When Harry Potter began to wake up the next morning, his first thought was to wonder why the bed was so soft.

The mattresses that the Dursleys had given him—both the one in the cupboard and the one in the bedroom upstairs—were years old and flat as a board, having lost all of their cushy-firmness long ago.

His green eyes flickered open, and the colors red and gold began to flash in his vision, confusing him. His room at the Dursley's house was a blue-gray. He'd always hated that color; it reminded him of the clouds on a gloomy, overcast day.

Red and gold…those were the colors of his Gryffindor dormitory. Was it possible that he was back at school already, and just didn't remember the train ride here or the Start-of-Term feast? No, that couldn't be right. Even the beds at his dorm weren't this comfortable. Harry rubbed his hand over the mattress, which was soft as a cloud and yet firm enough to support his sleeping body. It almost felt odd, not waking up with a sore neck or back. Just where was he? Harry's eyes skimmed the wall next to his bed, and was greeted by a picture of him with his parents—all three of them smiling wide and waving at the camera…at him.

Harry shot up to a sitting position, reaching for his glasses. When the spectacles were on, his eyes did a quick 360 degree scan of the room. Memories of yesterday rushed back to him in an instant. The Dursleys…Aunt Marge…a flying motorbike…the Quidditch pitch…his room…

…Sirius.

A relieved smile lit up the teenage wizard's face. It hadn't been some crazy, hopeful dream. Sirius had really come and taken him away from the Dursleys! This house, this room…they were his! Harry patted his comfy bed again, something tickling the back of his throat.

It was still early morning, but Harry was used to waking up at this hour to cook breakfast for Uncle Vernon and prepare for the day. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Harry stretched his arms and headed for the bathroom. Even that was huge. Harry had never had a bathroom to himself before, and he didn't know what to do with all the space. The soaker tub looked heavenly though, and he decided to try it out this evening. If Sirius said that it was all right, of course. After relieving himself, washing his face, and trying to comb his hair (unsuccessfully), Harry returned to his room and found his trunk neatly stored in its proper space. Sirius must have brought it in last night, after he had fallen asleep. Harry opened up the trunk and pulled out a t-shirt, a pair of light-colored jeans, and socks. Quickly dressing, the teenager resolved to unpack his trunk and make the bed later. He would have done those things first, but there was a more important task to attend to.

Harry quietly eased the door to his room open. He looked both ways, even though that was a silly thing to do. Only he and Sirius were here; there was no Uncle Vernon or Dudley or Malfoy to look out for. Harry crept into the hall, moving as softly as possible. Sirius's room was right across from his, and he didn't want to wake his godfather up. He tiptoed down the stairs and silently made his way to the kitchen.

Last night his godfather had slaved away to make the best meal that Harry had ever tasted—yes, Sirius's cooking was even better than the food at Hogwarts, partly because this had been made just for Harry—and the young wizard wanted to repay Sirius with an amazing breakfast. He wondered if his godfather would be asleep long enough to prepare everything that he wanted to make.

Harry found the kitchen easily enough; it was just adjacent to the dining room where he'd eaten last night. The sink was cluttered with dishes from the large meal; he added those to his to-do list. There was an oven in the kitchen, but no refrigerator. Where he expected the fridge to be, there was a door. Harry opened it and found himself in a huge walk-in pantry. Just how big is this house anyway? What are Sirius and I going to do with all this room? Harry stepped into the storeroom and perused the ingredients at his disposal. One of the corners of the pantry was noticeably colder, and he realized quickly that the area was keeping all the perishable food items fresh. The leftovers from last night's dinner—enough to feed Harry and Sirius for three more nights—had been neatly put away and looked just as appetizing now as they had hours ago. Harry hoped that his godfather would teach him the charm for keeping food from spoiling; it was brilliant.

