Rated T: Harry is still stuck with the Dursleys (for now) so there WILL be a theme of child abuse, nothing as bad as last chapter though, so please don't kill me. I'm working to get Harry out of there as soon as possible!
(Disclaimer: don't own, never will, don't plan to. Just doing it for fun.)
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Chapter 17: Unexpected Discoveries
St. Mungo's was bustling in the late afternoon, but the room of one patient was left quiet and undisturbed. Seething with boredom, Remus Lupin sighed heavily and tossed yet another Daily Prophet Crossword puzzle onto a stack of completed ones. He tossed his quill and pocket dictionary after it and leaned back against his too-soft pillows with a soft groan of frustration.
Werewolves healed quickly. He was done here. He knew he didn't need to stay here longer for 'observation'. His old paranoia rose up and his wolf growled suspiciously. Were the St. Mungo's physicians experimenting with Werewolves again? Perhaps the new laws simply forbade them from brutality and cruelty. Perhaps seemingly harmless experiments could be carried out on him without his knowledge. Werewolves were second-class citizens, after all.
He was getting so nervous that he jumped when the door to his room opened. But to his relief, it was only the kindly old face of Albus Dumbledore. The old man had visited him just that morning, so what was he doing back?
"Albus," Remus sighed. "I hope you don't think me rude, but … what are you doing here again?"
"I wanted to check up on you, my boy," the old headmaster smiled in concern. He shut the door gently behind him and conjured up a squashy armchair to get comfortable in. "I also happen to have mail." He pulled two envelopes from his pocket and dropped them in Remus' lap before he sat down.
"That's it?" the werewolf asked drily as he picked up the two letters. "You came to deliver my mail? You checked on me just this morning, as I recall, and I'm happy to report that I am not any worse."
"Well," the old man chuckled. "I also wish to speak with you after you read your mail."
Remus Lupin shook his head at the eccentric old man and studied the envelopes. One of them had been returned by the Azkaban wards, and Remus winced at the sight of the seal marking the white paper. Apparently, this must be how Dumbledore knew he was in that foul prison in the first place. The other had never been mailed and he could still smell the ink with his wolf senses. It had been written just that morning. Both were neatly addressed to Mr. Remus J. Lupin. It was all very proper and all, but Remus still couldn't understand what was so important about the letters that Dumbledore would take time out of his busy schedule to come all this way just to deliver a couple of envelopes. The mail could wait until after he got out of St. Mungo's, right?
"Did you write to me for some reason?" Remus asked casually, opening the older envelope first.
"I did not," the Headmaster replied easily. "It came as something of a surprise when I learned of his determination to get in contact with you."
Remus startled when he realized who had written to him. He read the signature twice before he believed it. Slowly, Remus looked up at Dumbledore, his eyes wide in shock. "Snape?" he demanded. "Snape wrote two letters to me?!"
"Oh come now, Remus, I thought you were always the reasonable one?" Dumbledore reproved mildly.
The Werewolf snorted. "Not me, Professor; Snape. He's always hated the mere thought of me. Why would he contact me now?"
"Just read the letters, Remus," the Headmaster chuckled.
Remus shook his head and straightened out the parchment. His eyes flicked back and forth as he read.
Mr. Remus Lupin,
You are surprised to hear from me, I assume.
This is urgent. I am afraid something has come up which, sadly, demands that we see past our former differences and meet with one another to discuss it.
I am certain you saw the Daily Prophet article regarding the disappearance of The-Boy-Who-Lived, and the later one indicating that the child was safe, but under a cover-up from Headmaster Dumbledore. I wish to inform you that the child is actually with me and has been for over a week now, but we require your expertise, such as it may be. The boy is injured, and I am not equipped to deal with him or his problems. I understand from Dumbledore that you are skilled in dealing with blubbering children and that I can trust you. To be honest, you know that I loathe you and will never trust you no matter what the Headmaster says, but you were friends with Potter, after all. I think you can be trusted not to harm the child; at least, of your own free will.
Write back immediately if you wish to meet. We will rendezvous at Hogwarts and I will finish explaining matters to you. Tuesday is when the Hogwarts Express departs for London. Shall we meet for tea? If you plan on being there earlier, be sure to let me know. We will meet privately Tuesday, and if you so wish, I will bring the Potter boy to meet you as well. Madam Pomfrey can babysit him while we discuss matters.
Not looking forward to this, obviously. But neither of us have much of a choice where The-Boy-Who-Lived is involved.
-Severus Snape
Remus set the parchment down and seized the newer letter. His heart was racing with dread. What on earth could Snape want to discuss with him? What expertise did Remus Lupin have that Severus Snape did not? True, he had recently completed his Defense Mastery, but Snape probably still knew twice as much about Defense Against the Dark Arts than he ever would on account of his darker past. His stomach coiled with dread at the thought of Severus Snape being forced to care for the son of James Potter. He hoped his little cub was alright. He was hardly aware that his hands were shaking as he opened second letter.
