Chapter 13

Four days later, Harry had finally basked in the feeling of being home again enough to drag himself away to Diagon Alley for a few hours to see the goblins. He had managed to persuade Dudley and their friends to cover for him under the false impression that he was going to see a girl. It wasn't a lie, per se; he was sure at least one of the goblins must be female.

With a final glance around he apparated to a dingy little alley a block away from the Leaky Cauldron with a thunderous crack, and then spent the next few moments drawing in huge lungfuls of air. This was by far the furthest he'd apparated, and even though he no longer felt nauseous when he did it the sensation of being squeezed through a hosepipe still wasn't pleasant. He was still quite unused to the suddenness of it all as well, and it took him a few seconds to take stock of where he was. One second he was hiding behind some bushes in the park and the next he was in London. It was very jarring.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and quickly left the alley. Walking into the Leaky Cauldron felt like being shoved into a wall of heat when compared to the freezing temperatures outside, and Harry kept his head down as he entered. Christmas wasn't for another few days but there were clearly more than a few who had become wrapped up in holiday cheer early as they drank and sang and danced, and it took considerable manoeuvring to not be either squished or dragged into song as he crossed the pub and tapped the required pattern against the brinks to gain access to the alley.

It too was bustling with people as they hurried from shop to shop in a desperate attempt to get a few last minute Christmas presents. Harry had ordered his by owl weeks ago and so was happy to slip through the crowds instead of getting dragged into one of the near overflowing shops.

The guards of Gringotts watched the crowd suspiciously as he passed through the great golden doors and entered the bank itself. It was mercifully silent even despite the various queues of people at each teller; the Goblins had a way for forcing silence that would make even Snape jealous.

Harry ignored the lines of waiting people and instead approached the goblin at a small desk at the very head of the chamber.

"I'd like to see the manager for the Potter family, please."

The goblin spent several seconds scrutinising him before it hopped from its chair with a sneer and led him through a maze of rough stone passages. They finally came to a stop in front of a door with a golden nameplate stuck proudly in the centre. Gornuk.

Harry swallowed nervously before he pushed the door open. This was the first time he would actually get to meet the manager of the Potter accounts. The goblin who had briefly explained his assets to him before he started Hogwarts wasn't actually in charge of his accounts because, at the time, his vaults had been dormant. The head of the family was dead, and the heir was eleven years old and muggle raised with absolutely no idea how the wizarding world functioned – there was no one to give commands or approve investments, and so there had been no need for a manager.

Gornuk looked no different to any of the goblins who manned the teller counters as he sat behind a small but beautifully carved desk. The walls and floor were the same rough stone of the corridor, and with the exception of a few cabinets in the far corner and a couple of plain wooden chairs the room was entirely bare. Harry quickly sat down in one of them as Gornuk watched him, his fingers tapping lightly against the desk.

"You are here about the newly refurbished house in Wales?" Gornuk finally asked.

Harry nodded as confidently as he could. "And to give you permission to invest my gold as you see fit as long as it profits me. Nothing too risky, but I figure that you will have a far better idea of what to invest in than I will. I may be fairly wealthy but that's no reason not to try and grow my vaults a little. You can of course take a small percentage of any profits."

Gornuk seemed surprised before he masked it and peered over the desk intently.

"Ten percent."

Harry almost laughed. "One."

"Five percent."

"Two and a half."

Gornuk grinned nastily at him, his sharp teeth bared in what goblins probably called happiness. Harry wondered whether the goblin had just played him.

"Very well."

A second later Gornuk reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, plain looking stone cube.

"This is your portkey," he said as he slid the cube across the desk. "Its use will automatically make you master of the wards, so I suggest you take it alone if you were not already planning on doing so. There will be a booklet explaining the wards we have erected and how to control them in the study. Is that all?"

"I'd like to visit my family vault if possible."

"The goblin that is waiting to escort you back to the main hall will take you down. Good day."

With that Gornuk returned his attention to the folders that were piled neatly on his desk. Harry took the dismissal for what it was and left with a polite nod that the goblin didn't even seem to notice.

As promised, the goblin in the corridor led him straight to the carts and a few minutes later Harry was stood in front of the towering door of his family vault. He spent the next few hours scouring the bookcases, and eventually found the books he was looking for.

Ever since Madam Bones had mentioned the Fidelius Charm he'd tried to find out exactly how it worked. He had scoured the Come and Go room and the Restricted Section, asked Lupin and Sirius and Flitwick, even Dumbledore, but he'd learned nothing. The mechanism of hiding something so completely was fascinating and endlessly useful, but more than that he wanted to know why there had been no other protections around his parent's home beyond that single charm. Why had there been no wards? Why had the walls and windows and doors not all been charmed to be unbreakable? Why had there been no traps or safeguards just in case? The only wards that had been found that night were Voldemort's anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards to prevent his parents from fleeing. Even if Voldemort had simply broken the wards on his way in the investigators would have found remnants.

And further, why was its use not common practice? Not on things like shops and public buildings, obviously, but most magical homes with a half decent ward scheme had an access list. The Fidelius Charm would work exactly the same and make break-in impossible unless their secret keeper sold them out, but even then any intruders would have to get through the same wards they would have had to anyway. The Fidelius would just be the main protection.

And why hadn't one of his parents been the secret keeper? Surely that would have obviously been the best solution. Why make someone outside the charm the secret keeper when the secret could then be forced out of them?

Harry carried the ancient tomes to a table and started carefully flicking through the pages, trying to find an answer to those questions. The books were filled with other obscure spells, some with long and well explained histories and some with little more than an incantation and a description of the effects, but Harry skipped past them until he finally found the pages about the Fidelius Charm.

It took him a little while to decipher the outdated language and even then he had to ignore large parts of it because he just didn't understand what it was saying, but eventually he thought he'd figured out what the author had tried to say. The Fidelius Charm was, as the name suggested, a charm, but Harry had never realised what an important distinction that was. It was not meant to be used over large areas; it had been designed as a way to hide single rooms at most, more likely drawers where sensitive information or valuable objects were kept. Using it to hide an entire house must have stretched the charm to its absolute limit. He wondered how small his parents' home actually was, or more accurately had been. It must have been tiny for the Fidelius to even cover all of it.

His arithmancy knowledge was far from being enough to understand exactly what the pages were saying without spending weeks studying them, but he understood enough to know that stretching the charm to such an extent would have made it indescribably delicate. Any significant magic would have torn it to shreds. That didn't matter as far as Voldemort was concerned because he couldn't find it in the first place, but it did limit those inside the charm. He supposed that was why there had been no other protections; his parents had decided that the Fidelius Charm was more likely to keep them safe than as many wards and charms as they could possibly cast. Harry wondered if they would have survived if they'd decided otherwise.

