Ceud Mìle Fàilte

I’m innocent.  I’m innocent. 

He had repeated these words so many times in his head, he was long beyond count.  He couldn’t entirely remember why they were so important.  It wasn’t a happy thought.  But he knew he must cling to it.  This was important.  Even if he could not remember precisely why.  He knew that it was.

He lay on his back on the rocky shore dragging gasping breaths of frigid night air into his lungs.  I’m innocent.  I’m innocent.  He tried to remember where he was, but he couldn’t.  He tried to remember why he was there, but he couldn’t.  He tried to remember anything at all.  Tried to remember his own name, but it wasn’t there.  Nothing much was there.  Nothing but, I’m innocent.

He could feel the ebb and flow of small waves brushing against his feet, bringing brief instances of a weightless feeling to his legs.  The water was bitingly cold, but it didn’t matter.  He knew a whole different level of cold, and the waters of the North Sea had nothing on that.  The North Sea?  Yes.  That’s where he was.  He remembered that.  But the why still eluded him.  I’m innocent.  I’m innocent.

Grey clouds drifted against a dark sky above.  He stared at them unblinkingly as his breath gradually slowed.  As he watched, the clouds opened just enough for a patch of stars to shine down on him.  Stars.  How long had it been since he had seen stars?  It wasn't a rhetorical question.  He really wanted to know.  He could not remember this any better than he could remember his own name.  I’m innocent.  I’m innocent. 

Vaguely, he knew there was once a time he could have named the constellations.  His father had been fond of astronomy; he had insisted he learn them as a child.  He was sure of it.  But they were long since forgotten now.  Now they were just meaningless pinpricks of light far far away in a sea of darkness.  He couldn’t recognise any of them now.  He tried to remember the names of any of the constellations he had once known so well.  Any of them at all.  Orion?  Cassiopeia?  Canis Major?  That last stirred something in his foggy mind.  Canis Major.  It was only visible in the winter, he remembered.  Funny that he should remember this and not his own name or why he was lying on his back on a rocky shore by the North Sea.  But he did.  He had a strange memory of struggling to find that constellation through the cloudy winter nights as a child.  He couldn’t remember why he had always wanted to find that particular constellation.  A childhood favourite, he supposed.  There was one star in that constellation that was brighter than all the others to guide him, he remembered.  The Dog Star.  Sirius.  Sirius!

“My name… is Sirius Black.”  He said it aloud, thinking that maybe the sound of it would make it seem less foreign.  It didn't work. The voice that came out was not one he recognised at all. It was hoarse and low and not altogether human.  He contemplated this for a moment, licking cracked lips.

After a moment, he sat up.  It took a great deal of effort.  His head felt light and dizzy.  He drew his knees up to his chest and rubbed his hands across his face.  He felt a thick growth of beard and tangled masses of hair.  When he opened his eyes, he stared at his hands, trying to decide if they were in fact his.  He wasn’t sure he had ever seen them before.  They were gaunt and skeletal and the nails were long and chipped and coated in grime.  He turned them over and stared at the palms.  He ran the thumb of one hand down the broken lifeline of the other.  Yes, that was his palm.  He remembered once in Divination class being told his lifeline was significant.  Something about a period of lost time and uncertainty.  He’d always thought this complete bollocks, of course.  But now…  Very slowly he raised his eyes from his palms and looked out to the sea.

He knew it would be there.  He could barely make it out on the horizon.  But his eyes went straight to it.  The place he had come from.  Little more than a dark blocky shape scarcely visible on the horizon, silhouetted against the grey clouds.  “Azkaban.”  Again the words drifted in the night air, barely audible over the rhythmic crashing of the waves.  Again the voice that uttered the word was unrecognisable.  Azkaban Prison.  How many years had he been there?  I’m innocent.  

Blinking, he looked down at himself.  The robes he wore were tattered and so grimy, he could not even begin to guess what colour they once had been.  They hung off his emaciated form loosely.  His hand shook a little as he reached into his breast pocket.  From this pocket, he drew out the soggy remains of a rolled-up newspaper he had known would be there.  He couldn’t in that moment remember how he had known it would be there, but known he had.  He opened the paper reverently, and his eyes travelled to the date in the upper righthand corner.  23 July, 1993.  Twelve years.  It had been twelve years.  That was how long it had been since he had seen the stars.

He carefully peeled pages apart until he found the article he wanted.  He extracted this page from within the soggy mess and tossed the remainder aside in a mushy heap.  The magical ink had held up admirably to his swim across the sea, he was pleased to see.  The paper, less so.  He smoothed the page out against his knee and it began to rip.  He hastily released his pressure and resigned it to being a crumpled mess.  He wished he had a wand.  He could have dried it in an instant if he had.

He stared at the newspaper article.  It was important.  But for the moment, he could not remember why.  He read the article, all the while knowing he had read it a hundred times before. 

Such a frivolous article.  Why he should care about the winner of a Galleon Draw eluded him for the moment.  But he knew it was important, so he waited patiently for it to come back to him. 

His eyes drifted to the photo that accompanied the article.  It showed a family he assumed to be the Weasleys standing and waving happily in front of a large pyramid.  There was a tall, balding man with his arm around a short plump woman, and they were surrounded by six sons and one daughter.  Merlin, but that’s a lot of children, he thought as he took in each in turn.  He could never much imagine himself having even one child, much less seven. 

