Mrs. Weasley floored back to The Burrow while Harry and Mr. Weasley returned to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to fill out the approximately three stone of paperwork needed to formalize the guardianship. While they worked, Harry explained what he knew about the Fidelius charm that was supposed to protect the Potter home in Godric’s Hollow. By the time Harry signed the last form in triplicate, it was well past lunch time. As they turned everything in, Mr. Weasley also inquired about the visitor schedule for Azkaban Wizarding prison.

It turned out there weren’t visiting hours, per se. The crimes committed by most of the inmates were such that few people were inclined to visit them. However, through prior arrangement with the warden, interviews with prisoners could be arranged. As one of the supposed victims of Sirius Black’s betrayal, Harry had more than sufficient grounds to request a visit. Mr. Weasley sent a message to the Warden requesting a meeting at their earliest convenience. He’d been shocked and dismayed at the implications of what Harry had told him.

By the time they were ready to leave the Ministry, Harry’s stomach was growling audibly, bringing a rueful grin to Mr. Weasley’s lips. "Best get you home, Harry, or Molly will have my head for starving you."

When Harry followed Mr. Weasley out of the fireplace at The Burrow, his ears were assaulted by an avalanche of noise.

"We got Potter! We got Potter!" The twins were doing a re-enactment of their jig from the sorting feast of last fall. This time Ron and Ginny had linked arms and joined in as well. Percy was making a face at all the racket. Mrs. Weasley looked torn between wanting to shush them and wanting to join in as well.

Harry felt like he’d just won another Quidditch Cup when the dancing broke up and he was suddenly engulfed in a Weasley group hug. He hadn’t realized how worried his friends had been about the hearing, but now he saw Ginny’s eyes were quite red and Ron looked a little choked up as well. For once, the twins weren’t taking the mickey out of them about it either.

Harry didn’t really remember what Mrs. Weasley fixed for lunch that day. He vaguely remembered her kicking them out of the kitchen when he and Ginny went to clear the table. He ended up dragging her out with them to the paddock when her brothers suggested Quidditch.

She sat at the foot of an apple tree, watching them play two on two Quidditch. After the twins got him and Ron down by quite a few goals, Harry landed next to Ginny, rolling his shoulder theatrically and grimacing.

"I think I popped something. Want to have a go?" he asked her in a loud voice, holding out the Nimbus 2000.

Ginny stared at the broom like it was a snake about to bite her.

Ignoring Ron’s protests, Harry took another step closer and lowered his voice. "Here’s a chance to show them you aren’t really ‘ickle Gin-Gin’…" He wondered if his smile could get any wider without splitting his lips.

"Harry, she’s going to wreck your broom! Mum is going to kill you if-" Ron’s words were cut off as Ginny rocketed into the air, making him flinch back and almost lose control of the rickety Cleansweep Four he was riding.

Ginny cut into a tight loop and shot between the twins, grabbing the Quaffle they were idly tossing back and forth. She didn’t decelerate before the ball was through their goal. Taking in the dumbfounded looks on her brothers’ faces, she made an exasperated sound. "What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever seen a girl on a broom before?"

"Better answer that one carefully," Harry called out from the ground. "Angelina would probably be highly interested in your answer. After she removed the Quaffle from your nose."

Ginny let out a laugh and the game resumed. Harry stretched out on the warm grass and enjoyed the show. Ginny’s agility and speed on Harry’s broomstick was just about unstoppable. Before long, Ron simply fell back and concentrated on guarding the younger siblings’ goal, while his sister quite literally flew rings around the twins. By early evening, Fred and George had been gleefully trounced in three straight sets. Harry couldn’t ever remember enjoying just watching Quidditch quite so much.

When Ginny and her brothers came in for a landing, she frowned at Harry. "Sorry, I hogged your broom all afternoon," she whispered guiltily as they walked back to The Burrow. "I sort of lost track of how long we’d been up there."

"Don’t be sorry," Harry replied with a grin. "I’d rather watch you play than try being a chaser myself. I’m rubbish at passing."

She gave him a long look as they neared the back door. "Thanks Harry," she said with a shy smile of her own.

After dinner, the five of them retired to the sitting room to work on their Occlumency. Mrs. Weasley had wondered what they were up to at first, but was satisfied with their assurances that it was for school, and it wouldn’t violate the underage magic laws, since no wands were involved. If she was really concerned, Harry was prepared to let her know why they were studying Occlumency. He almost anticipated the fit she’d throw when she found out what Professor Snape had been doing to her children.

That night, Harry was pleasantly surprised to get almost nine hours of sleep. He awoke feeling almost hyperactive from being completely rested.

Thursday they settled back into their routine of martial arts alternated with Occlumency. Harry noticed a slight decrease in the random emotional emissions from the twins. It seemed the meditation exercises were starting to help them not broadcast their feelings quite so loudly. Ginny and Ron didn’t show any noticeable differences, which set Harry to thinking.