All the ideas that had been floating around his head since Professor Babbling had assigned him his project were swiftly discarded. He wouldn't make a runic catalyst as he'd planned to try, nor would he create a new ritual or ward or enchantment. He would turn the Fidelius Charm into a ward so that it could be cast over any area, and so that magic could still be used freely around it. He'd turn it into the spell that would have saved his parents instead of doomed them.

He absently wondered whether he'd be able to persuade them to give him an Arithmancy mastery as well; this project was going to require a great deal of calculation. Given how the secret was hidden he supposed he'd need to delve into soul magic too, and once he had carefully lowered the books into his magically expanded pockets he strode off back into the shelves.

The goblin glared hatefully at him as he left with all the books the Potter family had on the magic of the soul, and by the time he clambered out of the cart he was quite sure he had outstayed his welcome. As soon as he cleared the Gringotts wards he activated his portkey, and after he pushed himself up from the frozen dirt on which he had fallen he looked up at his new house.

It wasn't anything fancy. In fact, it reminded him more of the muggle farmhouse he had seen on the house-hunting shows Aunt Petunia liked to watch. It was made entirely from huge bricks of light brown stone that ivy was already climbing up, adding colour as it crawled around the white window frames that seemed to make up the majority of the front of the house. A tall chimney was peeking over the apex of the roof, and the thought of curling up in front of a fire was extremely inviting as the icy wind whistled through his hair.

The inside of the house matched with his impression from the outside, even if it was bigger than it should have been. There were no beautiful oil paintings or shimmering chandeliers, nor any crystal vases or rich fabrics draped from golden curtain rails. The walls were plain brick or painted white, and the floor was a dark, glossy wood in the common areas and a pale stone in the kitchen and bathrooms, all polished to perfection. There were five bedrooms, each of them more or less the same – a huge king size bed, writing desk, small sitting area, walk-in closet, and enormous en-suite bathroom. They were all currently furnished entirely in cream, but Harry didn't think it would be too difficult to change that if he wanted to.

The study was a far cry from a Head of House's office in any other pureblood family with the same amount of wealth as the Potters, but the Potters were not a Wizengamot family. There was no need for an imposing, richly furnished office in which to intimidate political enemies or impress political allies. Instead, the study was warm and inviting, with a large stone fireplace at one end and a wide desk at the other on which sat a thick white booklet. Unlike the rest of the house, the walls of the study were painted a dark blue and were covered in muggle paintings of watermills and meandering rivers, and behind the desk was an ornate cabinet filled with crystal tumblers and several bottles of firewhiskey. Harry eyed the cabinet with trepidation; his and Dudley's previous forays into the pleasures of alcohol hadn't gone particularly well. Aunt Petunia had been furious when she found them giggling incoherently the previous summer. She really should have locked the alcohol cupboard. Frankly, he still couldn't believe that people drank it willingly.

Harry felt rather important as he sat down behind the desk and leaned back in the incredibly comfortable chair. He could only imagine the disgusted look on Lucius Malfoy's face if he saw it, or any other area of the house for that matter. It only made Harry like it even more.

He picked up the booklet from the desk and spent a few minutes leafing through it, his smile growing with each word. He didn't know hardly anything about wards – yet – but the goblins had put it in words simple enough for anyone to understand, and they seemed to have outdone themselves. At the very front was instructions on how to add people to the wards and how to initiate the lockdown procedure that would make it near impossible for even the best cursebreakers in the world to get in without spending days trying. Harry had a feeling that might one day come in useful.

The rest of the booklet was made up of a list of every ward that had been cast, a description of the effects of each, which ward stones they were tied to and how, how to turn off specific wards if needed, their place in the overall ward scheme. There were dozens of different wards, some of which he had heard of but most of which he hadn't. He'd have to research them when he got the chance, but only after he'd analysed the wards that Dumbledore had cast around his aunt's home. He was still trying to make sense of the results of the ward analysis charms he'd cast the day before.

With a final glance around the room he put the booklet back on the desk and left the study. A little further down the hall was a library so large that it defied belief even with magic. The windows at the far end were barely more than dots as he stared at the countless rows of bare shelves, and he was already planning on moving all the books in his vault into it. He could hardly wait to have full access to his family's knowledge without having to go all the way to Gringotts, and he was sure that the library would one day be one of his favourite rooms.

It would not be his favourite though, that he knew from the very moment he reached the basement and stepped foot inside the duelling room. It was a huge room that seemed to have been chiselled directly from stone, easily as large as an entire floor and covered in wards and charms to prevent damage from errant spells. There were a dozen duelling dummies stood up against one wall just like in the Come and Go room, and against another were targets of varying size that dove and jerked through the air at random.

Unlike the dummies in the Come and Go room these didn't duel at whatever difficulty he thought of and instead had twenty different levels of difficulty to choose from. It took him a little while to find the right level, but after that he spent a few hours swatting away curses and gleefully returning fire with curses of his own. Ever since he met Pettigrew he had felt a near constant itch to cast some of his nastier curses, even if they unfortunately weren't on the snivelling rat. He could only content himself with the fact that he would soon be suffering the same hellish fate he condemned Sirius to. It was poetic justice.

Though from how Sirius had described it, however brief his description had been, the word hellish didn't even come close to adequately describing Azkaban. There had been a letter waiting for him when he got home from Hogwarts, and since then he and Sirius had exchanged a few more. It was a strange, stilted relationship, but Sirius nonetheless was quite clearly desperate to make up for lost time. And, unlike Lupin, he didn't lie even when lying would have been far easier than telling the truth, like when Harry had asked him why he had really come to Hogwarts.

I could say that it was to protect you, Sirius had written, and that it was purely to make sure that Peter didn't hurt you. That did come into my mind of course, but it wasn't why I came. Not really. The thought of that just made me angrier. The truth is I wanted revenge. Peter took everything from me. And I don't mean that to invalidate you or anything even remotely like that – for however much he took from me he took infinitely more from you. But James was my brother.

I told you that my parents kicked me out. That's not entirely true. What actually happened is one night during the Christmas holidays of my fourth year I got particularly argumentative about something – maybe about muggles, maybe about James, maybe about muggleborns or creature rights or Gryffindor. I don't remember. My mother used the cruciatus on me for a few seconds, just enough for me to know just how much pain she could cause with a wave of her wand and a single word. You need to really want to hurt someone to cast that curse, and that was when I realised that my own mother truly hated me. So I left, and from that day on I stayed with the Potters. Charlus and Dorea were better parents to me than my own had ever been, and James was more my brother than my real brother ever was. And Peter took him from me.

When I escaped Azkaban I did the exact same thing I did on the night they died. I let my anger and need for revenge overpower my commitment to you. Actually, I'm not sure whether I did it again or if I just never stopped. It was always Peter, even in Azkaban. I could have escaped years ago, I think. It wasn't particularly hard now that I think about it. There was never anything stopping me that wasn't there when I escaped. But I didn't know where Peter was, so what was the point? I didn't think about you near as much as I did Peter, and every time I did it wasn't "I need to escape to make sure he's okay", it was taunting me for not doing what I promised James I would. Like I said, it was always about Peter.

