Chapter 3: Recovery

 

            He could feel something warm sliding off his body, almost like water.  Something tickled his cheek and he twitched.  ‘Stop it, Ron,’ a strange, sleepy voice murmured.  ‘I’m trying to sleep.’

 

            But it seemed the voice’s plea fell on deaf ears as the tickling continued.  Wearily, the falcon opened its eye, only to find itself in unfamiliar surroundings.  Panicked, it struggled wildly to its feet, only dimly aware of the hands around it.

 

            “Hey, wait, sto – ow!” A voice yelled, and the hands retreated.  The falcon looked up to the source of the voice, confused emerald meeting furious sapphire as Ron wiped the blood from his thumb with a clean, nearby towel.  “Next time,” he muttered, “warn me before you try to slice my fingers off.”

 

            The falcon shifted its stance; the sight of this familiar human was soothing somehow.  It gave the bird the feeling of a true home.

 

            It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which, Harry reminded himself, it probably was).  Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof.  A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW.  Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber books and a very rusty cauldron.  Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

 

            “It’s not much,” said Ron.

 

            “It’s wonderful,” said Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive.

 

            “I was cleaning you off when you went temporarily man,” Ron commented, pulling the bird out of its daze.  “You were all muddy when you arrived, and mum wants you spotless.”  The redhead held up the crimson stained towel up as he wrinkled his nose.  “Ugh – I’m gonna go get a new towel.  Don’t move,” he ordered, disappearing through the doorway. 

 

            The falcon bobbed its head, almost like a nod.  It stared at the doorway, but it soon became preoccupied by the large amount of orange occupying the room.  ‘Tired,’ the sleepy voice murmured again, ‘so very tired.’

 

            “Mum, I need a new towel!”  Mrs. Weasley couldn’t prevent a smile blooming on her face as her youngest son bounded down the steps.

 

            “Another one?”  She paused.  “You are taking good care of that bird, yes?”

 

            “Of course!” He exclaimed, indignant.  “I just need another towel ‘cause the other one’s all bl – dirty.”

 

            She took note of the slip up, but dismissed it without a second thought.  “There are some towels in the closet upstairs.  The one by Ginny’s room.”

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            Remus Lupin smoothed back his tousled hair as he stared at the envelope in his hand.  Dark grumbling beneath him caused a smile to start tugging on his lips.  “You all right down there, Padfoot?”  He strained to keep his voice even.

 

            His only reply was even more dark muttering, a bit louder than before.  Once or twice he could make out the phrase ‘damn lycanthropy’ amid the wordless nonsense.

 

            “It’s your own fault, old friend,” the werewolf commented in a light, even tone.  Almost as if it weren’t unusual to be using old friends as furniture.  “This could possibly be a very personal letter.”

 

            “But it could be about Ha – personal letter?”  He could almost feel Sirius crack a smile.  “Moony has a girlfriend, Moony has a girlfriend!”

 

            “I most certainly do not!”  The indignant reply fell on deaf ears as Sirius continued to chant, temporarily throwing off the dark cloud that had been hovering over him since Harry was reported missing.  Clearing his throat significantly, he opened the letter.  “It’s from the headmaster! ‘Dear Mr. Remus J. Lupin, I am sure you, as well as your guest, are anxious for any news regarding young Mr. Po –”

 

            Lupin was cut off with a yelp, the letter escaping his grip as he tumbled backward, Sirius surging to his feet.  Grinning triumphantly, Sirius snatched the parchment out of mid-air.

 

            “Ha! I told you it was about Harry!”  Lupin grumbled, but said nothing.  He, too, was also curious about any news concerning the ill-fated son of his best friend.

 

            But it seemed the letter did not contain good news as the smile on Sirius’ face began to disappear.  The warm, fiery blaze in his eyes became concealed within an impenetrable wall of onyx marble.  And, not for the first time, Lupin found himself marveling at the contrast between sallow, ghost white skin, and coal black eyes.

 

            “The Dursleys left their home for an ‘undeterminable amount of time’,” Sirius whispered hoarsely, but his voice grew louder as his expression grew darker.  “They just left…Harry’s missing and they just left him behind?!  I should find them and hex them on the spot!  I should –”

 

            “Calm down, Padfoot,” Lupin ordered, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder.  At his touch Sirius wilted, his anger leaving him behind like an empty, emotionless husk.

 

            “…he’s only a kid, Moony,” Sirius whispered.  “Only a kid and we – no, I  failed to protect him.”

 

            A pang of guilt shot up the werewolf’s spine but he set aside his feelings for another time, his friend needed help first.  “Look on the bright side, Padfoot, we can now search Harry’s room for clues without any…ah…interruptions.”

 

            Sirius chuckled weakly.  They had tried looking for clues a couple of days after Harry had been found missing.  Unfortunately, Lily’s sister – what was her name again? – had recognized them, and they had to leave very quickly after that.  But now they could search the house; now they could actually do something instead of just sitting there.

 

            And if – when – they found Harry alive Sirius was never letting his godson out of his sight again.

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            The mud was nearly gone now, dissolved into a dark brown puddle in a basin which once held clear water.  Ron handled the falcon with care, wiping off the remaining mud, a contemplative look on his face.

 

            It was obvious the bird wasn’t ordinary – even without knowing the species, Ron could tell its coloring was odd.  Its feathers were a bright, scarlet red, almost like a phoenix.  The red was darker, almost a blood red, on its chest and belly.  There was a dusting of gold on its wing and tail feathers, and both beak and talons seemed to be dipped in tarnished gold.  The claws on the talons were silver, however.  Though now closed, Ron remembered glimpsing emerald green eyes before the bird fell unconscious – weren’t birds’ eyes usually black or brown?

