– CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN –

The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black

While in flight, Harry altered the ship's course, heading to Diagon Alley first. He desperately needed to pick up a newspaper... if he was right, and the joy of his future knowledge meant that he usually was, today was the day of the infamous Daily Prophet prize draw... which meant it was the catalyst for the events of the year.

Once in Diagon Alley, he quickly picked up a copy of the Prophet, spotting the article of the front page. With a grin, he passed five Knuts to Tom the barman, before heading back into the box. So... phase one of Sirius' escape is complete. Now, I need to get to work on stage three; the place where Sirius can hide while in the UK. Stage two is up to you, old dog... Please pay attention. Harry reset the co-ordinates and headed out.

The ship had materialised in the small grassy park on Grimmauld Place. Harry remembered landing his Firebolt here during the run up to his fifth year in the original timeline. At that point, Grimmauld Place had already had a group of people setting up protections and removing the worst of the infestations. The house he was about to step into hadn't had the benefit of Sirius, Remus and the Weasleys fighting against it.

More to the point, Kreacher would be hostile, since he wasn't coming into the house with Sirius. After watching Dobby blast Lucius Malfoy back, he knew just how powerful the little buggers could be... and he was going to face a house elf that was, at best, hateful towards a half-blood like him.

Ah, well... not getting anything sorted by standing here moping, am I? Harry reached out and slid a lever up, unsealing the doors, and stepped forward. Once outside the box, Harry closed the door, willing it to seal shut, before he walked out of the park, crossing the road casually as he stepped up to Number Twelve.

The house reeked of darkness as he mounted the steps. It was dank, dirty and depressing. He could certainly understand why Sirius had hated spending time there, and why he'd ran away as soon as he could. He pressed his hand to the doorknob, feeling the magic of the house testing him. It also made his skin crawl, like ants picking at his flesh.

Something tingled against the edge of his mental shields, prompting him to narrow his eyes slightly. I am the Heir of Sirius Black, Heir apparent to the most Ancient and Noble House of Black. He thought loudly, knowing the passive Legilimency on the door would be able to pick it up.

You are not pure, filth. The house sent back, feeling almost malevolent.

I am the son of a pureblood lord. Harry shot back. I am a Lord in my own right. I am the Heir of your current Lord, who is my Godfather.

You are still a mongrel.

Perhaps... but my rights of entry into the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black are assured. You will let me in.

The house didn't send back a response, but Harry could feel the door tremble slightly under his hand, as the magic of the house obeyed the rule and unlocked the door. With a sigh, Harry slowly turned the handle, pushing the door open and stepping back. He could tell that even the door wasn't happy about this, and that was just slightly rotting wood; Merlin only knew what something with a pulse would attempt.

A dagger, glowing green with poison, shot out, flying through the space Harry had occupied just a moment earlier. I guess Merlin and I know, now. A quick 'Accio!' summoned the dagger back, making sure it didn't hit any people who may have been walking by. He allowed the dagger to fall to the stoop, stepping over it.

Once inside, Harry closed the door, keeping a full-body shield up as he stepped into the foyer. Instantly, he could see the hated painting of Walburga Black, Sirius' 'lovely' mother, waiting to begin screeching. Harry took in the lay of the land, spotting nothing waiting for him... at the moment. There'd be more to come. He knew that.

With a sigh, he stepped forward, letting the portrait spot him.

"Filth!" The portrait began screeching at once. "Scum! Mudblood!"

"Hello, Mrs. Black." Harry said faux-politely. "How lovely to see you again."

"Who are you, Mudblood child?"

"My name is Harry James Potter, Heir Apparent to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. I am the godson of Sirius Orion Black."

"Filth!" Walburga shrieked. "Son of a Mudblood! How dare you enter my house?"

"Quite easily," Harry replied, "since it's not your house. You're a corpse. This house belongs to Sirius, and I aim to make certain that when he returns, he won't have the 'pleasure' of your incessant wailing and shrieking. Now, why don't you sod off and die?"

"Already have done."

"Encore!"

"Kreacher!"

Shit... Harry drew his wand, wanting the focus available in case he needed the aiming capability. He heard the foul little creature appear near the stairs, and suppressed the urge to brutally murder the little bastard. Even though Kreacher had died under the 'tender mercies' of Bellatrix last time, as far as Harry was concerned, he still owed the little rat a good killing for leading Sirius to his death.

Kreacher shuffled round the staircase into the hall, spotting Harry stood near his beloved mistress' painting. He didn't know who Harry was, but the fact he was intruding on his mistress' home was enough.

"Kreacher, stop!" Harry commanded sharply, not wanting to get into a fight with the elf. "I am Harry James Potter, the Heir of Sirius Black, your master!"

