The Grim

Summary: Harry was about to become the-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Blow-Up-His-Aunt. He was positive it was an Auror in those bushes. And just as he was about to put aside his suspicions, a dog emerged from between the bushes. What? Did the Ministry employ dogs as well?

Chapter three blah blah blah edited. Not that much though... I think. I'm a bit sad that I can't depict Sirius's lack of sanity very well. I can't seem to think of a way to do so without having him completely scare Harry away, which mind you, would be against the whole point.

Harry's heart literally stopped at that statement. He couldn't breathe. He could barely see. The room he was in disappeared from his sight, slowly dissolving away until he could only see the man in front of him. A mistakenly-accused murderer. His father's best friend. His godfather. Godfather.

Merlin. How many times had he wished that some relative of his would swoop in on him and take him away from the people he was forced to call his family? How many times did he wish to have some place where he really belongs? Hogwarts had managed to fill in that space, but it couldn't do anything over the summer hols when he was stuck with the Dursleys.

His eyes dilated as they stared at Sirius. His godfather wasn't much to look at, but that most probably would have been because of his stay in prison. There was also a stench in the air, as well as a salty odor. And soon, his mind finally comprehended the current situation. This was his godfather. His legal guardian. The Dursleys weren't his guardians. The Dursleys weren't his guardians! And that realization made him ecstatic… elated…

"Am I going to live with you?" Damn it. His mouth and his brain were going to have a heart-to-heart talk with each other later. That question was not planned. What if Sirius said no? What then?

At this, Sirius grinned. "There's no way in hell I'm letting you back there. Lily and James would murder me, resurrect me, skin me alive, re-skin me, and then stick my portrait right next to my mum's if I let you go back.

"You see… Lily's mum and dad had this sort of get-together before with both their children and families." His thin, bone-like arms waved in the air as he spoke. "Lily came with James, who then dragged me, who then dragged Remus because he was staning nearby. Peter was busy that day." His face grew momentarily cold at the name. "And we met her darling sister, Petunia, and that large whale of a Muggle, Vernon.

"I have nothing against Muggles. I actually quite like them… and the motorcycle invention of theirs. I actually own a flying one! Poor James was so horrified when it outstripped his Cleansweep." Sirius snickered, clearly remembering that moment when everything was calm. "Anyway, those two Muggles though… James and I were so close to hexing them… Lily and Remy didn't let us, but we still managed to threaten to turn the whale into toad. The fat Muggle's face turned so many colors…" He laughed again. "Of course, you can decide where you want to live." He looked apprehensively at Harry, who suddenly felt a rush of relief and excitement.

"With you." Ah, maybe he really didn't need to have that heart-to-heart talk… "You do have enough room, right? I wouldn't want to impose…" Scratch that thought. His mouth needed to stop talking without consulting with his brain first.

Sirius barked a laugh. His face looked as though it was remembering what it used to do before the owner had landed himself in Azkaban. And Harry could see glimpses of the man that he once was… and hopefully could be again. "Any room?" He spread his arms wide dramatically. "Harry, I have too much room." He stood up. "Come on."

Harry, lugging his belongings with him and with Hedwig's cage in hand, followed Sirius out of the room that they were in, into what looked to be the main hall. There was a door in the center of the wall to the left as well as a grand staircase opposite of it. It wasn't as dusty as he expected. Apparently, House Elves worked extremely fast and the House Elf from before had cleaned up as ordered. The entire hall would have looked more majestic if it weren't for the fact that the dim light cast shadows everywhere.

Up the stairs they went and turned a right. Harry stared at the curtains that were placed seemingly randomly right at the top of the stairs. Turning, he leaned to the side a bit, hoping to glance at what was there.

Sirius noticed his actions and laughed again. "I'll give you the grand tour in the morning."

Now that he had gotten over the shock, Harry was noticing more things that he had looked over. Sirius sounded exhausted and his movements were jerky, like he wanted to make the least amount of movements possible.

Keeping those observations to himself, he followed his godfather to a door that he opened slowly.

"This used to be James's room when he stayed over once after my mum died. He and Remus stayed over for a few days. I never came back here after that. Never thought that I'd ever step foot in this house again."