I'm sorry. I don't really expect you to forgive me for effectively abandoning you and for putting revenge above making sure you grew up happy, even if it worked out okay in the end. I probably wouldn't forgive me and I know that James wouldn't, but he would be even angrier with me than he undoubtedly already is if I lied to you about it.

Strangely, that had made Harry trust him far more than he would have if the letter had simply said that Sirius escaped to make sure he was safe. That was what he wanted to hear and as such he would always distrust it. It wasn't a proper relationship in any shape or form, but in the space of a few letters Sirius had made him trust him more than he trusted Lupin after months. Harry wondered whether the two of them had seen each other yet.

Eventually Harry called a stop to his practising and panted to catch his breath while dummies reformed themselves and lined back up against the wall. He looked down at his bloodied, sweat soaked shirt in distaste and then made his way back through the house towards the bedrooms so he could shower. When he emerged from the shower he had resigned himself to simply casting as many spells as he had to to make it semi wearable until he got home where he could change, only to find his clothes folded neatly on the bed, perfectly clean.

"What the hell?" he murmured as he tried to remember if there was a cleaner that he had somehow forgotten about. "Who did this?"

There was a loud crack, and then Dobby appeared in the door way, still dressed in a ripped pillowcase and hopping from foot to foot excitedly. Well, hopping was probably not the right word. It was more like he was slowly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and even that looked difficult for him. In fact, the elf looked rather ill. His skin had faded to a dull grey, his eyes looked to be slightly clouded and his ears drooped listlessly against his head. He looked to have aged decades since the end of last year.

"I did, Harry Potter sir," Dobby rasped with a tired yet cheerful smile on his face.

"Dobby? What are you doing here?"

"Dobby be's here to help, Harry Potter sir, but if Harry Potter sir wants us to leave Dobby shall," he said, and somehow his ears seemed to droop even more.

"No, no, it's fine," Harry said quickly. He certainly didn't want Dobby bashing his head against the wall again; in his current state he might not survive it. "It's just that you look quite sick, Dobby."

"Oh no, Harry Potter sir, Dobby is well," he said, only to immediately start coughing.

"Dobby…"

The elf stayed silent for long moments, staring down at his bare feet and clutching his arms against his chest.

"Dobby needs magic, Harry Potter sir," the elf admitted quietly.

Harry was frankly baffled by that sentence. He needed magic? He was a house elf! He'd seen him levitating things through the air. He already had magic!

"What do you mean, Dobby?"

Dobby looked rather pained at the question, his hunched back hunching even more.

"We house elves don't have our own magic, Harry Potter sir. We rely on the magic of our masters and our homes. We can't survive without it. We work for our masters, and we get magic in return. Dobby has no master."

Guilt washed over him. He wished he'd known that before he tricked Malfoy into freeing him. He could have killed him by trying to help!

"Would you like me to be your master?" Harry asked, despite the fact that he wasn't entirely keen on being someone's master, nor was he entirely sure on what he would do with a house elf.

Dobby's eyes lit up as he nodded enthusiastically, or as enthusiastically as his current condition would allow, and hobbled forwards to grab onto Harry's hand. He pressed it to his forehead and started murmuring in a strange, ancient language. To Harry's ears it sounded like Dobby had practised it so many times he could recite it in his sleep.

When finally Dobby stopped murmuring, Harry felt a sudden pulse run up his arm and into his chest, and then a second later another, louder pulse echo back down. Dobby let go, his eyes brimming with happy tears and a hint of colour already beginning to seep back into his skin.

Harry was amazed by the fact that he seemed almost euphoric to have become a slave once more. The whole relationship between humans and house elves reeked of a curse cast by wizards in ages past, but really there was nothing he could do. It was just yet another reminder that magic was not the pure, beautiful thing he had thought it was when he first learned of its existence.

"Now, Dobby, I'm not entirely sure how you're supposed to treat a house elf, so if I offend you or something let me know." Dobby looked ready to burst into tears and Harry determinedly carried on. "First off, take some time to get better. There's not going to be much for you to do around here anyway, especially once I'm back at Hogwarts so it would probably best if you work with the other Hogwarts elves for now. It would be nice if you help out around my aunt's house as well as long as you're not seen. We'll also have to get you some nicer clothes. Not to free you or anything," he said quickly when Dobby's lip started to tremble, "but if you're wearing that, how does that reflect on me as your master? I'd look as bad as Malfoy."

Dobby looked utterly horrified at the thought of the 'great Harry Potter' ever being considered in the same breath as Lucius Malfoy.

"Right then," Harry said as he looked down at the towel that was still wrapped around his waist, "why don't you go rest then Dobby. That way you can start work sooner."

Dobby nodded furiously and disappeared with a crack, allowing Harry to finally get dressed as he tried to decide whether he should have sent him to Neville or Susan instead. He'd never visited but he knew that both families owned entire estates. There would surely be more for Dobby to do there.

He forced the thought from his head; what was done was done, and he had no doubt that freeing Dobby so that he could go and work for one of his friends would break the elf's heart. It would be unnecessarily cruel; he was sure he could find something for Dobby to do.

He was rather thankful that he was keyed into the wards as he looked out at the rain was pelting the windows before he closed his eyes, concentrated on the dingy little alley down the road from his house and twisted. The stench of rotting rubbish assaulted his nose immediately and Harry quickly left the alley, though he was smiling to himself even despite the burning in his nostrils. Apparition was terribly easy; he had no idea why you had to be seventeen to get a licence.

He was in a rather good mood when he let himself into his house, fully intent on making himself a bagel and watching a DVD. Or at least he was until he noticed his aunt sat on the sofa with uncharacteristic stiffness, even for her. The look she gave him made it quite clear that she was displeased with him, but he was far more concentrated on the woman sat opposite her.

"Madam Bones," he said cautiously, "what brings you here?"

"Why don't you sit down Harry?"

It took considerable effort not to tell her to just spit it out but he nonetheless sat down next to his aunt. Madam Bones stayed silent for a few seconds as she watched him, and the look in her eyes gave Harry a distinctly uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"Peter Pettigrew escaped."

His expression was instantly wiped clean as it and every other sinew of his body seemed to stiffen. Madam Bones frowned as he continued to sit there, completely and utterly motionless. Not even his eyes moved as he stared at a point just over her left shoulder, and he stayed that way for several long seconds, not moving a muscle. In fact, he seemed to do the opposite. The leaves she could see swaying in the wind outside seemed to freeze in place, and his aunt's nervous wringing of her hands seemed suddenly much faster in comparison to his unnerving stillness.

"Escaped?" he asked quietly.

"He was moved from his cell to another one for inspection. Standard procedure to look for contraband that's been smuggled in, runes that they've tried to scratch into the walls and the like. The aurors put him in the wrong cell, one without wards preventing the animagus transformation. When they came back to return him to his cell he was gone."