Kreacher just growled, clicking his fingers as he tried to banish Harry from the house.

Harry gritted his teeth as the banishing charm hit his shield, causing it to flare brightly in the house. He could feel himself slowly being pushed back, and dug into his magic to stop himself flying backwards.

"Aguamenti!" A blast of freezing cold water erupted from Harry's wand, slamming into the little elf and flinging him backwards into the kitchen. Instantly, the force pushing Harry back ceased, allowing him a precious moment to brace himself.

With a snarl, Kreacher picked himself up, sending a black light at Harry.

"Shit..." Harry put more power into his shield, knowing that the hallway was too narrow to dodge to one side. The mass hit his shield, the two energies battling for dominance. With another flash, Harry's shield collapsed, allowing the black mass to hit his side painfully. Harry cried out as he felt a wet pop, knowing that at least two of his still-healing ribs had come apart.

"Glacius!" The freezing charm instantly turned all the water on the floor to ice, making Kreacher slip and fall to his knees.

"Electro!" Harry aimed his wand at the ice, aiming to electrify the whole thing.

Kreacher's head shot up as he vanished with a 'crack', leaving the ice behind.

"Bloody hell..." Harry staggered forward, ignoring the screaming, spitting and cursing of the painting. "Little bastard..." He groused, sending out a pulse of his magic. He could feel the pulse vibrate and bounce off far too many magical objects for his 'sonar' to work properly.

"Oh, this just gets better and better..." He groaned, "I fucking hate fighting House Elves..." He enchanted his belt buckle with a full body shield, meaning that he wouldn't have to waste either his wand or off-hand conjuring one, allowing him the potential for multiple offensive spells.

He dashed around the staircase, throwing himself to the ground as something hit the bottom of the banister, vaporising the old wood. Harry poked his wand out, firing off a series of banishing charms. Damn it... Kreacher, you little bastard, why won't you just stop! Harry peered out, spotting a pair of malevolent green eyes staring at him intently from the landing.

"Kreacher, you little shit, get your arse out here and fight me!" Harry commanded imperiously.

"Kreacher won't obey. He won't!" The little elf sent the elf-equivalent of a bone-breaking hex at Harry, slamming into his shield angrily. Harry gritted his teeth, reaching out with his magic to dissipate the curse from eating through his shields.

I fucking hate fighting house elves! Harry roared mentally, focussing all his power into his wand, before sending out a ridiculously over-powered banishing charm. Kreacher ducked, the banisher coring a section of the back wall. "I don't want to hurt you, Kreacher." Harry fired another banishing charm, the spell hit Kreacher, blasted him back into the landing wall and sending a large portion of it toppling down on top of the elf. Harry could almost hear the elf become unconscious, as the wave of magic pounding on his shield dissipated. "Doesn't mean I won't." He slowly dropped his shield, not taking his eyes off the elf.

"Jesus..." Harry gathered his reserves of strength and began making his way to the stairs. Slowly, not wanting to exacerbate the injury, he climbed the stairs, keeping his wand aimed at the rubble at the top. He stepped over a large brick, seeing the tiny hand of the elf poking out.

A casual flick of his wand banished most of the debris, leaving Kreacher's unconscious form. "Well... you wanted to attack me," Harry said firmly, "I have the perfect punishment in mind." He cast a Petrificus spell, before binding the evil little rodent in unbreakable ropes. Enervate.

Kreacher's eyes snapped open, before focussing on Harry. "Filthy half-blood mongrel thinks he can-"

"Silence." Harry commanded imperiously. "I do not give you leave to speak."

The magic that connected Kreacher to the Ancient and Noble House of Black finally kicked in, letting the mentally-diseased little elf know that this was a member of the family that he was attacking. He glared hatefully at Harry.

"Kreacher, I'm charging you of the crimes that you have committed... and the crimes you're going to commit. The sentence is death. How do you plead?" He waited for a moment, before rolling his eyes. "I give you leave to speak."

"Kreacher will not bow to worthless little half-blood." The elf said mutinously.

"Then the sentence is confirmed." Harry raised his wand, glaring at the little being. "Are you prepared to die?"

"Kreacher will join his family on the wall." The elf declared proudly. "Kreacher was a good elf for the House of Black."

Harry's wand dipped slightly. "Oh, you won't end up on the wall, Kreacher. You won't escape your fate that easily."

The little elf's face frowned. "Dirty Master would stop Kreacher's reward? Mudblood-loving master sick in the head."

Harry shook his head slowly, smirking at Kreacher. "You are sentenced to death, Kreacher... the death of personality!" His wand raised, pointing directly at Kreacher's eyes. "Obliviate!"

