"Just as a stone thrown into the sea affects the whole sea, so every person affects the whole of humanity." (Blaise Pascal)
***I don't know how long I was tossed about on the restless sea. I lost track of time long ago. Only the cold water, the seagulls and the round disc of the sun slowly rising above the horizon. It was good that I was much more resilient in the guise of a dog, because when a vague strip of land appeared ahead, I had almost no strength left. If it had been a few minutes longer, nothing would have helped me.
When the restless waves threw my body onto the sandy shore, I understood the heroes of Robinson Crusoe stories — I was literally ready to kiss the solid ground. I really wanted to pass out right there, but I forced myself not to. They could already be looking for me, and if this was the nearest mainland to the island, all the beaches would be combed with particular care. It was unlikely that they would recognise Sirius Black in a large black taxi... but I didn't know if Dumbledore was aware of my anamorphic spell.
As Black remembered, the Marauders had sworn an unbreakable vow of secrecy to each other. But Dumbledore was already headmaster at the time, and I don't think he was unaware of what was going on in the castle. I'm not sure. In any case, it would be much easier to get lost in the form of a nameless dog than an unshaven, skinny man in a prisoner's uniform. So, in the guise of a dog, I slowly trotted across the sand towards a dilapidated building visible in the distance.
***As it turned out, fate, in the form of dark waves, threw me into a place called Whitby. It was a small town in North Yorkshire, near York. Generally a resort town, it was now practically deserted due to the onset of cold weather. It was November 1988, the 14th or 15th. I found this out by pulling a nearly fresh newspaper out of a bin, lying on top of the rest of the rubbish.
The building I saw from afar, according to the local gossips, who didn't even think to stop chatting when I approached, turned out to be the ruins of the famous Benedictine abbey where Bram Stoker wrote part of his novel Dracula. Incidentally, that is where I settled. Without tourists, the building was empty and provided me with shelter from the cold. I needed to gather my thoughts and recover a little.
I spent all my days in this hospitable place eating my fill. Starving, I stole everything I could get my hands on. The owners of beach cafes, restaurants and bakeries were probably terrified of the nimble little taxi driver who could steal anything from anywhere and had ruined honest businessmen more than once. The market was a real paradise.
Oh, those deliciously smelling sausage rolls, whole wreaths of sausages, smoked fish... but I never took much anywhere. Just a little here and there. I was careful. Well, at least as much as possible.
Sometimes I came across kind people who gave something tasty to a stray dog. Sometimes they tried to kick or hit me with a cane. My quick, albeit small, dog legs allowed me to avoid danger. A couple of days later, I noticed my old, static photo in prison garb in another newspaper, with a sign saying "Wanted: escaped criminal." It wasn't the best photo of Sirius; he really did look like a madman.
I hadn't turned into a human yet. Even from Sirius's memory, I could guess that there were spells to search for blood, hair, magic, and a bunch of other things. The latter, however, only applied to users of magic wands. Wandless magic up to a certain level was impossible to detect. Perhaps one of the reasons I was wanted even in the Muggle world was that the police could force me to use powerful wandless magic on them, which would be detected by the Aurorate.
The only problem was that, although I remembered how to use it, I had not yet had the opportunity to try it out. And Sirius had not delved too deeply into this area of magic, preferring to use a wand. Oh well. Where is it now? Most likely, my faithful friend was destroyed after my imprisonment. I'll have to find a new one... Fortunately, Sirius remembered that almost all of his family's wands were kept at Black House. Perhaps one of them would suit me.
But let's get back to the surveillance. I didn't remember anyone taking my blood or hair, but then again, I didn't remember much of anything, some parts of my memory were like a fog that was impossible to see through. And, to be honest, I wasn't entirely convinced that it was all because of the Azkaban guards. Hmm... could they have used Obliviate on me? Easily. Starting with the Death Eaters and ending with the interrogators. And I wasn't as sure about the light wizard as the former owner of this body was. Oh, how complicated everything is.
After several days of living in an abandoned abbey, some interesting information about magical rituals popped into my head. At that moment, I was finishing a sausage and thinking about how to get rid of any traces of blood without a wand. There was one ritual that did not require any special preparation to perform, but it worked quickly and effectively. There was only one catch — the ritual was performed with blood and was considered dark magic. However, in my position, I couldn't afford to worry about breaking the law.
