Disclaimer: all characters belong to J K Rowling and Warner brothers.
a/n Story dedicated to Moppet Poppet, Cheating Death's 500th reviewer! *gasp* Moppet, how can you like exams?!??!?! *points accusingly*
*cheers* WS has hit the 500th mark, thank you Rowena Gryffindor! Let's see, would you like me to upload another chapter of CD or PoM and take them momentarily off hiatus? Or you can request a short story? It's up to you! Email me and we can discuss it!
Of Western Stars
By neutral
Chapter fifteen - of re-acquaintance
Sirius hesitated. Could he tell the boy about Padfoot? Would Harry understand? But it would be such a shock to see a man turn into a beast right before his eyes especially with the kind of atmosphere he was raised in. He couldn't deal with Harry fearing Padfoot as well.
Sirius felt his stomach clinch. He couldn't, Harry wasn't ready. But what would happen if Sirius told Harry his real name? With Remus there, he wondered if his old friend told him about the situation. Although his escape wasn't publicized, it was hard to say how much Harry knew. The last thing he wanted was to scare the boy when he seemed so fragile already.
But he couldn't lie, especially not to Harry. He drew a steadying breath, "I can't tell you right now, but I promise I will once you get better."
The child squinted as if scrutinizing him, tilting his head to one side curiously. The fear wasn't gone, lurking behind the shadows of his eyes waiting to return full force. "Why?" the child asked timidly.
Sirius took a deep breath and held it, slowly lowering the child back onto the bed. He tucked the blankets firmly around the six year old, "Because you'll hate me if you don't understand," Sirius whispered.
Harry tensed slightly, baffled and unnerved by Sirius' words. But the effects of the food was exacting its toll, and he was sinking into a heavy weariness. His eyes unfocused and glazed like a sheet of glass, before sleep claimed him once again.
Harry drifted at the edges of consciousness, reluctant to open his eyes and relinquish sleep. His blankets were so warm, and he was so tired. There was a strange essence of peace and comfort in his cupboard, and Harry never felt that way about it before.
So tired… he never felt this tired before… not since Dudley had pushed him down the stairs his fourth birthday and he struck his head against the banister.
His limbs weighed like stones over his body and his arms of solid metal, he couldn't even turn more than a few inches before hot fire would gush through his veins. His body was stiff and numb, he was so sore and tired. Harry snuggled deeper in his folds. Instantly, there was a blinding pain raking across his back, and he gasped.
Harry opened his eyes jerkily, blinking when his faulty eyes refused to focus. But there was no reflection of the dark, cramped compartment of the cupboard. He tried to raise his head despite the protests of his bruised neck. Harry could barely make out the slurred outline of a television and another full sized bed across from him. Streaks of milky white lined a wall and if he tried hard enough, he could just see the folds of the curtain.
What…? Harry blinked, disoriented.
The memories of yesterday crashed over him in an instant. Much of it was a blur, but he could distinctively remember the stranger's words. It was disorienting to wake up in a foreign room with a stranger; a man had taken him out of Pivet drive, and found a doctor for him and treated him with foreign kindness that Harry didn't understand. A man who refused to tell him his name, but bore such a strong sense of familiarity that Harry stared for several minutes without blinking. His memory was a blur after that, but some things still made no sense.
How did he know his name? Why did the man help him? Harry couldn't figure out why anyone would even bother. He was worthless, Aunt Petunia always said so.
Something shifted beside him. Turning, Harry could barely make out a dark blur of the man, head slumped forward in an uncomfortable angle as he leaned against the side of the bed. He looked oddly like Padfoot with its streaks of long, black hair.
Trust him, a distant part of his mind said. He telling the truth when he said he wouldn't hurt you. It's okay to trust him.
The stranger shifted again, his breathing deepening. Slowly, Harry lifted his right arm, the only arm that he could move without scalding fire in his wrist, and placed it softly on the man's hair. He had patted Padfoot's head so many times, it was almost an instinct. He lightly stroked the thick strands, still smelling oddly of flowers that reminded him of the cat shampoo he dumped over Padfoot's fur. Harry wished that he had left with the familiar black dog; how was he managing without Harry to bring him food? Would he be alright?
