LI

He felt like a Genin all over again.

This detention was menial labor, and for the first time since the school year had started, Kakashi was doing something that seemed familiar to him. When he graduated from the academy, it had been the last months of the Second Shinobi War. A bloody and unforgiving time. He still remembered it well. His father had been at the front constantly, without pause, as were most shinobi. It left Konoha itself understaffed. As a young Genin, the Hokage was reluctant to send Kakashi to the battlefield quite yet. Instead, he'd been given many D- and C-Rank missions, helping in the facilities in Konoha, carrying messages from one place to the next, or repairing damage from battles that had spilled into the Land of Fire.

Among his most common missions was support work in the hospital to relieve the overworked medical staff. He had hardly picked up any medical ninjutsu, but he had learned how to change bandages, stitch wounds, clean beds, archive medical data, and among many other things, how to clean bedpans.

Kakashi worked fast and efficiently. If he could get this done in a few minutes, why would he stick around for longer than necessary? Doubtlessly, Snape had intended for this detention to fill their evening, but Kakashi had more important things to do.

Ron just finished his pile of pans and turned to take the next stack when he stopped with a surprised whistle. "You're already done?"

Kakashi rinsed his hands to the elbows in water and soap. It foamed on his skin. One of those scented types. The whole castle was full of aromatic soaps; this one smelled of daisies, a flowery scent that didn't fit the wet autumn weather outside. It made his nose itch. He'd much rather prefer to have neutral soaps. For a normal human the fragrance would be nice and subtle, he assumed, but to him, it made him almost nauseous.

"Awesome," Ron grinned. "I bet the old bat thought we'd be occupied for the whole night, huh?" He stood next to Kakashi to clean his hands too. When he shoved his hands under running water, some of it sprayed and hit Kakashi's cloak. "What're the chances, he even used them himself, just so we would have something to clean?" Ron joked, flicking a thumb at the mounting stack of clean pans on Kakashi's side. "There are barely any patients in here."

He was right. There were only three girls from the same Ravenclaw fifth-year class and a first-year Slytherin. Kakashi had no idea how they were injured, but none of them looked sick enough that they wouldn't be able to walk to the toilet. He had long decided not to think about it.

"But with you, we were super fast." Ron slapped a hand on Kakashi's shoulder. It was still dripping and left a wet handprint on the cloth of Kakashi's cloak.

"We should tell Madam Pomfrey, that we're done," Kakashi said. Only she could send them back to their common rooms or decide whether they ought to do something else since they hadn't taken as long as Snape would have assumed.

"Right," Ron immediately turned to Pomfrey's office to tell her that they were finished. When she came out to inspect their work, she was clearly surprised by their progress. She checked one of Ron's pans then three of Kakashi's to make sure they were indeed spotless.

Kakashi bristled a bit. He was a Jonin and hadn't needed anybody to check his work for these easy tasks even back when he was a Genin.

"You were fast," Madam Pomfrey said. Her eyes searched the same pan front and back for the second time, now. She twisted the utensil in her hand, eager to find an explanation for their work speed. Seriously… Did nobody ever put their all into their jobs here, or why would she expect people to take so long to clean a few bedpans?

"Is there anything wrong with it?" He asked directly.

"No," she shook her head and finally put the pan down. "It looks good."

Ron's sigh of relief was easily audible. He perked up when both Madam Pomfrey and Kakashi turned to him. "So, can we go?"

"I'm not sure." Uncertain, Madam Pomfrey looked between the boys. "Professor Snape told me you're supposed to stay and help me for an hour every evening this week."

Ron's face fell in disappointment. "He only told me that we'd have to clean the bedpans. We did that!" He gestured to the small stack that he cleaned himself. "He said nothing about a timeframe."

"How about the two of you stay here for the rest of the hour? You can do your homework if you want. Then I let you go as soon as the hour is over." Madam Pomfrey pointed up at the hourglass next to her office door.

