Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.
A/N
Hello again! In the time it's taken me to write the latest chapter, the story has rapidly passed 5,000 views, and 70 followers! I don't think it's really set in yet that people actually like what I write, but I suppose I'll get it eventually!
A quick note in this chapter - for Sirius' Animagus form, I try and refer to him as Padfoot as often as possible - to me, an Animagus form is like separate parts of an identity: James Potter is simply James when human, but when a stag he becomes Prongs, and that it feeds different characteristics of personality.
Also, it's weird to write about the way a person would pet a dog, when that dog is also a person - and referring to the dog-person by their person name!
Enjoy!
- JudgeKnox
Harry's hands were clenched into tight fists as he stalked down Privet Drive, his nails cutting into his palms painfully. Despite managing the impossible, he couldn't remember ever feeling so powerless. His chest burned with rage that he couldn't direct or release – thanks to the Trace, his usual method of letting off curses until the anger burned out was impossible. Harry fumed as his feet carried him onwards, ending up in a small copse of trees a few streets away from Privet Drive.
Sighing in exasperation, Harry sat down at the base of the nearest tree, the roots digging uncomfortably into his back, and put his head in his hands.
He had no one to talk to, no Dumbledore to explain his rage away, no Sirius who'd join in cursing everything in sight. No Ron or Hermione, who'd help him take his mind off it all with their companionship.
No Ginny, who'd take his anger and break it apart as only she could, and set him right.
The enormity of his task seemed to suddenly stretch out before him, as if he were staring at the peak of a faraway mountain. He couldn't easily search for the Horcruxes outside of school. He couldn't use magic. He couldn't grab Pettigrew the moment he saw him, as it would be impossible to explain and would drastically disrupt the timeline. Right now, the only thing he could do was wait. It was infuriating.
He fought down the urge to write to Dumbledore and tell him everything.
He couldn't tell anyone, Harry told himself. Whoever he spoke to would call him crazy, or the secret would get to Voldemort somehow, and his advantage would be lost; or worse still, he realised, anyone he involved would become a target, a weakness that Voldemort could exploit, and just like last time, everyone would die.
If he lost sight of the goals and abandoned the plan, everyone would die.
He had to finish the mission himself. It was the only way.
His anger blunted, Harry lifted his head and closed his eyes, listening to the rustling of the trees in the breeze. For a few minutes, he sat in quiet contemplation, letting the peace of Little Whinging wash over him, cooling the fires of his rage. He was brought out of his pensiveness by the hoot of an owl, and the gentle dropping of weight onto his legs. Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at Hedwig, her amber eyes locked on his. She hooted again, and nudged Harry's arm with her head.
Chuckling slightly, Harry lifted his arm and Hedwig climbed on, before nipping his ear affectionately. Harry stroked her feathers with his other hand, letting himself be absorbed by the repetitive simplicity of the action. After a little while, he sighed quietly and stood up, turning to the owl perched on his arm.
"Thanks, Hedwig." Harry remarked kindly, the owl once again nipping his ear. "You always did know how to help. Go back to my room, I'll be home in a little while." Raising his arm, Hedwig spread her wings and took off, soaring over a nearby rooftop and out of sight. A sad smile on his face, Harry started to trudge back to Privet Drive.
Harry woke early the next day, and made sure to shower and dress neatly – he wanted to avoid confrontations with Marge if at all possible. She may well be a petty, vile woman, but if Harry wasn't careful around her she'd draw attention to anything out of the ordinary. He'd have to put up the right façade when around her, or he'd end up with some difficult questions on his hands.
After eating a rushed breakfast, Uncle Vernon was getting ready to leave when Harry cornered him in the front hallway.
"What do you want, boy?" Vernon barked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously on the teenager in front of him.
"I need you to sign something, Uncle Vernon." Harry replied, holding out the Hogsmeade form.
"What is it?" Harry's uncle asked pointedly, not even bothering to read the slip of parchment in Harry's hand.
