Sirius spent a week travelling from the Scottish coast down to London, only daring to become his human self for the briefest of moments in order to Apparate from place to place. Through his wanderings, he learned that the Ministry was, in fact, looking for him—it was practically all the witches and wizards he passed on the streets could talk about. But he heard nothing about a big black dog, which meant that no one had told the Ministry he was an Animagus. Specifically, it meant that Remus hadn't told the Ministry he was an Animagus, considering he was the only one left alive besides Peter who knew his secret. Sirius wasn't quite sure what to do with that information, but he was certainly glad for it.

He had no idea where Remus could be (or if he's even still alive, a small voice in the back of his head wouldn't stop saying), but he did know where Harry was: a small town in Surrey called Little Whinging, home of Petunia and Vernon Dursley. And so that is where he found himself on the night of August sixth, wandering the quiet suburban streets and searching for any sign of his godson.

After about an hour of enduring barking dogs and lawn sprinklers, Sirius was all but ready to give up. He had no idea what the Dursleys' address was—he wasn't even sure the Dursleys still lived in Little Whinging, or that Harry was staying with them. What if they'd kicked him out onto the street, and he'd grown up in some crowded Muggle orphanage instead? The thought twisted his stomach into knots.

And then, one street over, he spotted the silhouette of a boy passing beneath a streetlight, lugging a large trunk behind him and carrying a birdcage under his arm.

Sirius's heart leapt; he crept forward through the nearest side yard, sticking close to the fencing that bordered it, and towards the figure, watching as the boy collapsed against a low stretch of wall just ahead of him. Sirius couldn't see well in the dark, even with his dog's eyes, but he could tell the boy was young, and he was wearing glasses that were round like James's had been. He smelled of fish and lemon, and he had a wand clutched in his hand.

Sirius took another step forward, his breath caught in his throat. It was a wizard boy, living in Little Winging…it had to be Harry. What could he be doing out here, all by himself?

The boy was searching through his trunk now, not paying attention…Sirius just had to get a little closer, then he would be sure….

Suddenly the boy straightened up, whirling around; he must have heard something. Sirius stood completely still until he returned to his searching—but now the boy had stopped again, and he was peering directly down the alleyway in which Sirius was lurking….

"Lumos," the boy whispered. Light burst from the tip of his wand, and with it Sirius could finally make out his face: it was the face of a young James, wild-haired and sharp-mouthed, his eyes widening as he caught sight of Sirius lying in wait. It was Harry, without a doubt.

Harry tried to step back, but he tripped over his still-open trunk and fell into the street, his wand slipping from his hand and its light flickering out. And then there was a bang! and another light—the headlights of a tall, bulky vehicle that had materialized out of thin air, throwing Harry's terrified figure into sharp relief as he just barely managed to roll out of its way. It was a bus: the Knight Bus, savior of stranded witches and wizards across the country. Whatever Harry had been running away from, he would be safe now.

The same, however, could not be said for Sirius. So he waited just long enough for him to see the conductor step off the bus and greet his newest passenger—then he spun around and retreated back into the safety of the darkness.