Why wasn't he sleeping in the empty bed? Harry wondered dimly. It's so uncomfortable to sleep in a chair.
Harry blinked, belatedly realized that the man he was petting wasn't a dog, probably would be angry at being treated like one. Harry drew his hand back apprehensively.
A gleam of light against glass caught his eye. Squinting, Harry could just see the smear of black beside the stranger's hand. His glasses…
Harry reached for them, but his arm was far to short. His left hand could probably touch them, but it stung like acid was in the bone. But his glasses…
Carefully, Harry dragged his arm over the bed, chewing his lip to keep from crying out. Cold sweat was rising on his skin from the effort. There were nails digging into his flesh at the movement, but his glasses were so close. Just a little further, and…
The large blur stirred. Harry's fingers brushed the man's arm as he reached for the round rimmed plastic, and the man's head shot up. Harry froze. Sirius stared at him for a moment with an expression he couldn't see, but then his face traveled to his outstretched arm, swabbed with bandages.
"Oh god, Harry, what are you…," the man stood up sharply, reaching for his hand.
Harry jerked away to cover his face defensively, a reaction grinded into him after years of residence with his relatives. But the movement aggravated the biting pain in his wrist and made the child gasp. The man sounded so angry, so frustrated. He was mad at him, he was going to punish him! That tone of voice sent waves of memories that haunted him all too often. Especially with the baggy clothes of Uncle Vernon, the man was terrifying.
The stranger froze at his obvious display of fear, backing away as if burned. "Harry, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you." He was obviously trying to be reassuring, but there was a sort of cautiousness in his tone.
Oddly, Harry believed him, and when he reached forward again, managed only a small wince. Harry wasn't sure why he so willingly wanted to trust the stranger, but it was so natural. Something about him just called for it; it was like with Padfoot, only stronger. Harry knew him somehow. If he tried hard enough, he could almost see it. A face leaning over the crib, speaking words that he couldn't remember…
He's familiar, like Padfoot… was thought that rose in his mind.
Harry could feel his larger hands encircling his bandaged arm. Sirius supported the almost fractured wrist as he laid it against the covers, carefully peeling away the stiff bandages. He couldn't seem to be afraid of Sirius at all, not when the man was so kind. But Harry was still confused.
"Be careful about moving your hand. The sprain is pretty serious, and the doctor says it's not going to take much more damage. Doesn't it hurt?" Harry could hear him saying as he lightly touched the battered skin. Sirius was speaking mostly to relieve the tension. His voice was strained, but it wasn't with rage.
Harry stared at Sirius, unsure of what to say.
"The swelling still hasn't receded. I'll get you a warm compress. "
Harry blinked, dazed. That man didn't want to hurt him at all. He wasn't even angry. It was all so confusing, he wasn't sure how to respond. Harry turned his attention to his glasses, still lying obliviously on the bed. It looked a bit closer after Sirius had knocked it when he stood up. Perhaps if he tried reaching for it with his right arm…
"Harry, no," Sirius said firmly, hurrying back towards him. "Are you trying to get your glasses? Why didn't you just ask me?"
Ask him? But wouldn't the stranger be irritated? Or would he…
Harry was silent, unsure of how to respond. No one ever asked such a question before. He just stared at the man in puzzlement.
Sirius sighed again, running a weary hand through his long hair. "It doesn't matter. Here."
Glasses were slipped on his face with care, nothing like the way Aunt Petunia would when he was younger and she wanted to drag him out of bed. Once, she jabbed the leg of it so hard against the corner of his eye that he saw red for hours. The room came sharply into focus, and he could finally see the tan color of the blankets and walls. Sirius was standing beside his bed, reading the instructions on the back of a small white package he held. He frowned slightly.
"Damn muggle instructions… never could make any sense…," Sirius grumbled. "Oh, there we go."
