15

Harry stood in front of the mirror in his room and swirled his cloak around experimentally, grinning as it swung around his body. Very dashing, he thought with a smirk.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, pup?" Sirius barked from the hallway. Harry jumped at the interruption and barely stopped himself from drawing his wand on his godfather.

"What do you think, eh? Posh or what?" he asked, gesturing to the cloak draped around his shoulders. It was the one Sirius's aunt Andromeda had given Harry for his birthday, grey with a silver panther clasp. He had found it in a pile of stuff in his room and, realising he had never even tried it on before, had decided to wear it rather than his usual leather jacket.

"You just need a sword, mate, to complete the look," Sirius joked, noting that the look itself was rather ruined anyway by the leather trousers (where had he got them from, Sirius wondered, casting his mind back, trying to remember if James had ever had a pair) and tight, green t-shirt. He saw, however, to his dismay, that his godson's eyes had lit up at the mention of a sword.

"Do you think we can get one in Diagon Alley?" Harry asked hopefully, turning back to the mirror and imagining himself with a sword in his hand, "that'd show fucking Malfoy if I turn up to Hogwarts with a sword in my hand." Sirius rolled his eyes at his godson's obsession with Draco Malfoy; it rivalled the marauder's obsession with Snape, and that was saying something.

"Yeah, I'm sure Dumbledore will let you carry a sword around the school," he replied sarcastically, "come on pup, stop ogling yourself and get downstairs, we need to get going." Harry took one last look at himself in the mirror and turned, with a swish of his cloak, to follow Sirius downstairs and out the front door.

"You just had to wear a cloak, didn't you," Sirius muttered as another group of muggles passed by giving them curious looks. Harry grinned as he walked along next to his godfather with a skip in his step.

"Nah, don't worry Pads, they're just staring cos I'm hot," he joked, laughing at the indignant look on Sirius's face.

"You're hot? Excuse me, I think it's the charms of the bad boy ex-convict that they're more interested in," Sirius replied, his nose in the air.

"Pfft, yeah right, old man," Harry said as he reached the door to the Leaky Cauldron and pushed it open, holding it open for an irritated Sirius, "Ladies first."

"I'll give you fucking ladies first," his godfather muttered, stalking past the younger boy, "and old man too. Bloody kid."

"Harry m'boy!" Tom called from behind the bar as he caught sight of who had just entered his pub, "And Sirius! I was so glad when I found out you were innocent, and I've been hoping you'd come by sometime, so I could tell you that I'm very sorry for believing any different all these years." The old landlord was sincere, and Sirius, who had of course harboured no ill will to Tom at all, was touched by the gesture.

"Don't worry about it, Tom, you weren't to know," he answered, shaking his hand. Tom grinned toothily and turned to Harry.

"You're looking better than last time I saw you," he chuckled, remembering the hung over Harry that had entered his pub earlier in the summer in search of bacon.

"Cheers, mate," Harry smiled ruefully before brightening, "Do you like my cloak?" He stepped back and turned around once, causing the grey material to swirl around him for the umpteenth time that morning.

"Oh, um, it's very handsome," Tom answered, sending a questioning glance at Sirius.

"Don't ask, he's been in a weird mood all morning," Harry heard and pouted slightly at the pair of them.

"Oh fuck off, both of you, I can be in a good mood can't I? After all, I've got my friends, I've got my godfather, I've got a bloody fabulous cloak, and I've just had the best summer of my life. I think I'm allowed to be a bit cheerful. Now, if you wankers will excuse me, I'm off the find a sword." And with that, Harry flounced off out the back exit to the pub, leaving two bemused men behind him.

"I'd better go catch up with him before he actually buys a sword," Sirius muttered, waving goodbye to Tom as he dashed after his godson.

Harry had just stepped through the archway when Sirius appeared behind him and they entered the alley together. Harry wasn't sure if this was fortunate or not as a dozen reporters and photographers descended upon them as soon as they stepped foot on the street.

"Mr Black! How do you feel about the ministry after having to wait thirteen years for your trial?"

"Mr Potter! Why did you go after the death eaters at the world cup?"

"Mr Black! What-"

"Mr Potter! Who-"

"Mr Black!"

"Mr Potter!"

And so on. The two men blinked in astonishment as camera flashes went off and questions were hurled at them from all angles. Sirius regained his senses first and grabbing Harry's arm, he stalked off down the alley, flipping off the reporter's in his wake. The shouts followed after them, but Sirius kept walking and eventually the reporters realised that they wouldn't be getting an interview and tailed off, after snapping a few more pictures.

"Must have been recognised when we were in the Leaky Cauldron," Harry muttered angrily, "Why can't they just send an owl if they want an interview? Instead of mobbing us in the fucking streets."

"Cos they're idiots, maybe?" Sirius answered bitterly, making his way into Flourish and Blotts, "So, where's the book list then, pup? Harry?" Not receiving an answer, Sirius turned only to see his godson standing in the doorway, a look of realisation on his face as he tried and failed to enter the shop.