Cornelius Fudge stepped off the boat, pulling his cloak tighter around him. Although this was a necessary part of his Ministerial duties, he hated having to inspect Azkaban. It was always so cold, dark, dank and depressing. All in all, he'd rather have been at home, where he could have a relaxing rest in his hot-tub with whatever assistant or secretary he could 'persuade' to join him. Sometimes, Lucius sent round a female messenger with some proposal he'd want looking at, and the messenger was always willing ensure the Minister was relaxed by the time he read the bill.

He nodded sulkily at the warden of the prison, a fat little creature called Hobbins, who was desperately trying to get his release from the foul assignment. "Ah, Minister..." He toadied, "it's wonderful to see you again, sir."

"Hobbins." Fudge snapped back. "What news of the inmates?"

Hobbins pulled a clipboard from above his desk and gestured to the doors. "There have been seven short-stay prisoners in the last twelve months, Minister. Each of them was released at the correct time. Of the long-term prisoners, two more have passed beyond threshold."

"'Passed beyond threshold'?" Fudge's Auror guard, a tall, bald-headed Auror, asked. "What does that mean?"

Hobbins sighed dramatically. "It means that they've completed the first part of their sentence here at Azkaban."

The Auror, a young man named Shacklebolt, felt his eyes narrow and his stomach rebel at the casual statement. "I assume that means they've now gone insane?"

"That's one way of putting it." Fudge said. "These prisoners were sentenced to life in prison for their crimes. That is what we take. Passing into insanity because of the Dementors is stage one of their punishment. Their souls have been pretty much consumed by the Dementors. Now, we just have to wait for them to die, and we'll be removing more of the criminal element from the world."

Shacklebolt suppressed an urge to growl... and punch his employer. "That seems remarkably cold, Minister."

"That's the way the world works, Auror." Fudge snapped. "Do not question me." He turned back to Hobbins. "Well, let's get on with it, then. We still have to get this blasted inspection out of the way. I have better things to do with my time that walk around this depressing hole and stare at murderers."

Hobbins led the small party to the main corridor, where they could either inspect the minimum-security prisoners, or take the stairs down to maximum-security, where murderers and Dark Lord supporters such as Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black were being held.

"Let's just get this out of the way." Fudge snarled, heading for the staircase. He quickly passed the three unconscious prisoners, glad that these three had lost their minds. He saw Bellatrix Lestrange sitting on her bed, rocking slightly as she glared up at the visitor.

"Lestrange..." Fudge said quietly. "You'll be glad to hear that your master's still dead."

"He will return." Bella hissed malevolently. "He will return and kill you all."

"Not while I'm the Minister." Fudge replied pompously. "I won't allow it."

Bellatrix just laughed. "He will kill you. You wouldn't even slow my master down."

"Then I'm fortunate he's no threat, aren't I?" Fudge said as he turned away. "Warden, increase her Dementor exposure."

Bellatrix shivered slightly, but refused to let her face show her fear of the vile creatures.

"Yes, Minister."

Fudge kept walking, approaching the last cell on this corridor. "Ah, yes... Sirius Black. Mass-Murderer and Betrayer."

Sirius looked up from his bunk, standing and heading to within three feet of the door. Any closer was risking being stunned by the Auror party. He knew this... it'd happened before. "Minister Fudge... Sweet Merlin, has it been twelve months since your last inspection? Doesn't time fly? Of course, I don't have much to distract me these days."

Fudge blinked at the response. "You're still sane, Black?"

The Prisoner of Azkaban just shrugged. "We all have our moments of insanity, Minister, even you; I remember the Goblin pies story from the Quibbler. Any news from the outside you'd like to share? It gets so dull here..."

His eyes narrowed, Fudge just snarled. "After all this time, Black, you should be insane. I'll have to see what we can do to quicken that up."

"Perhaps." Sirius replied, clearly bored. "In the meantime, sir, have you finished with your newspaper?" He gestured to the folded-up Prophet tucked under Fudge's arm. "I find myself lacking things to do... and I really miss the crossword."

Fudge snatched the paper from under his arm and tossed it through the bars. "Take it, you filthy murderer! I suppose letting you see what decent, normal folk are doing will be a sweet punishment."

Sirius nodded, picking up the paper. There, on the front page, was an article he'd been waiting nearly two years for.

Ministry of Magic Employee Scoops Grand Prize!
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.
A delighted Mr. Weasley told the Daily Prophet, "We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank."
The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.

Next to the body of text was a photograph. He looked closer, seeing the sign that the mysterious Mr. Stripeclaw had warned him about. Time to go... He thought to himself. He looked up to see Fudge staring intently at him.