He shook the contents before pressing it lightly against Harry's wrist. The bag was comfortably warm, like the bottom of the refrigerator on a cold winter day. The heat seemed to thaw out the knots and wash away the acid in his ill-treated arm. Harry let out a small sigh of relief.
Sirius smiled. "Better?"
Harry nodded slightly, baffled. The stranger wasn't annoyed, he wasn't angry. Rather, he sounded a bit like the parents he passed in the park every time their child fell and scraped his knee. The man seemed… concerned? That couldn't be right. No one was ever concerned about him before.
A hand on his forehead drew him from his thoughts. Harry tensed at the touch, but Sirius didn't seem to notice. Sirius brushed a few strands of hair from his face, lips thinning into a line.
"You're breaking out in cold sweat. That must have really hurt," Sirius frowned, chewing his lip.
Harry shifted uneasily under Sirius' intent gaze. The stranger suddenly seemed aggravated again, and Harry was afraid to speak.
Harry examined the man cautiously. He was tall and skinny; the clothes that he wore were definitely not his own. Sirius did seem a lot like Padfoot, even if he was human. His hair was long and the exact same shade of black; his eyes were the pale blue that contrasted sharply with the rest of his face. Sirius' was pale though, like he hadn't seen sun for years. But even so, Harry couldn't help but find parallels between the stranger and the large dog that somehow went from a scrawny stray to his closest friend.
Sirius raised an eyebrow when he noticed Harry watching him.
"What is it?" he asked gently.
Harry quickly averted his gaze.
Could it be that he was only pretending to care? Aunt Petunia did that once after he fell down the stairs. He could do nothing but drift in and out of sleep for days, and she sat by his bed for fifteen minutes everyday. She seemed to be worried then, and Harry thought one of his wishes finally came true. At least a little bit of it: someone cared about him. But the first thing Aunt Petunia did after Harry could stand was slap him and yell that he was lazy for the past week…
Harry shuddered. The man couldn't be truly concerned for him. It just wasn't possible.
*
Writer's block is evil. And it's right smack in the middle of WS. *wails* from chapters 15 - 18, its a nightmare! Umm... I hope no one minds Sirius/Harry godfather godson interactions because it takes up the majority of those chapters.
Damn, I should have cleared this up earlier, but it slipped my mind. Harry has no clue that Sirius is… Sirius. He doesn't know he's Padfoot either. So… humm… a bit of a complication there. Ack! I know, it's just a strange chapter. Any six year-old who wakes up in a strange place with a strange man would just start bawling or something or the sort, or just ask tons of questions, but I didn't think Harry would react that way. Harry isn't the type to say anything out loud, and Sirius doesn't want to scare the kind to death with all the magic stuff knowing the kind of influence he had at the Dursleys. Then on top of that, he's tired and sick and can't think all that clearly… *sigh* alright, I admit it, I messed up! *wails* I'm so sorry…
This chapter was actually a composition of about 3 chapters that I cut and pasted. It lacks flow and continuity, sorry about that.
Ack, I can't reply to the reviews this time either, but I'll answer the questions really quick before I have to study again *cries* I'm glad everyone liked Harry/Sirius interaction though! I was a little worried he might seem out of it.
To answer your questions, Rowan, in CD, by saving Harry, he does give Sirius the protection, which was why Sirius didn't get killed by Voldermort as well. He is immune to the killing curse, which, I don't know if he's going to be hit by one anytime soon though. Humm... I hope the Marauder Map wasn't burned or anything, that would be really sad. It's probably going to make a comeback in book 5. As for dementors, I have no idea. They say they become like dementors themselves, maybe that's how a dementor is born? *shudder* poor Sirius...
