4

Harry ate in the Leaky Cauldron for the second time in a day that night, though he was in far worse a mood than he had been at lunchtime. Tom noticed, of course, that the happy boy he had seen earlier had disappeared but he didn't comment on the change and Harry was in no mood to be volunteering information. So he ate his meal in silence and Tom did his job. And so Tom did not notice when the light bulb flicked on in Harry's head, and he didn't see the boy's face light up as the perfect idea hit him. The barkeeper did, however, notice when Harry leapt from his chair and dashed up the stairs, towards the room he had rented for the night. Tom frowned slightly, wondering what was troubling the boy so.

In his room, Harry was attaching a letter to Hedwig's leg. She had been out hunting when he had left the Dursley's, but the snowy owl had once again demonstrated how clever she was by turning up at his window not half an hour after Harry himself arrived. With a quick pet on the head and a slight shove, Hedwig was out the window, flying away with an indignant hoot to Harry's best chance of a good summer.

Slightly happier, Harry fell onto his bed, not bothering to undress. He gave into exhaustion within seconds, worn out from such a long day of shopping and fights.

Harry awoke to the hooting of an owl. Without bothering to open his eyes, he groped around in search of the offending creature without any luck. The owl hooted again, and it was then that he noticed the weight on his head.

"Ok, Hedwig, I'm awake, now can you please get off of my head?" he asked, amused at his pet's antics. She flew away, landing on the bedpost and Harry sat up and stretched his arms above his head, stifling a yawn and looking around the unfamiliar room with bleary eyes. It took a second for him to realise where he was, and for the events of the previous day to flood back into his mind.

"Eurgh, did that really all happen?" he asked the room, grabbing his glasses from the pillow where they had fallen during the night. Hedwig hooted again, drawing Harry's mind back to the present and, more specifically, to the scroll attached to her leg. "Alright, girl, thanks," he spoke soothingly, knowing how vicious the bird could become if she were ignored any longer. And then another memory from the day before slotted into place in his brain, and he realised who the letter was from. Wide awake now, he jumped from the bed and grabbed the parchment from Hedwig, ripping open the seal, eyes frantically scanning the contents. There was a second of silence, and then there was an incredibly loud

"YES!" followed by a lot of air punching and grinning. Hedwig watched on disapprovingly, though this could be because she was still wondering how he could have slept in his clothes. I mean, honestly, she thought, he didn't even take his shoes off! Harry wasn't privy to his pet's inner monologue however, and so he carried on his celebration oblivious to the less than enthusiastic owl.

The street was empty but for Harry. He made a strange figure; his hair was messy, as usual, and he had changed his clothes into a tight, maroon t-shirt with ripped, black jeans. Scruffy converse adorned his feet and his leather coat hung around him like a cape. If this had been all, then he would have fit right in to certain factions of muggle society. It was the wizarding accents that made him stand out; the owl sat regally on his left shoulder, the wand holster strapped to his right forearm, the beaten up trunk he was dragging along with him. It was lucky, perhaps that the street was empty, else some very difficult questions were sure to have come his way.

Harry didn't consider it lucky that he was alone, however, in fact he was growing quite frustrated. He had walked up and down this street perhaps five times, and yet there was still no sign of the address he was looking for. He sighed, searching his pockets for the letter; perhaps he had read the address wrong?

"Hey there, pup!" the voice came from directly behind him, causing the paranoid boy to whirl around, dislodging Hedwig in the process; he snapped his wand into his hand and pointed it at the figure's face.

"And who are you?" he asked. The man in front of him was tall, with long, scraggly black hair and an emaciated face. He was dirty, as though he hadn't showered in months, and a faint smell of wet dog lingered around his personage. Harry recognised him straight away, of course, as the godfather he had discovered and freed just months before; it didn't hurt to be cautious, however.

"I'm your fairy godmother, who'd you think?" Sirius grinned as Harry rolled his eyes and lowered his wand, "Hey! Less of the eye-rolling, I'm being serious!"

"Yeah, yeah, you're always serious," Harry found himself unable to keep a straight face and grinned, launching himself into his godfather's arms. They clung to each other for a few minutes, each glad to see one of the few family members they had left.

