Chapter Seven
Tricks

A week later, Harry was summoned to an office. Harry followed Pareesa down a hallway, feeling awkward about the psychology textbook. She didn't want to bring it up, but she'd ruined it already.

"Umm, nurse?" Harry asked.

"I told you to call me Pareesa," she said. Her thoughts made it just how clearly she felt about that. She didn't want to be a nurse. She wanted to make that effort.

"Oh, okay, Pareesa. I, er, wanted to apologize. I'm sorry for ruining your book."

The nurse glanced at Harry. She was surprised to see that Pareesa genuinely didn't care. "I don't mind. I'm impressed that you managed to melt it, but I was planning to sell it anyway. I probably wouldn't have gotten more than five quid for it."

"Oh," Harry said. "Uh, okay then. I can give you the fiver, if you'd like."

"Don't worry about it, Harry," she said. It really was water under the bridge. "Dr. Fitzsimmons wanted to see you. Good luck!" And she gestured to the door. Harry stepped into it.

Fitzsimmons was there, folded into a low chair, his jacket off, and his arms rolled up. He adjusted his glasses when she entered.

"Hello, Harriet." Harry still hated the way he said her name, like she was some particularly interesting species of weevil.

"Hi," she said, slumping into the chair. She glanced up at him - he had watery blue eyes, and a placid pool of thoughts and memories behind them. He was noting how thin and skittish she looked, compared to over a week ago, when she'd first come here.

"I hear you're settling in well," he said. She supposed it was true. She was still struggling with the side effects of the medication, but there wasn't much she expected she could do about that.

So she didn't say anything, just let him look at her, and looked into his mind. Inwardly, he decided to change tacts, a bit - maybe she would respond to more direct prodding.

"How are you feeling so far?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "It's alright," she said. "Better than I expected."

"That's good. I'm afraid the psychiatric hospital is rather more boring than it is portrayed in films."

"I haven't seen very many films," Harry admitted. He was surprised, although he didn't show it.

"Oh? Do you not prefer them?"

"The Dursleys never let me watch the telly. But sometimes, when they didn't want to deal with me, they dumped me with Mrs. Figg, the neighbor. She didn't mind so much. That was the only telly I got."

"I see." He really didn't. He still thought that Vernon was a decent human being. Sad, that. He was nothing if not observant, though. "What do you mean by, 'they didn't want to deal with you?'"

"Well, they couldn't let me come with them when they went out to eat, or to amusement parks, or to fancy places like that. Freaks don't deserve things like that, you see. But they couldn't very well leave me at home, especially while I was young. So, it made sense - dump the freak niece with the batty lady who lives down the street, with her dozen cats. That way, you can pretend that the freak doesn't exist, and she doesn't ruin Dudders' special day," Harry couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"Freak?" Fitzsimmons asked, mildly. He didn't believe her, but he thought it was important to understand the nature of her psychosis. "I get the impression that name has some meaning, here."

"Yes," Harry admitted. "The funny thing is, before you showed up, I can't remember the last time Vernon called me Harry. Usually it's girl, or you. Dudley is the one that prefers freak. Though, it gets a lot of use as an adjective, too."

"I see. Does that have anything to do with the magic?" He was certain that she believed in it, then. And he wasn't wrong - the Dursleys did hate her because of her magic.

Harry glared at him. A headache was beginning to form, behind one of her eyes.

"Harriet, I believe that truth is generally preferable to lies. I know about the magic. When your uncle contacted me, he showed me this." He reached into one of his pockets, and pulled out a tape recorder. He pressed play.

"-And then, Dudders," her voice was unmistakable, echoing from the recorder, sounding both damning and tinny, "you know what I'll do?"

"You're not-"

"Magic," Harry's voice breathed, sounding almost reverent.

"You're not - you're not! Dad said you're not allowed to do it out of school!"

"Dudders, I'm not allowed to use my wand out of school. But I don't need my wand to hurt you. We went over this with Vernon. No more picking on Harry, fatso."

"NO!" Dudley wailed. He really was pathetic. "Don't!"

"Don't push me, then."

Fitzsimmons reached over and clicked the tape recorder off. He was watching Harry closely, examining her for any reaction she might have had. It was pretty damning - about as damning as it got, honestly. She glanced away, pulling back. She didn't really want to know what he was thinking.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say," Harry said.

"I just want to understand, Harriet. I hope it's not unreasonable. It might not seem like it, but I am on your side," he said, carefully.

