On a cloudless morning on July thirty-first, three owls were quarreling outside the second-floor window of the cottage on Privet Drive. In the process, all of them lost some volume, but none managed to squeeze through the small gap. And their addressee, instead of letting them in, was sound asleep. When he finally got up and flung open the window, a whirlwind of owls and plucked feathers and down burst into the room, making Harry sneeze. The angry birds dropped their packages—letters and gifts, he guessed—and immediately flew out without even waiting for treats. He was about to throw a "Reparo" after them, but realized in time that it supposedly only worked on inanimate objects, and limited himself to cleaning the room of the imported debris.
"Interesting, interesting," he thought, picking up the parcels from the floor. "My friends remembered me after all. And what's here?"
The largest package turned out to be from Hagrid. Inside were a short congratulatory note and some book tightly bound with a wide leather strap.
"What did they do to you?" Harry wondered, stroking the unfortunate tightly clamped binding, and unfastened the buckle. He loved and valued books, and such treatment seemed more than strange to him. The book purred affectionately and flew open.
"Wow! A living 'Monster Book of Monsters'! Why monstrous though?" the delighted boy carefully turned the pages with colorful illustrations of amazing and dangerous creatures, unable to tear himself away. "You're just awesome! Magical! Mine! Can you imagine, you're my very first living book!"
He gently stroked the top cover.
The binding affectionately nudged his hand.
"Oh, so you understand me... Sorry, you'll have to wait a bit, there are letters from my friends here, what if there's something important and urgent? And then you and I will study together, definitely!"
The Book snorted quietly, closed neatly and settled down obediently on the small coffee table next to the bed.
"I now have a real magical book, and a living one at that! Cool! I'll have to write to Hagrid, send him big, no, huge thanks!" Harry once again gently ran his fingers over the cover and, hearing the bass purring again, smiled happily. He had not expected such a delightful gift from the simple-minded gamekeeper at all.
And he hurried with sorting through the rest of the mail.
Hermione had sent a detailed letter about France, its wizards and, of course, homework. Harry chuckled a bit at her "two scrolls more on the history of magic": it seemed the girl didn't really understand what she should actually be proud of. A broomstick polishing kit? Oh right, he was a Seeker. By the way, where was his broom anyway? In the cupboard, for sure. Interesting, would such a compound work for a wand or not? And could polishing improve speed or maneuverability? Eh, he'd have to ask... He quickly set aside the package and took the next one. Flying was great, of course, but could wait until school—he wasn't going to zip around over Privet Drive. Harry chuckled, imagining what that might look like from the outside.
The perceptive Hermione had mentioned in her letter that Ron wasn't at all happy about Percy's appointment as school prefect. Why he wasn't happy, Harry didn't quite understand, so he pondered it. If Ron or Hermione were appointed prefects, he'd probably be happy for them, it was an honor after all. Although, there was also so much hassle involved: you had to explain everything to the newcomers, keep order, make sure they weren't late for classes, didn't do magic in the corridors. Yeah, considering that first-years had only just gotten their hands on their magic wands. Yikes!
It would suit Hermione perfectly, but Ron would only deserve sympathy. Yeah. So, was Ron jealous of Percy or what? What an idiot... By the way, he could have warned his brother about those dried beetles in his soup, he probably had to sit in the bathroom for a long time afterward. That was somehow not very brotherly, not nice.
Remembering how he always laughed at the twins' pranks, Harry finally imagined what he himself would feel in their victims' place. And he categorically didn't like it. And Ron got it from them at home quite often too.
The small glass spinning top nearly broke, slipping out of the wrapping paper. To Harry's surprise, the Book opened its pages, caught the tiny thing and carefully transferred it to the table next to itself. "Intere-e-esting," he thought, reading Ron's note. It seemed his friend had given him a very useful gift. A Sneakoscope, then. He'd have to... no, he'd find and read about it himself. And ask if needed, later.
Harry pondered. Still, they seemed to be truly his friends... Hermione, for example, had tried to pick something he himself was most interested in until recently, which meant she really wanted to make him happy. Ron had also sent a useful thing, which meant he was worried about his safety. After all, if he wished him harm instead of good, the Sneakoscope would whistle, right? Why then didn't he keep the device for himself, he definitely needed it more... He had those mischievous twins always around. Never mind, Harry would always let his friend use it, let them have one between the two of them. Uh, three of them, that is. But Hagrid, Hagrid!