And then his eyes fell on the youngest boy.  He was a tall gangling boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old.  And on his shoulder was perched a rat.

It was as though a light clicked on in his brain.  Memories flooded into his head as though a dam had been lifted.  And then he knew why he was there seated on this beach.  And he knew why he had been so determined to break out of Azkaban.  And he knew who had landed him in Azkaban in the first place.

Sirius’s hands shook as he stared at the rat in the photograph.  He took in the missing toe on the front paw.  Anger was coursing through him, and his hands balled themselves into fists, crumpling the paper until his fingernails pierced through.  He shoved the balled up newspaper page back into his pocket. 

Peter Pettigrew was alive.  But not for long.

Sirius looked back to the far off silhouette of Azkaban on the horizon.  He had to move.  They could find him missing from his cell at any moment and sound the alarm.  And then it would just be a matter of time before the whole coastline would be crawling with Dementors and Aurors.  He had to move and move quickly. 

He shoved himself to his feet and immediately regretted the sudden movement.  He swayed, dizzily, then fell back to his knees, fingers digging into the rocky sand.  Merlin, he was exhausted.  The swim from the island to the shore had taken everything he had in him.  He wondered if they intentionally fed the prisoners so little to prevent them from having the energy to escape.  But he had to move.  He had to leave this place behind. 

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath to brace himself.  Then he opened them and looked around to get his bearings.  A dull grey pre-dawn light was just beginning to light the area.  Nights were short this far north— he wasn’t yet sure if this would prove to be a blessing or a curse.  A little down the beach, he saw a path trailing up a rocky hillside to a grassy knoll above.  And beyond he saw the yellow glow of artificial lamps shining behind another hill.  There was a town to the south.  He would have to get as far from the coast as quickly as possible.  That would be his best bet, he decided.  And with that, he transformed. 

At least in dog form, he had the benefit of two extra legs to help him keep his balance.  And so on four feet, he trod up the rocky pathway leading off the beach.  He tripped and slipped his way up, dislodging small rocks which rolled away behind him, but he kept moving.  At the top of the hill, the path opened up into a Muggle carpark.  Sirius was glad of the sign of civilisation, but it was devoid of life in the wee hours of the morning.  It must have rained recently.  He gratefully helped himself to a puddle of water in a pothole, slurping desperately.  Then he allowed himself just a moment to catch his breath before moving on. 

Following the small drive trailing off, he eventually found himself on a motorway.  It was deadly quiet as Sirius began to trudge down the road to the south.  He didn’t know how far he had to walk.  He didn’t know where he was going or what he would do once he got there.  But he knew he had to keep moving.  But Merlin, he was so very tired.  He was beginning to fall asleep even as his paws plodded on. 

Just as he felt his head nod and his eyes closed, a Muggle car zoomed past him, headlights flaring angrily.  Sirius jerked awake so forcefully, he tumbled off the road into the brush.  He saw bright spots in his vision and the countryside went dark.  He stayed crouched low and perfectly still save for the trembling and panting.  Slowly, his vision returned as his eyes adjusted again to the dark.  He was breathing hard, his heart pounding, muscles shaking from head to foot.  He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, cowering in the tall grass, as he waited for his breath to gradually slow again.  Then he steeled himself again.  He had to move.

It was not a quarter of an hour later when he at last found himself at a roundabout in the road.   In the centre was a large blue sign with white lettering that declared:

WELCOME TO PETERHEAD
Ceud mìle fàilte

Sirius could not recall where the town called Peterhead was located, but it evoked visions of Peter Pettigrew’s head separated from his body, and Sirius decided to consider this a good omen.  He found his dog snout smiling wolfishly and his tongue lulled out.  But he sobered as his eyes fell upon another sign. 

A90

Aberdeen          32
Stonehaven       53
 Dundee            102
 Perth                118

He needed a plan.  The surest way to get as far out of their search perimeter as possible was to board a train.  A train would be able to carry him far enough away that, as long as he kept his wits about him, they would never be able to find him.  A train would be able to get deep into the Highlands.  And from there he would be able to find Hogwarts.  And there Peter.  And there revenge.

Aberdeen.  It was his best bet.  The station there was large enough that he would be able to get anywhere he wished to go.  But thirty-two miles!  He was already exhausted.  And he was hungry.  There was no way he would be able to walk that far.  The sun was rising and by now, the guards may have already found him missing.

Sirius hung his head tiredly and closed his eyes.  But the image of the rat swam before his closed lids, sitting smugly on that boy’s shoulder, mocking him.  Sirius strengthened his resolve.  He could not get caught.  He could not go back to Azkaban.  He had a job to do.  He was going to kill Peter Pettigrew if it was the last thing he did. 

But first: food. 

Sirius was starving.  Quite literally.  If he had any hope of making it even another mile, he had to eat.  He turned down the road leading into Peterhead, and it was not long before he caught sight and smell of a pub.  He felt another grin again cross his face as he took in the sign that read THE DIRTY DOG INN.