"What?" He glanced down. "I see Weasley's won a prize. Good for him. I remember he was a good man."

Fudge just scowled and strode away, the fat little warden pursuing him like he had broken underwear elastic.

On the other hand, Kingsley Shacklebolt remained outside the cell, looking closely at Sirius. "You're not what I expected." The Auror said after a moment, his voice sounding like two rocks being ground together.

"Being enigmatic's very popular with the ladies." Sirius said slowly. "Of course, the selection here is kinda limited."

"Indeed. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

"No."

"How are you still sane? From what I understand, Dementors leach all happy thoughts from a person, draining them of their soul and their powers."

"I know." Sirius said, sighing heavily. "I've seen it happen to far too many people over the last twelve years."

"And yet, you're here, hale and hearty."

"Indeed. Must have found a way to keep some happy thoughts."

Shacklebolt nodded. "You intrigue me, Mr. Black."

"Thank you."

"Do you mind if I use you for a case-study?"

Sirius chuckled rustily. "Knock yourself out, Auror. I'm fascinating."

"Thank you." Shacklebolt nodded amiably, before following the Minister up the corridor.

The instant Shacklebolt was gone, Sirius moved over to the window, staring intently at the article and, more importantly, the photo. Little toe-rag... that's Wormtail, all right... Little bastard managed to escape. And now he's hiding with the Weasleys... I have to go... I have to get out of here... He's at Hogwarts...

Sirius tucked the newspaper under his pillow, lying down. He couldn't leave right this second, since the guards would still be patrolling vigilantly. They always did for a day or two after the Minister's inspection. He sighed, wishing he had a chicken leg to munch on.

Harry stared at the unconscious little elf and smiled in pleasure. It was done. In a way, he'd avenged Sirius' death in the previous timeline by killing Kreacher. True, the body was still alive, but it wasn't Kreacher... or rather, it wasn't the same Kreacher that had conspired with Narcissa to betray Sirius. The elderly elf was effectively mind-wiped, and could be reprogrammed into something more respectable, something a lot less rude... and hopefully something that wouldn't walk around in just an old loincloth. One of Harry's biggest dreads about redeeming Kreacher was if the old elf sneezed suddenly, and his loincloth fell and... Harry started to gag, so put the idea from his mind.

It took only a moment for Harry to begin the necessary modifications to Kreacher's mind. It was unfortunate that he wasn't a Legilimens, which would have made things go much more smoothly, but it was a simply matter for Harry to program into some basic English lessons, a desire to live in a clean house and a desire to learn. That would be enough to get the elf started. His magic, on the other hand, was something that Harry couldn't teach him. From what he'd learned from Dobby in the previous timeline, house elf magic was almost all instinctive. They just did things as they needed. No spells, no rituals... just living magic.

As soon as Harry was sure that the elf was safe, he'd release him and get him working on the shithole that was Grimmauld Place.

Enervate. "Kreacher?" Harry said softly, banishing the ropes and removing the Petrification spell. "Kreacher, can you hear me?"

The little elf groaned as his eyes fluttered open. "Mister Harry?" The elf moaned softly, trying to sit up. "What happened, Mister Harry?"

Harry managed to suppress his smirk as he helped the elf to a sitting position. "Easy now, Kreacher. That was a bad accident. How do you feel?"

"I's... I feel quite bad, Mister Harry." Kreacher said, blinking as his mind processed information that seemed... different. "Accident?"

"Yes." Harry said. "You were moving one of the relics and it exploded. How're you feeling?"

"Like I got caught in an explosion." Kreacher said, looking around at the mess and feeling an overwhelming urge to not have his house be a mess. "Are you hurt, Mister Harry?"

"No, Kreacher. I'm not hurt. Thank you for asking." Harry helped the little elf to his feet before he waved his wand at the wall. "Reparo." The debris rose from the floor, moving back into place on the wall. Since Harry'd already vanished some of it, there were still some rather obvious cracks and holes in the wall.

Kreacher noticed this and clicked his fingers, conjuring new bricks and mortar, filling in the hole neatly. He looked at Harry, who was beaming at him. "What is it, Mister Harry?"

"Nothing, Kreacher." Harry said. "That was well done. Thank you for clearing it up."

The old elf blushed faintly. "You are most welcome..." He trailed off. "It is curious, Mister Harry... I find myself... confused."

"Oh?" Harry discretely summoned a stunner into his hand, ready to throw it the instant the elf turned on him. "Confused about what, Kreacher?"

"I... I seem to have gaps in my memory, Mister Harry."

