“Ow! Dudley, stop!” cried the smaller of the boys who were tussling on the grass under a large tree. The blond woman with them glanced up at the sound, shifted on the park bench and slowly lowered her pale eyes back to the magazine she was reading.

The bigger boy, Dudley, tightened his grip on a chunk of his cousin’s messy, black hair and gave him shake for good measure. “Make me,” he sang, a grin spreading across his pink face.

Padfoot and Harry stood before a door covered in peeling black paint. At least Harry assumed it was a door; there was a silver snake knocker and a doorbell alongside but no doorhandle. Padfoot tapped it with his wand and it swung open. “This is home,” Padfoot said grimly.

Home, Harry thought, smiling as he stepped inside - the floorboards under the carpet squeaked - and cast a glance around. It was very dark; he couldn’t see anything outside Padfoot’s circle of wandlight.

Sirius knocked gently on his old bedroom door. “Harry?” There was no response. “Can I come in, kiddo?” He waited out on the landing for a few seconds and then got impatient. If he didn’t want me to come in, he would have said something. Let's just hope he's a brooder like Prongs and not a shouter like Lils... or me for that matter.

It was always cold and windy in Azkaban, Draco thought grumpily, as he tried in vain to smooth his hair down. He, Mother and Hydrus stepped away from the rusted key that was their Portkey and headed up the narrow stone path that wound up the side of the cliff face.

At the top of that there was a big, grey archway that marked the edge of the prison - Draco had been daunted by it the first time he came but it no longer scared him at all - and then the path split into three.

“Oi, Draco! Look!” Hydrus shouted as his broomstick went whooshing past.

“Yes, you’re very fast,” Draco said, rolling his eyes as he returned to his book.

“Faster than you!”

“Are not!” Draco said, indignant.

Hydrus swooped one of the peacocks which squawked and ran away, feathers ruffled. “Stupid bird.”

“Mother told you not to do that,” Draco said, shifting against his tree.

Harry jumped and looked at the doorway but Padfoot wasn’t there. Frowning, he turned his attention back to the locket and dropped it in surprise. There was an eye in each window, dark and intelligent, watching him. 

The eyes sent a strange, tingling sensation through his scar. Harry was frozen. The eye flashed and turned red and slitted, and then it spotted Harry. He watched and slowly drew his wand out of his pocket.

Harry’s insides relaxed and he let go of his godfather’s hand. Finite, he thought quickly; there was magic everywhere, in every colour, shape, style and concentration he could imagine and it was almost overpowering. 

The extra sight dropped away and he glanced around curiously. The streets were nearly empty with only a few local witches and wizards drifting between stores. None spared either Harry or Padfoot any attention.

Icy hands tightened around his throat. Sirius had no choice but to transform back so that he’d be able to use his own hands and try to get the wretched thing off. He couldn’t. It was too strong and that foul brew of Voldemort’s was hardly a Pepper-Up Potion. His vision was already flickering. It was only a matter of time before he was unconscious.

She’d known he’d escaped from Azkaban; Mad-Eye and then Dumbledore had both visited in February and told her to keep an eye out in case he tried to visit the house he so despised. Until then, she hadn’t known the significance of the house next door and had simply assumed the owners didn’t get out much. Sort of like her.

Tonks waited nervously; it was the end of her second day as an Auror trainee and they’d be finding out who’d made it past the preliminary testing.

“This is so exciting,” Tonks said, growing slightly so that she could see over the other trainees’ heads. She’d passed everything in her practical with ease - she’d spent the last two months studying for them - and had been reassured by the character testing after speaking with the other trainees.

“Harry!” Padfoot, who had been pacing in front of the kitchen table, looked up, stepped forward and intercepted Harry as he came out of the fire. “Cupboard!” he said, waving a hand at a rather green Kreacher, who bowed unsteadily and vanished with far more noise than usual.

“You’re here?” Harry asked, paling.

Harry woke up in a bad mood. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, dreaming that that Padfoot really was a werewolf and that he’d tried to eat Snape while Moony, and to his even greater horror, James – who’d looked a lot like he usually did in the mirror – laughed cruelly. All the while, Snape’s voice had whispered, Black is a monster. He was capable of murder at the age of sixteen and your precious father was no better.

“Remus!” Matt exclaimed, looking worried and relieved all at once. “What’s going on? Where-”

“Sirius,” Remus said, sinking into the nearest chair.

“You found him?” Dirk asked, taking a look at Remus’ face.

“I found him,” Remus confirmed.

“Draco,” Lucius said, “would you check on Dobby’s progress, please?”

“Make Hydrus do it,” Draco said, scowling at his father. “You made me do it on my birthday dinner, so he can do it on his.”

A week ago, he’d never have argued, and particularly not with company around; the Parkinsons, Greengrasses, Notts, Bulstrodes, Goyles, Crabbes and Shafiqs all looked stunned to hear Draco speaking so disrespectfully.

 “Theodora? Er... Tock?”

“What are you doing in my bedroom?” Tonks asked fuzzily. She knew the voice; it belonged to Remus, but she had no idea what he was doing here. Someone laughed loudly. “And don’t call me that name.”

