It took much of the morning to orient himself and formulate a plan of action. England looked at once familiar and alien to him, he had been gone from it for so long. Padding across the coastal farmland, he saw few people and fewer road signs. Stopping to ask for directions with his faded, salt-soaked clothing and wild appearance was simply not an option, if he did not wish to draw attention to himself.

He knew, of course, from the copy of the Daily Prophet he had seen, that it was nearly August. Hogwarts would not be in session until the first of September. This gave him a few weeks before Harry was in real danger. What should he do first?

As he saw it, he had three options: he could try to find these Weasleys and Peter before term began; he could see about finding Harry, wherever he was now; or he could try to find Remus.

Sirius had never considered himself a coward, but this last option filled him with an unexpected rush of fear. Having his happy memories restored had been such a wonderful distraction that he had not until that moment considered that twelve years had passed, and while he had been counting the moons in Azkaban, the rest of the world had been getting on with things. Remus might be with someone new. Or dead.

No. Sirius shied away from the thought. No, he's out there somewhere. And I'll find him. Just - just not yet.

He was not yet ready to have his memories, so newly regained, disrupted by the reality of the here and now.

So that left Harry or the Weasleys. And he had no idea where the Weasleys lived. Ottery St Catchpole, the article had said, but it was anyone's guess where that might be. And they might still be in Egypt, for all he knew. Harry, on the other hand -

All he knew for certain was that Harry had been sent to live with Lily's sister and her family, and that had been many years ago. He remembered Surrey, and felt sure that if he saw the name of the town again, he would recognise it. Little - something. Lily's family had been just the sort of Muggles who disliked disruption and change. There was a very good chance that they were still there. It was just a question of getting there from here, wherever "here" was.

There were three advantages to traveling incognito as Padfoot. The first was that his canine body tired less quickly, and required fewer comforts. The second was that only two people alive knew that Padfoot and Sirius Black were one in the same. The third was that people liked dogs, and while adults might be wary of a large dog apparently wandering around on its own, children were less suspicious.

Sirius had always been opposed to stealing. Too many of his own precious possessions had gone missing over the years, either pinched or through his own carelessness, and it was not always possible to tell just by looking at something what value it held to its owner. This meant he would not take anything along his journey which was not either freely given to him, or which had clearly been thrown away.

While the first category included gifts of food from kindhearted adults and generous children - the infamous Black Charm apparently translating well into canine form - the second included old newspapers. Of course, the Daily Prophet was not readily available, but even Muggle newspapers could tell him something about the current state of the world.

What they told him on the second day of his journey startled a yelp from him. His own name gracing the front page of a Muggle newspaper? And -

Is that a picture of me? How can this have happened?

Clearly, the Ministry of Magic considered him dangerous enough that they had informed the Muggle government and press of his escape. He could not even show his human face in front of Muggles without the authorities being alerted.

This could be inconvenient.

Still, he could travel faster as a dog, and there was no real reason to appear in human form once he had found out where he was. It had taken a few miles' determined trotting down the main road away from the coast before he found a helpful road sign. It pointed to Yarmouth in one direction and Norwich in another. Once he knew he was in Norfolk, he turned his shiny black nose to the southwest, and padded with steady confidence toward his destination.

He was in no great hurry. Harry was in no danger until he reached Hogwarts, so Sirius could take his time on the journey. He stopped to rest whenever he felt he needed it, reveling in the novel joy of peaceful sleep, and he begged for food frequently.

When he could manage it - when he found someplace he felt safe enough - he slept as a human. Canine dreams employed only very simplistic concepts, and it was important to him to remember the feel of being a free man.

Early one bright summer morning, he awoke from a very pleasant dream about Remus to a strange tingling sensation between his legs. He squinted down in surprise.

"Hullo there, Professor!" he said. "I thought you'd died."

Professor? Where had that come from? And then, a long-forgotten memory came floating back to him.

He and Remus had been enjoying a rare private afternoon in their dorm room, and were basking in the afterglow of their most recent bout of exuberant teenage lovemaking, and giggling about the fact that James had recently dubbed his penis "Accio Evans".

"What do you call yours?" Sirius had asked, turning his head to gaze at Remus's sunlit profile.

"I dunno," Remus had replied. "Nothing, I suppose. Never really thought about it before."

"Well, maybe you're happy being all boring," teased Sirius, "but my cock needs a name. Now, let's see; what does Moony like best in all the world?"

They had never used the name at all, and Sirius had not thought about that conversation since then until this moment, but the unexpected sensation had surprised the memory out of him.

It had been a very long time since he had felt even the tiniest spark of arousal. Good feelings were as alien to Azkaban as happy thoughts, and for twelve years his plumbing had been used solely for the elimination of waste. After a while, it had not seemed important anymore. It wasn't like he was going to get the chance to use it ever again.