In all his reading, there was no mention of teaching Occlumency to students as young as eleven or twelve. It might be impossible for children that young to learn to defend their minds from intrusion. It was also possible that children were naturally more open, and might just take longer. These complications didn’t really alter Harry’s plans. It did, however, make him realize that it would likely take longer than he thought to come clean with his friends.

During a break after lunch, Harry wrote a note and gave it to Hedwig to deliver. It was short and to the point. He offered both a carrot and a stick to the message’s recipient, along with instructions on how to get the former and not the latter. Harry knew he was potentially playing with fire here, but he hoped his assessment of the personality in question was accurate.

When Mr. Weasley came home that evening, he told Harry that he’d gotten a reply from Azkaban, and the two of them would be allowed to visit the facility Friday morning at ten a.m. Mrs. Weasley gave Harry a worried look, but didn’t say anything.

After his confrontation with Dumbledore, Harry explained to his guardians about his dreams and the implications of Sirius Black’s innocence. While she was horrified at the thought of an innocent person being sentenced to life at the Wizarding prison, Mrs. Weasley was less than happy with the idea of Harry going there, even for a visit. It took some fast talking for Harry to reassure her. He’d also had to resort to bringing up details. He really hoped no one asked where he got some of that information. While it was no secret that Sirius was Harry’s godfather, he couldn’t point to a single person as being the one who told him. Thus far, he’d mostly skated on this issue — when he brought something up, his audience usually just assumed someone else spilled the beans. Fortunately, people like Dumbledore were more concerned with what Harry knew (and how to prevent him from finding out more); they seldom got around to asking how Harry knew what he did. On the other hand, he couldn’t count on that blind spot in the Headmaster’s thinking lasting forever. Professor Dumbledore wasn’t a stupid man. Harry may not have agreed with how the head of the Order of the Phoenix conducted the war against Voldemort, but he also recognized the staggering depths of the man’s knowledge.

Harry decided to go to bed a little early. Ron followed him upstairs and asked him if he was all right.

"Sure Ron," he replied, a little confused. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," Ron looked away, "you’ve been awfully quiet since dinner."

"Just a lot to think about; I wonder what my godfather is going to be like. He’s been in Azkaban a terribly long time. I have no idea what to expect when I see him."

Ron nodded slowly. "That’s got to be a lot to take in. You don’t have to deal with it all yourself though."

Harry nodded, though he realized with some sadness that the worst of his issues he couldn’t share with anyone yet. "Ron, when did you get so sensitive?"

Predictably, his friend’s ears darkened. "Sod off, Harry," he muttered.

"Actually, I wasn’t being sarcastic --for once. I bet Hermione will be impressed." Harry couldn’t resist that last bit, wondering how far back that whole thing got started. The slightly panicked look on Ron’s face lasted less than a second, but that was more than enough to give Harry a healthy surprise. Damn, I had no bloody idea it was going on this long… or did I jump-start it a bit this time around?

"You’re bleedin’ hilarious, Harry," Ron replied coolly. "Anyway, if you want to talk about something besides trying to embarrass me, you know where I am."

Harry sighed. "I do appreciate that Ron. I mean, you’re as good a friend as a bloke could ask for, you know that, right?"

Ron nodded silently and they both began getting ready for bed. Harry knew he’d need his wits about him when he went to meet Sirius, so after completing his Occlumency exercises, he tried to focus his mind on happier memories.

He awoke the following morning before seven. He hadn’t had a nightmare about Sirius falling through the Veil in a long time. It made him nostalgic, in a sick sort of way. Of course, he’d been having that one since before he turned sixteen, so he supposed he’d worn off a lot of the sharp edges. Ginny throwing a wobbly at him for blaming himself needlessly hadn’t hurt.

Harry was starting to prepare breakfast when Mrs. Weasley came down the stairs. Her lips pursed in annoyance at seeing Harry running her stove, but then she frowned.

"Odd to wake up and find someone else cooking breakfast," she said calmly. "Hasn’t happened to me since I lived at home with my parents. Of course, Arthur pitches in when I’m sick, or when I’m in my last month, but the poor dear is a bit hopeless in the kitchen."

Harry made a face. "Sorry if I intruded. I just thought I’d go ahead and get things started."

"That’s all right dear," she smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Ron mentioned once that you have trouble sleeping at times." She paused and looked at him closely. "Nightmares?"

Harry sighed and nodded. "Once I’m up, I’m up. I figure if I’m already awake, I might as well help with breakfast. It’s kind of calming, really."

"I know, that’s why I enjoy it," Molly said with a small smile. "You know Arthur and I are here any time you want to talk."

"I appreciate that, Mrs. Weasley."

She smiled a little. "You know, you don’t have to be so formal. Fosterlings usually call their guardians by their given names. I’ve discussed it with my husband, and we’d prefer if you called us Molly and Arthur."

