A/N: I'm sorry about the delay. I actually had chapter 3 and most of 4 written last week, but then it occurred to me that chapter 3 really sucked (was very boring, more talking, more backstory we all know already, anyway). Between The Witching Hour (very cool, do have pics, Mud, have to put them on the comp still) and midterms (a word to the wise: if you want to spend unhealthy periods of time writing/reading fic, don't double major), I never got to do the rewrite. I'm not even too sure how this turned out, since I finished it about two minutes ago. I jacked a scene from another fic of mine that never got finished. I'm not sure that everything is as it should be, or if I should even go down this particular path, but I promise that it's far more interesting than the original chap. 3.

As always, reviews are nice, and concrit is even nicer.

Chap. 3

"Harry," the tall man said from where he stood, frozen, in the doorway.

The two stared at each other for several moments, and Harry was terrified and enraptured by the haunted gaze in the man's pale eyes.

"Harry," Remus said into the silence, "this is Sirius. Your godfather."

"Oh." Harry cast about for something more to add and came up with, "I've never had a godfather before."

"You did, once," Sirius said, edging forward. "You would have done properly, but I was…away."

"In prison?"

"Yes, that's right. For things I didn't do."

"Where's Padfoot?"

Sirius frowned slightly, but then his expression cleared, and he said, "He ran outside when I came in."

"Oh."

Sirius lowered himself to kneel beside Harry, unblinking. He lifted one hand, the long fingers trembling, and after a moment's hesitation, laid it gently on Harry's shoulder. Harry tensed, but didn't pull away.

"You look just like James," Sirius said. "He was my best mate, like a brother to me. He told me to…to take care of you, if he couldn't, if Lily couldn't. You have her eyes, you know." Sirius swallowed, his adams apple bulging from his thin neck. His fingers clenched, and Harry squirmed; Sirius let go, running the hand through his hair before dropping it to rest on one knee. "The night they died…I saw the house, nothing left. And James—"

"Here you are, Harry," Remus said, startling the boy. Remus laid the plate on the table before setting a hand on Sirius's shoulder.

Harry lost his curiosity to a piece of sausauge, oblivious to the burning in his oily fingers. He'd eaten everything except half a piece of toast by the time he started to feel his stomach expand, when it occurred to him that he was thirsty and took a great gulp from the glass by his plate. The juice tasted strange, spiced with cinammon, maybe, but good, so he downed it before finishing his toast and leaning back in his chair. He found that Sirius had moved into a chair and acquired a cup of tea, which he considered with great interest.

So this was a godfather, Harry thought, not really understanding. The concept was simple, without doubt, but a godfather for Harry? It all seemed a bit dodgy. Maybe they never knew his parents at all, and it was all just a story, like that program he'd seen Aunt Petunia watching once on the telly, where the girl got conned into thinking the man had cancer or something. Except he hadn't told them his parents' names, or even his. But maybe they just wanted the money he'd stolen from Uncle Vernon.

On considering that, Harry looked down at his pajamas, panic rising.

"My clothes—"

"They're hanging dry," Remus said from the sink.

"I don't see why you bothered," Sirius growled. "He won't need them again. I'll see to that."

"They'll be returned to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley," Remus answered, "along with all of the money."

"If you think I'm going to repay the bloody Muggle who told my godson that Lily and James Potter died in a fucking car crash, you—"

"Assume that you've got more decency than they have."

"Don't throw that at me. I'll hate whoever I want to hate."

Remus didn't answer.

"What else did they tell you about your parents?" Sirius asked.

Harry shrugged, his mind still on the money. "Not much."

"Of course not. And they'll not have mentioned Hogwarts, either."

Harry shook his head. All this talk about his aunt and uncle put him on edge. They'd make hime go back, wouldn't they? While he sat in that warm kitchen, full with the first hot meal in two days, out of the steady rain that had started to thrum on the roof, with these men telling him his uncle was just fine. Going back should be all right. Hadn't he missed his cupboard so desperately just last night? He didn't have to like the Dursleys to appreciate Aunt Petunia's cooking and his dry cot.

But he wanted the money back in his own pocket, not to spend on chocolates and computer games, but for the security of it. Because he thought he should have been happier about going back to the Durselys' and grateful that his time out on his own, with no one to turn to and nowhere to go and nothing to eat, was over and done with. He wanted to be content with Privet Drive and his clothes. He wasn't. Somehow, in this dim, cozy kitchen, dark London alleyways failed to frighten him in the same way that they had just the night before.

And everything hinged on the security of that firm wad of notes.

An odd humming caught his attention. It emmanated from the counter only a couple of meters away. Sirius stopped talking to look, too, as the humming escalated into a fierce rattling. All three watching a small, battered tin vibrate across the workspace of its own accord before toppling over the edge. It hit the floor, the top flying off. And there, almost within arm's reach, lay the pound notes, now folded neatly.

Harry felt the two adults looking at him, but he jumped from his chair to swipe up the money.

"Harry—" Sirius started.

But panic set into Harry's brain then. They wouldn't let him keep it. He'd just shown both of them that he was a freak. And he had no chance against two fully grown men.

So he ran.