Chapter Two

He wondered if the blanket had been discovered missing, or if Harry would be in trouble when it was. He supposed there wasn't really any way for the poor boy to argue his cousin had done it. Dudley was not exactly the type to offer kindness to stray dogs. He got up from the blanket, which was a little wet with dew, regretful but wanting to keep Harry out of trouble. He shook it out thoroughly and folded it up as neatly as he knew how—his fingers were clumsy with the idea of trying to be domestic. He wondered if he ought to leave, go outside the circle of Aurors that were "protecting" Harry from him. It might be that part of their routine was to come by the house regularly, and he'd be caught if they were.

The day was just beginning, the sky alight with dawn, and he judged it to be about six o'clock. He'd been seeing dawn out in the open for a few weeks now, but the beauty of it still felt new and fresh. He sat on the stoop and enjoyed it for a moment. He was starting to feel almost human again.

The back door opened, and a little boy's voice chattering with excitement spoke up behind him,

"Uncle Vernon's going to work early and he's stopping at a bakery for breakfast so here's his share . . . oh!"

He jumped up and spun around wildly to see Harry staring up at him with fright and shock. Oh, damn.

"Who are you?" Harry asked in a small, shaky voice.

Trying to keep his composure, he said, "You can call me James if you really want, but my name is actually Sirius."

"Oh, wow."

"How do you do it, then?" Harry asked him when he'd calmed down enough to listen, his voice surprisingly not frightened. "Is it a magic trick?"

Sirius sank slowly back down on the stoop and smiled wryly. "It's no trick, but it's magic, all right."

"Magic's not real," Harry scoffed.

"You don't think so?"

"No."

"So you think that dog ran off and I just happened to wander into your backyard after that?"

"Yes," the boy said bravely, looking confused.

Sirius smiled, surprised that he could. He'd sort of thought he'd lost the ability. "Then how did the blanket get folded?"

The boy stared at the blanket for a moment, then back at the ragged man in desperate need of a shave and haircut. "Well, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," he said gravely. He hadn't meant to surprise Harry with his human form so quickly, but now that he had, he supposed the rest of the story couldn't be helped.

"Why?" the boy asked, taking a step back toward the door. As if these Muggles could offer him protection from Sirius, which was the most laughable idea he'd heard in a very long time, indeed.

"Don't you know who I am? Sirius Black?"

"No."

"They didn't tell you about how Voldemort found your house then, did they?"

"What?"

"To kill your parents."

"Somebody killed my parents?" the boy whispered, looking frightened and bewildered. "I thought they had a car accident."

Sirius was aghast at the idea, but after all that he'd seen yesterday, it honestly didn't surprise him that the boy was so clueless about his upbringing. He tried to keep it simple. The boy was eight years old, after all.

"They didn't, though. I guess they thought you were too young to know." Likely trying to keep him away from magic entirely, for Merlin knows what reason. "Your parents got murdered by a very evil man. They were hiding from him, and no one was supposed to know where they were, except their best friend. But the evil man found them, and so everybody knew that their friend told him, and that their friend was really an evil man, too."

Harry frowned, and looked angry. "If he was their friend . . ."

"But he didn't," Sirius said softly, his voice tinged with anger as well. But he was too weary, and it had been too long, and this boy didn't need to see that side of him just yet. God, how was he to explain all this, to such a young child?

"Their friend didn't do it. It was a different friend of theirs, in fact. Their best friend knew that the evil man would come looking for him to find out where they were hiding, so he told them not to tell him about it. He said tell someone else, and it was the biggest mistake he ever made. The person they told about their hiding place was the one who told the evil man where to find them, so he could kill them. But everyone thought it was their best friend who did it, and they put him in prison for it."

"That was wrong. Didn't he tell them he didn't do it?"

Sirius was amazed at how calm the boy could be about it, how logical. "Yes, but there was no evidence. He was so shocked and sad about what happened that he didn't know what to do or how to prove he was innocent. So he had to go to prison for a long time. For seven years."

Harry stared at him, stared at the tattered remains of his prison uniform and his matted hair and yellowed teeth. Sirius could almost see the connections shaping up in his mind.

"That's you," the boy said. "You were in prison. So you're their friend, the one who didn't do it."

"That's right," Sirius said . . . and almost was able to feel hope.

"Did you run away from the prison?"

"Yes. I'm supposed to be in there, still. But I wanted to come find you and see if you were okay. I loved your parents very much, and I had to see if their little boy was safe."

"But why?"

