Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

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Sound did not penetrate the walls of number 12, Grimmauld Place. But all the same, Harry fancied he could hear the birds singing as he opened his eyes on the morning of the thirty-first of July. He lay in bed for a few more minutes, snuggled under the warm blankets, straining his ears to hear the imaginary birds. Instead, he heard the enormous grandfather clock down the hall chiming nine o'clock, and he rolled out of bed, unbolted the door to his bedroom (locked to keep out spiders and the ever-prowling Kreacher) and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Sirius was already up. He was sitting at the table with an enormous cup of coffee in a mug that was pitch black on the outside and luminous green on the inside. He was rifling through a heavy old tome while a pot of porridge bubbled on the stove. There was a small hand mirror sitting on the table next to him.

"Can you get that for me, cub?" Sirius asked, taking another sip of his coffee and waving his wand to summon two bowls spoons, and a bottle of milk. Now Harry thought about it, Sirius had been using more and more magic since they had moved into Grimmauld Place.

He took the pot off the stove and set it on the table, helping himself to a large dollop of porridge and trying to read the squiggly writing on Sirius' book upside-down. Finally giving up in frustration, he asked, "what's that?"

Sirius looked up, then back at the heavy old book, "glamour spells. I found it in my mother's old room. Bound to come in handy," he cleared his throat, "there hasn't been any…er…post, has there?"

Harry shook his head. This seemed a rather perplexing question to him. Grimmauld Place did not have a mail slot, so a postman would have a pretty difficult time of delivering any letters to the house. And who would want to send them a letter anyway? Nobody knew they were here, and Sirius had always said that was good thing.

"Oh, well," said Sirius. He took another sip of coffee, and at last, it took effect. Harry had watched this process many times. Before a morning cup of coffee, Sirius could coordinate himself without any trouble, but he had all the emotive reactions of a stone. A stampede of acromantulas could charge past his ears and he would barely have looked up. He would not even have noticed if he came down to find a dismembered corpse sitting on the breakfast table. But, before long, the coffee would kick in and, as if he had been plugged into an electric socket, Sirius would suddenly wake up. This was taking place now: Sirius raised his head, he blinked twice, his ears twitched, and a smile broke across his face.

"You're eleven!" he cried, as if he had only just noticed Harry was there. Harry grinned and nodded.

"Are we still going to Diagon Ally?" he asked as he spooned porridge into his mouth. He was reluctant to believe that in a few hours' time he could be walking in a crowd full of wizards, his own kind. Sirius had told him stories about the wizarding world, but until now, they had never been anything more than stories. If it wasn't for the amazing things his Godfather could do, and his faded memories of his parents, Harry would long ago have declared that Sirius was mad for believing in magic.

"Of course!" Sirius shoved the book of spells aside, picked up the pot, and tipped the rest of the porridge into his own bowl, "we'd better take muggle transport, so we'll leave as soon as you're dressed."

"Does the subway go to Diagon Ally?" Harry asked.

Sirius shook his head, "no, there are other ways. Now," he said as he finished his porridge, "let's get down to disguises."

He laid the book of glamour spells open on the table and pulled up a seat beside Harry, draping himself over the back of the chair like a lanky insect. Harry pulled his legs up onto his own chair and waited to see what Sirius was going to do.

His godfather ran one long finger down a page of the book and muttered to himself. Then he turned to Harry and hesitantly touched his wand to the tip of Harry's nose.

"Now, if anything starts to sting, just yell, okay?" said Sirius nervously, "I'm not sure how well this will work yet."

Harry nodded. Sirius screwed up his eyes and began to mumble unintelligible words under his breath. Harry waited. His scalp began to tickle, and he felt an odd oily sensation spread over his face. Then both feelings stopped and Sirius opened his eyes.

"Woah!" his godfather jumped, and began to laugh. He reached over and handed Harry the mirror. Harry held it up and looked at his own reflection.

It was like looking at a portrait of a strange child. The boy in the mirror had Harry's features, his nose, chin, and even the scars that twisted across his cheek, but his skin was several shades darker than Harry's and sprinkled with soft freckles. His hair was of light sandy curls, like wood shavings, and his eyes were a dark woody brown. His scars were by no means covered, but with his darker skin they were not so obvious. Sirius had buried his head in his arms, trying to suppress his giggles. He lifted his head and took a breath, "well, no one is ever going to recognise you," he said seriously.

