It has been mentioned again that the pacing is slow. I know it is, and I apologize for it. When I wrote this, I was exploring. Figuring out exactly what I was going to do with this idea of mine, how I might make it distinct and unique from the myriad other "Sirius-saves-Harry" scenarios that I'm sure are out there.

That is why I'm spending so much time setting everything up. I want the rules of the game to make sense. I want you, who are reading this, to understand what I'm doing so as to keep me in line. I've done time travel before, but this is the first time it's been this easy. But just because it's easy doesn't mean I can't make mistakes.

So I hope you'll forgive the pacing for now, while I get my bearings.

This is still a new world for me.

One.

"Did…did you just say…? How…?" Sirius stammered as he struggled to remember which words went in which order. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He didn't dare believe what he was hearing. Kafell, for his part, was looking as contented—and predatory—as a cat with bits of mouse in its teeth. Sirius couldn't bring himself to treat this like a real situation. How could he? Even in the wizarding world, such a stunt would be…would be…

"Now, now, Master Black," Kafell chuckled, "what did I tell you about that human arrogance? Please, don't think of me in the same vein as your kind. Your witches and your wizards. Yes, they have power. Great power, when the mood suits them. But I am quite removed from such things, I assure you."

Sirius said, "I'm not so sure I can believe anything you've shown me, to say nothing of what you've told me. I'm sure you understand."

Kafell shrugged, still looking smug and amused. "Quite expected, actually. Always a shrewd sort of man, weren't you, Padfoot?" Sirius wasn't sure if it was an insult or not, hearing that old name used by this creature. "I suppose you have a point. I'm sure that if I put my mind to it," he paused as if he didn't know if "mind" was the right word, "I could do a better job of convincing you. That is, unfortunately, unimportant. What is important is…what else I can do. For you, for your godson. For the wizarding world. I cannot very well do this on my own, because certain people would take notice. I am taking a great risk in simply appearing before you today. All things considered, they—by which I suppose I mean it—" Kafell looked amused again, "will not notice you."

"Why is that?" Sirius asked.

Kafell laughed. "Again with that adorable arrogance. Master Black, imagine if two creatures were trespassing on your property today. And imagine if one of them were…Severus Snape, perhaps, and the other happened to be a particularly daring cockroach. Which would you notice more readily?"

"…Snape," Sirius admitted, the fact not lost on him that Kafell seemed to be calling him a pest. "But I would grind either beneath my shoe, if it came down to it. So it seems to me that you are placing me in danger by making this offer. Am I mistaken in thinking that these people you are avoiding will not…step on me, if they notice?"

"I am confident they would," said Kafell. "But then…haven't you been looking for a bit of danger in your life, Master Black?"

Sirius found that he couldn't argue with that point, and he also couldn't deny that a certain level of that old apprehension-tinged excitement—the same feeling that had accompanied every illegal excursion he'd ever had with James and the others—had risen up in his chest, causing a bloom of beautiful heat inside him that the Firewhisky couldn't touch. He leaned forward. "Details," Sirius growled.

Kafell laughed. "Very well, then!" He stood up. "Have you ever used a Pensieve?" Sirius shook his head. He'd heard of the devices, but he'd never seen one personally. "Well, if you understand the nature of the magic, then that is how we shall begin." The spirit held out a hand, one finger extended, and began to make a circular motion with it as if stirring the air. As he did so, the world itself distorted until it seemed to thicken, and Kafell's finger actually had begun to stir it.

"…I am to…?"

Kafell scanned Sirius's face, looking amused again, and he said, "If you can find yourself able to trust me, then your next move is to enter this gateway." He gestured to the swirling thick air with his other hand. "Step inside, Master Black, and we will begin. A simple enough request, wouldn't you think? But then, it still hinges on my integrity, doesn't it?" He shrugged. "To my sensibilities, you haven't much to lose. But then, you are not me. That is, perhaps, your greatest blessing."

Sirius watched the swirling air as Kafell continued to stir it, wondering. He had often learned that old lesson that if something seemed too good to be true, it was. He'd been entirely too excited at his own genius when he'd considered making Peter Pettigrew, the fat little man his best friend's wife had nicknamed "Wormy," the Secret-Keeper for their Fidelius charm. And look at what had happened then.

"There is one important distinction," said Kafell moments later, and Sirius flinched. "I have never deigned to call you friend."

