CHAPTER TWO

Harry Potter's emotions were sent into turmoil.

"What are you talking about?" Harry bit back. "You're a criminal. My parents—"

"Were my best friends," Sirius finished.

"I was about to say wouldn't associate with someone like you. You stole that letter!"

"Harry, it's addressed to me."

And Harry knew he was right.

And Harry didn't know what to think.

"Look, Harry," began the man as he took a step forward, but Harry flinched instinctively, causing an observant frown to spread over the man's grimey face.

"Okay," said Sirius black, raising his hands in apology and taking a step back. "I should explain myself, shouldn't I? Okay..." Harry studied the man's hollow face and realised with a start he had been in Azkaban all this time, not a Muggle prison as the Dursleys' TV had suggested.

"Help me find where to start here. What do you think you know about me?" The man leaned on the wall with his arms folded, waiting for Harry's reply.

"You killed twelve Muggles," said Harry with a shiver, though it wasn't just because of how gruesome it was. There was something about that sentence which rubbed him the wrong way — what was it? Oh, that's right. He had been willing to do the same thing not ten minutes earlier.

"Is that all?" the man asked.

Harry nodded and the man was visibly relieved.

"Well then! That makes this a lot easier! Kreacher!" he called, and the grey-green blob that limped into the room gave Harry a pretty accurate idea of what Dobby the house-elf would look like if he was a thousand years older. "Two Butterbeers — and don't pour the glasses, I don't want our guest here thinking I'm trying to poison him."

A minute later the drinks had been served, Sirius making a large gesture of using the same bottle for Harry as he did himself. Harry did not touch the drink. His mind was occupied with thinking of a way to escape, but an attempt would be pointless. He didn't have his wand and this man could cast spells faster than Harry could think of them. It was without question that an attempt to run away would only have him levitated back to his very seat, so Harry simply tried to appreciate the fact that the torture had not yet begun and slunk back in his chair.

Sirius Black leaned back in the chair he had taken opposite Harry. "Back when we were in Hogwarts, I was friends with your parents. With James in particular — thick as thieves we were. And hitching onto our heels was a man called—" the man faltered for a moment "—Peter Pettigrew. Was his name. James trusted him. We all did. Still though, when the time came to go into hiding, James wanted me as his secret keeper and though it appeared that I accepted, I secretly convinced James to use Pettigrew as the true secret keeper and keep me as a decoy. Just another hitch in Voldemort's plan,"

Harry found himself slightly taken aback by the name — not so much that it had been said, but the ease at which he had said it. Sirius Black was undoubtedly brave. But was that because the Dark Lord himself had granted permission, or was he as true a Gryffindor as Harry's father?

"What we didn't know at the time was just how bad a decision that was. It was Halloween and I had gone to visit Pettigrew only to find the place empty. I flew to Godric's Hollow and..."

Hermione had once told Harry that you can tell whether a person is trustworthy just by looking at their eyes. Harry had dismissed it at the time, and yet found so much wisdom in those words as he stared at the shifty grey pupils across from him. It was as if the man was back and seeing the carnage at Godric's Hollow for the first time all over again. Harry had heard that the Azkaban guards force you to relive your worst memories. How many times had Sirius Black relived his?

"You flew to Godric's Hollow...?" Harry prompted finally, and the man's eyes snapped back into focus, shinier than they had been before.

"Yes — yes, and I realised what had happened. Pettigrew was working for Voldemort. I was furious, as you can imagine. I thought I couldn't be any angrier, I couldn't picture anything worse he could do, until he screamed at me for betraying the Potters and exploded the entire street. He escaped, naturally, leaving me unconscious. It was the cold that woke me up finally. I was in Azkaban. They didn't even give me a trial.

"I saw you that day, Harry. Are you familiar with Rubeus Hagrid? He told me I couldn't take you that day, that—"

"Why would you want to take me?" asked Harry. "You wanted to kidnap me then too?"

"No, Harry - I am your godfather."

Harry Potter stared at Sirius Black. Nothing moved.

"That's the truth," said Sirius at last. "I just hope you believe it."

Sirius slid the phoenix wand back towards its owner.

Harry Potter stared at Sirius Black, the image of surprise plastered on his face. But then the ability to think returned to

him, and one blaring thing still remained unexplained.

"Then — then how —"

"How did I escape Azkaban?" Sirius prompted. It had not been in fact what Harry was going to ask. He'd wanted an

explanation for the letter to Ron, but he nodded along anyway.

"You see, me, James and Pettigrew had a secret. There was another person to our squad, one who has somehow escaped the topic of the conversation thus far. He had... a problem. He would be forced to change into an animal. No, not in a cool way. He hated it, so the three of us did something to help him feel less alone. Have you ever heard of an Animagus, Harry?"

Harry shook his head.

"It is someone who can turn into an animal. The three of us became Animagi to help our furry friend — among other motivations. Me a dog, James a stag, and Pettigrew—"

"A rat." Harry finished.

"Precisely. And I do not know if you have yet seen a Patronus, Harry, but do you know what form they always take?"

Harry summoned his inner Hermione. "Err.. an animal?"

"Correct, because the Dementors have no effect on them. And thus, as a dog, I was able to slip out of Azkaban."

"And, as a rat, Peter Pettigrew was able to live on," Harry finished, a dazed look on his face.

"Correct, which is why I had you send that letter."

Harry watched the bubbles swirl in his untouched drink, listening to the shuffles of the house-elf and the creaking of the house as a backdrop to his frantic stream of thoughts.

Had Scabbers really been a murdering Animagus this entire time? Harry squirmed with disgust as he remembered how many times he had slept in the same bed as Ron. He even wanted to clear his mind of the few occasions he had stroked Scabbers himself. A servant of Voldemort, in his hands!

"I wish I could go back to that day. I would have jinxed Hagrid and kept you if that's what it took. Maybe the life of a fugitive isn't the best for a baby, but I owed it to James. I still owe it to you."

Harry's shoulders braced as the conversation spun into something even more personal. Harry could sense it. What could he do? Could he really trust that a criminal was innocent by his very own word?

"Harry, I know Dumbledore probably put you with a wonderful family—" Harry scoffed "—but, I was wondering. Once my name is cleared, if you'd ever want to—"

But Harry didn't find out what it was that he might want to do. A powerful crash rocketed through the room and heavy footsteps stomped their way through the corridor. If Harry was fast and Sirius was faster, then the speed at which the auror drew his wand was inhuman. The red bolt catapulted into Harry's chest in an instant. Harry fell, the Butterbeer tumbling with him —a complete and utter waste.