Chapter Two

Puppy Padfoot

His godson trembled in the dead air. Sirius wanted to rush to him, to hug him tightly to his body, to kiss his messy black head until everything was alright again, but he stood still. It was all he could do. The hush that had erupted over the kitchen was immobilizing. Nobody dared make the first move.

He felt Dumbledore's blue eyes on him, one grey eyebrow raised, a gentle urging to get on with it. Nothing would be okay unless someone decided to speak.

"Is he a Death Eater?" Harry asked at last. Then more to himself than anyone else, "That's what this must be. A trick. A sick, nasty trick. Twisted bastard…" He looked directly at Sirius for the first time, his bright green eyes mixed with hate and longing. "What did you use? What did you find of his that you could possibly use…"

"He's not a Death Eater, Harry," Dumbledore interjected gently. "He's your godfather."

"How do you know?" the boy demanded hoarsely, still looking at Sirius with a slightly manic glint in his eyes. In a flash, his wand was in his hand and Sirius wondered, with his godson's wand aimed at his heart, if his entrance had been an appropriate one. It was clear that Harry needed some time to get used to the idea of his godfather being back before he was actually willing to endure his presence. Sirius felt those green eyes searching every inch of his unlined face and felt his heart drop when Harry brokenly argued, "He's too young. He's barely older than me."

"That's something I can't explain," Dumbledore admitted. "I don't think Sirius could explain it either."

"Time's been moving the wrong way since he's been gone," Harry muttered absently, his eyes flashing around the room for some sort of explanation.

Nobody seemed to have one, but Remus, his eyes focused on the plush pup still littering the ground, whispered, "That was your favorite toy."

Harry, his wand still aimed at his youthful godfather, jerked his head around to stare at his former professor. "What?"

"That dog. That was your favorite toy," Remus said quietly. "Sirius bought him for you before you were even born…you used to…to chew on his ears when you were teething."

Harry's head whipped back around to stare at Sirius, who was kneeling on the ground and collecting the toy in question. He rose slowly, well-aware of Harry's wand and Harry's anger, and pushed the stuffed animal gently into the boy's free hand.

"You used to make a 'p' noise when you wanted it," Sirius said softly as Harry absentmindedly clutched the dog to his chest. "I used to think you were trying to say Padfoot, but your Da always said I was mad. He said I was wishfully thinking, was all. 'Puh', you would say."

Nobody said anything for a long time after that. Harry's knuckles had gone white as he clung to the toy he had pleaded for as an infant. Remus was still staring at the floor where it had once been. Molly Weasley had collapsed into one of the chairs, here face blank and unreadable, but Sirius was pretty sure she was in shock. Hermione was crying, her fingers wrapped around the sleeve of Ron's shirt as he patted her shoulder numbly. Fred and George were attacking the birthday cake with forks, looking rather bored as they popped little bits of it into their mouths, waiting for something more exciting to happen. It was all very slow and they sat in the languid air, waiting and hoping for another outburst from Harry, or another intervention from Dumbledore, or even another whisper from Remus, who looked as if he didn't have anything more than a whisper left in him.

"It's me, Harry," Sirius said softly. He wanted so much to say more, to tell Harry all of the thoughts he had thought while hovering about in Nowhere. I thought of your Dad, he wanted to say, and I thought of you, Harry. I thought of you. I thought about thrills and I thought about the war, and I thought about the fright in your eyes as you watched me fall. Then I thought about me.

But he didn't say any of this, because he didn't have the chance.

Harry walked past him, knocking him roughly in the arm as if they were feuding schoolboys.

"Harry!" Hermione choked in surprise, but Harry only turned around to look at Sirius, emerald eyes blazing.

"So what if it is you?" he asked coldly.

Then he turned on his heel and walked away without another word.

Silence. Sirius was becoming so sick of the silence and their dumbfounded stares and their gaping mouths and the tears trickling down their cheeks. He was sick of watching one of his oldest friends stare at the floor as if it was the most beautiful and complex painting ever painted and he was so sick of the way that Dumbledore failed to intervene, to explain, to break the ice.

After another minute of shuffling feet and awkward stillness, he approached the table to the sounds of many chairs scooting back and away from him, creating a clear path to the cake, a quarter of which was gone. He plopped down in Harry's empty chair and stared at the white icing.