Though Kakashi thought it was a fair offer, Ron didn't look very happy. He complained and tried to convince Madam Pomfrey otherwise, but then he just dragged his school bag after Kakashi and sat opposite him at the only unused table in the room. Most of the other tables were scattered with hospital wing utensils, books, and shiny bedpans. When Kakashi pulled his Charms book out of his bag, Ron didn't move. He sat with his elbows on the table and his chin resting in his hands, slumped like a tired sack of potatoes.

At first, Kakashi didn't let it bother him. He started his homework but stopped again a paragraph into explaining the general machinations of movement-based charms focusing on the Carpe Retractum when he had to put his quill down to glare at Ron.

"Don't you have anything to do?" he asked mildly annoyed because the other boy staring at him didn't help his concentration. The fact that he was squinting at Kakashi's page, cocking his head so he could read the upside-down letters, didn't make it any better.

"I already did Charms," Ron said. He pointed at Kakashi's writing. "Are you sure you got that right? What's that with the anchor?"

Kakashi immediately read the first sentences again, worried he might have explained something wrong, but he didn't see the issue. "The spell connects the caster with the target and assigns an anchor quality to one object, and the movement quality to the other. I'm pretty sure that's correct."

Ron huffed. "It just pulls things to you, mate."

"Yes," Kakashi agreed. "But it does so, by anchoring one object and pulling the other object to the anchor."

"To the caster," Ron disagreed. "The spell pulls the target to the spell caster."

He was surely wrong. "Unless the target is fixed. Then it physically can't be moved. Ergo it has to become the anchor."

Ron shook his head. "It's just an exception." His eyes moved to read Kakashi's paragraph again. He read very slowly, having considerable trouble reading the upside-down letters. "Did Flitwick tell you this?" He sounded concerned.

They had Charms together. Surely, if Professor Flitwick had said such a thing, Ron would remember it. Did he pay so little attention to his teacher? Kakashi could understand getting bored in class and not listening to every word, but not in a way that he'd later have to ask any of his classmates about what a teacher had said. "No."

"So how do you know?"

He had watched the spell be performed about a dozen times in different situations. Flitwick had been so kind to show the spell many times and though Kakashi had to fake it with chakra strings, most of their classmates were now able to perform it as well. Still, Kakashi wasn't surprised that Ron hadn't picked up on the specific machinations. Most wizards and witches – and that included even the adults – seemed perfectly happy just knowing what a spell did, even if they didn't know how it worked. Not even the creator of the spell knew, evidently, as the very name of the spell only insufficiently described what it did.

"I've watched Professor Flitwick when he used it," Kakashi answered.

Ron's brows furrowed. He clearly didn't understand. "You mean his wand movement and pronunciation."

Kakashi suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "No, that's not important. The pronunciation I mean." It seemed to him, that the wand movement served the same purpose as the hand signs. It helped channel the magic, while the hand signs helped mold of chakra, but the purpose seemed similar. With sufficient control, one would be able to greatly reduce the hand signs needed for a Jutsu, but they would always be an important factor of any Jutsu. Just like that, magic might still work with a simplification of the wand movement – he had seen the spell work even with hasty or sloppy wand work – but the movement itself was not redundant. Calling a spell out and pronouncing it correctly, however, only served to focus the mind. It seemed about as useful as yelling a Jutsu name out loud.

If Ron paid more attention to how adults handled everyday magic, he would notice, that most adults didn't need to call out a spell if they did small bits of magic. At the Halloween feast, Dumbledore had lit the entire Great Hall into candlelight without so much as a peep of whatever spell he had used.

"Tell that to Hermione," Ron snorted. "She always whacks me over the head with my pronunciation."

Kakashi had to laugh at that. Of course, she'd do that. "Did you ever look into a Latin dictionary for your pronunciation?" He had, trying to understand some aspect of this magic when it was still new to him. Then he had quickly understood that it wasn't all that important at all. "You're all doing it wrong. Even Professor Flitwick has an obvious British accent."

There was a twitch of Ron's lips. Kakashi was convinced, he'd insist on Hermione being right, then he suddenly started to laugh. "I'll tell Hermione, next time she bothers me about it. She'll hate you."