Lupin,
By this time you are out of Azkaban. Congratulations. I am certain you were sticking your nose someplace it didn't belong and got yourself in trouble as you usually do, but if you weren't, you may disavow me of such notions when we meet.
Yes, I still wish to meet to discuss the Potter boy. I know you and your wolf side are likely plotting a long and painful death for all I have supposedly done to him since we were forced into such close quarters, but Albus Dumbledore can attest that the boy is not harmed and we have survived without me being severely tempted to transfigure him into a bookend. That was a joke, so put your hackles down, wolf.
I do not know what your condition is at the moment, but if my erudite scholarship serves me well, you will likely be well enough to be released today or tomorrow. Werewolves heal quickly, I am told. I am amenable to meeting with you at anytime Albus Dumbledore suggests. With school out, I can rearrange my schedule any way I see fit and I have no pressing obligations until a two day Potion Master's conference in July.
Do not bother replying to either this or my first letter. Dumbledore will play mail-owl and he will give me your reply.
-Severus Snape
Remus Lupin looked up at Dumbledore again, this time too stunned to think. "Did you read either of these letters?" he asked carefully. The seals did not appear to have been broken, but one never knew with the Headmaster.
"Of course not, Remus," the old man looked affronted. "What did he say that was so profound?"
"What happened to Harry?" the Werewolf demanded, gold bleeding into his brown eyes as his wolf's protective instincts were roused.
"Did Severus not tell you?"
Remus glared at the old man and waved both letters. "He insists he needs my expertise and that Harry was injured and Snape doesn't want to deal with his problems! What possessed you to trust Severus Snape with Harry in the first place? I know how much Snape hates the very name of Potter after everything James put him through in school!"
Albus Dumbledore arched an eyebrow skeptically at the enraged werewolf. "I am not certain what Severus thought he would achieve with such a caustic attitude," he said mildly. "I can assure you that Harry seemed quite happy with Severus, giving no indication of animosity or cruelty on the man's part."
"I beg your pardon?" Remus frowned, looking down at the letters again. "Are you saying … Snape is being deliberately vague?"
"He is likely embarrassed about how close he has become to Harry and wishes to maintain the same distance with you as he did in your schooldays," the Headmaster replied frankly. "Severus has been truly compassionate and wise in dealing with the child, Remus. You need not fear for Harry at all. He was very happy and healthy when I saw him last, which was only a few hours ago. The two have bonded in a spectacular way and I could not be more proud of how Severus has handled this. Yes, they had a few rough days, but in all, I think you would be pleased with the work Severus Snape has done to help the boy."
Remus could only gape at the Headmaster. But he was glad. His heartbeat slowed and he could almost feel the golden glow slowly leaking from his eyes as his wolf calmed down. "But … what happened to Harry, Dumbledore?" he pleaded. "Was he attacked by Death Eaters? Kidnapped? Was he hurt by muggles?"
The old Headmaster sighed and tapped his hands on his knees, seemingly debating how much to say. "Severus wanted to tell you himself," he finally murmured. "But I am afraid he has been arrested and may not be able to make time for a meeting anytime soon."
Remus flinched. Severus Snape arrested? What did that mean for Harry now? Where was his cub?! More importantly, why was Snape arrested and how long would he be held? "Does the DMLE think Snape hurt Harry?" he asked incredulously. "What did they arrest him for?"
"Muggle terrorism," Albus Dumbledore replied easily. "He used some interrogative magic on Harry's guardians attempting to figure out how he was hurt and what happened. Unfortunately, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement already has Severus Snape down on a red-list and it will not take very much to get him into Azkaban."
"Oh no," Remus whispered, shutting his eyes and bowing his head. For several minutes, he wracked his brain, struggling to come up with a way he could help Severus to escape such an awful fate when he was only trying to help. "Can't you do something?" he asked desperately.
"I was on my way there when I decided to pop in and see you for a few minutes, my boy," Dumbledore smiled. "Do not worry about Severus. He will be perfectly fine and I will ensure he does not go to Azkaban. After all, it would be too difficult for me to find another Potions Master of his caliber to teach at Hogwarts."
Remus sighed and thumped his head back against the headboard. "So where is Harry now?"
"Seeing as he is nearly fully healed, I have placed Harry back under the protection of the blood wards where he has lived for the last seven years. It is even more imperative that he be kept safe seeing as how Black has escaped from Azkaban with a recent picture of Harry in his possession."
"Right, of course," the Werewolf murmured. His mind raced. He still had not been able to investigate his old friend's claim of innocence, so he did not feel comfortable talking to Dumbledore about his suspicions. If Dumbledore had deliberately left Sirius in Azkaban for whatever reason, he would need to be careful until he had solid evidence for his claim. "So … I could still visit him, do you think?" Remus asked hopefully.