"Just, you know, school stuff." Harry responded evasively, trying not to grin at the way Vernon flinched when he mentioned Hogwarts. He was careful to sound nonchalant, if he let slip that the form was in fact optional, and might lead to Harry actually having some fun, Vernon would throw it back in his face.
"Later, maybe, if you're good." Uncle Vernon replied, turning his back to Harry before making for the door.
"Actually, Uncle Vernon," Harry said, causing the large man to pause suddenly, "You should probably sign it now." Harry enjoyed the look of disbelief on his uncle's face when the man turned around, Vernon's cheeks already reddening with anger at his nephew's confident tone. Before his uncle could respond, Harry pressed on. "You see, it's a lot of things to remember, making sure Aunt Marge doesn't know where I actually go to school and keeping my… talents hidden." He fixed Vernon with a hard glare, admiring the shade of puce his uncle's face was rapidly approaching.
"If you sign the form, I promise I'll keep everything as normal as you like. If you don't… well, I wonder what Aunt Marge would say if she saw Hedwig, for example? I think it'd be a bit of a shock. Or, I could always send some letters, get some friends round to say hello…" he smirked inwardly as Vernon's eyes widened comically at the thought of a gaggle of oddly-dressed wizards showing up at his door.
Uncle Vernon drew himself up, obviously arguing with himself over Harry's threat, before slumping and pulling a pen from his pocket, signing the form quickly, as if the action itself made him uncomfortable. As he opened the door to leave, he looked over his shoulder at Harry, his voice laced with venom.
"I've signed your ruddy form, boy. You'd better make sure nothing goes wrong, or there'll be hell to pay, mark my words."
Harry just smiled serenely as his uncle slammed the door and stormed off to his car. Heading back to his room, he packed away his textbooks, broomstick and trunk, hiding them in the cupboard. A little bit of spring cleaning later and his room looked absolutely, depressingly normal. Harry was just leaving the bathroom when he heard the front door open, and heavy footfalls in the front hall that could only signal Vernon and Marge's return.
Groaning inwardly, Harry steeled himself for a week that was most likely going to be even more unpleasant than the first time he sat through it, if only because he'd already done it once.
The week with Marge seemed to pass more slowly than Harry thought possible, and each day was a trial to deal with the pointed remarks, insults about his supposed delinquency and Marge's bloody dog, Ripper. Harry sent Hedwig out hunting each day before dawn, and would tell her not to come back until well into the evening. Most of his time was spent doing chores, cleaning up after the Dursleys and helping to cook meals each night from which he'd get only the most sparing of portions.
Thankfully, Marge's last day at Privet Drive rolled around, and – entertaining as it might be to inflate the foul woman again – Harry stayed calm, and formed a strategy to get him out of the Dursleys without involving the Ministry of Magic. Once the conversation turned to Harry's parentage, he set his plan in motion.
(Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, PP. 26-27)
"As I expected!" Aunt Marge said, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who-"
"He was rich, though." Harry said quietly, the whole table suddenly falling silent. Marge glared at him with tiny, bloodshot eyes, and Vernon and Petunia were gaping at each other in shock. Even Dudley, who'd been focused on the television up until this point, was staring at Harry, open-mouthed.
"W-what?" Vernon choked out, his meaty fist clenched so tight around his glass of brandy that it looked like it might shatter.
"Oh, you didn't know?" Harry asked sarcastically, directing a particularly pointed glare at Petunia, his face twisting into a grin. "My dad was very rich. His grandfather was a Lord, after all." Harry stood up, gently pushing his chair in and taking his plate to the kitchen counter as he continued, "and he left all of that money to me." He turned back to his assembled relatives, an exaggerated expression of concentration on his face as he tapped his chin with his finger.
"Why, now that I think about it, I must be a millionaire. It honestly makes me wonder why I stay here at all – but then, you do give me all that free food." His tone turned biting as he glared at Petunia, who shrunk in her seat, suddenly looking ashamed. Vernon took one look at his wife, and leapt from his chair with surprising speed, a vein throbbing in his temple.