The green-eyed wizard filled his arms up with eggs, milk, bacon, potatoes, bread, jam, and oranges. He carefully hauled this loot back out of the pantry and spread it over the countertop. Harry searched around in the kitchen—as quietly as possible—for cooking pans. He finally located them in a cupboard filled with pots and other metal objects and had to slowly work them free from the tower so that they wouldn't clang together and make a racket. After setting the pans on three of the stovetop's six burners, Harry was relieved to find that this kitchen appliance was a Muggle design: knobs, dials, and whatnot. He was grateful, not having to worry about lighting a fire and making sure it was the right temperature. Harry turned the selected burners on high, and while he was waiting for the stove to get hot, he washed, peeled, and shredded the potatoes. When the pans were ready, Harry set the potatoes in one and laid out strips of bacon in the other. Leaving the eggs for later, the teenager set about finding the tools he needed to make fresh orange juice.

This house had shattered all of Harry's expectations. It was large, but still homey. There was a sense of familiarity that radiated from the rooms; Harry could imagine having lived here all of his life. His bedroom had clearly been decorated with him in mind, which would surely have involved thought and effort on his behalf. The young wizard's throat began to tingle again. Was this what a parent was supposed to be like? Someone who cared for you, considered your wants and needs first, tried to make you happy, stood up for you and protected you, and was glad to have you around? Harry's mind couldn't fully process that depth of unconditional affection coming to him from an adult. Sure—the Weasleys had been very kind to him and had sort of adopted him as an extra member of their family, and the professors at Hogwarts (minus Snape) had encouraged him, worried about him, and taught him a lot of things. But in the end, his professors had nearly a thousand other students to take care of, and the Weasleys had their own children. Harry had Sirius Black all to himself. The attention was a bit overwhelming after he'd been neglected for so many years, but it made him feel warm and happy all the same.

Harry had just finished the orange juice and was mixing together the eggs and milk when a voice nearly made him jump.

"What are you doing?"

The teen whipped his head around to find Sirius—groggy, half-dressed, and unshaven—standing behind him. Harry swallowed hard. What if he wasn't supposed to use the kitchen without his godfather's permission? "Did I wake you?"

Sirius ran a hand through his bedraggled morning hair. "I could smell something delicious down in the kitchen and I wondered if a burglar had decided to break in and cook me breakfast." He winked at Harry playfully. The young wizard smiled in return. Sirius wouldn't be making jokes if he was upset. Harry continued to stir the egg mixture as his guardian strolled up to the stove to survey his work. "The real question is, what are you doing up? It's 6:30 in the morning."

"I'm always up around this time."

"What for?" Sirius laughed. "Early morning Quidditch? Watching the sunrise with cute girls?"

Harry shrugged. "Force of habit. I don't think I could sleep in if I tried." He thought he saw Sirius frown before the gray-eyed wizard turned back to the stove to give the hash browns a few tosses. Harry carefully ladled the egg-milk mix into the empty pan and the two wizards cooked side by side, Harry folding the scrambled eggs and Sirius working the hash browns and replacing the finished slices of bacon with uncooked ones.

"Have you always cooked breakfast for yourself?" Sirius asked, his voice sounding a bit strained.

"Well…for me and the Dursleys," Harry responded slowly. He saw Sirius grip the pan handle so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"I see. And so you decided to get up this early to cook for us?" Harry nodded, not sure what he had done to upset his godfather. Sirius let out a deep sigh, then turned to Harry and smiled softly, ruffling the younger wizard's hair. Harry couldn't help but beam at the pleasant gesture. "Well, it all looks delicious, and I'm touched that you went to so much trouble for me…" Harry opened his mouth to object. It wasn't any trouble at all. He would never be able to repay Sirius for all the things he had done for him over the past few months. His attempt to protest went unnoticed by Sirius. "For future reference, I don't expect you to make any meals. That's my responsibility. If you really want to cook sometimes, then I won't stop you. Whatever makes you happy is fine with me. Just know that it's not required."

