6

Chapter Six

A tall man strode purposefully through the ministry of magic. He had long blonde hair, so pale that it was almost white, and piercing, grey eyes. His clothes were tailored, all black and expensive looking and he carried a cane topped with a silver snake's head. He looked as though he could have been handsome twenty years ago, and as though he would have been in fashion about that time as well. The crowds parted before him, intimidated by the powerful man, though there was no respect in their gazes.

He stopped before the minister's office, knocking politely on the door and waiting for the customary 'come in' before entering the room.

"Lucius, wonderful to see you, everything's alright I trust?" gushed the minister, jumping up to shake the blonde man's hand.

"I am afraid, minister that there is an urgent matter which must be brought to your attention," Lucius said smoothly, attempting to keep the joy at the news out of his voice.

"Oh?" Fudge asked, a worried expression on his face, "What is it?"

"I am afraid that we must consider the fact that Harry Potter may be harbouring the escaped convict, Sirius Black."

"So let me get this straight," Harry said through a mouthful of egg, "After we found the firewhiskey, which I remember by the way, so there was really no need to tell me that part of the story, we got completely drunk and not only tried to flush your house elf down the toilet, but drew moustaches on every single portrait in the house?"

"Yup, along with some other stuff, but I don't remember any of it clearly enough to tell you for sure what happened," Sirius answered quickly, eager to shove more bacon into his mouth.

"Ok. But that really doesn't explain the whole hair colour thing."

"Oh yeah... I don't actually remember why that happened," Sirius said, tapping his chin with his fork as he spoke.

"But you said this morning that you did! That was the whole reason I went and sodding bought you bacon!" Harry exclaimed indignantly.

"Yeah, well, I really wanted bacon," Sirius whined, "Oh! Wait, I have an idea! KREACHER!" There was a second's pause in which Harry winced, the hippogriffs once again using his skull as a stomping ground, and then there was a loud pop and a dirty elf who smelt faintly of toilet water appeared on the table between the two. "Kreacher, honey," Sirius started, grinning like a maniac, "I order you to tell me why me and Harry have dyed hair."

"Stupid master and his filthy half-blood brat wanted to have a slumber party, like girls. So they decided to wash and braid each other's hair," Kreacher gave each of them a dirty look before popping out, obviously having decided that he had given enough of an answer to satisfy them. Harry stared disbelievingly at the space in which the house elf had been, the pieces of the puzzled clicking together in his head.

"But why did that make our hair different colours? And why isn't it braided?" Sirius complained, pouting slightly. Harry blinked and looked over at his godfather who had carried on with his breakfast, oblivious to Harry's confusion.

"Are you actually complaining that I didn't braid your hair?" Harry asked, holding up a hand when Sirius opened his mouth to speak, "On second thoughts, I don't want to know. And as to your first question, Pads, I think I may know the answer." Harry looked down at his plate sheepishly, knowing that Sirius wouldn't like what he was about to say.

"How?" Sirius asked without looking up from his food.

"Well, umm, the other day, I went to Zonko's, and I bought these really cool shampoos that you switch for people's normal shampoo and it dyes their hair a different colour," Harry paused in his story, wondering if he should really admit his responsibility for their hair. He bravely decided to soldier on and, taking a deep breath, began speaking again. "I think that maybe when we wanted to wash and braid our hair, I may have volunteered my shampoo for use." Sirius carried on eating, and Harry began to worry. He must have really pissed him off, for Pads to be ignoring him like this. Or was he only pretending not to mind, when really he was plotting pranks that would humiliate his godson? Or was he... not listening to a word Harry was saying?

"Pads, you listening?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Hmm?" Sirius asked, still not taking his eyes from his plate of food, "You say something Harry?"

"Nothing at all, Pads, nothing at all," Harry said, grinning from ear to ear. He was safe, for now at least.

"Bin! Bin! Bin, bin, bin!" Sirius called out happily in a sing-song voice, pulling various items from the cabinets that lined the walls and throwing them over his shoulder.

"You do realise, Pads, that the floor behind you isn't actually a bin?" Harry called from where he was lying on one of the old dusty sofas. The only response he got, however, was a pause and a glare before Sirius carried on ransacking his childhood home. Harry couldn't blame him, though. He supposed he would be the same, if not worse, if he grew up and assumed he had escaped from the Dursley's forever only to be forced to move back to Privet Drive. Tuning out his godfather, the messy haired teen mused over all that had happened to him in the last couple of days, idly playing with a few strands of his still-red hair as he thought.

He had been thrown out of the Dursley's, had read letters from his mother and father, had beaten up Malfoy, moved in with his godfather and been drunk for the first time in his life. He had taken charge of his own life, he supposed, albeit in a very accidental way. But it wasn't enough to dispel the restlessness in him, the buzzing in the back of his mind. The buzzing that had begun when he listened to that CD and that hadn't left since. It had dimmed, sure, but it was still there and seemed very unwilling to leave. It told him to get out of here, to do something. To drink, to fight, to laugh, to live. But that wasn't Harry, was it? Harry didn't go out and take risks, he had enough of them forced upon him. Harry didn't drink or fight, unless he was defending others, of course. Harry didn't laugh much either, now he came to think of it, there was always too much to worry about to have time for laughter. Harry didn't do anything, really.

A tap at the window drew him away from his thoughts, and he looked up to see a tawny owl sitting outside, staring at him. Sighing, he rolled off the sofa and stumbled over to the window, his hangover from the morning still firmly in place. He opened the window and the owl stuck out its leg, glaring at him until he took the letter. Closing the window, he turned and threw himself back onto the sofa, causing a slight cloud of dust to fly into the air. The envelope looked official and when he turned it over, he found the ministry of magic's seal staring back at him.

"Huh," he muttered, speaking to himself as Sirius was still far too busy making a mess to pay any attention, "This can't be good." With a feeling of trepidation, he ripped open the envelope and shook out the letter. He unfolded the parchment and scanned it quickly, eyes widening the further down the page he got.

"Pads..." he called, "I think we have a problem." Sirius, however, didn't hear over his own singing, and Harry was forced to try again. "PADS!" he yelled, sitting up to look over the arm of the sofa, "I said, we have a fucking problem, would you listen to me?" His godfather looked up, annoyance written all over his face.

"Sheesh, calm down pup, no need to yell at a bloke," he muttered, reaching out a hand for the letter Harry was waving in his direction. He read it quickly, his face turning as white as paper.

"Harry, mate," he whispered, "I think we have a problem." If the situation hadn't been quite so serious, Harry was sure he would not have had the willpower to stop himself from laughing. As it was, laughing was the last thing he wanted to do.