"You…can read my…?"

That wide, toothy grin again. "So naïve. It's almost cute."

A part of him was entirely unsurprised. The rest of him came to grips with the realization that it didn't matter who—or what—this man was. Enough of Sirius's old arrogance remained for him to think that no enemy would ever be so transparent, that no one who honestly meant him harm would be nearly as open and obvious about it. The story was too ridiculous, the plot too obvious.

And so he did something that he never would have done if he'd been anywhere else but Grimmauld Place. He did something he never would have done if he'd been sober.

He stood up, squared his shoulders, and stepped into the vortex.

Two.

Sirius stood in front of a door that belonged to a house which felt more like home than 12 Grimmauld Place ever would. Instantly, his breath caught in his throat, but it was a jarring sensation when he realized that he was actually breathing quite steadily. His body was moving of its own accord. He had no control over it. Sirius tried to turn, to look at the town where this little haven rested; he wanted to see Godric's Hollow, he wanted to make sure. His muscles would not oblige. His neck did not obey him when he told it—willed it, he supposed—to twist. His eyes remained fixed on the painfully familiar door. His heart beat far slower, far calmer, than he thought it should.

He watched, thoroughly confused, as his hand rose without his permission and curled into a loose fist, rapping his knuckles on the door to announce his quiet arrival. One, two. Pause. One, two, three. Pause. One.

A voice that constricted his throat—although it really didn't; he just thought it should—came through the door after he'd lowered his arm: "Who goes there?"

Lily Evans had always been the sort to see the best in everyone, and of every situation. That had not changed when she'd become Lily Potter. If anything, her conviction of optimism had only been strengthened by James's influence. After all, had he not proven the theory when they'd left school? It hadn't taken long for him to convince her to date him, considering she'd thoroughly hated him all through their years at Hogwarts.

And so she'd taken the "going into hiding" idea and made it into something entertaining. She liked the security games, the sharp questions and the secretive voices. It often lifted everyone's spirits, including but not limited to the four-man gang from school she'd once so detested. No one was permitted to be unhappy in Lily's company, even now. Even with a price on her head. Even with mortal danger overshadowing her entire family.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Left-Out-Here-Because-It's-Too-Bloody-Cold!" came a sarcastic, disdainful voice from his own lips that Sirius could not remember for the life of him. "Open the door, Evans!"

"It's not that easy, and you know it," Lily said from behind the door.

Sirius felt his eyes roll. "Fine. Do it. Quickly!"

He could hear her smiling, and he could(n't) feel his heart speed up. "What was the first thing you said to me when you found out I was Head Girl?"

"'…God help us all, the one badge wasn't good enough,'" Sirius recited. "'If you try to make me cut my hair again, I swear on my mother's grave—as soon as I finish digging it—that I'll shear your pretty head bald while you sleep.'"

The door opened, and Sirius was staring into a pair of vibrant, bright emeralds that he barely recognized. It took him a long moment to fully remember that this was the woman from whom his godson had inherited his own eyes. Her red hair was messy in an innately attractive way; he'd long been somewhat jealous of James. Lily Evans had always been beautiful, and the fact that she was now in hiding and unable to pay as much attention to her appearance as she would have liked seemed to highlight that fact, rather than detract from it.

"Are you still wearing that thing?" Lily asked him, and Sirius felt himself lift something out of a pocket and look at it: a piece of Muggle technology of which he was particularly fond. Despite the fact that it hadn't been working properly for a long time now, he still kept it with him like a sort of good luck charm. "What is it called again? Walker?"

"Walkman," Sirius corrected. "Also heard it called a cassette player once. It plays Muggle music." Lily rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be such an elitist, Evans. It makes you look fat. Where's Prongs?" He took off the headset which he'd had slung about his neck and set the device onto a nearby table, narrowly avoiding what would have been an open-handed slap across the face. "I need to talk to you both. It's serious."

"I know it's serious," Lily said with a twinkle in her heartbreakingly familiar eyes. "You're standing right in front of me." Now it was Sirius who rolled his eyes, and the part of him that remembered this scene suddenly felt a strong desire to cry. "He's putting Harry to bed. I'll let him know you're here. Sit down, won't you?"