Harry nodded, even though he was astounded. Not make meals? How was he supposed to earn his keep, then? Other chores, maybe? It was a big house, and would certainly require a lot of cleaning. Harry could certainly do some housework, and was relieved to hear that he only had to make food when he wanted to.

The two wizards finished their respective dishes and Harry made some toast as Sirius put the eggs and hash browns into serving bowls and the bacon on a platter, carrying all three over to the counter. Harry spread jam on the toasted bread and brought it and the pitcher of orange juice he had made. When he went to dish the food, Sirius stopped him.

"If you've been dishing your portions at the Dursleys, then you haven't been giving yourself enough," Sirius said firmly, heaping good-sized helpings of everything onto a plate for Harry. The younger wizard blushed softly; he'd only taken as much as his relatives had allowed him to, which wasn't a lot. And he'd never gotten first servings before.

His godfather made sure that the food was divided equally between them and pulled out two stools from next to the counter, taking one for himself and gesturing for Harry to take the other. Eating side-by-side with someone at home was completely new for Harry, and he enjoyed the warmth of Sirius's nearby presence. He waited for the gray-eyed man to take a bite of his eggs; Sirius seemed to savor it for a long time before swallowing and reaching over to ruffle Harry's hair again. "Circe's pigs!" he exclaimed. "You give me a run for my money, Harry! This is delicious."

The teenager grinned proudly. No one had ever complimented his cooking before, and it meant the world coming from Sirius. He tucked into his own plate, pleased that it did in fact taste good, though his godfather might be exaggerating a bit. The two ate quietly again, though the silence was intimate rather than awkward. Harry had never realized how relaxing it was to enjoy a meal in another person's company without the incessant blare of a television in the background. Eating breakfast without being rushed was a welcome change too.

When the meal was finished, Harry scooped up all the dishes and his cooking utensils and deposited them in the sink. Rolling up his sleeves, the young wizard turned on the water and grabbed a plate to begin washing. He was stopped by a firm, but gentle, hand on his wrist. "Harry," Sirius spoke softly. "I think we need to have a talk. Come with me." Harry swallowed deeply and put the plate down. His godfather pulled out his wand and gave it a flick, and the dishes began to wash themselves. Harry had forgotten about this spell; he'd seen Mrs. Weasley use it before. Was Sirius angry that he didn't know the charm and had tried to wash the dishes by hand? The green-eyed teenager opened his mouth to apologize, but the words just wouldn't come.

Sirius led him to a large, cozy-looking den. There were couches and a fireplace and even a chess table. In normal circumstances, Harry would have been eager to explore this new room, but right now the pit in his stomach was stopping him from being excited. Sirius gestured for him to sit down on one of the couches. Harry obliged, and his godfather sat next to him, spreading his arm along the edge of the couch. The older wizard took a deep breath and began slowly. "It's clear you've become accustomed to a certain standard of living at the Dursley's…"

Translation: You act too much like a Muggle. The thought that he'd disappointed his godfather made Harry sick.

"…so I think we should talk about what I expect from you while you are living here."

Harry nodded, listening intently, ready to jump off London Bridge if Sirius asked.

"I'd like for you to be a normal teenage wizard: to have fun and spend time with friends. To play Quidditch and use magic when I'm not looking. I expect you to break the rules, be selfish, and give me some attitude now and again. I would like you to trust and confide in me and tell me when I'm messing something up. I expect you to be honest with me and to tell me where you're going and with whom whenever you leave the house. When you're out at night, I expect you to be home at the time we've agreed on. I'd appreciate it if I was able to navigate your room without a pogo stick, but other than that my standards for cleanliness are sort of lax."

Sirius moved his hand from the couch to Harry's shoulder. "I want you to say what's on your mind and do whatever you want—as long as it isn't dangerous or illegal. In short, I expect you to be Harry Potter, my godson." Sirius grinned and quirked an eyebrow. "Can you do that for me?"