"You're not going to recognise me," Harry replied dryly. Sirius pursed his lips, trying to hold back another burst of laughter.

"Alright, my turn," he said brightly, and touched the wand tip to his own nose. Harry watched in fascination as his godfather's long black pony tail began to shrink back into his head, the elastic band that had tied it back popping out. Sirius' skin wavered back and forth from rich, earthy brown to sallow and pale. At last it settled on a colour roughly the same as Harry's. His hair, now barely past his ears, was straighter than Harry's but the same colour. They looked even more like father and son than they had before.

"How do I look?" Sirius put down his wand and struck a dramatic pose.

"Without the ponytail? Less like a girl," Harry replied, and tried to look innocent when Sirius shot him an exaggerated scowl.

"It doesn't matter what we look like," he said, "just so long as we don't look like us. Now, go find some clothes, and then we'll be off. I'll just grab the loot bag," he was talking about a sack of various treasures they had chosen to sell.

Harry jumped up and scampered away up the stairs. The excitement hit him again and he whooped with excitement as he ran down the hall, setting several portraits shouting.

Sirius watched him go, then got up and headed back to his own room. He was glad that, for once, he could provide a proper birthday for his godson. But at the back of his mind he felt a strange disappointment. There had been no mail. No letter for Harry. No invitation to Hogwarts. Sirius knew it was a good thing, really – if a letter could find them, so could Dumbledore – but he still felt sad. He had spent the best years of his life at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Why wasn't Harry free to have those years as well? Why wasn't he free to make friends with other young witches and wizards, free to learn the magical arts and break all the rules he came across? It was unfair-

Life's unfair, Sirius reminded himself, especially for Harry. That's just the way it is.

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"Here we are," said Sirius as they emerged out the back of the Leaky Cauldron. There was nothing in sight but a tall brick wall.

Harry, still befuddled by the strange smokes and half-glimpsed curiosities that he had seen in the pub stared with a blank face. He felt giddy with the excitement of it all, but all the same, a brick wall was a bit of an anticlimax.

"Is it on the other side of the wall?" he asked.

"Through the wall," Sirius told him elusively. He was counting the bricks up from the ground, a frown of concentration on his face, "ah, I think this is the one," his finger had come to rest on a brick that looked like every other brick on the wall. His godfather tapped it lightly, three times, with his wand. Harry waited.

Then the bricks were sliding away and vanishing, a hole was opening in the wall, and Harry leaned forward and held his breath as, beyond the wall, a scene of glorious activity was spread before his eyes. His godfather took a hold of his arm and they stepped through the archway and into Diagon Ally.

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Sirius seemed almost as excited as Harry to be back among witches and wizards, and the hustle and bustle of the holiday shoppers only added to the thrill. Trying to keep a level head as best he could, Sirius lead Harry everywhere his godson pointed, watching Harry's eyes widen at the simplest magic. They spent nearly an hour in the Pet Emporium, so that Harry could examine every single animal at his leisure. The apothecary also got a thorough inspection from the fascinated boy, who insisted on asking the man at the counter all the uses of what seemed like every single herb, spice and potion on the shelves, until Sirius convinced Harry to move on before they attracted too much attention. Quality Quidditch Supplies, the Astronomy Outlet, shops full of magical instruments and shops full of strange, and often dangerous, toys, each one was a new wonder to Harry. Even the clothes shops attracted his attention, with their beautiful sparkling fabrics and tall rolls of silk in every colour imaginable.

At last, they stopped at the ice cream parlour for a rest, and Sirius treated Harry to a mountainous banana split, and an iced chocolate for himself. He was using their only reserves of sickles, but he was already planning to visit Gringotts Bank in the faint hope that he could access his vault without blowing their cover. Goblins were supposed to exercise great discretion when it came to business, but Sirius did not have the key to his vault and he did not dare try to prove his real identity.

Harry was still bouncing up and down as he watched strangely-dressed wizards and witches walk past, carrying oddly-shaped packages and calling to their children to follow them closely. A faint memory stirred in his mind, of a smiling girl with a heart-shaped face and a mane of golden hair, who had waved to him from a train…what had her name been? Tank? Trinket?

Sirius spoke suddenly, snapping Harry out of his daydream, "have you seen your birthday present yet, Harry?"

