Black Letters

By Neurotica

Four: The Definition of Impossible

It was impossible.

It was the bloody ­definition of impossible.

His eyes were playing tricks on him. He needed new glasses. He needed to be admitted to St. Mungo's spell damage ward. Maybe Fudge and Skeeter were right and his brains really were addled.

But no; Fudge and Skeeter weren't right. He didn't need to go to St Mungo's. And he definitely didn't need new glasses.

Harry was seeing the impossible. The large Grim-like dog had emerged from the bushes. Currently, it was looking around the park, waiting, sniffing the air. Harry's eyes widened to the point that they threatened to fall out of their sockets. The dog couldn't see him under the cloak, but surely it could smell him…

For a moment, Harry considered throwing the cloak from his body and running to the dog. For a moment, Harry wanted to cry out in joy. For a moment, Harry didn't feel so miserable. But only for a moment.

Because it was impossible. He'd learned two years ago that no spell could bring somebody back from the dead. But Sirius hadn't died a normal death… Harry had no idea what was going on behind that veil. Hadn't he and Luna and Neville and Ginny all heard those voices?

Common sense finally kicked in. Maybe it was just a stray dog who resembled is late godfather's Animagus form. He couldn't have possibly been the only dog running around like that.

No, dogs didn't get up on their hind legs, lie across swings, and begin to move back and forth. That was an Animagus, Harry would bet his Firebolt on it. Could Polyjuice Potions make a wizard an Animagus? No, he knew enough about the potion to know that couldn't happen…

It had to be a trap, then, some evil ploy of Voldemort's. Harry tightened the grip on his wand until his knuckles turned bright white and began to hurt.

He didn't take his eyes off the dog. Doing so could quite possibly mean his premature death. He watched as the dog sniffed the air again and turned its head quickly to Harry's direction. The dog emitted a soft, longing bark. Slowly, the dog backed off the swing and walked towards Harry's slide. Harry didn't move as the dog stalked right past him. Cautiously, Harry turned his head to see where it went. It seemed the dog had left the park; there was nothing in Harry's line of sight, at least. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Harry began to relax.

A playful bark sounded at Harry's feet. The dog had its front paws on one of the slide's steps, its tail wagging. Harry jumped so far in the air as he spun around that he fell backwards down the slide.

Groaning from his head hitting the metal slide, Harry momentarily forgot what was happening. It wasn't until he saw the worried face of Sirius Black looming over him did he remember. The cloak had fallen off him as he fell, ten feet away. Right next to his wand.

"Get away from me," Harry said frantically, trying to scoot across the sand to his wand. He knew a Death Eater would only laugh at Harry's attempts of escape, let him think he was going to live, before killing him.

The man who was impersonating Harry's godfather (because that was the only plausible explanation for all of this) stood back, looking startled. "Harry…" he said quietly.

Harry shook his head, trying to get the stars that had erupted in his eyes to go away. With the ringing in his ears, the man even sounded like Sirius. He stood quickly, too quickly, and found himself right back on the ground. The injury to his head had made him dizzy.

"Stay the hell away from me," Harry muttered, trying to calm his spinning head. He opened his eyes and found the man before him hadn't taken a single step towards him. Crawling, Harry finally made it to his wand. He turned and pointed it at the man, expecting to see a wand pointed back at him.

But the man remained where he was; his arms raised, palms forward, in surrender.

"Who are you?" Harry growled, standing. His legs shook, but at least he remained standing this time.

"Harry, it's me," the man said, lowering his arms slightly.

"Don't move," Harry said, his eyes flashing.

"I'm not going anywhere," the man said carefully, eyeing Harry's wand warily.

"I'll ask again," Harry began, slowly moving towards the man. "Who. Are. You?"

"Sirius Black," the man said calmly, "Padfoot to my friends. Your godfather–"

"–is dead!" Harry screamed.

The man winced as red sparks shot from the tip of Harry's wand. "What can I do to convince you, Harry?" the man asked, almost desperately.

Harry wracked his brain for something, anything only the real Sirius Black could possibly know. Something that there was no way possible Wormtail could have told his Death Eater buddies.

"What did Sirius say to me outside the Whomping Willow the night we met?" Harry asked in a tense voice, remembering the conversation with his godfather.

"I offered to give you a home – to let you live with me instead of the poor excuse for relatives you have now. But Wormtail escaped, and I never got that chance," the man said promptly. Harry could hear the emotions in the tone of his voice. The regret, the anger, the sadness. It was all there…

Without realizing, Harry lowered his wand slightly.

"And that day before your disciplinary hearing when you asked me if you could come live with me if you were expelled… I wanted to say yes. I really did. But I couldn't. I actually found myself hoping they did expel you. Then you'd get to stay," the man admitted sadly.

When Harry glanced down at his hand, he found it empty; his wand lay next to his feet. He moved his gaze back to the man before him.

"Sirius?" He whispered, not daring to believe it.

The man grinned in relief and nodded. "The one and only."