Sirius' Detour

A/N: I present yet another story, marking my first foray into humour. This one is inspired from A Marauder's Plan by catsarecool. Well, the premise is. This is not a parody of that story. Sirius, instead of going to wherever there is that the coloured birds spring from, remains in England, upon coming to the disappointing realisation that apart from getting into trouble – not off his own accord – Harry is not a Marauder. No Lords, Ladies, Houses, and all that. I have written that a lot. This is Harry, as he would be if Sirius had raised him. Or so I think. The recognisable parts are not mine. Harry Potter is not either. The story is, though. And yes, everybody is a caricature at some point during the story, including the narrator.

But Black was still staring down at Harry.

"How can I ever thank –"

"GO!" Harry and Hermione shouted together.

Black wheeled Buckbeak around, facing the open sky.

And the Sirius realised that he was leaving Harry all over again. Unlike last time he had no choice, but to leave. He scrutinised his godson for a split second. Everything he had seen this year told him that Harry was an upstanding person. But he was too serious. Harry was not supposed to be serious! Sirius was supposed to be serious – er – Sirius! He might have left his godson twelve – nearly thirteen years ago, but now, he needed to ensure that Harry got to be a teenager at least.

He might not have a choice but to leave. He did have a choice regarding where to go though.

"Bugger that time and all!" decided Sirius. "Oi Kid!" he called out. "Where do you live during the summers? For the most part, that is? You ran away last year and I saw you leave Little Whinging on the Knight Bus, but otherwise..."

"The Dursleys," Harry answered. "The House is at 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging in Surrey. I am usually cast away to that place for most of the time. The Weasleys did break me out once and last year I blew up Marge-"

"-the barge," completed his godfather. "Oh! Ickle Harry lives with Aunty Mare and Uncle Walrus!" Sirius guffawed. "Look for me in a fortnight once you leave for that place kid!" he added with a wink. "Just because I can't take you to live with me yet doesn't mean that I'll just up and leave. One fortnight will be enough to prank the Ministry! Bye!"

Harry who was becoming increasingly downcast because Sirius was his last real hope for a family, perked up. That was an understatement. He blew up with happiness if that was possible and gave his godfather a very, very happy smile, which then dimmed slightly. "It's not necessary Sirius. Just don't get caught!"

"Don't you worry kid!" assured Sirius. This was what he saw. Harry really was too serious. "Come next year, I solemnly swear that you will be able to prove that you are truly your father's son!"

Harry was Siriusly reassured. He just grinned as the ex-prisoner and his steed flew into the night sky.

Whirling around to Hermione, Harry couldn't help but gush, "He will be around! He will be around, Hermione! He isn't going!"

Without much thought, he took the first step onto the path to Marauder-dom. He gathered Hermione and just kissed her smack on the mouth. Hermione froze for a microsecond, and then kissed him back greedily. And then he realised what he had just done. Stepping back a bit he looked at her in awe.

"I didn't mess up, did I?"

"Given that I did kiss you back, I don't think you did," Hermione dryly retorted.

Harry grinned. "One more?" he asked cheekily.

"I wouldn't say no, b – mmphf!" She was cut off by another kiss.

When they broke off, Hermione leaned back and punched Harry on the nose. "Listen to me, you idiot! We are running out of time!"

"Oh!" Hermione could only roll her eyes in fond exasperation.

As they ran to the castle, Hermione couldn't help but shudder at the thought of Sirius Black, Marauder and godfather – one of the Weasley Twins' heroes – teaching Harry to be like James Potter, Marauder and father. She just prayed that Hogwarts would survive. That didn't stop her from giggling madly into her pillows later that night like a teenage girl with a first – well, second, considering Lockhart – crush.

Sirius landed Buckbeak on the outskirts of the Black family estate in Hexworthy, Devonshire. He had hollered and laughed and whooped as the two flew a distance of nearly a thousand kilometres in two days. The poor creature gave the grim animagus a baleful glare, its state beleaguered by the sheer amount of flying and load-carrying.

"Hehe...sorry there, Beaky," he apologised to the Hippogriff which cocked its head at him as if to ask whether he was mad. "You may be right, you know," Sirius muttered in answer.

Deciding that he didn't want to stay around this mad human, Buckbeak realised that the motivation to fly away superseded the tiredness. With a squawk, he flew away.

"Yes! Be like that!" Sirius hollered at him from the ground with a shaking fist. "Ruddy stupid, half-bird, with less than half a bird's brain!" was the follow-up insult.

Tired though he was, Buckbeak still took that as an insult, which it was and diverted his flight path and swooped down towards the foolish human.

"Oh hell," muttered the mutt, before rushing into the house to stave off the stupid thing. It was a bloody monster! "Bloody hell!" he swore. "That thing made me agree with the poncy white-haired member of Voldemort's Harem." Turning back to the hippogriff, he yelled, "YOU ARE EVIL, BUCKBEAK! DID YOU KNOW THAT? YOU ARE SERIOUSLY EVIL!"

He then slid down to the ground out of sheer tiredness, and before long, transformed into Padfoot and dozed away.