Harry paused. He knew exactly what he wanted, but he suspected it was not going to go down well with his godfather. Stalling, he replied, "there's so much to choose from."

"What about going back to the pet store?" Sirius asked, idly flicking his straw around his empty glass with one finger, "I suppose we could probably manage a pet, so long as it was something that Kreacher wouldn't eat. One of those blue kittens they had, or a toad, maybe?"

"We don't need a pet. We've got Kreacher."

"Well, what else did you see?"

Harry took a breath, trying to think of the best way to put his suggestion, "well, at first, I decided, I'd like a broomstick. Not an expensive one, mind you, just a nice plain one. But then I thought, there's nowhere I could go flying in the city anyway. And I decided…er…what I really want is a wand."

Sirius stopped flicking his glass and looked up at his godson. Harry barrelled on, "I mean, you said that you could teach me spells once I was old enough, but I can't do anything without a wand. And I promise I'd be so careful with it, I'd never use it except when you were there, at least, not until I got properly good with it. I wouldn't take it to school and I wouldn't leave it lying around where Kreacher would find it and I wouldn't…I'd…it's what I really want."

Sirius plucked at the table cloth. Finally he said, "a wand is pretty expensive, Harry."

"But we've got so many things to sell, and I just know you'll find a good job soon," Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, "and you said I could pick anything."

"Anything within reason."

"But…but I want to do magic!" he cried, accidentally bumping the table with his knee so that his spoon slipped off and clattered on the ground.

Sirius looked up, and then sideways, and then at his godson, who's face was strained with silent pleading. He imagined Harry growing up a squib's life, knowing the magical world but never quite part of it.

"Alright," he said, "we'll see what we can do about getting you a wand."

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Harry still wanted to browse through the book-stores of Diagon Ally, so Sirius, who did not want Harry accompanying him if his venture to Gringotts failed, reluctantly left his Godson at the entrance to Flourish and Blotts, along with a list of strict instructions.

"Don't leave the bookshop," he said, "don't draw attention to yourself. Don't tell anyone your name. If someone is looking at you funny, just walk away, lose yourself in a crowd if you can. I'll be back in an hour. If I don't turn up in two hours, try and make your way home. Get out of Diagon Ally as fast as you can."

"I'll be alright," Harry peered around Sirius at a stack of new books gleaming in the window of the store, "really."

"Alright," sighed Sirius. He pulled his godson into a one-armed hug, "stay safe, Harry."

Harry waved goodbye to his godfather and headed into the shop. Inside, it was cool and quiet, and filled with the smell of books. He began to roam the shelves, running his fingers along the spines of the books, which bore the strangest titles imaginable.

Noticing a circle of couches at the back of the store, Harry picked out several books which he wanted to look at and, with a guilty glance at the shopkeeper, who was busy serving a witch with long black plaits, he sat down on the couches and began to flick through the books.

He had been absorbed in a scarlet-bound volume called Fantastic Beasts when he was aware of someone standing a few feet away, watching him. Harry looked up and saw a long-nosed boy with a head of red hair and a freckled complexion standing behind one of the other couches. The boy quickly looked away, pretending to be reading the spines on a nearby shelf labelled Complex Arithmancy.

"Hello," said Harry.

The boy's ears went a little pink, and he looked back at Harry, "hello. I didn't mean to stare."

"It's alright," Harry replied, "are you looking for something?"

"Nah," said the boy. He sat down on the couch opposite Harry, "my Mum's looking for my brothers' school books. She could be a while."

He pretended to be very interested in a thesaurus someone had left sitting on the couch. Finally he said, very quickly, "how'd you get those scars? If you don't mind me asking. I mean," he trailed off.

"Oh," said Harry, his stomach sinking, "oh. Um. I got attacked by an animal when I was little. That's all."

"Wow," said the boy, abandoning the thesaurus, "all I got was freckles," he wrinkled his nose, "and they're not very impressive or anything."

"You think my scars are impressive?" Harry asked, very surprised.

"Yeah!" said the boy enthusiastically, "they're so cool! You look like one of those aurors or something. My name's Ron Weasley, by the way."

Harry felt a jolt of déjà vu, "Weasley. I think I met your brother once – Charlie. He had a broomstick. He saved my life."