"And the aurors who let him out?"

"Gone. They both cleared out their Gringotts vaults and disappeared. Untraceable portkeys."

Harry let out a low, hissing breath. Madam Bones would never say that she was scared – he was a thirteen year old boy – but if it were a man twice his age who was radiating the aura he was, that simultaneously burned and froze her skin even despite his flat expression, she had no shame in admitting to herself that she would be.

"And Sirius?" he asked.

"He will still have his trial at the Wizengamot session on the 26th. Despite Fudge managing to keep it out of the papers the news of Pettigrew's capture has spread quickly through the Ministry, so it should go in his favour. I'm going to have to smuggle him in somehow though; Fudge is refusing to remove the Kiss on Sight order."

"Malfoy."

Madam Bones nodded.

"I'm going to be there. I'll smuggle him in under my invisibility cloak and let him reveal himself when the time's right."

Madam Bones nodded again. It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and it was as good a plan as any she had come up with. It would be much easier if he could simply floo into the Wizengamot offices of either her or the Longbottom family, but unfortunately all such floos were heavily monitored.

There was a heavy silence until Madam Bones finally stood up and somewhat uncomfortably smoothed down her black business suit.

"That's all I came to tell you. I'm not sure if you get the Prophet here, but either way I thought it best you not find out from a newspaper."

Harry inclined his head slightly.

"Thank you for coming," Petunia said when it became clear Harry had no intention of speaking.

While his aunt led Madam Bones out, Harry took the opportunity to retreat to his room and cast a few locking charms behind him. He had no doubt that his aunt would want to talk to him about however much Madam Bones had told her about his time at Hogwarts, but he was far from being in the right frame of mind for any kind of discussion. He could feel things coiling in his gut, and he snatched a piece of parchment from his desk and started scribbling a letter to Sirius to tell what was going to happen on the day of the Wizengamot session.

He tied the letter to Charlie's leg and watched him swoop out the window with a chirp, and then he sat heavily onto his bed. He'd let Pettigrew live and now the rat had been set free. There would be no justice, no fair punishment. Peter Pettigrew was now free to disappear into the muggle world or flee the country and live happily ever after, or even crawl back into the service of his master. And all because he'd showed mercy.

He should have killed him. Slowly, painfully, just like the snivelling coward deserved. The only reason he hadn't was because doing so could have condemned an innocent man back to Azkaban. But he still should have killed him. A dead Pettigrew was better than no Pettigrew at all. Mercy was a mistake. A weakness. Mercy may have just doomed Sirius to Azkaban again.

~Scene Change~

As he had expected, Aunt Petunia had been none too pleased with him. Harry thanked God that Madam Bones had only spoke about the events of the past term without mentioning anything about his second year. Aunt Petunia had been angry enough as it was as she scolded him for not telling her that there was a man out to kill him, even if that turned out to be false, and she'd only become angrier when he said that he didn't want to worry her when there was nothing she could do about it anyway. Apparently worrying about him was "part of her job description". He could only imagine if she found out that he'd nearly died last year.

Thankfully, she had calmed down by the time dawn broke on Christmas day. They sat in their pyjamas and opened their presents, stuffed themselves with turkey and Christmas pudding while Harry tried his very best to explain complex runes to his aunt. It was clear she didn't understand a word of what he was saying, but she still sat there and listened to him chatter anyway. They pulled crackers and watched the Queen's speech on television, he and Dudley speculating the whole time on how long before she finally kicked the bucket while Aunt Petunia hissed at them to be quiet.

It had been a very nice day, Harry thought to himself as he curled up on the sofa watching yet another movie, which was all that ever seemed to be on the TV at Christmas. He liked all his presents and he liked watching Dudley and Aunt Petunia open the ones he got for them. He liked the food and the happy smiles and the sense of family that Christmas always brought, but there had always been a buzzing in the back of his head that had made even Dudley's gleeful grin of thanks a little dimmer.

Peter Pettigrew was still free.

The next day, Harry woke up early and dressed himself in his best robes, frowning at the way they flapped around his ankles every time he took a step. He didn't like robes and didn't wear them when possible but they were a must for today. The Wizengamot was filled almost entirely with purebloods and he knew that many of them would look down on him if he arrived in slacks and button-up shirt.

Thankfully it was early enough that no one was awake to see him or his strange clothing quickly slip into an alley a little way down the road or to hear the echoing crack as he disappeared. He reappeared in a luckily empty square in front of a decrepit old house, it's black paint peeling and puddles of water shimmering on its front steps as the streetlights flickered. With a final glance for anyone watching he walked up to the door, and as his foot touched the first step he felt wards drip down his skin, cool magic assessing him until, a split second later, the feeling disappeared.

The knocker was a silver snake, and as he rapped it against the door he almost expected it's shining coils to strike out at him. A few seconds later the door swung slowly open, creaking all the while, and Harry peered round the edge. He had been expecting the very definition of opulence even despite the peeling exterior – this was the Black house, after all – but instead the hall the door swung open into was gloomy and filled with cobwebs that glimmered in the light cast from dull silver gas lamps. On one wall was a huge curtain that rustled angrily and by the door was an umbrella stand that looked suspiciously like a troll's leg, and next to it stood a house elf.

It was incredibly old, even older than Dobby had looked a few days before, with grey skin that seemed to drip and melt from hunched bones. It glared up at him with bloodshot eyes, muttering all the while about half-bloods and disgraces to his mistress.

"Harry!" Sirius said as he bounded down the stairs.

A little colour seemed to have returned to his skin even if his eyes retained the same haunted look, and his teeth were no longer yellow and rotten. He was still skinny but no longer to the point that Harry wondered how he was still alive, even if the glossy black robes that hung off him only served to highlight just how skinny he was. Sirius looked about to hug him before he stopped himself at the last second and gripped him tightly on the shoulder.

"Hi Sirius. How was your Christmas?"

Sirius gave a grin that was far too enthusiastic to be real, and now that he was closer Harry could smell firewhiskey on his breath.

"It was great. Much better than the last twelve, let me tell you. Moony came round and even Kreacher's abysmal cooking couldn't ruin it. I reckon he did it on purpose, the little bastard."

The elf – Kreacher, he assumed – looked up at Sirius hatefully.

"Oh, what would my mistress say," he croaked, "if she saw blood traitor master and a half breed in her house? A disgrace to the House of Black. Yes, yes…"

Sirius returned Kreacher's glare in equal measure as the elf hobbled away.

"Ignore him. He would have bred with my mother if he could have," Sirius said with a shudder. "Anyway, how did you like your present?"

Sirius and Lupin had given him a joint present – a handwritten book of all the pranks the Marauders ever pulled. There were even some specially designed prank spells in the later pages. He wasn't much of a prankster so most of the large scale pranks the Marauders pulled weren't of much use to him, but his dad had still written in it. The only downside was that Pettigrew had written in it too; he was strangely angry that Pettigrew's handwriting was neater than his dad's.