Harry's green eyes widened slightly. All of those things were so easy. He could follow Sirius's guidelines practically without thinking. It seemed like all his godfather wanted was for him to be himself and to have a happy, normal life. He'd given up on that ideal long ago, but Sirius wanted to give it back. The corners of Harry's lips turned upward. "Yes."

"Good," Sirius smiled. "Now that that's sorted, I want to know what you expect from me."

Harry's jaw dropped, certain that he must have misunderstood Sirius's question. "N-Nothing."

"Come on, Harry," Sirius chided affectionately. "You have a right to expect certain things from your guardian. You must have been able to depend on even the Dursleys for something."

Harry considered this assertion carefully. Had anything been consistent about his life at 4 Privet Drive? Punishments, maybe; insults definitely. But he didn't think those were the kinds of answers Sirius was looking for. After riddling it out, Harry was able to come up with one thing he had been able to expect from his aunt and uncle: "Clothes".

A light flashed through Sirius's gray eyes and the hand that was not on Harry's shoulder clenched into a fist. "Well, you can absolutely count on necessities while you live with me. Clothes, a roof, school supplies…" There was a pause, and Harry could hear his godfather's breathing become deep and slow, as if the man was trying to control himself. "Harry…you didn't say 'food'. I need to know…Did the Dursleys ever starve you?" The question was slow and deliberate, and the younger wizard looked away from Sirius's intense gaze. He'd given his word to be honest, but he was ashamed to answer. What would his guardian think of him? Probably that he was too weak to stand up for himself and that he was a burdensome troublemaker if he was denied food so often.

"Only when I was being punished." He tried to play this off casually, but Sirius saw right through that scheme.

"And how often were you 'punished'?"

All the time. "It really wasn't that bad, Sirius," Harry insisted weakly, grasping at straws now. "Sometimes it probably wasn't even on purpose. They just forgot that I was locked in my cupboard and…"

He realized his mistake after the words had left his mouth. An appalled look spread over Sirius's features. "'Your cupboard'? What are you talking about, Harry?"

Harry fidgeted nervously with his hands, flushing red with humiliation. "Well…um…until I was eleven, my room was in the cupboard under the stairs. When the Dursleys got really angry with me…they locked me up in there."

Harry didn't even have to look at Sirius to know that he was furious. The waves of anger radiating off the older wizard were palpable. The dark-haired man stood and began pacing back in forth in front of the fireplace. He did so in complete silence for several minutes. When Sirius finally spoke, he didn't yell like Harry had been expecting. In fact, his voice was deceptively calm.

"A cupboard," he repeated. "They kept you in a cupboard for ten years and starved you." Sirius ran a hand through his hair and sunk to his knees in front of Harry, reaching up to cup the younger wizard's face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Harry." Of all the things Harry had been expecting Sirius to say, an apology certainly hadn't been one of them. He looked up into Sirius's stormy gray eyes and saw sadness and affection in their depths. "I'm so sorry those things happened to you. You didn't deserve any of it." He brushed Harry's cheek with one of his thumbs. "I haven't been a good godfather." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius cut him off. "I haven't. If I'd put you first, from the beginning…but things will be different now. No one is going to harm you again. Not while I'm around."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. Ron and Hermione had stuck their necks out for him before; his professors—Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid, Lupin, and even Snape—had kept him out of trouble during his years at Hogwarts. But this was the first time that anyone had ever promised to protect him. Harry wasn't sure why it mattered so much—maybe because he was conscious of all the danger that had surrounded him during his short life—but Sirius's declaration carried an enormous weight. Only someone who cared and worried about and wanted him would promise something like that. Harry wished he could tell Sirius how much this vow meant to him.

He wanted so badly to tell his godfather that he loved him, but he didn't know how.

Harry had never spoken those three simple but important words, and he was afraid that his voice would fail if he tried. So he settled on: "Thank you, Sirius."

