apart for a young boy, if Sirius was remembering correctly.

Harry nodded eagerly. He'd been introduced to Sirius' steaks a few weeks after they'd come to America, at a cramped and ugly rent-by-the-week apartment complex—it felt like a palace after an Azkaban cell but needed a little cook-out to feel at all like a place to live for Harry. He wasn't a child to ask for much, but he'd probably eat Sirius' grilling every night if he could.

"Well, let's go home, then."


Harry burped, and giggled. Sirius fixed him with a Look.

"Excuse me," Harry said, still giggling.

Sirius smiled, then. He was determined that a boy raised by a single ex-con would still have manners, but he didn't want the kid having to be serious and polite all the time. Sirius had manners, too, once upon a time. He thought he'd lost them with his place on the family tree, but he'd sort of discovered them when he took Harry. He would do well by James and Lily's boy. He would. It was his only goal in life, besides eventually finding Peter and pulling his intestines out through his ears. Harry was just more important for now, just as he was sure the Potters would have wanted it. Revenge could wait for Harry to be raised.

Dinner eaten, they fixed a fire in the little fire pit Sirius had dug in the earth behind the trailer and lined with rocks. Sirius made them tea. They might be a couple of outlaw bachelors, but at least he could still make a proper cup of tea once in a while. Mona thought it was hilarious when he made tea for her. Harry took his with lots of milk and complete sobriety.

"Sirius?" Harry asked, fiddling with a twig in the fire while Sirius sat comfortably in a lawn chair and enjoyed his tea.

"Mmmm?"

"Do you care what form my Animagus takes?"

"Of course I care. I mean, it doesn't matter what it is, but I want to hear about it. You've seen it, finally?"

Harry nodded, frowning as he poked about the fire. "I saw it weeks ago."

Sirius bit back his question of why Harry had lied to him about it, then. Harry was obviously trying to tell him, and it wasn't like he could blame him for not showing complete trust in a man he'd never heard of until recently.

"It's an owl."

"What kind of owl?" he asked, trying to sound nothing more than politely interested, but automatically making a mental note to ask Two Rivers what he thought about it.

"I'm not sure. Brown."

Sirius smiled. That was about as specific as he ought to expect a nine-year-old to be. "Good for you, Harry."

"Two Rivers said I'm mysterious."

Sirius frowned at him. "Why did he say that?"

"When I told him I was going to be an owl, he said it."

"Oh." He changed his mental note about talking to the Grandfather to an urgent one. "Why do you think you're seeing an owl?" he asked cautiously. He wanted to keep Harry talking, keep their line of communication open, but he wasn't sure what Harry would talk about with him and what he wouldn't.

Harry shrugged, then abruptly looked up into the sky. "Maybe because I like the nighttime."

"Do you?"

Harry nodded, looking shy all of a sudden. "I like the stars. And I like it when it's dark. It's easier to talk in the dark. And—" he ducked his head, the blush on his cheeks likely not just from the heat of the fire "—I like being mysterious," he muttered. "Like you."

Sirius stared at him for almost a full minute. Then, hesitantly, he said, "I didn't know you liked the stars so much."

Harry nodded, and returned his eyes to the sky. "They're . . ." He shrugged, gesturing grandly with his hands but having no words to express himself. "I like them."

"How would you feel about Astronomy lessons?"

"What's astrominny?"

"Ast-ron-o-my. Studying the stars. I'm not that great at it, but I could teach you a little, and I'm sure I could find a few books for you to read."

Harry wrinkled up his nose at the mention of books, then seemed to change his mind. "Okay."

Sirius was secretly elated at having found something he could share with Harry, an excuse for some actual bonding between them. His only outward sign of his happiness was a small smile and a hand reached to ruffle the boy's already unruly hair as he took his empty cup back inside.

Harry settled himself to the idea that learning what he wanted to know would require reading. Best learn to enjoy academic study. There were a lot of things he wanted to know.