“Dora,” Remus said, sounding amused, “you need to wake up. You’re squashing Arabella.”

November’s full moon fell on the tenth, which was Padfoot’s birthday. Padfoot hadn’t mentioned his birthday at all – Moony later wondered aloud to Harry that he didn’t want to turn thirty – but Moony had remembered it and so had Kreacher, who’d been the one to tell Harry.

Harry and Moony had arranged a trip to Diagon Alley a few days before, telling Padfoot that Moony was going to give Harry a grammar and spelling lesson at his cottage; that was something Padfoot was quite happy not to have any part in if Moony was willing to do it.

“I’m a terrible person for doing this,” Tonks muttered as she squeezed through Remus’ kitchen window. The owl on the perch above the sink – Strix, presumably – ruffled its feathers and shuffled over as she toppled through. It hooted as she knocked a plate off of the dish-rack. Remus really had left in a hurry if he’d left it full. “Damn it,” she muttered; she’d stepped on one of the shards in the dark and it had stabbed her through her sock.

“Nymphadora! Keith was just about to go and pick you up!” Roberta exclaimed.

“He’s too slow,” she joked. She hesitated and then hugged her boyfriend’s mother. “Merry Christmas, Roberta.”

“Merry Christmas, dear,” Roberta said. “You look lovely, by the way,” Tonks beamed; she was wearing Remus’ red jumper, had pale green skin, bright green eyes and silver, fluffy hair that greatly resembled tinsel. 

Since their fight at the Ministry in early January, things had been good between Tonks and Keith. She’d rushed Malfoy through his report and made it to the last half of Keith’s game to surprise him, and they’d gone out to dinner to celebrate his team’s win. He’d apologised for the way he behaved and she’d apologised – she wasn’t entirely sure what for, but felt that he’d deserved an apology – and, with Mad-Eye’s advice still lingering in her head, she’d done what she could to make things better between them.

“Ready?” Remus asked Matt, who snorted.

“I was ready a few seconds after I got here,” he said. Remus grinned and closed his suitcase. Matt’s rucksack was already packed and leaning against Remus’ bed, and Matt had been bouncing up and down for the last hour, obviously very eager to get home.

Home, Remus thought, happily, as they grabbed their things and left Room 37.

Harry was lying on his stomach in the drawing room, watching the little golden snake wriggle around on the carpet. He’d finally got around to finishing Regulus’ snake puzzle – it was a nice distraction from all the reading about spell creation that Padfoot was making him do before the next step of his Animagus process.

Padfoot thumped down the stairs and entered and Harry quickly looked back to the book he was supposed to be reading. Padfoot chuckled.

The door burst open behind Marlene, just as Sirius hit the floor. She twisted, wand up and ready. It was Gawain and she hesitated. He didn’t.

“Expelliarmus!” he said and her wand soared out of her hand and landed somewhere behind her. “Incarcerous,” he said, looking grim, and Marlene didn’t fight as the ropes wound around her.

It’s done, she thought, glancing at where Sirius lay unmoving. Finally.

Remus yawned and rolled over, blinking himself awake. He was immediately aware that he wasn’t in his own bed and started to panic, at least until he placed the scent of the room. Dora. She wasn’t in the room with him, but she was the one who’d brought him here, he remembered. She’d brought him back to her – well, her parents’ – house last night, and Andromeda had fed both of them and sent them straight to bed.

“It’s cold down here,” Ben said, trying to make conversation. He missed Melvin like mad but he’d never been one that was able to stay sad for long. He just got on with things. Tonks was the same, as far as he could tell, and so was Shacklebolt. Florence still cried lots and was unnervingly quiet when she wasn’t crying. None of them had seen much of McKinnon for a few days, so he didn’t even know how she was.

You leave, mate, Ben thought glumly, and everything falls apart.

“Eurgh,” Tonks said, wrinkling her nose. “You’d have to be thick to think you hadn’t been poisoned when it tastes like that!” She set the empty phial down and Gutnich – the Auror supervising her this morning – chuckled.

“This one’s nasty,” he agreed. “But concentrate. What do you feel?”

“Dizzy,” Tonks said. “Tired – that could just be because it’s seven and we’ve already been at this for hours-”

It was hard to decide whether this visit to the camp was better or worse than the last one.

Greyback wasn’t around – which was definitely a bonus – but the atmosphere was infinitely more volatile. He’d met with Mad-Eye before travelling to Gwydir Forest, and they’d both decided that blaming Smoky for the incident was the best idea. Smoky was a nameless, faceless being – so she’d be perfectly safe, wherever she was - but she was known by the camp’s residents and gave them someone other than the Aurors or Remus or Matt to blame.

The usually calm and dignified Malfoy household was anything but on the morning of Black’s trial. Lucius was shaken awake by his frantic son a little after five to be given the news that Bosworth the rat had disappeared overnight.