"Well, a bad accident like that can cause amnesia, Kreacher. I'm sure your memories will make their way back slowly." So slowly, it'll be the twelfth of never before they come back. "In the meantime, I think you should just take it easy."

Kreacher looked around the depressing house sharply. "I has... have work to do, Mister Harry. This house... is such a mess. I don't know why..."

Harry didn't say anything about the mess. "Well... I'm sure you will take it easy while you're cleaning, Kreacher. Master Sirius won't be home for a while yet..."

"Master Sirius?" Kreacher looked up at Harry, then around the house. "Oh dear... poor Master Sirius would be shamed of this house. I must begin immediately."

Harry nodded and stood back. "One thing, Kreacher..."

"Yes, Mister Harry?"

"Perhaps the painting of Lady Walburga should be removed from the entryway... the poor dear," Harry managed to suppress his disgusted expression of referring to the crazy bitch by the proper name, "seems to be a little... disturbed. Perhaps one of the bedrooms could be made into a shrine to the Black Family. You know... all their family honours in one place."

"Of course, Mister Harry." Kreacher said, clicking his fingers, removing the vile portrait from the wall. It began floating towards the stairs, screaming depreciations all the way. "Perhaps a silencing charm around the room." Kreacher said diplomatically. "So that people can enjoy the shrine room in peace and quiet."

Snickering, Harry nodded. "An excellent idea, Kreacher." He was about to turn and walk away, when a thought crossed his mind. "Kreacher... can you deliver something to another house for me?"

"Of course, Mister Harry."

Conjuring a piece of paper and a pen (knowing that the recipient of this letter would detest the fact it wasn't written on parchment), he quickly scribbled a note, infusing the ink and the paper with a strong compulsion charm. Let's see you avoid this one, you evil bastard. Harry folded the note over, before handing it to Kreacher, whispering the destination. Kreacher nodded, let the portrait of Walburga fall onto a bed in one of the bedrooms, and vanished with a pop.

Right... now he's gone, I want that bloody Horcrux. Harry shot down the stairs, heading into the drawing room, and the cabinet at the back. He could see all manner of dark object sitting in the cupboard, waiting for some dozy wizard to come and pick it up. The sleeping music box, the snuffbox full of wartcap powder... all of these were bypassed as Harry spotted the locket. There you are...

Conjuring a pair of thick leather gloves, Harry pulled them on and picked up the object. Instantly, he cast a stasis charm and an imperturbable charm, before conjuring a lead-lined box. These measures would, hopefully, be enough to contain the Horcrux, before he could destroy it. It wasn't yet the right time, however, for that to happen. If he interfered now... No. Best not think about that. Tucking the box into a pocket, he pulled off the gloves, and glanced around the house. Anything else I need to do? Ah, best leave a note.

Harry quickly conjured another piece of paper, writing down a list of instructions for Kreacher. He quickly checked the note, and pronounced it good.

Kreacher,
You said that you wanted to clean the house for Master Sirius, and I, as the Heir Apparent of the House of Black, support this measure. It would be best if you were to do the work in secret. If you require funds to clean up the house, the vault of Black is still at Gringotts, and can be accessed by yourself. Make certain that you protect the vault, allowing only yourself and Master Sirius access.
Also, Master Sirius would not want an elf that is incapable of speaking correctly or being woefully uninformed. There is a large collection of books in the library, and I will be able to gain other books, such as fiction, for you. If you need anything, please send me a letter. Good penmanship will be appreciated.
Remember, do not exert yourself, Kreacher. You're still recovering from the accident.
Kind Regards,
Harry Potter

He placed the note on the table, and headed out of the door. He winced as he clambered down the steps, feeling the ravaged ribs protest. Bollocks... only just managed to get these taped up last time. He placed his hand against the door of the Portkey box, before stepping inside. A moment later, a wheezing/groaning sound signalled the departure of the box from Grimmauld Place.

Lucius Malfoy frowned as he saw the bedraggled house elf appear in his home. "What do you want, vermin?" He asked belligerently.

"My Master has commanded me to deliver this letter to you." Kreacher said politely, managing to avoid looking down his nose at the rude human.

"You dare speak to me?" Lucius asked, shocked that the elf had the temerity to answer back. "Punish yourself at once!"

"I do not obey you." Kreacher replied. "I only obey my Master and his heir."

Lucius snarled as he grabbed the letter from Kreacher's hand, feeling the paper and sneering. As soon as he opened it, the compulsion washed over him. He didn't fight it too hard, since it was something he wanted to do anyway. "Dobby!"

The battered elf appeared with a loud 'crack', barely able to stay on his feet. Kreacher could feel his lip curl as he took in his battered fellow elf. He knew, instinctively, that Master Sirius and Mister Harry would never treat a house elf like this, but he managed to stamp down his disgust.

