Chapter 2: Hell's Angels
Harry stood in Dumbledore's office, absently stroking Fawkes, whose feathers felt old and ragged today, as Harry himself felt inside. For soon, he had to go back to the Dursleys.
Two long weeks...
But then he would be done. He could stand it for two weeks. It wouldn't be all summer, anyway.
He half-turned as the door opened and several people strode in.
"Mr. Potter," greeted Professor Dumbledore. "I am glad to see you. Have a lemon drop."
"No, thank you," said Harry politely, his stomach turning at the thought of the sour candy.
"I have been examining the counter-curse in this book with Professor Flitwick, and we have decided it is worth performing on your eyes, if you are agreed?" Dumbledore continued.
"You don't have to, you know," spoke up Sirius protectively. "Dark magic can be unpredictable."
"No! Errr… yes, please. I want to try, please?" pleaded Harry.
"Yes, we will give it a go," said Dumbledore. "It will need to be combined with a very special potion that Professor Snape has agreed to create—thank you, Severus—so we won't be able to perform the spell for some weeks."
Disappointment bit at Harry's insides. He'd imagined that Dumbledore would be able to just point his wand at Harry and poof! the curse would be reversed.
Of course, it couldn't be that easy.
"The next thing to discuss is your relatives," continued Dumbledore.
"How long does he have to stay there?" asked Sirius immediately.
"Two weeks is the absolute minimum amount of time that you need to live under the same roof as your mother's sister," explained Dumbledore kindly, as if he knew how terrible those two weeks would be.
"Maybe Sirius can come with me? As a dog… a guide dog… you know?" asked Harry. Aunt Marge's little fat Boxer was one thing. A huge furry, slobbering, shedding Sirius was something else entirely. The Dursleys would never agree.
"Yes, this has been mentioned as a possible solution… what do you think, Sirius?" Professor Dumbledore asked.
Harry turned to face Sirius quickly—he had hardly dared to hope that this ridiculous plan… terribly flawed plan… brilliant plan would be deemed acceptable. He held his breath.
"It's not for long," said Sirius. "I think we can pull it off—the whole guide dog thing. Professor O'Carolan has agreed to … er… train us. He knows what the harness should look like so that it is authentic."
"Perhaps he can fit a muzzle on you, too, while he's at it," growled Snape. "Really. As if this is at all necessary. There are far worse things than two weeks with some measly muggles."
As the heat rose in Harry's cheeks, he felt his godfather shifting next to him—heard his sharp intake of breath at the barb.
"Severus, please," Professor Dumbledore said. "Excellent, excellent. Yes, we'll enlist Professor O'Carolan's services. I'll send an owl to your Aunt and Uncle posthaste letting them know to expect you on Monday morning."
The professor's robes swished past Harry as he swept to his desk and soon there was the sound of a quill scratching against parchment.
"Come, Harry," said Sirius after a rather awkward silence in which Harry imagined Sirius and Snape glaring at each other. "Time to go."
Harry followed his godfather out of Dumbledore's office and down the moving spiral staircase. On one hand, he felt deflated—not only would it be weeks before the counter curse could be performed, but he would have to stay with the Dursleys in the meantime—Monday was the day after tomorrow!—and on the other hand, Sirius would be with him at the Dursleys! Some of the air that had escaped, filled him again and he felt buoyed as he followed the sound of Sirius's shoes on the moving stone steps.
[break]
"So, here's your leather jacket back, Sirius—go ahead and try it on again, transform, and we'll see if the modification works better this time," Professor O'Carolan said as he strode across the kitchen toward Sirius.
Remus's attempt to stifle his laughter was not very effective and Harry swatted his arm.
"Remus, this has to work!" Harry hissed.
"I know, I know, but Harry! If you could have seen it, you'd understand… it was just too funny. It's almost as if he did it on purpose… but I don't suppose he did. I mean, he can't see it either… so what's the point of making Sirius look like he's riding with the Hell's Angels? I mean, does O'Carolan even know what a biker looks like?" Remus whispered, almost bursting into laughter again.
"What are you two getting on about over there? Care to share with the rest of us?" the Professor asked from the other side of the kitchen.
"Nothing, nothing… just looking forward to seeing Padfoot in his harness and guiding Harry around the neighborhood," Remus chuckled.
"Likely story," Sirius barked mid-transformation and then there was the signature thud of dog paws on the kitchen floor, nails scrabbling around as he found his footing. This time, though, there was a jingle of metal and leather.
"It worked this time?" Harry asked, standing up.
