Three years later…

Harry loved New York, it was both glamorous and dirty, and at its core it was a teenager of a city, still rebelling still changing and learning. Coming to New York had been like coming home, from the minute he set foot on the subway and no one recognized him. He had purchased a grungy flat, or apartment as the Americans called them, in Greenwich Village and had fixed it up himself. It was a wide open space with large windows that he had left uncovered. The only fully separated room was the bathroom, the bedroom only shut off by large metal panels that he had purchased from an Iron shop in Jersey. He liked the open space, and he liked that it was his.

Harry spent his first year blending into the crowds, reveling in the simplicity of being one of many. The city suited him, with its non-stop activity and loud, abrasive attitude. There were things he could not escape, twice he had been recognized by wizards and they had been strange encounters. He could not escape Lily, who had installed a telephone in her and James' home so that she could pester him constantly. And because he could not escape Lily, he also could not escape James or Remus.

He could not escape the solitude, and loneliness that crept in on him sometimes with a force that had him gasping for air. And he could not escape the fact that when he sat on the fire escape stairs outside of his apartment and watched the city street at night, it reminded him of Sirius.

Alex had chosen to remain at Hogwarts, and split his breaks between New York and London. He was doing well in school and wrote regularly, although it took longer for Harry to receive and return them. He was just starting his sixth year at Hogwarts and had already decided to go into wizarding law. His grades were excellent and he seemed happy when he visited.

Jamie was growing up, walking and talking and Harry was told that he had Lily's temperament and James' penchant for mischief. Remus was still searching for his cure, but the Ministry had not dropped his funding and he received accolades from the top researchers in his field on the work he had accomplished. Harry heard things, not everything but enough to remind him where he came from and what he had given up. Every once in a while, Lily or James, or Remus would mention Sirius, though Alex never said a word. They tried to keep upbeat and easygoing about it, but Harry could hear the strain in their voices when they talked about him. It was never anything specific, only broad strokes of the larger picture. But Harry understood what they didn't say, bar fights, and firewhiskey, probation from work, and sex. That was Sirius' life now, and Harry struggled not to feel guilty about it, he worked hard to convince himself that Sirius had made his choice, sometimes he succeeded.

Harry hadn't done anything but wander that second year, he had fixed up his apartment and he had been a tourist in his new city. He made friends with the guy who worked at the coffee shop on the corner and went to plays, and films, and gone to clubs and picked up men. After awhile, he needed something to focus on, some direction. He had enrolled in a few classes that were offered to beginners for painting, and drawing, and had begun taking literature classes. He bought a computer and taught himself how to use it, for three weeks he wrote down his life story, and then he printed the pages and deleted it off the disk before placing the manuscript in a box and burying it in the back of his closet. He bounced from one hobby to the next and found nothing he enjoyed until one day, he passed a pawn shop.

The first time he held the guitar, he did it because it reminded him of Sirius. When he decided to learn, he knew it was because it felt like it connected them in some ambiguous way. He had cheated and wrote off to Severus for memory enhancing potions which had allowed him to gain the basics of the instrument in a tenth of the time it would have any muggle.

He thought that like everything else, when he had learned what he could, when he could say that he played the guitar, that he would move on to something else. But he didn't, he couldn't. It became so effortless to him, and he didn't stumble the way he recalled Sirius doing, but mostly it was that the music was something of his that defined him to the outside world. And it defined him on his terms.

He played on the streets, and people stood around listening. His friend from the coffee shop, Turner, set him up to play a couple days during the week at the shop and gave him free coffee in return. A few people had offered to 'manage his talent' as they had put it, and Harry had declined. He was not looking for a career. He was only looking for himself.

After a year of playing covers, he wrote his first song. It took him two months before he would play it anywhere but the fire escape after two in the morning. Since then, he had written several and at Turner's request had bought the computer software and made a CD. He didn't sell it. He made copies and put them out on a table at the coffee shop for anyone to take if they'd like. He didn't need the money. But someone else, he thought, might need the music.