The windows were dark, but that didn’t matter.  Sirius had no money even if he could have just walked through the front door during business hours as a paying patron.  He wondered how quick the barkeep would send him packing if he’d tried.  Internally, he laughed as he wondered whether they would be quicker at shooing him out if he were in human-form or dog-form.  Instead Sirius passed through the alleyway behind the establishment and simply helped himself to their rubbish bins.

Sirius was long past feeling shame or disgust.  His nose told him there was food inside, and he really didn’t care what it was.  He reached into the bin and extracted a bag with his teeth and neatly tore it open with one swift shake of the head.  A few dirty paper napkins went flying in all directions.  One paw widened the hole, and he sniffed around through the rubbish until he found his prize.  A piece of fried fish and a handful of soggy chips wrapped in a greasy piece of newspaper.  He gave them a sniff.  They were fresh enough—probably discarded at closing time the night before.  He gave it no further thought and merely dived in.  And Merlin if it wasn’t the most delicious thing he had ever eaten.

A quite shockingly short time later and Sirius was licking his chops, the fish and chips devoured.  He sniffed again, nosing aside some rubbish in the bag to see if there was anything else worth pilfering.  But at that moment there was a shout from the mouth of the alley. 

“Oi!  Fit yeh doin’?  Get ootta ‘ere, yeh mangy mutt!  Yer makin’ a proper mess!”  A stone came flying in Sirius’s direction, and he only just managed to dodge it as he made a quick escape.  It seemed the Muggle man who ran the neighbouring coffee shop had arrived to start his day.  

And so it was that Sirius found himself back at the roundabout, contemplating a depressingly long walk to Aberdeen. 

I can’t do it, he thought.  I’ll never make it.  I should give up.  Just let them catch me.  He shivered in the cold misty air as he slumped to the ground alongside the road in despair.  All hope had drained from him.  It was a familiar feeling. 

Wait a minute.  It was a very familiar feeling.  A terrifyingly familiar feeling.  Sirius’s breath echoed in his ears as he lifted his head and turned in trepidation.  And sure enough, he saw them. 

There must have been a hundred of them.  Three metres tall and wrapped in their black hooded cloaks, they glided down the road.  They were still a ways down the road, but close enough he could hear their rattling breath as they approached.  He wasn’t sure if they had seen him, recognised what he was, but they were heading in his direction.  No!  Nooooooo! he groaned internally.  He could not go back.  He shrank backward, cowering so low his belly was almost on the ground.

It was at that moment that a small open-bed lorry trundled down the cross street from town.  Sirius could hardly believe his luck.  It circled the roundabout to the left and, without a further thought, Sirius ran and leapt after it.  He only just managed to grab hold of the back gate with his front paws.  He almost lost his grip when the lorry hit a bump as it accelerated down the A90, but he managed to hoist himself into the back where he collapsed in a heap.

Breathing hard he lifted his head.  He didn’t need to look to know they were not following.  He felt their cold despair receding.  The Dementors had not recognised him.  Still, he was all too happy to watch as they disappeared into the distance.

Sirius slumped to the floor of the lorry tiredly.  He looked around dully.  He was surrounded by bags of grain emitting a strong peaty smell.  He had hoped he might find something edible, but his nose told him it was likely malted barley.  On its way to a distillery, he thought.  Shame the lorry wasn’t leaving the distillery loaded with whisky, he laughed to himself.  Then he sobered, remembering with whom he once would have shared a glass of whisky.

He could see them in his mind’s eye.  The four of them sitting at their usual table at the Lion and Flame in Godric’s Hollow.  They used to meet for a drink every Friday night.  Before James and Lily had had to go into hiding, that was.

He closed his eyes and remembered James sitting in the chair beside him, grinning his usual crooked grin as he reached the punchline of whatever joke he was telling.  He remembered sitting back and roaring with laughter.  He remembered Remus shaking his head in exasperation even as he laughed along with the others.  He remembered Peter snickering into his tumbler. 

Not for the first time, Sirius wondered if, even then, Peter had been in Voldemort’s pocket.  How early had Voldemort bought him?  What had he promised him to turn on his best friends?  He hoped it had been worth it.  Because Sirius was determined to make him pay for it.

He allowed the cold fury to wrap around him like a blanket as he settled more comfortably in the bed of the lorry.  He clung to this fury.  For the first time in over a decade, Sirius felt purpose.  It comforted him, warmed him.  The exhaustion took hold, and he felt his eyes grow heavy.

The blaring of a car horn woke him abruptly, and Sirius shot up in a start.  There was more traffic on the road now.  It was morning proper and they were closer to a larger city.  Sirius looked around in a panic.  How long had he been out?  How could he have fallen asleep?  Had he missed Aberdeen?

He sighed in relief as he read the street signs and realised he had woken just in time.  But the lorry made no sign of taking a turn into the city.  It was continuing down the A90.  Sirius had to jump out.  But they were moving too fast.  He looked around in a panic, trying to develop a plan. 

At this moment, the lorry slammed on the breaks and Sirius skidded forward.  The driver had nearly smashed into another car as he entered another roundabout too fast.  Sirius did not take time to think.  He gathered himself up and leapt from the bed, dashing toward the hedgerow on the far side of the road.  More cars blared their horns in protest, and he heard someone shouting at him, but he just kept moving until he found himself in a ditch, huddled from view.  He took a moment to catch his breath and get his bearings as he heard the traffic moving on.  He was already forgotten.