"I am going to attempt to keep the magical presence in that neighbourhood as low as we can for now," the elderly wizard replied cautiously. "Black was an Auror, as I am sure you recall. The Aurors are trained to use certain spells in order to locate magical anomalies in ordinary places. I am not certain if he may have procured a wand or is perhaps skilled in wandless magic, but apparition and even flooing cause large surges of magical energy that we should avoid to keep the child safe. But have no fear, I promise I will let you meet him soon. Can you control yourself for just a few days, dear boy? "
"For a few days, at least," Remus muttered darkly. Nothing was going to keep him from his cub for long this time. He failed the child once. He wouldn't do it again. Forget Sirius for now. Harry was the one who needed him. Had he already forgotten his private promise to himself to investigate the boy's disappearance and find him? True, Severus Snape's house would have been the last place on earth that he checked, (not that he knew where Snape lived, truly) but he was pretty sure he could have tracked down his cub eventually.
"So, how are you doing at the moment, Remus? Are you recovering from your ordeal?" Dumbledore interrupted his grim thoughts.
Remus blinked and glared at the Headmaster. "I'm perfectly fine now, but they won't let me go until tomorrow morning. Observation, they say. I'm starting to feel stir-crazy."
"Ah, what a shame," Dumbledore shook his head sympathetically. "I'm afraid the only comfort I can give you is that you will be free to go soon, and then we can sit down in my office and have a proper talk."
Remus nodded silently, perusing Snape's letters again, struggling to read between the cryptic lines.
"Well," the old wizard sighed, "if you have no further questions for me, I do need to stop by the Ministry offices and see if I can't get some fair hearings for Severus. Shall I tell him you said hello?"
"Please," Remus nodded, looking up from the letters. "And give him my heartfelt thanks for the letters, for noticing that I was in Azkaban in the first place, taking care of Harry ... and all that."
"I will, Remus," the old man smiled warmly. As he stood, he vanished his squashy chair and beamed benevolently down at his former student. "I will see you tomorrow, yes? I have tea at four o'clock."
"Of course, sir," the Werewolf smiled. "Thank you for coming to see me again. Crosswords get old after awhile."
The old Headmaster chuckled and waved good-bye as he left the hospital room. Remus sighed and went back to the letters, reading them yet again. It was strange to think of Severus Snape caring for a child, especially the son of one of the Marauders. But perhaps Lily had been right about the sour-tempered Slytherin. She had often insisted that Snape cared deeply about a great many things, he just didn't like the pain that came from caring so much. It made sense, Remus mused. Even when James and Sirius had argued to him that Snape didn't count in any sense of the word because he was a nasty, conniving Slytherin with a head full of Dark Arts, Remus had always felt uneasy. Surely Slytherins were the same as any Gryffindor, just with green ties instead of red? How brainwashed had he become?
Remus Lupin groaned and cradled his suddenly aching head in his hands. He truly had allowed the prejudices of his friends to influence his thinking. He had immediately jumped to the conclusion that Snape couldn't possibly care for a child, that he would be cruel and unreasonable and would take revenge on a helpless child for the crimes of his father. A truly reasonable person wouldn't do that, he knew. But when had he started thinking of Severus Snape as a non-person? A Slytherin with evil intentions and no human feelings? Was it when he stood by and watched James and Sirius repeatedly lock the skinny, friendless boy in the cramped Potions' cabinet and laugh at his begging? Was it when he did nothing while James and Sirius hurt and humiliated the scrawny Slytherin for no other crime than existing? When had he become so heartless and cruel? Those who stood by in silence while the cruelty was being perpetrated was just as wrong as actually doing the bullying. Remus himself had been the victim of bullying before. He was still a victim of prejudice and suspicion on account of what he was, through no fault of his own. How could he be so heartless as to continue to inflict that injustice on another human being, even if it was in his own heart?
Remus took a deep breath and realized that his eyes were burning with tears of guilt. The man shuddered and allowed a sob to escape his throat. He vowed to do everything he could to change his thinking. Any man who could put the past behind him as thoroughly as Severus Snape had was no monster. He was a hero. Remus knew that he would slip and make mistakes, he would still fall into his old patterns of thinking, but at least he had a determination now. He swore to himself that he would not think of Severus Snape as a Slytherin, or a Death Eater, or even a victim. He would treat Severus Snape like a human being.
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What brought him to such a plain muggle neighbourhood? Padfoot didn't know. He simply followed his nose, literally and figuratively. It was too risky to perform seeking or tracing magic right now with the Ministry hunting him, and he was still too frightened to transform into his real form for more than a few minutes at a time, if he needed fingers or a man's height to do something.
His long, cold swim across the Irish Sea had been draining and terrifying. At some points, he almost gave up, but the thought of his godson who needed him was more than enough. Even so, the starved, drenched dog had staggered around on the rocky coast, feverish and delirious until the craggy fisherman took him in. The lonely old man was a bit crazy, but Padfoot had gotten to lie by a warm fire for the first time in over seven years, and exchange his ragged prison uniform for some of the old man's extra garments. He felt a bit guilty for stealing from the kindly old man, especially after the fine meal the fellow gave to his scrawny dog-self. But he would really rather not wear the stinking prison uniform on his human body any longer than he had to and he threw the filthy, threadbare clothes in the low turf-fire. After he left the fisherman's hut the next morning, he had instinctively sought out something to help heal his mind of the dementor damage. By some stroke of luck, he found a mostly-intact muggle chocolate bar in a trash can in Dublin and briefly transformed to human form to wolf it down. Muggle chocolate tended to be more sugar and additives than actual cacao, but even so, it granted his tormented mind and shivery limbs some much-needed relief, although he still felt confused and overwhelmed, especially by the bustling city surrounding him. He shifted back into Padfoot and made to flee out into the countryside, because everything was too bright, too loud, and too much. There were too many cars and too many people and too many potential dangers.