Kakashi huffed. "She already does." After short hesitation, he added, "I thought you did, too."

Ron didn't seem surprised, but he waved him off immediately. "Nah. You're alright. You got me out of scrubbing those pans for the rest of the night." He laughed but immediately got serious again. "Look, Harry is my best friend. If you hurt him, I will kill you." It was a well-meant sentiment, but Kakashi doubted Ron could kill him. It still always warmed his heart to see such comradery even if it sounded terribly naïve. "But I don't think you will. However, Harry doesn't trust you, and he's hurt. That's your fault because you lied." He shrugged. "And then you lied again. I don't know how much of what you said was true, but even if it was the truth, you must have known, that he'd never believe you."

When blue eyes met Kakashi's, for the first time, Ron was entirely serious. For that moment, Kakashi wondered if this boy could in fact kill him.

"Harry's gone through some shit. You don't know half of it. He has every right to distrust people and you're not even trying to be honest with him. You're not trying to make peace. You're just making it worse."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Kidnapping him, for example."

Kakashi blinked. He was so taken aback by the accusation, that he had to put the quill down completely before he would smear ink all over the table. He wasn't getting any homework done anyway. "Kidnapping?" He had no idea what Ron was talking about.

"On the Quidditch pitch." Ron waited for realization to show on Kakashi's face, but he waited in vain. "When you dragged him away from the team, pressed him against the dais and made it so he couldn't scream for help or defend himself."

Kakashi remembered that. "I didn't kidnap him."

"You even gave him a little knife-throwing show to intimidate him."

Now, that wasn't fair. "He asked me to show him that."

"Who runs around school armed to the teeth with knives?"

The irony of all the wizards running around with their wands, the only weapon they knew how to use, was grating. To say so out loud, Kakashi feared, wouldn't help him though. Most wizards saw their wands as an extension of themselves, a handy everyday tool rather than a weapon.

Well, to him, that was what a kunai was: a multi-purpose tool that he didn't just use in battle.

"I didn't mean to scare him." Not really… He had forced Harry to listen to him, of course. But Ron was exaggerating.

Ron shook his head, annoyed. "What then?"

"I just wanted to talk to him."

Ron huffed. "Is that how you talk to people at home? Japan-not Japan, wherever that is?"

Kakashi nodded. Surely, mutual respect and amicable politeness were preferable in a conversation, but if somebody didn't want to listen, a shinobi would find a way to make them.

"Merlin, it's got to be horrible being friends with you." It was a joke. It was an obvious joke. Both his tone and that freckled smile made no effort to hide the nature of the statement. Yet, it struck terribly close to home.

Kakashi looked at his hands. He didn't know what to say.

Ron shifted uncomfortably on his chair. "I'm sorry," he grumbled eventually. "I didn't mean it like that. It was supposed to be a joke. I'm sure you're a great friend."

He wasn't. You had to have friends to be a friend. Never mind, to be a good one.

He didn't have any friends, and those that came close to him always died. He was a harbinger of death, and he knew it too. If he wanted to be a good friend, he'd stay away from those he loved.

Maybe, he mused, it was a good thing that he was here—far away from the few people still alive that he cared for. From Guy and Naruto, the Hokage and Jiraya, Asuma and Kurenai. He had hardly any contact with them anyway, but he'd still consider them within that circle of his precious people. The village too. He loved Konoha deeply, as it was the only home he had ever known.

He was far away from them now. Maybe that was a good thing. That way he couldn't hurt them, and he couldn't hurt if they were hurt. The idea that something might happen to them in his absence was terribly painful, and he did miss them, but maybe it was still for the better that way. Compared to the knowledge that his loved ones were dead, he thought, the hope that they were fine, even if it might be an illusion, was much less painful.

Silently, he closed his inkpot and put it into his bag. He put his quill and the barely started Charms essay away, too.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked when Kakashi was already halfway out the door.

Mutely, Kakashi pointed at the hourglass. "We can go."