"Yes, indeed. That's more like it," Remus said.
Padfoot ran over to Harry, knocking into the bench and thrashing everything in his way with his tail, the leash trailing behind him. It caught on the bench, beginning to drag the wooden bench along the floor.
"Come, Padfoot. Come," hollered O'Carolan, attempting to untangle the dog and put the bench back where it belonged. "You know that you have to do your paces with me first, ornery mutt!"
Padfoot jumped up on Harry's thighs and gave him a big slobbery lick on his face while Harry's hands traced over the harness, trying to get a sense of it. There was fabric around his chest, then a leather harness that fit snugly around his midsection, and a thin metal handle that seemed rather spindly, but was strong, nonetheless. A thin leather leash swung from a collar around his neck and trailed on the floor.
"That's behavior very unbecoming of a guide dog, Padfoot. What did we talk about?" Professor O'Carolan said sternly.
Padfoot whined, jumping down and ran back to O'Carolan, his tail still whacking everything in its way, while Harry wiped his face on his sleeve.
"All right, I'm going to take a few paces with Padfoot, take him through the commands again as a dog and then I'll show you how to hold his harness and give commands. Let's move into the hallway—there's no room to move in here."
They were mindful of the need to work quietly in the hallway so as not to disturb the portrait of Madame Black.
Harry listened as Padfoot and the professor went through the paces again—going through the list of commands—Come, Sit, Stay, Down, Stand, Forward, Leave it, Okay, Hupup (a German command for keep going), and so on. Before Padfoot had transformed, Professor O'Carolan had described what Sirius supposed to do in each instance—exactly how he should stand or sit, what direction he should be pointing and how to alert Harry to obstacles in his path (such as stopping if there was something that he'd hit his head on).
It was a mark of how much Sirius wanted to stay with Harry at the Dursleys that he went along with it as well as he did. His joyful yipping alone set the portrait to howling discordantly about the filth in her home when the professor finally announced that he had done well.
Out on the doorstep with her curses muffled by the sturdy oak door, Professor O'Carolan conceded, "Well, he'd never pass guide dog training, but I think he'll do well enough to pass for a week with your muggles. Harry—now it's your turn. You'll need to be firm with him—don't let him get away with his silliness. Remind him of his role."
Harry agreed, but he was more concerned about what Sirius would do if… no, when … the Dursleys went off on one of their tirades about Harry, his family, his freakishness. He was always more easy-going as Padfoot, maybe it would be okay? Of course, the alternative was to go it alone, but he dreaded the thought and pushed it away.
Sirius will be able to do this, right?
Padfoot leaned against Harry's leg as Professor O'Carolan showed Harry how to loop the leash over his finger and hold the leash while grasping the harness. It was more complicated than he imagined.
"Are we going to walk around the neighborhood?" Harry asked.
"In a minute. Let's go through the commands first. Take him through them."
Padfoot complied with every command perfectly and according to Remus, was a very convincing guide dog. Professor O'Carolan was pleased as well. Harry knew it was too good to be true, but he didn't argue. He wanted this as badly as Sirius did.
"Shall we take a turn around the street, then?" Professor O'Carolan asked when Padfoot jumped up from his Down position to sit attentively by Harry's left side at the command. Harry could feel Padfoot wiggling with anticipation, but he stayed by his side, waiting for instructions.
At the word 'Forward,' Padfoot pulled Harry to the top of the step.
The evening air was a relief from the stifling hallway and Harry felt the breeze cool the sweat in his fringe and at the base of his neck as Padfoot paused on the front stoop of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry felt around on the step until he found the edge of the step with his toe and then directed Padfoot down the steps to the pavement.
"Harry, I heard you shuffling at the top of the steps. Let's do that again. Are you finding the first step with your right foot and then stepping down with your left as I told you?" Professor O'Carolan admonished.
"No, sir," Harry said.
"Go to the top and do it again."
Finally, after a few false starts, the professor was satisfied and told Harry to give the "Right" command and they turned toward the east and before he had finished uttering the command "Forward" Padfoot was pulling him down the street at an eager pace. Harry tugged on the harness as he tried to keep up.
"Come on, Padfoot, not so fast," Harry panted as he pulled back on the harness, trying to get him to walk at a more comfortable pace. His shoulder felt as though it was being pulled out of his socket; at the same time, it felt really good to be walking so fast and so confidently.
"That's always the way of it with guide dogs," Professor O'Carolan remarked. "They just walk faster than humans. You'll need to get used to it… at least for a couple of weeks!"