The dark-haired wizard smiled, and Harry noticed that this made the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Anything for you, kiddo." He pat Harry's shoulder before standing up and stretching his arms over his head. "Well," Sirius yawned, "I'm going to go get dressed. Why don't you snag your broom, and we can practice a little of the greatest sport ever invented?"

The light returned to Harry's eyes and he snapped up from his seat on the couch eagerly. "Sure!"

"That's the spirit!" Sirius grinned excitedly. "Race you to the top of the stairs. On your mark…get set…go!"

Harry was more prepared this time when his godfather suggested they race. It was remarkable how Sirius could be so mature in one moment, like a parent, and then act like a teenager a moment later. Then again, Sirius had been thrown into prison at a young age. It made sense that he was still stuck in the juncture between adolescence and adulthood.

Despite his godfather's best racing efforts—which included jumping over various pieces of furniture—Harry made it to the staircase first. Sirius tried to push his way past on the stairs, but the green-eyed wizard cut off all his attempts. Reaching the landing, he turned around and beamed triumphantly. "I beat you. Again."

"Hey, the last time was a tie!" Sirius reminded him. "Besides, I beat you to the Whomping Willow a while back."

Harry raised an eyebrow, amused. "That wasn't a race, Sirius."

"I'm counting it." The older man reached up and ruffled his godson's hair, a gesture that Harry liked more and more each time Sirius did it.

The two wizards parted ways—Sirius to his bedroom and Harry to his. Despite his guardian's assurance that it need not be spotless, Harry still felt guilty leaving his perfect room in this state. He made the bed and took his clothes out of his trunk, carefully placing them in the wardrobe. His schoolbooks went onto his new desk. Harry closed the trunk and gave his room another sweep with his eyes, whistling in disbelief. Dudley would throw a fit if he knew that his cousin's room was now bigger and nicer than his, and that thought gave Harry a bit of satisfaction. He almost wished he could show the Dursleys his new house, just to see the looks on their incredulous faces at its sheer size, but Harry ultimately decided that the last thing he wanted was for this place to be contaminated by his mean-spirited relatives.

After putting on his shoes, Harry grabbed the Firebolt from its place on the wall and raced back downstairs to the den to wait for Sirius. He sat on the couch and tapped his foot for a few minutes before spying a messy pile of parchments on one of the end tables. Curious, he craned his neck, trying to read the writing, as the top page was upside down from his perspective. When this failed, he got up and walked over to the table, turning the parchment so that he could read it.

"Find something interesting?"

Harry nearly jumped, and his quick movements caused a quarter of the precariously piled sheets to fly everywhere. He dropped to his knees and tried desperately to gather the escaping pages before Sirius had time to get mad. He was surprised when his godfather joined him on the floor, sweeping the parchments up nonchalantly. When all of the sheets had been retrieved, Sirius took Harry's pile and his own and set them back on the table, grinning.

"Well, that was fun. I usually play 52 Pickup with cards, though."

Harry's green eyes looked ready to pop out of his head. "You mean…you're not angry?"

Sirius turned to Harry, raising an eyebrow. "Why would I be? It was an accident."

That wouldn't matter to the Dursleys, Harry scoffed before chiding himself. But Sirius is definitely not the Dursleys, like he said before. "I was looking at them when I shouldn't have…"

The Animagus laughed. "An honorable Potter family tradition."

That brought a smile to Harry's lips. Usually, being referred to as a Potter was an insult, especially when rule-breaking was involved. But Sirius made it sound like a good, natural thing. "What is all this?" Harry asked, gesturing to the pile of parchment.

Sirius looked at the pile, then back at Harry. "Just things for work."

"You've got a job?" Harry was impressed and surprised that the Azkaban escapee had been able to get back into the swing of normal life so easily.

"Well, sort of. It's more like a volunteer position."

"Where are you volunteering?" Harry inquired curiously.

A smirk stretched across Sirius's thin face. "The Hogwarts Board of Governors."

