I. I was having a rough day of it so far. The pocket on this shirt was thin and lined with lint at the bottom. I'd already been sneezing most of the morning. This, along with the moving of trunks and the jostling and the tight goodbye hugs, came together to make me quite relieved to feel the clatter of the train beneath me. Finally, perhaps, I could get some sleep.

I had just settled down when Ron found a compartment. Someone was already inside: I could see that through the weave of the shirt. Ron hesitated.

"Anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full."

Whoever it was must have merely nodded, because Ron sat down. Fred and George came over briefly. I wasn't paying too much attention to anything, concentrating mostly on shifting my weight until I found the most comfortable spot in the pocket. I had just dozed off when I heard Ron say it.

"Are you really Harry Potter?"

I stiffened. Surely I had heard wrong! Against my will, I began shivering. Harry Potter -- surely it can't be. He must know -- I'm -- I'm dead! I tried to remain calm, until Ron brought up "You-Know-Who," and I heard Harry speak.

I lay curled up in the pocket, quaking, as I heard Ron converse with eleven-year-old James' voice. And got worse by the moment... "...I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat." He pulled me out. I was petrified with fear, but did my best to look asleep. "His name's Scabbers and he's useless..." Yes! I thought frantically. Scabbers. Not Peter or Wormtail or anything else. Just your boring old hand-me-down rat.

The conversation up to Hogwarts was torture to listen to. I was horrified to hear Harry so blandly say my master's name, but relieved in part when he displayed total ignorance about the wizarding world. For now, I'm safe. He doesn't know anything, not anything: no circumstances, no history. Still, his voice was agony. Just looking like I was lying innocuously asleep took all the effort I could muster, just to keep myself from bolting.

At one point, Ron turned the conversation back to me, trying to turn me yellow, to make me "more interesting." No! no! there is nothing interesting about me! I am just Scabbers, Scabbers the family rat...

They began talking about my master again, and my nerves were so frazzled by that time I was glad when they were interrupted.

I opened my eyes when Ron stood up, and saw a Malfoy, backed by a Crabbe and a Goyle. Some things never change. Although I wish they would, I thought, with another nervous glance at Harry.

I never liked any of those three. Always pushing me around, their fathers were. I welcomed the excuse to give one of them a good nip. It took my mind off the miniature James Potter sitting opposite me. After that, I fell asleep for real. He suspects nothing. For that I was grateful. And if I can help it, he need never know.

II.

By no means was it a foolish whim. I had to see him, to keep my purpose, to remind myself afresh of why I had gotten out. Escaping Azkaban alive had almost killed me, and I just... I needed to see him.

I knew the risks. I had seen my face in Muggle newspapers -- old Fudge must be really worried about his hide. I had to chuckle. If they only knew... and know they would, someday.

I also knew the rewards. I thought of the last time I'd seen him. It still pained me, the memory of handing that bleeding little bundle over to Hagrid and watching him soar away on my ridiculous flying motorbike... after that I had stood vigil over their ruined house, only fleeing when I heard Ministry officials approaching and remembering, realizing, that they thought I had done it...

Truly the worst moments of my life. Azkaban could hardly kill a man after that.

Enough of this. You have a job to do tonight.

I stalked through the prim and proper Muggle suburb, skulking behind bushes and between fences and buildings. Number 4, Privet Drive, Number 4, Privet Drive... I repeated the address over and over, willing my numb feet to continue until I'd found it.

Here it was! There was considerable commotion inside. I could smell magic, leaving a trail along the streets and away. Something suddenly whooshed overhead. I shrank back and cowered in a shadow: a Ministry official! I watched as he fought his way into Number 4, Privet Drive. Something was wrong. And Harry wasn't there, I was sure of that much. I decided to track the magical scent on the sidewalk. Among other things, the smell that confirmed my quarry's identity above all was that of demiguise fur: an Invisibility Cloak.

I followed it for several blocks. My heart began to pound. What would meet my eyes when I finally found the boy? And how would I be able to restrain myself from bounding over and --

No, I told myself. Whatever you see, it will not be Prongs.

I glanced up the street I was following. Magnolia Crescent. My gaze fell back in front of me. I nearly walked right into him. Gasping and nearly yelping, I scuttled away, stowing myself between a high fence and someone's garage. He was bending over, shuffling angrily through a large, heavy trunk. He's quite tall, I thought. Is he only thirteen?

Then he straightened up. I froze, astounded. Same tall lankiness. Same unruly black hair. Same straight back. Same hands. Same glasses.

His brow was furrowed, and Lily's green eyes were searching the area where I was hidden. When he whispered "Lumos," I knew I should retreat, but I couldn't. All I could was stare. James...