Harry stiffened at this and entered the room almost reverently. His father had slept in this very room. Sirius stayed at the door, his eyes following the boy who was turning in a circle slowly. He cleared his throat awkwardly and Harry's head snapped towards him. "You explore this room. We left a few things in here, to spite my dead mum I suppose, so you can look at those. I left Kreacher with orders to not let anything leave this room that was in here before, but he might have moved everything. I need to go clean myself up." He gestured towards himself. Apparently, he was aware that he didn't look or smell the best. "After being in prison for so long, you learn to appreciate the small things: flying, showers, the flushable toilet. Merlin bless the flushable toilet." Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to laugh at the last one, settling with a small grin.

"Right… I'll be back soon." Harry nodded and walked to the doorway to watch his Godfather walk down the hall. When Sirius turned to what he assumed was the bathroom, Harry turned back to the room, intent on exploring everything. His attention was caught by photo that was on the wall. His father was sitting under a familiar willow near the lake at Hogwarts with three other people. He ignored the other three, having eyes only for the raven-haired boy that was playing with a Snitch. Harry recognized it as the one he had been chasing after for two years already. James would release the Snitch, and Harry would watch the flashing speck attempt to zoom up, before being caught again.

After a few minutes, he tore his eyes away from the photo and crossed over to the desk. The room itself was rather empty, evidence that his father really had stayed there for only a short time.

Harry looked through all the drawers in a daze. Finding that they were all empty, he turned to the nearby king-sized bed. His father slept in this bed. He knelt on the floor and looked under it. Nothing. With such an expensive floor, Harry was positive that there wouldn't be such a thing as a loose floor board like the one at the Dursleys. Refusing to feel letdown, he stood up swiftly and walked to the wardrobe in the corner. Pulling open the door, his eyes settled on a box in a corner, shrouded in shadow. He hastily picked it up and sat himself on the bed, the box in his lap.

His fingers traced over the lid, his heart thumping loudly. Swallowing heavily, Harry opened it. The box was cluttered. Evidently, his father wasn't organized in the least, he thought amusingly, as his shaking hand reached in and pulled out an album that took up most of the space in the box. It was a photo album with red and gold lines streaking over the covers at random angles over a white background.

He flipped open the cover. There, in the center were the same four boys in what appeared to be the Gryffindor common room, crowded in front of the fireplace, wearing identical grins. Harry absently compared those grins to the ones that Fred and George wore when they had accomplished something worth noting as he memorized his father's face.

Mr. Padfoot would like to know why this photo is in the front of the Marauders's photo book. Surely there are better pictures… more worthy pictures of the Marauder name.

Mr. Prongs would like to tell Mr. Padfoot that Mr. Prongs already explained the matter to him multiple times, and that would be because Lilyflower is in it.

Mr. Padfoot would like to reiterate to Mr. Prongs that seeing the back of Evans's head doesn't count as being a photo of her.

Mr. Prongs passionately disagrees and would like to ask Mr. Moony for his opinion.

Mr. Moony wants Mr. Prongs and Mr. Padfoot to shut the bloody hell up and let Mr. Moony go back to sleep.

…

Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Padfoot and is in perpetual shock that such words have left Mr. Moony's mouth.

Mr. Padfoot has snapped out of his stupor and congratulates Mr. Moony on his language.

Mr. Moony would appreciate not having this book shoved in front of his face and having the quill poke his cheek. Now, Mr. Moony wants to go to sleep or else he shall have to return back to his own room and sleep there.

Mr. Padfoot begs for forgiveness and for Mr. Moony to not leave Mr. Padfoot alone with Mr. Prongs, who would surely start ranting about the date that Mr. Prongs had with Evans just yesterday.

Mr. Prongs takes offense to that and would like to comment that he does not rant about Lilyflower. 'Rant' is too harsh of a word to relate to his delicate Lilyflower. Mr. Prongs would want Mr. Moony to stay here too, although he would like Mr. Moony to cease the action of rolling his eyes. Mr. Prongs would also like to warn Mr. Padfoot that if Mr. Padfoot continues to laugh hysterically, he shall be booted off this bed immediately!

And the writing beneath the photograph went on and on and onto the next page as well. Harry read what his father and his friends had written. Who was who though? His mind immediately returned to the rather one-sided conversation that he just had Sirius. "We all became Animagi together in fifth year. I was the dog that you saw earlier, James was a stag." A stag. His father was Mr. Prongs… and Mr. Padfoot was Sirius apparently. But who was Mr. Moony? He couldn't have been Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew was a rat, and since the name related to the Animagus form, what would a moon have to do with a rat?