"You mean, that all these years, you've just been squatting here, in MY house!?" He ground out through clenched teeth. Harry smiled cheerfully in response.
"Basically, yeah." He retorted. Even as Vernon swelled like a bullfrog, ready to start yelling, Harry cut him off. With a jaunty wave to his stunned relatives, he called over his shoulder as he left the room.
"Thanks for the bed and board, we simply must do this again sometime!" Snickering, he ran up the stairs, grabbing his trunk, broomstick and Hedwig's cage – he'd been sure to pack thoroughly beforehand, so that he was ready to leave. Hauling everything back down to the front hall, he was in the process of opening the front door when Vernon charged through from the kitchen, his flabby face twisted with rage. Aunt Petunia followed in his wake, her mouth set in a thin line.
"BOY, DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE THIS HOUSE!" He roared as he lumbered over, his fist raised.
Harry simply drew his wand, and held Vernon's gaze, the tip pointing at his uncle's chest.
"Give me a reason, Vernon. I won't hesitate." He said, his tone calm and deadly.
Uncle Vernon stopped, his beady eyes darting down to the wand in Harry's hand, and back up to his face. He seemed to be weighing up his odds, and Harry's mouth twisted into a frightening, feral grin. After a few, tense moments, Vernon backed off, his expression mutinous. Harry opened the door with his free hand, keeping his wand trained on his relatives. Petunia peeked around Vernon's shoulder, and fixed Harry with a hateful glare.
"Don't come back." She hissed angrily. Harry nodded to her as he stepped out of the door.
"You might want to move house, all of you. Without me here, you won't be protected." He sighed tiredly as he looked at Petunia once again, ignoring his uncle completely. "I despise this whole family, Petunia. You're petty and spiteful, and you've insulted your sister's memory." Harry's aunt looked like she'd been slapped, and Harry enjoyed the feeling of vindictive triumph that coiled in his stomach.
"But…" he lowered his wand slightly, "I don't want any of you to die. Think about what I've said. Goodbye." Harry closed the door, snatching up his belongings as he walked calmly out of Privet Drive forever.
Harry checked the pocket of his hoodie, where he'd surreptitiously put a tin foil-wrapped leg of Aunt Petunia's roast chicken. In the other pocket was a slab of chocolate that he'd managed to steal from one of the kitchen cupboards. Although the Dursleys would likely miss the latter of the two, Harry's mind was focused on Sirius, who was probably nearby, right this second.
Walking onwards to Magnolia Crescent after a short stop, where he'd tied Hedwig's cage and his broomstick to his trunk with his belt, Harry sat down on the kerb and waited.
Sure enough within a minute or two of him arriving Harry saw a pair of dark eyes looking at him from the shadows. Trying to look surprised, he stayed put, waiting for Sirius, currently in his Animagus form of Padfoot - a large black dog that resembled the spectral Grim, to make his way over.
This is where things change.
Seeing his godfather's hesitation, Harry called out.
"Hey there, boy. Are you lost?"
Padfoot whined a little, and stayed put. Frowning, Harry tried to ease his godfather's nervousness.
"It's alright, I won't bite, promise." He grinned slightly, and Padfoot trudged over to his spot on the kerb.
Harry tried not to gasp when he saw Sirius' condition – the dog's coat was matted and dirty, and the outline of ribs were clearly visible on its belly. Harry held out his hand and scratched Padfoot gently behind the ears, the dog relaxing a little and sitting down.
It was a little weird, Harry thought, to be treating his godfather – a grown man – like any other stray animal, but he knew he had to keep up appearances. Also, Sirius had told him once that he often turned back into Padfoot when things were a little too much to deal with, and Harry hoped the gentle affection he was showing would help his godfather feel just a little better after Azkaban.
"Say, boy, you're looking a little thin there. Don't get much food?" Harry asked, Padfoot letting out a small whine in response. "I stole this from my uncle's house before he kicked me out," Harry said as he pulled out and unwrapped the chicken leg, stifling a chuckle at how suddenly Sirius' eyes locked onto the food. "I don't suppose you'd like to share a bit?" He asked.