A short while later, he was trotting down a side road, and he found himself on an overpass.  A glance down below him showed a series of train tracks running into the city.  Well, that was easy, he thought.  And he turned right to follow them, for train tracks, led to train stations.  And train stations, led to trains.

His instincts proved good, and he found himself in the Aberdeen railway station in short order.  The large clock tolled six booming bells just as he was approaching.  Six o’clock.  The Ministry would be well into a search by now, he was sure of it.  He prayed his luck would hold and an appropriate train north would be readily available.  And he prayed that he would be able to find a way to sneak aboard without being seen.

He slipped under a turnstile and past a sleepy looking ticket-inspector with little effort.  The platform was not quite yet busy with commuters, but a few people were milling about waiting for a train, their faces bored and tired as they sipped their caffeinated beverages and read their newspapers.

Sirius chose a spot to sit behind a rubbish bin that afforded him a good view of the departures board.  He paused to study it. 

Time    Destination     Platform   Expected
06:38   Edinburgh Wav      5          On time
06:59   Inverness              2          On time
07:04   London Kings X     7          On time

More times were listed going forward but Sirius knew he didn’t have that time to spare.  Best to focus on the soonest trains to get as far away as quickly as possible.  And that left Edinburgh or Inverness.  He wanted to go north.  The newspaper article had said that the children would soon be returning to Hogwarts.  And Hogwarts was north.  From Edinburgh, he could catch a train most anywhere in the country.  But the Inverness line was equally promising in getting him deep into the Highlands.

He would likely make it to Hogwarts well in advance of the start of term.  But that mattered little.  There were caves up in the mountains he could camp out in.  Or perhaps even the Shrieking Shack.  Even that would feel like a quaint cottage by comparison to the lodgings he was used to.  Yes, he could wait there for the rat to come to him.  He could be patient.   

It was then that he felt eyes upon him and turned to see a man staring at him from just a few yards away.  The man was standing perfectly still, watching Sirius with his head cocked.  A piece of toast was frozen halfway to his mouth as he contemplated the dog before him.  Sirius took him in and immediately recognised him as a wizard.  He was dressed in Muggle clothing, but poorly.  He’d managed some pinstriped trousers alright, but he was wearing a vest buttoned up the back and suspenders over the top of it.  The get-up would have made Lily roar with laughter.

“Alright, Gawain?” asked a woman’s voice from behind him.  The man who had been watching Sirius started slightly and turned around as a witch joined him yawning.  She had frizzy hair pulled back into a ponytail and wore an eyepatch over one eye.  And as for her outfit… even Sirius— who had been removed from society for twelve years— could tell that it was dated.  “Bloody hell, it’s too early for this.  Is it true Fudge has the whole Auror Office emptied to look for him?”

“Desperate times.  Never been a break-out from Azkaban before,” replied the wizard, his eyes travelled back to Sirius shrewdly.

The witch followed his gaze.  “What are you looking at?”

The man called Gawain shook his head.  “I could have sworn I just saw that dog reading the timetable.”

The witch studied Gawain with a worried look on her face.  “You feeling alright?  I know it’s early, but you do know dogs can’t read, right?”  Sirius decided this was a very appropriate time to do the thing he always did when people paid him too much mind.  He began to scratch.  Very excessively.  It was a fool-proof technique that he found almost always made people back away in a hurry.

The man huffed a laugh and gave his head a little shake.  “Helpful as always, thank you, Margaret.”

Margaret, meanwhile, was studying Sirius now with some disgust.  “Mangy, scrawny thing, isn’t it?  Always was more of a cat person, myself.”

Gawain smiled mildly as he turned to study the departures board, munching on his piece of toast again.  And just like that, Sirius was forgotten.  He ended his scratch on a good shake and stilled to listen to the two Aurors converse.

“Damn, I should have grabbed myself breakfast,” said Margaret, eyeing the wizard’s small stack of toast.  “But that owl Rufus sent was so insistent.  Think I could pop into the café to grab a bite?”

“Only if you’re willing to face Rufus’s wrath if we miss Black,” replied Gawain, offering one of his pieces of toast to her.  She took it gratefully, and together, they chewed their toast and studied the departures board.

“Really think Black came this way?” Margaret asked as she frowned up at the timetable.

“It’s what I would do,” replied Gawain.  “To the best of our knowledge, he doesn’t have a wand.  That leaves him with Muggle means of transportation.  A train would be the hardest to track him on.”

“It’s an awful long way from Azkaban for him to have managed to get here so quickly.  I mean the whole coastline is crawling with Dementors…”

“Long.  But not impossible.  Williamson thinks he found the place where he came ashore.  A beach about thirty-five miles north of here.  He’s all proud of himself.  But I’m not so convinced…” 

“What’s he found?”

“An old wet copy of the Daily Prophet.”

“That’s it?  Not much to go on.  Anyone could have left that.  And it’s not like Black would be getting the Daily Prophet delivered to him in Azkaban.”

Gawain shrugged, his eyes were raking the gradually increasing crowds.  “Exactly my thoughts.  He’s got a crew combing the dunes near there.  But even if he’s right… Black is clever—he wouldn’t have made it out of Azkaban if he wasn’t clever.  He wouldn’t have stuck around close to where he swam ashore.”