"Master calls for D-Dobby?" The little elf swayed dangerously, before Kreacher was there, helping to steady him. A few waves of his hand cleared up most of the injuries, allowing Dobby to stand on his own.

"Here!" Malfoy took off his cloak, throwing it onto Dobby. "You are released from my service, you disgusting little beast! Now leave!"

Dobby felt the magic that bound him to the House of Malfoy shatter, and instantly popped out. It didn't matter where he went... only that he was free.

Kreacher bowed to Malfoy, before flicking him the bird as he vanished, following Dobby's trail. For some reason, Dobby wasn't travelling as fast as he could, which gave Kreacher enough time to catch up with him. Dobby, son of Keldon?

Dobby blinked as he felt the other elf match his pop, the two now travelling in tandem. Dobby is... who's is you?

I am Kreacher, of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Do you have anywhere to go, little one?

Dobby is free... but Dobby has no place. He sighed, wondering if it was such a good thing to have freedom, instead of just wanting it.

Your freedom is your own, little one. You have time to choose where you wish. I would suggest, however, that you find Mister Harry Potter. It was he who asked that I aid in your escape from the Malfoy family. Kreacher could feel Dobby's excitement at the mention of Harry Potter. If you need assistance, young one, you may call on me. Kreacher changed his direction, heading back to Grimmauld Place.

Dobby could feel that he was alone, but he wasn't scared. The old elf was right... he was free, now. Free to do as he wished. He began to search for his saviour, wanting to thank him personally... before he changed his mind. He'd find Harry Potter sir and thank him later... now, it was time to be free!

Harry was in the kitchen of his Portkey box, cooking up a storm. He'd prepared two whole chickens and a tub of mashed potatoes, along with a large bottle of pumpkin juice. He'd already written out his latest letter to Padfoot, taking note of the information in the Daily Prophet. He conjured a basket, quickly turning it into a Portkey, before loading up the food. God speed, Padfoot... He thought, as he tapped the basket with his wand, activating the Portkey.

Once it had departed, he headed back into the console room, and levered up a section of the floor. He dropped down ten feet, standing on the physical floor of the box. He opened a small compartment, tucking the lead-lined box inside, before sealing it up again. The Horcrux would be safe in there.

Sirius heard a faint whistling sound as something began to appear in his cell. He smiled as another basket of food appeared, a note stuck to the top. Stripeclaw, I love you! He thought happily, reaching down to grab the note and, more importantly, a chicken leg.

Dear Padfoot,
Well, I'm gonna hazard a guess that Fudge is there, right this minute. Have you seen him yet? If you have, and you remembered my previous notes, you'll have a copy of today's Daily Prophet in hand. If you haven't seen him yet, for the love of god, hide this basket and note. And when you do see him, get his copy of the paper!
Assuming you've seen the paper, you'll now understand what I meant about the sign. Front page, look at the photo of the Weasley family. Notice anything about the pet on Ron Weasley's shoulder? You should.
Yes, it's Wormtail. The little rat-bastard managed to hide in a Wizarding home for over ten years, while you were stuck at that rock on the sea. Unfortunately, they'll be in Egypt up until August 30th, so it'll be damned hard for you to get him before then. Guess you'll have to make your way up to Hogwarts.
Harry's been doing very well this year. I just thought you'd like to know. He has a girlfriend, a woman who will probably remind you of Lily Potter quite a bit. A smart, beautiful bookworm, with just the right amount of Marauder in her.
Moving on, it's time to leave Azkaban, Mr. Padfoot. Mr. Moony will be working at Hogwarts this year as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. There are questions that you'll need to ask him, like 'why the hell haven't you been to see the pup/cub yet?'. Included in this basket are some nutrient potions and a change of clothes. I have the suspicion that you're going to try and see your godson... you wouldn't want to frighten the poor lad, would you? Take a hint.
Be safe, Padfoot. I'll be seeing you soon.
Stripeclaw

Sirius folded the note and tucked the basket under the stone slab that was his bed. "Soon..." He muttered, not seeing the guard passing by his cell. "Soon... he's at Hogwarts..." He drifted off to sleep.

Harry had returned to the Grangers' house, attempting to sneak in and bandage up his ribs before he was caught. Naturally, his luck really was that shitty as he was not only caught by Hermione with his shirt up and a bandage in his hand, but her parents, too.

"Er... hi?" He said sheepishly, running his wand over the bruised flesh. "How was your day?"

Hermione took the bandage from his hand, while turning him round, so she could see the true extent of his injuries. "What happened?" She asked coolly.

