Sirius was able to visit Harry the next day on Friday, which was Harry's last day of school. Sirius was busy on Saturday, not just because of his date with Barbara, but because he was seeing his landlord. He had gotten his old flat back since he'd been released from prison, but he thought that if Harry was living with him (and, indeed, if women would be coming by) he might need a nicer place than the old studio in which he had been living before.

Since he didn't get to see Sirius on Saturday, Harry didn't do much; he found that he didn't have the energy. Even though it was in the mid-to-high sixties outside, he was still somehow feeling cold. So he wore his House of Fraser sweatshirt that day with a T-shirt underneath. Since he wanted to watch TV, he told the Dursleys that Sirius might be coming over later, and they cleared off. It wasn't until evening that they returned; Harry learned that they had spent the day in London.

When Harry woke up on Sunday morning, he felt even worse than yesterday, and just as cold. So he dressed in another pair of his new dark wash jeans and a thick sweater, and dragged his quilt (a very faded, thin quilt) downstairs with him, although it didn't actually make him much warmer. It wasn't until he started coughing and sneezing that he realized he must be sick.

The only good thing about being sick, or at least in Harry's case, was that it made the Dursleys leave him alone. Dudley wouldn't punch him, because he didn't want to get sick too. However, being sick also meant being quarantined, or locked in the cupboard again. And if you needed to throw up constantly, it wasn't good to be locked anywhere.

Sirius arrived at noon and (like always) used magic to unlock the door. Harry was glad that he didn't have to get up to answer the door for Sirius, because his legs were feeling like gelatin, and he was very nauseous.

"Harry, are you all right?" Sirius frowned and leaned down on the couch next to Harry, feeling his forehead with the back of his hand. "For Christ's sake, you're burning up."

"Go home, Sirius, go home," Harry moaned. "I'm—I'm—"

But Harry didn't get to finish his sentence; he barely got to glimpse Sirius's look of alarm before he vomited all over the couch. Sirius was able to get rid of the whole mess quickly using magic.

"Where are the Muggles?" he demanded, his wand still in hand.

Harry shrugged and forced a smile. "Don't worry, they'll leave me alone."

Sirius muttered, "Infermero", and stuck his wand right into Harry's ear.

"Ow," Harry said weakly.

"It's just an old trick of your grandmother's," said Sirius, pulling his wand out, and watching as smoke drifted out of the wand tip and formed the number 104.

Sirius was able to lift Harry easily and carry him up the stairs; Harry wrapped his arms around Sirius's neck.

"I'm so cold," Harry mumbled. "You left my quilt downstairs…"

"I can get you another one, this time one that doesn't look like it once belonged to a mad old lady," said Sirius. "You're forgetting I'm a wizard."

When they got upstairs Sirius helped Harry into pajamas, got him into bed and told him to stay there. Then he used his wand to make a fluffy, brand-new quilt appear out of mid-air, as well as a large kitchen pot.

"If you need to throw up…do it in there," said Sirius. "It has a spell on it to automatically clean itself."

"Thanks," mumbled Harry, who was already feeling nauseous again.

"I'll be right back," said Sirius, and with a loud crack, he vanished into midair. When he came back a half hour later, he was carrying a goblet of potion, which was smoking slightly.

"What's that?" Harry's voice was muffled, because his mouth was on his pillow.

"Pepper-Up Potion," said Sirius, sounding worried. "I got in Diagon Alley. It cures colds."

Harry wasn't sure he was strong enough to sit up. Sirius put his hand on Harry's back and hoisted him up, then helped him drink the potion. Harry felt a bit warmer, but not much better than before.

"Did it help?" said Sirius hopefully.

"No," Harry moaned, collapsing back onto his pillow. The only thing that the potion did was for Harry was make steam come out of his ears, and he didn't appreciate it.

"Then you probably have the flu, just like I thought." Sirius sighed. "Pepper-Up Potion cures colds, but it doesn't do jack for the flu, I'm afraid."

"Please go home, Sirius," Harry repeated miserably. "I don't want to get you sick too."

"Never mind me," said Sirius fiercely. "I'm your godfather. I'll look after you while you're sick."

Sirius didn't leave Harry all day; Harry was still worried he would get Sirius sick, but Sirius only seemed worried about Harry. After explaining that conjured water evaporates, he went down to the kitchen and got water and milk.

"You've got to drink plenty of fluids," said Sirius, making sure Harry drank the whole cup of water, then performing the Infermero spell again. Harry found it disconcerting to have a wand stuck in his ear, but then, at least it registered instantly; he didn't have to sit with a thermometer in his mouth like Dudley did.