Margaret bobbed her head noncommittally.  “But he’s also got to be tired.  And hungry.  The physical exertion alone…”

“True…” replied Gawain contemplatively.  He went back to studying the departures board and Margaret followed his gaze.

“Alright.  So let’s say he did make it this far… Which train would he board?” she said musingly.

“He’s headed north,” replied Gawain without hesitation.  Sirius couldn’t help but look at him sharply at that before he forced himself to go back to looking more doglike.  He licked his paws, waiting for an explanation.

“North?” said the witch, confused.  “Why would he go north?  Surely he would head to London.  From Kingscross he could disappear into the city or board a train abroad.  Hell, he could be in France by tomorrow morning...”

But Gawain was shaking his head.  “He’s not going abroad.  I had an early morning briefing with Rufus.  He’s sure he’s headed north.  Apparently the Azkaban guards have reported to Fudge that Black’s been talking in his sleep for the past week or so.  Always the same words: ‘He’s at Hogwarts.’”

Margaret frowned.  Sirius did too.  He had no idea he talked in his sleep.  This definitely threw a wrench in his plan.

“Who’s at Hogwarts?” Margaret asked, confused.

Gawain shrugged.  “The working theory is that he’s referring to Harry Potter.”

Sirius felt his heart stop.  Harry Potter.  Harry.  Oh Merlin, how could he have forgotten Harry?  Baby Harry...  But no.  Harry wouldn’t be a baby any more.  He would be… what?  Thirteen now?  Almost grown up.  His heart ached.  He had missed so much...  But wait.  What did these people think he was planning to do with Harry?

Margaret seemed to take the same amount of time to process this, for just as this thought crossed Sirius’s mind she said anxiously, “Harry Potter?  You hink he wants to… You think Black wants him dead?”

Gawain shrugged ruefully but did not say anything.  “Bloody hell,” exclaimed Margaret.  “He’s just a little kid…”

“A little kid who brought about the downfall of Black’s master just as Black had revealed his true colours as a Death Eater.”

“You don’t suppose… You don’t think Black plans to bring him back, do you?  You-Know-Who, I mean…?”  When Gawain didn’t rush to alleviate these fears she added in a horrified whisper, “Could he do that?”

Gawain sighed.  “There’s Dark Magic out there I can’t even begin to comprehend…  All I know is I’d rather not give him the chance.”

“Agreed.  Alright.  North.  So the Inverness train.  Or… if he’s clever, he might head to Edinburgh.  He could take any number of trains from there.  Easier to throw us off his trail.”  Gawain was nodding in agreement.  “Has Fudge released a statement to the press?  To warn the public to be on the lookout?”

“Not yet.  He told Rufus he doesn’t want to cause a panic, but Rufus reckons he’s just hoping we can catch him quickly and sweep the whole thing under the rug.  Better for his approval ratings.”

“Better for his approval ratings it may be.  But sure makes our job harder.  What a duffer.” 

“Well, I for one, would also like to get this whole thing wrapped up quickly.  I’m supposed to be on leave starting this weekend.  And if I have to cancel another holiday for a work crisis, Mary is going to kill me.”

“Well, that settles it.  Let’s go find this bloke.  A deranged mass murderer on the loose out to assassinate an innocent little boy and bring back the most evil Dark wizard in history is one thing.  But putting your marriage is in crisis… now he’s gone too far.” 

Gawain snorted a laugh.  “Reckon we can manage a quick search of the Edinburgh train and still make it back in time to check the Inverness train?”

“You start at the front of the train, I’ll take the back?”

“Meet you in the middle,” Gawain agreed.

The two Aurors moved in the direction of platform two.  But before they had moved more than a couple steps, the one named Gawain paused.  He looked back to Sirius and crouched down a few feet away, holding out the leftover crust of his toast.  “Here.  Reckon you could use this more than me,” he said surprisingly gently. 

“Ugh,” Margaret called back, a few steps ahead.  “Leave that thing to the Muggle Animal Control, Gawain.  There is no way it’s immunised.”

Sirius cowered back from the outstretched hand suspiciously.  Gawain shrugged and tossed the crust to land at his paws.  Then he straightened up and followed after Margaret.   “You know, I think you’re more afraid of that dog than you are of Sirius Black.”

“Rabies and fleas and scabies are all perfectly rational fears, thank you very much,” Sirius heard Margaret arguing back as they moved away.  When they had turned down toward platform two, Sirius snatched up the crust of bread and moved off quite contentedly in the opposite direction toward platform seven. 

In the end it had been quite shockingly easy.  Sirius had waited until the train was just about to pull out of the station, and he had slipped onto the carriage adjoining the dining car where they stored pantry items.  Then he had nudged a crate full of individual coffee creamer packets forward just enough to leave a gap where he could be hidden from view by anyone who came to restock the kitchen.  If the Aurors had searched this train, they had missed this carriage.

In the end, the only people Sirius saw the whole ride to London was a plump woman in an apron who came in to collect a stack of paper napkins and a jumpy boy who seemed to be a ticket inspector, sneaking in for a cigarette break when his supervisor wasn’t looking.  Neither noticed the pair of eyes watching them from behind the storage crates.  Feeling safer than he had in years, Sirius at last allowed himself the change to relax.

