Author's Note:

I'm back, y'all. To those of you who have been waiting, thank you for your patience. To the new readers just making it to this point, welcome. Thanks for hanging in there through 50+ chapters.

This chapter marks the first in Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

Updates will continue weekly from this point on. Happy reading.

Chapter Fifty-Nine - Twelve Grimmauld Place

Harry's stay at The Three Broomsticks taught him one very important thing: Madam Rosmerta made the best English Breakfast. Previously, he hadn't been a particular fan of poached eggs, fried tomatoes, or baked beans, but as he tucked into his plate, piled high with bacon and buttered toast, as well as the dishes' usual accompaniments, he savored every bite.

Blaise believed Madam Rosmerta must be using a potion to make beans taste so good. If that was the case, Harry congratulated her on her ingenuity and wondered if she might pass along the recipe.

The meal was divine, but the innkeeper's cooking was about the only thing in Hogsmeade that still captured Harry's interest. He and Blaise had spent the first two weeks of their summer holiday visiting each and every shop. They had been to Zonko's joke shop a dozen times alone, and now they had run out of things to do. Even trips to the Shrieking Shack had lost their allure, as there was no Sirius hiding among the ramshackle rooms, waiting to tell Harry stories about his father.

Harry was eager to see Sirius again. The disillusionment he felt toward Hogsmeade was merely the result of his anxiety to see his godfather and what was to be his new home. He could barely sit still, knowing that today was the final day.

It was in this perfectly good mood, looking forward to the future and with his mouth stuffed with sausage and mushrooms, that Harry felt a sharp pain slice across his scar. He nearly choked on his breakfast, letting out a light gasp as his windpipe cleared. He moved his hand to his forehead and rubbed against his lightning-shaped scar, but the pain had already receded. It was not an unfamiliar pain. He assumed it had something to do with the strange dream he'd had last night...

"Do you think Sirius has seen this yet?" Blaise asked, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

Harry glanced down at the newspaper Blaise had set on the table between them. There was a picture moving about on the front page. It showed a fat, balding man with a rodent-like face. The Daily Prophet's leading story detailed Peter Pettigrew's escape from custody, the second in Azkabaon's history. Sirius had been the first.

While the Prophet seemed to delight in speculation of how Pettigrew escaped and where he might have gone, Harry already knew the answer to half the question. Sirius managed his escape by transforming into a large black dog. How much easier must it have been for Pettigrew as a small rat?

Harry pushed the paper away from him, hating the sight of Pettigrew's face.

"If he hasn't seen the papers yet, he will soon," Harry replied.

He was feeling more worried than he let on. Pettigrew had escaped before he could stand trial. Sirius was still exonerated, of course. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, had himself witnessed Pettigrew, alive, before he got away. But Harry had received letters from Sirius every day since they had been separated, and yet he did not mention Pettigrew's name once during their correspondence. He wondered again if his anxiety over Pettigrew was responsible for his dream...

"Are you feeling alright, Harry?"

Blaise had noticed that Harry's hand was nursing his scar. He was looking at his friend with concern. Harry smiled and moved his hand away from his face.

"I'm just feeling a bit nervous," he said, trying to reassure him, "It's going to be different living in a house with Sirius. I got used to sneaking him food in the Chamber."

Harry wasn't sure why he lied. He supposed there was no use worrying Blaise. After all, it was just a dream. It didn't mean anything. Voldemort was gone, and even with Pettigrew on the run, there were no allies he could turn to. Let him live out the rest of his days as a mangy, frightened rat. Harry was fine with that.

He returned his thoughts to Sirius. His godfather had asked Harry to live with him, now that he was a free man. Harry had said yes, of course, but Sirius had begged for time. Just two weeks, he had said, and he would have everything ready for him. At the time, two weeks sounded like an eternity. But now that the respite had elapsed and the moment was upon him, Harry suddenly found himself feeling very shy of seeing Sirius again.

"What sort of house do you think he has?" Blaise asked, clearly free from the anxiety that plagued Harry.

"Dunno," said Harry, "He said it's in London."