Sirius himself used this spell for the first and last time when he ran away from home so that the angry Walburga couldn't find him. The ritual required only a few things — Runes, which I somehow carved with a stick on the ground inside the ruins. I must say, doing this with my teeth was uncomfortable, to say the least. In the rubbish, I dug up a cracked bowl with a chipped edge, but it was still sturdy, and I filled it with water from the beach. All that was left was blood. To carry out my suicidal tendencies, I stocked up on some sharp metal.
Of course, it was a little scary to transform, but I wanted to feel human again. After all, animal instincts begin to take over the mind during a long stay in animal form, and just recently I caught myself combing out fleas, which shocked me considerably. Ugh!
***So, the search spell didn't work in a second, but I had to do everything quickly. So I decided to make the most of the moment and, with some skill, snatched a pair of trousers and a shirt from the market. I had to leave after the ritual anyway. Finally, when all the preparations were complete, I turned back into a human. The spell in Celtic was ancient and melodious. I placed a bowl of water in the circle of runes. As soon as I began to read, the water glowed with a soft bluish light. But when a drop of my blood fell from my pierced finger, it burst into crimson. That's it, now no one will find me by my blood, saliva, or hair... I hope. Of course, there were other ways to track my location in human form, but I felt somehow calmer.
Carefully covering all traces and changing into the clothes I had obtained, I turned back into a black dog. This time, despite my efforts, it was still quite large, which gave me away a little, but on the other hand, it was much more comfortable for my body. It's quite a feeling when you're a sausage on legs.
My path lay in Little Wing. Perhaps it wasn't the best decision, but I was driven there by a wild, irrational desire to see my godson. And, as I reassured myself, that was the last place anyone would look for me, I thought. After all, that's where Harry first met Sirius in the film. I think. Now I regretted watching that film so long ago and not rewatching it, afraid of losing the childlike impression. That knowledge would have come in handy.
I dismissed the original idea of the mansion at 12 Grimmauld Place almost immediately, not to mention Uncle Alphard's house, where an ambush would be waiting. In his youth, Dumbledore was friends with Sirius's grandfather, which meant he knew exactly where the mansion was located. Even he couldn't see it with the naked eye, but that didn't stop him from keeping an eye on the square itself. I didn't want to lead the Aurors straight to the only place where I could hide. First, I need to get hold of at least a temporary wand. Unfortunately, I couldn't Apparate there because I simply wasn't there. Sirius could, but I couldn't. As practice had shown, I couldn't move to a place based on someone else's memories. This fact came as a blow to me back then, at sea.
However, there were advantages to travelling on my own two feet. Along the way, I continued my truly marauding activities, namely stealing food, newspapers and clothes. Now I no longer resembled a skeleton covered in skin, even in human form, and from constant running, my dog-like form had become lean and wiry. Rock-hard muscles rolled under my thick black fur. No joke, in a few weeks I covered almost half of England! Considering that I only knew the general direction and was following road maps, I consider this my personal achievement. As was the miracle of how I managed to remember the street where the Dursleys lived. Sirius had been at their wedding, but James had taken him there... So it was up to me to find Privet Drive.
***
Little Winging. What can I say about this place? It was a quiet and somewhat sleepy suburb. Neat, identical houses formed a clear straight line and looked exactly the same from the outside. This impression was reinforced by the neatly trimmed lawns in front of each house. All the plots on Tisova Street were separated by low stone fences that revealed the facades of the houses. In my opinion, the only difference between the plots was the gardens under the windows. Surprisingly, the garden at number four really stood out for its neatness and beauty. Flowers were still blooming there, even though it was already the end of November. The lawns here seemed to be green all year round. If they were real, that is.
"Just like nine years ago, nothing has changed," snorted the big black dog, watching the Dursleys' house. His attentive eyes noticed a hunched old woman walking a whole flock of cats along Wisteria Way a couple of times, but the dog was in no hurry to react to the eternal enemies of his kind, continuing to lie lazily in the bushes under a tree, occasionally growling at annoying birds that landed near his snout. He had come here at night and was now simply waiting for one person.
The white door opened quietly, and a small black-haired boy slipped out, closing the door carefully behind him and rushing towards the park.