Harry didn't have the heart to say something snappy. "It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's that I can't. I'm not allowed to. In fact, I'd probably get in trouble for what you know already."

"Trouble from who?"

Harry rolled her eyes, and looked at him. "I can't tell you that. Anything I say more would be too much - you can probably figure out from what you do know that I'm not the only person with magic out there." He had sussed that out, then. Harry didn't want to risk violating more of the Statute of Secrecy - the Dobby disaster from last summer was more than enough. She needed to get back to Hogwarts - it was her only guarantee of getting out of here.

"I see, Harriet." He did - or, at least, he was attempting to. "Either way, I don't see a way out of here without you telling me. If you are telling the truth, then I need to understand this magic to help you prove that it is, in fact, real, and not a hallucination. If it is not real - and I am not trying to claim that it isn't - then I need to know about that too, so we can help you move past it."

Harry considered it - she truly did. But she'd skirted the line enough here. If the Ministry did come, and she hadn't broken the law at all, perhaps no one would look too closely on the marks on her room's floor. And she was already treading on thin ice.

"I can't," she said. "I just can't. I have to go back to school. But if I tell you, and they find out, they might not let me back."

He was quiet, thinking through the implications of that. He was many things, but not stupid, so he could guess at the Statute - perhaps not all of it, but enough to get the general idea.

"I can't do anything for you," he repeated. "Unless you tell me something - can you tell me about the drawings on your floor?"

Harry shook her head. She had the beginnings of an idea - it wasn't ideal, but perhaps it might be enough to prove that she was willing to work with him, at least a bit.

He sighed.

"I can't tell you anything now," Harry admitted. "But, my school starts on September 1st. If I'm still here by then - if I haven't been released, or disappeared in the night, then I'll tell you everything. I promise. I know that, technically, you can't hold me until then. But I'd like to stay here, till then, if no one comes for me."

He wasn't happy, but he really couldn't make her say anything she didn't want to. And because he didn't want to dismiss her concerns about secrecy out of hand, he couldn't argue her logic.

"Alright. Maybe we can talk about the Dursleys, instead."

Harry nodded. "I can do that. What do you want to know?"

Life settled into something of a routine, after that. Harry got up, ate breakfast, listened to whatever was going on at morning meeting, sat through whatever activity was planned that day, laughed with Gin, wrote to Cecilia, and practiced looking behind people's eyes as much as she dared.

The medication no longer made Harry sleepy. This, however, was not actually that great of a thing, because there were a bunch of symptoms to replace the drowsiness. She was nauseous in the mornings, stiff if she sat for more than a few minutes, and when she got drowsy, or tired, or stressed, or sometimes, for no reason at all, her hands would shake, so badly that her writing was nearly indecipherable.

On Harry's birthday, the entire ward sang Happy Birthday, and one of the nurses brought in a cake. Harry wondered where her friends were, and what they'd gotten her. Hedwig, too - she hoped Hedwig was safe.

The other residents shot her suspicious looks, from time to time, and Harry was surprised to see that most of them thought that she was dangerous, based on her ritual a few days after coming here. It had been rather ill-advised, if she was honest - anyone coming to find her would likely see it. And, well, everyone thought she was a delusional lunatic who tried to summon demons.

Harry didn't want to care what they thought - she would be leaving here soon enough - but it still hurt that Gin was the only one willing to talk to her.

So, when she felt reasonably confident in her Legilimency skills, she curled up on a couch next to Gin in the common area, and asked, "How much do you trust me?"

"I dunno," Gin said. "I trust you, I guess."

"Right, so - I can read minds."

"Uh, wow. I can see why you wouldn't really want me to say anything, but…"

"That's not it," Harry interrupted. "Although, 'reading' minds is not entirely accurate. It's more like… I can connect to other people's thoughts, and follow what they're thinking. I'm told it's something to do with frequencies - my mind is… flexible, so I can alter my wavelength to harmonize with other people's. Honestly, it's harder to stop doing it than to do it. I can even, with eye contact, direct their thoughts, a bit, to see their memories."

"Sounds useful," Gin commented. Harry tried very hard not to look into her mind, to see what she was thinking.

"It is. I uh, well, one of the more advanced uses of this technique lets me, er, the best way I can describe it is that I can sort of edit memories. I can change the associations with them, and bring them forward, or hide them away, all in someone's mind."

