Arc I: part I

Sirius's eyes slowly fluttered open, the rays of the morning sun filtering in through the small window. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he looked up to see a beautiful wooden ceiling, intricately carved and polished to a shine. As he sat up in bed, he noticed the softness of the quilt that had kept him warm through the night. He stretched his arms and legs, feeling the ache in his muscles from his recent ordeal.

Taking a deep breath, he looked around the room, taking in the details. The wooden floor was smooth and had a few scuff marks, as though it had seen many footsteps over the years. The red carpet that lay on the floor was old and threadbare in places, but it still lent the room a cozy feel. The pair of slippers by the bed was well-worn, but they looked comfortable and inviting.

Despite the warmth and comfort of the room, Sirius couldn't recall how he had come to be there or how long he had slept. The memory of his recent imprisonment flooded his mind, and he shuddered at the thought of the cold and darkness of his cell.

As he yawned and stretched his arms above his head, he relished the sensation of his muscles finally being able to move freely after being confined for so long. He closed his eyes and focused on the memories flooding back to him, savoring each detail as if it were a delicious morsel of food.

The taste of the pork vomit that had been his only sustenance for months made his stomach churn, but he pushed the memory aside and focused on his escape. He remembered the sound of his dog paws padding softly against the cold stone floor, the feel of the rough prison walls against his fur, and the chill in the air as he made his way toward freedom.

His heart had pounded in his chest as he crept past guards, careful not to make a sound. He had to stifle a bark of excitement when he finally saw the main gate looming ahead. He had never been so close to freedom before.

As he slipped under the fence, the shock of the freezing water took his breath away, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving. The sensation of his wet fur clinging to his skin as he scrambled onto shore was almost unbearable, but it was a small price to pay for his freedom.

Now, as he sat in the small room, he marveled at how far he had come. He had expected to be hunted down immediately, but the lack of security measures made him wonder if he had somehow slipped through the cracks. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his stomach as he realized that he was not yet out of trouble.

Sirius lifted his heavy woolen blankets and swung his legs over the edge of the creaky wooden bed. He reached down to grab the soft, worn slippers that lay waiting for him on the cold floor, then stood up and stretched, trying to shake off the disorientation that still clung to him. Careful not to make any noise, he padded across the rough-hewn floorboards towards the shuttered window. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached out and pulled the curtains apart, letting a sliver of sunlight filter in.

The scene outside was unfamiliar to him, and Sirius couldn't help but feel a pang of worry. He looked out onto a wide expanse of pristine white sand that stretched out for miles, dotted with the occasional weathered wooden shack and a lone fishing boat bobbing gently in the distance.

As he turned away from the window, Sirius cast his eyes around the room, searching for anything that might provide a clue as to where he was. The walls were adorned with still photographs of young men; their faces frozen in time. In one picture, a rugged-looking man in his twenties stood proudly in front of a fishing boat, his hand resting on the tiller. Another showed a group of young men dressed in military uniform, laughing and joking around in front of a large metal box with several wheels and a tube coming from it. Beneath the photograph, a small bronze frame bore the date "06/06/1944."

Sirius glanced around the room, examining the furniture. He doubted there was anything left to learn from the place. He hesitated for a moment, gazing at the door, wondering what lay ahead. His mind conjured up the worst scenarios, imagining that it was all a hallucination, an illusion and that the moment he touched the doorknob, he would find himself back in his cold, lonely cell, reliving the most painful moments of his life. He shook his head, dispelling the thought. Azkaban hadn't driven him crazy, unlike the others who screamed until they were silenced forever. He couldn't afford to falter now. Slowly, Sirius walked towards the door, carefully turned the doorknob, and opened it as silently as he could.

As the door creaked open, the tantalizing smell of roasted beef wafted toward him, making his stomach rumble with hunger. He followed the scent, exploring the corridor until he came across a narrow wooden staircase leading down to a cozy living room. A warm fire blazed in the hearth, and two armchairs faced each other invitingly. The smell led him to the source - a man busily tending to the oven in the kitchen. Sirius knocked hesitantly on the door, and the man turned, his face breaking into a welcoming smile.

Upon first sight, the man standing before him appeared to be in his sixties with a short crop of white hair and a robust, muscular build. His strong arms hinted at a life spent in physically demanding pursuits. Upon closer inspection, Sirius realized that this was the same young man featured in the pictures upstairs. Without hesitation, the man spoke first:

"You came just in time!" the man exclaimed, gesturing towards the roasted beef on the table. He spoke in French, a language that Sirius didn't understand. "I was about to go upstairs and wake you up. I couldn't let you miss this little masterpiece."