But now, maybe - well, maybe not.

Experimentally, he laid a hand on the slight bulge, but the reaction to the dream was already fading. Oddly enough, it still did not seem very important to him; it was just nice to know he was not entirely broken.

He sighed and got up, transforming as he did so. Finding southwest from the newly risen sun, he set off down the dusty road.

By skirting around Greater London and slinking past Heathrow Airport, he knew he would at least end up in the right county. It took him nearly a week to get that far, but there was no urgency in his errand. He merely wanted to get a good look at Harry before he turned northward to Hogwarts. Now all he needed was to remember the name of the town.

Little - something. Now, he reflected, would be a really excellent time to conveniently find a map.

He wracked his memory, trying to find the elusive word. He had laughed the first time Lily had mentioned where her family lived. It had been a funny name. "That's appropriate," Remus had said drily. But how was it appropriate?

Sirius sat in a park on the bank of the Thames, staring blankly out over the water. Every now and then, children would try to engage his attention and make him play or chase sticks, but the large black dog was lost in thought almost until sunset.

He had met Petunia Evans only once. She had reminded him oddly of a younger version of his own mother. What sort of town's name would be appropriate to someone like that?

Little - Bitching? No, that's not it. Little Moaning? Little Complaining? Little Arrogant Judgmental Cow? Little Whining? Hang on a minute - Whining, whining - whinging?

He gave a bark of triumph and took off in a victory lap around the park. Little Whinging! That was it!

At last, he slowed to a trot. The only question now was finding it. He had no idea where in Surrey Little Whinging might be, and without a map, it could take ages to locate.

As the sun sank below the horizon, the park began to empty. Families with small children and elderly folk out for an evening stroll departed first, until finally all that remained were young lovers lingering on benches and picnic blankets and a cluster of boisterous teenagers, laughing and smoking furtive cigarettes under a stand of trees.

Did he dare risk asking for directions? If it got back to the Ministry that he had been spotted in Surrey, they might even assume he was after Harry.

He stared speculatively at the teenagers. Kids that age were not known for their attentiveness to current events, and so far as he knew, his face had only graced the front page of the Muggle newspapers the one time. Even if they did recognise him, would anyone believe them? These did not look like the sort of reliable witnesses people tended to trust.

He padded behind a large tree, glanced around once in the gathering darkness, and shifted forms. Stepping out into the open, he cleared his throat.

"Excuse me," he said in as polite a tone as he could muster.

The teenagers jumped and turned to stare at him with wide eyes. Most of them eyed him warily in a there's-a-crazy-homeless-bloke-talking-to-us sort of way, but one or two mouths dropped open in astonished horror.

Before things could get out of hand he plunged on, "I was wondering if any of you fine young folks could point me in the direction of Little Whinging?"

For a moment, there was silence, then a girl replied in a high, terrified voice, "I - um - I think that's just up the M25 from here. Sir."

Sirius raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Er - north." Her arm drifted to point away from the river, not taking her wide eyes off him. "It's not far," she added.

"Ta!" Sirius grinned and blew the girl a kiss.

Then he turned back into Padfoot, and raced away into the darkness. It was a risk, he knew, changing in front of people, but he thought that if the teenagers' story ended with, "And then he turned into a dog!" it would be less likely ever to reach the wrong ears.

He traveled north in the darkness, avoiding main roads wherever he could. It was after midnight by the time he reached the sign which read, "Welcome to Little Whinging". Exulting in a goal nearly attained, he curled up under a hedge, and slept.

The feeling of exultation began to fade following a scavenged breakfast the next morning. Little Whinging was not as small as Sirius had hoped.

And what's wrong with Muggles, anyway? All the houses are exactly the bloody same!

He wandered in despair up one street named for a plant and down the next. It seemed endless, and he was sure he ended up on Forsythia Lane more than once. How was he to find Harry amidst all this Muggle mess? He did not even know what the boy looked like, he realised. In his mind, Harry looked a lot like James, and he had certainly had the same wayward black hair, even as a baby. But he might just as easily favour Lily's side of the family.

In a vain hope, he raised his shaggy snout into the air and sniffed. But the last time he had smelled Harry, he had been fifteen months old, and had smelled largely of talcum powder, milk, and frequently-changed nappies. He might smell a bit like either of his parents now, but not enough to help Sirius locate him. He would have to be bloody close, in any case, even to get a whiff of the boy.

It was past noon and his paws were beginning to ache when he stopped to rest. Forsythia Lane. Again. He sighed.

If only I had a wand, he thought longingly. A quick locator spell; that's all I'd need. I used to be able to find the others quick as anything -

But he had not needed a wand for that, he realised. Never for finding his fellow Marauders. The bond they had shared had been strong enough for any of them to sense, without the need for anything other than their own innate magical ability.

