Sirius Black's life was a parade of unpredictable mayhem. Every time he had things "figured out", some phenomenal event would come along to turn his world upside down. Going to Hogwarts and joining the Marauders at eleven, being disowned at sixteen, imprisonment in Azkaban at twenty-one and his escape at thirty-three. It could be frustrating, feeling out of control in his own life.
His life hadn't stopped being insane after Pettigrew's arrest either. The rat's capture had, in fact, set off an entire chain of events that had made for one hell of a month.
First was the trial. It was a pretty open-and-shut case; he and the still-very-alive Pettigrew had been given Veritaserum, confirming Sirius's version of the events surrounding James and Lily Potter's deaths. Remus's memories of the night at the Shrieking Shack had also been admitted as evidence, clearly showing Peter's full confession and Sirius's efforts to protect Harry Potter. Upon delivery of a "not guilty" verdict, the Wizengamot and Cornelius Fudge had been forced to make a full apology to Sirius for his wrongful imprisonment and had offered him a large monetary compensation for eleven years in Azkaban, the remaining year being punishment for becoming an unregistered Animagus.
Sirius had accepted the compensation and apologies, but still couldn't forget that twelve years of his life had been stolen illegally. There had been no trial, no use of Veritaserum, and no examination of his memories via Pensieve. Without any chance to defend himself, an innocent man had been tossed into Azkaban for life: one of the most horrifying fates which could befall a wizard. His legal advisor suggested that corruption at the highest levels of wizard government might be to blame for Sirius's ordeal, and they had been working to build a case against the Ministry of Magic. It wasn't about the money, as he had plenty of that to go around; Sirius just didn't want the thoughtless and corrupt extremists that had put him in prison to remain in power. What happened to him couldn't be repeated.
Sirius had never been officially convicted of any crimes. He only came to appreciate this fact the day that Kingsley Shacklebolt visited him at the Leaky Cauldron (he refused to darken the door of 12 Grimmauld Place) to return his wand. It hadn't been destroyed after his seizure, but was kept as evidence for a trial that would never happen. When Sirius touched his wand for the first time in twelve years, he wept for joy. A part of him that had been dead for over a decade sprang to life again. He could feel the magic coursing through his veins, tingling his fingers wherever they came in contact with the wood. Shacklebolt had looked a little shocked when he found himself pulled into a bear hug by the exonerated wizard, but his eyes were filled with compassion and understanding. It was clear what Azkaban had done to Sirius's mental state, and getting his wand—a piece of his identity—back was a significant part of the healing process.
Sirius had another cathartic experience when Remus came by with a box of things that had been recovered from his flat after he'd been arrested. There wasn't much Remus had considered worth saving—Sirius had put most of his valued possessions into Gringotts during the war—but the few items were enough to move the dog Animagus to tears all over again. There was a photograph of him and the Potter Family, the two-way mirrors he and James had used to communicate in school, and a bunch of miscellaneous trinkets tied to the Marauders or the Order. Every item was a memory of happier and wholer times and of people that he would never see again. Even so, he was profoundly grateful to Remus for saving them. This time capsule of the man he once was meant more to him than any gold the Ministry could give him.
Walburga Black had died while her eldest son was in Azkaban, leaving Sirius as sole possessor of the Black Family name. Everything his parents had owned was now his, from their house and everything in it to the entire contents of their vault at Gringotts. Sirius had visited the bank in order to transfer his personal wealth—his inheritance from Uncle Alphard, his wages as an Auror, and his compensation from the Ministry—to the Black Family vault. Never in his wildest dreams could he have guessed what lay inside. Sirius had known that the Blacks were wealthy…but even his active imagination could never have accurately conjured the nearly endless mountains of gold and precious artifacts that now belonged to him. It had even been necessary to place a charm on the doors to prevent the treasure from spilling out. Sirius had leaped into the vault, rolling around in piles of coins and laughing his head off. It wasn't the money itself that gave him joy, nor the thought of buying anything for himself. It was the knowledge that he could spoil his godson as much as he wanted. While Sirius lived, Harry Potter would want for absolutely nothing. And unless the Black's only heir produced a child of his own, whatever remained of this vast fortune upon his death would become Harry's. His green-eyed godson deserved every bit of affection that Sirius could shower on him after the terrible things he had been through: losing his parents, being parceled off to relatives that he obviously didn't like, and the numerous close calls that he'd had with Voldemort during his years at school. Even after such horrible experiences, Harry remained kind, brave, and modest; Sirius had no concerns about indulging his godson a bit.