At that moment, the office door opened again, and Pomfrey appeared to shoo them back to their dorms. Ron came running after him immediately.

"Wait, Charlie." He stopped and chuckled. "Kakashi? What am I even supposed to call you, now?"

"Since I still go by Charlie, that would be preferable," Kakashi shrugged. He reached the stairwell and let one hand slide along the banister.

"Right. Listen, Charlie, it was a joke. You know it was a joke, right?"

"Of course." And he did. But it wasn't Ron's fault, that his joke had accurately described reality. "But you were right."

"No, I'm not." Ron's big feet smacked heavily against the ground as he came hurrying down the stairs after Kakashi. Flap, Flap! He had no grace whatsoever. "Bloody hell! Sure, I'm not a fan of how you treated Harry, but I can see how you treat Neville. He adores you."

Neville. The name made Kakashi slow down a bit. Kakashi hadn't done much for Neville. Surely, nothing for which he would deserve Neville's adoration, but Neville had grown dear to him in the last few months.

"And the Hufflepuffs. You get along well, don't you?"

Them too. He slowly started to understand the obsessive house pride of some of the Hogwarts students. He still found it a bit silly, but he couldn't deny that just by virtue of sleeping in the same room with somebody, eating at the same table, and spending classes, breaks, and evenings together, he had grown close to especially the Hufflepuff boys.

Just earlier that day, he had felt fiercely protective of Zacharias, and Zacharias wasn't even one of the boys he spent a lot of time with.

He hadn't really known this sort of bond before. With most of his teams, he hadn't bonded, selfishly seeing them as either stepping stones, or hindrances for his own career, depending on their skill. It had only been with Team Minato that he had realized his own stupidity and arrogance. But the fierce love and bond he formed with his comrades after that and even with the few ANBU teams he had worked with since then had been formed from blood and trauma. Once he allowed himself to feel, it was hard not to care for them when he held their lives in his hand every day, and when they held his.

With his classmates here, there was nothing so dramatic. The last time he had such a casual relationship with anybody had been before his father died. He could barely remember those friendships, that he had subsequently tried his hardest to destroy.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. If he hadn't been such an arrogant, selfish fool, he would've bonded with his team over Ramen and boring D-Rank missions, rather than grief and guilt.

To experience these connections forming now was a frightening thing.

He had left the few people that were still alive, and that he cared for behind in his old world. And he had formed new bonds in this new one. Even traveling through dimensions, he wouldn't be able to escape the grief of losing them.

It was a terrifying realization.

"I won't let anything happen to them." But he had failed at that before. Many times; too many times to still believe in himself. It remained little more than an empty promise.

"What?"

Kakashi hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"Who would hurt them?"

He didn't know what to say to that. Nobody, Kakashi hoped. To avoid answering the question, he hurried to get away.

"Charlie!" Ron yelled out. "Charlie, who wants to hurt them?"

Kakashi felt horribly embarrassed. "Nobody. Forget it."

"Tell me!" With two long steps, Ron ran around the corner and grabbed Kakashi at the sleeve to make him stop. "What's going on?"

Kakashi stopped. He pulled his sleeve free, then he pointed down the corridor in the opposite direction of where he was going. "Nobody. I wasn't talking about anything specific. And I think Gryffindor tower is that way."

Frustrated and impatient, Ron looked over his shoulder down the path to his common room. Kakashi used the chance to slip away while Ron wasn't looking.

The rain had been pouring down on the Shrieking Shack all day. For hours, Sirius had been stuck inside, turning in tight circles on the old wooden planks. Where he walked his endless circles, his paws had dug a swath through the dust, padded soles, and the scruffy fur of his tail polishing the wood boards until they were shiny and clean. The rest of the building remained dirty, and though he considered cleaning up, he decided against it.

Though he was out of school grounds, the Dementors were too close for comfort still, and on top of that, he had an absurd fear that somebody might search the shack and find the place neat and tidy. If they searched this place, they'd find his traces either way. His prints were clearly visible against the dust, the spot where he slept was easily distinguishable, and then there was the obvious trace where he made his unending circles. His presence was easy to detect, and at a certain point, surely, somebody like Dumbledore or McGonagall would figure out that they were looking for an Animagus if such traces were found. At this rate, he might as well clean the whole place.

