Chapter Text
A few weeks into summer vacation and Harry was bored beyond bored. His aunt and uncle had been starting Dudley on a diet, so it was veggies and more veggies for everyone. In between letting Merlin outside to hunt for food (‘no cats, Merlin, only rats’) and reading his book on Quidditch, he was at least able to keep himself sane during this time. He sent Hedwig off with a letter to Sirius, and received a small package back with a letter.
Harry,
Thanks for writing me. My vacation will be coming to an end soon, and I will prepare a place for Buckbeak and I to stay. As such, I’ll be able to take you to the Quidditch World Cup this year. If you’d like to go, that is. Either way, I’ve included some sweets, tropical flavors. Think of it as an early birthday present.
-Sirius
Harry wrote back.
Sirius,
Of course, I’d love to go to the World Cup, and thanks for the sweets.
-Harry
…
At some point, Harry woke from a strange dream in which Voldemort had killed a muggle, and his scar burned. He quickly wrote Sirius, who said he’d talk about it when he came to get Harry for the World Cup.
...
After describing the World Cup as ‘a big sports event,’ which seemed to fit the standard of normal just enough, Uncle Vernon responded.
“Sports, huh?” he began, “Well, if it gets you out of my house. Who’s coming to get you?”
“My, uh, my godfather.”
“Hmm.”
…
Harry had notified Sirius to arrive at the front door, and was sure the Dursley’s would recognize him from the muggle news last year, even despite his well-groomed appearance. Luckily, however, nothing was said as Harry left with Sirius, his things packed-including Hedwig and Merlin- and Sirius grabbed Harry’s shoulder.
The man suddenly apparated, and the front of the Dursley’s house disappeared, and different row of houses came into view.
“Where are we?” Harry asked.
Suddenly, a building unfolded like a paper map in between the 310 and 314 houses. Sirius gestured to follow him inside, which Harry did, and the two stood inside of a large manor.
“My old family home,” he introduced, “The Black Family Manor.”
“You grew up here?”
“Yes, I did. My family and I never saw eye to eye, much like your friend Theodore. They were more fond of Voldemort’s ideals.”
“But, not you,” Harry concluded.
“Correct. I asked to be sorted into Gryffindor to further my seperation from those ideals, and from certain, well dark arts.”
Sirius looked to Merlin inside his enclosure.
“Tell me about your snake,” he said, “Do you talk to him often?”
“Eh, sometimes,” Harry shrugged, “He’s good company.”
“You have to be careful with that, Harry. Especially if it’s something from Voldemort, which Dumbledore thinks it is.”
“You’ve spoken with him about this?”
“It’s come up.”
Harry set Merlin’s tank down, “Well, I am careful. I don’t have him attack others or anything like that.”
“Very well. I’ve no reason to disbelieve you. I merely ask you to be careful. Now, I’ll be making dinner soon, then you can tell me about the dream you had.”
At dinner, Harry explained the dream he’d had.
“Quite unusual,” Sirius stated, “If something like that happens again, let me know, okay?”
“Alright.”
“Oh, and we’ll need to be awake early. We’ll be meeting the Weasley’s at the game tomorrow.”
…
Harry fell asleep late that night after feeding Merlin and Hedwig, the thought of the game tomorrow making it hard to sleep.