Padfoot looked at Harry and barked once, and after tearing off a small piece for himself – he wasn't very hungry – Harry threw the chicken to the dog, who began to devour it promptly, shredding it within seconds. He noted how Sirius wolfed down the chicken like it was the first food he'd seen in ages, and Harry didn't think that that was too far from the truth.
After their small meal, Harry pulled out the slab of chocolate, breaking off a chunk for himself and then holding one out to Padfoot.
"I always found that a bit of chocolate can make me feel better after a bad day. You look like you might need some." He said quietly, Padfoot looking at him curiously before snatching the chocolate out of his hand and chomping on it. Happy to see his godfather even a little better than last time, Harry resumed scratching Padfoot behind the ears, and decided that whilst Sirius was here, that he might as well try and fill his godfather in on his life in this timeline.
"I've lived at my uncle's house since as long as I can remember. My aunt – my mum's sister – never told me much about my parents, only that they died in a car crash." Padfoot's ears pricked up at that, and he growled softly. "You've got good instincts, boy," Harry replied. "Yeah, she lied. You'll never believe this," He said, making sure to cast a quick look around for any muggles who might be able to listen, "but I'm not like everyone else, and neither were mum and dad. My family are wizards. Can you believe that?" He asked, allowing some boyish enthusiasm to seep into his words, a large smile forming on his face.
"I get to go to this wonderful school, in a castle in Scotland, called Hogwarts," Harry continued. "I get to use a magic wand and cast spells, and brew potions – although the teacher for that, Professor Snape, doesn't like me for some reason. Greasy git." Harry quipped, Padfoot barking happily in response. "Wizards play this strange sport, called Quidditch, on broomsticks! All the school houses have teams – I'm Seeker for the Gryffindor team, my house at Hogwarts." Harry let out a small laugh when, upon hearing that Harry was in Gryffindor, Padfoot jumped up and ran around in a circle for a moment, barking.
"I don't really know why I'm telling you this," Harry said quietly after Padfoot calmed down. "I mean, you're just a dog." Padfoot snorted at that, but Harry chose to ignore it. "I don't have any friends outside of school, and my aunt and uncle, they don't understand magic." Harry sighed tiredly. "I think they're scared of it, actually. They try and make sure I keep it all secret so none of the neighbours find out. If I do anything wrong they usually don't let me have dinner, and when I do get it I always get less food than my uncle or fat cousin anyway." Padfoot began growling loudly, sitting up and looking up the street, as if he were trying to find Privet Drive.
"It's okay, boy." Harry said, stroking Padfoot's fur until the dog sat back down, turning and licking his hand. "I've decided I've had enough of them, and I think they've had enough of me." He remarked, a small smile on his face. "It's only a few weeks until school starts. I was thinking of staying at the Leaky Cauldron, a wizarding inn in London, until I need to go back to school." Padfoot licked his hand again by way of response.
"Anyway," Harry stood up, drawing his wand, "I should get going – I'm going to hail a wizard bus, boy. You want to come with me?" He asked, already knowing the answer. Padfoot's ears drooped as the dog let out a sad whine.
"That's okay, boy. Here, for the road." Harry said as he crouched down, holding out the rest of the chocolate. Padfoot looked at the chocolate before suddenly tackling Harry, licking his face several times. Laughing, Harry climbed back to his feet, putting the slab of chocolate in Padfoot's mouth, and motioned for the dog to go on. Throwing out his wand arm, the Knight Bus, still just as loud as he remembered, appeared out of thin air with a BANG.
Climbing aboard and giving his name to the conductor, Stan Shunpike, ("Hey 'Ern, we just picked up 'Arry Potter!") the bus shot off, leaving Little Whinging behind in a whirl of scenery. Harry stared out of the rear window of the bus, looking back at the darkened country lane they were already speeding down.
Good luck, Sirius.