And that was where the main argument why he didn't do that came in. He was tired, hungry and the weather didn't better his mood. Locked into this hut by his own fear and with the Dementors hovering nearby, the situation felt too familiar. It was Azkaban all over again, and his mental state was deteriorating accordingly. After a few months in his cell, he had stopped bothering with the cleaning etiquette in his cell as well. So why would he clean this shack?

He had hoped to latch onto the excitement and adrenaline of the night when he invaded the castle. He had planned to keep his hope close to heart, knowing that he had reached his destination and that Peter wasn't far away now. In the end, he found himself in just another prison, haunted by memories of a better time and the painful knowledge of how he had ruined everything.

All morning and all afternoon he wasted important energy walking in pointless circles. He had done so in Azkaban too. When he had any energy left at all, his dog tended to hunt his own tail; sometimes in tight circles around his own axis...sometimes in wider arcs around an empty center. He knew of these tendencies, he knew that they came from his animalistic side, he knew there was no point to them, but the longer time he spent in his Animagus form the more difficult it was to fight against it. And in truth…even as a human he tended to pace. As if a thousand steps could lead him away from this place, even if he just walked back and forth between the walls of his cell.

No…

Not the cell.

He wasn't in Azkaban.

If just for once he could walk the same thousand steps in a straight line, down the trap door, through the secret passage, he would get out of here. There were no bars keeping him in, and the Dementors didn't know where he was. There wasn't an ocean either, yet, the old earth between him and Hogwarts might as well be one.

He told himself, he would leave. He reminded himself many times that day, that he had to go to either Hogsmeade or Hogwarts to steal some food because he hadn't eaten since the early morning of the day before. He knew, if he stayed here for much longer, he would just lose what little strength he had, and then he'd starve in this place. Sirius knew all that and reminded himself of the facts whenever he felt himself forgetting again.

And yet…

The evening came and went. It got very late and dark. The weather was so bad, he was sure that nobody would be searching for him outside. The pouring rain, the thick layer of clouds, and the night would protect him from being detected.

Even knowing all that he still took hours before he dared to sneak closer to the trapdoor.

You're being ridiculous, Sirius. He told himself. What are you? A coward? You tricked the Dementors before. You can deal with them. Why did you even come here if you only want to tuck your tail in and run?

You're a Gryffindor, aren't you? Was the hat wrong and you were a coward after all?

He tried to convince himself, that he wasn't afraid.

You're not afraid. You're not afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of.

But he was. He was terribly afraid.

Still, somehow, he made it into the passageway. It was a tight tunnel, dug underground. A full-grown human would have to duck to not bang their head. For the emaciated dog, it was an easy fit, though. Down here, it smelled of moss and worms and old water. The scent of mud was strong. It overwhelmed everything else and finally granted him a sense of calm and peace.

Sirius kept his senses alert, so he could track the dementors above the surface. At one point, the tunnel was so deep, that not even the cold and ugly despair of the Dementor's breath would reach him. In that deepest part of the earth, Sirius waited for a moment, to allow the relief to sink in completely. When he surfaced again, it was a lot better. Although the presence of the Dementors close to the castle had undoubtedly increased after Sirius' failed attempt, it seemed the vast majority were still patrolling around the outer borders of school grounds. He had once again left them behind, now.

As he got closer to the exit, he looked out for light, but the night was so incredibly dark, that he couldn't even see the exit. He could smell the fresh air, though.

And then he smelled something else.

Just to the side, innocently lying between the knotted roots of the willow, there was a piece of pale off-white cloth. If it weren't for the smell, he would've thought it to just be a rag that the wind had carried here—possibly from the greenhouses, or maybe it was one of Hagrid's dishtowels. The strong meaty scent was unmistakable, though. It smelled very edible and upon closer inspection, the rag covered an unshapely package.