Perhaps it will work on Harry too, he thought with sudden hope.

From the first second he had learned of Harry's existence, when the boy had been no more than an unobtrusive bump on Lily's otherwise slim physique, Sirius had loved him every bit as much as he had loved James. And while that bond might be lost to Harry, and while he was years out of practice, perhaps Sirius's love would be enough to carry him to his godson.

He closed his eyes and sniffed again, at the same time opening his mind and his heart, trying to take in his surroundings as a whole and find that one glimmer that meant a person who Really Mattered.

There. Faint yet distinct it came to him - the smallest twinge in his breast - and he felt again the weight of a tiny and helpless body in his human arms.

With a soft whine, he turned and followed the pull. He was moving more slowly now than when he had frantically searched random streets, but he moved with purpose, ever closer to his goal. Every now and then, he paused to find the spark that was Harry, ensuring that he was headed in the right direction.

By the time the sun had dipped to touch the tops of the houses, he knew he was close. Harry burned bright as a star in his mind, a constant awareness.

Somewhere on this street, he thought. One of these houses. But which one?

He paced up and down the street restlessly, stopping and turning back whenever the spark began to fade. Unless Harry came out into the open, Sirius could not be sure of his exact location, and he did not wish to draw attention to himself by peering in at windows.

At last he found himself a comfortable, relatively well-hidden spot under a bush, from which he could view much of the street, and he lay down to wait. Harry would have to come out eventually, or there would be some other clue as to his whereabouts. Maybe not tonight. Certainly tomorrow. Azkaban had taught him patience.

He had been watching the street barely an hour when the clue came, subtle as a parade. It began with a muffled shout from inside one of the houses a little way up the street. Sirius raised his head, ears pricked forward. As the shouting continued, accompanied by feminine shrieks and a great deal of banging, Sirius slunk along the flower beds of Privet Drive to get a closer look at the source of the commotion.

He ducked for cover as, with a great deal of clattering, a large trunk, an empty cage, and a short, skinny boy with glasses and messy, black hair flung themselves from one of the houses across the street from where Sirius stood.

"I'm going. I've had enough!" the boy declared angrily, slamming the door behind him.

Sirius pressed himself flat against the ground as an overwhelming sense of deja vu swept over him, strong enough to make him feel mildly dizzy.

There could be no mistaking it. The boy looked just like James had at the age of thirteen. The voice was the same, too, though the accent was different. The tone and the facial expression belonged to neither parent, though Sirius recognised those as well. They were his own. In that moment, Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, undeniably resembled no one so much as his own godfather, running away from home at the age of sixteen.

Sirius's heart swelled with a sudden and unexpected feeling of camaraderie with the boy. He felt as if it were divine providence which had brought him here at exactly this moment, when he and Harry suddenly had such a significant and defining experience in common.

He longed to go to the boy - to put an arm around his shoulders and say, "I know how it is. Don't you worry about a thing; Uncle Padfoot is with you." But he knew he could not.

He kept himself well hidden as Harry began determinedly dragging the heavy trunk down the street. Sirius followed at a safe distance, wishing every moment that he could help in some way. At last, Harry dropped the end of his trunk, and collapsed onto a low wall, still scowling as fiercely as any Black. Sirius's tongue lolled over his teeth in canine pride.

But then the angry look on young Harry's face began to fade, and was replaced by a look of fear as he took in his surroundings.

Of course, Sirius realised. When I left home, I went to James's place. But where can he go?

Harry had no other family, and the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry effectively kept him from contacting anyone else useful.

Sirius watched the panic rise in his godson, watched as he stared at his wand, watched as he got up from the wall and began rooting around in his trunk.

Don't do anything thick, Harry, he pleaded silently.

If there was anything of James in him, he was surely about to do something rash. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.

Maybe I should go to him. Distract him. Do the whole "friendly neighbourhood stray" routine. It might give him a chance to calm down and think for a minute.

He was just rising to his feet when Harry's head and wand snapped up. Sirius froze. After a moment, the boy's attention returned to his trunk.

On the other hand, it might be a mistake to sneak up on him in this state, thought Sirius.

He was just about to move again when Harry's head whipped around to stare directly at the place where he was hiding.

"Lumos."

The light was so bright, it nearly blinded him. For a split second, boy and dog stared at one another with twin looks of astonishment. Then Harry took a step backwards and fell over his trunk. Sirius was just springing to go to him when there was a deafening BANG, and an enormous, purple triple-decker bus appeared out of nowhere, screeching to a halt in the exact spot where Harry had been.

Sirius paused just long enough to make certain the boy was all right, and then he fled.