I saw his face drop in horror. The Grim! I thought. He's seen me! Silent as I could, I hid, doing my best not to lose sight of him.

He stepped back, tripped over his open trunk, and fell. Instinctively I fled. I could not help myself. When I stopped to look back, I saw the Knight Bus speeding overhead. I swore. But, when he knows the truth, and he's living with out, you'll have plenty of time to marvel, Godfather.

Refreshed and renewed, though quite hungry, I picked myself back up and began to head north. It would be a long walk to Hogwarts, but for another glimpse of Harry (and the capture of the rat who put you away), it would not be too far.

III.

I don't know how Muggles travel like they do, with their cars and buses and aeroplanes. The journey from Romania would have been so much easier with but a handful of Floo Powder. Alas, it was not to be. Until I reached London, I was short on funds. Muggle transportation would have to do.

But I was looking forward to the Hogwarts Express again. So many friendships kindled there (and to think, not one is left alive I can trust). No bitterness, Remus. There is nothing to be done about it now.

I was only grateful that the full moon had passed six days ago. I couldn't imagine how I would have made the trip last week. Still, it felt like I could not sleep enough. After all the trouble of getting to King's Cross Station, of remembering where Platform 9 ¾ was, of clamoring through throngs of wizard children and screeching pets and parents and school things, I was more than relieved to collapse in the last compartment on the end car, alone and undisturbed.

I wonder if there are some things I'll ever escape. I dreamt while I rode on the train, curled up by the window. I was returning to old territory, and I knew old fears and voices would haunt me this year.

But I found myself awake, painfully awkward, sitting in a compartment with two other boys and a girl. The black-hair boy without the glasses cocked his head and me and whispered, "You think I did it, don't you?" The next instant, he was introducing the other two. "This is James Potter, who I didn't kill, and this is Lily Evans, who I also didn't kill. I'm Sirius Black, and I escaped to come after you?" His voice went strangely high. The three of them then began to hold a conversation consisting entirely of the words "innocent," "guilty," "traitor," "doubt," and "free."

"Not here!" said James suddenly. "I'm here!"

"What?" I said.

"Ouch!" came a voice from nowhere. I was jolted awake. My formerly empty compartment had about six kids in it. Something was wrong. I could smell it in the dark, I could feel it.

"Quiet!" I heard myself rasp. I lit a small blue fire in my hand and looked around the compartment. I was so weary I wondered if I was still dreaming, for James was still sitting opposite me. I dismissed it as folly and headed towards the door, saying "Stay where you are."

Few things shock you into consciousness like coming face-to-face with a dementor. Both of us were still for an instant, then the dementor's hood began to swivel around. Its gaze fixed on the boy I'd assumed to be James, who went quite white and then collapsed on the floor. Angered, I pointed my wand at the creature. "None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks!" I growled. "Go."

The dementor didn't look at me: its gaze was still hungrily fixed on the fallen boy, whose friends were clustered around him, panicked. The sight was enough. "Expecto patronum," I muttered, and my whispy silver wolf rushed out of my wand and drove the dementor away. Poor Sirius, I caught myself thinking, having to deal with those for twelve years--

He deserved it! another voice fired back. He killed them! Stop!

I turned back to the children at my feet. One was slapping the fallen boy about the face, shouting "Harry! Harry!"

Harry. I stopped dead. Harry. Harry James Potter. Of course. As I listened to his shaking voice, I was thrown back twenty years...

"Who screamed?" he was saying.

A red-haired boy, obviously his best friend (his Sirius) replied, shaking, "No one screamed."

No! On no! He heard them! He can remember!

I acted almost automatically. I found a slab of chocolate in my pocket from the train station and snapped it in the middle of Harry's insistences. Everyone jumped and looked up at me. "Here," I said, handing pieces out to everyone, with an especially large piece to Harry. "Eat this. It'll help." James' pale, scared face looked up at me. Harry took the chocolate but made no move to eat it.

"What was that thing?" he croaked instead.

"A dementor," I replied flatly, my head spinning. "One of the dementors of Azkaban." I crumpled the chocolate wrapper and looked at the compartment of drained faces. "Eat," I urged. "It'll help." I paused, gazing out the dark window for a moment. "I need to speak to the driver, excuse me..."

I escaped into the corridor and leaned weakly against the walls, trembling. Face to face with James Potter's son! And teaching Harry too!

I haven't seen him since he was a baby. It never even occurred to me to dream about him. Yet here he was. Did Dumbledore mention him? I can't remember...

I felt a protective instinct surge up in me. I failed you that night, Lily and James. Crafty, that Voldemort would attack on a full moon. But I'll make up for it, Prongs, I promise.

Even if it means facing your killer in the end.