Sirius was walking through the Forbidden Forest. The ground was far below his two feet, he was practically blind and deaf in this almost alien environment. But he went on searching, clenching his teeth whenever sharp branches caught his skin.

There was a figure in the distant, tall and black-haired like him, but could only see its silhouette; no details.

The figure turned, and Sirius could see its amber eyes. Despite slight menace in them, he could almost see a smile beneath those twin lights.

It winked, and started to walk off, dissolving more and more into smoke with every step.

"Wait!" Sirius called, starting to run after it. But he wasn't used to walking on two legs anymore. He tripped, his sense of smell heightened, but he couldn't smell the figure anymore and there was the sound of a train whistle—

A sharp pain in the ear jolted Sirius out of his sleep. He howled and leapt to his four feet. A loud, high-pitched squeal told him where the pain had come from.

"Why'd you have to do that every time Harry?" Sirius whined as the kid buried his hands in the dog's neck. Sirius clenched his teeth at the familiar pinching. He pried those sharp little fingers out of his fur with his nose, causing Harry to laugh and let go.

Sirius ran to the other side of the room, climbed into a chair, and glared down at Harry, indicating that, as he couldn't run or walk or climb (or anything really, other than be annoying) that he, Sirius, was quite protected from any more painful surprises. The kid, spread-eagle on the dog bed, tried to wriggle his way over to the couch. Finding himself unable to, he wrinkled his face into a screeching wail. The sound hurt Sirius's already pulsing ears as it echoed around the room. Folding them backwards on his head and snarling at Harry did nothing to soften the noise.

Sirius sighed, wishing he could leave the room. Why did Lily and James (especially the former) always leave their infant alone with a dog capable of seeing the little scrap as an appetizer? Sure, James knew there wasn't any menace under the thick black fur, but Lily was different. She'd spent the first eight months of her child's life at home, fussing over him and acting as the stereotypical overactive mother, with a few flaws. She was the only one allow to touch Harry for weeks, snapping like a tigress when anyone tried. When she started allowing contact, she wouldn't let Sirius lick or nuzzle Harry, swatting him away whenever he got close, yet left the two alone together when she was exhausted, locked in a room surrounded by toys, blankets, miniscule clothing, and sounds strong enough to make a Dementor back down. Now that she was starting work again, claiming that ten months was old enough for Harry to get along with a sitter, this was now a constant occurrence.

She would call, "Sirius, you want a treat?" and Sirius, excited by this notion, would run wherever her voice was, only to find himself shut in the nursery with a strip of cheese, a very unhappy baby, and Lily on the other side of the door. The cheese was hardly worth the screaming, pulling, and pinching always provided.

He relaxed as Harry quieted now, content to suck on a rawhide bone. Sirius was anxious to correct him, but decided against it. Harry wasn't about the choke on the rawhide, and it filled his mouth, though Sirius winced as baby drool lathered up his bone. He found another toy, the grey teddy bear, and shook it back and forth between his teeth, before going over to Harry and nudging him with it. Harry feebly reached for the toy, but Sirius snatched it away, wagging his tail as the little hands clenched over air.

The battle between human thoughts and animal instincts was still being fought in Sirius's head, almost like the real war, and it was only getting worse. Sometimes, like now, he was fairly in control, only giving into canine likings with the stuffed bear, showing how superior he was by having the prize.

But often, especially when things were rough, the dog mind took over. Sometimes where James and Lily fought, either in play or ferocity, Sirius would stand in front of James: his body and ears low, tail stiffly twitching, growling through bared teeth as Lily cowered. And Sirius never relaxed, and never could. James was his responsibility, he had to protect his master against this assault, even as she screamed and slid to the floor in a weeping mass, causing the baby upstairs to scream along. He earned two weeks in the doghouse for this.

Actually, when he really thought about, Sirius knew that most of these charismatic incidents happened because of James. Not that he was blaming his friend, but that was the truth.

When James was frustrated because Harry wouldn't stop crying, or there were too many papers from work to correct, Sirius would lick him under the chin, trying to be sympathetic. When the family played in the backyard, and James slipped on the rocks, Sirius stood besides him, licking the torn skin and baring his teeth when Lily approached. And he had no control over any of it, like he was a pet truly devote to one person, and a distant human mind was just going along for the ride.

It seemed his fondness for James was being manipulated by domestication, that their seven years of being the best of friends had transfigured slowly into a demeaning, yet stronger master-dog relationship.

And there was one more quirk.

The nursery door creaked open, causing both occupants inside to start barking. James came in. Sirius leapt to the floor.

"Hey guys," he said, picking Harry up and ruffling his hair. "Been having fun?"

There was no reply.

"Well, we've gotta get going," he said, putting Harry in his cot. "Long day today. You coming Sirius?"

Sirius didn't need to be asked twice. His tail waving wildly about, he followed James out of the room into the kitchen. Lily was gone; apparently she'd already left for work. James made himself some coffee as Sirius dashed for his food bowl. He snorted: dry kibble again. He perked up though as a strip of bacon fell from the sky onto his nose.

'Thanks," he grunted, gobbling it up. James laughed as he ate his own bacon. He couldn't understand Sirius's sounds, but he almost knew what the dog was saying.