Harry caught himself and quickly began writing responses and thanks. And then in that very notebook appeared another entry about how once at Christmas he had been happy when he was given something that had belonged to his father. About the invisibility cloak, he hadn't found much, by the way, except for fairy tales he didn't quite believe, but about disillusionment charms in a battered fourth-year textbook he had read, as he had promised himself back during his first visit to Diagon Alley. And he had long been burning with desire to master them, but there were always other things to do, no less (or even more) interesting.
"And the artifact lit up literally right away, genius," Harry scolded himself. "Now I have to figure out how to get out of unplanned nighttime wanderings. Although why should I indulge Ron in everything? He'll manage."
***
But he did bake the pie after all—the one he wanted. By himself. Yesterday. Two of them! Under his aunt's attentive guidance, of course. But everything turned out great! He'd have to do it again... For today, Snape had given him a day off, as a gift according to him, but Harry would have done without that actually. Though yesterday, looking at the tired teacher, he didn't mention it aloud. But he was already thinking about how he'd show up tomorrow at Spider's End with homemade treats and they'd sit down and drink the most delicious tea that only Snape knew how to brew.
Both professors, if you thought about it, had already given him more than enough. Look, four whole books from Snape's library had taken up residence on his shelf, and the portal bracelet was a rare thing altogether, especially work by Master Flitwick! But...
Then he realized that he still wanted something special. At least a note or something. Warmth wafted behind him.
"What an idiot I am!" Harry slapped his forehead, opening the hot glowing notebook. Why hadn't he put it in its usual place yesterday? Well, there it was, congratulations indeed. The first one, in neat and sharp handwriting, was from Snape... Since when had this person, whom he used to perceive as his worst enemy, become so important to him?.. Why?
He pored over the neat lines of restrained praise and brief but very pleasant wishes. And when he turned the page, a sweeping handwriting and a colorful greeting from Flitwick appeared right before his eyes. Wow, he also drew well! Harry laughed at the funny caricature where all three of them were concocting something over a couple of cauldrons and a pile of incomprehensible thingamajigs, and began rereading what the teachers had written to him.
This was how Aunt Petunia found him when she came upstairs to call her oversleeping nephew to breakfast: buried in the notebook and silently moving his lips, content and smiling... Alas, this didn't last long: barely had she managed to call out to Harry when the Book, clacking its jaws that had appeared from nowhere, tore itself from the table and lunged at her, so that her nephew, dropping the notebook, barely managed to intercept it.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked the Book in surprise and sternly, holding it at arm's length in front of him. "Why are you attacking Aunt?"
"Never saw a book growl before," Mrs. Dursley whispered, watching her nephew calm down THAT THING. "Come down for breakfast. And... be careful, will you."
And Harry decided that since his Book was so... alive, he probably needed to introduce it to all the residents of the house. Well, and them to it. So they wouldn't touch... each other. And he simply wanted to show off the amazing gift.
So Aunt Petunia was the first to be introduced to the strange and frightening tome. But after lightly scratching the binding, the Book purred loudly, rubbed its binding against her hand, and the mistress of the house thought.
"No fur. A lot of interesting stuff written, it seems, though the pictures are creepy. Well, what a world they have there if such things exist. And it can probably guard against enemies? Nothing but benefit..."
She didn't notice how she asked the question about enemies aloud, to which the Book snapped shut sharply, as if clicking its jaws, and immediately purred again. In such a cozy bass.
"Well... I don't know what you're supposed to say in such cases... Welcome? Just don't offend the other books."
"Exactly," Harry supported his aunt. "They're like that, simple, but also interesting and useful. But you're the best of all! Shall we go to breakfast?"
"If people could see us," Petunia smiled, imagining Marjorie Dursley with her bulldoggish expression. Not so long ago, they had finally found common ground, agreeing that all four-legged creatures needed thorough training, and now communicated quite well. "Talking to a book like it's a person. And yes, we have our own family psychotherapist! But we should probably get a psychiatrist too."
***
Vernon Dursley was the only one who remained in a state of armed neutrality with his nephew's toothy gift: the knife and fork flashing in his hands impressed the Book surprisingly quickly. But Dudley was so delighted, especially by the pictures, that it began to behave with him almost the same way as with its owner.
"That's it, the kids are lost," Petunia thought and regretted that they hadn't managed to give Harry his presents yet. Vernon was already getting ready for work, and without him it was somehow wrong. They'd have to wait until evening.
"Dad! Mom! Where are our presents?" Dudley finally got a little distracted and remembered what had been planned.