Padfoot swerved against Harry's legs and Harry stumbled as he was pushed to the right. He felt leaves from a tree brush his forehead and realized that he had just narrowly missed being slapped in the face with the entire branch.
"Padfoot, that was too close! Pay closer attention," Remus uttered an alarmed cry from behind them. "He nearly walked Harry into a low hanging branch."
Padfoot whined in response.
"It's okay. We can do this," Harry encouraged and he was in the middle of telling Padfoot to move forward, when the professor interrupted him.
"No, you need to go through that part again. Harry. You need to stop and bring Padfoot back and go through it again so that he knows what he needs to do. He's not going to understand unless you take him through his paces." Professor O'Carolan was adamant and they walked through the low hanging branches again and again (much to the dismay of a few harassed muggles on their way to work who muttered their impatience as they made their way around the small group blocking the pavement).
"Make sure you praise him! And give him a piece of that bacon you have in your pocket!"
Padfoot's tail whacked against Harry's legs as he swallowed the bacon.
Harry picked up his pace and tried to match Padfoot's strides, but felt out of step as if he was trotting along beside Padfoot in an ungainly manner, trying to pull his arm back so that his shoulder wouldn't be yanked out of its socket. He was starting to feel sore. They were nearing the corner of the street—Harry could hear the traffic getting louder. Padfoot slowed and then came to a stop at the corner—waiting for Harry to listen, find the curb with his right toe, and determine when it was safe to cross. Remus and Professor O'Carolan came up behind them and stood quietly.
Harry listened while a lorry approached, then a Vespa sped by, and afterward, certain it was clear, gave the command to Padfoot to move forward, but Padfoot stood solidly and didn't budge. He did growl.
"Forward, I said Forward, Padfoot!" Harry commanded with exasperation.
Why was he being so thick?
"Forward!" Harry took a step off the curb and pulled at the harness. Padfoot gave a sharp bark and launched himself in front of Harry's legs pushing him back and Harry felt something silent wing by him as Remus called out in alarm.
"Was that a cyclist?" Harry gasped as he stumbled to regain his footing. "Thank you, Padfoot. I should have listened better."
"Yes, that one is on you, son," the Professor admonished. "You can't walk around your guide dog. Remember, he can't tell you what he sees except with his body. That is how he tells you. It's your job to listen. Try again."
Heat creeping up the back of his neck, Harry apologized to Padfoot and walked back up the pavement a few steps to try again.
They made it across the street this time. Harry, still feeling wobbly from the close encounter with the cyclist, directed Padfoot to take a left when he could feel the breeze between buildings on his face. The way the sounds bounced off the walls told him that they were in a narrow passage between buildings now, the pavement beneath his feet had given way to the crunching of gravel and then his feet sank into plush grass and he felt the air above him open up—they had reached the park. The noises of the city were muffled by hedgerows and trees and the scent of freshly cut grass and faint musk of decaying leaves filled his lungs as he breathed deeply.
"Want to run, Padfoot?" Harry asked in a low voice as Professor O'Carolan and Remus's feet crunched on the gravel, echoing off the alleyway's walls. He knew that the park was wide open here—fringed with trees, but just a grassy field in the center. He ached to run. It had been ages.
Padfoot started forward at a trot and Harry stretched his legs, striding out and then jogging alongside the panting dog—his harness jingling, the leather creaking. He made sure to hold his left hand far enough from his body that his running feet did not step on Padfoot's paws, which were never quite the safe distance away that Harry imagined them to be. It was a glorious freedom… even better than flying on his broom in some ways because he could feel the earth reverberating underneath the soles of his feet and the way the pounding vibrated up through his bones.
Padfoot guided him in an arc to their left so that they were gradually turning and heading back to the center of the park, the voices of the professors growing more discernible as they approached. Harry's foot caught on something—a mound of earth—and he ran stumbling for a bit, trying to right himself by tugging on Padfoot's harness, and then let go and tumbled to the wet ground in a heap. Padfoot barked, stuck his cold nose under Harry's chin, then determining that Harry was laughing and not crying, pounced on him, his tongue dragging rivers of solid saliva from his neck to his forehead. Harry was trying to protect his face from Padfoot's tongue at the same time he struggled to get away and sit up. Professor Lupin and Professor O'Carolan were laughing too hard to be of any use to him.
"Well, I suppose he held it together for as long as he was able," Professor O'Carolan hooted.
"What do you mean? It's only been an hour… he's got to stay in character for two weeks…" Remus berated.
"It'll do."