"I love it. I couldn't help but notice there were plenty of mentions of Snape," Harry said with a slight smirk as Sirius led him into a sitting room that looked marginally cleaner than the hallway.

"Snivellus gave as good as he got, trust me. I lost count of how many times he tried to curse James. I can't believe the greasy little bastard is a professor."

"Why did Snape hate you all so much? I've seen the looks he gave you in Lupin's memories, especially my dad."

Sirius frowned ever so slightly.

"A few reasons, I think. It all started on the express before we even got to Hogwarts. Me and James were taking Moony and the rat to meet a few kids we'd known as we grew up – pureblood circles are mostly full of dicks, but these ones were pretty tolerable. Snape and Lily were both wandering through the train – they were friends, grew up in the same neighbourhood – and James tried to talk to Lily. This was long before James developed his obsession with her, so there was nothing weird or anything. Standard 'hello, my name is blah blah blah' stuff, but Snape didn't like it at all. Started insulting James, everything from his hair to his family heritage. After that James hated Snape with a passion, and Snape hated him right back."

Harry paid very little attention to anything past finding out that his mother had been friends with the man who seemed to loathe him with every fibre of his being.

"My mum was friends with him?"

Sirius laughed at the sheer horror in his voice.

"Yep. It used to drive James mad. They were close friends all the way up to fifth year when Snivellus called her a mudblood, but after that she refused to speak to or even look at him. Lily liked to pretend that he was just acting or that he was just misunderstood, but we all knew he was a junior Death Eater just like Avery and the rest of his merry little band of psychopaths. A muggleborn girl ended up in St Mungo's a few months before that after being poisoned with an absolutely awful potion, and Snape was the only one good enough at potions to brew it. No one could prove it of course, but we knew it was him. Him calling her that didn't really surprise anyone except Lily."

"He's a Death Eater? And Dumbledore hired him to teach?"

Sirius nodded. "Dumbledore claimed he'd turned spy for him, but I doubt it."

Harry doubted it too.

"I'll have to keep an eye on him," he murmured under his breath.

"How do you plan on doing that? I know you've got the cloak, but you can't exactly follow the greasy git around at all times."

Harry grinned at him, finally remembering the thing that he had been meaning to ask Sirius about for weeks.

"I'll just use the map."

"The map? Our map? You've got it? How the hell did you get it off Filch?"

Sirius looked gleeful that their prized possession had not been lost, and his grin widened even further when Harry told him how the Weasley twins had got it.

"Moony had said that they reminded him of us," Sirius said as he flicked a fake tear from his eye. "We tried the same thing but Filch is no idiot; he knew it was us. He kept it on him at all times for the rest of our time at Hogwarts, though he clearly never managed to figure out how to use it."

"How does it work? Did you map everything yourself?"

Sirius barked out a laugh.

"Yep, we spent every night for two months wandering through the corridors. We'd alternate it so that it was two of us every night; one to cast the charms and another to be the lookout. As far the more advanced stuff – you know, the footsteps and names and stuff – you'll have to ask Moony. Going by how secretive he was about it I reckon it involved some spells that would be frowned upon."

Harry sincerely doubted he would be asking Lupin about anything, even if a part of him desperately wanted to know how he'd done it. Blood magic? Soul? Magical signatures? Shoe size?

"Anyway," Sirius said as he glanced towards the silver clock on the wall, "we best be off soon if we want to get in before the crowds get there. That would make being under the cloak a little harder I'd say. You have the portkey?"

Harry nodded as he pulled a simple metal rod from his pocket.

"Best get going then," Sirius said, suddenly looking incredibly nervous as he adjusted the collar of his robes.

Harry pulled the invisibility cloak from his pocket and threw it to him, and Sirius spent a few seconds staring down at it before he threw it over his head and grabbed the back of Harry's robes.

"Activate."

Harry was extremely thankful that he managed to keep on his feet this time given that falling would likely have pulled Sirius over too. The room they had appeared in was made entirely out of polished black stone with a few fireplaces further down, and next to the door was a small desk behind which sat a bored looking wizard.

"Please vacate quickly before the next arrival," the wizard droned without even looking up from his newspaper.

Sirius let go of his robes as they walked out and into a long corridor that was slowly starting to fill with people. Several of them stared at Harry as they passed, but he ignored them with the ease of constant practise as he walked towards the golden elevators. It was lucky that Madam Bones had managed to justify giving him a portkey that carried into the Ministry proper instead of the usual portkey area – he was sure somewhere as important as the Ministry would have a way of detecting people trying to enter under invisibility cloaks.

Madam Bones had told him that the Wizengamot chambers were on level 10, but that while the sitting members would take the elevator to level 9 and then go down a flight of stairs, as he would be in the visitors section he would have to enter through the DMLE on level 2. She had assured him that no one would detect the invisibility cloak, but it was still the part of the plan that Harry was least comfortable with.

Luckily, they passed through into the mostly empty stands without trouble. The session wasn't set to begin for another half an hour so only the most enthusiastic of political reporters had arrived yet, but even then Harry doubted many more would turn up. Neville had complained about his grandmother dragging him along so much that Harry knew that Wizengamot sessions were normally dreadfully tiresome. This one wouldn't be, of course, but no one else knew that.

Harry sat down a few rows back from the front with only a seemingly empty chair separating him from the wooden steps and discreetly cast a charm to dissuade anyone from sitting in it. The wait for the session to actually start was torturous; he was tense and it was difficult to keep himself from showing it, and despite his best efforts to distract himself by looking around the room his knee was beginning to bounce in agitation.

The Wizengamot chambers were circular with walls of shining black stone ringed by polished oak stands, and at the very centre was a dark wooden chair with chains wrapped around its arms. There was a box across from the visitors section for the family members of the Wizengamot members in which he could see Susan and Neville sat whispering in low tones. They didn't look surprised to see him, and when Susan cocked her head at him Harry nodded to the empty seat next to him.

The very bottom tier of benches was for the Ministry department heads, each labelled with a silver plaque. Harry could see seats for the heads of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Department of Magical Transportation, the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, the Department of Magical Creatures, and the Department of Magical Education before the writing became too small to read. By the looks of it there was one for every department at the very least, and God only knew how many pointless departments a bureaucracy like the Ministry had. Above that were seats for the Minister, the Chief Warlock, and the scribe. Each of the department heads had one vote, the Minister two, and the Chief Warlock none as the position was supposed to be an impartial one.

Harry thought it all fair enough up to that point, but above that was a different story altogether. In fact, he thought it practically medieval. Above the Minister sat the Noble houses – families that had once done something honourable for the wider magical community and been rewarded for it. Once awarded the seat could not be taken away except by unanimous decision of the entire Wizengamot, even if they had been given the seat centuries ago and the family had been awful ever since. Above that was the Ancient houses, whose only virtue was being able to trace their magical lineage back a certain number of generations, and the final tier was for the Ancient and Noble houses, who had the good luck to be both. Noble houses had two votes, Ancient houses three, and Ancient and Noble houses had five votes. Five! The opinion of a fool was not worth five times that of someone with enough intelligence to be given a department head position simply because their family happened to be old and one of their ancestors happened to have done something impressive.