Exuberant wealth wasn't the only benefit to being a Black. Sirius was surprised to find that there was a seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors which belonged to him. Supervising the inner workings of his beloved school—the only place he'd ever felt truly happy—and being involved in Harry's education was a tempting enough opportunity. What sealed the deal was Sirius's revelation that his seat had, in a turn of unbelievable corruption and cronyism, been given to Lucius Malfoy, of all people. Cissy's husband had been the Board's chairman, which meant he had full authority to appoint one of his lackeys to his imprisoned cousin's rightful position, effectively insuring that Lucius's vote would count twice. Although he had been removed from his own position following some scandal a while back, his pawn had remained, meaning that Lucius was able to retain power on the board without actually being there. Sirius Black would be damned if he let Lucius Malfoy continue to have that kind of power. Dumbledore had seemed quite pleased by Sirius's acceptance of the position, in opposition to the hags at the Daily Prophet, who couldn't get enough of printing smear pieces about him. Writing the truth—that he had been framed for the murder of his best friends—wouldn't sell papers. Stories about him tampering with the Veritaserum at his trial, bribing the Wizengamot, and planning to train Harry in the Dark Arts did.
His shoddy reputation made it difficult for Sirius to find anyone willing to help him buy a house. Eventually, after countless failed inquiries, he'd come across a relator who was willing to work with anyone if the price was right. The house she found for him was perfect; exactly what he had pictured during his years inside Azkaban. Dumbledore and Remus had aided him in shielding the house with all the protective spells their collective minds could remember, including the Fidelius Charm. Dumbledore had agreed to be their Secret Keeper.
Now, Sirius was about to face the greatest unexpected adventure of his life: living with his godson. He was both excited and anxious and had spent weeks agonizing over every detail, which was uncharacteristic of him. He just wanted to give Harry the life he deserved; the life he would have had but for Sirius's foolish mistake. He only hoped that James and Lily's son would forgive him in time. He could never take the place of a father in the young wizard's life, but Sirius still loved Harry as much as he would his own son. One day, Harry might understand just how deep his feelings ran.
The fateful day finally arrived and, true to form, it was hectic, just like the rest of Sirius's life. He'd woken up early—early for him anyway, as Sirius Black was decidedly not a morning person—and quickly gotten dressed, not putting much effort into his appearance as he'd have to fix it later anyway. After cooking himself a small breakfast, Sirius went about the task of making sure the house was ready for his godson's arrival. He didn't want it to be creepily spotless like 12 Grimmauld Place; the immaculate cleanliness had always made his parents' house feel even more tomblike than it already was. So he left his dishes in the sink and a bit of natural clutter around the den. Sirius wanted so much for Harry to like the house, so he went over every inch—inside and outside—at least a dozen times to make sure that everything was in place.
When that was finished, he'd gone to Diagon Alley to pick out a housewarming gift for his godson, an errand that took decades longer than he had anticipated. Nothing seemed good enough. Sirius hadn't been a teenager in ages; he wasn't sure what a thirteen-year-old wizard would appreciate. He'd given Harry a broom back at Christmas because he needed one, but now he didn't know what Harry would want or need. After visiting practically every store, he'd come across a fascinating magical object. It was simple and sentimental and had no practical use at all, but it seemed like something that would make Harry feel at home.
After buying the present, Sirius had Flooed straight home to prepare dinner. It was still early in the afternoon, but it would take time to prepare everything, since he planned on cooking by hand. The gray-eyed wizard's reputation for the culinary arts had been notorious among the Order of the Phoenix. Despite his protests and insistence that Lily and Remus could cook just as well, Sirius was always strong-armed into providing refreshments for the Order gatherings. His chocolate cake, in particular, was legendary. He'd perfected the recipe during his time at Hogwarts, in order to help Remus recover after the full moon, and everyone agreed that it was worth killing for.