Days had passed and he had moved through cities and towns, crossed from Ireland into England, and he still had no idea where he was going or where his pup could be. So how had he ended up in this dull, pristine neighbourhood? He was not afraid of being spotted, not really. Even after he got hit in the face by a muggle newspaper near the last bus stop he passed and noted that his face was plastered on the front page, he simply was more careful not to shift anymore in the towns. But he knew no one would be looking for a big black dog like a Grim. He trusted that Moony wouldn't betray him.
The houses in this place were maddening. They all looked the same and the people didn't seem to like the sight of a big dog with jutting ribs and sad eyes hanging around their streets. Some shooed him off with disgusted looks, and one snippy young lady yelled for her husband to call the Animal Control people. Nobody spared him a kind look around here. He gobbled up some cat food in a dish left out on a porch a few streets over. It was a shabby little house with pink flamingos dancing in the yard and dozens of cats everywhere. The cat food was awful, but he was too hungry to care. Now, he was wandering down another street with much neater yards. The hedges were perfectly clipped, the lawns perfectly mowed, and the flowers that grew in the gardens and window boxes were too perfect. Why was he here anyway? Padfoot wondered. He was hungry and thirsty. The water he had managed to get from a park's water fountain last night had to be got while he was in human form, and he had been so terrified that he hadn't managed more than a few sips.
It was late afternoon and the air was finally beginning to cool off. The black dog panted wearily as it plodded up the black asphalt street, gazing despondently at the identical cookie-cutter houses arranged perfectly side-by-side on either side of the road. There were not too many people out this afternoon. An older gentleman was watering his garden on one side of the street, and two older ladies were gossiping over their perfect picket fence a little further down. The dog stepped up onto the sidewalk and panted in the warm air. He was so thirsty.
His sharp ears caught a faint scratching noise from the yard he was sitting in front of and he turned apathetically. There was a small boy doing some garden work in the side yard next to the neat little cookie-cutter house. His hair was dark and thick and his clothes looked a little big for him. He was working in silence; pulling weeds, it looked like. The dog stood up and eyed the boy curiously. Children weren't normally that quiet, were they?
Padfoot watched for several more minutes until the boy paused in his work. He slowly leaned back and put his hands on his hips as he stretched his back slowly like an old man. The dog blinked in worry. The child moved as if he was in pain. The instinct of protection was strong in most canines, especially in an animagus with higher intelligence than other dogs. Whining softly and feeling an intense urge to comfort the little boy, the big dog flattened himself and wriggled under the white picket fence, pushing aside the hedge of rhododendrons as he did so. The rustling of the bushes must have alerted the child to his visitor, because Padfoot found himself face to face with a small boy's bright green eyes when he made it through. The boy was on his hands and knees in the grass, regarding him with open curiosity and a bit of caution.
"Hello there," the boy whispered. "Are you a boy-dog or a girl-dog?"
Girl-dog? Padfoot snorted derisively. He was a very handsome boy-dog, thank you very much! But he knew the boy meant nothing by his comment and he finished crawling out from under the fence. Padfoot shook the leaves and twigs from his short fur and sniffed cautiously at the scrawny little boy. The child regarded him carefully with his luminous green eyes; eyes that felt all too familiar for some reason. Padfoot noticed that the boy smelled like fever and pain. There was something else strange under the boy's overlying scent that felt so very familiar and almost made his hackles go up. But he couldn't identify it. Frustrated, the big dog shoved his wet nose along the boy's neck and face and hands, snuffling loudly as he absorbed the confusing scents coming from the child's skin. The boy squirmed under the dog's inquisitive nose and pulled away. Padfoot suddenly sensed fear wafting off the boy and he backed off, realizing that he was scaring the boy with his inquisitive nose.
"Where'd you come from, dog?" the boy whispered, tilting his dark head to the side, regarding him with his serious bright eyes.
The boy's black hair was messy and thick, much like that which Padfoot had seen on another boy years ago. His eyes were bright green, focused and penetrating like another pair of eyes, also from years before. The eyes, the hair, and even his thin, serious little face, stirred memory and emotion in his canine mind. The dog whined as he suddenly realized that he knew this little child.
This scrawny, messy-headed, fever-flushed little boy was the one whom he sought.
Padfoot had found his pup.
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It had been a day since Harry had come back to Privet Drive and things were just as horrible as he had feared they would be. He went through the motions of his chores woodenly, fighting the urge to feel sorry for himself and fighting the lump in his throat that wouldn't go away. He welcomed the pain that accompanied his every movement since it gave him something to focus on besides the emotional agony engulfing him.