Harry was grateful that Blaise and his mother would be accompanying him on the trip, but he found himself wishing they might have returned to their country house in Ascending Downs, rather than spend the first days of his summer holiday in Hogsmeade. He supposed it was a matter of convenience, but it would have been nice to say goodbye to Torsh, the Zabini's house elf, before he went to live somewhere else for good.

Mrs. Zabini seemed, if possible, more nervous about the arrangement than Harry. Blaise had worked his own brand of magic over his mother, convincing her that it was what Harry's parents would have wanted for him, but that did not dispel her personal misgivings.

"What can he offer Harry?" he had heard her whispering to Madam Rosmerta one night. The women had been in Madam Rosmerta's private sitting room. They must have thought Harry had already gone to bed, but he happened to be passing through the hall on the way back to his room when he overheard their conversation.

"He's been in prison these twelve years. He says he has a house, but what condition can it be in after sitting empty for so long? If such a place even exists…"

Harry had not stayed to hear more, but the memory of Mrs. Zabini's words still haunted him. He hated to admit it, but the same thought had crossed his mind more than once. He remembered the way Sirius had looked when last he saw him. He'd been living off scraps Harry had smuggled from the Great Hall, thin and pale from hiding in the Chamber of Secrets, far beneath the school. Harry chastised himself for these thoughts and tried to have confidence in his godfather. Sirius would never offer his home to Harry if he had nothing to give.

After breakfast, Mrs. Zabini insisted on saying farewell to her friends in Hogsmeade, and there were many. When this task was finally complete, they made their way to the nearest train station, set a little outside the village itself.

It felt a bit strange to be riding a train that wasn't the Hogwarts Express. Harry hadn't even known there was another train station so near the village. Hogsmeade seemed to be the end of the line. At the first stop, the train contained only fellow witches and wizards leaving Hogsmeade to destinations unknown. But subsequent stops actually led them through muggle villages.

Their car was soon filled with lively chat from several muggle families, making their way to London for shopping and other errands. Mrs. Zabini didn't seem to mind. She had fallen into conversation with a muggle woman who was dandying a baby on her lap. Blaise became fascinated by a large square box that an important looking muggle man was shouting into.

"What do you suppose it is?" he asked Harry excitedly.

"It's a mobile phone," Harry said, "It's like a telephone, but it doesn't have a cord, so you can carry it around with you."

Blaise was already a fan of telephones. Mrs. Zabini even kept one in her home. But he had never heard of this invention, and he was wild with enthusiasm. He pestered Harry with a hundred questions about how they worked, although Harry insisted he had never owned one, and really had no idea.

Their banter kept Harry's mind off his mounting anxiety, with the added benefit that time seemed to move much faster. He was in King's Cross Station before he knew they were in London, and soon they had disembarked from the train, armed with trolleys and Hedwig's cage balanced on top of their trunks.

They were greeted by the usual stares of muggle passerby. Hegwig would have drawn enough attention on her own, but Blaise was not helping matters. He had draped his python, now extremely large, around his neck. Mrs. Zabini didn't seem to mind the attention, but Harry was rapidly scanning the faces in the crowd, looking for Sirius and hoping he wasn't late.

He heard a friendly shout of welcome, and turning around, saw with surprise not Sirius, but Remus Lupin making his way toward them.

By his side, Harry noticed Mrs. Zabini stiffen. He thought he heard her mutter something to Blaise, but the ambient noise of the train station snatched the words away.

He was glad he hadn't heard the comment. Last year, when Remus had been their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry had learned that the things Blaise feared the most were werewolves. Although they had never discussed it with each other, Harry suspected that Blaise's phobia was learned from Mrs. Zabini's prejudice against the creatures. Somehow, Harry and Blaise had neglected to mention that Remus, an outed werewolf himself, would be staying in the same house as Harry.

Mrs. Zabini managed to regain her composure as she greeted Remus and casually mentioned, "We expected to see Mr. Black. This is quite a surprise."

She sent a meaningful glance toward her son, but if Remus caught the look, he pretended not to understand her meaning.

"He's just making some last-minute adjustments," Remus said, directing his words and smile at Harry rather than Mrs. Zabini, "He's sorry he couldn't come himself. I've been sent to show you the way."