Sirius smiled politely, but his confusion must have been evident. "I'm sorry, sir," he said uncertainly. "I didn't understand what you said."

The man's eyes widened in surprise. "Ah, my apologies," he said in English, his smile returning. "I was just about to check on you and invite you to join me for lunch. Please, take a seat!" He gestured to a chair near the center of the kitchen, where a wooden table was laid out with a feast.

Sirius smiled as he took his seat, carefully following the man's directions. They both remained quiet as he set the table, placing a plate of succulent roasted beef and golden fried potatoes in front of Sirius before serving himself the same. As Sirius eyed the food hungrily, he noticed the man observing him with concern.

"You should eat it while it's still hot. You look like you haven't eaten in a while," the man said, noticing Sirius's hesitation. "Don't worry, we'll talk later. By the way, my name is Ryan."

Sirius nodded his thanks before introducing himself as Evan. They ate in silence, and Sirius couldn't deny the delicious taste of the meal, devouring it quickly under Ryan's amused gaze. Ryan was more than happy to serve him a second helping, and once they had both finished eating, he led Sirius to the living room.

As they sat down, Ryan with a drink in hand, Sirius fidgeted nervously in his armchair, anticipating the inevitable question.

"So, Evan, what's your story?" Ryan asked.

Sirius knew this moment was coming, and he dreaded it. He had come far, escaping from the world's most secure prison, but he couldn't risk making a mistake and ending up back at square one. He couldn't tell Ryan the truth, or else the man would undoubtedly become frightened and alert the authorities.

After a moment of contemplation, Sirius decided to improvise, constructing a story using the little information he had gathered since waking up in the upstairs room.

"Am I in France?" Sirius asked, feigning surprise in his tone.

"Where else would you be? Brazil?" Ryan joked. "Yes, you're still in France, not far from Cherbourg, in Normandie to be precise."

"I see...I must have drifted that far south," Sirius replied, realizing his mistake.

Ryan took a sip from his drink and observed Sirius carefully. "Where did you drift from?" he inquired.

"I was spending some time in Plymouth...trying kitesurfing," Sirius admitted, "I guess I wasn't very cautious with the wind, and I ended up losing control. I don't remember much after that."

"You're lucky to be alive," Ryan remarked. "Going by yourself, with no supervision at all...you could have drowned in the sea."

"I know, Ryan. Thank you for saving me," Sirius said, grateful for his friend's help.

Ryan smiled kindly at him before leaning back in his armchair. "You could start by telling me the truth about what happened. You don't strike me as someone who would make such a reckless mistake. In fact, you seem like you've been through some tough times."

Sirius hesitated for a moment, but he knew he could trust Ryan. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I lied," he confessed. "I did some things I'm not proud of, and I betrayed my friends. They got hurt because of me, and I couldn't live with the guilt, so I just tried to put an end to it."

Ryan placed a comforting hand on Sirius's back as he broke down in tears. "It's okay to cry, Evan," he said softly. "I'm sorry for what you went through."

Sirius wiped his tears away and took a deep breath before thanking Ryan for his understanding. "I won't bother you any longer," he said, ready to leave. "Thank you for listening."

Ryan chuckled at Sirius's comment. "Go where? Jump off a cliff?" He shook his head. "No, Evan, you're not going anywhere. You'll stay here until you're feeling better. And trust me, you will get better."

Sirius looked at Ryan in disbelief. The last time he had felt welcomed anywhere was when he had stayed with James's parents. "You're offering me a place to stay? Are you sure?" he asked hopefully. His time in Azkaban had left him drained, and he desperately needed some rest before he could use his magic again. He didn't even have access to regenerating potions or a wand.

"Of course I'm sure!" Ryan replied, standing up and walking towards the door. "Why not?"

"But we just met!" Sirius protested. "Aren't you afraid? I could rob you, or worse, I could be a killer..."

Ryan paused at the doorframe and turned to face Sirius, a smile on his face. "You're none of those things, Evan, and you know it. I believe we were meant to meet, for some reason. And there's nothing of value here that you could take, except for my experience, which I'll gladly share with you. My life left me years ago, so you'd be killing no more than an old empty carcass." He pointed to a cabinet in the corner of the room, where a woman's photograph sat next to a flowerpot. "Anyway, feel free to make yourself at home, Evan. You know where your room is, and dinner is at 8 pm. If you'll excuse me, I'm late for my nap." With that, he left the living room.