He fought tears when he cooked breakfast, sliding three perfect omelets onto plates while arranging tomatoes on his Aunt's plate, and bacon slices on the plates of his Uncle and cousin. He was determined not to think of the look on the Professor's face when he first tasted Harry's cooking. He did the dishes and firmly determined not to think about the magic that washed the plates by themselves, and cleared the table, shivering when his Uncle shoved his coffee mug at him and left for work. Uncle Vernon sneered at him and told him to do all his chores before tonight, or else. Harry knew what 'or else' meant. It would mean another strapping, and maybe the withholding of food too. He fought the gnawing ache in his stomach all day as he swept and polished and dusted. Aunt Petunia forced him to scrub the bathroom with his toothbrush, which was an old one of Dudley's anyway. He vacuumed and did the laundry, and finally, after lunch, Aunt Petunia let him go outside to do the gardening.
Harry heaved a sigh of relief when he got outside, clicking the back door shut behind him. All of his muscles hurt, his skin burned where the belt had struck him yesterday, and he was tired and hungry, but at least he could drink from the faucet outside and work in peace and quiet. His Aunt was taking care of supper now and wouldn't bother him for some time. Harry gathered the right tools from the shed and set to work in the flowerbeds. He weeded and trimmed and mucked around in the soil, making everything neat and pretty. Working in the dirt and fresh air helped to clear his head and calmed him, but he tried hard not to think of the things he had lost forever, like the Professor, or the soft warm bed, or even the nasty potions that made him feel better.
While vacuuming, Harry had quickly retrieved the potions and treasures he had hidden under the couch and pocketed them. At the earliest opportunity, he had stashed them in his cupboard, all hidden in different places just in case. His cousin didn't usually mess with his things, and he had been surprisingly quiet today, but Harry didn't want to risk his only source of relief being discovered. He would sip a little bit of the pain potion before bed tonight and hopefully it would mute the agonizing aches in his bones and muscles and the burning throbbing on his skin. Having that to look forward to made Harry feel a bit better and he straightened up carefully, easing the aching muscles in his back. After he stretched a little, Harry stumbled to his feet, preparing to gather his trowel and other tools to clean and put them away. He would water the garden and get another good drink from the faucet before Aunt Petunia called him in to set the table and start the dishes so he could wash up while the Dursleys ate.
A rustling noise from behind made Harry jump and spin around. There was something big and black crawling under the front fence, wriggling under the hedge and grunting as it squirmed. Harry went down on his hands and knees and crawled across the grass, not wanting his Aunt to see him. He watched in cautious fascination as a big black dog crawled out of the hedge and fixed him with liquid blue eyes. He had never seen such eyes on a dog before, especially a black dog, and he was mesmerized. The dog whined softly as it wriggled free and it carefully approached him. Harry saw that it was terribly thin and bony, it limped, looking tired, but curious.
"Hello there," Harry whispered, feeling sorry for the poor creature at once. He didn't have anything for the dog, and he really shouldn't encourage it to hang around. He should probably shoo it off, but should he say 'shoo, girl', or 'shoo, boy'? "Are you a boy-dog or a girl-dog?" he asked softly. The dog sneezed and shook itself free of the leaves and twigs from the hedge, and Harry smiled. But his smile faltered as the dog leaned in and started sniffing him. Its nose was wet and cold and it made loud snuffling noises as it investigated him. When the nose started pressing into his bare neck, Harry whimpered softly and pulled away. He could remember the wolf that attacked him, and the giant dog that slobbered all over him a couple of days ago and he wondered if this big black dog was going to go crazy on him too. But to Harry's relief, the dog backed off, gazing at him quizzically with its wise blue eyes.
"Where'd you come from, dog?" Harry whispered, wishing he could talk to dogs like he talked to snakes. It would be so nice to have a pet, even if he couldn't let it come into the house and had to keep it a secret from his Aunt and Uncle.
The dog continued to stare at him, its blue eyes unnerving in their growing intensity. Suddenly, without warning, the dog whined loudly and threw itself on him, licking his face frantically and pinning him in the grass with its huge paws. Harry cried out in surprise, but he quickly stifled his terrified scream lest his Aunt hear him. He silently shook with terror and struggled desperately with the big dog as tears burned their way out of his eyes. It only lasted less than a minute, but the dog suddenly stepped off him. Once Harry was free, he scrambled to his feet and ran frantically to the shed in the backyard. He locked himself in and collapsed against the door, shaking and trying to pull himself back together. He couldn't afford to let his Aunt or cousin see him like this: helpless, vulnerable, and terrified. They would attack him and drive him over the edge. He hated it when he broke down in front of them. Even during his beatings when he cried, he was able to keep himself from shaking, begging, and curling up in a corner, gripping his head and whimpering for everything to go away. He had only broken down like that a few times in his life, and his cousin sure enjoyed torturing him when he was at his most vulnerable. He wouldn't give them that advantage.