Meanwhile, on the Hogwarts Express, Harry and Hermione were dealing with a seriously miffed redhead.

"How could you do that to me, Harry?" Ron asked with extreme petulance.

It was taking time to rear its head, but Harry's Marauder side decided that it was time to wake at last. He looked at Ron with an extremely stunned face, trying to formulate an answer as much in keeping with what Sirius and Professor Lupin had said his father would have given. It took a little time, but it did strike him.

Managing to somehow assume a horror-struck and contrite expression at the same time, he replied, "I am sorry Ron. I truly didn't know that you liked me like that." Hermione, who had turned a bit angry at his first sentence, was now trying to not gag or laugh at the second. "I mean," Harry continued shamelessly, bolstered by the sheer achievement of striking Ron dumb, "I knew Ginny had a crush on me, but I didn't know it was like that for you too."

Ron, who had turned red in anger, was now turning an ashen grey. He flapped his mouth open and close, for a change, without food in it – not that it improved the beauty of the scene by even an iota – before croaking out, "No! I don't like you that way!"

"Oh thank heavens!" was the prompt reply. Now that the ruse had started, the direction in which Harry needed to prank Ron or shepherd the conversation in became clear. The words flowed automatically. "I mean, honestly, I knew I would have to let Malfoy down gently one day, but I wouldn't have known how to do so in your case without hurting your feelings mate."

Ron started to froth at the mouth in horror at this. If the horrible images Harry was inducing initially weren't enough, he was now comparing Ron to Draco. There reined a prolonged and awkward silence in the compartment for the next fifteen minutes, with Ron convulsing invisibly, Harry looking at him with pity, and Hermione doing her damnedest to not laugh.

Ron ended that silence by tasting his shoes again. "You are practising, aren't you? You are using her as a practice girlfriend!" This time, there was awe in his voice as he stared at Harry in wonder, doubtlessly astounded by the 'brilliance' of the plan.

Hermione seemed ready to blow her top and start a rant in defence of her relationship with Harry, against Ron for thinking of her as sub-par in some way and for his very words. Harry looked at his friend in pity. Why Ron would say that was beyond him. But he could ask why later. He had to stop Hermione, and save the idiot. Right now, a voice in his head was feeding him what seemed to be the sincerest thing he could say.

"You know what Ron, you are right! I am using her for practice."

Hermione, who was working up quite some steam, looked very hurt and crestfallen at the words. She hadn't expected that from Harry. Ron looked smug.

Harry continued nevertheless. "You know what they say, 'practice makes man perfect'. Well I want to be perfect for Hermione Granger. Who better to show me how to be perfect for her than Hermione herself?"

Ron's jaws fell open again, as did Hermione's – though, to be fair, she also had tears in her eyes. The voice in his head which had been feeding him that line suddenly shut up. Harry cursed his inner stupid. It relinquished control of him only once he had bollixed things up massively. A snide voice now told him that he was about to lose both his best friends.

The next second, he was being glomped into a hug by Hermione. Stranglehold would probably be the technically correct term. It was rather evident that whatever he said had worked. Harry was patting himself on the back mentally, while the voice which had prompted him to say what he did crowed in triumph. Now that he thought of it, it sounded suspiciously like Sirius'. "Bloody hell!" he mused. "It f-ing worked!" Not even a moment later, he was rewarded with an absolutely mind-blowing kiss (for a thirteen-year-old that is).

A question was gnawing away at Harry's mind. "Say, Ron, why did you ever speak any of what you spoke since we told you we were together? I mean, you don't seem to particularly like Hermione or anything..."

"Well," Ron responded with a nervous laugh, "I just heard some tapping like that type-righter thingy Dad collects, see? And then even though it was terribly clichéd, if I were to be really jealous of you or something, I felt compelled to say it." Hermione and Harry looked at Ron oddly for a few moments. Ron squirmed a bit under their unrelenting gaze. "Well, I know how odd it sounds – I mean almost like a type-righter Imperius, but there we are."

Harry had a sudden vision of a large control room where Snape sat with a Mr. Burns-esque expression and pose, while Trelawney acted as the host/anchor for a TV show, dressed to impress (how?!), and declaring in an ethereally raspy voice, "Your lives are not really your own." He couldn't suppress the involuntary shudder.

"Let's just decide to never speak of this again, then?" Hermione proposed.

"Seconded," blurted both boys simultaneously.

"The motion is passed," she declared solemnly.

The conversation then turned to more solemn subjects like Quidditch and chocolate frogs.

It was nearly halfway into their journey back to London that Harry remembered about the oh-so-conveniently forgotten Dobby. If Sirius was going to stay in London, then he would need help. He did have an elf who was super-pleased with him. Maybe he could help?

"Dobby?" he called, almost feeling foolish about it.

"Great Master Harry Potter Sir is being calling!" Dobby squeaked/asked joyfully, as he hung upside down from the luggage rack.

"Hey mate!" Harry responded. He was still reeling from effects of the capitalised-word-slinging machine that was Dobby. "What are you doing these days?"

"Dobby is being free!"

"Oh."

"But Dobby is still liking to work Harry Potter!"