A taxi was waiting outside to take them to their destination. The driver grumbled quite a bit about Hedwig's cage and Blaise's snake, but Remus had promised him a sizable tip. They were soon winding their way through the city streets, Harry wondering all the while what sort of house a wizard would keep in the heart of the muggle metropolis.

He didn't have to wait long to find out. They were soon in a small square with several muggle groups walking along the street. Harry spied a street sign that announced their location as Grimmauld Place. He looked at the long row of brick-faced townhomes and wondered which number belonged to Sirius.

When he voiced his thought aloud, Remus gave a light chuckle.

"You're looking at it, Harry."

Harry disliked riddles, but he found himself looking back at the houses again. He could see into some of the houses through parted curtains, but none showed Sirius's smiling face beaming out at him. Then he noticed that each door had a shining brass number fixed to its surface. Unconsciously, he found himself counting as his eyes moved down the homes, still searching for a hint as to which housed his godfather.

"Hold on…" Harry said, thinking for a moment he had miscounted, "Where is number twelve?"

"Well spotted, Harry," Remus replied, "I now formally welcome the three of you to number twelve, Grimmauld Place."

As he spoke, Harry saw the bricks of the wall shift before his eyes. There was a loud rumbling sound, and the earth itself seemed to shake as another townhome expanded into view, pushing its way between numbers 11 and 13. Harry watched in awe, then looked at the faces of the muggles passing by. None of them seemed to notice the strange phenomena taking place mere feet from the sidewalk. Then all at once the rumbling ceased, and with a small pop, a matching brass number appeared on the new home's front door.

"A secrecy charm?" Mrs. Zabini said with unmasked surprise.

"Just a precaution," Remus explained.

"And you're the secret keeper," Mrs. Zabini added. Her displeasure was evident in her voice.

Remus's smile seemed tight and forced as he replied, "We agreed it would be best. This time."

Mrs. Zabini nodded, but Harry got the feeling she did not agree. Before she could say anything more, however, the front door of number twelve opened wide, and Sirius stepped outside.

All of Harry's shyness flew away as he ran into Sirius' open arms. His godfather caught him with a laugh, exchanged all the usual pleasantries with Mrs. Zabini, then quickly ushered them all inside.

He looked good. His hair was still long, but the rats nests had been removed and it hung in glossy black waves, broken only by a few silver strands. He had gained weight in the two weeks since Harry last saw him, and though he was still pale, his face seemed to shine with unchecked excitement.

"I am sorry for the state of the place," Sirius said once they had all crowded into a narrow entryway. "Remus and I have tried to fix what we could, but there are some things I couldn't remedy fast enough…"

Harry saw his eyes flicker to the top of the stairs as he said this. His own followed the direction of Sirius's gaze. The walls were lined with portraits and paintings. Nestled between them at the very top of the staircase was a black curtain. At first Harry thought it was merely an oddly-placed window, but then he noticed the edges of what appeared to be a large gilt frame. The drapery might be hiding an ornate mirror or another portrait, but Harry had no idea why it had been covered. Before he could think to ask, Sirius began ushering him through the rooms of the first floor, taking him on a tour.

Their first stop was to a freshly cleaned kitchen, which seemed to be Sirius's pride and joy. Harry noted with delight the large stone hearth and gleaming copper pots hanging from the ceiling. From there, Harry was led into a formal dining room with polished dark wood and newly papered walls. There was a parlor and sitting room, both of modest size and newly furnished from the look of things. Sirius did not even neglect showing him the loo, then it was up the stairs to the second floor.

They passed the curtain on the way, but Sirius made no comment about it, despite the fact he had neglected no other part of the house so far. He seemed particularly excited to show Harry his bedroom. As they approached, Harry noticed a plaque on the door.

"Regulus Arcturus Black?" Harry read aloud, "Who is Regulus?"

Sirius gave him a sad smile and replied, "I grew up in this house, Harry. This was my brother's room."

Harry hadn't even known Sirius had a brother. He was surprised Sirius had taken him on this tour and forgot to mention this had been his boyhood home. Harry felt his curiosity rise, but judged from the way Sirius is smiling at him that it wasn't the best time to ask.