Sirius sat, and thought about what he knew he was about to discuss with his friends, what he knew was going to happen not long from this moment. This was, more than any other, the single event that had changed Sirius Black's life forever. The pivotal event which had sent him down the path that would eventually end in his being so inhumanly stupid as to let himself bear witness to it again, as a trapped observer in his own mind.

Sirius leaned back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling of the Potters' home. He was grinning; he could remember just how proud he'd been of this particular idea. It had been brilliant, absolutely brilliant. Certainly, it was a simple enough trick, a vague notion that any number of tricksters like himself would have thought to do, but Sirius remembered that he'd never thought of his own ideas that way. So no, letting Peter "Wormy" Pettigrew take on the role of Secret-Keeper wasn't a simple idea. It was yet another stroke of genius.

Sirius turned, leaning his head against one arm of the couch and hanging his long legs over the other. Cradling his head against his folded arms, he began to whistle. He couldn't remember the tune that was obviously so familiar to his younger self, but he still understood the underlying tone behind it: he was in a thoroughly good mood, so excruciatingly happy that it gave the specter sharing his body a headache that wasn't there.

Sirius closed his eyes.

This will be painful, came a sudden voice in the back of his mind, and it took Sirius a long moment to realize that it was Kafell's. It will anger you, it will sadden you, and you will find it impossible to sit idly by and let it happen. Thus, you will understand why I have blocked you from the ability to manipulate your own body. It is…a matter of security. Now…we begin.

He could hear footsteps approaching the room.

Sirius suddenly wished he hadn't let the house elf take his Firewhisky.

Three.

"Don't get me wrong, Padfoot, I love him like a brother, but...are you mental?"

Sirius grinned, even though he felt like screaming. "Some might say that, yeah, but...think about it! I mean, really think about it! Voldemort's a narcissist at heart. He won't think Peter's anything worth looking at, much less making a target of! He's going to think you picked me or Remus. Or Dumbledore. Or...well, anybody but Peter!"

He wasn't sure if he'd call himself gifted at the fine art of manipulation, but he'd always seemed able to manage it. Maybe he was just unusually gifted at picking the right people to surround himself with; people he could convince. Because even though the Sirius within Sirius hadn't been fooled in the slightest by what he could only describe as a horrid risk, he could tell that James and Lily were listening.

James was a clever man, just as he'd been a clever boy, but he had blind spots. Had anyone else—Dumbledore or Mad-Eye or the Longbottoms or anyone else in the Order—suggested the idea of using Peter Pettigrew as the catalyst for the Fidelius charm, he would have stalked off without a word, showing his absolute disgust at the idea by laughing his head off. "It's cute," he might have said, "but I ask you...what good would it possibly do to use such an obvious trick? Why not pick someone I've never even met, a fan of mine from school, if we're going on that logic?"

But it was Sirius. Padfoot. His old friend.

"I...guess it makes sense," James murmured grudgingly.

The elder Sirius, watching from his younger self's eyes, wanted to scream at him: "You great bloody idiot! No, it doesn't! He's one of us, whether he's fit for the job or not! Voldemort will just round us all up and try to torture it out of us, and when has Peter ever shown any aptitude for bravery? How that sniveling little butterball ever got into Gryffindor, I'll never…I'll…! Damn it, Prongs!"

"Wormy isn't exactly the strongest in the lot, though, is he?" Lily pointed out. "We'd have to watch out for him. I'm sure he'd do it if we asked him; his heart's in the right place. But..."

Heart? Oh, you pitifully optimistic fool, Wormtail has no heart! Why didn't we see it? Why couldn't we have seen it coming ten miles away? When did he ever show even the vaguest pretense of loyalty?

Hindsight is a dangerous thing, came Kafell's voice behind his own. I wouldn't go judging them too harshly. After all, even you didn't see his treachery coming, shrewd and generally pessimistic as you are. Sirius's expression soured…or, he wanted it to sour. His smile didn't twitch a micrometer out of place. In the deepest, darkest part of you, where you hold your harshest thoughts, you thought Master Pettigrew was too weak to betray you.

"That's fine," Sirius declared. "I have it figured." He leaned back to a more comfortable position and allowed his friends to sit with him. "Remus and I can look out for him. The rest of the Order can be the first line of defense. We don't even…"

And it continued. Sirius listened to his old plan, his genius plan, and wanted to tear his beloved hair out by the roots. Wanted to cry. Wanted to tear down the walls and set fire to Godric's Hollow. He wanted to slap some sense into Lily Potter's pretty, trusting, hopelessly naïve face; he wanted to beat James Potter to a bloody stump. How could they be this stupid?