"I’ll try to do that, Mrs., er, Molly."

"Good," she said briskly. "Now, if you want, I can show you a few tricks that can make cooking on this old dear a bit less of a chore."

Harry shifted slightly to the side so Molly could join him at the stove. "I’d like that," he said with a shy smile.

By the time Ron and Ginny followed their father down the stairs, there was a meal of truly epic proportions waiting for them. Harry couldn’t help but be impressed by what he’d already learned that morning. He recalled that Mrs. Weasley had home-schooled all her children before they attended Hogwarts, and done a cracking good job of it from what he could tell. She was an obviously gifted teacher.

Mr. Weasley had to go to the Ministry to check on a few things before he was to come back and collect Harry for the trip to Azkaban. Harry, Ron, and Ginny took a quick run while the Twins were just beginning to stir. Harry was obviously preoccupied, and after Ron knocked him down for the third time, Ginny offered to take his place sparring with her brother.

Harry shook his head ruefully and stepped back. She was right; the thought of seeing Sirius again was crowding out his other thoughts. Ron made the rather significant error of patronizing his little sister as they sparred. He was larger, had more reach, and had been practicing months longer. That, however, did not stop her from ducking under his arm and landing a quick punch at his unprotected stomach. It was surely an accident that her punch landed, well, lower than she probably intended.

After Ron was able to stand again, he took Ginny a bit more seriously. Harry watched and helped them catch when their stances got sloppy or their technique faltered. He tried not to think about Ginny’s last fight, during the Hogwarts Massacre. Unbidden, the images of her broken and battered body flooded his mind and he had to turn away from his friends. He began practicing kicks and punches at random, snapping his blows as fast and as hard as he could. He battered imaginary enemies, trying to drain away his own emotions. Finally, he called a halt and led them on another run to cool down. Normally, he ran last in line, so he could keep an eye on his friends. This time he led, not wanting to see them, not wanting them to see his face. He set a fairly brutal pace, and by the time they returned to The Burrow, his heart stopped pounding and the sweat pouring down his face disguised his tears.

After he showered and dressed, Harry felt cleansed, almost as if he’d been hollowed out and allowed to drain. It was almost pleasant, that sense of detachment.

At half past nine, Arthur Floored back from the Ministry. Harry was sitting at the scrubbed wood table in the kitchen, and stood up as the tall red-headed man stepped out of the fireplace. "Ah, all ready, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Mr. W- er, Arthur."

"Ah, good. Molly said she’d talk to you about that. It’ll probably be easiest to just Apparate to the docks. I’ve been there a couple of times, so I can take you along." He stood close to Harry and gripped his shoulders tightly. "Ready?" he asked.

Harry nodded and then felt a jerking motion as his vision went blurry. He blinked and saw a battered dock set into a rocky shoreline. The sharp tang of the sea burned in his nostrils. Arthur released him once it was clear he could stand. They walked across the damp stones to a small shack. As they drew closer the view in front of them suddenly wavered and changed.

The shack was now a concrete blockhouse, looking very sturdy with narrow slits for windows. Next to the entrance stood two alert looking wizards that Harry assumed were Aurors. Their wands were out and pointed at them. Harry clasped his hands together nervously. This also brought his fingers in contact with the butt of his wand. If they started casting, Harry was braced to knock Mr. Weasley down as he drew and returned fire…

Harry took a deep breath. His reflexes could get them into a lot of trouble here.

"Arthur Weasley," his guardian announced calmly, "escorting Harry Potter for a prisoner visit." The Aurors immediately lowered their wands and Harry relaxed.

Mr. Weasley must have been able to sense his tension. As they approached he spoke in a low tone. "Security is very tight here, which is quite understandable. Everything should be fine though. I don’t fancy being an Auror having to explain how he accidentally stunned Harry Potter."

Harry snorted, but the man’s words did make him relax a bit. As they walked out onto the concrete dock that replaced the rickety wooden one, Harry could see a ferry boat moored at the end of it.

A weathered looking man with long grey hair let them into the cabin, which was scarcely warmer than the outside. At least it’s out of the wind, Harry reflected as he shivered a bit under his plain black robe. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like August out here.

In truth, Harry didn’t know if the weather was unusual. He’d never visited Azkaban before. It was said to be destroyed shortly after the Hogwarts Massacre. At that point the news reporting was starting to break down. Evidently Voldemort decided to liberate the few Death Eaters incarcerated there and eliminate the place as a symbol of justice and Ministry power. As the Dark Lord massed his forces, the Azkaban garrison nearly deserted. Instead, Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody, the legendary retired Auror showed up at the dock after disabling the Death Eater sentries. No one survived to tell the world what he said to the frightened guards, but it is known that they held the fortress against Voldemort’s forces for twenty-two days. In the end, the Dark Lord’s forces won, but gained nothing for it. Every structure on the island had been levelled in the fierce fighting, and rumour had it that Moody himself executed all of Voldemort’s men before he could free them. After that it was said that one way a prisoner of the Death Eaters could earn a swift death instead of lingering torture was to yell "Constant Vigilance!" at their captors.