Allocin, great to see you back!! I was worried a car ate you or something! Well... lets see, Harry is perceptive that he gets visions. It wasn't something they discussed in front of an infant (scary, you used almost the exact same sentence thats in chapter, uhh.. 19 I think). Harry gets visions, a bit of a divinator I think. Harry doesn't know that Remus is a werewolf though, he just sees a wolf and thinks Remus is scary because of the dark 'vibes' he gives off. well... that doesn't make much sense, does it?
a/n Story dedicated to Moppet Poppet, Cheating Death's 500th reviewer! *gasp* Moppet, how can you like exams?!??!?! *points accusingly*
*cheers* WS has hit the 500th mark, thank you Rowena Gryffindor! Let's see, would you like me to upload another chapter of CD or PoM and take them momentarily off hiatus? Or you can request a short story? It's up to you! Email me and we can discuss it!
Of Western Stars
By neutral
Chapter fifteen - of re-acquaintance
Sirius hesitated. Could he tell the boy about Padfoot? Would Harry understand? But it would be such a shock to see a man turn into a beast right before his eyes especially with the kind of atmosphere he was raised in. He couldn't deal with Harry fearing Padfoot as well.
Sirius felt his stomach clinch. He couldn't, Harry wasn't ready. But what would happen if Sirius told Harry his real name? With Remus there, he wondered if his old friend told him about the situation. Although his escape wasn't publicized, it was hard to say how much Harry knew. The last thing he wanted was to scare the boy when he seemed so fragile already.
But he couldn't lie, especially not to Harry. He drew a steadying breath, "I can't tell you right now, but I promise I will once you get better."
The child squinted as if scrutinizing him, tilting his head to one side curiously. The fear wasn't gone, lurking behind the shadows of his eyes waiting to return full force. "Why?" the child asked timidly.
Sirius took a deep breath and held it, slowly lowering the child back onto the bed. He tucked the blankets firmly around the six year old, "Because you'll hate me if you don't understand," Sirius whispered.
Harry tensed slightly, baffled and unnerved by Sirius' words. But the effects of the food was exacting its toll, and he was sinking into a heavy weariness. His eyes unfocused and glazed like a sheet of glass, before sleep claimed him once again.
Harry drifted at the edges of consciousness, reluctant to open his eyes and relinquish sleep. His blankets were so warm, and he was so tired. There was a strange essence of peace and comfort in his cupboard, and Harry never felt that way about it before.
So tired… he never felt this tired before… not since Dudley had pushed him down the stairs his fourth birthday and he struck his head against the banister.
His limbs weighed like stones over his body and his arms of solid metal, he couldn't even turn more than a few inches before hot fire would gush through his veins. His body was stiff and numb, he was so sore and tired. Harry snuggled deeper in his folds. Instantly, there was a blinding pain raking across his back, and he gasped.
Harry opened his eyes jerkily, blinking when his faulty eyes refused to focus. But there was no reflection of the dark, cramped compartment of the cupboard. He tried to raise his head despite the protests of his bruised neck. Harry could barely make out the slurred outline of a television and another full sized bed across from him. Streaks of milky white lined a wall and if he tried hard enough, he could just see the folds of the curtain.
What…? Harry blinked, disoriented.
The memories of yesterday crashed over him in an instant. Much of it was a blur, but he could distinctively remember the stranger's words. It was disorienting to wake up in a foreign room with a stranger; a man had taken him out of Pivet drive, and found a doctor for him and treated him with foreign kindness that Harry didn't understand. A man who refused to tell him his name, but bore such a strong sense of familiarity that Harry stared for several minutes without blinking. His memory was a blur after that, but some things still made no sense.
How did he know his name? Why did the man help him? Harry couldn't figure out why anyone would even bother. He was worthless, Aunt Petunia always said so.
Something shifted beside him. Turning, Harry could barely make out a dark blur of the man, head slumped forward in an uncomfortable angle as he leaned against the side of the bed. He looked oddly like Padfoot with its streaks of long, black hair.
Trust him, a distant part of his mind said. He telling the truth when he said he wouldn't hurt you. It's okay to trust him.
The stranger shifted again, his breathing deepening. Slowly, Harry lifted his right arm, the only arm that he could move without scalding fire in his wrist, and placed it softly on the man's hair. He had patted Padfoot's head so many times, it was almost an instinct. He lightly stroked the thick strands, still smelling oddly of flowers that reminded him of the cat shampoo he dumped over Padfoot's fur. Harry wished that he had left with the familiar black dog; how was he managing without Harry to bring him food? Would he be alright?
