A/N: Quick note — I love Gary Oldman as Sirius Black as much as anybody, not doing so would be sheer blasphemy, but he (and all of the Marauders era characters, really) were casted pretty old compared to how young the characters were in the books. He's a legend is Gaz, but he doesn't exactly pass for being in his thirties, even with a decade of hard time under his belt. Of course you're free to picture whoever you like, but I am personally attached to my fancasting of David Oakes as an age-accurate Sirius Black and I never pass up an opportunity to shout about it.


The walk cleared her head a bit. Not enough for her to spend less than two whole minutes trying and failing to make sense of the labels of any food she picked up, her mind churning too much for her to have the headspace for things like reading, but still a bit. He still hadn't told her why he was here, she realised as she inspected a pack of ready-to-eat pumpkin pasties. Why he was here in Hogsmeade, yes - he was worried for Harry. She appreciated that, even if she wished dearly that there was no need. There still hadn't been an explanation as to why they'd been thrown together, though. Was it Harry's doing, or had he asked Harry to write that letter in the first place? Was there something she needed to do? Were they about to set off on some mysterious covert mission with her as his designated sidekick?

One part was obvious - he needed a decent meal, or ten, and somewhere warm to crash. That much, she could easily provide. Mostly because she'd just been paid the week before, but she didn't grudge it either way. It was painfully obvious that he didn't relish having to rely on a perfect stranger for shelter or food, either. She wished Harry would've given her a bit more warning, but what could he have actually said that might adequately prepare her without risking danger? It did rather harken back to her seventh year, though - being slipped a note instructing her to meet them at odd places and strange times, only to be interrogated over things that seemed entirely nonsensical. It always made no sense, up until it didn't. Then she usually wished she could go back to the time when it made no sense for some peace of mind.

But hopefully Sirius would be more forthcoming with answers.

By the time she was back at the door of her room, her mind felt quite cleared and no longer fogged by disbelief and panic. Lifting her hand, she knocked as promised, but received no response. For a moment she hesitated, but it wasn't like they'd agreed on a response, so finally she sighed, unlocked the door, and slipped in. Sirius slept, snoring on the floor by the fire. He mustn't have meant to fall asleep, she suspected, or else he'd be in dog form. Most people looked younger when they sleeped - or at least less troubled - but not him. If anything, he frowned in his sleep.

Any dilemma she had over whether to wake him was dashed when the door clicked shut behind her and he jerked awake, hand already reaching for his wand. Heather held the cloth bag aloft with a sheepish smile. He nodded slowly in greeting, and she pretended not to notice his chest heaving as he tried to dispel the adrenaline that the awakening had wrought.

"I got milk - and soup, along with a couple of smoothies. Calorie dense, nutritious, but they won't wreak havoc on your stomach if you haven't eaten properly in a while. I got proper stuff, too, for you to build up to. A bunch of one-spell ready meals. And chocolate, because why not? You're not allergic to it, are you?"

"No," he frowned, confused.

"Most dogs can't eat it," she said drily and earned a tired laugh for her trouble as she handed him the bag "Here. There's also some toiletries in there if you do decide to bathe."

"You didn't have to do all of this."

His words were counteracted rather strongly by the fervour with which he tore into the first smoothie, gulping it down. Heather didn't make any comments on it, though, nor did she tease him about it. Mostly it was just sad to witness.

"Well, if the shoe's ever on the other foot…"

"If you're ever on the run from the law after being falsely accused of murder, I'll make sure to return the favour," he snorted.

"Good. I have a penchant for salted caramel and bagels - keep it in mind."

"Do you put the salted caramel on the bagels?"

"Of course not, I'm not an animal," she tired of their joking then, especially when there were other serious matters to consider "If you don't mind my asking…"

He was already onto the soup, gesturing for her to continue with a hand rather than pausing to speak.

"Why exactly is it that I'm here? Meeting with you, I mean, not in the grand scheme of…well, you know. Is there anything you have to tell me? Anything I have to do?"

Taking another gulp or two of the soup, he paused and wiped at his mouth with the corner of a ragged sleeve.

"This, I'm afraid. I think I gave Harry quite the shock when he saw me here last week."

"Oh. Good, then."

"Good?" He echoed doubtfully.

"Not that you gave him a shock - and not that you need food. I was just expecting something a bit more high-risk."

"More high-risk than aiding and abetting the notorious Sirius Black? You're wounding my ego here."

"In light of the last three years, you're competing with You-Know-Who being slapped onto the back of my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's head, and a basilisk. Your timing is piss poor if you want to leave me shell-shocked."

Although his poor condition was almost enough - however much she refused to let on. That was more worry than fear, though. The dull grey gloom of the day darkened the room, making the shadows that the light of the fireplace cast across his face all the more dark and dramatic. They caught the gauntness of his features, his face appearing all the more skeletal. Heather was almost tempted to run out for more food.

"I suppose I caught you at a good time."

"Or a bad one," she countered "So what, you need a place to stay?"