The green-eyed teenager's jaw dropped. Wasn't that the group that had suspended Dumbledore during second year? The group that Mr. Malfoy had complained to about Buckbeak? And now Sirius was a member? His shock was quickly overtaken by glee. This was a good thing! Sirius was a good-hearted and reasonable—yet passionate—person who wouldn't allow himself to be pushed around by the likes of Mr. Malfoy. If anyone could change the Board for the better, it would be Sirius. And if he was supervising the goings-on at Hogwarts, maybe his godfather would be able to visit from time to time. "That's brilliant!"

"It will be better than sitting around all day once you go back to school." If Harry wasn't mistaken, there was a note of sadness in Sirius's voice, but it was gone by the older wizard's next sentence. "Can you keep a secret?" Harry nodded eagerly, dying to know what his godfather would say. Sirius grinned and leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially. "Hogwarts is going to be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year."

His guardian's gray eyes were filled with excitement. Harry had no idea what Sirius was talking about, but it must be big. At the risk of sounding ignorant, he inquired, "The Triwizard Tournament?"

Sirius didn't miss a beat, as though he'd been anticipating the need for an explanation. "It's a contest between Hogwarts and the two other largest wizarding schools in Europe. Each school picks a champion, and they compete in a series of tasks for fame and fortune." He ran a hand through his long dark hair. "After 200 years of not having one, there are tons of permits I need to get filled out."

"Why hasn't there been one in so long?" It sounded pretty cool, like of like a wizard version of the Olympics. Harry hadn't even known there were other wizarding schools in Europe. He wondered where they were and how different they were from Hogwarts.

"In general, the tournament has a reputation for being extremely dangerous. Last time, a cockatrice nearly took off the judges' heads." Harry shivered, his enthusiasm for the competition dampened. He hoped he wouldn't be chosen as the Hogwarts champion. He'd had enough near-death experiences at school to last a lifetime. Sirius mistook his tremor as anticipation. "Don't get any ideas about entering, Harry James. The Ministry has barred underage wizards from competing."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. "Don't worry," he assured Sirius. "I'm fine with just watching." Despite what Snape believed, Harry had no interest in fame and didn't get a kick out of life-threatening activities. "Would you have entered, Sirius? If the tournament had been held while you were at school?"

His godfather pondered the question for a minute, brow furrowing up as he considered his answer. "I probably would have thrown in my name, just for fun. I doubt that I would have been chosen, though."

"Would my father have entered, do you think?"

Sirius grinned. "Your father wouldn't have passed up that opportunity up for the world." The Animagus ruffled his black hair cockily and made circles with his hands, pressing them against his eyes in the imitation of glasses. "If I win the Triwizard Cup, Lily will have to marry me!"

Harry smiled at Sirius's impersonation of his father. "Would my mother have been impressed?"

A barking laugh. "Lily Evans? Hardly. Likely she would have yelled at your father for being an arrogant show-off with a death wish." Sirius's gray eyes twinkled in memory. "But I'll bet my last Galleon that she would have come to every task to cheer James on…silently, of course."

The young wizard's heart leapt. He'd never had a real conversation about his parents before. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had forbidden him from asking about his deceased family. Hagrid and Dumbledore had dropped a few bits of information here and there, but the Headmaster's anecdotes all centered on his parents' deaths. Harry didn't want to hear any more about that night. He wanted to know what kind of people his parents were before the war, before they had been killed and become martyrs. The closest he'd gotten was last year when Snape had yelled at him about James saving his life and Professor Lupin had explained the origins of the Marauders. There were so many questions that Harry still wanted to ask, and Sirius had all the answers. But he wouldn't overwhelm his godfather all at once. Just getting responses to his simple queries—and from someone who had obviously loved his parents—was more than Harry could have ever hoped for.