Harry had always been too small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and thinner because he had to wear Dudley's old clothes, and Dudley was four times bigger than Harry in every way. Harry had a thin face, protruding knees, black hair and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with thick tape — the frames often broke because Dudley was always trying to punch Harry in the nose.
His long black hair was messy and unkempt. Recently, Petunia, upset that Harry always came home from the barber's looking as if he hadn't been cut at all, had trimmed his hair with kitchen scissors so short that he was almost completely bald, except for a fringe left "to cover that disgusting scar." Dudley almost wet himself with laughter at the sight of Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining how he would go to school the next day, where everyone already teased him for his baggy clothes and taped-up glasses. However, the next morning, it turned out that his hair was exactly the same as before Aunt Petunia's hairdressing experiments. For this, he was locked in the cupboard for a week, even though Harry told them he couldn't explain how his hair could have grown back so quickly.
Today was a special day for the entire Dursley family — their beloved Aunt Marge was coming to visit. Beloved by everyone except Harry, who felt that his aunt hated him. On her last visit, she set her new pet, Crabbe, on him, and it was a miracle that the dog didn't bite the boy. Harry managed to climb a tree, where he spent the rest of the day.
"Oh well..." Harry looked at the spot again. He wondered if he would be able to escape this time. A large black dog was sleeping peacefully under a spreading elm tree. Harry loved dogs, and animals in general. But now he was a little afraid of them.
His legs led him to the park, where the boy loved to spend time alone with the birds. He fed them if he could steal the crumbs left over from the Dursleys' breakfast. But most of the time he was so hungry that he even considered asking old Mrs. Figg for tea. She was just finishing walking her nasty cats. And when she left, he could feed the pigeons.
Harry furtively checked the crumbs and pieces of bread carefully tucked into his pocket. He had managed to take a little today when he was cutting toast for his family... Yes, his family. But not his. Harry didn't know his parents and sometimes imagined that they were alive and would come and take him away. Or some other relative. Surely his father couldn't have had no relatives left? Why hadn't they come and get him?
Harry furtively wiped away a tear. It didn't matter, he would grow up and have a big, loving family. Where no one would ever bully anyone else. He truly believed that.
The boy didn't notice how he had reached his favourite bench by the pond. Lost in his dreams, he automatically threw the crumbs away. Until there was nothing left. It was Sunday, and children were walking in the park with their parents. The green-eyed boy looked at the happiness of others through his old bicycle glasses and imagined himself in their place.
Suddenly, the remaining pigeons flew away and something heavy pressed his legs against the bench. Harry didn't even notice how the dog, which had been lying in the shade, had come up and laid its head on his knees, looking at him with an almost human gaze that reflected a palpable longing. At first, Harry was startled for a second. But the dog just kept his head on his knees, warming his slightly frozen legs with his hot breath.
Encouraged, the boy stroked the fluffy head. In response, the dog licked his outstretched palm. The dog's stomach growled.
"I'm sorry, I don't have anything to give you," Harry said regretfully, scratching the dog behind the ear. "You must be lost. You look like a purebred..."
The dog just snorted, as if he understood what he was saying. So the boy and the dog sat there, admiring the sun's reflections on the lake. Until the dog suddenly twitched his ears and looked behind Harry.
"Potter!!! There you are! We've been looking everywhere for you, you little brat.
"Yes, you little brat!" Harry heard Dudley and his friends laughing happily behind him.
His first thought was to run away. He wanted to jump up from the bench, but the dog stood up and suddenly put his paw on Harry's knee, holding him back. He licked his hand encouragingly and slowly turned around.
The dog's fur bristled, making the already large animal look even bigger. A low, threatening growl, like a hollow rumble, came from the dog's throat.
Harry looked helplessly at his tormentors, then at the dog. The dog stared intently at Dudley.
"Well, you... well, him..." Pale Pierce Polkins tugged at the sleeve of the equally pale Dudley.
"Yeah, get him..." The skinny boy who looked like a rat hid behind the others. The dog bared its teeth.
"Potter, we'll settle this at home," Dudley threatened as he backed away cautiously, not daring to turn his back. Once they were at what they considered a safe distance, they quickly moved away from the park.
"Thanks, blackie," Harry smiled sadly at the dog, ruffling its fur once more. He didn't yet know how he would explain himself to the Dursleys, but he prepared himself for the worst. He wished he could have run away, but you can't explain anything to a dog...