What rankled was that they claimed that it was a fair setup. When muggleborns, half-bloods and purebloods alike had tried to change the system, they had been told that it all balanced out. The nobles were far outnumbered by the department heads, so really the votes would always follow what the common folk wanted. That was true, technically, but who chose who would be promoted into a position that was attached to a Wizengamot seat? And more than that, how hard would it really be for a wealthy wizard from an old family to effectively buy that seat? It was an unfortunate fact in all governments that money talks far louder than words or morals ever could. The protests of the common population were nothing more than whispers to the men who sat atop towers of gold and silver.

Eventually the Wizengamot members were lead in with Dumbledore and Minister Fudge leading the procession, each of them dressed in plum robes with a stylised W embroidered in gold over the breast. They silently took their seats, and Harry shared a small nod with Madam Bones. Surprise flickered over Dumbledore's face when he noticed him.

"I do hereby call this meeting of the Wizengamot to order," Dumbledore's voice echoed around the chamber. "As always, any urgent business shall be addressed first."

A murmur ran around the room when Madam Bones stood up, but none looked particularly surprised.

"As many of you will have heard," she started, "Peter Pettigrew was recently captured at Hogwarts. His arm held the Dark Mark, and under preliminary questioning it was found that he has spent the years since his disappearance hiding in his animagus form in a wizarding household. He confessed to framing Sirius Black for the betrayal of the Potter family and the murder of twelve muggles on November 3rd 1981."

"And where is he now?" a pale, skinny man asked smoothly. "I'm sure the members of this body would like to hear these confessions from the man's own lips."

"He escaped three days ago."

There was another murmur, this one much louder than the first. Harry could hear doubts creeping in around him. Mutters of whether Pettigrew had even been captured at all, or whether it was simply some sort of conspiracy to clear Sirius Black of his crimes.

Harry felt like screaming. Clearly he had overestimated the intelligence of the average witch or wizard. He had assumed that as soon as Pettigrew disappeared under shady circumstances that everyone would look to the man who most profited from his disappearance – Malfoy. But they hadn't, and instead were acting as if Pettigrew had never been caught at all simply because they hadn't seen his picture in the newspaper.

Harry was sure he saw a smirk ghost across Malfoy's face before it faded into barely-concealed smugness. He wasn't even bothering to hide his satisfaction, so sure in his immunity and his power. Harry glared at him.

"However," Madam Bones continued, "these events led me to review the case files for one Sirius Orion Black. It was empty but for two arrests – one for public intoxication, another for public nudity-"

Harry could feel Sirius shaking with silent laughter beside him.

"-but there was nothing else. No arrest report for the deaths of Peter Pettigrew or the twelve muggles killed, and no record of a trial ever taking place."

"He didn't need one," a man with a pencil moustache insisted, "we knew he was guilty."

A grey haired man snorted loudly, and appeared completely unsurprised when every pair of eyes turned to look at him.

"Sorry," he said, "but I'm not likely to trust you about issues of guilt when you didn't even realise your own son was a Death Eater."

Crouch looked murderous, and he only became angrier when several people voiced their agreement.

"I would like to move to revoke the Kiss on Sight order on Sirius Black so that he may be given a trial upon capture," Madam Bones said.

There was an outburst of challenges led by Malfoy and Fudge, and for several minutes the chamber descended into arguments that were more befitting a playground than parliament. Even Dumbledore didn't seem to be able to get them under control. Harry sighed. It seemed he would have to make a spectacle of himself after all. He looked towards Dumbledore who was desperately trying to restore order until he finally looked in his direction, and Harry tapped himself on the chest with a somewhat resigned look. Dumbledore nodded before he withdrew his wand and fired off a deafening boom, causing the heads of the arguing Wizengamot members to whip around to look at him while he smiled benignly out at them.

"I feel that Mr Potter ought to be given a chance to speak. It is, after all, him that was most affected by Sirius Black's alleged crimes."

There were again challenges from Malfoy and his followers, arguing about what was proper protocol or other such nonsense, but they were drowned out by agreements from the majority of the body. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, after all. Such a figure surely deserved a say. It was the first time Harry had ever been anything even approaching thankful for that title.

Harry swallowed before he spoke, trying to remember the words he had spent several hours planning just in case. He could see Susan and Neville giving him encouraging smiles from their seats opposite him. He was used to having people stare at him, but not when they were expecting him to say something profound or intelligent as well.

"I was the one who found Pettigrew. He betrayed my parents. I know exactly what he did and how he did it, but as you've already heard what matters about that I won't repeat it. So let's concentrate on Sirius Black. An innocent man thrown in Azkaban for twelve years without a trial to suffer through hell on earth. And it happened to Sirius Black, the heir of arguably the most powerful family in Wizarding Britain. If they can do that to him, then they can certainly do it to you. And if you allow this precedent to be set, they have no reason not to do so."

Murmurs and mutters washed across the stands as he sat back down, wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers while his heart hammered in his chest. An invisible hand patted him on the knee. Some were looking at him appraisingly, Dumbledore and Madam Bones included, and when the motion was finally voted on many of those that argued against it just minutes before voted in support. Behind his still erratic breathing, Harry was inordinately pleased by the way that Malfoy was glaring at him.

"The motion has passed," Dumbledore said, looking rather pleased, "the Kiss on Sight order for Sirius Orion Black is hereby revoked. He is to be captured alive and to be given a fair trial. Now, if there is nothing else…"

"Actually," a disembodied voice said from beside him, and Harry fought the urge to groan, "I think we should just get it out of the way now."

And with that, Sirius threw the invisibility cloak off and skipped down the steps to furious uproar. Madam Bones' eye seemed to twitch. Harry could understand how she felt; he knew about Sirius's drama queen tendencies from Lupin's memories but he had hoped he would manage to control them today, or at the very least that his nerves would dull them. He had been hoping that Sirius would be – for lack of a better word – serious. Unfortunately not.

"Now now," Fudge blustered, "we ought to delay. Such an important trial requires preparations. The press will want to be here!"

"Oh do shut up Cornelius," a wrinkled old woman scowled.

Fudge seemed to forget that he was Minister under her glare and sat back down in his chair like a scolded schoolboy.

"The Minister does have a point," Malfoy said with a sickly smile on his face. "Such a trial would require extra security at least. We certainly wouldn't want anything untoward to happen."

"And I suppose it's just an added bonus that it would give you enough time to persuade people that it would be in their best interest to convict me so you can keep my seat?" Sirius asked, ignoring the wands that all the aurors present were now pointing at him.