They finished their breakfast and waited. James got his briefcase packed (he had an undercover job as an elementary school teacher) as Sirius stared at his bowl, hoping more bacon would fall into it. None did.

A few minutes later the doorbell rang. Sirius rushed towards it, barking madly as James opened it. Bathilda Bagshot stepped in, old and feeble as ever. She was the babysitter when the family dog was off duty. There were no words exchanged between her and James—she knew the routine, and headed upstairs to the nursery as James and Sirius stepped out.

"Glad that's over with," James muttered as they started up the street. "I mean, I love Harry and all, it's just…well, he's so loud and messy and I don't think I've slept properly for two years. Dunno how Lil puts up with that stuff, let alone loves it."

Sirius agreed. It wasn't that he didn't love Harry either. But the wailing, the fur-pulling, eye-poking, bad smells, and the way Lily doted over him like he was the King of England, it got to him. He did truly care for his almost-godson however (The official position had gone to Moony).

They walked the long way, James's briefcase banging against his knees, and occasionally into Sirius's head. This wasn't the best way to travel, the man thought. Even if he didn't have this big briefcase to carry around, there were too many Muggles out now to disappear into the forest, no way he could become a stag unnoticed. Instead he had to walk, most of the way at least. Still, it was great to just have some time to himself, almost.

So the miles trailed on. Mostly they walked together in silence. James occasionally said something about work or ruffled the dog's head. Now and then Sirius halted at a tree to mark it, masking his scent over those of previous mongrels. This was his place, his territory. But for the most part they walked on, content with each other's company.

At last King's Cross station came into view. A new rule had been put up several months ago: no dogs allowed on the trains, unless they were for assistance. They watched a yellow Labrador stand by her owner at the booth, though James noticed the man was wearing sunglasses and she a harness. All Sirius noticed was her warm smell, of soap and biscuits and blood…but no, James was more important.

"I guess this is it," James said, crouching down. He held Sirius's head in his hands. The dog turned away; he couldn't look an alpha directly in the eyes. Instead he licked his lips, then, with much courage, James's chin.

"I gotta go Sirius. I'll see you at home, okay boy?" Sirius nodded and twitched his tail softly. "I'll see you tonight." He ruffled the dog's head and started for the ticket booth. He stared at Sirius the whole time, who stared back. At last, ticket in hand, he started for the building. He waved at Sirius, who woofed back, before tuning around. And he was gone.

Sirius stared at the door for a few minutes, wondering if James would come back. But when no one did, he yawned, shook out his fur, and started back home, running this time to cover the distance faster.

So he spent the morning and most of the afternoon with Bathilda and Harry. The old woman practically smothered the poor kid and kept swatting Sirius away.

"You're probably covered with fleas," she scolded as he gave her a pitiful look. "And you smell. I'd give you a bath if I knew you weren't covered in vermin. Here," she pulled out her wand and pointed it at his hairy side, "Scourgify!" but it made no difference to Sirius's long, mattered coat. That was the way it naturally looked.

He spent most of his time keeping out of Bathilda's way, only asking for attention around lunchtime. She grudging filled his dish with kibble, though forgot to add a complimentary pig's ear. Mainly he lay around out in the doghouse, sleeping or gnawing on rawhide or a teddy bear (something neither Harry nor Bagshot was particularly happy about. At around four however, Sirius sensed something. It wasn't a smell or a sound or physically feeling, but he knew. It was like a chill in his bones and a thought in his head. There was something he had to do now.

He ran back inside towards the front door. He didn't stop barking or scratching at the door until Bagshot found him, scowling.

"Quiet or you'll wake the baby. I suppose you want to go outside." Her face softened a little at his wide-eyed expression. "Ah, very well." And Sirius was out the door before it was properly open. He heard the old woman shriek as she tripped over his tail

He ran all the miles, faster than he had this morning. He had to get there. Had to. It was almost time.

He stopped when he reached his destination, hardly winded. Panting a bit in the heat, Sirius stared at a clock. It was two minutes to five. Though he could no longer tell time, his eternal watch, the one many animals carry, told him it was almost time.

A hotdog vendor not far away stared at him. "You alright boy?"

Sirius didn't acknowledge him .Instead, he sat on a circular grassy spot under the clock. He sat stiffly, eyes fixed on what was in front of him, and waited.

People started milling out of King Cross's doors, but Sirius didn't twitch a whisker. Not until he saw—

"Sirius!" James called as he saw his dog. Sirius rushed up to him. He jumped on the man, paws on his shoulders and licked the laughing face. Familiar warm hands stroked his face.

"C'mon boy, let's go home." Sirius jumped off, and again, they started back home. They took their time, enjoying the sights and smells around them, and each other's company.

When they got home two hours later, Bathilda had left. Lily was home now, tired as always but happy to see her husband and pet come inside the cottage.

"I can't believe it," she said as she closed the door behind them. "He's done that everyday. Everyday he goes with you to the station, then comes home, then leaves at the precise time to meet your train. I can't believe it. Is this magic?"

James grinned as he stroked his dog. "Not our type of magic Lil. It's a different kind. He gripped Sirius around the shoulders. "It's a magic no wand can conjure. It's the magic of a bond between a man and his dog." And he was certainly right.

Sirius and James had had this routine for almost two years, ever since James had gotten his job as a teacher. And never in all this time, did Sirius fail to meet him at the station.