"Well," proclaimed Sirius, retrieving a broomstick from where he had leaned it up against the wall. "I'm ready for some Quidditch. How about you?" Harry nodded excitedly, picking up his own broom from the couch. Sirius eyed his flying device intently. "How's the Firebolt treating you, by the way?"

"Oh, it's brilliant!" the green-eyed wizard exclaimed. "I won the Quidditch cup with this broom! It's super-fast and handles so smoothly…" His voice trailed off as a smile of realization spread across his face. "So it was you who sent it."

The exonerated prisoner held up his right hand. "Guilty, for a change. Consider it thirteen years-worth of Christmas presents from me." Sirius motioned with his head and Harry followed him towards the back door. "I'm sorry if I caused a ruckus by sending it anonymously."

Harry shrugged. "What were you supposed to do? Attach a note?"

Sirius smirked. "That would have gone over splendidly." As he opened the door to the yard, Sirius composed the hypothetical letter. "Merry Christmas from your psychotic godfather. P.S. Your teacher is a werewolf and your friend's rat is a mass murderer."

In spite of the allusion to Pettigrew, Harry burst into laughter. It sounded like something that Fred and George would have written. The Weasley twins weren't yet aware of their idols' true identities, but it was uncanny how much they resembled the teenage part of Sirius's personality. "Somehow I don't think Professor McGonagall would have found that funny."

"Well, Minnie needs to lighten up a bit, because that one was gold." Sirius knelt down on the deck, opening the Quidditch chest sitting outside the door and rummaging around inside.

"Minnie? Don't tell me you actually called Professor McGonagall that to her face."

Sirius flashed the younger wizard a toothy grin over his shoulder. "'McGonagall' has too many syllables, don't you think? I had to come up with something more manageable."

Harry was flabbergasted by his godfather's nerve. "How did you survive long enough to graduate?"

"I'd like to think it was my irreplaceable wit, charm, and good looks."

That got another chuckle out of Harry. "So, how are we going to play with only the two of us?"

"Well," Sirius removed the Bludgers and the Golden Snitch from the chest, "I was thinking that you could try to catch the Snitch, and I could try to knock you off your broom. Whoever succeeds gets a point. First one to ten points wins. That sound fair?"

It sounded crazy and fun. Harry had always been able to rely on his team's Beaters to protect him from Bludgers, but now he and Sirius would both be on their own. Having to dodge his godfather's blows would add an extra challenge to the game. "Sounds perfect!"

Sirius grinned and tossed the Bludgers to Harry, keeping the Snitch for himself. "You fly that end of the pitch," he pointed, "and I'll fly to the other. Then on the count of three, we'll release the balls, and the game will begin." Harry nodded and took off from the ground, flying to his side of the pitch and holding the Bludgers securely to his chest. Turning his broomstick around, he spotted Sirius on the opposite end, bat in hand. His godfather nodded and Harry nodded back, signifying that he was ready. The hand which held the Snitch raised in the air and held up one finger. Then two.

Three.

Harry tossed the Bludgers into the air, and they shot off in either direction. At the same time, he saw the Snitch fly from Sirius's hand in a flash of gold. His green, trained eyes locked onto the hummingbird-like object and the teenage wizard shot off in pursuit of the Snitch.

Harry loved flying. After being cooped up in 4 Privet Drive for more than half of his life, being free in the endless blue sky felt so joyfully liberating. When he was shooting around the Quidditch field, chasing the feisty Snitch, he was able to leave all his burdens and responsibilities as the Boy-Who-Lived behind and be Harry. Just Harry. He whooped in exhilaration as he went into a downward loop towards his target, a sound of glee that was echoed by Sirius a ways off. Maybe his guardian, who had been locked up even longer than Harry had, got the same sort of release while flying. Harry enjoyed the thought that they might have another thing in common.

