Author's note: This is the Sequel to Find My Way Back Home; please take a look there before continuing on with this story.

Chapter one:

Freedom, it turns out, was a lot harder to get used to than I had anticipated.

The first month was a bit of a blur. I spent several days hiding in the safety of Remus's house, not wanting to be the subject of stares or questions. At least a hundred owls flew by each day, dropping off requests for interviews, Howlers, and letters ranging from a congratulations to a call for "anarchy against a tyrannical Ministry that imprisoned innocent people." The owl droppings got to be so bad on the first day that Remus had to put a barrier charm around the perimeter of his property, although this did nothing to stop the growing piles of letters at the foot of his drive.

I'm not really sure in what exact order things happened; Remus took care of making sure all my affairs were tended to. I think he was determined to make me feel normal as quickly as possible. I bought a house in the north, several kilometers from the nearest fruit stand, and filled it with furniture. That was the hard part, shopping for my new house. Remus and I traveled to Diagon Alley, and while I was content to purchase the first things the shopkeeper showed us, Remus was determined that I actually bought what I liked.

Thing is, I had no idea what that might be. Azkaban didn't exactly allow an opportunity for interior decorating. After ten years of sleeping on a cot in a tiny cell, a bed was a bed and a table was an improvement. Knowing that I wouldn't get around to putting anything together myself until I was at least fifty, Remus helped me organize my new household. Beds were set up in the two guest rooms, dishes stored in the new cabinets in the kitchen, and sofas carefully arranged in the other rooms.

I should have bought a one-room shack instead of a house, I realized later. Less space meant less furniture and fewer decisions about what to do with it.

The rest of the house I didn't pay much attention to; I trusted Remus enough to know he wouldn't arrange a pink parlor set in my sitting room. It was the guest rooms that made me wonder what on earth I should be doing, because they were either simply guest rooms, or they were a guest room and Harry's future room.

I was promised I would be able to meet with Harry after Christmas; Dumbledore said Harry had agreed to meet with me, but supposedly there was so much going on at the school before the Christmas break. He didn't say as much, but from what I gathered about a troll break-in and the mysterious attempted robbery at Gringott's, Dumbledore was too preoccupied with something secret to pay me much mind.

I guess I didn't care. Besides, it would probably be better for me to get my shit together before Harry met me and went running for the hills.

Following the house and all its various objects came the matter of my other house: the hated property of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. I had absolutely no desire to step foot there, but I was sure it was too heavily booby-trapped to sell. No doubt my father grew more paranoid and my mother more insane after I ran away. Not to mention it had sat empty for years following the death of my mother; I could only imagine what grew in the darkness there.

Remus made the daunting trek with me; he had never been to this house, but he sure heard a lot about it when we were in school.

The door creaked open heavily, and we were hit with the obvious smell of dust and mildew. I spat out a mouthful of dusty cobweb that had blown into my face, and led the way in. In retrospect I probably should have waited until I had a wand to pay a visit. Remus flicked his wand, and the old lamps slowly lit up around us.

The dust was at least half an inch thick—no one had lived here in over six years. Cobwebs hung from every available surface, and I was pretty sure I could hear something scuttling away from us. There was a low buzz coming from the curtains as we moved down the hallway, and I was sure this house wasn't as empty as I had anticipated. No doubt something evil grew in all the Dark Magic in this house. We turned a corner toward the library, and I jumped back a foot into Remus, letting out a few choice words of surprise.

Remus and I backed up several paces, Remus pointing his wand threateningly at the massive black shape that had suddenly descended from the ceiling in front of us.

"What the fuck is that?" I said, not sure I wanted an answer so much as a weapon. My voice echoed through the silent house.

The shape suddenly spouted eight legs and took off running, footsteps thudding against the floor, and disappeared into the shadows.

"Right, well, I don't know about you," I said, forcing my voice to remain casual. "But I think I've seen enough of this house."

"Agreed."

By the time we got back to Remus' house, I still had no idea what I was going to do with Grimmauld Place other than never go there again, but I was pretty fine with this decision.

Hagrid had returned my beloved motorbike to me shortly after the conclusion of the trial, along with a tin of rock-hard biscuits and an enormous bottle of firewhiskey. I think this was his version of a peace offering, and while I accepted it readily, I did have to throw out the biscuits after chipping a tooth.

