Author's Note:

The Professor: Hello, and welcome to the fourth chapter of our story, "Broken Record". Our thanks to HoshiHikari for the third time, to Naaxi for the second, and to knicolek74, Celtic Warrior Princess and Veiled Sapphire - their feedback is like a shower of gems and gold dust - invaluable.

Ambrose: Very much so. And now we go onto Review Answers for this chapter - let's see what we got. To Naaxi - we are a bit too wordy, we know, and we're working on it - we should be through the worst of the exposition, so less monologue from us, if we can resist.

The Professor: I love how you don't mention how you've framed her review in your room - he's taken the 'love' to his head you see. He's quite insufferable about it now - and to knicolek74 - blushes - well, how does one respond? Thank you very much.

Ambrose: sends the Professor a death glare I have not framed it (it's in a lockbox, actually). To the Warrior Princess - we're not quite sure who we're putting on top - maybe Remus' wolf is having ideas above his station! grins To HoshiHikari - we're very glad you're liking the story, and we have you to thank for the longer updates - every chapter is about two hundred words longer than the last, as a general rule, thanks to your input. Finally, to Veiled Sapphire -

The Professor: interrupts - The most intelligent fanfiction you've ever come across? We have quite a few flatterers this time around, it would seem. Danke indeed. Right, now to the disclaimer - Harry Potter and all other people, places, concepts, species', etc that are affiliated with the Harry Potter universe are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling, and Warner Bros. who do the movies probably own a bit too, though that werewolf in the POA movie . . . Any and all other references to outside TV shows, movies, cartoons, books, etc, are not in any way inclined toward encroaching copyright.

Ambrose: Ruined the image of were's all over, that shaved mutt did. Ah well. Enjoy, read and review friends!

(Chapter Four - Start)

The human cranium is an incredibly important part of the human body. Also known as the skull, it supports the structures of the face and protects the head against injury. However, these are not its only functions. For example, a fixed distance between the eyes is essential for human vision, and a fixed position for the ears helps the brain judge direction and distance of sounds. In some animals, the skull also has a defensive function (e.g. horns); the frontal bone is where horns, if one follows the example, are mounted.
It also happens to be very thick.

When an Animagi i.e. a witch or wizard who has the ability to Transfigure herself/himself into an animal at will while retaining her/his mental powers is in human form, they retain certain characteristics of the animal which they assume, much like a werewolf has some of the characteristics of a wolf for all of the month; so, say, a dog Animagus, retained any skeletal deficiencies of their breed of dog, if such weakness were present, no matter which form they were in.
The Grim-like dog that those of the Black family Animagi had such weaknesses.

Sirius Black was an dog Animagus.
He also had a relatively thick skull.
Harry James Potter knew both of these things, and planned accordingly.

--

"Harry? Harry, it's me, it's Sirius . . ." said Sirius as he looked through the sliding door shutter at his godson - well, his ex-godson, if one wanted to be technical, but Sirius wasn't one of these people - who had the same happy smile on his face and shuddered. It wasn't because of the cold - oh no, he had spent thirteen years in this place, he wouldn't be alive if he couldn't suffer the cold. It was because he was now forty nine years old, going fifty this October fifth. Although wizards often live to ridiculous ages, this does not exempt them from mid-life crisis' that don't take place in the middle of their life. So it was with Sirius.

Sirius Orion Black was not happy with what he'd done. He had let Lily and James be killed by Voldemort, he had killed Peter Pettigrew (he did not regret killing him - he regretted not making the rat eat his human hand before he'd bled out after an hour from the twenty separate lacerations Sirius had inflicted upon him) he had exiled his one and only true friend for eight years . . . and this. He had done this. Of course, he hadn't (certainly not singlehandedly, of course) but he felt he had.

Albus Dumbledore was a compassionate man. Having experienced his own share of emotional defeats in his one hundred and fifty seven years of life, he took pity on Sirius, and unlocked the cell door (they had a magical 'keycard', which was recognized by visualizing a set of numbers in your mind, and then directing the code 'into' the door).

Behind him, Remus shifted as if uncomfortable, but Sirius paid him no mind. He swung open the door, not caring for the reverberating clang that it caused, and hurried into the cell, where Harry had risen from his crouch upon the unlocking of the door, and stopped just short of Harry, who still hadn't stopped smiling. He spoke into the reverb of the door and click-click of the other's shoes on the cobbles. "Harry!"

Harry did indeed know who Harry was (and wondered why Sirius felt the need to remind him), and who this man was - this was Black, this was Sirius, this was Padfoot, this was the man who had shouted curse after curse through the bars of a Ministry holding cell as Harry stared, shellshocked and bloody, at him.
This was Item Two of his To-Do list, and he raised his arms.

Sirius felt his breath catch in his throat as Harry raised his arms, and laid his hands on his shoulders like a benevolent priest. Sirius felt his heart beating like the pistons on a steam engine as Harry leaned into his face, those implacable eyes looking into his. Sirius felt his tongue tying itself into his knots like a Boy Scout practice rope, as he struggled with what to say.