*

Harry walked down the block toward the coffee shop, he was a running a little late because he had been up all night talking to Alex on the phone. He was staying over with Lily and James for the weekend. He didn't say why he wasn't with Remus, but his tone was tense and Harry knew there was something the boy wasn't telling him. He had tried to ask Lily about it but she had dodged his inquiries and told him he wouldn't believe how big Jamie had gotten and how James had gotten a promotion to Senior Auror.

He made his way to the coffee shop shouting hellos to the regulars and kissing the cheek of Annette, his most devoted fan. She was a college student studying at Parson's School of Design. She was off the wall with energy, the only time Harry ever saw her sit still was when he was playing. She pulled him down before he could make his way to the stage and whispered in his ear.

"Play my favorite today, I really need it." She said with an ominous voice, and Harry laughed at her but gave her a wink.

Turner came up to him and slapped him roughly on the shoulder. He was an art student also, but studying sculpting at some private school Harry could never remember the name of. He was the stereotypical artist on appearance, with his long blond hair always pulled back into a lazy ponytail and his sculptor's hands, but he had a sharp and rough personality, when he spoke people listened and few ever dared cross him.

"Harry, look, I was thinking about something. And I know you say you like to play the shop, but there's this little bar a friend of mine owns a few blocks over and she was in here yesterday just begging me to convince you." Turner said with a stubbornness that to anyone but Harry would have come off as a command.

"Look, Tee, I don't know about that…" Harry said as he set up his equipment and laid out the CDs.

"Come on man, It'll be a good time. All the free booze you'd like." He said backing toward the counter. Harry rolled his eyes.

"We'll see." He responded stepping up onto the small platform. Turner gave him a wink and a wide smile.

"That's my man."

The coffee shop was always busy around now, it was just after ten on a Saturday and it was too late for breakfast but too early for lunch, so there were the late risers, and the general caffeine hungry New Yorkers.

Harry tapped the microphone and glanced around raising his hand in a wave to a few people in the background, he looked to his left and saw Annette with her spiky red hair bouncing up and down as she nodded violently at him. He sighed and shook his head.

"All right, well I'm Harry Pierson, and this one here's by request. It's called Let Me Go. Here we go."

He took a breath and smiled over at Annette. He closed his eyes and felt the song rise up in him.

One more kiss could be the best thing
But one more lie could be the worst
And all these thoughts are never resting
And you're not something I deserve

Sirius still haunted Harry, every night and every day, every moment. From across an ocean and worlds apart, Sirius haunted him. Harry had been writing this song for years in his heart, and every time he sang it he was once again lost to the man.


In my head there's only you now
This world falls on me
In this world there's real and make believe
And this seems real to me

Harry thought that it would get easier, the longer he was away. He thought that time and distance would erode the memories and the intensity of the emotions would fade. And there were lulls in the tide, and there were moments when he felt like he was free of it. But always, there was something, there was the empty city street, there was the sound of a motorcycle, there was a guitar in a window that he had to pick up, and there was Annette and this had to be her favorite song.


You love me but you don't know who I am
I'm torn between this life I lead and where I stand
And you love me but you don't know who I am
So let me go
Let me go

He could recall every feature of Sirius' face, and the way he smelled, he could remember the clothing that he had kept in the wardrobe and the sound of his voice. He could remember everything, everything but his eyes. The only memory he had of his eyes the way they looked the last time Harry had seen him, cold and unforgiving, pain an undercurrent to the anger and frustration.


I dream ahead to what I hope for
And I turn my back on loving you
How can this love be a good thing
When I know what I'm goin' through

Nobody asked Harry to come back, and he never offered. He didn't want to, he didn't need to, and yet there was a dark guilt inside of him because he didn't.


In my head there's only you now
This world falls on me
In this world there's real and make believe
And this seems real to me

You love me but you don't know who I am
I'm torn between this life I lead and where I stand
You love me but you don't know who I am
So let me go
Just let me go
Let me go

Harry played and sang the song without having to think about it, his mind wandered back three years to the front steps of Mercer. Sirius had been wearing jeans and his motorcycle boots, it was a warm day and he wore a dark t-shirt, black maybe blue, with a logo for some muggle band on it. Harry had asked him again to come with him, "Please," he had said. "Come with me."