Why wasn't he sleeping in the empty bed? Harry wondered dimly. It's so uncomfortable to sleep in a chair.
Harry blinked, belatedly realized that the man he was petting wasn't a dog, probably would be angry at being treated like one. Harry drew his hand back apprehensively.
A gleam of light against glass caught his eye. Squinting, Harry could just see the smear of black beside the stranger's hand. His glasses…
Harry reached for them, but his arm was far to short. His left hand could probably touch them, but it stung like acid was in the bone. But his glasses…
Carefully, Harry dragged his arm over the bed, chewing his lip to keep from crying out. Cold sweat was rising on his skin from the effort. There were nails digging into his flesh at the movement, but his glasses were so close. Just a little further, and…
The large blur stirred. Harry's fingers brushed the man's arm as he reached for the round rimmed plastic, and the man's head shot up. Harry froze. Sirius stared at him for a moment with an expression he couldn't see, but then his face traveled to his outstretched arm, swabbed with bandages.
"Oh god, Harry, what are you…," the man stood up sharply, reaching for his hand.
Harry jerked away to cover his face defensively, a reaction grinded into him after years of residence with his relatives. But the movement aggravated the biting pain in his wrist and made the child gasp. The man sounded so angry, so frustrated. He was mad at him, he was going to punish him! That tone of voice sent waves of memories that haunted him all too often. Especially with the baggy clothes of Uncle Vernon, the man was terrifying.
The stranger froze at his obvious display of fear, backing away as if burned. "Harry, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you." He was obviously trying to be reassuring, but there was a sort of cautiousness in his tone.
Oddly, Harry believed him, and when he reached forward again, managed only a small wince. Harry wasn't sure why he so willingly wanted to trust the stranger, but it was so natural. Something about him just called for it; it was like with Padfoot, only stronger. Harry knew him somehow. If he tried hard enough, he could almost see it. A face leaning over the crib, speaking words that he couldn't remember…
He's familiar, like Padfoot… was thought that rose in his mind.
Harry could feel his larger hands encircling his bandaged arm. Sirius supported the almost fractured wrist as he laid it against the covers, carefully peeling away the stiff bandages. He couldn't seem to be afraid of Sirius at all, not when the man was so kind. But Harry was still confused.
"Be careful about moving your hand. The sprain is pretty serious, and the doctor says it's not going to take much more damage. Doesn't it hurt?" Harry could hear him saying as he lightly touched the battered skin. Sirius was speaking mostly to relieve the tension. His voice was strained, but it wasn't with rage.
Harry stared at Sirius, unsure of what to say.
"The swelling still hasn't receded. I'll get you a warm compress. "
Harry blinked, dazed. That man didn't want to hurt him at all. He wasn't even angry. It was all so confusing, he wasn't sure how to respond. Harry turned his attention to his glasses, still lying obliviously on the bed. It looked a bit closer after Sirius had knocked it when he stood up. Perhaps if he tried reaching for it with his right arm…
"Harry, no," Sirius said firmly, hurrying back towards him. "Are you trying to get your glasses? Why didn't you just ask me?"
Ask him? But wouldn't the stranger be irritated? Or would he…
Harry was silent, unsure of how to respond. No one ever asked such a question before. He just stared at the man in puzzlement.
Sirius sighed again, running a weary hand through his long hair. "It doesn't matter. Here."
Glasses were slipped on his face with care, nothing like the way Aunt Petunia would when he was younger and she wanted to drag him out of bed. Once, she jabbed the leg of it so hard against the corner of his eye that he saw red for hours. The room came sharply into focus, and he could finally see the tan color of the blankets and walls. Sirius was standing beside his bed, reading the instructions on the back of a small white package he held. He frowned slightly.
"Damn muggle instructions… never could make any sense…," Sirius grumbled. "Oh, there we go."