Sirius felt his head explode in pain like he'd been head-butted very viciously, as Harry did just that, his face drawn up in a vengeful snarl.

--

The rest of the group gasped as Harry head-butted Sirius, his hands never leaving his shoulders - the reasons for which became obvious, as he pulled Sirius back, still crying out in pain. He fisted the scruff of Sirius' robe and the back of his head, tugging to test his hold, then swung his ex-godfather around into the wall, where he indented quite nicely (thought Harry) and broke his nose, which began streaming ruby-red blood as the two nasal bones (which support the nasal cartilage) broke.

Sirius was blind-sided by pain, and stumbled backwards from the wall - which Harry had been expecting. He swung his ex-godfather's feet from under him, and watched with a satisfied grimace as the near six-foot tall frame that was Sirius fell like a tree trunk onto the floor.

Dumbledore looked at Harry, aghast at his violence. "Harry! There was certainly no need for that!" Harry was quick to reply, shooting back "There most certainly was." Dumbledore was lost for words at this new, almost belligerent attitude Harry was showcasing, and stared at him, his mind reeling at the thought of Harry - kind Harry, who had only lost his temper twice in the time he had known him - three if one counted this occasion - but . . . had he lost his temper? There was no reddening of the cheeks, no blistering and agitated huffs of breath - there was only a rigid mask on the not-features of James Potter, whom Harry had once resembled so - but no longer.

Harry had become even thinner during his eight year incarceration, a feat that no-one had thought possible. His once- angular, attractive face had become dulled over the years, as had his eyes; once the greenest of greens one could see, they were now the color of murky sea water. His hair was greasy and unkempt, the once spiky, bedraggled bird's nest now lay flat and lifeless.
He looked, in short, like a cadaver.

--

Remus surveyed the wreck that was his ex-best friend, then took another long, hard look at his mate. Eight years worth of loneliness and longing reached a crescendo inside him. He took two steps forward, ignoring the scandalized looks on Ron, Hermione and Tonk's faces, and swept Harry up in a bear hug (though inside his chest, his wolf growled plaintively, longing for more than a paltry hug). He noted, with a hint of pride, that the stick thin figure that was Harry still retained some semblance of muscle; which was good, as most long-term inmates of Azkaban left the prison (or did not leave, as the case often was) with a mild case of atrophy due to the long periods of inactivity.

Harry relaxed into the warmth that was Remus, and allowed himself a moment of respite away from the world as he hugged back as best he could. Here was the man who supported him, who sent him letters every week from America that kept him warm mentally and physically, and the only smart one of the group. He drew back after a moment, and looked up into Remus' amber eyes and tremulous smile. Another grin crept up his face, and he laid a hand on Remus' left arm, which still clamped onto his waist. "You can let go now, Moony" he said, patting the arm kindly, which drew away and proceeded to wipe at Moony's eyes, which were suspiciously bright.

In a choked voice, Remus asked "So, h-how are you? You couldn't reply to m-my letters, and I was wondering -" His halting sentence was cut off by Harry losing his grin (for which he cursed himself) and replying "Ah - not bad. Been better - had some in-flight entertainment" He cleared his throat and announced "'The Destruction of Rural Britain, starring Tom Riddle Jr and Lucius Malfoy - rated eighteen!'" He looked over at Dumbledore, who had since regained his composure, and was looking at him oddly. "Last time I book over the Internet" he commented dryly to his ex-Headmaster.

Albus Dumbledore was looking at Harry Potter oddly for one main reason: he was acting completely normal. His voice, apart from a certain broken-glass tone that underlined the end of every sentence, was normal; his mental state, too, seemed quite unperturbed by eight years of incarceration in Azkaban. Even his mental link to Voldemort, which should have been dampened at the least, and cut off at the most, by the magic-inhibiting properties of the cell, was apparently still strong. Apart from his appearance (and deadly angry manner, which was only to be expected) he seemed just as he was on the thirty first of July, 2000. He was simply impossible, and he said as such.

"You're impossible" he stated baldly. Dumbledore was not used to making such statements, but one of his motto's was 'A first time for everything' (though he had deigned to ignore his motto when, late in 1868, Gellert Grindelwald had wanted to try something Albus had found quite unreasonable).

"Clarke's First Law of Prediction: when a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong. Now, I was never a fan of maths, Professor, but what do you think probability makes you?" Harry enquired, looking at Dumbledore much the way Draco Malfoy looks at Gregory Goyle at any time of the day.

Dumbledore wasn't quite sure how to answer that.

(Chapter 4 - End)

Ambrose: There we are! Now we have the exposition done, we can really get going.

The Professor: Quite so, my dear wolf. Now, all you readers out there - we aren't quite sure what we think of this chapter, so tell us what you think. Have we lost our touch, or are we getting good?

Ambrose: That's what we want to know, people. Well, that's all from us for this update - make sure your voice is heard though the poll we've set up on our profile - your wish is our command. Thanks for reading chapter four - watch this space. Read and review - no holds barred, please!