Brooding about the future at least kept Harry too distracted to get sea-sick. They docked at a concrete quay identical to the one they’d just left. A path led from the foot of the docks to an enormous metal door set in the base of a cliff. A small slit opened and Arthur had to identify them again. Harry was increasingly distracted by the chill in the air. He also felt an unpleasantly familiar stirring in the back of his mind. The Dementors can’t be affecting me all the way out here… can they? He stiffened his Occlumency shields as much as he could, but it didn’t seem to help.

The massive door retracted into a slot cut in the stone and they entered a rough-hewn tunnel bored out of solid rock. Torches set in wrought iron sconces every dozen paces provided minimal light. Harry followed numbly, trying not to hear the cloying whispers lingering just below the threshold of comprehension. Sirius described escaping through bars, so the prisoners were probably kept in above-ground cells. Perhaps these underground passages shielded him from the worst of the dementors’ powers. He shuddered to think of what it must be like in the prison itself. They passed stout wooden doors, bound with iron strips, set flush against the walls. Eventually, their guide stopped in front of one and opened it.

Harry stepped into a better-lit room. This one was easily thirty feet on a side, though the low ceiling made it appear smaller. Stationed in each corner was an Auror, their impassive faces showing nothing.

In the centre of the room was a large wooden table. On the near side was a pair of empty chairs. On the far side was a single chair, occupied.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Sirius Black sat rigidly, his wrists bound in manacles connected to chains that wound through the reinforced frame of his chair. He was just as gaunt and corpse-like as Harry remembered from the Shrieking Shack. Long filthy matted hair hung down to the arms of his chair and glittering dark grey eyes glared emotionlessly ahead.

When the door closed behind them, those bottomless eyes flickered toward the intruders. Harry met his gaze evenly and saw those eyes widen a tiny bit. Harry reached out gently with his Legilimency, but Sirius was so tightly contained that he might as well have been a porcelain statue as a man.

His eyes, however, bored relentlessly into Harry’s. Arthur carefully led him to the table, and he sat down without breaking eye contact.

When Sirius spoke, his voice was so gravelly from disuse that his words were almost indecipherable. "You look just like your father did at your age… except…" he swallowed.

"Except for the eyes, I know," Harry said softly.

Sirius nodded slowly. If his skin were less sallow, Harry imagined it would have gone pale.

"I, er, I remember that night-bits and pieces of it anyway. I know Peter was the secret-keeper, not you." Harry’s words tumbled out of his mouth. The look on his Godfather’s face was more than he could bear. The two statements he made were, technically, both true.

Sirius’ eyebrows rose until they were obscured under his matted hair. "You… know? What happened?"

Harry nodded. "Most of it; I’ve been working on Dumbledore, trying to get you freed. The ministry is being difficult though. Part of it is those Muggles who were killed when you confronted Peter. Did they ever check your wand to see if you did that spell?"

Sirius shook his head. "It would be hard to do that since they snapped it moments after I was taken into custody."

Harry snarled. "Idiots," he muttered. This was going to make it even harder to prove his innocence; they had no business punishing him before he was even tried.

Sirius blinked. "You sound a lot more like your mother," he whispered.

"Did she ever express a desire to hex the entire Ministry?" Harry growled. He glanced over at Arthur, who seemed to be a little amused. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Quite all right, Harry, sometimes I feel like hexing them myself," Arthur agreed affably.

Harry noticed Sirius studying Arthur curiously. "This is Arthur Weasley," he said.

"He and his wife agreed to be my guardians. Their youngest children go to Hogwarts with me, but we’re all living at The Burrow. It’s out near Ottery St. Catchpole in Devon."

Sirius looked at him, confused. Privately, Harry preferred any expression over that deadened look he’d had when they entered the room. "I was staying with my Aunt Petunia and her family, but that didn’t, well, it wasn’t working out." He didn’t want to tell Sirius too much and just add to his godfather’s burdens. Honestly, he was also a little afraid of the man’s reaction. He didn’t want this interview to end prematurely.

"I’ve seen you before, at a… meeting," Sirius whispered. He seemed to be studying Arthur’s face. When Harry glanced at his guardian he was surprised to see how angry the man was. He wondered for a moment if he was angry at Sirius, but when Arthur simply nodded Harry made the connection to his downplaying of the situation at the Dursleys. Damn, Harry thought in wonder, Arthur never gets mad like that. It gave him a warm glow, even as he felt a little twinge of fear. I don’t want him getting hurt trying to protect me.