 

            Yet, even without all the distinguishing features, Ron could tell the falcon wasn’t normal.  There was something about it, an almost human presence, and one that felt vaguely familiar.  But most importantly, Ron knew that it was in some way connected to Harry – and he would find out how.

 

            “Ron!  Dinner!”

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            The house looked deceptively normal – from the paved driveway to the hedges neatly trimmed with a degree of exactness that only a patient, dedicated man could obtain.  There was nothing about number four to give away how different the family was from the other residents of Privet Drive.

 

            A whispered Alohomora was all it took to gain entry into the house.  There was an aura around the structure, a feeling of abandonment, that gave Sirius the chills more than a haunted house ever could.

 

            They searched all the rooms thoroughly, from the kitchen, with a half-eaten meal on the table, to the livingroom, the absence of any pictures of Harry growing up boiling the blood in Sirius’ veins.

 

            “Nothing!” He growled.  “Not even a birthday or Christmas!  He was even kept from the group photos!  There’s nothing to remember his childhood by – this is beyond cruel!”

 

            “Is it?” Lupin countered.  “I’m sure Harry has had to deal with misery and abandonment his whole childhood.  Any picture would simply remind him of what he had to go through.”

 

            “What he shouldn’t have had to go through.”  Sirius’ shoulders sagged.  “If I hadn’t suspected you…if I had simply told Dumbledore about the swit –” his face hardened.  “If I hadn’t trusted that rat Pettigrew and stayed as secret keeper –”

 

            Lupin cut him off, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing reassuringly.  Down that road only lay pain and despair, something neither of them could dwell in right now.  Not if they were to help Harry.  “Come on, Padfoot, lets go check Harry’s room next.”

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            There was a faint, rattling sound, like metal on ceramic.  It jolted the falcon out of its sleep, and the bird turned to glare at the perpetrator with one emerald eye.

 

            Ron looked up at the sound of something clawing his wooden desk.  Upon seeing the bird up and about, he grinned.  “You’re finally awake.”  Putting his fork back on the plate, he gestured toward the dead mouse at the falcon’s feet.  “The others reckoned you would like that.”  He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

 

            The falcon regarded the mouse with interest.  ‘No way!’ A disembodied voice shouted.  ‘I’d rather be in potions class with Snape!’  It pulled back as disgust flooded its system.  Awkwardly, not trusting its wings quite yet, the bird walked across the desk.

 

            The redhead stared at it, bemused.  “What are you –?”  The unfinished question was answered when it stopped in front of his dinner.  The falcon’s beak darted forward, snagging a sliver of beef.  “Hey!  That’s mine!”

 

            Head sideways, one emerald eye regarded him for a minute.  And then it stole another sliver.  Ron nearly threw his hands up in frustration.  “Fine!  Be that way – I’ll get another plate!”  His nose wrinkled in disgust again.  “The stuffs probably infected with bird germs anyway.”

 

            Ignoring the retreating boy, the falcon settled itself down to the first meal it had in days.  It ignored the potatoes and peas as all carnivores do, focusing on the meat instead.  Cooked meat, unfortunately, but warm just the same.

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            Sirius regarded the bedroom with as much – if not more – disgust as the livingroom.  There were broken toys and objects everywhere, littering the desks and even the corners of the hardwood floor.  The only thing that seemed to be in good condition were the books – though they had at least an inch of dust due to neglect.  In fact, everything that dwelled here was unwanted by the Dursleys in one form or another – including Harry.  Sirius nearly laughed bitterly at the irony, Askaban had taught him to be perceptive.  It was a necessary trait to survive.

 

            But what frustrated him more was that there was not one single thing out of place in the whole room.  There was no sign of struggle, no magical residue, and Moony said that his heightened senses couldn’t detect any high concentrations of fear or hatred.  All in all, they were back where they started – square zero.

 

            There was one thing nagging him of course – like an obvious answer to a test that teased his conscious.  But what was it.  His eyes scanned the room again – unmade bed, a couple of quills, Harry’s unrecieved birthday gifts, the empty bird perch…

 

            Empty bird perch?  “Hedwig!” He gasped out, the answer finally reaching his brain.

 

            Lupin looked up from the birdcage he was investigating.  “Pardon?”

 

            “Hedwig!  She’s gone!”

 

            “Ah.  Well, it seems we’ve both found something.  Take a look at this.”

 

            Sirius looked at the strange, scarlet feather he was holding.  It almost looked like a phoenix feather, but the tip seemed to be splashed with gold.  “What do you suppose made that?”

 

            “I don’t know,” Lupin replied, “but I have a funny feeling that it has something to do with Harry’s disappearance.”

 

            Sirius nodded, it was a clue, a start, to finding his godson.  The wizard looked around the room, his eyes alight with grim determination.  One thing was for certain, despite anything Dumbledore said, his godson was never going to return here again.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Notes – Phew!  Another chapter done!   Well, things have finally started to move, albeit a touch slow…  *Sweatdrop*  It’s tough to type six pages in one sitting, especially on a computer with a fast internet connection.  *Sheepish grin*

 

            Oddly enough, I really don’t know what to say about this chapter, other than to point out the significance of the switching of the uses of ‘he’ and ‘it’ while referring to Harry’s animagi form.  The description of the falcon is also significant – two points to the person who can figure out why I gave it the description that I did.  There are two reasons, and the first should be the easiest to figure out =P

 

            As promised, expect the next chapter two Fridays from now.  Any and all comments will be greatly appreciated, just send ‘im on over to [email protected] or [email protected]

 

Disclaimer – The people and concepts within belong to the great and mighty Rowling-sama.  The plot idea is, basically, mine.  There’s also a quoted passage from the Chamber of Secrets in here – see if you can spot it.  ^_^