“Potter had something to do with it, I know he did!” Hyrdus said, turning to a sleepy Narcissa. Lucius exchanged a look with his wife and both of them got up and followed Hydrus to his bedroom, where the box that Pettigrew had slept in for the past year sat, empty.

Remus thought he was lucky to have made it through his questioning with his voice still intact; Sirius was practically croaking out his answers to Fudge’s questions, and Remus could see him shooting longing glances at the glass of water in front of Amelia.

“-all very well and good, but can you prove it?” Fudge said, looking smug. “Where’s Pettigrew now?”

“If I knew, do you really think I wouldn’t have arranged for him to be here?” Sirius asked hoarsely.

“Come in, Dawlish,” Scrimgeour called. John straightened his robes, smoothed his expression, and entered. “Can I help you with something?” Scrimgeour asked, in a rather frosty voice. John didn’t meet the Head Auror’s eyes. Malfoy’s plan to tie Scrimgeour’s fate to Black had succeeded, it just hadn’t gone the way they’d hoped; with Black proven innocent, Scrimgeour now looked like an excellent judge of character, and held his position more securely than ever. 

Florence appeared about midway through training - Savage had just started on the blood ward focused part of his lecture – looking tired, and rather unwell. She was paler than usual, had a cut on her cheek and her arm was in a sling. She was immediately descended upon by Finch, and Ben hurried over to join them. Florence hugged him, and spotted Tonks. She waved, and Tonks waved back, and that was all they had time for before Finch ushered her back up the stairs; presumably she had questions that needed answers.

“Maybe something about a pack,” Harry said, staring up at the ceiling of the library.

Sirius, who was flipping through a book on dark magic – more out of habit than out of hope of actually finding anything to destroy the Horcrux – glanced over.

“A pack?” he asked.

“Mmm,” Harry said.

The rest of July passed quickly after Sirius’ meeting with Gawain. The majority of his time was still spent with Harry – whether they were working on Harry’s slow-going Anmagus incantation, or flying at Remus’, or playing games of chess and Exploding Snap. Then, on Wednesdays and Saturdays, he’d leave for the Ministry just after lunch, and return in time for dinner.

“Dora?” Tonks jumped several inches and tore her eyes off Florence, who’d just got into the elevator with Tonks’ friend Alfred. She’d been called back from Romania a day early by Mad-Eye, to learn that a man named Mundungus Fletcher had publicly confessed to killing Greyback.

She and Mad-Eye had visited him in the holding cells immediately after Tonks returned – she’d even still had her rucksack with her – and poor Fletcher had almost crumbled at the sight of Mad-Eye.

John Fisher had stopped most of his patrols thanks to a combination of age and corporate superiority. The majority of his time was spent behind a desk, filling out paperwork, and making sure that the younger, more impetuous members of London’s police force were kept in line.

The only time he had to patrol at all – and only for a few hours, to show that he wasn’t too high above the rest of them – was Thursday mornings.

 The bedroom door creaked, and even that was loud enough to make Remus want to throw up. He didn’t roll over to look at Kreacher – who’d been kind enough to keep an eye on him while Sirius was at work – because then he really would be sick. He closed his eyes and then felt dizzy and decided that had been a bad idea.

It wasn’t Kreacher, but Sirius, who moved into his line of sight, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

 “Oh, here comes trouble,” Rattler said with a grin; he was waiting for the lift on Level Two, as Harry and Padfoot stepped out of it. “How’ve you been Harry?”

“Good, thanks,” Harry said with tentative smile back.

“Morning,” Padfoot said, yawning.

“Morning, Black,” Rattler said, still smiling. “What are you here for today? Filing?” This last question was accompanied by an expression that was half sympathetic, half apologetic.

 Sirius fiddled with his scarf – a bright, Gryffindor red one, that he’d bought one day with Harry during the school holidays – and then gave up on that and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He had to pull them out again a moment later to open the classroom door, however, and that made him feel even more restless than he had before.

 It was easy, once he knew what to look for, to find the signs that Harry's departure had not been without thought. Not only was his rucksack missing, and some of his clothing, but also a photograph from his desk, and, once Sirius looked inside the drawers, his stash of pocket money, and also his vault key. His mirror, though, troublingly enough, was still there. Which Sirius thought was indication that Harry, wherever he was, didn't want to be found.

Remus wasn’t entirely surprised when Sirius’ Patronus bounded out into his garden and started chasing them on the ground. In fact, he checked his watch and was surprised the message hadn’t come sooner. Harry was another fifty feet higher than Remus, in close pursuit of his Snitch and hadn’t even noticed it.

Remus angled his Nimbus down and made his casual way down. He stepped off the broom and the Patronus hurried over, holding its ears and tail in a rather agitated way.

If someone had told Sirius two days ago, that he’d be sitting in Marlene’s house with a cup of tea, he’d have been skeptical. If they’d told him that Marlene would be furious, he’d have believed them much more easily.

“-not a big deal?!” she demanded; she wasn’t sitting, like Sirius was; she was stalking around the living room, rather like her Patronus might. She was still a bit pale from the potion yesterday, but she was alive and she was a little bit scary. “Sirius, they manipulated us!”