"Really?" Ron rolled his eyes, "sounds more like Bill to me. What's your name?"

"Er," Harry's mind went blank for a moment, "Mark Evans," he said finally. This was a fake name he sometimes used with Sirius.

Ron laughed, "I can tell you're lying."

"Oh. How?"

"It's pretty obvious. Why do you need to make up your name?"

"Oh…it's a game I play, with my Dad. A competition."

Ron frowned but did not question this lie, "what's your real name?"

Harry paused. He had promised Sirius not to tell anyone his real name. But this boy couldn't do any harm – and Harry wanted very much to be friends, "it's Harry."

"Pleased to meet you, Harry," Ron replied, "have you already got all your schoolbooks?"

Harry looked at the stack of books on the table between them, "all my books for what?"

"For Hogwarts," said the red-haired boy, "you'd be starting this year, wouldn't you? I got my letter a few days ago. It's pretty exciting, huh?"

"I'm not going to Hogwarts," said Harry. He knew the school, or at least, had heard of it. Sirius never talked about it if he could help it.

"Not going to Hogwarts?" Ron gaped, "but where else would you go? You're not French, are you?" he raised one eyebrow as if being French was a terrible affliction.

"No," said Harry, "I just go to regular school. I'm learning magic at home."

Ron gave him a quizzical look, "how come?"

"I don't know. Should I be going Hogwarts?"

The boy rolled his eyes, "of course! All witches and wizards have to go to Hogwarts. I mean, you couldn't possibly learn any real magic at home. There's just too much to teach. I'm a bit worried, actually," he added, "I mean, my brother said you have to write essays for every subject every night."

Harry felt strangely dizzy, and put his hands on the couch to keep himself upright. It hadn't even occurred to him that there was anything unusual about being home schooled. He'd never considered any other option.

"Well, I'll be sorry not to see you there," Ron continued, apparently unaware of the shock churning inside his new acquaintance. He looked at Harry, "hey, you feeling alright?"

A middle-aged couple, both with luminous blonde hair and elegant silver and black robes, wandered by. The woman glanced distastefully at Ron and muttered to her husband, "you see, darling? That's the sort of thing Draco will have to endure at that beastly school! I told you we should have enrolled him at Durmstrang."

Ron glared at the couple as they walked on out of the store, then turned back to Harry, but the distraction had given him a chance to compose himself. Ron began to ask him about whether he had been following the recent quidditch games. Harry did not know much about quidditch and Ron was delighted to be able to explain to him everything he needed to know about the game. They continued talking for almost half an hour until Ron's mother bustled over to take him on their next errand. She looked at Harry with a curious look on her face, as if she recognised him. As they left, Ron waved goodbye.

"You should write to me!" he called, "I'll tell you what Hogwarts is like!"

Harry waved in return, and then sunk into the couch, feeling muddled and unhappy.

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Sirius had had no luck accessing his vault at Gringotts. He tried to tell the goblins that he was the owner of vault seven hundred and eleven, and that he didn't have his key but needed to take some money out anyway. The goblins would hear nothing of it. Eventually Sirius feared he was making a scene and gave up. As he left his eyes glanced over several posters promoting the Ministry of Magic and its 'homeland and household security'. Clearly, Sirius was rather behind the times. He decided the first thing to do was take out a subscription to the Daily Prophet, which he did as soon as he passed the wizarding newsagent store on his way

He had no choice now but to sell the things they had collected from Grimmauld Place. It was not affection that made him reluctant to trade the strange treasures, which he would rather have thrown away. He just didn't like selling anyone anything that might, and probably did, contain more than a trace of dark magic.

He turned down a side street and made his way to Knockturn Ally. He knew of a store, Borgin and Burkes, where they would be happy to buy any antique dark magic treasures, cash in the hand, no questions asked. He glanced around guiltily as he entered but walked out a few moments later with his bag a lot lighter and his wallet considerably heavier.

Harry was waiting for him when he reached Flourish and Blotts, only five minutes late. His godson seemed strangely subdued, but reminded Sirius at once that he owed him a wand. Sirius sighed and navigated through the rickety streets towards Ollivander's, the wand maker's shop.