George handed him a fork, and with his mouth full said, "Welcome back, ol' chap."

"Yeah, welcome back, mate," Fred said. "George and I missed you at any rate. Things have been dead boring since you've been gone. Harry's been a right little pain the arse, sulking and wallowing about, being all woe is me."

"Yeah?" Sirius asked glumly, sticking his fork in the cake. "I've missed you lads, too. Nobody else in the room seems to want to acknowledge my presence."

George waved his hand dismissively. "Blimey, you don't need them anymore, do you? We'll be your mates. We're practically the same age now. How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-one, the best I can figure. I think I'm the same age I was when James and Lily…well, when Voldemort got his bum kicked by my little godson… who hates me now. Did you notice?"

Fred snorted. "Kids these days, eh?"

Sirius nodded. He felt like crying into his cake.

"So, anyway," George said with a significant glance at Remus. "Now that you're our new best mate, you don't have to hang around here anymore with these unsavory characters. We can hide you in our shop!"

"A brilliant idea, dear brother," Fred grinned. "You won't have to see certain floor-staring werewolves ever again, Sirius. It'll be just like you've died all over again!"

Sirius suddenly found himself being roughly embraced from behind and Remus Lupin's face buried in his neck. He heard a muffled "Mr. Padfoot" and a slur of other things about friends and missing them and grief.

This pleased Sirius immensely, and he patted his old friend's graying hair and tearfully grinned.

"There, there, Mr. Moony. I'm back, I am. Can't ever get rid of me forever, can you?"

He felt his breath escape him as Hermione and Ron rushed at him from the front.

"Oh, Sirius!" Hermione sobbed. "We were so sad! And Harry…Harry just hasn't been the same and...and…"

"Oh bloody hell, 'Mione! You're crying all over him!" Ron blubbered, wiping his sticky tears on Sirius's shirt. "Give it a rest! The man's stared death in the face!"

"And it kissed me!" Sirius exclaimed, only to find that this got the waterworks of one Molly Weasley started.

"Oh, Sirius! You bloody idiot!" ("Mum swore!" Fred and George gasped, astonished). "What did you think you were doing? Getting yourself killed! Honestly! It's torn us up on the inside!" Sirius felt plump tears fall into his hair before Ron and Hermione were pushed aside and Mrs. Weasley started wiping icing away from his mouth with a napkin. "Look at you. You're so young. Younger than Bill and Charlie. And you're so handsome, dear…"

"Mum!" Ron yelped, horrified. "You're embarrassing him!" Indeed, a faint blush was creeping up Sirius Black's neck.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, dear. Sirius is just glad to home."

"Yeah, that's a flush of relief, that is," George sniggered. "Oh, lay off, Mum. Let's give the ol' boy some room."

After everyone finally managed to restrain themselves from attacking Sirius with more hugs and tears, they all sat down in the kitchen, taking deep, calming breaths to get over their crying fits. Dumbledore smiled from a chintz armchair he had conjured up during the scene, a fork delicately poised over the only slice of cake that had been cut that day.

"Why does he hate me?" Sirius asked, his eyes full of pain as he remembered Harry's cold words.

So what if it is you? He had asked in a voice like ice.

"He doesn't!" Hermione protested.

"Yeah? He made a damn good impression of it," Sirius grumbled.

"He was just, uh…surprised?" Ron offered. "He's been acting strange lately. Really sullen. Hasn't been much fun, to be honest."

"I thought you said his jaded negativity was worth a laugh?" Hermione reminded him dryly.

"He's my best friend! I was defending him!"

"A likely story," Hermione shot back. "Ron, sometimes I don't know whether you say things because you're actually daft enough to believe they're correct or if you just like arguing with me."

"Oh, shove off-"

Sirius slapped the table, effectively ending the argument. "Can't you two pack it in just for a minute? I'm trying to understand why my godson, my Harry, who I've come back for, is acting like he despises me." He drew in a shuddering breath as Ron and Hermione stared at him, startled. "Sorry. It's just he doesn't want anything to do with me and-"

"Sirius," Remus quietly interrupted him.

"Remus?"

"He took Puppy Padfoot."

(Fred snorted. "Puppy Padfoot?")

"So?"

