Chapter Text
There’s a pounding in his head when he comes to, and it reminds him of the after-parties when Gryffindor won quidditch matches and the Seventh Years broke out the Fire Whiskey. For some strange reason, before he even opens his eyes, he can hear a dog barking loudly from a few feet away, and the sound is like a foghorn. When he does open his eyes, his first thought is wondering about his glasses, because their familiar weight is missing. That is, until he realizes he can see the stars above him in stark clarity. He shoots up, but it was clearly too fast as he suddenly finds himself across the park and crashing into a tree.
The barking gets louder, and he realizes that he can hear the beating of the dog's heart and count the individual sections of the shattered bark from the tree he’d face-planted in. His memories are muddled as he tries piecing together what had happened. He remembers running from the Dursleys and heading into the park… Then pain so overwhelming that he’d thought for sure that he was dying. It had been worse than the Basilisk venom just a couple months ago, but that seemed mild, now, in comparison.
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Padfoot had been watching the house for days once he had finally tracked his pup down, only Harry isn’t a pup anymore. He'd seen the fight between Tunie’s whale of a husband and Prongslet, and then Padfoot had followed Harry to a large open area with structures everywhere (that he had no clue as to the purpose). He’s about to approach when… IS THAT SNIVILLUS?! He starts snarling in rage, but he also can’t move to stop SNIVILLUS. It’s like he’s frozen in place, some part of him refusing to get closer. He can only watch in horror as that Fairy Bastard grabs his pup, and is he GIVING HIM A HICKEY!? Wait… He hears Harry cry out in pain, and suddenly it makes sense. Padfoot can smell the acrid scent of blood in the air.
He had always known SNIVILLUS is a bloody vampire, the dungeon bat-fucker that he is. FUCK, YEAH!! TAKE THAT REGGIE!! HE WAS RIGHT!! Padfoot is finally able to work himself up to a proper growling bark, which causes SNIVILLUS to look his way. Padfoot catches a look as it crosses the Bastard's face, though he couldn’t place it before the coward flees. He’s finally able to move, and rushes for Harry, praying to any deity that would listen that James boy, his pup, is okay. He starts licking his boy's face and pawing gently at his side, hoping beyond anything that he’ll wake up. Padfoot even started praying to the deities his parents had worshipped through the Pagan holidays, until, eventually, he picks up Harry’s weak heartbeat.
Then his scent changes, and Padfoot jumps back, because that isn’t his PUP. Then the pained whimpers start, and Padfoot realizes what’s happening and wants nothing more than to get closer to be there for his BABY. But he can’t force his body to move, and, for the first time in the history of EVER, he hates the fact that he’s an animagus. All he can do is bark, hoping Harry can hear him over the pain he knew the boy must be going through, trying to let him know he isn't alone, that Padfoot is here.
It’s only a few hours later that Sirius hears Harry’s heart stop completely, and he howls for his Pup, before barking even harder, because NO! This could not be it. And it wasn’t, because he hears a small groan from his baby’s limp form, and then suddenly Harry is slamming face-first into a tree halfway across the strange field they are in. Padfoot, finally able to force himself to move (because no matter these stupid instincts, he’ll forever be there for Prongslet), rushes to his side.
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It all comes back slowly. He remembers being in the park and seeing a dog, and then there was a raven-haired, black-eyed man sinking his teeth into Harry’s neck. He remembers thinking that the man’s eyes were beautiful as he watched them change from Black to a brilliant Red that reminded him of the Rubies on the hilt of Gryffindor's sword. Then, fear and pain as he felt himself getting weaker and weaker, his magic flickering, and then searing pain in his neck that spread throughout his body. He recalls dropping to the ground, and then nothing. He staggers away from the tree, and gasps when a scorching flame flares in his throat, and it feels so much like the burn that it terrifies him.
Why is he so thirsty? It feels like when quidditch practice drags on too long with Wood working them to the bone before a big game, but so much worse. Harry can feel it getting worse now that he’s thinking about it, as though addressing it gave the burn power. He can smell the Dog? No, Man? God, does the dog-man stink, though completely unappetizing… Wait, why would it be food?! Harry is losing himself to the thirst coursing through his veins when he hears the pumping of a fast-paced heartbeat, and then he’s chasing it before he can stop himself. When Harry finally comes back to himself, he’s standing over the bloody corpse of a jogger that had been out in the early morning.
Harry immediately jumps back, and looks down at the body, horrified. Had he done that? He can’t have, right? But… He can taste the copper on his tongue, and the notes of iron that only came from blood. He'd tasted it often enough from interactions with Dudley and his goons. Something drips down his chin and onto his hand, and he slowly looks down to see an offending drop of red on his skin… Wait, was his skin always that pale? It hadn’t been, right? He suddenly feels the first rays of the sun, and turns towards the sunrise. He’s immediately taken by the way his hand glitters like diamonds and how gorgeous the horizon looks. It’s like he was blind before, and is now seeing it for the first time. He reaches up to adjust his glasses, before once again realizing that his glasses aren’t on his face. How is he seeing this, then? He’d come to terms with being blind for most of his life.