Merlin knows. "Because they wanted me to take care of their son, if anything ever happened to them. I'm your godfather."

"Are there people looking for you? I heard on the news about a man who escaped from jail and they wanted to find him and make him go back. They said he was dangerous."

"Probably me," Sirius agreed. "Yes, if they ever find me, I'll be put back in Azkaban—that's the name of the prison—maybe forever. So I have to find that rotten man who told your parents' secret, and soon, so I can make him tell the truth. People think I killed him, you know. That stupid man who did that, they think I killed him because I was evil and I wanted to kill everyone. But he's just hiding, he's not dead. I know it. And I'm going to force him to tell everyone what really happened."

"But what if they catch you before you find him?"

"I don't know."

"I don't want you to get caught," Harry said firmly.

"You don't?"

"No. I think you're brave. You came a long way to find me, and you told the truth even if nobody believed you. I like you."

Sirius gaped at the boy. Amazing. Harry Potter was an amazing child.

"I think you should run away some more. Farther away, where they can't find you. So you can have a house and go to work like normal people. You shouldn't have to go to jail."

"You don't want me to see you anymore?"

Harry looked troubled by this. "I could go with you."

"I'd have to go very far away to hide from them. Maybe even leave England."

Harry looked even more troubled. "I'd be scared. But if my parents wanted me to go with you, I would. If you were best friends, they'd want me to go with you. I don't think Aunt Petunia even liked them, and they were real family. Maybe friends are better. I could be your friend."

Sirius smiled, even though it felt like his heart was breaking with how beautiful this child was and how much faith and trust still might exist in this world. And he thought about it. Taking Harry, going as far as he could go. Leaving it all behind. What was Peter but a simple rat that didn't deserve so much effort? And Remus . . . well, Remus had never exactly dropped in at Azkaban to hear his side of the story, no matter that they were longtime friends who'd sworn to the same cause and should have bonded even closer in their grief over losing James and Lily. Those two were the only things holding Sirius here, but for this boy.

Maybe it was just that he was a coward. Maybe he couldn't really handle seeking out Peter, trying to explain to Remus. But maybe he knew, deep down, that Harry would be more important to James than revenge.

"You really want to go with me?"

"You've got magic," Harry said slowly. "You wouldn't punish me if my hair grew too much, would you?"

Sirius smiled, and placed his hand, softly and carefully, on the boy's head. "No, I wouldn't."

"Or if I accidentally got onto the roof when the bullies at school were chasing me?"

"If there were bullies chasing you at school, I'd blister their arses and send them home crying to their mothers."

Harry grinned, and his small fingers slipped into Sirius' calloused, cracked, and torn hand. "Okay. Where are we going?"

"What do you mean, you can't find him?"

"I mean, I'm outside their house, and I don't see him," the rabbit said with alarm. "I haven't seen him in hours. He was in the house with his aunt and uncle, and then he didn't come out when they left. I went in the house, and I couldn't find him. I know he went inside, and I know he didn't come out, so he should still be in there."

He looked down at the rabbit gravely, feeling his heart thump with fear and a jolt of energy. "Thank you, Hector," he said calmly. He'd only been able to place one of the old Order members on the Auror squad in Surrey, but at least there was one person communicating with him.

"What are we going to do, sir?"

"I will handle it myself. Thank you, Hector," he repeated.

The rabbit Patronus winked out of existence, and he stood up from his desk carefully. Was he really getting so old? He had to be, this rather extraordinary beard of his was almost completely white, now. It had been seven years since he'd been in a situation anything like this. And now it was starting again.

He sent his own Patronus straying across the castle until it lighted on the person he needed.

"Minerva?"

"Albus, what is it? Have they found Black?"

"No, but I fear something has happened. Hector reports being unable to locate the boy."

Minerva stuttered over that with surprise.

"I am going to investigate, Minerva. Please keep an eye on the students while I am away."

"Of course," she said, sounding affronted. "Please give me any news as soon as possible."

"Of course," he replied in that same affronted tone. Then they both chuckled, albeit weakly through their anxiety, and Albus allowed his Patronus to dissipate. He felt he should hurry.

The large, purple-faced man with no neck glared malevolently at him from the sofa. Their relationship had not improved one whit since its inception seven years ago. His wife, at his side, had her hands clasped together and a cruel look on her horsey face. She'd never forgiven him for her childhood embarrassment, he feared. Still, it was their son that really concerned him. The roly-poly young child was currently throwing a tantrum due to not being the center of attention, and appeared to think this would do him some good. He thought it likely that these tantrums generally did garner the boy the attention he was seeking, but not today. Today, his parents were more preoccupied by the tastefully robed man with the nearly-white beard in their living room, pacing its carpeting and nearly crying with fear and anger he didn't dare admit to.