After his trembling stopped, Harry slumped over his knees and drew a shaky breath, chanting silently to himself that he was okay, the dog didn't hurt him, and everything would be fine. The boy wiped his tears and sighed as he leaned back against the door, stretching out his aching legs. He heard a soft doggie whimper and some snuffling noises on the other side of the shed door and he stiffened in fright, but judging by the noise, the dog simply lay down in front of the door and panted in the fading sunshine. Harry relaxed again and just rested. He closed his eyes and listened to the dog panting, and whining sporadically. He suddenly felt bad. The dog was just being friendly, and actually, it was a lot nicer than the giant dog, and certainly way nicer than the wolf! Harry was dreadfully thirsty after his cry, and he wondered if the dog was thirsty too. It was awfully thin and sad looking. Harry wondered what its story was. Had it come from a home where its master beat and starved it? Harry knew what that was like. His compassion for the animal overrode his fear and he stood up, taking a deep breath. He could do this.
Trying, (and failing) to be calm, Harry shakily opened the shed door and pulled it open. He looked down at the dog curled up there, and the canine's deep blue eyes gazed soulfully up at him. Harry found himself smiling at the comical expression of pleading on its doggie face.
"I'm s-sorry about that," Harry whispered, slowly crouching to pet the dog's soft fur. He stroked its head and the dog panted happily, its long tail thumping the door as it wagged. "I just … I'm kinda s-scared of dogs, okay? I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
The dog whined and turned its head awkwardly, trying to lick his hand. Harry giggled softly and moved his hand so the dog could reach him more easily. The rough pink tongue felt nice, not slobbery and slimy like the giant dog at the school. He knelt down next to the black dog and petted it with one hand while letting the dog lick his other hand. He relaxed still further as the dog made no move to get up, and Harry began to feel confident that it wouldn't hurt him. His hand began to scratch behind the dog's ears and it groaned happily, letting its tongue hang out the side of its mouth. Harry giggled again, but he knew he needed to hurry and water the garden, get himself and the dog some to drink too, and go inside before Aunt Petunia felt forced to come out and fetch him.
He got to his feet and groaned softly as his aching muscles protested. The dog jumped up as well, eyeing him with what looked like concern. It whined and gently bumped its nose into Harry's knee.
"I'm okay," he whispered to the dog, patting its big head and limping toward the house and the outside faucet. "I'm just sore is all. C'mon, let's get some water. Sorry I don't have any food for you."
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Padfoot followed the boy, his boy, across the yard and gratefully lapped up the water that Harry let him drink. The boy joined him under the faucet, slurping thirstily at the cool water and splashing his face. Padfoot was worried, and gently licked the boy's ear. Harry yelped and jerked away, looking at him warily as if he expected to be attacked. Padfoot whined apologetically and tucked his tail between his legs as he cringed. He didn't mean to scare his pup, and tried to show it as best he could. To his relief, Harry sighed and patted him once on the head before he fetched the hose to water the flowers. Padfoot watched, worried about the boy's stiff movements and the sheer exhaustion he felt rolling off the small child. His thoughts were muted while in animagus form, but he knew he would be both furious and frantic with worry for his godson once he shifted and reflected on what he'd learned, while in Sirius' body instead of Padfoot's. Right now, he couldn't think about the why and how of anything. All he could focus on was staying near his pup and giving him comfort and support while his frail little body smelled like fever and pain and weariness. The boy was still nervous around him, so Padfoot took it slow. He knew small children could be frightened of big dogs and he didn't want to make Harry run from him again. It had been dreadful when he realized that his pup was deathly afraid of him. Of course, he shouldn't have jumped on the boy like that, but Padfoot hadn't been able to help himself. He had been so excited and overjoyed to finally find his pup.
Suddenly, a woman's shout rang over the backyard, startling both boy and dog. "Boy! What's taking you so long?!"
The dog flinched and automatically lunged into the shadows of the tree he was under, hiding from the shouting woman, wherever she had come from.
"I'm almost done, Aunt Petunia," Harry called back, his voice soft and tired.
"Well, hurry it up!" the woman shouted back, sounding peeved. "You still need to set the table and straighten the sitting room!"
A door slammed and Padfoot whined fearfully. He hated it when people shouted like that. It frightened him. Memories of shouted curses, echoing along dark corridors, screams of emotional agony and wails of despair assaulted his mind and he whimpered, pressing into the grass. When he was able to overcome the awful memories, Padfoot whined again and bounded back over to his boy, trying to apologize for his little breakdown. Harry was coiling up the garden hose and gathering up the tools. The boy threw him a tired smile and trotted to the backyard. Padfoot stood in the doorway, watching as the boy put the tools away in the obsessively clean shed.
"I can try to sneak you some food later," Harry whispered as he closed the shed door behind them. "But you'll have to hide until then, okay? If my Aunt sees you, she'll call Animal Control and they'll take you away, got it?"
Padfoot whined and nuzzled the boy's side to show his appreciation and worry. Harry winced and jerked away from his friendly snout and pushed him away. Padfoot looked up, surprised and alarmed. "Not there, doggie," Harry whispered, his voice tight with pain. "It hurts." The boy hurried past the dog and into the house through the back door. Just before the door shut, Padfoot heard the screeching woman shout at the boy to hurry up and stop dawdling or he'd get it from his uncle later.