"Harry’s a good boy. My son couldn’t stop talking about him when he returned from Hogwarts. Molly and I will take good care of him." Arthur spoke calmly but firmly. Something seemed to pass between the two men and Sirius relaxed visibly.

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of all that. "I’ve told Professor Dumbledore," he said suddenly. "He said he’s been trying to get you out of here, but the people in the Ministry don’t want to listen. I gave him a bit of an earful when I heard that," Harry admitted ruefully. Arthur actually chuckled out loud. "I’m not happy with you being stuck in here," he continued, "and I’m going to make things quite difficult for people."

Sirius blinked and looked at Arthur.

"Yes, he talks like that quite often. He rather reminds me of Professor McGonagall when she gets angry. If there is anything we can do to help him, rest assured we will do so."

Sirius swallowed. Harry caught his eyes and they bored into his again. This time he could dimly feel a morass of thickly clotted emotions swirling from his godfather. He hoped that giving the man hope wouldn’t prove to be cruel. "I, er, I think it would probably help if we could find Peter. If he’s still alive, capturing him would wreck the Ministry’s case wouldn’t it?"

"If he’s still alive," Sirius said slowly. His struggle not to give in to hope was as obvious as it was heart-rending.

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "If you, well, can you tell us how he got away when everyone thought you’d killed him?"

Sirius took a deep breath. The man’s skin was stretched tight over his bones. Harry hated himself for not finding a way to get here even quicker. If Dumbledore had been a little more… Harry let the thought trail off. There really wasn’t another way that could have worked, aside from going public. And if that failed, the Sirius would likely be stuck in here forever.

"I suppose it doesn’t really matter anyway. Peter was an unregistered Animagus. He took the form of a rat, appropriately enough. I was in a hurry when I found him… as far as Dumbledore knew, I was the secret keeper for Lily’s Fidelius charm. Only I could have betrayed them. It was only a matter of time before the Aurors sought me out. I found him on a street crowded with Muggles, so I had to get close before I could stun him. I could have cared less about the Statute of Secrecy, but I wanted to get a clear shot. He spotted me at the last minute. He didn’t pull out a wand, just a knife. I wondered if he’d lost his wand when he cut off his finger and dropped it to the ground… His behaviour was so bizarre I began to wonder if he’d been put under the Imperius. I suppose I didn’t want to believe he’d willingly betrayed you. Then he dropped the knife and screamed at me for betraying James and Lily. He must have had his wand in his back pocket, because as I struggled through the crowd there was an explosion behind him that threw people to the ground like rag dolls. It blasted a hole all the way down to the sewers. He transformed and dropped through it before I could even speak."

Sirius’ shoulders began to slump, as if telling his tale had extracted all the rigidity from his bones. He looked so tired and old that Harry could barely stand it.

"So we may be looking for a rat that’s missing a toe… off the left forepaw?" he asked slowly.

Sirius shook his head. "The right," he corrected.

"Any other distinguishing marks?" Arthur asked quickly.

Sirius shook his head. "Just a common gray rat, a little on the fat side. It’s going to be almost impossible to find him."

Harry smothered a grin as he noticed Arthur’s startled expression. "Well, at least we know what to look for. Are you allowed to receive post?"

Sirius shook his head. "I wouldn’t know. I doubt owls could get past the dementors."

Harry frowned. "Is there anyone you would like me to contact?"

Sirius just frowned at him curiously.

Harry sighed. "I told you I believe you are innocent. Is there anyone out there you would like me to talk to? Family? Friends?" He regretted the way his godfather flinched at the mention of family, but he had to ask.

"There is one," he said slowly. "I don’t know if he’s alive or where he lives now. Remus Lupin was a friend of mine and your parents’ friend as well. He… he should know the truth. If an owl cannot reach him, I imagine Arthur would know someone in the Ministry who can locate him."

"Why is that?" Arthur asked.

"He… well he has a medical condition that is monitored by the Ministry," he replied evasively.

"He thought you were the secret-keeper as well?" Harry asked.

Sirius sighed and tried to rub his eyes, but the chains on his arms would not allow it. Harry resisted a sudden impulse to rip them off his godfather. "At the time, there were rumours of a spy helping Voldemort. We thought it might have been him, so… we didn’t tell him."

"And the spy turned out to be Pettigrew?" Arthur asked. The sympathy in his voice was palpable.

Sirius nodded and dropped his gaze. "It was all done so stupidly, really. I as good as killed your parents, Harry. I came up with the brilliant notion of secretly switching my role to Peter. Everyone knew how close James and I were, so I’d be the perfect decoy. Instead, I told James to trust the man who betrayed him."

"Rubbish!" Harry snapped. "You are as much to blame as my father, which is to say not at all. There’s a rather large difference between being tricked and being a betrayer."

Sirius’ head lifted suddenly and he stared at Harry.