Cautiously and suspiciously, Sirius closed in on it. Briefly, he considered it to be a trap, but even as he came closer, he could smell no danger nor anybody lingering around to watch the package. As soon as his brain discarded the possibility, he lunged. He grabbed the rag between his fangs and dragged the whole package with him back into the protection of the tunnel.

Only, when he was already halfway back to the Shrieking Shack, did it occur to him, that it might still have been a trap. Why would anybody purposefully leave a lunch package under a tree? Never mind the person who had placed it must have known that the passage was there. Did they know he was hiding here, then? Or had they strategically placed packages, to see which one would be taken first? If that was the case, it was too late now. Even if he brought it back, he wouldn't be able to place it accurately where he had found it since he didn't remember the exact position—and he had no way to remove the traces of his fangs, either.

If it was a trap, he had fallen hook, line, and sinker.

What other explanation was there? A bully stealing somebody's lunch and hiding it where the kid wouldn't be able to reach? A dare between children about who could get closest to the stem of the Whomping Willow?

The stranger who placed it here must have known the way to calm the tree… That removed the best protection Sirius currently had, apart from his Animagus shape.

As he reached the Shrieking Shack again, he had already concluded, that it wasn't safe anymore. Still, he lingered around a little longer. Now, that he gave his position away by stealing this package, at least he wanted to know, what he had stolen.

With excited fangs, he ripped the cloth apart and revealed what looked like a miniature version of a Hogwarts dinner serving. It had been tightly wrapped, and as he opened it, a lot more things came tumbling out than he had expected.

The fragrance of the medium-rare beef steak had been all-consuming, roasted potatoes, and a mixed salad. Lastly, a piece of cherry pie. Every item was neatly separated in a rectangular lunch box. Apart from the box itself, there were two apples, a big chunk of bread, and a bottle of water.

Though saliva was already forming in his mouth, he didn't trust it quite yet. In his situation, he had nothing to treat poisoning. That would be a terrible and painful way to go. So, he sniffed the whole box, then every item individually, but he couldn't detect anything.

To Sirius, it was all very odd, but he was too hungry to keep himself from eating for long. The first few bites proved what he had already sniffed out. There was no poison. The food was cold, having been left in the November air for a while, but it tasted better than anything he'd eaten since Kakashi cooked fish for him more than two months ago.

Quickly, he chewed it all up, not allowing himself time, to savor all of it. However, he left the bottle of water, the bread, and the apples untouched. Wrapping them back into the rag, he carried it between his teeth, as he left the Shrieking Shack through a window. If this had been a trap, he shouldn't be in the shack once they started searching the place. This way, his unknown benefactor could have his lunch box back, at least.

He had no idea, who that person might be, and if he ever found out, he doubted they would be a friend. Sirius was acutely aware, that he had no allies on his side. Still, he felt grateful. He was a starving man after all, and he'd always be grateful to those who fed him.

Just before he jumped out into the rain, he perched on the windowsill, measuring the drop to the ground. He sat in the wind shadow of the Shrieking Shack with the wind carrying most of the rain past him. In that instance, just before he jumped out into the pouring storm, Sirius caught the slightest whiff of a scent he thought familiar.

He couldn't place it, immediately, though when he jumped outside, he had the memory of a boy sleeping around a simmering fire.

With the rain and the wind, the scent quickly vanished, and with it the memory.

He wished he could meet Kakashi again. That way, he could thank him and apologize for his behavior the last time they met. He also wanted to help the boy—no child should be forced to kill or fight on a battlefield—but what would he even be able to do?

Sirius knew, there was no chance this would happen. He had sent the boy away and what reason would he have to return to him? To follow him all the way to Hogwarts even. Kakashi was in London the last time, he saw him. There were people there, who could help him, Sirius hoped. People, who could help much better than Sirius could with what limited resources he had. Sirius after all, couldn't even take care of himself.

So, as the rain washed the scent away, Sirius was sure, it hadn't been there at all. It was just something his heart yearned for, but he had lost the boy. He had left him behind over two months and many hundred kilometers ago.