"I would have liked to put your name on the door," Sirius continued, "But thanks to a permanent sticking charm, I couldn't remove the nameplate. I suppose Regulus learned that trick from my mother. There are plenty of things around this house I can't seem to remove. But in your case, Harry, I think that may be rather a blessing."

Sirius swung open the door. The room beyond was entirely decorated in silver and green, from the bedspread to the ornate carpet on the floor. Pennants for Slytherin House adorned the walls, along with drawings of serpents and other memorabilia from Harry's house.

"Regulus was in Slytherin, as you can clearly see," Sirius explained.

He had always secretly believed Sirius was disappointed that Harry had not been sorted into Gryffindor, as his parents and Sirius had before him. But this bedroom, the one Sirius had selected especially for Harry, seemed to be his way of showing his support.

Harry turned and wrapped his arms around Sirius for the second time that day.

"You certainly have put in a lot of work to make sure Harry is comfortable," Mrs. Zabini said after observing the bedroom herself, "May I ask how you intend to address the lunar cycle?"

This was her tactful way of asking about Remus's condition. She kept her tone neutral, but Harry had been dreading this moment. Mrs. Zabini had fought to be Harry's guardian after rescuing him from the Dursleys, his muggle relatives. If she didn't approve of Remus staying there, would she insist on taking Harry home with her?

Sirius looked ready to be insulted on his friends' behalf, but Remus, with resigned patience, cautioned him with a look.

"I have prepared a room on the third floor with that purpose in mind," he explained calmly, "It has been reinforced for my use. Follow me, I'll show you."

Remus led Mrs. Zabini up another flight of stairs, passing a house elf along the way. The creature seemed older than the elves Harry was used to seeing before. His body was stooped and thin. Even his long nose seemed to droop down over his chin. He didn't acknowledge Remus or Mrs. Zabini as they walked by. He was far too busy muttering curses to himself under his breath.

"Kreacher!" Sirius shouted, "What are you doing sulking around up there? Hurry and grab Harry's things. He'll want them in his room."

Harry was alarmed by the harsh tone of Sirius' voice, but the next moment he seemed justified. The elf was looking up at him, his watery eyes staring with intense dislike.

"Kreacher does not know what his master means. Does the nasty boy think to sleep in Master Regulus's room?"

"You know exactly what room I'm referring to," Sirius said, his exasperation now evident, "And that's enough of your vile drivel! Get the trunk and take it to Harry's room, as I said."

"Yes master, of course," Kreacher said in a sarcastic voice. He dropped into a very shallow bow before wandering down the stairs, muttering to himself, "If my poor mistress could see such disgrace..."

"My parent's house elf," Sirius explained apologetically. "I couldn't very well dismiss him now, but he's never liked me."

Harry was concerned, but Blaise had directed his attention to the stairs leading to the third floor. He stretched out his neck, trying to see past the banister as if to catch a glimpse of where his mother had gone.

"Can we see the third floor?" he asked, but Sirius shied away.

"The house wasn't in the best condition when I arrived," he said, "Remus and I have been working on it constantly, but most of the house isn't fit to be seen."

"I think it's brilliant," Harry declared, eager to erase the look of embarrassment that had colored Sirius's face, "Now that I'm here, maybe I can help you and Remus with the repairs?"

Blaise's lip curled at the thought of manual labor, but he had no objection to visiting Harry once the hard work was done.

"Can I come stay over at the end of summer?" he asked Sirius bluntly.

"I have no objection to hosting both you and Millie," Sirius said with a smile, "In fact, I was planning to invite you both for Harry's birthday."

At that moment, Mrs. Zabini reappeared at the top of the stairs. She had barely taken a step toward them when Blaise addressed her with, "Mum! Can I come stay with Harry for his birthday?"

Mrs. Zabini appeared somewhat reluctant, but she could see the hopeful look on Harry's face. Whatever Remus had shown her of their precautions for the next full moon must have satisfied her, because she agreed to the scheme.

No amount of coaxing could convince her to stay for tea, however. When Sirius announced that he had prepared snacks, she and Blaise made their exit, leaving Harry to settle in on his own.