Harry mentally kicked himself. It’s getting harder and harder to keep acting like a twelve year old… even a precocious one. "I’ve read a lot of books about Voldemort’s rise," he explained. "He tricked a lot of people, didn’t he?"

"You have no idea, Harry," Sirius whispered. "I only saw him once, thank Merlin, but he’s… well. It’s hard to describe."

Maybe this is an opportunity to act a little childish and make up for earlier, Harry mused. "Well, I do have an idea. He snuck into Hogwarts last year trying to steal something. He possessed one of the Professors," he said airily.

His godfather stared at him in shock. "How do you know this?" he asked.

"I, er, sort of killed his host."

Sirius looked from Harry to Arthur, eyes widening. Mr. Weasley glanced sidelong at Harry and shook his head. "Ron told me about it. Harry stumbled across Professor Quirrell as he was trying to slip past the outer defences. Harry triggered it while he was in the middle."

Harry shrugged. "He tried to grab me after he was hurt. Whatever my Mum did that night finished him off when he laid hands on me." He was purposefully trying to act blasé about the whole incident. Hopefully a little premeditated immaturity would set their minds at ease.

"I should hope that will not be necessary in the future," Arthur said crisply.

Harry shrugged. "From what that dark tosser said, I think I’m supposed to be the one who kicks his arse."

Arthur sighed, and just for an instant Harry thought he saw Sirius’ lips twitch. He’d give almost anything to make the man smile. He’d spent twelve years in Azkaban, another year on the run, and then a final year under house arrest at Twelve Grimmauld Place… only to be murdered by his cousin trying to save Harry from his own stupidity. ‘Between his rotten family and everything else, the poor bastard never got a break. Well, this time he’s got me and it’s going to be different. I don’t care what I have to do, he’s going to get out of here and live the life he deserves,’ Harry silently vowed.

"I don’t want you seeking him out," the two men said, almost in unison. They looked at each other sharply and Harry almost laughed out loud.

"I promise I won’t," Harry replied seriously. "I’m trying to learn as much as I can, as quickly as I can, so when he does come back, I’ll be ready for him."

Arthur looked at Harry intently and the boy could almost feel him putting pieces together. His guardian nodded almost imperceptibly.

"So, you’ve finished your first year at Hogwarts?" Sirius asked, changing the subject.

Harry nodded gratefully. "This has probably been the best year of my life," he said in a wondering tone. "I made some good friends, I learned more than I’d thought possible, and I even got to play Quidditch."

"You play? For the house team?" Sirius leaned forward in his chair, and his eyes seemed almost lively. He’s as bad as Ron, Harry thought with amusement.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, it was brilliant. I wasn’t so crazy about the green and silver uniforms, but…" he let his voice trail off as Sirius’ mouth fell open. "I’m joking, I was sorted into Gryffindor." He smiled slyly. "You should have seen the look on your face though."

Sirius stared at him and Harry began to wonder if he’d miscalculated. A constricted grunting sound came from Sirius’ direction. As his godfather’s eyes widened, it erupted into a rusty chuckle. Harry felt his eyes prickle as he heard his godfather laugh for what had to be the first time in eleven years.

~+~

They talked for almost two hours. Fortunately, Arthur seemed to be as interested in getting to know Sirius as vice-versa. When the Aurors began to shift uncomfortably and try to catch their eyes, Harry and his guardian reluctantly got up from their chairs.

On a sudden impulse, Harry leaned across the table and gripped Sirius’ hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Aurors tense, but they didn’t intervene. "I’m going to raise bloody hell until they let you out of here, Sirius. I mean that."

Sirius’ fingers were almost painfully tight around Harry’s. Then he let go convulsively and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

Harry turned, glaring at the Aurors, thinking one of them had done something. None of them, however, had their wands out. A couple of them actually looked disturbed at what they’d overheard. He supposed that made sense; they knew better than anyone what it was like in the actual cells. The idea that an innocent man had been sentenced to that would have to be especially horrifying.

Arthur led a reluctant Harry from the visiting room. Neither of them spoke as they walked out to the docks and boarded the ferry. When they’d finally walked past the camouflage charms, Arthur broke the silence.

"Harry, I don’t want to head back to The Burrow immediately. I’m going to take us to the Ministry and place a few calls. Do you mind? I think your godfather’s description has made me a little paranoid, but better safe than sorry."

Harry shook his head. He already had an idea of what was going on. Better to let Arthur run the show here. He knew he could trust the man to do the right thing, no matter what.

They Apparated to the Ministry, and Arthur checked them in and led Harry to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office. The office was large, but only contained a couple of desks, both unoccupied. The room had its own Floo fireplace, but the majority of the space was given over to large shelves and storage bins. The shelves contained all manner of odd items, most of which resembled junk or charity sale items.