"If you made one for Voldemort as a peace offering, you might just end the war, Padfoot!" James had joked. It hurt Sirius to think about James, his brother in all but blood. On the rare occasions that he fell asleep in Azkaban—genuinely asleep, not passed out from the dementors' soul-draining—all he saw over and over were the burned remains of Godric's Hollow and his friend's dead body, staring at him in reproach. The ghostly specters of James and Lily tormented his waking moments, accusing him of their betrayal and murder and shouting words hurtful enough to break his defeated heart. Even now, Sirius was mired in guilt for what had happened to the Potters. Hopefully, it wasn't too late to make things right for the youngest one.
Sirius had no idea what Harry liked to eat, so he just made all of James and Lily's favorites, hoping that their appetites had passed down to their child. He charmed the food so that it would stay warm and fresh until mealtime. Now it was time to clean himself up. Sirius went into his bathroom and washed his hands and face, which were speckled with food splatter. He combed his long black hair and dressed in his best robes. His eyes were haunted by the memory of Azkaban, and he still had a fair amount of weight to gain back in his face and body before he didn't look skeletal, but his looks were far more appealing than the last time he and Harry had met. Sirius shuddered at the memory; no wonder those poor kids had been scared of him. He'd looked like death itself.
Satisfied with his appearance, Sirius had one task left before leaving the house: wrapping Harry's present. He wasn't the master of giftwrapping—that was Remus's area—so the paper was a bit lopsided, but he figured it wouldn't last long anyway. He placed the brightly, albeit crookedly, wrapped parcel in the teenager's new room. "Perfect as it's going to get…" he mused quietly, going over his mental checklist one last time.
Confident that nothing had been forgotten, Sirius walked to the den and grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the mantle. Stepping into the fireplace, the dark-haired wizard called out "Dumbledore's Office!" and threw the powder down. Green flames engulfed him and Sirius closed his eyes tightly and kept his elbows close to the rest of his body, not keen on being misdirected. The terrible vertigo that accompanied Floo Network travel was just one more thing that the former prisoner had to get used to all over again after Azkaban.
When the spinning stopped, Sirius opened his eyes and stepped out of the fireplace, relieved to find that he had reached his destination safely. What didn't please him in the slightest was the sour face that glared at him in greeting.
"Black," the man's antagonistic, monotone voice spat.
"Snape." Sirius glared back at the vile, hooked-nosed man, brushing a few stray ashes off his clothes.
"I believed you Flooed to the wrong location, Black." The potion master's lips quirked upward in a smug smirk. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is a few chimneys back." Sirius growled softly, which only caused Snape's condescending smile to grow. "Now, now mutt. One step out of line, and your adoring public will demand your immediate return to Azkaban."
Sirius knew that Snape was baiting him, and it pissed him off that he was allowing himself to be riled. "I'll just use whatever excuse you used to avoid Azkaban, Snivellus." It was a low shot, using a childhood taunt like that, but the gray-eyed wizard was in no mood for this nonsense today. "Now where is the Headmaster? I'd like to collect my godson as soon as possible."
All of the mirth evaporated from Snape's expression, and a hard glint entered his eyes. "Ah yes. Potter. I believe the two of you will get on splendidly. You're two of a kind: arrogant, foolish, and irresponsible." Sirius clenched his fists in anger, his fingernails piercing the skin of his palms and leaving shallow crescent-shaped cuts. "The two of you can stay up until the dawn sharing stories of your pathetically unfair lives."
Sirius whipped out his wand, prepared to make his age-old enemy eat those words, when the doors to the office opened widely, allowing Dumbledore himself to enter. "Sirius," he greeted the exonerated wizard warmly, offering him his hand. "I'm so delighted to see you." The Headmaster turned his head towards Snape with a knowing smile. "Severus. Thank you so much for keeping Sirius company while I was detained. You may return to your activities." Snape shot Sirius one more hateful look, which was returned in kind, before proudly whisking himself from the office.
"He hasn't changed in all these years," Sirius muttered.
"I think you'll find that you also have retained several traits from your youth, Sirius." Dumbledore winked, a twinkle in his eyes that Sirius couldn't help but respect. "Now, to business. You've come for Harry Potter's location."