"So, he could have left Puppy Padfoot. But he took him…"

Sirius suddenly looked excited. "You mean he doesn't hate me?"

"Not if the conspicuous absence of Puppy Padfoot is any indication."

Sirius barked a laugh and flopped down in his chair, evidently relieved. "Thank Merlin."

Meanwhile, Harry was busy ripping his bedding apart. He couldn't really explain the rage that he was feeling, how it was shaking him and rattling his insides, how it made him want to scream. Sirius was alive and back in Grimmauld Place and he looked like little more than a boy with a long life ahead of him. He had fallen through time and death and he was back, and no one, not even Dumbledore had an explanation for how this was possible.

With a roar of frustration, Harry robbed his mattress of its last remaining sheet and tore the sham from beneath it, leaving his bed just how he felt: barren.

Breathing heavily, the sixteen-year-old picked up the plush dog he had previously set carefully upon the floor and curled up as tightly as he could manage upon the cold-looking mattress.

It was like a dream, one of the happy ones that came so rarely. It was like sunshine and elation and feelings that could only stay until dusk set in. The kind of dream that always ended with Harry waking up with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sirius was downstairs…

After a month of tears and despair that swelled as big as Aunt Marge, Sirius had come back. Harry didn't know what to think about this.

His godfather was alive.

Then why was he so angry?

He didn't have much time to ponder the answer to this question, for a faint rapping on the door issued throughout the room. Harry ignored it, but it was persistent, and when he had neglected to respond for a full five minutes, he heard the door creak open.

He shut his eyes tightly, willing for whoever it was to go away.

Then he felt extra weight on the bed and tentative fingers touch his back.

Go away, Harry pleaded, unconsciously tightening his embrace around his stuffed dog.

The fingers crept to his hair where they gently stroked the untidy black locks, smoothing them down only for them to pop right back up again.

"Who is it?" Harry finally croaked.

Silence answered him as a gentle hand continued with its placid ministrations.

Harry waited what felt like a lifetime for a reply, but he did wait. Last year he was never patient and he could never keep his temper in check, but he waited almost thirty minutes for his godfather to respond.

"There really wasn't anything to do but think where I was."

Tears managed to squeeze out between Harry's tightly shut eyelids.

"I thought a lot of things when I died, Harry. I thought about your Dad and I thought about your Mum, but mostly I thought about you."

Harry dug his fingernails tighter into his stuffed dog's throat.

"I thought about how I couldn't get a grip on myself after Azkaban, how I couldn't sit still for very long, not even if it meant for your safety. For your happiness. Hermione and Ron told me you spent the better part of last year worrying your little head off about me. If I was being a good boy and staying at home or not. That you believed that I wouldn't. That's why you went. You couldn't trust me."

Harry trembled.

"And you hadn't a reason to. The reckless antics I fancied while you were at school. The things I said to you in the fireplace that evening, when I wanted so much to visit you, to hide out in that old cave again. I said you were less like your father than I had before thought and I said it with some disdain in my voice. I know I did and I'm so sorry for that, Harry. It was never your job to be James for me, it was my job to be James for you. To guide you and to protect you. Not to encourage you to risk your neck when you needn't to. I was a bad godfather."

"You weren't. You were always there," Harry whispered hoarsely. "Always there when I needed you."

Silence followed that protest.

Then, "Loosen your grip, kiddo. You're strangling Puppy Padfoot."

Harry decided that he had had just about enough of this conversation.

"Go away, Sirius."

The fingers didn't stray from his hair and Harry felt his stomach clench, his throat constrict. Sirius wasn't going to go away when he asked him to go away, when he wanted him to go away.

"Why, Harry?"

His voice is so calm, Harry thought.

Indeed, Sirius's voice was calm and Harry didn't like it one bit. Calm people were people who were too naïve to believe there wasn't a reason to panic.

"Go away," Harry repeated, his teeth gritted; and he swatted at Sirius's hand, jerking his head out of his godfather's reach for just a moment.

"Harry, its me."

"I bloody well know it's you, you git. Leave me alone." The tears were gone from Harry's voice, leaving nothing but the unabated rage he had been feeling all summer. He would have never spoken to Sirius like this before – never. He would have never wanted to.

Sirius stilled and drew his hand back. Harry turned his head toward him for the first time and glared into those pale eyes he'd been pining for since summer began.