Padfoot's human self wanted to scream with rage or weep with grief. Who would dare put his pup here and hurt him? Were these muggles the ones who took Harry? Were they the ones who made his boy go missing? Padfoot needed to shift and he needed to think, but he was weak with hunger and distraught with worry and he couldn't think straight. Later, he told himself. Later, he would think and work out a plan. For now, he just needed to go hide and wait for Harry to come back with food, if he could. Padfoot darted off and crouched behind the shed in the back, positioned so he could see the house's back door, and settled down to wait.
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Harry felt weak with hunger as he listened to his relatives eating their supper, but he held out firmly and kept cleaning the kitchen, praying that they would let him scrape the plates tonight at least. There was a good chance they would, because Uncle Vernon sounded cheerful tonight, telling Aunt Petunia about some deal he'd made for his company. Aunt Petunia seemed happy too, and Harry relaxed just a bit, hoping that he wouldn't do something stupid to make either of them mad at him again. Several times during supper, Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia urged Dudley to eat more or asked him if he was feeling alright. Dudley answered with short, surly replies, and didn't whine and complain or make demands like he usually did. In fact, he was really quiet all through supper, like he'd been since yesterday. Harry wondered worriedly if Dudley was getting sick. If so, Harry knew he would get the worst of it. He hated having to give Dudley room service. He would be stuck at the spoiled boy's beck and call for days if Aunt Petunia thought Dudley needed to rest in his room. But there wasn't anything he could do about it, so Harry just sighed silently and finished wiping down the still-warm stovetop.
Supper finished and Aunt Petunia came marching into the kitchen. Harry froze, kneeling on the floor where he was scrubbing away the stains from splashes of tomato sauce with a sponge. He watched his Aunt fearfully, ready to bolt into a corner if she tried to kick him, which she'd done before.
"Hurry up, Freak," she hissed. "You still need to clear the table, and don't even think of sneaking any of the leftovers! You scrape the plates into the rubbish and then take it out, do you hear me?"
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry murmured with a heavy heart, dropping his burning eyes back down to the sponge and the tomato stains on the floor. His stomach groaned in protest and Harry went back to scrubbing as hard as he could to hide the way his hands started to shake. He was so hungry. But there was nothing he could do about it. He would just have to wait until his Aunt and Uncle got tired of starving him. It would get to the point where she would just throw something at him to eat. But it would fall on the floor and she would laugh when he dove for it like a dog. In those moments, the humiliation was dreadful, but his hunger was worse. Harry hoped it wouldn't take long because his dizzy and weak spells were getting worse. He wondered despondently whether he was so much hungrier now because the Professor had taken such good care of him, letting him eat pretty much however much he wanted, even telling him to keep eating when his stomach was already happy. But no, Harry remembered how puzzled he had been by his increased hunger during those days when the Professor would leave him alone all day with a snack of crackers or grapes on the nightstand. It was likely a side effect from being bitten by a monster. Harry got up and rinsed out his sponge, wincing and shifting his aching shoulder. It was the same one that had been bitten, and the Professor told him that werewolf wounds never really healed all the way. He might have problems with that shoulder all his life, which was pretty inconvenient, Harry thought grumpily. He didn't need more things to worry about.
As Harry was clearing the table, he overheard his Aunt and Uncle in the hall, interrogating Dudley about why he was acting so moody and strange and where his appetite had gone. Harry glanced at the plates in his hands and was surprised to see that Dudley hadn't eaten much of his pasta, even though it had sausage in the sauce, which was his favorite. More than half the plate still had spaghetti piled on it, and most of the thick slice of garlic toast. Harry set the plates on the counter and went back and forth several more times, fetching the glasses and the serving platters. Leftover pasta, sauce, salad and bread went into containers in the refrigerator to become midnight snacks for Uncle Vernon or Dudley later. The plates with unfinished food all got combined and Harry looked up quickly to be sure nobody was watching as he wrapped the leftover bits of bread in a napkin and shoved the little package into the trash where Aunt Petunia wouldn't see it easily. As for the rest of the food, he spread out a dirty napkin in the garbage and scraped the uneaten pasta and sauce onto it. He innocently finished scraping the plate as his Aunt stormed into the kitchen and he proceeded to the sink to wash the dishes. Aunt Petunia suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Empty out your pockets right this instant," she hissed.
Harry trembled when he thought of how close he'd come to stuffing the bread in his pockets instead of the trash, but he knew that there was nothing to fear now. He dried his hands quickly and silently turned his pockets inside out to show her that he had nothing in them. Aunt Petunia sniffed and left the kitchen, ordering him to watch himself and not to even think about stealing food from the family and he ought to be grateful for whatever she and Vernon chose to give him. Harry swallowed hard and returned to his chores.