***
An hour later, Harry was swaying in a hammock in the garden, glancing at how his brother was practicing with darts... He himself had already played enough with the darts, including under spells, but the Book, awaiting his attention, was more attractive. Suddenly it jumped right on his stomach and rushed somewhere into the depths of the yard, to the passage to its other side.
While Harry was disentangling himself from the hammock, forgetting that he could already lift himself a little with a simple "Levicorpus," Dudley rushed after the new pet... pet-ess... ah, whatever! And when he saw the Book in the jaws of a huge dog, he didn't even hesitate.
The hefty shaggy stray dog, black as coal and thin as a bicycle, yelped in pain and crouched down. The dart had hit it right in the eye... Dudley gasped. The Book broke free and flew somewhere into the house: apparently, it was no match for something that clearly had an Irish wolfhound somewhere in its immediate ancestry.
And the dog looked at the boys with its healthy eye while blood dripped drop by drop from the other, and seemingly the eye itself... The bright plastic fletching of the arrow on the muzzle looked so wild and inappropriate that it sent chills down the spine, and Dudley was dumbfounded for a moment, and then tears burst from his eyes.
"I didn't mean to! Harry... Help! You can... You... Let's heal him! Please!!!"
"Dog," he knelt right in the dust. "Dog, I didn't mean to! I never will again! And this is Harry, this is my brother, don't be afraid, he'll heal you. Right, Harry? He'll definitely heal you! He healed me, he knows how! I was aiming for the paw," he sobbed and loudly sniffled. "Why did you lean down?.."
The huge dog sighed heavily and lay down on its belly. Harry finally unfroze and extended a slightly trembling palm to the dog. It sniffed his fingers and carefully licked them, then laid its head on its paws.
"It'll hurt him to remove it," Harry whispered. He didn't scold his careless brother—he could see he was already feeling as bad as it gets. But he didn't even know what exactly to do.
"You can freeze it, well, like you did for me then... and it won't hurt," Dudley whispered just as quietly. "And then just wish it. Well, so that... the eye is normal. I know you can do it."
Two shaggy heads, light and dark, bent over the dog. Harry held his palms over the wounded eye, and Dudley was supposed to pull out the arrow on his command. The boys' hands were trembling, but the dog seemed to have calmed down and was no longer experiencing the pain it had at the beginning.
"Go ahead," Harry commanded quietly, and his brother quickly grabbed the dart, pulling it toward himself, and then threw it away in disgust into the grass. The dog flinched and yelped but stayed in place, not taking its one remaining eye off the dark-haired kid.
"Yeah, good boy, all we need now is for someone to step on it with their paw or bare heels," Harry hissed.
Dudley swore quietly and crawled off to search for the instrument of evil.
By the time he finally found the dart and threw it in the trash bin, Harry had almost healed the eye. It didn't look particularly healthy, the inflammation was noticeable, but it was a real dog's eye...
"See! I told you, you could do it! Just need to cover it up for now just in case. I saw in the hospital, that's what you're supposed to do after surgery."
And Dudley flew home like a shot, managing to secretly swipe a sterile bandage and tape from the first aid kit, which Harry immediately stuck on the shaggy muzzle.
The skinny dog wagged its tail quietly and tried to lick their hands when they petted its head. Dudley sniffled, holding back tears, he felt so sorry for his victim. Then it dawned on the boys:
"Maybe we should feed him?" they said in unison, staring at each other.
"Mom will chase him away. She doesn't like dogs at all..."
"Then you'll distract her."
"Only you think of something, you're better at it..."
However, before Harry could devise a devious plan to steal food from his aunt's kitchen, she came out into the yard herself, exuding the aroma of a festive dinner...
The dog sniffed and sat down, looking at her with its healthy eye. And then... stood up, scratching its skinny belly with a hind paw.
Petunia was horrified first by the size of the dog, and then by its thinness... And then the eye—she knew exactly whose work this was! But still... they even put a bandage on. Apparently, the dog was really extraordinarily kind and safe if it let the boys treat it. But maybe they should go to a vet? There wasn't one in Little Whinging, if it came to it, they'd have to drive. Vernon. The car. And this beast. Oh.
And then the dog plopped down on its rear and began to carefully chew something above its tail.
"Doesn't seem to be suffering much. Chase the flea-ridden thing to hell!" she had decided, but a glance at her own son strangely shook that determination. Still, she said it aloud...
"Mom, please! I'm the one who hurt him, let's at least feed him, okay?" her beloved son wailed like a fire siren.
