DISCLAIMER : I don't own Harry or any of them. Yet. Soon, there will original characters! But not yet. That's how it be.

Harry Potter and the Golden Snitch

Chapter Three : Visiting Sirius

"Harry? Harry? Please, Harry..."

"They weren't Muggles," said Harry softly. Hermione blinked

"What?" asked Molly Wesley.

"They didn't tell him," said Krum.

"But," said Ron.

"Dudley was in Durmstrang," said Krum.

Hermione stayed silent. Molly Wesley stared. Harry didn't know what to say. He simply blinked, set the paper down, and headed for the stairwell. There was only one thing to do, one thing that would make him feel better. Only one place he could visit that would make him feel better. He was going to visit Sirius.

***

It was dark in the upper rooms of the Black Mansion. There were spiders all along the edge of the room. He didn't like them here. They meant that the place was empty. They meant that nobody came to the room of the eldest son in the Black line.

Harry stared about the room. Buckbeak had been released into the Forbidden Forest last summer, but there were still little skeletons of mice laying about the room. The bed was rumpled, as if the last time Sirius used it, he hadn't made it. Of course not. Harry almost smiled; Sirius would never have made it. Dust had settled onto the covers, and the shelf of books opposite the bed where old and musty. They spines were unworn, but Harry could tell Sirius had read them. They surprised him. He would have expected magical books, but they weren't. They were Muggle books. Science Fiction mostly, but some were fiction. Harry smiled then. They would have been fantasy to Sirius; his godfather never left the wizarding world as far as Harry knew.

Harry sat down on the bed. It was soft and hard at the same time, somehow. Soft, because the bed itself was relatively comfortable. Hard, because the layer of dust reminded him the last thing he wanted to remember.

Everyone was gone.

Harry stared at the floor, not seeing. He'd hated the Dursleys. They'd never had anything in common. But now he knew why Dudley hated him. And now he was really alone.

Light was dancing before his eyes. Harry blinked. It was still there. Tears? He rubbed his eyes. The light still danced along the floor. Harry stared at it. Then he realized what it was. He bent down to the floor, reached under the bed. Past a net of cobwebs and and dustbunnies, Harry's hand met smooth stone. He tugged. He sat on the floor, holding the stone object close, eyes tight shut. He was crying now. A few tears dripped down his face and into the stone bowl. Inside, a million silver memories whirled around. Harry held the pensive tighter, almost afraid it might be only his imagination.

Then, before he could stop himself, he tipped his head forward into the bowl, and disappeared into the memories of Sirius Black.

Harry was falling down, down, down. But when he landed, he was till where he had been, sitting on the floor in the Black Mansion. The bookshelf was still packed with the same books it had held before. The window was still grimy. But there were three major differences.

First, the room was clean. No spider webs, no dust. Second, the window was half opened and dry sunlight spilled through. Third, a figure was sitting on the window ledge, staring out into the darkening sky.

It was grey out, with a handful of evening stars spread out across the heavens. But Harry barely even noticed that. The handsome boy, with long dark hair, was what held his attention. Harry realized he was holding his breath, but he didn't care. Sitting here just now, a few feet away, was his godfather. Only it seemed that something was wrong. Sirius was peering over his shoulder, head tilted to the side, hair falling loosely about his shoulders.

"Sirius," Harry whispered. He knew that here in the memories, he couldn't be heard. But he heard his voice echo, and he tensed. Sirius turned his eyes toward Harry, then smiled.

"Hey," he said. Harry's eyes widened. Sirius was looking right at him. Harry looked around behind him. Nobody was there.

"What's wrong, James?" asked Sirius worriedly.

"Nothing much," said Harry, deciding it was safer to play along. "Probably shouldn't be here, though."

"Why not?" asked Sirius warmly. Then he grinned. "Lily wouldn't want you here, mate, would she?"

"Er," said Harry.

"Figures. She'd rather have you off helping that git Snape," said Sirius.

"Er," said Harry again.

"Maybe if you convince her that you won't mess with Snape she'll let you be someone else's lackey. Too bad, mate. She's smart, that Lily, but she doesn't understand."

Harry shook his head. "No," said Harry. "But I wanted to see you."

"Don't worry, mate, I won't tell."

"You're a real pal Padfoot," said Harry softly.

"Anything for you, Prongs," said Sirius jokingly.

"Ready to go, Padfoot?" asked a voice Harry knew. He turned. Something was wrong here, something he hadn't expected.

Peter Pettigrew. He was the last person Harry had expected, and the first person he should have guessed. Sirius laughed. "James's here," said Sirius. "Don't tell Lily."

"Won't," said Peter.

"Oy, we have to go, mate. Come along?" asked Sirius.

"No," said Harry, "I have to go."

"See you, Prongs!" said Peter, waving. Harry waved, and as Peter closed the door behind him, Harry felt himself begin to spin. Again he was sitting on the floor with the pensive in his lap. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he had a new question that took his mind away from the Dursleys.

What had James Potter been doing when he helped Snape?

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Well, it was kinda odd. Pensives don't like water. I guess.