Sirius nodded adamantly. One of the conditions his old Headmaster had placed on this arrangement was that he wasn't allowed to know where his godson was being kept until the time came for him to collect Harry from Lily's horrible relatives. Dumbledore had suspected that Sirius would try to snatch the young wizard away before the month was finished, and with good reason. Sirius didn't know what those Muggles had done to his godson, but the look in Harry's eyes whenever he spoke of his "family" was enough to wound the man's soul. If he'd known the address—it was somewhere in Surrey; he'd seen Harry there one night, although he hadn't seen the exact house—he'd have watched those Dursleys with an eagle eye. The moment he'd seen anything less than love and acceptance, Sirius would have kidnapped Harry and carried him off, blood wards or no. Dumbledore had anticipated all of this, of course, and kept Harry's location a secret until now. Sirius had also given his word not to go looking for the house.
"Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey," Dumbeldore spoke in a slow, clear tone, allowing Sirius to memorize the address. The dark-haired wizard ran it through his mind several times until he couldn't have possibly forgotten. "No matter what you witness, Sirius, I implore you to keep your temper in check."
Sirius's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Am I going to see something that will make me angry, Headmaster?"
"It is very possible." Dumbledore placed his hand on Sirius's shoulder. "The Dursleys have not treated Harry like their son, as you would have done."
"Then why…" Sirius took a deep breath, trying not to explode. "Then why did you order Hagrid to take Harry to them? Was the blood protection really that important? More important than growing up with someone who loved him?" He clenched his fists again. "If you'd allowed me to keep Harry that night, I never would have chased Pettigrew. That was the reason I gave up! I had nothing to live for anymore!"
Dumbledore's expression filled with a genuine sadness, and Sirius felt a little guilty for his harsh words. It was hardly the Headmaster's fault that they'd changed Secret Keepers without telling anyone, that Pettigrew had betrayed them, or that Sirius's lust for revenge had gotten him locked up. "I know that now, Sirius. Believe me, not trusting you or considering Harry's options more thoughtfully remains a deep regret of mine. I would do anything to change what happened that night, as would you I imagine." Sirius nodded and Dumbledore's smile returned. "But that is in the past. I believe that you and Harry will have a lovely summer. I don't believe you realize how much he is looking forward to living with you."
"With an old, crazy wizard like me?" Sirius chuckled. "Oh yes, it will be a dream come true."
"More than you could possibly know, Sirius." The Headmaster's voice was sincere, and the younger man felt a stirring of affection in his heart. If Harry was really that excited, then he mustn't keep his godson waiting any longer.
"I'll be off then."
"Oh!" exclaimed Dumbledore as Sirius turned back to the fireplace. "I have something for you." The ancient wizard picked up a shiny, silver object from his desk and tossed it to Sirius, who caught it with ease. When he looked down at his hand, he was confused for a moment. Why would Dumbledore give me a random key? Then Sirius examined the key more closely. It had teeth on both sides and was worn and well-scratched. The familiar shape fit easily in his hand, and Sirius realized what this was: the key to his motorbike! He looked up, gaping like a fish, into the broadly-grinning face of Dumbledore. "Hagrid asked me to see that your bike was returned. I believe it's parked just outside."
Sirius was halfway down the hall before Dumbledore could close his last syllable. He sprinted through Hogwarts, which seemed so lifeless without its students, to the front doors and flung them open. There, parked against a stone wall, was his flying motorbike. Reverently, Sirius ran his fingers over the handlebars. He'd gotten this bike for himself to celebrate running away from home and getting blasted off of the Black Family tree. It was a symbol of everything that his family hated and he loved, a physical manifestation of his newfound freedom. He and James had a blast enchanting it to fly and using it to outrun Muggle police and Death Eaters alike. "Hello, beautiful," he murmured, mounting the motorbike. Unlike its owner, the piece of machinery hadn't aged a day since he'd leant it to Hagrid so many years ago. "How low have I sunk," he asked himself in an amused tone, "to be jealous of a motorbike?" Sirius stepped on the kickstart, and the sweet music of the bike's V-twin engine roared in his ears. Gripping the handlebars tightly, a mad grin stretched over his face as his transport began to levitate. "4 Privet Drive…look out."
A/N: I had originally planned for Sirius to pick up Harry and take him home in this chapter, but getting caught up with our favorite mad wizard took longer than I thought, so I split the section into two.
Next time—Sirius confronts the Dursleys, Aunt Marge and Ripper fight back, and Harry rides on a motorbike. Plus more!
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