Harry felt weak and sick and almost as helpless as a baby for the rest of that day. Much of it was spent sleeping. It was lucky the kitchen pot was self-cleaning, for he threw up twice in one afternoon (and it also eliminated the need for him to get out of bed to use the bathroom). Towards the evening, after making him drink some milk, Sirius told Harry about Hogwarts, sitting on the edge of the bed, smoothing Harry's hair comfortingly.

"They've got tall towers and a big lake," Sirius was saying, "where there's a giant squid, and you can sit by the edge of the lake and watch it. There's a Forbidden Forest, with unicorns and centaurs and all sorts of things…and the castle is great too. There are big feasts with all kinds of food—even those minature ears of corn—staircases that change direction, secret doors hidden behind tapestries, dungeons, and a poltergeist named Peeves. There are hidden rooms and secret passageways and a secret room that only appears when you need it, called the Room of Requirement."

Sirius kept talking, and as Harry listened with his eyes closed, a picture of Hogwarts formed in his mind. It made him want to go there more than ever, although at the present moment he felt too sickly to go anywhere.

"There are four Houses," Sirius continued on. "Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin."

"Which House was my dad in?"

"Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart," said Sirius gently, ruffling Harry's hair, "like his dad. Lily was in Gryffindor, too, and so was I."

"How do they know where to put you?" Harry asked.

"They have a Sorting Hat that you try on," Sirius explained. "It's made some questionable decisions in the past, but I think overall it puts people in the right House. There's this little rhyme it has—"

Said Slytherin,

We'll take only those whose ancestry is purest.

Said Ravenclaw,

We'll take those whose intelligence is surest.

Said Gryffindor,

We'll take those who have brave deeds to their name,

Said Hufflepuff,

We'll take the lot, and teach them just the same.

Harry fell asleep just as Sirius was explaining about the founders—Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin—and their big fight over whether or not non-purebloods should be allowed to go to Hogwarts. It was an interesting story, but he didn't catch most of it…

…

That night, Harry had the worst dream he had experienced in a long time. He'd had that dream before—but it was so clear this time. The laugh he heard was cold as ice, mirthless and high-pitched. There was horrible screaming, a woman screaming…But it wasn't in anger, it was in fear, terror, pleading…Flashes of green light…that awful, chilling laugh…

It was only Harry's aching joints and nauseous stomach that woke him up, tangled tightly in his bedsheets like a caterpillar in a cocoon. It was dark, in the middle of the night; he had to squint without his glasses, but his bedside clock told him it was three in the morning. Sirius was at home, asleep.

Harry fought to disentangle himself from his bedsheets. It wasn't easy to do when he was so weak, but he managed it—and as soon as he did he vomited into the pot, which scrubbed itself clean instantly.

True, his stomach felt a bit better after he'd emptied it. But he still felt so incredibly cold, and he pulled his new quilt around him as Voldemort's laugh rang in his ears. Two more victims that night…

Since it was summertime the sun rose early. There was a backdrop of royal blue, the trees dark black in contrast, which gave way to a soft pink, then red, then finally the bright sun rose into the sky. Harry saw none of it. He was hiding under his sheets, tears burning underneath his squeezed-shut eyelids, feeling freezing cold and shaky, as he tried to keep the sounds of that horrible night out of his head. He didn't know what scared him more, his mother's screams or Voldemort's laugh.

For hours, Harry stayed lost in this dream-like, horrified state. Finally, around six in the morning, he felt someone's hand on his shoulder. He flinched and let out a feeble yelp.

"Prongslet," Sirius said, taking the covers off of Harry's head and pulling him into a hug. "What happened?"

Harry didn't know how to tell Sirius about his dream. It was just too horrible, all of it. So he shook his head and tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to escape him. Sirius didn't let go of Harry, just held him closer, running his hands through his untidy hair, and humming a tune under his breath—one Harry swore he had heard before, but he couldn't think where…After a few minutes it soothed him a little, and he lay back down.

"What happened?" Sirius repeated.

"I dreamed…" Harry was hesitant, but then again, Sirius did want to know. "I dreamed about Voldemort killing my parents."

"Oh, Prongslet, I'm so sorry…" Sirius pushed Harry's sweaty bangs back and felt his forehead again. Harry noticed he looked rather close to tears himself. "Nobody should have to dream about that."

"I think it was my mother screaming I heard," Harry said dazedly. "There was a bunch of green light. And this laughing. This horrible laughing…"

Sirius looked disturbed. His face had certainly gone paler. Perhaps wanting to distract Harry, he reached for some soup on the nightstand and held out a spoonful.