"Well... it's, er... Would you believe me if I said I fell?"

"No." All three Grangers said together.

"How about if I said a panel in the portkey box came loose?

"No." All three Grangers said together.

"Squirrel attack?"

"No."

"Choked on toast?"

"No."

"Craptacular..." Harry sighed. "I was attempting to do some cleaning in a house in London. Unfortunately, there was a... well..."

Hermione plucked his wand out of his fingers, gently prodding and poking him to make certain that he'd healed the bones. "A what, Harry?"

"You know how if a house gets left alone for a long time, there's a really good chance that it'll pick up an infestation? Rats, bird, wasps... that sort of thing?"

Nodding slowly, Hermione began wrapping Harry's torso with the bandage, making certain it was good and tight. "I assume this was a very large wasp?"

"Well..." Harry hissed as Hermione tugged a little too hard. "N-Not exactly, no. Magical creatures are a little more... aggressive than a wasp. Doesn't matter, though. I evicted the little rodent."

"A magical rat?" Emma asked, stepping forward and helping her daughter inspect him for other injuries. "What're they like?"

"About two feet long, very fast. Quite feral, in some cases." Harry replied, lifting his arms so they ladies could finish checking him out. "Managed to knock it out, though, then I chucked it out. Little thing won't be coming back."

"A rat?" Hermione chuckled mirthlessly. "I've never heard of a magical rat that can break ribs, Harry." She folded her arms and looked sternly at him. "You told me you'd be okay if you went and did this alone."

He pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm all right, Hermione. The rat just got lucky. I'm perfectly okay."

She held him, trembling slightly for a few moments, before nodding. "Don't keep doing this to me, Harry." She said seriously. "I'm scared for you."

"I won't. I promise. This was one of the nastier aspects of the summer holiday I needed to get done. I have to do a couple of pick-ups, dinner with the Patil, Bones and Zabini families, and a holiday away. Oh, and I have to do some sewing. Apart from that, I'm all yours."

"Promise?" Hermione looked up at him nervously, not paying attention to the slightly dreamy look on Emma's face, not the resigned look on Dan's.

"Forever." Harry said, staring back at her, his heart and soul in his eyes, making Hermione blush and nod.

It'd been two days since Fudge had inspected Azkaban. Two days since he'd seen the newspaper, announcing the Weasleys winning the prize draw and giving Sirius his first clue about the fate of Peter Pettigrew. Two days since the sign he'd been waiting for had appeared.

Sirius slowly hauled himself out of his 'bed', reaching underneath for the basket that had been delivered. Inside was a selection of heavy clothes, each of them lined with warming charms. He quickly changed, using his old shirt as a cleaning rag to scrub off most of the muck. Once attired in his new clothes, he changed form, Sirius flowing into Padfoot.

He trotted forward, his mind and emotions more primal than they were a few moments earlier. This was the joy of being an Animagus; the more primal emotions fooling the Dementors into believing that he was becoming as deranged as everyone else. He pushed his head through the bars, looking round to see a Dementor at the end of the corridor, hovering outside Bellatrix's cell. He shuddered slightly, before concentrating on the task at hand.

Because he'd been receiving the food baskets from the mysterious Stripeclaw, he wasn't quite as thin as he used to be, and pulling himself through the bars hurt quite a bit. Fortunately, the primal mind of Padfoot wouldn't allow something as trivial as physical pain to stop him succeeding in his escape. He growled low in his throat as his ribs grated against the bars, but he managed to slip through, slumping to the ground for a moment.

He was out of his cell... Padfoot's mind worked on a very basic, instinctual level. Step one of the escape plan had been accomplished. Now, however, he needed to get past the dark cape at the end of the long room. He trotted forward, keeping low to the ground.

The Dementor looked up as it sensed emotions, weak, primal emotions, moving towards it. However, they were a little too weak to bother about. Inside the cell, the fierce, happy pride of Bellatrix Lestrange waited. It turned back, its blindness meaning that it never saw Padfoot slink past.

Once out of the corridor, Padfoot bounded up the stairs, tongue lolling out like a pink rope, heading for the top of Azkaban. He knew that there was no way he'd be able to walk out of the front doors. They were guarded by at least six Dementors at any one time, with a plentiful selection of other assorted nasty wards and Auror guards.

At the top, however, there wasn't anything that would be able to stop him. At the top of the stairs, he changed back, becoming Sirius once more. Glancing around, Sirius slowly circled the ramparts, looking down at the jagged rocks below.

"It's times like this," He muttered to himself, "that I wish I was a bird Animagus..." Glancing down, he saw the jagged rocks that made of the base of the fortress. "Merlin, I hope I don't fall down there..."