Sirius slumped into the armchair in the living room, alone and stunned by what was happening. He rubbed his face with his hands, contemplating Ryan's words. Was their meeting fate? Sirius didn't believe in fate, but landing in Ryan's welcoming home after drifting from the North Sea was enough to make him rethink his beliefs.

As he looked at the altar that Ryan had set up to honor his late wife, Sirius couldn't help but think of James and Lily. Ryan had experienced the same kind of grief that Sirius had felt when he lost his best friend and sister-in-law. Perhaps Ryan was right when he said that his experience could help Sirius.

The thought of James led Sirius to think of Harry, the only family he had left. Hagrid had told him that he was to be sent to his aunt, as per Dumbledore's orders. Dumbledore believed that Sirius was the traitor, and Sirius knew that he had only himself to blame. He and James had excluded Lily from their plan to hide from Voldemort, but did she see something they missed in Peter?

The only thing Sirius couldn't handle was not being there for Harry, not seeing him grow up. He knew that Petunia and her husband would take care of Harry and raise him in a loving home, but he couldn't help feeling angry and rabid at the thought of not being there for him. However, Sirius also knew that Remus would visit Harry regularly and tell him all about his parents.

For now, Dumbledore's plan was the best for Harry's safety, and Sirius had to focus on proving his innocence and becoming the godfather that Harry needed.


Meanwhile, in London:

Kingsley pushed open the heavy Muggle shop front door, and a tinkling bell announced his arrival. As the door swung shut behind him, he was greeted by the warm, artificial glow of a myriad of electronic devices. A young man with a friendly smile sat on the counter, engrossed in a magazine. As he noticed Kingsley, he jumped down from the counter with a friendly nod, eager to assist.

Kingsley surveyed the store's interior, taking in the array of gadgets and gizmos that were completely foreign to him. Television sets of all sizes and brands lined the walls, some displaying vivid colors and motion, while others showed only static. In the center of the store, he spotted shelves packed with mysterious objects whose functions were utterly unknown to him, including cameras, sound systems, and blinking lights.

Feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer amount of Muggle technology, Kingsley approached the young man and withdrew the videocassette from his pocket, hoping the store might be able to assist him with its contents.

"Welcome to Ritcher's sounds, sir! I'm Kevin, and how may I assist you today?" The employee greeted Kingsley with a wide smile.

"Hello," replied Kingsley. "I stumbled upon this videocassette while helping my grandparents move, and I believe it contains footage of a wedding. However, the video quality is poor. Is there any way to enhance it?"

Kevin examined the videocassette, unsure of what to do. "Perhaps my coworker, Creevey, can help. Let me call him over."

Within seconds, Creevey emerged from the back shop, politely greeting Kingsley before turning to his colleague. "What can I help you with, Kevin?"

Kevin handed Creevey the videocassette. "This gentleman is wondering if we can improve the quality of this video."

Creevey hesitated for a moment before suggesting, "Let's go to my workspace and see what we can do about it."

Ignoring Kevin's comment, Creevey led Kingsley to a small desk in the back shop. There, he inserted the video cassette into a device connected to a television set by a thin, black cord. After a few moments, the video appeared on the screen.

Creevey then made a remark that caught Kingsley off guard. "So, you're one of us?"

Kingsley was puzzled. "I beg your pardon?"

Creevey clarified, "You know, about paranormal events. They're real, and in the United States, they take it very seriously."

Kingsley smiled, realizing that Creevey was referring to something entirely different from what he initially thought. "Ah, I see. So you believe in ghosts?"

Creevey looked around to ensure that no one else was listening before sharing a spooky story about his nephew and a teddy bear. Kingsley humored him before returning to the matter at hand. "So, is there anything you can do to improve the video?"

Creevey replied, "I'll need to keep the videocassette here for about a week to try a few ideas. If I make any progress before then, I'll give you a call."

Kingsley wasn't thrilled with the timeline, but he didn't know much about muggle technology. He reluctantly handed Creevey his contact information and left the shop, pondering the possibility of the Ministry of Magic collaborating with muggles more regularly.

As he left, he wondered if Sirius Black had met his demise in the North Sea, which was frozen and turbulent even during the summer months, after all.