Harry smiled. "So would you like to work for my godfather, Sirius Black? I will pay you. A galleon and one day off a week, that's the non-negotiable deal."

"Sirius Black?" asked Dobby in a little anger. "Isn't he being hurting Master Harry Potter?"

"No Dobby, he is my innocent godfather." The voice in his head took offence at Sirius being described as innocent. "I am going to live with him as soon as we can get his name cleared."

Dobby pondered over the offer and then nodded vigorously. The three humans felt quite a bit nauseous at the sight. "Dobby works!"

"Good!" Harry gave Dobby a galleon. "That's your advance payment."

Dobby looked at the gold coin in awe and wonder, and Hermione wondered whether he would bite it and mutter, "Shiny!"

"Say Dobby, why do you shake your head so vigorously all the time?"

A blissful expression spread across Dobby's face. "It is being feeling go-o-o-o-d!"

"Master Harry Potter Sir's dogfather is being waking up!" squealed an excited voice near the great bearlike dog's head, causing him to bark on impulse. Dobby went on with his introduction. "Master Harry Potter is being asking Dobby to help Sirius Black! Dobby is being helping."

Sirius' brow creased. He never really liked the house-elves, but this one seemed fanatically devoted to Harry. Perhaps it would be good for him to take this one on. Merlin knew Kreacher was a blot on House-elves as he knew them. With this sort of help, he could get Moony to help him help Harry become strong and self-sufficient. Nobody really knew why they all pulled prank so much. Pranksters were always underestimated and ignored in the larger scheme of things. And if Harry's Patronus driving away Dementors was an indicator, Harry was constantly getting into trouble – rather was hounded by it.

Sirius knew it was time to initiate the Prongslet into the noble art. And Moony had to help. And Dobby was willing to help.

"Thank you Dobby. I would like it if you could help me around here."

"Great Master Harry Potter Sir's dogfather is as great as him!" Dobby squealed.

Sirius only grinned uneasily under the onslaught of the capitalised words.

The werewolf, who had been chased off from his best job (though not the highest paying – that had been when he had been a bodyguard for a political bigwig in muggle Japan) till date, had barely placed his bags on the decrepit hovel he had to call home, when an elf popped in and declared that he had a letter from "Great Master Harry Potter Sir's dogfather for the wolfie." The elf had then popped off before Moony could so much as raise an eyebrow at that.

Moony,

How are you, mate? I am sorry for the job, I heard about you losing it. Unfortunately or fortunately, depending upon your perspective, it has come at a time when I need your help. Not for me, you know? It's mainly for the Prongslet.

Do you know anything about Prongslet's first two years at Hogwarts? I get the idea that everything is not hunky dory. Have you realised that Prongslet lives with the Walrus and the Mare? Something's really fishy.

If you are willing, I have ample place in the Black Country Home in Devon. I intend to help Prongslet live, and continue with the traditions of the Marauders, as an aside.

It was a relief meeting you again, mate. If you think you can help, this letter doubles up as a portkey, and you'd know the password of course...

Yours in brotherhood,

Padfoot.

Remus felt troubled for all of a minute. He had so many choices to make. It all came down to a few things. Should he go live with his brother who had distrusted needlessly for twelve years? Was it necessary to help the Prongslet?

The answers to both questions were resoundingly yes. So Moony took the portkey.

Harry was sitting on the... whatever it was that passed for his bed with a goofy grin. Between Hermione and Sirius, he had had quite a lot to feel happy about. Sirius had promised to get in touch within a fortnight, and it had given Harry hope. The enlisting of Dobby further bolstered it. And he was right to hope. A howler had made its way to the Dursley household three days before which had given them an ultimatum regarding any untoward treatment of Harry. It had also made the three walk, jump, hop and skip on each successive stride for two days.

"Master Harry Potter Sir!" squeaked the elf. "I is brings letter from Master Paddy!"

Harry leapt with outstretched hands and tore it open.

Mr. Harry James Potter,

The Prongs-Moony-Padfoot Foundation (hereafter referred to as PMPF) is pleased to offer you a two month intensive internship. Under the tutelage of our esteemed professors, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, you will be given hands on experience in the noble art of trouble-making and its tactical uses. For your perusal, the objectives of the course have been enumerated below.

· Making trouble.

· Getting into trouble.

· Getting out of trouble.

· Getting others into trouble.

· Choosing the better of two troubles to get into.

· Pulling pranks: an art form.

· Lying through your teeth in benign circumstances.

· Making light of every situation.

· Going under the radar.

· Faux chivalry as a Champion of troublemakers.

Should you so choose to accept, you will be required to solemnly swear that you won't be up to any good as soon as you wake up every morning and summon the elf-express.

We wish you the very best, and look forward to embellishing our acquaintance with an exchange of knowledge and honing of talent, inherited or otherwise.

Yours in chaos,

M/s. Moony and Padfoot

This was awesome! Sirius and Professor Lupin were coming through, just as he wanted to. A new thought struck Harry. He could return to Privet Drive as late as he wished and pull the wool over Dumbledore's eyes and the old man wouldn't be able to complain. Sirius was really going to help him. This was surely going to be the best summer ever!