He shook the contents before pressing it lightly against Harry's wrist. The bag was comfortably warm, like the bottom of the refrigerator on a cold winter day. The heat seemed to thaw out the knots and wash away the acid in his ill-treated arm. Harry let out a small sigh of relief.
Sirius smiled. "Better?"
Harry nodded slightly, baffled. The stranger wasn't annoyed, he wasn't angry. Rather, he sounded a bit like the parents he passed in the park every time their child fell and scraped his knee. The man seemed… concerned? That couldn't be right. No one was ever concerned about him before.
A hand on his forehead drew him from his thoughts. Harry tensed at the touch, but Sirius didn't seem to notice. Sirius brushed a few strands of hair from his face, lips thinning into a line.
"You're breaking out in cold sweat. That must have really hurt," Sirius frowned, chewing his lip.
Harry shifted uneasily under Sirius' intent gaze. The stranger suddenly seemed aggravated again, and Harry was afraid to speak.
Harry examined the man cautiously. He was tall and skinny; the clothes that he wore were definitely not his own. Sirius did seem a lot like Padfoot, even if he was human. His hair was long and the exact same shade of black; his eyes were the pale blue that contrasted sharply with the rest of his face. Sirius' was pale though, like he hadn't seen sun for years. But even so, Harry couldn't help but find parallels between the stranger and the large dog that somehow went from a scrawny stray to his closest friend.
Sirius raised an eyebrow when he noticed Harry watching him.
"What is it?" he asked gently.
Harry quickly averted his gaze.
Could it be that he was only pretending to care? Aunt Petunia did that once after he fell down the stairs. He could do nothing but drift in and out of sleep for days, and she sat by his bed for fifteen minutes everyday. She seemed to be worried then, and Harry thought one of his wishes finally came true. At least a little bit of it: someone cared about him. But the first thing Aunt Petunia did after Harry could stand was slap him and yell that he was lazy for the past week…
Harry shuddered. The man couldn't be truly concerned for him. It just wasn't possible.
*
Writer's block is evil. And it's right smack in the middle of WS. *wails* from chapters 15 - 18, its a nightmare! Umm... I hope no one minds Sirius/Harry godfather godson interactions because it takes up the majority of those chapters.
Damn, I should have cleared this up earlier, but it slipped my mind. Harry has no clue that Sirius is… Sirius. He doesn't know he's Padfoot either. So… humm… a bit of a complication there. Ack! I know, it's just a strange chapter. Any six year-old who wakes up in a strange place with a strange man would just start bawling or something or the sort, or just ask tons of questions, but I didn't think Harry would react that way. Harry isn't the type to say anything out loud, and Sirius doesn't want to scare the kind to death with all the magic stuff knowing the kind of influence he had at the Dursleys. Then on top of that, he's tired and sick and can't think all that clearly… *sigh* alright, I admit it, I messed up! *wails* I'm so sorry…
This chapter was actually a composition of about 3 chapters that I cut and pasted. It lacks flow and continuity, sorry about that.
Ack, I can't reply to the reviews this time either, but I'll answer the questions really quick before I have to study again *cries* I'm glad everyone liked Harry/Sirius interaction though! I was a little worried he might seem out of it.
To answer your questions, Rowan, in CD, by saving Harry, he does give Sirius the protection, which was why Sirius didn't get killed by Voldermort as well. He is immune to the killing curse, which, I don't know if he's going to be hit by one anytime soon though. Humm... I hope the Marauder Map wasn't burned or anything, that would be really sad. It's probably going to make a comeback in book 5. As for dementors, I have no idea. They say they become like dementors themselves, maybe that's how a dementor is born? *shudder* poor Sirius...
Allocin, great to see you back!! I was worried a car ate you or something! Well... lets see, Harry is perceptive that he gets visions. It wasn't something they discussed in front of an infant (scary, you used almost the exact same sentence thats in chapter, uhh.. 19 I think). Harry gets visions, a bit of a divinator I think. Harry doesn't know that Remus is a werewolf though, he just sees a wolf and thinks Remus is scary because of the dark 'vibes' he gives off. well... that doesn't make much sense, does it?