And no matter how hard I try
I can't escape these things inside I know
I know
When all the pieces fall apart
You will be the only one who knows
Who knows

And Sirius had told him again, to stay. To stay and fight and not to run away. And Harry shook his head and picked up his bag, he looked back at Sirius and saw that look in his eyes. He had wanted to kiss him, to touch him, to say good-bye the way lovers should.


You love me but you don't know who I am
I'm torn between this life I lead and where I stand
And you love me but you don't know who I am
So let me go
Just let me go

But Sirius had stopped him with words that tore at Harry's soul, even now, so much later.

"I don't think I ever really knew you."

And Harry had disapparated.


And you love me but you don't
You love me but you don't
You love me but you don't know who I am
And you love me but you don't
You love me but you don't
You love me but you don't know me

The song ended and there was applause and Annette's obnoxious cheering. Harry went straight into the next song not trusting himself to make the introduction. He played for forty-five minutes and then thanked the crowd and began to pack his things.

He said a quick good-bye to Annett e and left the CDs on the table, he headed for the door with Turner calling after him to be at the bar, Vivian's, at ten next Friday night.

Harry hit the sidewalk his pace as fast as he could manage with his limp. He made it to his apartment, his breathing heavy and his mind swimming. He wouldn't play the song again, not for Annette, not for anyone. He found solace in his apartment with its wide emptiness and cool dark colors.

He dropped his gear next to the kitchen island and sat down on the sofa. The only thought in his head was how much he wished he had never met Sirius Black.

*

The phone was ringing when Harry got out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist and caught it just before it clicked over.

"Yea?" He answered, whenever Lily called she commented that New York had stolen his manners and Remus agreed.

"Harry." It was Remus, and his voice was tense but stern, the way someone speaks when they're about to tell you something they know you don't want to hear.

"Remus…" Harry started but didn't want to ask. He leaned against the kitchen island and closed his eyes, trying not to imagine the worst.

"Harry, Lily and James, and even Alex told me not to call you." Remus said, and Harry imagined that the three others were standing there and had demanded that Remus preface the conversation with that statement.

"What is it?" Harry replied careful to keep all emotion from his tone.

"It's Sirius." Harry's heart thundered and his mind flew to every possible reason why Remus would say his name that way, that desperate, painful way. "Sirius…he's missing."

Harry didn't know how to respond, his body and mind seemed frozen in place. He knew instinctively that this was no small concern, Remus wouldn't have called him if it were.

"He hasn't been home for nearly two weeks." He said carefully. "No one knows where he is, or even where he could be."

"Did you…" Harry breathed out but was interrupted by Remus.

"Dumbledore tried. Everybody has tried." Remus said. "We tried the Muggle Police, the aurors looked for a good week. There's nothing."

"What can I do?" Harry asked. "Should I come back?"

There was a long silence. "No, Harry. We think he's coming to you."

*

Remus had gone on to explain to him the full story on what had happened to Sirius after he had left, how he had spiraled out of control. How he was never sober, how he had burned his guitar and lashed out at James causing a violent physical fight between the longtime friends. How he had beat a thief he and James had apprehended into a coma and been put on probation from the Aurors. How he had screamed at Alex until the boy was in tears to get Harry's address.

A bomb waiting to explode. Remus had said.

And Sirius was probably already in New York.

*

For a week Harry was on edge. He looked over his shoulder and scanned the crowd for the familiar face. Every time he saw man in a leather jacket and long wavy dark hair his heart jumped. He looked for him without meaning to. He could hardly concentrate when he was performing, he ate little, and for the first time since he had come to New York, he couldn't sleep.

He spent his nights on the fire escape smoking and writing songs he didn't want to be singing. He worked hard at convincing himself that if Sirius was in New York he would already have shown up at his door. After a week, Harry had convinced himself Sirius was anywhere but here, and things slowed back down. His mind eased up, and he was getting a few hours of sleep a night.