***
"What an idiot!!! He wanted to see his godson! Did he see him?!" I cursed through clenched teeth, shamefully running away from the boy who was looking sadly after me. "Not only can I not pick him up now, but I also scared him with his crazy pig-like brother! I can only hope that Harry won't be punished too badly at home... Damn it!"
I stopped abruptly when I saw a familiar van. The dog catcher! I really didn't want to see the stray dog catchers today, so I hid in the bushes. I tried to calm my wildly beating heart until the car, belching terrible exhaust fumes, disappeared around the bend. It wasn't working. And I felt terrible. My conscience, which had suddenly awakened, tormented me no less than the hunger that had built up during the day. My metabolism had digested the burger I had stolen that morning too quickly, but I paid little attention to the unpleasant feeling of hunger; I was tormented by shame.
When I found myself free, even in this state, my first thought was not of Harry. Such an idea could only have come from old Sirius, who adored the little boy. My first thought was to get out of this inhospitable country as far away as possible. Preferably to Russia. I didn't know if my parents were still alive, or if this was a completely different universe, but there it would be... easier. More familiar. Even without using magic, although that's hard to imagine: "magic!" I could easily have used my knowledge of the history of the collapsed state and done quite well for myself on the wave of privatisation and general decline. Maybe I could have solved a couple of famous crimes and become a hero in the eyes of society.
Well, who among us isn't vain? That's besides the people I would have saved. Or just live a colourful life, reconnect with old friends, Alice... Don't get me wrong — nothing was keeping me here. In the eyes of magical England, I was a criminal, a wild beast that needed to be put in a cage. But I'm not going back to Azkaban. Not there.
And my desire to find Harry was dictated by one, quite selfish goal. Namely, to make sure that everything went like in the film, and then calmly make my escape! In the last part of the film, which I watched relatively recently, everything was fine for Harry. He coped with everything, albeit not without losses, of course. But it was a story I knew well, and I had no right to interfere. Old Black didn't play a particularly important role in it. I don't think anything would have changed dramatically with my absence. But Harry... Damn it! Yes, I was too young to have children, but I had a favourite niece whom I gave sweets and took to the zoo a couple of times. This little angel, who answered to the name "Nastya," was really dear to me. And I would never have allowed anyone to treat her like that!
I didn't remember the first parts very well, but they never gave the impression that Harry was constantly being bullied. Yes, his clothes didn't fit him, and he lived in a cupboard, but that actor had nothing in common with Harry. He was small. For an eight-year-old, he was really small, skin and bones! His clothes, which were too big and old for him, emphasised this particularly clearly. Broken glasses, bruises and abrasions... It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the look in his eyes.
A look full of empty submission at the sight of his tormentors. He even tried to jump up, seemingly out of habit. They would catch him anyway. At that moment, I clearly understood the look Harry would have on his face when he went to his death at Voldemort's hands. Full of long-standing pain... and relief that it was finally over.
I just couldn't understand how no one at school had noticed! There were form teachers, psychologists, social workers. Or was it different in England? Sirius hadn't gone to a normal school, so he didn't know for sure. But I was almost certain that the education system couldn't be that bad. So why? Why wasn't anyone looking out for that child? But I clearly saw how Mrs. Figg looked towards the Dursleys' house. She couldn't have failed to see how James and Lily's son was being treated...
The answer is very simple. Dumbledore.
At the memory of the "great wizard," my hackles rose involuntarily. Sirius really believed in him, for us... for James and Lily, he was an unquestionable leader. And how did the old man repay their loyalty? Why was Harry given to these... people? After all, the baby had many relatives in the magical world who would have gladly taken him in. Even the Malfoys would have been a better option! Lucius, of course, was a bastard and a peacock, but even a former Death Eater wouldn't have mocked a child.
I didn't know what made the old man make that choice, but now I've made up my mind. Harry would be better off with me. I don't know how yet, but I would get my godson out of there. Neither the old dolkomaniac nor the snake-faced creature could stop me. And if I had to become something more than just a twenty-year-old guy in the skin of a fairy-tale character, so be it. I would try to do something...
With a loud bark, frightening the few evening passers-by, a large, jet-black dog raced through the dark alleys of Little Winging.
He was heading for London.
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970