"Do we tell Dumbledore about this?" Lily asked. "He knows we planned on using you."

"No," Sirius said, "we let him go on thinking I'm the Keeper. Let the entire Order think it's me. We'll keep this between the five of us. Safer that way. The Death Eaters will think they can get any information they need out of the Order."

James was frowning. "So…Peter's Secret-Keeper. Okay, fine. We can do that. But I'm not sure…if we're going to be trying to keep this as secret as possible…" He grimaced. "I hate that I'm even saying this, but…but…I think we should keep Remus in the dark."

Sirius blinked. "What?"

Lily stared at her husband. "What?" she echoed.

"He…he's had enough secrets and double-crosses," James said, and the older Sirius thought he heard something else in the man's voice. "Let him think we kept it simple. Let him…let him believe we—"

"James," Lily said, "what happens if he finds out we lied to him?"

"…He'll manage," Sirius said stolidly.

And then something different happened.

Something Sirius didn't remember. Something…something impossible.

"You don't know who to trust," Sirius said, and this time…this time he felt like he was talking. "You're not sure if you can trust Remus. You don't know if you can even trust me. You're thinking…why would I suggest something this damn huge so late in the game? Why take the risk? Why the hell should you…?"

I'm sorry, Master Black.

And then everything vanished. James was gone. Lily was gone. The house in Godric's Hollow was gone. Sirius felt himself being thrown back into his chair in Grimmauld Place, and now he was staring at Kafell. The pale, translucent figure was leaning back and watching him, looking amused and delighted. "Your instincts are remarkable, Master Black," he said. "That should not have happened. Your doubt filtered through to him. Do you understand what that means? Can you comprehend it? You affected a vision of the past! You're the one, Master Black! It is you! It must be you!"

Kafell shot up to his feet, and began stirring the air again. It was quicker this time, more fluid, more confident. The grin on his face was one part happy, one part manic, one part hungry. Sirius stood up. "It must be me…to do what?"

"This plan," Kafell said, as the world distorted again, "relies on a certain person. A certain type of person. I was confident, yes, but now I am certain. It is you, Sirius Black. Not Albus Dumbledore, not the Weasley family, not Remus Lupin, not Nymphadora Tonks. None of them. It is you. It must be you. You, Sirius Black, can change it. You, Sirius Black, can fix it!" He held out his hands, and the vortex was beginning to pull at him. He could feel it, tugging. Encouraging. Begging. And Kafell's face was enraptured, his pale eyes blazing. He began to laugh, light and honest and somehow beautiful. "Go, Master Black! Go back, and claim what must be yours! Go back, and end this cycle! Go back with the blessing of God!"

Sirius didn't have to step forward this time.

All he had to do…was let go.

A couple of people have mentioned the fact that Lily was Muggle-born, and that this means she would know what a Walkman is, and that I have made a conscious mistake (a "folly") in assuming that she wouldn't.

I ask that anyone thinking of calling me out on this to keep something in mind: being Muggle-born does not mean knowing everything about Muggle technology. The first Sony Walkman was announced in June of 1979; as in, right in the middle of the last year of the First Wizarding War. When Voldemort was at the height of his power. The next year, Harry was born. The next year, she died.

Lily rolled her eyes at Sirius not because she had no idea what a cassette player was; those came out in the early sixties. But I find it somewhat difficult to believe that she would be keeping up with the latest in Muggle music technology when she was...kind of preoccupied with fighting for her life. She wouldn't know the proper name for a Walkman because let's face it: it's kind of a weird word, and hadn't yet gained a foothold in any sphere of marketing in 1980, which is when that scene would have taken place. Lastly, the reason she asked him why he was still wearing it was probably because, as was mentioned before that exchange, technology goes haywire in the presence of magic; i.e., in the wizarding world, something as small and intricate as a portable tape player wouldn't work. In other words, for Sirius it was a fashion statement.

Which, again, is kind of weird.

I would please ask that further reviews refrain from telling me that Lily Evans was Muggle-born. I know she was. I've read this series a number of times, and have done my best to keep the time-frame in mind when writing this story. Lily's ignorance was a conscious decision on my part. It was not, in other words, a mistake.

Thank you.