It took him less than a quarter hour to spot the point of the island with the narrowest base. This was where he'd have to jump... and hope the shock of landing two hundred feet in ice-cold water wouldn't kill him. He flowed back into Padfoot, before he used every ounce of strength he had to dash forward, mounting the ramparts and jumping off the edge...

Harry woke up, yawning and scratching. He climbed out of bed, heading for the bathroom to perform his usual morning ablutions. As soon as he entered the bathroom, he heard another bedroom door open, and had to suppress a smile. Ever since the 'incident', Hermione had been loitering around him, making certain that he didn't try and sneak off anywhere and get himself in trouble. Under other circumstances, it would have been wildly funny, but Harry knew she cared about him, and hated to see him hurt.

He opened the bathroom door, poking his head, only to see Hermione peering at him. "I'm just getting dressed for the day." Harry said soothingly. "I promise I'm not sneaking out anywhere." He smiled cheekily. "If you hear the Mission: Impossible theme, though..."

Hermione nodded, before retreating back into her bedroom. Harry thought for a moment, before stepping out of the bathroom and knocking on her door. A moment later, she opened it, looking at him curiously. "What's up?"

"Can I come in and talk to you?" He asked, all traces of levity gone.

"Sure." Hermione opened the door fully and stepped back, allowing him inside. She didn't bother to close the door, knowing that her parents wouldn't be too impressed if she was in a bedroom with a boy and her door closed. "What can I do for you?"

"You're worried about me." Harry said bluntly. "You're worried that I'm going to sneak out and leave you behind and get myself hurt."

"Yes." Hermione replied, equally bluntly. "Damn it, Harry... you don't know how much it scares me when I see you hurt."

"I think I do." Harry said softly. "Remember, when you were petrified? I wasn't scared, Hermione... I was bloody terrified."

She softened. "I know, Harry... I know... so, you do understand why watching your put yourself at risk worries me."

"I do." He reached out and took her hand. "Hermione... there's things coming... I can feel them... Battles and danger..."

"I know." Hermione said, squeezing his hand. "I know you'll be one of the people on the front line, Harry. I know that... it's just..."

"You'll be there to protect me, Hermione." Harry said firmly. "Just like I'll protect you."

"Deal."

"Good." Harry pulled her hand up and kissed the back of it. "Now, I'm going to go shower. I promise I won't go anywhere unless I tell you first, okay?"

"Okay." Hermione smiled at him. "You won't run off and leave me behind?"

"No. I won't run off and leave you behind. I promise."

She smiled, leaned up and pressed a kiss onto his cheek, before charging out of the room, racing into the bathroom and locking the door.

"Hey!" Harry, blessed with future knowledge, was glad they hadn't had curry the previous night. He loved her fiercely, but Sweet Merlin, Hermione could bomb out a bathroom on the morning after.

Padfoot swam as fast as he could. The icy water was cutting into his skin like daggers and sapping him of his strength. He knew he was heading south, and he could see the sun rising to his left, which meant he was heading in the right direction, but he didn't know how much further he had to go.

But, Pettigrew was going to be at Hogwarts. He had to get to Pettigrew and kill him to protect Harry and avenge James and Lily. Nothing else mattered.

Redoubling his efforts, Padfoot swam harder.

Once showered and dressed, Harry went into the Portkey box, pulling out the laptop, before he re-entered the house, the computer tucked under his arm. He sat down in the living room, pulling the computer onto his lap.

Hermione entered the room, looking around intently, as she'd heard the back door open. When she saw Harry sitting on the couch, she relaxed.

"I promised." Harry said, without looking up.

"I know."

"You were checking up on me."

"Not really." Hermione said slowly. "I was just wondering what you were up to. If you'd snuck out, I'd have heard the engine on your Box."

Harry nodded slowly. "Good point. Okay, today, I'm planning on working on some computer code. I've been putting this off for ages."

"Programming? What're you programming in?"

Blushing slightly, Harry told her, "Er... a seamstress program."

"A seamstress program?" Hermione asked, a slow smirk developing on her face. "What do you know about making clothes?"

"Not a lot." Harry admitted. "But, we've got all that basilisk hide, and I think it'd be a marvellous way of making certain that we're protected. I could make clothing out of it. That's why I had everyone put on those headbands on the train."

"I just thought you were trying to measure Sue's chest." Hermione snickered.

"Hermione."

"Sorry."

"I have the pinnacle of womankind as my girlfriend." Harry said, watching Hermione begin to blush furiously. "What on earth would I want with anyone else?"

"I... P-Pinnacle..."

Harry just smiled as he began typing. Granger 0, Potter 1.