"I made you some chicken soup," he said hopefully. "I mean…I'm no professional chef…but I still survived several years of my own cooking after I left your father's house, so…"

"Not hungry," Harry mumbled.

"Harry, if you don't eat we have to go to the hospital," said Sirius gently.

"Don't put me in the hospital!" moaned Harry, and that was when he started to cry. He couldn't remember ever being in a hospital, and that was scary enough, but from what he'd seen on TV, the hospital was not somewhere he wanted to go. On top of everything else, Sirius was going to haul him out of bed and take him to…well, Harry didn't know what the doctors would do to him.

"Oh, Harry, don't cry, please don't cry," said Sirius, picking him up and hugging him again. Sirius didn't let go until Harry stopped crying. "At least drink this."

There was a glass of water sitting on Harry's nightstand, next to the bowl of soup, which Harry couldn't even look at without his stomach feeling upset again. Harry watched as Sirius took out his wand and muttered a spell under his breath; the tip of the wand grew red-hot and steam rose from the water.

"This is a remedy of Euphemia's," Sirius said softly, handing Harry the hot-water cup carefully. "I think she learned it from her mother. Either way, it works. Hot water works wonders on an upset stomach."

Harry nodded and drank the hot water. It almost burned his tongue, but it went down easier than soup.

"Thank you, Sirius," said Harry weakly.

"By the way, I meant to give this to you…if you still want it, I mean," said Sirius, a bit ruefully. "I found it in my old flat when I moved back in after Azkaban. I guess you left it there when your parents were visiting and just never came back to get it…"

"What have you got?"

"You're probably too old for this thing, but here," said Sirius, and he handed Harry an old stuffed animal. It was a stag, and one of the antlers was torn off.

"I left a reindeer toy at your flat?" asked Harry.

"It's something James bought for your first birthday," Sirius explained. "You never went anywhere without it. You'd barely let Lily take it away from you so she could wash it."

"Well, maybe I'll only sleep with it when I'm sick," said Harry, hugging the ten-year-old stuffed stag. "Just don't tell anyone."

"It could be worse," Sirius told him. "My brother Regulus slept with his security blanket well into his teens."

Harry's stomach was feeling a little better since he drank the hot water, and he smiled a bit. "Really?"

"Yeah," said Sirius. "But he was always a real Mama's boy. It was weird, you know…I don't know if I told you, but I ran away from home at sixteen, and the night before, Regulus came shuffling into my room with his pink heart pajamas, clutching that blanket of his as tight as he could…It was weird. It was like he knew I was thinking about leaving. Tears were just streaming down his face, and his cheeks were all red, and he blurted out, 'Sirius! I always thought you were kind of cool!' I don't know how he knew…Maybe it was because my mother and I had one of our biggest fights ever…I didn't understand, so I just sent him out of the room."

"What happened?" asked Harry.

"Well, she started out by asking me, again, why I wasn't more like Regulus," said Sirius, rolling his eyes. "Then I said I didn't want to be like Regulus, and she yelled at me, 'SIRIUS ORION BLACK, YOU ARE A PUREBLOOD WIZARD! ACT LIKE IT!' and I said, 'Maybe I don't want to be a pureblood anymore! In fact, I wish I had Muggle parents!' I got smacked right across the face for that one."

"Your mum hit you?" Harry was shocked, remembering how Aunt Petunia doted on Dudley.

"I was sixteen by then." Sirius shrugged. "I could take a hit like a man."

"Well, that's one thing we have in common," said Harry, giving Sirius a weak smile. "We both had terrible childhoods."

"It's not too late for you, though, Harry," said Sirius gently. "I'll make sure the rest of your childhood is the best it can be. I'll make sure you get to come live with me, the two of us will get a nice London flat—"

"What about the flat you're living in now?"

"Oh, you don't want to live there," said Sirius. "It's just a bachelor pad, and a pretty lame one at that."

"But you're rich," said Harry. "I thought you would've bought a nice big house."

"Harry," said Sirius, grinning, "do I look like the sort of man who's going to blow a ton of money on a fancy house, if there are no kids, pets or women?"

"No," said Harry truthfully, knowing that Sirius would take his friends over his fortune any day of the week.

"Anyway," Sirius continued, "I'll make sure I get custody, then we'll lick those monsters."

How long will Harry's flu last? Will Sirius be able to look after him? What else will Sirius find in his old flat? And what will that mean for poor sick Harry? Find out soon!