Her nephew remained modestly silent, but she guessed that in his shaggy head, most likely, some plan was already spinning: for example, to somehow shrink this monster to carry it around in his own pocket. With fleas, yeah, that would be just like him. Petunia grimaced. And saw how the dog lay down, carefully covering its head with its front paws...
"Is it... ashamed or something?" she wondered.
The dog whined, removed its paw and looked at her with its healthy eye. And then sighed heavily and covered itself with its paw again.
It was absolutely impossible to look at this without smiling.
"All right," Petunia nodded. "Feed him, I'll give you a bowl, pour some broth. Just don't you dare drag him into the house!"
"Come on, Mom, he's so terribly dirty..."
"We weren't even thinking about it, Aunt! We're just here, on the grass!"
Fleas on her lawn? Petunia put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.
"So, Harry, march to the pet store for flea shampoo," she ordered. "Money's in the box where you always get it for groceries. And grab a brush too, a big one."
"Dudley, Eagle Eye and Steady Hand, drag over the biggest basin and a sponge, that old one... And put a bucket of water on to heat."
It was time to take this mess into her own hands.
"Sit!" she barked at the dog, which had started to follow the boys toward the house.
It plopped down on its rear in surprise, opened its mouth and stuck out its tongue.
"Good, good dog," she praised the surprised dog somewhat sternly and carefully took it under the lower jaw, carefully examining its teeth.
"Still young... even looks like it's purebred."
The dog made a strange sound, as if choking.
"Lost or something?"
She released its muzzle and carefully wiped her hands with a towel. The dog stared dazedly and didn't try to move. It listened.
"Maybe something happened to the owners? Trained, smart dog, they don't just throw away dogs like that. Decided," she sealed it so that the dog slightly drew in its head. "We'll get you cleaned up and find you good hands. Marjorie Dursley is an excellent dog expert, she'll find you a decent owner."
The dog glanced warily at the woman and whined quietly.
"Don't cry," she confidently placed her hand on the shaggy head. "We won't hurt you."
It swallowed, opened its mouth as if it wanted to say something, but only some strange plaintive sound came out. Petunia brought it a bowl of clean water and a snack in the form of a couple of pieces of bacon, which immediately disappeared into the huge mouth. What a crocodile... Still, it was good that Vernon had insisted then that they go with Marge to see the psychologist for tea. Now she knew perfectly well how to handle any tailed creatures. And most importantly, she was no longer afraid of them at all!
***
Harry and Dudley returned quite quickly, and before getting his dinner, the dog had to endure a thoughtful washing in the backyard. When her beloved godson and his brother had finally washed him with their four hands, Sirius Black felt that he was truly happy, but could only bark gratefully. Transforming back into a human hadn't been working for several weeks now, if, of course, he hadn't lost count of the days.
His godson swayed a little, grimaced and grabbed onto his more solidly built brother. Petunia Dursley immediately peeked out into the yard, glanced at the dog plastered with wet fur and, throwing up her hands, disappeared. And a minute later she appeared with a huge filled bowl in her hands. Yes, the wet clinging fur very advantageously emphasized the canine body frame. At least it almost brought tears to Petunia's eyes.
"Just bones. How did he even live... Horrible."
The dog, swallowing piece after piece, looked soulfully, wagged its tail widely and even its rear end a little, and the female heart surrendered to the mercy of its own pity. But how to tell Vernon about this?
"Although," she thought, "it's better to leave this to the boys. First Dudley, as the most guilty, and then Harry, as... oh, as the birthday boy! That'll be a... little present for him. Maybe. No, I definitely need to talk to Marge." And she went into the house, to the phone. Her husband should be back any minute now, and she hadn't yet consulted with his sister!
As it turned out, her thoughts and her nephew's thoughts almost coincided... Only instead of the phone, Harry, of course, used the treasured notebook. And his specialist was completely different.
***
"Two angry men, one of whom was my father and the other was Mr. Snape... It was serious! It was something!" Dudley Dursley recalled many years later when he told his grandchildren about his quite entertaining childhood.
***
No sooner had Petunia finished the conversation than she heard her own child's scream in the yard and loud growling, and instantly flew out of the house.
"Don't touch him! He's already had enough today! Don't! What do you want from him?!"
"Get away, boy! Back, beware! Harry, to the side!"
Dudley was almost hanging on the dog's neck, at which an evilly bared—she barely recognized him—Severus Snape was aiming his wand. But she managed to appreciate that he wasn't doing anything while his target was shielded by Dudley. Her nephew was trying with all his might to detach his brother from the dog.
"Snape! Why are you harassing the dog? And how did you get here?"