It seemed like forever before he was finally allowed to empty the rubbish bin. He pulled out the trash bag, but he didn't bother to tie it as he dragged it to the back door. The large garbage pail was kept by the back door, but there weren't any windows on this side of the house that could see him easily, so he was safe here for a few minutes. He shut the back door behind him, glad that he could still see really well in the dark since the sun had set a long time ago and it was dark outside. Shaking, Harry set the trash down and opened it. He pulled out the messy napkin covered in uneaten pasta and dropped it by the garbage can. He didn't dare eat any of it for fear that the tomato sauce would stain his mouth and alert his Aunt that he was stealing.
"Psst!" Harry called softly. "Dog? Are you still there?"
To Harry's surprise, the big black dog came to him right away. It must have stayed close by. Harry let the dog lick his fingers clean of sauce, (saving his clothes from tomato stains) before it started in on the food on the floor. Harry pulled out the napkin of garlic bread and wolfed it down himself. His stomach almost seemed to sigh in relief as he put something solid into it, and the dog whined gratefully, nudging his legs with its bony body.
"You're welcome, doggie," Harry whispered. He patted the dog's flank and rubbed its jutting ribs while it leaned against his legs and wagged its tail. "I'll bring more if I can, but …" Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. "Y-you should probably go somewhere else if you want food. I … I don't get much and I can't really give you stuff all the time …"
Without warning, the back door jerked open behind him and Harry cried out, covering his head with his arms in fear of what would happen. The dog streaked away into the night as the light spilled out.
"What on earth are you doing, brat?" Aunt Petunia hissed at him. "How long does it take you to put the rubbish out?"
"I-it's h-heavy," Harry stammered as his excuse. He quickly ducked down and struggled with the trash bag. He was pretty strong for his size, but he purposefully made it look harder than it really was to put the bag into the garbage can and shut the metal lid.
His Aunt grabbed him and dragged him inside by the ear and slammed the door behind them. Harry tried not to squirm, but tears of pain rolled down his face as Aunt Petunia dragged him through the kitchen to the hall where Uncle Vernon stood, glaring horribly and holding his belt.
Harry trembled and began to sob breathlessly in fear. He couldn't take another beating right now, he simply couldn't. He shut his eyes and listened to his Aunt furiously list off all of his mistakes today, including all the times he 'complained' that he was hungry or tired. Harry already knew he was a bad boy, but he hated it when his Aunt and Uncle listed it all off like that. It just hurt, and he knew they hated him, so why couldn't they just leave him alone?
The evening ended with his hands pressed to the wall and the belt walloping him for not much of a reason that he could see. At least they let him keep his clothes on, he thought. But it still hurt.
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Padfoot knew he had been an awful coward to run when the screeching woman startled him. When he finally realized that he had run off in terror and returned to the house, it was dark and silent. The dog curled up behind the shed and shifted into a man. Sirius clutched his head with both hands and let out a strangled sob. He was confused and scared, and he was terribly worried about this whole thing. Harry was found, but he was obviously with family. It would be tricky to get the boy away without alerting the various wards around the house. He could feel them as he went in and out of the yard, like static on his fur. Also, the boy smelled of tracing charms and strange magic. He would need a wand to do this properly, Sirius thought. But first, he ought to stick around, get stronger, rest in relative safety, and take care of his pup if he could. He needed more information before he rushed into this. He really didn't want Dumbledore sending the Order after him.
Sirius shook as he fingered the newspaper scrap he still had in his pocket. It was too dark to pull it out to look at his godson's face, but he had the real thing right here. The boy was handsome like his father, but took after his mother in all the right ways. He couldn't imagine James being so gentle and thoughtful with a scary stray dog, but Lily? That girl had been fearless and her compassion had been boundless. His godson was a very good boy, but trapped here with abusive idiots. Didn't Dumbledore know about this? Didn't he send anyone to check on the boy? If the old man did not know, (or care) Sirius knew that it was his responsibility to protect Harry and rescue him. He didn't care that the Wizarding world would accuse him of kidnapping and come after him. He was confident he could take care of himself and the boy and stay one step ahead of the Ministry. But he was too weak right now. He needed to rest and regain his strength before he started making plans of escape. This would be trickier than getting out of Azkaban, and he needed to be careful so as not to put his pup in more danger.
He spent the rest of the night sitting in human form behind the shed, thinking and planning. He would certainly need a safe place to take his godson once he rescued him, and he would somehow need to introduce his human self without scaring the child out of his mind. He would also need supplies and of course, a wand. There was just too much to think of right now, especially when all he could think about was his poor, sick pup, trapped here with people who obviously didn't love him and probably hurt him. The escaped convict shivered and buried his face in his hands.
For now, Sirius just wanted to cry. He was overwhelmed with relief and fear and worry, and Padfoot could not weep. The man sobbed almost silently, not wanting to give himself away. Curled into a tight little ball, Sirius Black cried like a frightened child long into the night.
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And it's Sirius Black to the rescue! I know this is the moment you all have been waiting for, (or maybe not) and I hope I did it justice. Thank you all so much for your reviews and your enthusiasm, it all means SO much to me! Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it and I'll see you after the weekend!