"You're not making any sense."

"I told you, this bloke had come from you to get Harry, and so we let him go along, we thought we were well shut of all this nonsense . . ."

"I sent no one!" Albus nearly hissed. Very visibly, he calmed himself. "Now, why don't you start at the beginning. Tell me about this man. I want to know everything he said."

"He knocked on the door, like any decent person ought to," Petunia said, glaring at him. He himself had knocked on the door, quite like a decent person, he should think. Apparently he'd knocked in the wrong manner. "And he said he was a wizard. We didn't want to let him in, but he said he was on official business."

"Official," Vernon scoffed, and flicked his eyes over to his son. The round thing was still on the floor, using fists and heels to make its rage understood. "So we asked him what sort of official business that might be. He said he'd just spoken to you. With this hair-growing incident—"

"And who knows how he found out about that," Petunia sniffed. "You people are peeking in our windows or something, aren't you?" Not that she didn't do this to her own neighbors. It was just uncivilized when someone did it to her.

"Anyway, he says that meant the boy was going to get really violent with his . . . you know, behavior. He had to take him off so he could learn how to control himself. Said he was bringing him straight to you, in fact. Now, we said, Petunia and me, when we took him in, we said we'd not have any of this—" and suddenly his voice dropped lower "—magic bother, not in this house. But if he was going to become violent . . . we had to protect our Dudley, didn't we?"

Albus was floored by the gullibility of these people, although he strongly suspected it had more to do with a serious lack of concern for their nephew's well-being than foolishness. Well-shut of him, indeed.

"Didn't Harry seem at all concerned by this?" he asked, flabbergasted by the idea that Harry would have sat quietly while some stranger threatened to remove him from his home. "He didn't protest against going with this man?"

"Well, why would he?" Vernon asked, looking a bit disgusted with how thick this wizard apparently was. "He's the boy's godfather, after all."

Albus stopped pacing, and for a moment stopped breathing. He stared at Vernon with wide eyes, then said, very softly,

"He's dead, then. Merlin help us all."

Even the boy on the floor stopped screaming for a moment.

-o-o-o-

"Augusta! I know you're home, woman, come to the door immediately!"

"All right!" she shouted from the other side of the thick door. "I'm coming, I'm coming, don't get your knickers in a twist!"

She heaved the door open and stared at him. "What do you want, Dumbledore?"

"Is Neville here?"

"Of course he is," she said indignantly. "What do you want with him?"

Albus nearly collapsed with relief. There was no reason Neville ought to have been in any danger, but he'd feared it, nonetheless. "I just wanted to be sure he was well," he sighed.

Augusta looked down her nose at him and very pointedly did not say that he had finally gone 'round the bend. "Why oughtn't he to be?" she asked.

Albus sighed again, knowing he hadn't maintained his composure very well. Still, it was something she would need to know. "May I come in?"

"For a moment," she granted.

They seated themselves in the front parlor. Young Neville came in and watched Albus with careful eyes. He was a plump, sweet-faced boy, Albus thought, and nearly despaired. Not the right sort of boy at all, was he?

"You knew Black had escaped?"

"Yes. I heard he was likely to go after the boy."

"Very likely. He has. The boy is gone."

"Gone?" she repeated, so startled that her high coif of hair trembled.

"He convinced the boy to leave the house with him. He's dead, Augusta. Harry Potter is dead. Sirius Black has finally finished the job he started seven years ago."

"Well, my goodness," the heavy-busted woman said, fanning her face with a magazine she picked up off the corner table.

"Augusta, do you understand what this means?"

Her eyes went to her grandson, and her face grew very still. Neville looked back up at her with confusion, not understanding the direction of this conversation.

"Yes," he said, feeling it was not fair that he ought to always be the bearer of bad news, but not willing to trust it to anyone else. "Neville is . . . well, he's the prophesied one, now."

"But why should he be?" Augusta said softly. "The Dark one is dead, everybody knows that."

Albus shook his head gravely, sorrowfully. "You know he isn't. He'll return, we've always known it. And now that the Potter boy is out of his way . . ."

They both looked at little Neville, who despite not understanding what they said, burst into tears and ran to cling to his grandmother's leg. He didn't like being stared at.

"He's all we've got, Augusta. He must be prepared."