"I need to stay here," he shook his head "Just…if you wouldn't mind dropping in. Bringing food. A night of shelter every now and then would take the edge off, Harry was right about that."

"All right," she shrugged, and ignored his blink of surprise "Hang on."

He returned to his feast as she began to root through her bag for her diary. Part of her was tempted to warn him that he should slow down, but she figured she wouldn't exactly take kindly to somebody saying that to her if she'd gone weeks without a decent meal, so she kept her mouth shut.

"What days can you do?" She asked, flicking through until she reached her calendar for that month.

When he didn't respond verbally, she glanced up to find herself being fixed with a very exasperated look.

"Yeah," she snorted "Fair. I wasn't expecting your schedule to be packed, just if you had any preferences."

"Once a week at most, I think," he suggested "Less if that's too much, of course. But anything more would only attract attention."

"Oh, I basically set up shop here for most of last year, Rosmerta wouldn't think anything of it - especially not with this Triwizard bullshit going on."

"Is that the official term for the tournament?"

"Might as well be."

"Why were you here for most of…" he trailed off and then grimaced "Ah. Me?"

"You," she admitted "Dumbledore ended up coming down from the castle himself to convince me to leave - said my being here only brought more danger. As Harry's only living relative, bar the Dursleys who absolutely don't sodding count, I make for some pretty leverage."

"Wise."

"Yeah, that's Dumbledore. I was ready to take you on in a one versus one scrap up 'til that point."

Sirius chuckled tiredly "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"For your sake, sure," she said lightly, and was rewarded with another tired smile.

Flicking through the book, she gave a huff as began to trawl through pages upon pages of scribbled notes. Her approach of staying as busy as humanly possible didn't exactly leave much room for spontaneous plans, but she'd have to make do. Approaching, she lowered herself to the floor beside him, squinting down at her own writing as she fiddled with a Muggle ballpoint pen.

"Fridays," she said decisively "I have work til early afternoon, but after that I'm free."

As she said so, she crossed out the name Scott where it was written in after "work".

"And Scott won't mind?" He nodded to it as she did so.

"Scott knows that when Scotland calls, I answer," she waved a hand.

Sirius nodded as if in approval.

"What's work?" He asked then.

It took her a delayed moment, mired as she was in mentally planning, to realise that he was making conversation - asking out of curiosity rather than strategy.

"Oh, uh, the apothecary in Diagon Alley. Brewing, inventory, the front of the shop when they're desperate but I've told them I won't do Saturdays because it's pure hell and apparently I'm a good enough worker that they're fine with that," or they didn't want to explain to a customer why she'd dipped away from the till to hyperventilate, but he didn't need to know that - especially not when he was so obviously sizing up how reliable she could be in these increasingly perilous times "Which means I can stay here on Friday nights and be free through most of Saturday. Does that work?"

He nodded "Fine by me."

"Good. Let me know if there are any potions you need, too, and I'll make them for next time."

"You don't have to do that."

Heather waved a hand in response, not entertaining the argument "Once Harry's a bit older he'll be wiping me out of hangover cures all the time, you may as well benefit, too."

"We can all only hope he's able to be a normal teenager," Sirius murmured ruefully, and then sighed when her lips thinned "I'm sorry."

"It's fine, you're not wrong. So, Fridays and Saturdays. I'll show up, I'll sit downstairs, if you don't come I'll figure you're not able to for," she paused and wriggled her fingers, struggling to find the words "Top secret reasons or something, I don't know."

"You won't be able to fool Rosmerta with that glass trick another time. She'll start connecting the dots."

"We'll think of something, it's fine. Hell, if we just walk in together like we're not doing anything wrong they probably won't even bat an eye…I mean, so long as you're in dog form - half of the battle is demeanour."

His appetite was slowing, his tearing at one of the cheesy bread buns she'd brought slower and not quite as frenzied as it had previously been. He was also showing no signs of nausea, which was always good.

"Thank you for this - truly. I know it's a lot to ask."

"It's fine, don't mention it," she shook her head.

It was obvious that this whole thing was hurting his pride - he was fidgety and wore a sort of sheepishness that didn't seem to come naturally to him. But it would hurt anybody's pride, relying on a complete stranger for food and shelter. If she was in his position, she'd hate for the person to make a whole thing of it, and it was clear that if he had any choice in this he wouldn't be here at all. In fact, she got the sense that Harry was very much going against his wishes in his having played the middle man.

"I can't make that promise," he snorted "But I do promise to reimburse you."

"Sirius, it's a bag of food and a tube of toothpaste. I've done more damage to my bank after a shit day of work."

"It's more than that, and you know it," he insisted "And I'll repay you."

"If you insist," she said.

"But first, I think I will take you up on that bath," he said, polishing off the rest of the bread roll as he stood.

"It's all yours, take your time. I'll be here."

Nodding, he began to walk somewhat stiffly towards the bathroom, and then he paused and turned back to her, extending a hand.

"It's nice to meet you, by the way."

Blinking in surprise, she paused and then laughed, shaking his in return "It's nice to meet you, too."

Well, at least he wasn't an asshole.