The man looked at her in surprise, gradually coming to his senses.
"The dog?!" he pronounced venomously and almost syllable by syllable, but quickly switched. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Dursley, Harry wrote to me, and this matter required... urgent resolution. Good, ahem," he flashed his eyes at the dog, "evening. And once again I apologize for the intrusion, it was necessary."
At that moment Vernon appeared in the yard, who first of all expressed indignation about the dog in almost exactly the same way as Snape, only without a magic wand. The wizard barely had time to put up a silencing dome. It was loud. The dog growled quietly and pressed against Dudley, not taking its eyes off Harry. And he carefully stepped aside and, while the adults were figuring out what was what and why, looked carefully at his professor and seemed to be beginning to guess what this was all about. And when Snape nodded to him...
"Black? That same Black?" he asked, looking at the dog.
It whined and wagged its tail on the ground. Petunia gasped, and Vernon squinted unpleasantly. The words "that same Black" evoked not the most pleasant memories in them too. But what did a stray dog have to do with it?
"A dog's death for a dog. Incarcero. Traitor," Potter, to everyone's relatives' amazement, looked at the dog with hatred, clenching his fists. Dudley reached out to calm his brother...
But at that moment the bound dog, sighing heavily, fell with its head at Harry's feet, stretched out its muzzle and closed its eyes. But before that it looked so... that the boy was dumbfounded. In the dog's last look there was so much pain...
"Black?" Snape crouched down to the shaggy muzzle and also caught the look. And almost swore, barely restraining himself mid-word. Thrice damned Legilimency! He would have handed over the enemy to the Aurors, they to the Dementors... Snape shuddered. Now he definitely wouldn't do that. And neither would Harry: he'd seen it.
"Can you become human, Black?"
The dog shook its head.
"You... wait," Dudley suddenly intervened. "The dog. The dog, Professor."
"A dog is a loyal creature..." Harry whispered in disbelief. "How? How could you betray us?"
Sirius howled hollowly and shook his head.
"I hope someone will finally explain to us what's going on," the master of the house was looking point-blank at the unexpected guest.
"Maybe some tea?" Petunia suggested. She wanted to smooth over the situation. And also find out what was happening in her yard in the end.
Snape looked questioningly at her, then at Vernon. He nodded.
"The hostess's wish is law for the guest, especially an uninvited one."
"Not true, I invited him!" Harry stood up for him.
"By the way, Potter... Happy birthday," Snape handed him some package.
The dog's eyes bulged and it exhaled noisily.
"I hope it's not a magic book?" Mr. Dursley inquired. "Because this morning one of those already tried to hunt me..."
"What are you saying? Harry, will you show me?"
"Yes! Of course! Only it's... this..." he nodded at the dog, no longer quite understanding what to call it, "scared of it. So it probably hid. It's from Hagrid."
Snape sighed. He could roughly imagine what to expect from a half-giant. The tension was gradually subsiding. Indeed, emotions only harm, the head must be clear to calmly figure everything out. Yeah, quite a "present" arrived for the boy on his birthday...
"And what do we do with this one?"
Sirius stared with all his eyes at how Harry was discussing his fate with his old enemy, as if his decision was very important to him, and either a bark or a whine got stuck in his throat. How could all this have happened? What would happen now? As a dog, he sensed how strong the bond between Harry and this Slytherin bastard was, but instincts kept him from attacking: the forces were unequal. No, if he were human, he would definitely have attacked, but the dog was hindered by its own nature. Snape had already loosened the magical bonds on him...
And instincts also demanded that he urgently wag his tail at Petunia, because she was his only adult protector. Could be. Merlin... Petunia Dursley! Lily's sister! How did he not realize that right away? And this guy was that same chubby fellow he'd played such a mean joke on at the wedding! And now what? Harry lives with them. They'll tell him everything. Although he already... he doesn't need his godfather. How painful! And why was everything? Why... now... him?
"So. Harry, you've already guessed what's going on? Who and how, and most importantly, why framed this fool, we can only find out when he comes to himself. Into human form, I mean. Something tells me it won't happen soon. And until he can transform back, he'll have to be hidden somewhere."
Black raised his ears with interest.
"Ah... yes, you definitely have nowhere."
"At my place?"
Snape raised an eyebrow and measured Potter with an unreadable look. The dog hiccupped quietly.
"Um... maybe here, at our place, in the backyard?" Dudley suggested.
Mr. Dursley choked.