"Harry…you just…you called me a git."

"Leave."

"You can't just…can you?"

"I can. I did. Go."

"But…but you call Snivellus a git. Do you really want to put me and Snivellus under the same name?"

"I don't. He's a greasy git. You're just a git. Damn it, go, Sirius."

"No, Harry! I'm not just going to go. What in Merlin's name has gotten into you?" Sirius sounded like he was getting angry now.

"Nothing," Harry snapped. "Just leave. You're going to leave eventually anyway." Sirius gaped at Harry's outburst and reached out a finger to touch the boy's cheek, but Harry jerked violently away. "You already left, in fact. And I didn't want you go THEN, did I? But you know what? YOU WENT ANYWAY. So now you can bloody well leave on my terms. GO AWAY."

There. It was out, and Harry felt slightly better. Except that Sirius didn't leave, so Harry flopped back down on his bed and curled away from him.

"I didn't exactly want to die, Harry."

"You were always looking for an adventure," Harry mumbled against Puppy Padfoot's fur. "And what greater adventure is there than death? Part of me thinks you went and got yourself killed on purpose."

"You're talking rubbish and you know it."

"I don't know anything. They don't tell me anything."

Sirius groaned. "Harry…" He patted the boy's calf. "Why don't we just go downstairs and…Molly saved you a bit of your cake. Cake is good, isn't it? It's your party…everybody wants you there…and it'll be just like it was because I'm not going anywhere this time."

There was a prolonged moment in which Harry turned around and glanced up at his young godfather. "Sirius…" he said slowly. "Do you really think that a bit of cake is going to make everything all better again?"

"Well…I'd imagine so…it's Molly Weasley's cake, isn't it?"

Harry grunted. "Her cooking's been a bit dry recently. She misses Percy too much and Mr. Weasley's always at the office."

Sirius cocked his head to the side. "It tasted good to me."

"Yeah, I know. She's always brilliant at cakes. Mrs. Weasley's always good at that sort of thing."

"'That sort of thing' being…cakes?"

"And other things. Mum things, you know. Parent things…"

Harry really just wanted to get that last jab in. It eased his heavy heartto put Sirius on a bit of a guilt trip.

Sirius didn't talk for a long time after that. He just kind of sat there and refrained from touching Harry anymore. After a few minutes, Harry realized that he didn't like the awkward presence of his recently resurrected godfather very much.

"I can be good at parent things," the escaped convict said quietly.

Harry snorted. "You look like you're ten. Of course you can't be good at parent things."

"I do not look like I'm ten. That, young man, was a cruel exaggeration."

A pause.

"Ten," Harry sniggered.

"I'll show you ten…"

It seemed like everything was better. There must have been rainbows outside and majestic white ponies grazing the unkempt Black Family lawn, because in that instant Harry and Sirius were truly happy to be reunited. But, of course, it could not all be good. No, for this was only the second chapter of the story.

Ron and Hermione burst through the door to find Sirius mercilessly beating Harry over the head with Puppy Padfoot.

"Quick," Hermione gasped.

"What is it?" Harry leapt up, pushing Sirius away from him.

"Someone's died."

Author's Thoughts:

Ooooo...who thinks that entire chapter was horrible?:raises hand: Oh, well.TOLD YOUI was bad at emotions, didn'tI?Funny thing: used to be very good at them before I went on anti-depressants. It just didn't flowright.Things got happy much to quickly. That why somebody had todie!Yay!

Anyway, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed the first chapter! That includes...hmmm...let's see...greenday409, InsPins2011, Toniboo, rockpapersirius (excellent name, by the way), Strega, Sexy Black, Elizabeth, Terreins-sama, paige-rossi-black, and Sandy! I love you guys in the most despicable way possible - in the way that I just like you because you pay attention to my story AND go the extra mile to review it. As for those of you who read and don't review...well...that's acceptable, I suppose. At least you're reading it. But do you know how much I love reviews? My arms are too short to express my love for reviews. So, um...that was my shameless plea for reviews. Even though this chapter was god-awful. Who do I even think I am? Oh well...

Next Chapter: Someone's dead...who is it? Fred and George teach Ron a thing or two, Ginny enters the mix, and our dear Padfoot and our beloved Moony have a talk with our sulky Harry about life.