"Come on, pup, we'd best get inside, it doesn't do to hang around on the streets when you're a convicted murderer," Sirius broke up the hug and grabbed Harry's trunk, "the address is number 12, Grimmauld Place."

"Yeah, I know, you wrote it in your let- oh, shit," Harry mouth dropped open as he turned to look at the row of houses. Number 12, Grimmauld Place had appeared, pushing the houses either side of it out. Sirius was already halfway up the garden path by the time Harry managed to stop gawking. Pulling himself together, he hurried to follow his godfather, hundreds of questions already buzzing through his head, not least of which was why the house was in such a state. The small amount of front garden was overgrown and neglected, matching perfectly with the front of the building. Dead vines wove their way over the brickwork, covering several of the grubby windows. The door Sirius was opening had paint peeling off of it along with several burn marks, possibly from spell fire.

"Nice looking place you got here, Padfoot," Harry smirked, gazing around at the building. He missed the happy smile that appeared on Sirius's face at the use of the marauder name.

"Well, you can go back to the Leaky Cauldron and wait for Dumbledore to find you if you want," Sirius threatened, though they both knew that it would never happen. With a final push, the older man finally got the door to open and they stepped inside, Harry keeping his wand trained ahead of him, wary of the ominous house. Dust swirled around their feet as they stepped into the hallway, their footsteps echoing eerily in the empty house.

"If this is your house, Pads, then why does it feel so... wrong?" Harry whispered his question, not wanting to disturb the quiet of the house. And it did feel wrong. It was too quiet, too empty, too hollow. The door was still open behind them, giving them a dim light to see by, but in Harry's opinion this only served to worsen the appearance of the interior. The light threw dark shadows across the hallway, making it almost impossible to see what was real and what was merely shadow; Harry thought he could make out several portraits lining the walls, but he couldn't see the occupants who's eyes he could feel on him.

"It's my house now, but I inherited it from my family. Dark wizards and witches, the lot of them. My dear old mum died when I was in Azkaban, so I haven't had a chance to check it out yet. It's been empty for a while, I'm assuming."

"Wait, you're assuming? So we could be walking into a den of Death Eaters?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Nah, no-one but me can get in, the Fidelius charm gets passed down by blood, see?" Harry stopped and straightened up from his defensive stance.

"So, if no-one can get in, why are we sneaking about, scared, like a couple of pansies?" he asked, a grin beginning to form on his face. Sirius stopped and turned, looking at Harry in confusion for a second before scowling and punching his godson lightly on the arm.

"Oh shut up, you ass," he muttered, "And give us some light, can't you? I haven't exactly got a wand here."

"And I'm not exactly over age, here, so unless you want me expelled from Hogwarts, then no-can-do," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"The charms on the house interfere with the Trace and all that, so you can cast as many spells as you want to," Sirius waved a hand slightly, as if it were no big deal. But Harry was grinning; the first piece of good news he'd had in a while.

"Seriously?" he asked, stupidly. Sirius smiled, unable to believe his godson had fallen into that one.

"I'm always Sirius!" He quipped, bounding off into the house before Harry could retaliate. Shaking his head, Harry started to follow him, albeit at a slower pace.

"Lumos," he whispered, waiting a minute before being satisfied that no letter from the ministry would be coming. Once he was sure, he breathed a sigh of relief, and the grin adorning his face grew, if possible, wider. He looked around at his surroundings as he walked; the light from his wand banished the shadows, yet the corridor he was in was no less intimidating for it. Stern faced witches and wizards stared down at him from their portraits, disdain clear on their painted faces. The walls appeared to have been painted grey, though that could just have been the effect of the accumulated dirt and mould. Cobwebs lined every corner of the ceiling, their inhabitants scuttling away from the light, disappearing into cracks in the walls.

"Come on, pup, less dawdling, more exploring!" Sirius called from a room straight ahead of Harry. The messy haired teen quickened his pace, pushing open the door to what appeared to be a kitchen. Sirius bounded into view, an excited grin on his face.

"Let's see what this place has got to offer, eh?"