He told himself he was heading to London to shake off the Aurors.  It was like the one named Margaret had said.  London could afford him transportation just about anywhere he could want to go, and, in such a large city, it would be easy to hide among the millions of people who lived there until they were off his scent.  Then he could double back up north again.  This is what he told himself was his reasoning in going south.  But in truth, thanks to the Aurors, a different thought had entered his brain and taken root there.  One that he couldn’t shake, try as he might.  Harry.

Harry.  His little godson.  When he thought of him, he was still the laughing toddler zooming around on his toy broom or staring at the colourful smoke puffballs his father shot from his wand with wide-eyed fascination.  But he would be a teenager now. 

Sirius wondered what he looked like.  Would he still have Lily’s eyes and James’s black hair like he had when he was a baby?  He wondered what House he had been sorted into at Hogwarts— if it wasn’t Gryffindor, Sirius was sure James must have rolled over in his grave.  He wondered if he was good at Quidditch like his dad or might he be captain of the Charms Club like his mum?  But mostly, he wondered if he was happy.  And he wondered if he was safe.  And he wondered if he was loved.

And with these thought, Sirius drifted off to sleep.

When Sirius arrived, there was no Dark Mark over the house.  But bloody hell, one did not need a Dark Mark to know that something terrible had happened.  The house was half in ruins.  Sirius threw himself off his motorbike and was running for the house, drawing his wand as he did so.  There was no discernible thought in his brain, but desperation that his fears could not be true.  Oh God, what had he done?

He didn’t need to open the door.  The door was no longer attached to the hinges.  Sirius tripped across the threshold and stared around in wide-eyed desperation.  But it was a mere second before his fears were confirmed.  James lay there in the hall, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, glasses askew, unmistakably dead.

Sirius fell to his knees alongside his brother.  Unmistakable or not, he found that he could not believe it.  And so his trembling hand stretched out to rest two fingers at his neck.  But he felt no pulse there.  He had known that he would not.

It was only then, through the ringing in his ears, that Sirius realised there was wailing from the upper floor.  That and heavy footsteps.  Sirius raised his wand and jumped to his feet, raring for a fight.  But on the upstairs landing, he found himself looking into the big bushy face of Rubeus Hagrid.  And in Hagrid’s arms, dwarfed by his large form, was little Harry, crying for his parents. 

Hagrid paused at the top of the stairs, looking sadly back at Sirius.  Then, he slowly made to move down the stairs.  Sirius stood there dumbly, watching as Hagrid picked his way carefully down the narrow staircase.  The floor beneath the giant creaked and groaned in protest and threatened to give way, but it held.  Sirius was shaking from head to toe as he stood there watching him, unable to move.  When Hagrid was at last before him, he managed to croak out, “Lily?”

Hagrid just shook his head sadly in response.  “Com’on now.  It’s a right mess up there.  The roof’s gonna come down at any momen’.”  And Hagrid ushered Sirius out of the house, still cradling the sobbing Harry in the crook of his large arm.  Sure enough, with the last vibrations of Hagrid’s big steps as they left the house, there was a crashing sound coming from upstairs.  But Sirius barely heard it.  He stumbled out to the street and was sick all over the pavement.

Outside in the cool night air, Sirius could only stand there and shake.  His face, he was sure, was frozen in a look of horrified denial.  “Lily and James… I should never have… It’s all my fault,” he was muttering to no one in particular, but his brain seemed incapable of formulating a complete thought, much less a complete sentence.  He felt Hagrid pat him on the back with enough force to make his knees buckle.

“There, there,” he said gruffly, before removing a polka dotted handkerchief from his pocket and blowing his nose with the sound of a foghorn.  “There was nothin’ yeh coulda done.  It was You-Know-Who himself who gone and did it.  Nothin’ and no one could stop ‘im when he wants someun dead.  Yeh know tha’” He blew his nose again.  “‘Til li’l Harry, anyway…”

It was an odd comment Sirius couldn’t fully understand.  But then his brain began to catch up, and he turned to take in Harry.  The little boy’s tears were slowing, but he was still sniffling, snot pouring from his little nose.  He was staring at Sirius as though begging him to fix this.  Sirius reached out and a little hand wrapped itself around his index finger.  And then Sirius took in the gash on Harry’s forehead.  Blood had poured down into his right eye.  Sirius wiped it away as best he could with the sleeve of his free hand.  “Harry… How?” Sirius breathed.

“Proper mystery, in’it?” replied Hagrid.  “Dunno how he’s still alive.  You-Know-Who’s curse back-fired somehow.  But Professor Dumbledore musta known somethin’ was up, ’cause he sent me ‘ere to collec’ baby Harry.”

This woke Sirius up.  None of this mattered.  Not now.  What mattered that he make sure Harry was safe.  A new resolve was steeling him and he felt his back straighten, his shaking stilled.  He looked up into the giant’s face.  “Give Harry to me, Hagrid.  I’m his godfather.  I’ll look after him.”

But the giant just shook his head.  “Can’t, Sirius.  Professor Dumbledore says Harry’s ter go live with his aunt and uncle in Li’l Whinging.”

Sirius just shook his head.  Lily didn’t even get along with her sister.  There was no way she would want Harry to go live with them.  “Hagrid.  I’m his godfather.  Lily and James made me promise that I would look out for him if anything happened to them.”