They walked out almost an hour later, Harry carrying his new wand in a box under his arm. He walked with a spring in his step, clutching the box tightly as though afraid it would disappear out of his grasp. Sirius, had been put on edge by Ollivander's probing questions but was relieved the old man had not disputed the fake name Sirius had given him He walked in silence while Harry chattered on about all the things he had seen, declaring at least once that it was definitely his best birthday ever.

As they walked back from the train station to Grimmauld Place, however, and the glamour spell began to wear off, revealing their true appearances, Harry became subdued once more. Sirius, who sensed that his godson was anxious about something, asked Harry what was bothering him.

Harry's green eyes looked troubled, but he was very reluctant to answer and it took several more questions before he finally spoke his mind, "why can't I go to Hogwarts?" he asked bluntly.

Sirius had not expected this. He had been waiting for this question for seven years now, but had never prepared a satisfactory answer. He couldn't speak for several long seconds, finally he replied, "I'll be able to teach you magic."

"You can't teach me everything," Harry insisted, "and I…I wish I could meet other children. Not muggles. Witches and Wizards like me. I haven't got any friends at all. I always have to leave them behind every time we move. If I went to Hogwarts, we wouldn't have to move any more, I could make friends that I could keep…"

Sirius shook his head, "things are so difficult, because of your lycanthropy. I wouldn't be there to help you through your transformations. And, unfortunately, wizards have some terrible prejudices towards werewolves. The other parents might be afraid to have their children at school with a werewolf. It's awful, and it's unfair, but there's just no way around it."

Harry listened to this in silence as they walked on, turning from one thin avenue into Grimmauld Place. But, after a pause, he said quietly, "Moony did."

Sirius looked at him sharply, "what's that?"

"I said, Moony did. He went to school. With you and Dad. I know he did, he told me about it. And he was a werewolf, just like me. I didn't know what it meant back then, but I know now."

Sirius kept his eyes straight ahead, "that is different."

"How is it different?"

Sirius could not answer this. Instead he said, "Remus found it very difficult. His transformations were very hard."

"And mine aren't?" Harry said loudly.

"And it was dangerous. Another student in our year almost lost his life to Remus because of…a cruel trick one boy played on him. It would be dangerous for you and everyone around you," he did not mention the potion Wolfsbane, which he did not doubt could be easily provided by a school such as Hogwarts.

"But we could take precautions. You know we could!" Harry glared at the pavement.

Sirius shook his head, "I said no."

They had reached the stone steps of number thirteen and Sirius unlocked the door and pushed it open. He looked back and saw that his godson was still standing on the path below, looking up at him with a betrayed expression on his face.

"It's nothing to do with me being a werewolf, is it?" shouted Harry, "everything – running, hiding all the time, lying about my name – it's not because I'm a werewolf at all! So what is it? What are you frightened off?"

"There is nothing," Sirius said in reply, and he realised that he, too, was shouting now, "I am just trying to protect you!"

"That's not fair!" Harry yelled, "I'm not a baby! You can't lie to me!"

"You don't – you can't begin to understand – why all this has happened!"

"Tell me!" Harry balled his fists, "I have to know!"

"You're not ready to know!" Sirius bellowed.

Harry stared at him, without speaking, for several long moments. Sirius found he was breathing heavily, his head burning as if with a fever. He wanted to hit something, and it took all his strength to keep himself still.

Harry ran up the steps, pushed past his godfather and disappeared down the hall. Sirius stood on the threshold, listening to his footsteps fade up the stairs and then the bang of his godson's door slamming. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. Then he went into the house and the door swung closed with a snap.

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TBC

A/N: So. That locket. Some people guessed what it was. The popular theory that I'm going with is: that the mysterious R.A.B (who took Voldemort's locket Horcrux, as we found out in HBP) is Regulus Black, Sirius' deceased death eater brother. In OotP, Harry and the others cleaning Grimmauld Place find "heavy locket none of them could open" (chapter six). The theory is that THIS LOCKET IS ONE OF VOLDEMORT'S HORCRXES, left at Grimmauld Place by Regulus before he died (if, indeed, he really is dead). This theory is supported by an interview with JKR in which she insinuated that one of the Horcruxes had already appeared in the books but not been identified, but some readers would be able to find it now we knew what to look out for.

I am integrating this theory into the story, though it will not have much relevance until the end of Part Two. I like the idea that Harry would instantly feel a connection towards the locket, as if the two pieces of Voldemort's soul were attracted to one another.