Just as the dark-haired teenager neared the Snitch and was reaching out to grab it, he saw a blur of movement in his peripheral vision. Harry dropped his altitude suddenly and the Bludger missed him by inches. He shot a look at his godfather—who was grinning from ear to ear—and was amazed by the power of Sirius's blow. The other wizard wasn't pulling any punches. Time for Harry to get serious too.

His green eyes darted around, quickly relocating the Snitch. Last time, he'd gone for it in a fairly straight-forward path, making his movements easily predictable to Sirius, who was currently off chasing the other Bludger, while trying to avoid being accidentally knocked from his own broom. This time, Harry would switch things up a bit.

Guiding his Firebolt in a zigzag pattern, Harry crossed back and forth over the pitch, making some of his turns sharper than others so that Sirius would have a harder time calculating his path. Getting above the Snitch, Harry aimed slightly to the left. He dove downwards, and when he saw a Bludger in his line of vision, veered to the right just in time. His hand touched the Snitch, but the mischievous golden object flitted away before he could firmly grasp it.

So close! Harry knew he could get it this time. He was learning Sirius's rhythm and had a good idea of how long it took his godfather to catch a Bludger and line up a shot. Just one more chance. It was time to show Sirius what his gift was truly capable of.

Harry flew high, high above the horizon line, until the Snitch was only a pinprick in his vision. It would be nearly impossible for the older wizard to hit him accurately at this height, and by the time he was in Sirius's line of fire, it would be too late. Making a few rough estimates, Harry determined where the Golden Snitch would likely be once he reached it. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself into a spiraling tailspin towards the ground. He slowed as he approached the golden ball, reaching out to grasp it. Something whipped by above him, and Harry grinned. Sirius's blow had been just off course. He had to hand it to his godfather, though. For someone who had been locked in Azkaban for twelve years, the gray-eyed wizard was still physically strong and very quick-minded.

What Harry realized all too late was that Sirius's last Bludger hadn't been aimed at him. It was aimed at the other Bludger, whipping by on the opposite side of him. The ball Sirius hit ricocheted off the one in motion and came hurtling back towards Harry. His right arm out to catch the Snitch, all of the younger wizard's weight was perched on his left hand, which was physically weaker. When the Bludger caught the right side of Harry's broom, he topped over and lost grip of the handle.

Harry began tumbling to the ground, slightly panicked. He'd only fallen off his broomstick once before, and Dumbledore had made certain that he landed safely. But he'd never been taught how to land if he fell off his broom.

He only had a split second to be afraid before warm, calloused fingers curled around his wrist, stopping his movement. Harry's green eyes looked up into Sirius's warm gray ones. The older wizard was smiling, but not in a cocky way. "I've got you, Harry," his godfather said softly. "I won't let you fall. I promise."

Harry's heart fluttered. He believed Sirius. He trusted those words with all his heart. The long-haired man pulled Harry up onto his own broomstick. Once they were safely on the ground and Sirius had retrieved the Firebolt, he looked over his shoulder and gave Harry a triumphant grin. "Sirius Black: 1; Harry Potter: 0."

The Boy-Who-Lived smiled back, a competitive light in his eyes. "Not for long." He was determined to win this game.

A/N: Sorry for the long update time on this one. As it always does, life ensued. Add to that the fact I can't write Quidditch to save my life. The next few updates will (hopefully) be quick, as I want to upload Harry's birthday chapter on his actual birthday.

Speaking of birthdays, today is my Golden Birthday, everyone! The best present you could give me would be a review :)

A big thanks once again to everyone who has favorited and followed the story so far, and an extra-special shout out to ActualWeeb, mrsspecialk, jogger, Padfoot120, Alexis, Guest #1, Jessie May Stone, Guest #2, vonny25, and Guest #3 for their reviews of Chapter Three. You guys are the reason I keep writing! Thank you in particular for Alexis's spotting of my typo and for all of you who have given me ideas going forward. I hope you like the next few chapters. I'm excited for them.

Next time—Harry is initiated into the Marauders and the Dursleys get what's coming to them.