"I'm not gonna lie. That sounds kinda horrifying."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "I've never done it before, though."

"That's, uh, good?"

"I bring this up, because I, er, I saw why you're in here," Harry said. She felt her stomach churn, on how Gin would take this. "I don't want to like, snoop - it's practically impossible not to, considering how close we are and given that I'm still learning how to do it. But, anyway, I think I might be able to help."

"Help?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I don't want to say that I know what I'm doing more than you, so that's why I asked. I can make you have bad associations with harmful behaviors, or re-route your coping mechanisms, so you're more inclined to talk about things, but I don't know if that would help?"

"What do you mean?" Gin looked positively alarmed.

"I am offering to, well, modify your mind, you, so that you can leave if you want. If you don't want me mucking around in your head, that's fine - I can even avoid looking in there at all, if you want. I just-" Harry trailed off, staring forcibly at her hands.

"You what?" Gin asked. Harry looked at her, and got the distinct impression of concern. Luckily, there was a lot less anger or fear than Harry had expected, too.

"I just want to help," Harry said. "I can't help but see in other people's heads. I've even looked in the doctor's heads. I don't think anyone could stand in my shoes and not want to do anything. I can see, sometimes too well, how sick the people in here really are."

"Oh," Gin said. She looked away, now, too. "I really don't know, Harry."

"That's fine," Harry urged. "I just thought I'd offer. I don't know what the best thing to do is. I don't want to muck around in people's brains without them asking. I mean, is it right? Even if I end up helping, I don't know."

Gin hugged her arm around her legs. Harry had to resist the urge to look in her mind again. "I don't know, either," she said. "But it's not that I don't trust you. I just think - I can do this, you know? I don't need any shortcuts - no offense - I can beat this on my own."

Harry smiled. "Alright. That's very inspiring, I think."

"You really think so?" Gin asked.

"Sure. It's not easy, being here."

"No," Gin agreed. "It's not."

In her bed, Harry wrote in her diary. She was getting worried, now. It was taking longer than she might have hoped, to get out. There were only three weeks left until the start of term at Hogwarts.

Do you think it's ethical to try and manipulate people's minds without their consent, even if it's for their own good?

Cecilia took a few seconds to answer. That's a difficult question, Harriet. I am assuming this has something to do with your new knowledge of Legilimency?

Yes. The people here have legitimate mental problems, and I think some manipulation using the Mind Arts could be helpful to them.

That's not bad thinking. However, you are handicapped by the existence of magic, and the fact that you are still a student. That's why you're thinking of doing it without their consent, no?

Yes, Harry wrote.

I think that it would be unethical to do so - it would be morally wrong, from an absolute standpoint. But from a more practical one, it would not. If you believe that the end justifies the means, as I do, then you could justify it.

Why would you do it if you think it's wrong?

I don't think it's wrong. I think that it is an unethical, immoral act - the kind of thing that, in a perfect world, you should never do. But, in a perfect world, there would be no need for mental hospitals, because people would be able to manage their illnesses on their own. We do not live in a perfect world. Thus, things like this are sometimes necessary.

So, you're answering by not answering.

Yes. I don't want to tell you how should use the magic I teach you. I think that any rational study of magic will inevitably lead to the Dark Arts, but, even those spells - I don't want to tell you how to use them. I believe that my ideas about the world, and how it should be are correct - everyone does, I think. Cecilia created this diary to affirm that belief - a rival would do that.

What do you mean?

Cecilia believed that she could help create a worthy rival for herself, with this diary. If she is right, and her ideas about how to change the world are right, then you would inevitably become a willing ally in her quest to make the world a better place. If she is wrong, then you are in the perfect position to challenge her, and if your logic is sound, then perhaps you can show her where she is wrong.

It's like the statistics, all over again. Harry harrumphed, and continued, Everything comes back to them with you.

What do you mean, little weed?

Well, you mean that Cecilia wanted to change the world, right? She wanted to make it the best it could possibly be, according to the way she thought. But she probably couldn't find anyone to keep up with her - or maybe they were like Dumbledore, and wouldn't have treated her fairly. So she made a diary that would teach someone to think like her - or, at least, to think methodically and back up their points.

For once, it was Harry continuing to write, not Cecilia. If I have a good point, you go along with it. In a way, it's like having the same kind of verification you mentioned before - someone who has seen the same things, and is clever enough to follow along. That's what Cecilia wants - someone to speak with as an equal. If I disagree with her, I'll have a good reason for it. It's like you said, before. I only wish I knew what she is doing now, so I can see where it led her.