"It's not your seat; you were disowned. The seat falls to the nearest male relative, my son Draco, and I am perfectly within my rights to act as his regent until he comes of age."

Sirius grinned up at him.

"Really? I was disowned? Thank you for telling me, Lucius. I suppose you must know something Gringotts doesn't."

The entire Wizengamot sucked in a collective breath. The entire international wizarding community had been working under the assumption that Draco Malfoy would be the head of the Black family, a 'fact' that Lucius Malfoy had been spreading for years. Lucius Malfoy losing the Black seat was huge, and him losing access to every business, associate and alliance the Black family held was even bigger. Everyone knew that issues of inheritance were decided by Gringotts, but was Sirius bluffing?

Malfoy was pale in a mixture of fear and rage, but another boom echoed from Dumbledore's wand before any more words could be said.

"Enough," Dumbledore said, looking for all the world as if he was simply discipling a few unruly students. "It has been agreed that Sirius Black is to be given a trial. I see no reason to delay, unless the DMLE would like time to gather additional evidence?"

Madam Bones shook her head.

"Then we shall proceed. Auror Shacklebolt, Auror Dawlish, please escort Mr Black to the defendants chair."

Grinning, Sirius held both his wrists out as they approached. Harry recognised one of them as the auror who had tried to curse him when he crawled out of the Whomping Willow; Dawlish, according to his name badge. He continued to throw wary glances at him over his shoulder even after they had slapped large metal cuffs onto Sirius's wrists and quickly led him through the stands towards a small door at the far side of the visitors gallery. All the while Harry could hear Sirius whistling cheerfully, and he didn't stop whistling until he came to the chair at the centre of the room.

"Just a moment gentlemen. I don't suppose one of you would be willing to roll up my sleeves?"

Dawlish looked ready to start casting detection charms in case it was some sort of trap, but Shacklebolt simply flicked his wand to send Sirius's sleeves crawling up his unmarked arms.

"He must have hidden it!" shouted a man who reminded Harry of an older, uglier version of Vincent Crabbe.

Harry groaned.

"If the Dark Mark could be hidden," Sirius said slowly, as if he were talking to a particularly stupid child, "don't you think everyone would have done it? It would have saved some of those in this chamber a great deal of gold."

He smiled cheerfully at Malfoy while he spoke, a fact which only seemed to infuriate the man further. The older Crabbe seemed to shrink at the glares he received, and even then he was twice the size of the average man.

"How will we know that he's telling the truth?" an elderly witch asked as Sirius sat down in the chair and chains immediately coiled around his arms. "He might be able to resist veritaserum."

"After such prolonged exposure to dementors it is massively unlikely for him to have that ability, Lady Ogden," Dumbledore said, "but if necessary I believe it would be agreeable for an impartial Legilimens to determine the accuracy of his statements?"

The witch nodded, and a few minutes later a man in a hooded black robe entered the chamber. An Unspeakable? Harry half hoped he stuck around so that he could ask about the Department of Mysteries. God only knew what sort of experiments they did down there. The man stood in front of Sirius with his hands clasped behind his back, and even Sirius's cheerfulness seemed to deflate in the face of the man's shadowed stare.

A blank, glossy expression spread over Sirius's face when Shacklebolt placed three drops of veritaserum on his tongue, and after he was sure that the potion had taken full effect he nodded at Madam Bones.

"What is your full name?"

"Sirius Orion Black," Sirius replied in a monotone.

"When were you born?"

"November 3rd 1959."

"Were you ever in the service of the wizard known as Lord Voldemort in any capacity?"

"No."

"Did you ever consider it?"

"No."

"Who was the Potter family's secret keeper?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Who was responsible for the deaths of twelve muggles on November 3rd 1981?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

Madam Bones turned to look at the Unspeakable.

"Was he telling the truth?"

"Yes," the man said in much the same monotone that Sirius had been speaking in, and with that he strode out of the room.

That was not the end of things, of course. Some still insisted that he was lying, though that seemed to be limited to a few dim-witted individuals that bore resemblances to several students Harry vaguely remembered from school, most of which sucked up to Malfoy. Harry wondered whether they would continue to do so after this. There was testimony from several aurors as well, including from Madam Bones herself, but everyone knew that it was simply a formality. Dotting the i's and crossing the t's.

When the innocent verdict was finally delivered the applause was muted and echoed pathetically around the room. Having a Black in the world after he had just spent over a decade in Azkaban was a worry for even the most liberal of the Wizengamot members, and the more conservative members were far more focussed on the fact that their de-facto leader may have just lost a huge chunk of his power. Unsurprisingly, Sirius didn't seem to care as he skipped back up the steps.

"Come on Harry," he said, grinning from ear to ear, "lets get out of here. Dreadfully boring these things, trust me."

Harry nodded quickly and followed Sirius up the steps towards the exit. He had no desire to hear about cauldron thickness or flying carpet regulations or any of the other horror stories Neville and Susan had moaned about.

Sirius paused on the last step.

"Oh and Malfoy," he said, "if I hear about you contacting any associate, alliance, business, or goddamned house elf that is any way connected to the House of Black then we will be having words."

The smile on his face reminded Harry of that night in the shrieking shack. It was all teeth, with hints of madness bleeding from the corners. Malfoy nodded stiffly, and with that Sirius's smile became cheerful again before he turned and continued on his way.

Harry shrugged towards the family box before he followed after Sirius as he waited impatiently a few steps through the door. Sirius seemed completely unbothered by the aurors as they wandered through the DMLE offices, not even when they raised shaky wands before Aurors Shacklebolt and Dawlish managed to tell them that he'd just been exonerated. Dawlish was glaring at him the whole time, but Shacklebolt didn't look at all surprised. Apparently he had been a Gryffindor the year above Sirius and so was well aware of Sirius Black's troublemaking tendencies.

Sirius chatted away about just about anything that entered his mind as they walked. That Malfoy having control of the Black seat was unlawful because Draco had never been officially named the heir thanks to a loophole the goblins had found and used simply because they thought Malfoy was pompous. If he had acted a little more nicely Sirius was sure they would have let Draco be named the heir. It certainly wasn't because they liked him, he said, and then he started talking about a visit to Gringotts with his father where he had accidentally insulted the goblins. That led him onto ranting about his parents and their demented house elf, telling stories of his mother's dinner parties and how he'd done his best to ruin them.

Harry thought it strange that he could be so carefree after spending twelve years in Azkaban. He wondered if this cheerful attitude was an act, or maybe a coping mechanism or a way to pretend he had never been thrown in there in the first place. Or maybe it was just giddy relief. He couldn't work it out, but he certainly wasn't going to ask.

Then Sirius started asking about his aunt and about Dudley, about his muggle friends and what muggle school was like. It was clear that he wanted to meet Aunt Petunia now that he was a free man, although when Harry actually asked if that was what he wanted he denied it.

"Of course not Harry. You've only known me a little over two weeks. It's much too soon for me to go barging into your life."