Harry looked through these curiously as Arthur placed a series of Floo calls. He froze as he moved a tea set and saw a vaguely familiar shape of black metal and moulded plastic. It appeared to be a Glock 19, from the engraved logo near the muzzle. The war-mages in the American expeditionary force sometime carried side-arms like this. The soldiers usually had larger forty five calibre pistols, but the officers seemed to prefer the smaller nine millimetre design. While nowhere near as versatile as a wand, pistols had their advantages -- like being much faster to use.

Harry jumped when Arthur’s voice came from directly behind him. "Ah, you stumbled onto one of our more interesting finds. This was seized from an Italian hit-wizard captured by the Aurors a fortnight ago." He picked up the pistol awkwardly. "These Muggle wands… fire-legs? No, fire-arms, that’s it. They are quite odd. Anyway, this chap was a nasty piece of work. Had several Dark artefacts, a poisoned dagger and this little thing. We could tell it had several permanent charms placed on it: a self-cleaning enchantment and some sort of conjuration in the handle here." He shrugged and lifted the pistol. Harry instinctively cringed back. "Too bad it appears to have ruined it. The spells seem to have frozen the workings." He held it up, the muzzle dangerously close to his head, and pushed awkwardly on the trigger a few times. "See?"

Harry swallowed and nodded weakly. Arthur hadn’t slipped his finger completely through the trigger guard, so he wasn’t depressing the safety trigger. The warnings General Hastings’ men had given him were screaming through his mind. There is no such thing as an unloaded gun! Never point a weapon at something you don’t want dead!

"Well, it was an interesting idea that fellow had, even if it didn’t work. I might have another look at it tomorrow, though everything on this shelf is due to be destroyed. Mostly rubbish, but we can’t let it fall into the wrong hands." He winked at Harry and smiled as he put the pistol back on the shelf.

Harry nodded weakly as the fireplace roared. When Arthur turned toward the green flames, Harry snatched the pistol off the shelf and shoved it into his robes, making sure nothing snagged on the trigger and muzzle was pointed away from him. This was complicated by how hard his hands were shaking. Merlin’s balls! It’s a miracle he hasn’t blown his bloody brains out with that thing! He was distracted from his terror when Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out of the fireplace.

"Hello," Arthur said brightly, "I see you got my message. I appreciate you coming on short notice."

The tall Auror smiled. "I don’t think you’d call me out for a wild snitch chase. Now what was this about capturing a fugitive?"

Arthur glanced apologetically at Harry. "Er, Harry, when your godfather described that rat, it seemed awfully familiar."

Harry hoped the look of dawning comprehension on his face was convincing. "Scabbers?" he gasped.

Arthur nodded, looking uneasy. "I imagine he befriended Percy because he wanted to stay with us, a Wizarding family where he could overhear any news. The idea of that traitor living under my roof makes me physically ill."

Kinglsey looked confused. "Traitor?"

"We’ve just been to see Sirius Black in Azkaban. The man is innocent."

"Arthur, what are you talking about?"

"Harry here," Arthur smiled, "remembers some of the events that led up to him receiving that scar. His parents’ voices… they mentioned Peter being their secret keeper, not Sirius. When Black confronted Pettigrew that day, Peter cut off a finger and blasted the street. Peter then transformed into a rat and fled into the sewers. Pettigrew is an unregistered Animagus, and his form sounds very similar to a rat that’s been living with my family for the last eleven years."

The Kingsley Shacklebolt Harry remembered was famous for being completely unflappable. He showed no emotion when he stepped out the front door of Grimmauld Place to face Voldemort himself. His sacrifice gave Remus, Tonks, and the rest of the Order members time to flee. This Kingsley was several years younger and unseasoned by war; he was gobsmacked. "This isn’t some joke?" he asked weakly.

"I wouldn’t joke about such a thing," Arthur replied.

"Why did you call me for this? Surely…" Kingsley’s voice trailed off.

"You were very helpful when Harry was hurt. And you, er…" Arthur’s voice trailed off. Harry remembered then that Shacklebolt had neglected to mention the illegally enchanted car Arthur’s sons used to rescue Harry from the Dursleys.

"I see," Kingsley said gravely. "Well then, let’s go see about this rat. I think we should be careful not to alarm it beforehand…"

~+~

Harry’s recent Floo trips improved his landings. He only fell to one knee when they returned to The Burrow. Mrs. Weasley was just cleaning up from the midday meal. "Auror Shacklebolt!" she exclaimed with a smile. "Can I get you a cuppa?"

"Not right now, Molly," Arthur said in a loud voice. He looked over at Ron, who was helping stack dishes along with Ginny. "Is Scabbers upstairs?"

"Yeah, in my room," he answered, but frowned, "Why Dad?"

Arthur nodded to Kingsley "Top of the stairs," he said then turned back to his son. "There’s a nasty bit of magical distemper going around, affecting rats and some other types of pets," he explained in that loud voice again. "Kingsley is with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I asked him to check Scabbers and make sure he isn’t infected."