“Sorry, Sirius.  Take it up with Dumbledore.  But I ‘ave me orders.”

“They would want me to take care of him!” Sirius argued.

But Hagrid just shook his head sadly.  “I can’t, Sirius… I’m sorry.”  He truly did look it.

Sirius let out a growl of frustration, but he could see Hagrid was not budging.  Not without Dumbledore’s say-so.  Sirius stared out at the street, determinedly not looking at the wreckage of the house behind him.  And his eyes fell on his motorbike.  Hagrid would not give him Harry.  But there was still one small thing Sirius could offer to keep Harry safe.

“Take my motorbike, Hagrid.  You can use it to get Harry to his aunt and uncle’s safely.”

Hagrid looked at the bike, then back to Sirius in surprise.  “Yeh sure?  I know how yeh love that bike.”

“I’m sure.  If it can help keep Harry safe… And I won’t need it anymore.”

For there was one benefit to Hagrid seeing to Harry.  It left Sirius free for other tasks.

Sirius was going rat hunting.

He awoke with a start.

The train trundled on.  Sirius did not move from his cramped hiding place.  But immediately, he knew there was a change in plans.  Without any recollection of making the decision, Sirius knew that he would not be simply looping back around on a north-bound train.  No.  He had something else to do first.  Sirius was going to make a detour to Little Whinging, Surry.

He didn’t know what he hoped to find there.  He knew that Harry was not his.  Knew that he had made that decision twelve years ago when he had let Hagrid take him away.  Knew that he had no more power to keep Harry safe now any more than he did then when he was a baby.  But he also knew that he had to see him.  Had to assure himself that Harry was safe and happy.  Once he had done that, he could move on.  Move on to his other mission. 

The Weasley boy in the photograph with the rat had to be about Harry’s age.  Harry might even know him.  How close could the rat get to Harry?  Was this Peter’s plan?  Was he biding his time waiting for the moment where he could turn on Harry just as he had Lily and James?  If it was in his favour, how long before he sold Harry out and completed the Potter set?

Sirius was not going to let that happen.  He had failed Harry once before.  Failed Lily and James.  Now he was determined to fix it.  He had a job to do.

Sirius risked a few moments in human form for the first times since he had been lying on the beach.   He was outside the railway station of Little Whinging, and most of the inhabitants of this suburban town had hurried home already.  No one was around, and damn if he didn’t need opposable thumbs for a few minutes.  

He let himself into the Muggle telephone booth and pulled the glass door shut behind him.  He tried not to think about the sticky, foul-smelling stain in the corner, as he pulled out the phone directory and flipped to the ‘D’ section.

“Dursley,” he murmured to himself running a finger down the ‘D’ names.  Petunia and…. what was her husband’s name?  Sirius couldn’t remember.  It started with a ‘V’, he thought.  Vincent?  Victor?  Valentino?  Vladimir?  Sirius amused himself with attempting to find the most ridiculous ‘V’ names he could think of, each more outrageous than the last.

“Ah.  Vernon.  Mr and Mrs Vernon Dursley.  How boring.”   His finger followed the dotted line to their address on the right hand side of the page.  “Number four Privet Drive,” he read aloud.  And with that, he shut the directory with a snap and replaced it in its cubby.

He had just reached to push the door of the phone booth open with one hand when he froze.  Between spray-painted graffiti and a scratched out heart that read D&K 4ever, Sirius found himself staring at the reflection of a stranger.  The man before him was skeletally thin with waxy skin stretched too tightly over the bones of his face.  Tangled black masses of hair fell down his shoulders.  Sirius raised his hand to touch his hollow cheek.  And so did the stranger.   He bared discoloured teeth.  And so did the stranger.  His face fell into a blank mask of grief for lost time.  And so did the stranger’s.  “I’m innocent,” he told the stranger.  And then he pushed the stranger out of his way, and the phone booth door swung open.  He marched away and did not look back.

Privet Drive was easy enough to find.  The neighbourhood was set out in a simple grid of straight roads and straight brick houses with straight blocks of neatly trimmed lawns.  Bloody hell, but it was all so boring. 

Number four looked just the same as all the rest.  Sirius sat in dog form in the gap between numbers five and three across the road.  He watched the house.  His eyes raked the windows for movement. Lights were on, but he could not make out anyone from his angle.

He didn’t know what he expected to see.  Harry and his family would likely be seated at the table for dinner.  He and his family were probably chatting about their day.  Maybe his aunt would be asking Harry if he had everything he needed for the next term at Hogwarts.  Maybe they would be planning a trip to Diagon Alley to buy his supplies. 

Not for the first time, Sirius asked himself what he was doing here.  This was a normal family, living in a normal house, on a normal street.  Sirius was not normal.  He did not belong here.  Harry’s was not a life he could understand.  And Harry would never understand his.  S what was the point of it all?

“MARGE!” a sudden yell from inside number four interrupted Sirius’s musings.  There was suddenly the mad barking of a dog and voices crying out, muffled but undeniably from within the Dursely house.  “NOOOOOOO!”

Sirius was on his feet and across the road in the blink of an eye.  Something was wrong.  Was Harry in danger?  Did he need him?  Sirius hesitated, uncertain if he should burst through the door and demand an answer, demand to take his godson away from this boring family in this boring house on this boring street.