The sound of barking once more draws his attention to the dog-man that had been there since he’d come to. Looking closer, the dog-man seems eerily familiar… He reminds Harry of... Padfoot? But… Who’s Padfoot? Wait, he remembers now! Padfoot was his uncle!! But... How can he remember that? Wasn’t he only a baby before his parents died? And, wait, he can remember them, now, too! Suddenly, Harry finds himself being sucked into a memory. He can’t be more than 6 or 7 months old, and his dad and Padfoot had been reading to him from… Oh what was it? “The Beetle and the Bard”? Yes! That was it. He remembers a story about 3 brothers, or something, and the funny voices and faces the two adults were doing.
“Padfoot?” he asks as he draws himself out of the memory, squinting his eyes down at the big, black, shaggy mutt in confusion. Harry remembers that Padfoot had gone by another name as well, but, for the life of him, he can’t place it. To him, Padfoot had always just been Padfoot. The dog's eyes seem to widen, and he slowly nods his head. Harry’s confused only for a few seconds when a memory came to him about Padfoot changing between human and dog. That must be why he smells so weird! That makes so much sense, except for why he smells so disgusting, but, deep down, Harry’s grateful. He doesn’t want to be tempted to eat Padfoot. Wait… Eat? OH SHIT! The Jogger!
Harry turns to the body with wide eyes, because, now that he’s had time to come to his senses, he remembers drinking this guy's blood. Though, to be honest, the dude has way too much calcium in his blood. How Harry knew that, he doesn’t know, but it makes the guy taste kinda sour. He also finds that he doesn’t feel quite as bad as he thinks he should about taking a life, which is weird, but at this point he’s kinda figured out that he’s a vampire. Quirrell had been good for something, at least, with all of his rants about vampires and their abilities during their DADA lessons with him first year.
Suddenly, Padfoot comes closer and presses his head beneath Harry’s palm. Harry glances down and grimaces, because, man, does Padfoot stink, but he still cards his fingers through his uncle's fur, taking care with the knots and tangles. He goes as gently as he can, because Harry no longer trusts his own strength, knowing that vampires are much stronger than the average human. Padfoot then gently grabs Harry’s sleeve with his mouth and tugs on his arm, as if he’s asking Harry to follow him.
Harry does, and realizes fairly quickly that Padfoot is taking him back to the park. But, why... OH WAIT! Harry suddenly recalls that he had left all of his stuff at the park, unguarded, for anyone who happened across his trunk to just take. He pulls out of Padfoot’s grip and tears off at a fast pace. He makes it back to the park, and, thankfully, his trunk is just as it had been left. He then remembers that he'd been trying to figure out how to get to the Leaky Cauldron before... the attack. Thinking about it makes him tremble briefly in fear and anger. Confusingly enough, there’s also a sense of loneliness… As if he’s missing something that should be right here. Eh, he’s going to ignore that for now. He’s sure that it isn’t important or anything like that… Right?
Padfoot finally catches up with him, the old dog wheezing slightly as he walks up to Harry’s side and dramatically collapses on the concrete next to him. First order of business: He needs to get to London. He can run now, so that’s a bonus, but also… He looks down at Padfoot in consideration, before making up his mind. Harry picks up the still heavily-breathing dog and places him on top of his trunk, before picking that up and testing the weight. It’s lighter than he thought it was going to be. He shrugs and starts running, feeling Padfoot slide against his body as the momentum pushes him back. Padfoot lets out a surprised yelp, then sticks his head over Harry's arm and lolls his tongue out of his snout.
It doesn’t take as long as he thought it would’ve to get to London proper, and he stops about a block away from the Leaky Cauldron in an alley. Fortunately, today, like most days, is a cloudy day in London, so he doesn't have to worry about showing off his diamond like skin to all the muggles he bet were definitely NOT allowed to know about vampires. He puts his trunk, and Padfoot, down on the dirty concrete.
“Get off.” Harry tells Padfoot, and, once the dog is off of his trunk, he picks it back up and gestures with his head for Padfoot to follow as he walks the last block to the Leaky. He pauses in front of the door to the pub for a moment, mentally preparing himself to be back in the wixen world again. As much as he hates the Dursleys, being in the wixen world, in the limelight, always makes him feel uncomfortable and overwhelmed in the worst way. With a final breath, he enters the sleepy pub and is, as usual, almost immediately swarmed.
“Is that Harry Potter?”