Molly spun toward her husband when he misidentified Kingsley. Arthur gave her a very significant look and she said nothing. Harry couldn’t help but notice that she folded her dish towel so her hands were very close to the wand protruding from the pocket of her apron. Harry wasn’t sure if Ron and Ginny were carrying their wands, so he edged closer to his friends. He followed Arthur’s gaze and moved his eyes to watch the bottom of the stairs as well.

As they fell quiet, they couldn’t hear any voices upstairs. However, the distinctive crackle of a stunning spell broke the silence. A moment later, Kingsley was marching down the stairs carrying Scabbers’ cage. Inside the rat was stretched out, unconscious.

Ron looked furious, but Harry grabbed his arm before he could interfere.

"Any trouble?" Arthur asked quickly.

"No. Your story was a good cover. He didn’t suspect a thing until I had my wand on him." Kingsley replied.

"What are you doing with Scabbers?" Ron asked in an alarmed tone.

"Ronald," Arthur said, "We need to test him for something a bit more serious. Auror Shacklebolt, do you know the charm?"

"I believe I remember. It doesn’t see a lot of use but they cover it in Auror training, just in case." He closed his eyes for a moment, lips moving slowly. "That’s it. Animus Revalo!" A flash of white light enveloped the rat, and suddenly it began to glow bright red. Kingsley nodded. "That’s it, he tested positive."

"Harry?" Ron asked. His friend looked worried and confused.

"Scabbers isn’t really a rat," Harry said slowly. "He’s an Animagus, a wizard transformed into a rat."

Ron’s eyes went wide. "Why on earth would someone masquerade as a rat?"

Harry sighed. "Because he betrayed my parents to Voldemort and framed my godfather for it," he said quietly. He turned and walked out the back door as he heard the roar of the Floo and Kingsley’s voice calling for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

It was nearing dinner time when Ginny found him sitting cross-legged under a tree in the orchard. He’d been thinking about a lot of things. The murder of his parents, the knowledge that Wormtail had actually been captured this time, worry about how that would impact things, hope that Sirius would be freed soon. His thoughts spun in tighter and tighter circles, and he barely noticed when she thumped down next to him.

Even though it was covered by jeans and robes, he still jumped when she put her hand on his knee. "Are you all right in there, Harry?" she asked quietly.

"Mostly," he said. He remembered when Ginny made him promise to never tell her again that he was ‘fine’. Of course, this wasn’t the same Ginny, was it? he thought hollowly.

"Really?" she asked with surprise. "If I’d had a day like yours I’d be ready to hex something."

Harry chuckled in spite of himself.

Ginny scowled at him. She began ticking off points on her fingers. "Let’s see. You get to see your godfather, who appears to be having a rough go of it, Dad thinks. You find out who really betrayed your parents and how they got away with it. You come back here and watch them actually catch the no-good toe-rag, which no doubt has you thinking about how you lost your parents. No," she concluded dryly, "No good reason to be even slightly upset."

Harry went very still. For an instant, he was fifteen years old in number twelve Grimmauld place and Ginny was telling him where to get off. He’d been so worried about being possessed by Voldemort he’d forgotten to even ask her what it felt like. His hand tightened around the one she’d laid on his knee. He didn’t even remember grasping it. His eyes were fixed on the ground.

Ginny gave his knee a squeeze before she pulled her hand back and stood up. Harry felt a stab of self-pity before he ruthlessly squelched it. I’m probably making her uncomfortable, he realized. I should have expected that… No one wants to see the Boy-Who-Lived acting weak, he concluded bitterly.

He let out a grunt when Ginny plopped down in his lap. She sat with her legs stretched out to his left, but twisted around until she was facing him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to her shoulder. Harry froze again. The fabric of her blouse was warm on his forehead. He was glad the pistol had been shoved under his armpit when he sat down.

"Mum did this for Daddy when Uncle Bilius died," Ginny murmured. "Harry, you’re supposed to be sad when people die. It would be weird if you didn’t."

Harry shuddered, but managed not to cry. He didn’t know what to do with his arms until he wrapped them around her waist. She shifted, and he started to pull back but she tightened her arms around his neck. Her breath tickled his skin. For a moment, he allowed himself to forget.

He didn’t know how long they sat there before they heard Ron calling out that dinner was ready. Ginny sat up and Harry realized he’d almost dozed off. She stood up and he followed, wincing at the pins and needles sensation flooding his legs.

"Thanks Ginny," he murmured as they walked back to The Burrow.

She smiled impishly at him. "What are friends for?" she asked.

He remembered another eleven year old girl putting her elbow in the butter dish. Things are changing, he thought with a sense of wonder. Another strange feeling began to flutter at the base of his stomach. It took him a moment to identify it.

For the first time in years, Harry Potter felt the faint stirrings of hope.