Cecilia's writing was careful, and calm. I do not know. I dearly wish I did, however. However, as precocious as you are, you aren't ready for that confrontation, yet.

Not ready? Harry asked.

It will inevitably end in a duel. I would not like that duel to be completely embarrassing, thank you very much.

Hey! You said I was good at dueling!

For a second-year, maybe, but I assure you, Cecilia is, by this point, as old as your Transfiguration professor, if not older. There is quite a gap in your experience.

I see how it is.

It will not remain that way forever, Harriet. Do you think you will attempt to help your fellow patients?

I don't want to leave anyone worse off. I don't know if I could forgive myself for that.

Do you believe that you are capable of helping people, and not harming them?

Yes.

Then, Harriet, it sounds like you are afraid of failing. I think you should do it. You are far more capable than you give yourself credit for.

Alright.

Harry put her plan into action the next morning. She slid into the eyes of Janey, and found that she suffered from schizophrenia. That wasn't easy - she had almost no experience instilling a compulsion in someone's mind. She didn't even know if she could.

Harry could do very little for Janey, as it turned out. The only thing she could do was make positive associations for therapy, and, upon further thought, medication. If she was going to do this, she realized that it was foolish to discount how helpful the hospital could be for the people here. So, if she was able to do anything, she could at least supplement the work that the doctors were doing.

Over the next few days, she tried to influence anyone she could - often, she couldn't address the cause of people's illness. The illnesses themselves were frequently just too big, or too subtle for her still-novice skills. But she could help them with coping mechanisms - things like bulimia, or if they hurt themselves - she could de-emphasize those things, and emphasize healthy coping mechanisms, like talking, or the therapy sessions.

Harry was no expert at messing with people's minds, so, when she ran into an issue, she backed off. She had no idea if she had truly helped, but it quieted her mind. The fact was, most mental illnesses didn't have a cure - they required someone to work through their issues, like Gin had wanted. It was not just cure - it was a long-term treatment. Harry did what she could to help them get there, but she couldn't take that step for them - at least without considerably more skill.

In the middle of the night, Harry was startled awake. She popped up, and immediately saw the dark shape hovering over her, and panicked.

She screamed - or, at least, she tried to scream. Instead, the dark figure popped a hand over her mouth, so there was only a muffled moan that came out.

"Quiet!" a raspy voice hissed. "I'm here to get you out!" The mind, too, was full of genuine sentiment.

Harry relaxed. The figure moved their hand.

"Thanks," Harry said. "Who are you?"

The figure coughed, uncomfortably. Harry thought he sounded like a man.

"Hear me out," he urged. "I'm your godfather. Sirius Black."

"I thought you were in Azkaban," Harry said.

"Oh," he growled. "I didn't betray your parents." He was very apologetic about the whole thing, actually. He'd suggested that they changed secret-keepers, but it had been changed to Pettigrew.

"I uh, didn't know you were supposed to?" Harry asked. She was very confused. "I just heard that you killed someone named Peter Pettigrew."

"It's a long story."

"I gathered that. You said you were here to break me out?"

"Yes. I'm your godfather. I heard that you'd vanished in the Daily Prophet, so I decided to break out and come find you. You don't wanna be here, right?"

"Right. They think I'm crazy, but I can't tell them I'm not, because that would break the Statute of Secrecy," Harry explained.

"Good," he said. "Well, not, but that means we can leave. Grab your stuff."

Harry levered herself up out of bed. Black backed up, but it was hard to see much in the darkness. Harry got up, and quickly emptied her drawers, making sure she had the diary. When she'd stuffed her meagre clothes into her bag, she straightened up.

"Alright," she said. He led the way out of the room. Harry didn't see anyone around, but she knew that there was usually a nurse around. She didn't notice that now, and instead, she followed Black out of the ward, and down a flight of stairs. Harry felt a pang of guilt, about not saying goodbye to Gin, but she supposed there was nothing for it. Harry knew her real name - she could send her a letter.

They walked past a slumped nurse at the entrance, and out the doors, into the cool August air. Harry grinned, and laughed - she was still honestly unsure about Black, but he'd come to get her, so he couldn't be all bad. She shot him a glance, meeting grey eyes for a second - and she read no malice, just giddiness. His mind was full of guilt, and very fractured, but from what she could tell, he was feeling reckless, and high-strung - he had just busted out of prison - but certainly not dangerous to her.