"Umm, Pads?" he asked hesitantly, "I kind of got banned from the shop earlier in the summer so... I guess you'll have to get my books?" It was obvious by his tone that he didn't think his godfather would mind him being banned from the shop, but would instead mind being asked to do the extra work by himself.

"Is there a problem, here?" The same young assistant who had caused the predicament had sidled up to them, a smug look on his face, "Anything I can help with?"

"Yeah, you can let my godson in the bloody shop so I don't have to find all his books myself," Sirius snapped. Unfortunately for the shop assistant, Sirius had never liked smarmy people, and he had already been wound up by the reporters.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. This young man was banned for a reason, Mr...?"

"Black, dickhead. Sirius fucking Black." The assistant quailed under Sirius's glare; he had, of course, been told that Sirius was innocent but in that moment he wasn't so sure that the man in front of him wasn't capable of what he had been accused of. He snapped his eyes over to the youth in the doorway, flicking his glance up to the boy's forehead before refocusing his attention on the angry man in front of him. Some of the customers were beginning to stare, having recognised the two men before he had. Harry Potter. He had banned the Boy Who Lived from the shop. He was going to be fired, he knew it.

"E-even st-still, sir," he stuttered before a hand was placed on his shoulder and he was pulled backwards. An attractive middle aged woman with long hair piled into a loose bun on top of her head and tiny half-moon glasses perched on the end of her nose replaced him in front of Sirius.

"Mr Black," she began huskily, "I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, and for the rudeness of our staff," here she shot a glare back at the assistant who began thinking of other places he could look for employment, "I'd be delighted to retract the ban, so long as Mr Potter promises not to go beating up any more customers on the premises."

"Yeah, whatever," Harry called from the doorway, where he had been leaning against the doorframe and fiddling with the clasp on his cloak. The woman snapped her fingers and Harry found himself able to cross the threshold.

"Cheers, love," he said as he walked into the shop.

"My pleasure, Mr Potter," she smiled, "Is there any other assistance that I can offer you today?"

"Yeah, you can get the little git behind you to find our books for us, if you please," Sirius said, grinning evilly at the git in question.

"So, just dress robes left to get then," Sirius said, consulting his list.

"And a sword, mate. Don't forget the sword," Harry answered, "Wait a minute, why do I need dress robes? I never have before."

"Huh? I thought I told you?" Sirius stopped walking and turned to face his godson, ignoring the dirty looks he was getting from the people who they were holding up.

"Told me what?"

"I seriously didn't tell you?" A grin was forming on Sirius's face even as a frown appeared on Harry's.

"Tell me fucking what, Pads?" He almost yelled.

"Oh, nothing," Sirius carried on walking towards Madam Malkins, smiling innocently.

"I hate you," was all Harry said before stalking past his godfather into the shop.

Half an hour later they left, having bought an emerald green robe that Harry despised. The only way he had been persuaded to buy it was by Sirius promising that they could have a quick jaunt into Knockturn Alley in search of a sword.

Sirius lit a cigarette as they made their way off of the main shopping street into the dark, dingy alleyway frequented by hags and other dark creatures. They passed by various shops selling potions, artefacts and books before Harry spotted one that interested him. It wasn't a weapons shop, but a tattoo parlour, one that Sirius recognised from his youth.

The bell sounded as they walked through the door, alerting a tall, heavily tattooed woman to their presence.

"Well, well, Sirius Black. And this must be the Boy Who Lived, what an honour," she drawled, curling her red lips up into a smile. Harry scowled and flipped her off, turning his attention to the examples of tattoos and piercings that covered the walls.

"Annabelle, I didn't expect you to still be here," Sirius said, approaching the counter.

"I wouldn't leave this place for the world," she said fondly, glancing around the shop with the kind of expression that is usually reserved for looking at ones children or family. It was clear that she loved her business, and Sirius was glad to see that she was still going strong after all these years.

"Anyway, how's the tattoo holding up?" she asked, wiping the nostalgic look off of her face and pulling her short brown hair behind her ears.

"It's still as perfect as the day you did it, love," Sirius answered with a happy grin on his face. He pulled the vest he was wearing down slightly, showing off the tattoo over his heart. It was four letters, in an elegant Victorian script. MWPP.

"Shit, Pads, I didn't know you had that," Harry had come over and was staring at the tattoo with a small frown on his face, "You should get it changed." The frown on the boy's face deepened and he wandered away again.

"He's cheerful," Annabelle commented, arching an eyebrow. Sirius wasn't listening though. He was instead staring down at the letters over his heart. The names of his brothers. Except one was dead, gone forever, one was a traitor and it was only Padfoot and Moony left.

"Fuck it," he muttered, "You busy today, or have you got time to fit me in?"

A tall, blonde boy ducked into a side street, praying to any deity out there that the two men who had been walking in his direction wouldn't find him. What were they even doing in Knockturn Alley? He hadn't wanted to risk seeing them, and so he had been avoiding Diagon Alley all week, not expecting them to ever step foot into such a disreputable place. It was just his luck, though. It was bad enough that they had taken away his only sanctuary, meaning that the only way he could get away from his father was by roaming the streets, but now his worst enemy and co. kept appearing everywhere he went.

He couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts.