Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Four
When Harry met Sirius
It wasn’t the day Sirius met Harry, that had happened mere hours after his birth. But the day that Harry finally met Sirius, it was raining. Padfoot had been lurking in the bushes, watching the backyard of number 4 Privet Drive when Harry finally stepped out the door into the rain, splashing his way to the back corner of the yard. Sirius had nearly cried in relief. There he was, there he finally was. He wanted to transform and gather his pup into the tightest of hugs, to feel for himself that some piece of his family was back in it’s proper place.
He’d been searching for Harry every spare moment he had since that night. That awful night, where his life had crumbled around him and his godson went missing. Albus Dumbledore had whisked Harry away and despite all his requests and every bit of legal pressure he brought to bear, the man refused to disclose his location. With the sealing of James’ and Lilly’s wills, there was no evidence Sirius could produce of his claim to his godson, and the Ministry was content to look the other way on the normal regulations if it concerned Harry. It was Headmaster Dumbledore, after all.
The year Harry turned eleven and was scheduled to receive his Hogwarts letter, Sirius had finally quit his job as an Auror. He’d kept on with it, hoping his official access to information would be helpful in his search, but there had been nothing. Not so much as an accidental magic report, and Sirius knew, he knew, that someone had to be covering that up, because Harry had been doing accidental stuff since he was a month old. The first thing he’d done was a grabby hands attempt at summoning Lily, and the second had been taking James’ sweatshirt right off his body and clutching on to it like it was a teddy bear. Stubborn tot had refused to let go of it for a week. There’d been something every month that was either amazing or hilariously funny, and Sirius had watched nearly all those moments with a doting and gleeful smile, wanting to keep all those memories in a pensieve to torture his godson with when he reached adulthood.
Years, long and achingly empty, had gone by since then. Remus had vanished to Amata knew where and still he hadn’t been able to reach Harry. Sirius was certain someone was intercepting his mail, each time he had himself cleared of bindings, it took less than a week before whatever it was came back. He thought it was likely Harry was in the same situation although he probably didn’t know about it. He’d asked for letters to be posted by several of his acquaintances to test his theory, and while those letters never came back to the sender, neither were they answered. Again and again he was brushed off, no one seemed to care that one of the DMLE aurors was being continually spelled with some sort of unlawful bugaboo. It was eye opening and very, very disillusioning, the number of things that were going on that the people around him waved away. It nearly had Sirius convinced he was going insane, everything that had any connection to Harry Potter was a no, no, Albus has it handled and if it was something that concerned Sirius, nobody cared.
He’d had to wait until the end of first year, then he followed Harry from the King’s Cross station using every bit of disguise and stealth he could muster. He’d hit the car he’d seen Harry get into with a tracking spell, hoping against hope. He’d apparated in a hopscotch sort of fashion to areas he was at least somewhat familiar with, following their direction of travel. Apparating to completely unknown areas was a guarantee of splinching or worse and he was already on the wrong side of acceptable risk. He was so close to finding his pup; he couldn’t wait another year, the worry would have him running mad.
And finally, he was here. The tracking charm had long since died, but by the grace of Merlin he must have gotten just close enough he’d been able to pick up the tiniest whiffs of scent here and there. It wasn’t that baby Harry scent he’d so loved, that scent was made of fresh laundry, warm skin, and cuddles, but it was Harry all the same. It had taken eighteen hours of wandering back and forth, tightening his search into an ever smaller area before he’d struck gold. For a minute he thought the lack of sleep was causing a mirage, but there the car was, in the driveway of number 4 Privet Drive.
He’d known there must be some sort of ward on the property or he’d have been able to trace him without issue from the first point he went missing. Not wanting to alert anyone or to run afoul of whatever the wards were set up to do when triggered, he skirted the yard, his auror trained eyes looking just sideways enough to catch the tell-tale shimmer. Once he’d mapped out the limit of the wards, he’d crept in as close as he dared, using the neighbor’s hedges to conceal himself. He’d transformed long enough to eat and arrange the area a bit more securely, weaving a few limbs into some small amount of shelter, then returning to his dog form to settle in for at least a nap. He’d found his boy at last.
****
That evening, the rain began as rain does. Plop, plop, plopplop, leaves trembling when struck, raindrops shining for a brief moment on flower petals. Then a steady shower that became a downpour that showed no signs of clearing anytime soon. Sirius huffed a sigh and realized it was going to be an uncomfortable night. He hoped he still had a pepper up in his pocket, he was about guaranteed to catch a cold after this.
Without warning, he heard the back door of the house open, and the screen door following with a low squeal of metal hinges nearly lost to the sound of the rain. Sirius followed Harry with eyes both hungry and sad. He’d grown so much, and he’d missed it all. Wanting nothing more than to scoop the boy up and promise to never let him go and yet knowing he couldn’t. Harry had no memories of him, he’d been just a year old when he was taken. Why he was placed here he didn’t know, but he couldn’t just kidnap him, he’d traumatize the kid. And why was he just standing there in the rain, what’s up with that, and why isn’t someone running after him with a coat?
****
Harry crept as silently as he could out of the house. His relatives were ensconced in front of the overly loud television program Dudley had demanded to watch, his parents beaming at how assertive their young man was becoming. Normally he’d have been upstairs and keeping quiet in his bedroom, which sounded a great deal grander than it’s reality of being slightly more spacious than his childhood closet and held not much besides a small and narrow cot. But Harry had been waiting for the rain to come, waiting for the chance to walk in it, to tilt his face up and let the raindrops strike as they would. It was always a relief to him, when it rained.
It had been a harder than usual week. He’d had to leave Hogwarts despite his asking if he could stay for the summer. He’d not really had any great belief that it would be allowed, but even knowing it was a vain hope it still felt like hope and having it crushed had been hard to bear. It was difficult to turn away from the wonder that was Hogwarts, and the friendships he’d just begun. Hogwarts had felt safe to him. Well no, that wasn’t really true, it had just felt safe-er. He’d been pretty sure none of the teachers were going to swing a frying pan at his head for saying the wrong thing, or saying anything at all, and it had been a respite from Vernon and Dudley’s fists when he had the unfortunate luck to be in their line of sight. But that didn’t mean the troll had posed no danger to the students and being surrounded by crowds of other school children he didn’t know had been emotionally wearing, his small ability to tolerate social situations worn non-existent in short order. He’d done his best to treat each day as separate from the one before, there was no need to let small slights or grudges build up in his mind, becoming something greater than need be. That was weight he didn’t want to carry.
Standing there in the rain, he let it wash away some of the stress and hardships of his returning to the Dursleys. As the negatives started slipping away with the water, he was able to remind himself of the new positives in his life. He had friends now, if only a few. He’d thought Ron would be his first friend, but Harry was no longer sure about the first boy he’d met on the train. He still didn’t quite know what to make of him and while he didn’t like him much, neither was there cause to dislike him to the point of walking the other way. It hadn’t sat well with him that he went verbally poking about at his scar without so much as a pleased to meet you, but he’d been mostly nice enough for a while. Gotten a bit annoying as the year went on, but Harry didn’t like many people so didn’t much care about fostering a relationship beyond remaining polite.
He’d met Hermione on the train as well. He’d never say so himself and had winced in in sympathy when Seamus had told Ron off something fierce for calling Hermione a nightmare, but she honestly was. He could get along with anyone he needed to, he reminded himself, but he still wished he could find a way to escape Ron and Hermione tagging after him all the time. Still, while she was annoying, she did have a marvelous memory, and he’d learned more than a few things by heading to the library after she’d mentioned something that sounded interesting. He didn’t want to listen to her lecture him on the subject, so instead of asking questions at the time, he’d dug into the subject on his own.
Seamus had been the first person at school he’d had a real conversation with, and Harry smiled a bit every time he thought about how protective Seamus had turned out being with those that meant something to him. He’d quietly surrounded Neville with a bubble of threat towards those who might otherwise have bullied him and he had somehow understood Harry, when Harry didn’t understand himself. It had been Seamus who taught Harry how to read faces and recognize how people showed emotions other than anger, that one Harry could spot at fifty paces with his back turned away. Seamus helped him develop the ability to read social cues, something he’d never learned at the Dursleys. And it was Seamus who had quietly, and with an understanding nod, helped Harry stop flinching away from hands raised above waist level. Harry had given mental nod back to the boy, only the soft look in his green eyes acknowledging their shared difficulties.