He was also, she realized with a shock, even more dark-skinned than she was, even if his skin was ashen-looking, and his hair wild. He looked, she thought, wild and dangerous and like he hadn't had a bath in years. Which, she realized, he hadn't. But that wasn't the bit that stuck on her.

When Hagrid had given her those pictures of her parents, she'd watched with interest. She'd already known, growing up, that it was her father that wasn't completely British, based on the Dursleys' frequent comments, but it was nice to see it for herself. And she'd noticed, too, that his best man looked just like him, brown and handsome and grinning, ear-to-ear.

"I, er," Harry said. "You were at my parents' wedding."

"I was?" he asked, roughly. He looked, confused, for a second, before he nodded. "I must have been. I was the best man, after all."

"I-" she started, but then she realized. She stepped back, wary. "Why don't you remember?"

He coughed, roughly, pain and regret emanating in waves. "I don't…" He glanced away. "I don't remember, a lot of stuff. The dementors."

"Dementors?"

"They guard Azkaban. Monstrous, soul-sucking demons. They make you feel horrible things. Your worst memories," Black explained. "But they take the good ones. I don't remember a lot of things, Harry." He glanced away. "I only held onto what I did… because it wasn't a happy thought. I was failing you. I was innocent. I was stuck. Until I learned you were gone."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling overwhelmed by his mind, and his memories.

"I'm sorry to drop that on you," he rasped. "We need to go - somewhere. I'm not sure. But away from here."

"My stuff is still at Privet Drive," she supplied. Still reeling. He didn't remember…? She could feel it - he barely recognized her. He was… he cared, as much as he could. Everything he was, was dedicated to that. She wasn't sure how to feel.

"Stuff?" Black asked.

"My trunk, my wand, all that. I had to hide it when they came for me for the mental hospital."

"Why were you in there?"

"Vernon and Petunia got a doctor to come and diagnose me with psychosis, based on the whole magic thing," Harry said. "But I couldn't prove anything, because of the Statute. And Vernon switched some stuff around on me, so I looked paranoid, like a liar."

"Petunia as in Lily's sister?" Black asked.

"You know her?"

"Yeah. Harry… if I had known, I would never have left you," he said. His thoughts were full of - well, of dark things, but it was more encouraging than anything. It was almost entirely protective. He remembered Petunia. He remembered hating her, if nothing else. An awkward and uncomfortable evening with Harry's mother and Petunia and Vernon, and Harry's grandparents being well… well, not bad, but not necessarily great about the whole skin thing.

"Left me?" Harry asked. They were walking now, through the streets, in the pale light of the streetlamps.

"There's so much, Harry. So much to tell. James and I - we were cousins, like brothers. And Lily - I loved that girl. I would have done anything for them - either of them. My two favorite people in the world. The night they died, I was there first - the first one in the house. I pulled you from the ashes.

"Pettigrew betrayed us. I went after him, but he was already dead - I think Voldemort killed him. She framed me, so I've spent twelve years in Azkaban. 'Till I read about you - the Prophet had a go at Dumbledore, for using you. A reporter named Rita Skeeter somehow got wind that he couldn't find you."

Harry looked at Black. "That's - a lot to take in."

"I fucked up," Black admitted. "I never shoulda given you to Hagrid. He gave you to Petunia. She was a horrid bitch." He was swimming - no, drowning - in guilt.

"She did not treat me well," Harry agreed. "But I'm never going back. They had me committed to a mental institution. Even if I have to run away at the beginning of break every summer, I'm not going back."

"Well," Black said. "You could always stay with me. I understand if you might not want to, but hey, I'm on the run from the law already. I'm not really about to become more of a wanted man. If you need someone to bust you out again, I'm your wizard."

"Okay," Harry said. "Can you Apparate?"

"Yeah. I don't know where they live, though."

"I'm a natural Legilimens," Harry told him. She glanced at his face, his mind, trying to gauge his reaction. He gaped. His thoughts were shocked surprise, too.

"Really?" he asked. "I've only ever met one before."

"Yeah." Harry grinned. "I glanced into your mind a bit earlier. I wouldn't go out into the dark night with a strange man without a little certainty. Sorry." She was not used to people that were aware that reading minds was a thing. It was a new experience.