“COME BACK IN HERE!” came a bellow from a man inside the house.  “COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!”

Another voice was talking, but Sirius could not make out the words.  But then the front door swung open.  Sirius dove to hide himself behind a large hydrangea bush against the house just in time.  “I’m going,” came the voice that had been muffled before.  One that sounded eerily familiar.  “I’ve had enough.”

There was a grating as something heavy was heaved down the front stoop and the door was slammed shut.  And then the night was still and quiet again.

Sirius peeked out from between hydrangeas to look at the figure standing outside the house.  It seemed to be a boy.  He was small and skinny.  He was standing with his back to Sirius and seemed to be breathing hard and trembling with range.  Sirius could make out a large trunk beside him and a birdcage under one arm.

Sirius couldn’t help himself.  He leaned a little further out to get a better look.  Abruptly, the boy’s head turned sharply to look down the street in Sirius’s direction.  Sirius quickly withdrew into the shadows.  The boy’s face, however, abruptly caught the light of a nearby lamp post.  And if Sirius had been in human form, he would have gasped allowed.  James?

No.  It wasn’t James.  He knew that.  But Merlin if Harry didn’t look just like him!  His face, his build, his expressions, even his voice.  It was eerie. 

Harry began to move determinedly down the street.  He was heaving his trunk behind him as he marched down Privet Drive.  That woke Sirius up.  Where the hell was he going?  He couldn’t be out here on his own!  This was dangerous!

Hell, but this had not been part of his plan.  He had just wanted to see Harry.  Wanted to assure himself that he was safe and happy.  He had not actually stopped to think what he would do if he found that he was not.

And so Sirius followed the boy, always keeping a little ways back, indecision warring in his brain.  What could he do?  Should he transform?  Approach Harry?  Offer his help?  The skeletal stranger reflected in the door of the phone booth floated before his mind’s eye, and he knew that he could do no such thing.  The mere sight of him would terrify the lad.  And even if he could convince Harry to come with him.  Then what?  What could he possibly offer him?  A life on the run?  Dodging Dementors and Aurors at every turn?

Harry made it several streets away before he collapsed onto a low wall in Magnolia Crescent.  Sirius circled around a garage behind him and crept into the gap between the side of the garage and the neighbouring fence to get a better look. 

Harry was panting from the effort of dragging his trunk and still seemed to be shaking in anger from whatever argument he had just had with his uncle.  But as Sirius watched, he saw as Harry’s body language changed from anger to fear.  Quite suddenly, the boy seemed to realise he had no plan, nowhere to go.  He looked around as though hoping to find someone who would help him.  Could Sirius be that someone?  He so wanted to be.  But he knew that he couldn’t.  And so he merely stood in the shadows and watched helplessly.

Suddenly seeming to come to a decision, Harry hopped off the wall, flipped open the lid of his trunk, and began rummaging around inside.  Sirius risked another step closer, hoping to see what he was doing.  And then Harry straightened up, seeming on high alert.  He looked up and down the street suspiciously.  But when he saw no one, he again bent over his trunk.  Sirius took another step forward.

This time, Harry seemed to sense exactly where he was.  He straightened again and turned to squint into the gap exactly where Sirius was hiding in the shadows. “Lumos,” the boy muttered, and the wand in his right hand burst into light.   He held it high over his head, shining into the alleyway where Sirius was hiding. 

Harry’s eyes went wide as he caught sight of Sirius, and a look of terror crossed they boy’s face.  He stepped backward, his leg hit the trunk, and he tripped.  He flew out his wand hand to break his fall and landed hard in the gutter, just as there was a deafening BANG and a gigantic triple-decker purple bus rolled up.  Sirius was just about to dive to pull Harry out of the way when the boy rolled aside and the bus parked right where he had just been lying in the road. 

Sirius’s heart was pounding as he retreated back around the garage to cower where they would not be able to see him.  Merlin, but he had almost just gotten Harry killed!  Was this all he could do?  Doom the boy to more and more misery with his every action? 

Sirius was crouched and shaking as he heard the Knight Bus conductor reciting his usual speech.  He listened as Harry spoke of his sighting of a massive black dog.  He listened as Harry gave a fake name.  Smart lad.  Now get on the bus, Harry.  Sirius could not help him—it hurt to admit it, but there it was.  But if Harry took the bus to the Leaky Cauldron, Sirius was sure that Tom, the Innkeeper, would look out for him and help him find someone who could.  Tom was an honourable man.  He would help.  He would do what Sirius could not.

Sirius breathed a sigh that was somehow filled with both relief and sorrow when Harry at last got on the bus and it zoomed off with another BANG.  His heart ached with shame and sadness and loss.  He took in another deep breath.

Maybe someday he would be a help instead of a hindrance to Harry.  Maybe someday— if he could clear his name— Harry would come to know him.  Care for him.  Maybe someday they could be together as Lily and James had wanted.  Maybe someday…

But no.  He could not afford such thoughts.  He could not afford hope.  He was long past hope.  He had to leave behind all thoughts of hope for the future.  There was no future for him.  But for Harry…  There was still a gift he could offer Harry.  He could offer him vengeance.  And by Merlin’s soggy pants, he was going to get that for him.  He was going to get that for both of them.