Harry frowned. Maybe this Mr. Moony was Remus Lupin? Now that he thought about it, Sirius had only named three Animagi. He tucked that particular observation into his mind as his thoughts trailed back to the photo. He had memorized his father's face. It really wasn't that hard. It was almost the exact same face that he saw every time he looked in a mirror. But there was something about it that seemed… different.

Next to his father was a black-haired just-out-of-Hogwarts teen. His godfather. Apparently, Sirius looked much better when he was still young, before he went to prison. Azkaban had really changed the man. What could have happened in there to affect someone so badly? When Hagrid came back from his three months there, he said it was the most terrifying place ever.

On the other side of James was a sandy-haired, frail-looking male. This, he guessed, was Mr. Moony, Remus. He didn't look like a coward. The boy next to him seemed to fit the description better. Harry's eyes hardened as he looked at the man who would later ruin his entire life. Peter Pettigrew had a mousey look to him. His hair was dull shade of blonde, and he was slightly chubby. Overall, there was nothing about him that stood out. Nothing that made him noticeable or special, and that in turn made Harry hate him all the more.

Biting down on the rage that threatened to overwhelm him, Harry quickly turned the page and continued reading.

Mr. Moony doesn't suppose that Mr. Prongs and Mr. Padfoot would stop this ruckus instantly and let the poor man sleep?

Mr. Prongs protests that this isn't ruckus and suggests for Mr. Moony to let go of such unthinkable hopes.

Mr. Padfoot nods in agreement and would like to state that since his writing is so close to the next photo, the next contributor to this great work of literacy is to continue below down below this brilliant photo of Messrs. Padfoot and Prongs.

Mr. Moony raises an eyebrow at this. "Great work of literacy"?

And the meaningless chat went on and on but Harry tried to soak up everything that his father wrote. James wrote in a neat slant, a far cry from his own messy scrawl. His hand writing was quite sharp. Sirius's was more curvy and relaxed, and Remus's was small and neat.

And there he sat, studying the photos and looking through a small window into his father's life.

Sirius walked down the familiar hallway of the Noble House of Black, face taunt. He didn't want to leave Harry when he had finally met him again, but he certainly couldn't make Harry wait outside of the bathroom. He didn't smell anything weird about himself, since he had to live with what he assumed to be a stench for about twelve years. Twelve long, long years.

Prisoners weren't given showers. Wizards would go to the prison every week or two and cast Scourgify on all of them. It was a quick and efficient way. Of course, that whole process wasn't out of the good of their hearts. After all, everyone there was a murderer of some sort, criminals guilty of charges of epic proportion. No, they just wanted all the prisoners to not stink up Azkaban in order for the Minister of Magic's visit to go smoothly. They certainly couldn't have the Minister faint from the stench.

Not that anyone ever really noticed. People were too preoccupied with their crimes and everything that the Dementors reminded them of. Sirius and a few others that were strong enough to resist were probably the only ones who were sane enough to realize anything that was happening. And that was how he managed to get that newspaper clipping and find out about Peter's location.

Sneaking out as an Animagus, he swam all the way to land. Azkaban wasn't too far from the mainland; it just had many strong enchantments that were directed to keep Muggles away. Despite that, only pure determination and his desire for revenge drove him to reach land, where he promptly collapsed between a tree and a shrub a bit more inland.

Sirius shook his head. Sometime during his walk to the bathroom, he had stopped and started thinking back to what he had done. It was no time for that. He had done plenty of thinking during his stay in Azkaban. What he needed to do now was take a shower and rid himself of all the dirt and grime that built up and then quickly return to Harry. Harry.

At this, he felt a thrill. James's son. God, he remembered how it used to be like. Lily would be cooking in the kitchen, the smell wafting lazily over into the living room where he and James would have been amusing a baby Harry. Remus would simply sit on the couch, watching them.

He was always there, avoiding touching Harry. Sirius was suspicious that his reason was because he was a werewolf. He thought that he was too dangerous to even touch Harry.

Of course, Harry would somehow manage to escape James's grasp and stumble over to the man, giggling happily and clapping his hands excitedly before hugging Remus's legs, head resting on his knees as he spouted out nonsense that no one understood but would pretend that they did.

And that very same boy, now age 13, was so close to him. The closest he has been in twelve years. Sirius grinned lightly and arrived to the bathroom with a slightly bounce in his step. It was time to do the duty that James gave him when he was made godfather.

And this time, he wasn't going to fail.

There's chapter three. A bit more about Sirius. Don't you just love baby Harry? Everybody go "Awww." ...Or not. Eheheh... heh... Yeah, I'll shut up now.