"Right, that's fine. I don't even know if I could stop you. Azkaban is a helluva thing," he admitted. He was suddenly inordinately cheerful, bouncing along. Mood swings, then.

"Right, so, I can put the image in your head. I think."

"Let's go, then," he said. He leaned down and met her eyes. She dove in, and concentrated hard on Privet Drive, pushing a memory of the street in front of the Dursleys' house, illuminated during the day.

"Got it?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think so. Gimme a sec." He squinted. He popped away. Harry was left standing on the side of the street, in the darkness. She walked into the shadows, lurking until Black returned.

He popped back onto the street, and Harry stepped up to him.

"Ready?" She nodded. He held out a hand and laid it on her shoulder, and then the world turned into a whirl of sound and color.

She dropped to the pavement, feeling the cool, rough surface between her palms. Black leaned down, and hoisted her up.

"Alright?" he asked.

She just nodded, and glanced at him. "Do you have a wand?"

He grunted, and held a stick. "It's not a good match, but it'll work." He felt a little bit eager, honestly. He had a good enough wand to turn Vernon inside out, at least. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

She looked away. "I need to get my stuff. I think I can get in without them noticing, but Vernon will get violent if he wakes up. Back me up?"

"You got it."

He followed her, even as she unlocked the door with a tap of her shaking hands. It was dark in the atrium, and Harry padded up the stairs to her old room - Sirius followed her, silent, looming.

Harry cracked open the door, careful to only swing it open a little bit. Her room was practically unrecognizable - it was back to being Dudley's second bedroom, again. She crept through the dark, cluttered room, until she reached the bed - the cot was still there, luckily. This whole trip back into the Dursleys' house was going better than expected, honestly.

She leaned down, reaching under the cot, until her fingers met cool leather. She grabbed it, and tugged it out. running her hands along the surface. It was her trunk. Harry straightened up, and turned to Black.

"Here it is," she whispered. "Where to?"

"Dunno. I hadn't thought this far ahead." He'd mostly been thinking about getting her out, as far as she could tell. Sweet, but again, impulsive.

"Well." Harry decided. "We could go to the Leaky?"

"Nah," Black denied. "I'm on the run, remember?"

"Oh. Don't you have like, a house? Where did you live before you went to prison?"

"I lived with your mum and dad, but their house was destroyed," Black explained. "I have a bunch of old family houses, but I don't know if I'd be comfortable letting you in any of them before I check 'em out, make sure it's safe, you know? My family was pretty into Dark magic, so lots of the stuff is going to be cursed."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. Somewhere in the house, she heard a thump, and Vernon's pained grunt. She could even feel his mind - he had very loud thoughts. "We have to go, now!"

Sirius must have heard it too - he cocked his head, before immediately grabbing her and Apparating them again. They appeared on a dark street corner, in what looked like the center of London.

"The Leaky will do," he said. "Now, I'm an unregistered Animagus. So you're going to check in with your dog Snuffles, alright?"

Harry nodded, dumbly, and then he was a dog - a great big, black, shaggy thing, up to her waist.

The dog barked, and trotted along, and Harry followed. He led her around a corner, and down a side street, stopping only in front of a dimly lit pub that she recognized as the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry was surprised to find the door open, and she stepped through, holding it open for Black. Inside, the lights were low, and there were still two or three patrons around, frowning into their drinks.

Tom, the proprietor, bustled up, his bald head shiny in the dim light. "Miss Potter!"

"Hello, Tom," Harry said. "I was hoping to rent a room."

"Of course, of course - everyone's been looking for you!" He was full of shock, that she'd just shown up.

"It's a long story. I was also hoping to bring the dog - his name's Snuffles, but he's very well-behaved."

He hesitated. Black clearly knew what he was doing, as a dog - he immediately sat, and stared up at Tom, eyes large and pleading. Tom looked between them, frowning, torn inside.

"Alright, I s'pose. I don't normally do this, Miss Potter, but I know you've been missing for a while. And since you've not got any adults lookin' after ya, it might be good for you to 'ave a big dog around," he said. Harry nodded gratefully. "But you're cleanin' up after him if he makes a mess, alright?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I promise, he'll be good."

Tom nodded, and handed over a key. "Why doncha get to sleep, Miss Potter. Room eleven's free. Last room on the right, first floor."

Harry thanked him, her hands trembling.

an: As usual, Harry is a bean, Cecilia is morally challenged, and Sirius is a good boy.