"You see, Dumbledore knows perfectly well Sirius Black's Animagus form. And I can't say he's friendly toward him, at least, I have carte blanche regarding this dog."
"Arf?" Black was surprised.
"Shush."
"Whoa..."
"Shush, I said."
Arguing with the mistress of the house in whose yard you're located... is not in a dog's nature. All that was left for Sirius was to sit obediently on the leash and listen.
"What about the tracking charms? He's... Oh! The Headmaster could come right now!"
"I covered the yard a bit from trackers. But if they had worked on the dog, he'd already be here. How long has Black been here?"
"Almost since noon," Petunia answered.
"Then he definitely wasn't detected. Yes, your house has tracking charms set up for strangers or wizards, basically, it's part of the protection," Snape explained to the angry Dursleys. "Don't worry, they won't cause you any harm. And no, these aren't my charms, I prefer to act only with your consent."
Black breathed out. Everything was confused in his head. His enemy... was going to help him? How? For what? He even stopped Harry when... Or no, that was his brother, for sure. Why didn't Snape kill him? He wanted to. And then he shielded him from... the Headmaster? Dumbledore? How bad that he couldn't speak in his Animagus form. And even worse that he couldn't leave it, return to himself... Strength, no strength at all. He was swaying from emotions, sudden heaviness in his stomach, wanted to fall and forget everything.
"Doggy... Don't be afraid, they won't hurt you here," Dudley approached him, noticing the dog's suffering. "So your name is Black?"
Sirius sighed heavily and drooped, giving himself over to the mercy of the boy's hands scratching him behind the ears. If only it were all so simple... To remain the faithful dog of this nice guy. But Harry, godson... why are you doing this to me?!
The guest with the hosts were already getting ready to go into the house when Dudley asked:
"Let's not leave him here alone. He doesn't look like a traitor. I don't believe it!"
Everything inside Sirius turned upside down, he groaned and poked his head into the guy.
Harry wasn't rushing to approach the dog, but he had an idea:
"Why don't we bring the table out here! Great weather, beautiful yard. Right?"
"Well... let's. Vernon?" Petunia asked her husband, and he nodded.
Sirius looked at his godson hopefully.
They drank tea in the backyard, and Snape told the story of Sirius Black, traitor to his best friend, dangerous criminal and... dog. The latter listened attentively, periodically howling and shaking or nodding his head—thus they all managed to compile a more or less decent picture... In which, alas, quite a few white spots remained.
"That Black didn't betray, I think I'm ready to believe," Harry finally said, and Sirius barked from the fullness of his feelings, immediately receiving from the mistress of the house a towel to the head and an order to be quiet.
Snape smirked. His former enemy was so miserable and ridiculous, and... what enemy was he? Nearly twelve years with Dementors, apparently, really for nothing. Yes, that was more than enough for any adversary, let alone a school bully. The main thing was he was still devoted to Harry. That was now clear as day even without Legilimency. Dog...
"Black," he addressed the dog, and it flinched. "Obviously you can't speak, but how about trying to write with your paw over there, in the sand?"
The dog whined in agreement and automatically wagged its tail... and then looked in surprise at what its fifth limb was doing. Harry laughed... And then came over and petted him.
Real tears rolled down the canine face.
"So will you finally tell us something or not? At least try."
The last magical bonds fell away. Sirius was even grateful to Snape for distracting him from howling aloud after Harry's touches. He jumped up and headed for the small pile of sand that was always in the yard and was periodically replenished: the mistress's roses and other flowers needed good drainage.
Scratching with his paw in the sand, trampling with the other three what was coming out, was terrible, but still better than complete wordlessness. True, the only thing he could communicate was that he was Harry's godfather. Snape explained the rest to those present. Sirius felt... gratitude. And irritation. At his own tail, which, the bastard, was wagging at this... Mordred's... Slytherin! And also at the people who were still rather dense after all and couldn't understand that it wasn't some ball of fur, but a rat! A rat with a tail! Arrrgh... woof! What? Oh, to my place, then to my place. Sirius tiredly sat down where he had recently been tied, by the railing of the back porch.
Finally Snape said goodbye and Apparated home, and the boys went to settle the dog in the garage that was vacant during the summer. He was swaying, his paws were tangling, general exhaustion and heaviness in his stomach interfered with thinking. Was he really still alive? Was he really near Harry? Was Snape really... Before he could finish thinking, satiated for the first time in twelve long years, exhausted as he couldn't have imagined before, Sirius Black, dog, last heir of the Blacks, the only wizard who managed to escape from Azkaban, licked his godson's hand and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.