It was a lie and a bad one, so Harry decided to just get it out of the way now. Aunt Petunia had expressed interest in meeting Sirius as well, even if it was for no other reason than to determine his suitability to be anywhere near her nephew, and he knew that neither would be particularly happy if they had to wait until summer. His aunt would worry that Sirius Black was somehow corrupting him, and Sirius would likely feel like he was being kept separate. Like he didn't trust him or something. And he did trust him, even if he didn't quite understand why he did so quickly.

Sirius practically bounded through the floo when Harry said they could go and see his aunt, and as soon as Harry stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron's floo Sirius led him out into the muggle street. He had transfigured his robes into jeans, a tee-shirt and a jacket while he waited for Harry to tumble from the floo, even if they looked a little silkier than they should. Sirius was grumbling about poorly suited wands as they picked their way down the street to somewhere quieter where Sirius said he would summon something called the Knight Bus. Harry had no idea what that was but kept quiet, figuring that Sirius assumed that was how he had got to Grimmauld Place that morning. He wasn't quite ready to admit that he had been illegally apparating, especially given that he had ignored the warnings about always learning where there is someone close by to reattach splinched limbs. He doubted Sirius would be pleased, and Aunt Petunia would be even less so if she found out.

The Knight Bus was a horrible, evil, utterly awful contraption, and when it finally lurched to a stop outside his aunt's house Harry didn't think he'd ever be so glad to step off of something even if he stood on a landmine. Sirius at least tried to look sympathetic, even if the expression was ruined by the chuckles that escaped him.

Harry led Sirius up the path towards the front door, but they didn't even reach it before it flew open.

"Hello Harry," Aunt Petunia said, her arms crossed as she stood in the doorway, "Dudley is up in his room. He wanted to show you something – something about his new computer game I believe. Why don't you go and see what he wants while Mr Black and I have tea in the kitchen?"

Sirius looked like a deer in headlights, and Harry almost laughed as he continued up the path.

"He did get found innocent by the way," Harry whispered as he slipped past her, "so your worries about him are unfounded."

"That is yet to be seen."

Sirius gulped. The look she was levelling him with was just like the ones his mother had given him before he started Hogwarts when he damaged something or otherwise caused trouble. He followed her towards the kitchen like a man being led to the gallows, a fact that thoroughly amused Harry as he walked up the stairs towards Dudley's room. Really, Aunt Petunia wasn't that scary.

When Harry and Dudley eventually came back downstairs, both were half expecting to see Petunia sat at the table alone having kicked Sirius out long ago, or maybe to see her glaring at him in disapproval, or maybe even to find Sirius in a stew of some sort. Actually, the opposite was true. They seemed to be chatting quite happily, and Petunia was telling Sirius about life in the muggle world when they noticed the two boys in the corridor.

"Hello boys," Aunt Petunia said as she pushed herself from the table, "I assume you're hungry?"

Dudley nodded, unsurprisingly, and Petunia swept about the kitchen throwing eggs and bacon into pans. Sirius gave Harry a strangely sharp look when her back was turned, and Harry wondered what exactly he had done.

Sirius and his aunt talked for another couple of hours, and by the time Sirius left with another vaguely disapproving look Harry was still no closer to figuring out what he'd done. He wasn't overly concerned – Sirius would tell him when he felt like it, and as he was waiting it couldn't be that bad – but he honestly couldn't think of anything he'd done wrong. Unless Aunt Petunia had told him that he'd been doing magic outside of Hogwarts, which was technically illegal even though his wand didn't have the trace. But then he didn't think Sirius one to care about such regulations. In fact, he was willing to bet that Sirius would have done exactly what he had if the roles were reversed.

The next day Sirius arrived on the doorstep and asked Aunt Petunia to let them accompany him to the nearby video-store. Lily Potter had apparently convinced the marauders to floo into muggle London during Hogsmeade weekends to visit the cinema, sparking a love for movies in both him and James. Seeing as he had spent the last twelve years in prison he wanted help picking out the best things to watch.

Aunt Petunia agreed without hesitation. Both Harry and Dudley gave a token protest that they really wouldn't know much about the 15 rated films, and certainly not those that were rated 18. She had given them a knowing look and immediately sent them on their way.

"That explains where half our films went," Dudley muttered as Sirius led them along the road towards the very same alley that Harry used to apparate.

Unfortunately Dudley reacted rather violently to apparition, so much so that Sirius vanished his now vomit covered shoes and conjured a new pair instead of trying to use cleaning charms.

"It's because I'm muggle," Dudley slurred as he wiped his face with a conjured napkin, "that the only reason. You're both fine because you're wizards."

Harry ignored Sirius's suspicious look as they left the alley they had appeared in and wandered into the video-store. Dudley immediately disappeared into the shelves but Harry hung back a second, pretending to look through a shelf filled with musicals.

"Sirius?" Harry asked once he was sure Dudley was out of earshot, "why are you annoyed with me?"

"What are you talking about? I'm not annoyed."

Harry just looked at him.

"Alright, but annoyed is the wrong word," Sirius finally said with a sigh. "Disappointed, disapproving. They're more accurate descriptions."

"But why?" Harry asked, honestly with no idea why Sirius would be disapproving. He hadn't done anything since they found Pettigrew for him to disapprove of. Unless it was something before that? Had Lupin said something?

"Because you lied to your aunt. You told her that nothing happened in your second year, when it was actually the worst so far. Which, I've got to say, given your track record is saying something! Moony told me everything that happened. You nearly died on more than one occasion and on one of them you were right on the edge, and yet your aunt doesn't know about it because you lied to her about it."

Harry frowned, mentally damning the name Remus Lupin to the very depths of Hell. Really, why was he spouting off about it to anyone who asked? Who had told him anyway? And why did Sirius decide that he needed to lecture him about it?

"You don't see anything wrong with that?" Sirius asked incredulously after a few seconds.

Harry shrugged. "Telling her wouldn't have benefitted anyone. Are you telling me you never lied to your parents?"

"That's not the same thing at all," Sirius spluttered. "My parents hated me. I had to lie to them so that they didn't punish me in some creatively awful way."

"So you did lie to your parents then. You had your reasons to lie just like I have mine. If I'd told her she would have pulled me out of Hogwarts in an instant. That wouldn't have been pretty, and it would have made everything worse regardless of who won the argument. Either way she'd have spent the rest of her life either worrying about me or trying to keep me wrapped up in cotton wool, and we'd have had a huge argument as well."

"She's your aunt, Harry. She loves you. Doesn't she deserve to know that you nearly died?"

"She deserves to not have to know."

Sirius couldn't seem to wrap his head around what he was saying. It wasn't a question of trust or of what was deserved as Sirius seemed to think it was; it was a question of kindness. It was kinder if she didn't know. Harry just hoped it stayed that way. Sirius may not have told her yet, but that didn't necessarily mean that he wouldn't. He didn't think he would, though.