He walked the three blocks to Vivian's bar, his guitar case slung over his shoulder and his amplifier in his right hand. He made his way to the bar and was directed to the stage to set up. He wasn't nervous, performing never made him nervous. He waved at Turner who sat up at the bar talking with a gorgeous blonde woman and chatted with Annette who sat close to the stage with several of her high fashion friends. The four of them looked so out of place in the dirty bar. Harry went to the bathroom before his set and caught a glance of himself in the mirror.

He was changed. His hair was longer, which made it less wild. It fell in easy waves just below his ears. The shaggy bangs covered the scar on his forehead and the light stubble across his chin hid the one along his jaw. His face was clearer though, more open. His eyes weren't perpetually haunted as they once had been, there was a time when he was terrified by the look in his own eyes.

The bar had gotten crowded by the time he returned, he pushed through the bodies to the front of the room and stepped onto the stage.

"Hello, everyone. I'm Harry Pierson. I've got a few songs I'm going to sing, and a few of my regulars are out tonight so I'm sure they'll yell out some others." Harry said and he felt everything drift away as the crowd cheered him on rowdily. "This first one is a new one. And it's still a little rough, so consider yourselves my guinea pigs."

Harry picked up his guitar and settled himself on the stool in front of the microphone. He looked out into the crowd and found his eyes pulled to the back of the room. The bar was loud, in a happy obnoxious kind of way, but there was a kinetic energy so strong that even Harry separated as he was, felt it's tug. But there, in the back of the room, sitting at the bar was a man who was completely unaffected b y the atmosphere. He wasn't looking at Harry, he wasn't looking at anyone. His light brown hair was long, down to his shoulders and held back from his face by a yellow and black bandanna. His features were neither sharp or soft, but some sort of middle ground. He stared down into his glass as if the answers to all the world's problems could be found there.

Harry played his set, and the crowd seemed to like him well enough. But the man at the bar never looked up from his glass, as if he couldn't hear the music, as if his thoughts were all encompassing. Harry ordered a beer and spoke briefly to Turner and Annette and agreed to play once a week at Vivian's request on the terms that his drinks were free and she wouldn't pay him. Annette and Turner got up to dance to some song the DJ began to play and Harry stared down to the end of the bar.

"His name is Daniel." Harry looked up to find Vivian popping the caps off of a line of beers. She was a beauty of a woman. Long blonde hair, perfect angelic features, and legs that most men would drool over. But when Harry looked at her, what he saw most was the dark tint to her eyes. A kind of shadow that spoke of years of pain and loss and something far more tragic than the human soul was meant to face. "He's been here every night for the last two weeks. He seems haunted."

Harry looked at her and understood the tone of her last words. He glanced back down to where the man sat, another bartender refilling his drink.

"He's got the invisible thing down to an art. Most people don't even know he's there." Vivian's smooth melodious voice rang out louder to Harry than to those around him. "Not to you though. Why is that?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "Aren't bartenders supposed to have all the answers?"

Vivian laughed and threw her head back. "Sure, sure. But only the morose ones. Keeps 'em drinking."

Harry turned his eyes back to Daniel as she turned to speak to another customer. She came back and stole a drag from his cigarette, and followed his gaze.

"It's his hands." Harry said. And watched as the man threw back the last of his drink, one hand resting on the bar, fingers tapping the calloused wood.

"Hm. Right, well." Vivian said with another laugh.

"What's he drinking?" Harry asked and she raised an eyebrow.

"Whiskey." She said. "Says it's the closest he can get to what he had back home."

She turned to walk away and Harry stared after her for a moment, incredulous realization making its way through his thoughts. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity. A minute later she returned sliding a glass across the bar with a wink and a nod. Harry picked up the glass and made his way down the bar.

He came around the end of the bar. The man twirled the empty glass with one hand.

Harry set the drink down and slid it in front of him while taking a seat on a barstool.

"Close is right, but it isn't firewhiskey by a long shot, despite the similarities in name." Harry said not looking at the man.

He felt the air around them change as the man turned to face him. Harry didn't turn, and the familiar silence surrounded them like an invisible cloud.

"What are you doing here, Sirius?"

*

AN: Thanks you all for the great reviews. Trust me that it's not the glory I'm after, I just want to know that people are still reading. What do you think? Change of scenery good bad or ugly?