“Harry Potter?”
“Harry Potter is here? Oh, Mister Potter, sir, can I get your autograph, please?”
“Harry Potter!! Such an honor!!”
Padfoot suddenly starts growling and puts himself between Harry and the crowd of patrons, which leads Harry to realize, after he has a bit more space, that he’s panicking. He takes a breath, and almost immediately regrets it as he gets a lung-full of the scent of blood under the skin of the patrons, causing his hearing to lock onto their heartbeats. He feels that scorching fire in his throat again, and, this time, he knows what it means. Suddenly, someone is pushing all of the people back and stepping right in front of Harry.
“Harry Potter? I am Minister Fudge, I had a feeling you would come here. Come boy, we’ve got important things to discuss.” The (apparently) minister says matter-of-factly, before turning around and pushing the other patrons out of his way to lead Harry to where the Leaky kept its rooms. Harry swallows the venom that’s been pooling in his mouth and nods, following Fudge into a room.
Fudge sits down at a table and gestures for Harry to sit down across him, before busying himself with the tea set.
“Now Harry,” Fudge starts. “I want you to know that your aunt will be taken care of, and her memories of the incident will be erased.” That suddenly reminds Harry that, oh yeah, he had BLOWN UP his Aunt Marge… Not that she didn’t deserve it with that comment about his mum, though. She was the bitch, not Lily. He remembers Lily being kind, caring, doting, and sweet, but also having a temper that rivaled Hermione’s. Not that ‘Mione could ever live up to Lily Potter, but it’s the principle of the matter.
“Oh- Thanks, Minister… Honestly, I’d kinda forgotten ‘bout that.” Harry scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, looking down at the tea set in front of him. There’s a bit of Treacle tart on a plate, but… It doesn’t appear as appetizing as it had before. That makes him kind of sad. Treacle had been his favorite, and he remembers why, now: It had been one of the first solid foods he’d had as a baby. He remembers his dad had been the one to cook between his parents, because Lily had once set fire to the kitchen while trying to boil water for tea. That thought makes him chuckle softly, before he clears his throat as he remembers that he’s with someone.
The minister looks at him weirdly for a moment, before also clearing his throat and nodding, looking to the side as he sips on his tea.
“Well, best for you to stay here until school… Good for you to be around magicals and all that…” He trails off, not wanting to talk about WHY he thinks it was best for Harry to stay in wixen areas when he hasn’t ever seemed to care much about that before. Instead of answering the minister, Harry grabs the treacle tart off the plate and takes a bite, before grimacing and putting a hand over his mouth to physically stop himself from spitting it out as he forces himself to swallow. He gives a watery smile to the minister and discreetly slides the rest of the treat underneath the table for Padfoot to eat. He feels Padfoot licking at his fingers as the dog happily does so.
“Well…” He pauses to clear his throat, trying to hide his sudden nausea. “Thank you Minister, for taking time out of your… Busy schedule to let me know about Aunt Marge..” Harry isn’t really thankful, Aunt Marge could suffocate in the atmosphere for all he cares, but then again… This is the Minister, and he figures that it’s probably the polite thing to say in this situation.
The Minister stays for another moment, finishing his tea and placing his cup down with a small clink. He looks like he has something more he wanted to say, but advises against it as he stands up and importantly smooths out his suit.
“Well, I fear I must be going, Harry. Have a nice day” The minister says before finally leaving the room. Harry sits at the table for another second, processing the conversation, before standing up himself and moving around the room. Padfoot gets up as well, and walks out from under the table to sit in the open room. Harry stares down at him, Padfoot staring back.
“Well? Are you going to turn back, or what?” Harry asks, suddenly annoyed with Padfoot. He’s still sour about being handed off to Hagrid that Halloween night, and, now that the excitement of this morning finally wore off, he’s pissed. Padfoot gives him a shocked look before shifting back in an instant, and a gangly man with shaggy black hair and dark gray eyes is suddenly staring up at him in soiled prisoner garb. Harry’s eyes widen minutely as he takes in his uncle, and his face suddenly softens.
“Go get cleaned up.” He says shortly, turning his head to the side. He watches through the corner of his eye as Padfoot picks himself up and walks over to the restroom attached to the room. While Padfoot is in the loo, Harry wanders over to the bed in and sits on it, laying down with a sigh even though he doesn’t feel tired… Which, right, even though he hadn’t slept all last night, he’s a vampire now, and those don’t need sleep… He sighs again and closes his eyes, chasing a slumber he knows he can't have. He just… He needs a break from this whole situation. His mind turns to Padfoot’s scent now that he isn’t primarily smelling Dog, and he realizes that the man smells sick in a way that Harry can’t place. He somehow knows that Padfoot will get better in time, though, which is a relief.