And there was Oliver. Oliver, who through the lens of his own talent had seen gift in Harry and been dazzled by it. It had been Oliver who had been the first person to ever tell Harry he was good at something and encourage him. Maybe he hadn’t always approached things in the safest manner, but Ollie had never failed to keep watchful eyes on Harry during practice as well as more often than he should have during a game. It had been Ollie who taught Harry how to be in a dangerous situation and get out of it safely. Ollie who believed in Harry and talked to him about anything and everything, throwing an arm over Harry’s shoulder as he held both their brooms against his own shoulder while walking back to the castle. Making grand plans around he and Harry signing for a pro quidditch team, Puddlemere naturally, and how it was going to be Oliver and Harry all the way. It might have been Madame Hooch who put Harry on a broom, but it had been Oliver who’d taught him how to fly, to feel the freedom of the air, how to feel like he’d never have to touch the ground again unless he wanted to. To Harry, it meant more than anything else ever had.
Right now, he wanted to take his broom and be anywhere other than on the ground where he was. It had only been two days, but it hurt to have the people he liked being so far away. He couldn’t even write to them as he’d told Hedwig to stay at Hogwarts over the summer for protection. It wouldn’t be safe for her and he couldn’t feed himself at this place, let alone his beautiful girl. He sighed into the rain, taking the opportunity to be sad, even if it could only last until the rain ended. Emotions weren’t tolerated at the Dursleys, not from him. Only instant obedience, a blank face, and silence, things he’d learned early and well, had been acceptable.
Sirius shifted and the small rustle of the hedge leaves that should have been lost in the sounds of the heavy rain had Harry looking over towards his location.
Harry heard the sound in that place within himself that was always alert while at the Dursley house. Here, something unexpected rarely resulted in a good result, so he had learned to listen and observe. He turned his head towards the sound, already tensing to take action, instead meeting a pair of storm grey eyes that felt oh, so familiar. Those eyes were safety and warmth, and he remembered those eyes. “There you are,” he heard himself saying with a slow half smile, the rain hiding the extra liquid in his eyes, as it had always done. He swallowed hard. “I’ve missed you, Padfoot.”
The small eleven year old boy stepped forward and through a gap in the hedge as he turned to meet the man shimmering into the place of the dog. The boy never hesitated in walking forward into Sirius’ arms, raising his own to hug the man just as tightly as Sirius held on to him. “I’ve missed you so much.”
The two had talked for hours that evening, making their way to a nearby park where the found a sheltered picnic table. Sirius hadn’t let go of Harry for a moment, and Harry pressed into Sirius side in return as they sat. Both were quiet at first, just leaning into the warmth of the other and each feeling the aching of relief, as if a heavy weight had been removed, leaving them both eased and exhausted.
When asked, Harry didn’t know how he remembered Sirius, only that he did. Nothing specific, and he didn’t remember the name Sirius Black, but he knew Padfoot, be he dog or man.
As it grew later and as they both grew increasingly tired, Sirius knew he had to return Harry home. It was a miracle he’d not been missed already. “No,” was Harry’s firm answer. “No. I will not go back. You can take me anywhere else, but this is me, escaping that. No,” he said again, steel lacing the word.
There was much more talking, and Sirius had a very difficult time controlling himself, but in the end, there was a note left on the porch of number 4, with a rock holding it down as he and Sirius strolling off to find a place to apparate from.
In the years since then, Harry would spend the first week or so of summer at the Dursley’s until Sirius could unobtrusively retrieve him, with the remaining time spent with Sirius helping him unlearn all the lessons the Dursley’s had taught so harshly. There may have been an Imperio or three involved in keeping the Dursley’s on a short leash and restricted from applying any physical abuse. Never was an ounce of guilt felt, though. Sirius had missed ten years of Harry’s life and those years had been much harder on Harry. Never, never again would Harry be in any doubt that he was loved. As he grew from child to almost out of his teens, Sirius breathed easier every year when Harry would appear, his expression during those first summer meetings showing he’d learned to lay aside a bit more of his protective armor. But even now, Harry always smelled a little like rain.