Other people offered gifts, too: casseroles, baked goods, money, certificates to free stuff from shops I had never heard of, designer robes, and even a lifetime supply of butterbeer. I was rather keen on that last one, but everything else was overwhelming. Remus's house quickly filled up with all the home-cooked meals that were brought from people who had helped me during the trial, and we quickly found that we couldn't get through one dish without four more showing up. When Molly Weasley sent her fifth or sixth casserole, Remus politely suggested that I could use some winter clothes as I still hadn't bothered to go shopping for a wardrobe. Within the week, their ancient owl delivered two hand-knit jumpers and a wool cap with a note promising socks and at least a dozen blankets before the month was out.

Once I had settled into my house I was ready to put off everything else, but Remus refused to let me. Once again he dragged me into Diagon Alley, this time for some random errands. He made sure I had my own fully-stocked apothecary to brew basic home remedies, a pot of Floo powder, a heap of parchment and quills, and finally—a wand.

I wouldn't dare admit this out loud, but I'm sure Remus guessed anyway—a part of me was afraid that my magic had been sucked out of me by the Dementors. That's why I had put off shopping for a wand for as long as possible. But sure enough, two weeks into my newfound freedom, Remus literally dragged me to Ollivander's wand shop on a chilly Tuesday morning.

I had grown to expect awkward pauses and surprised stares whenever I was in sight of somebody, but Ollivander didn't seem the least bit fazed to see me. He remembered the components of my previous wand, and rummaged around his shop looking for similar makes, none of which seemed to do much of anything.

"No matter, no matter!" said Ollivander brightly. He seemed to like the challenge, and what a challenge it would be to find a wand that would respond to a magic-less wizard. I had to swallow my fear, thinking of the simplest spells I knew.

"Try conjuring up some lunch," suggested Remus, leaning comfortably against the desk and unwrapping a muffin he had saved from breakfast. "We should grab a bite to eat after this." He didn't seem the least bit concerned that I may have been transformed into a Squib of sorts.

"Try," said Ollivander, coming down from an enormous ladder. "This one. Oak and Manticore hair, fourteen inches." He handed me the wand, and I took it dubiously. Unlike the previous wands, which were barely responsive, this wand blew out the shop's back windows and knocked over a shelf full of wands.

"Nope! Definitely not," said Ollivander, taking the wand from me. Ignoring the mess, he disappeared to the far side of his shop to continue the search.

I turned to look at Remus, who shrugged. "When I got my first wand, it took almost an hour," he said. "Besides, you're trying to replace your first one, and that's not exactly easy."

"Yeah, I s'pose so," I said, looking around the shop darkly. I never thought such a small object could make me feel so stupid.

"Right," said Ollivander, returning to the front desk. He had an old, worn box in his hands. "Desert Ironwood, all the way from North America; such a hardy wood, I don't use it often. Thirteen inches with phoenix tail feather. Give it a go!"

I took the wand, clearing my throat. "Er…accio muffin!"

Like that, the half-eaten muffin shot out of Remus' hand and landed neatly into mine.

"Come on, I was eating that!"

I was a little surprised. Ollivander was ecstatic. Remus, who was sure I'd be able to find a wand this whole time, took his muffin back and clapped me on the shoulder.

Olivander wrote up my receipt while I examined my new wand. It was a little sturdier than my previous one, and the dark, marbleized wood was cool to the touch.

"How does it feel?" Ollivander asked, handing me my receipt. "Like meeting an old friend again, right?"

"Yeah," I said, twirling it between my fingers.

Ollivander gave me a satisfied smile. "I trust it will treat you well. Until next time," he said, bidding us farewell.

I pocketed my new wand as Remus and I exited the shop. The village was starting to wake up, and the lanes were more crowded now.

"Lunch?" Remus suggested. "We can head over to the Leaky Cauldron."

I was torn between the prospect of their infamous scotch eggs and the knowledge that we would be stared at the whole time. But I knew the only way to stop being a novelty was to become a boring, accustomed sight. What good was my freedom if I hid forever?

"Yeah, sounds good," I said, leading the way.

The old barman was ecstatic to see us, and even gave us my old favorite spot in the corner. When he returned with a butterbeer each, he asked, "You boys seen the papers yet?"

"No, I try to avoid reading them," I answered truthfully. "Rita Skeeter publishes addendums to my biography every day."

"You'll want to see this one," he said. He retreated to the bar and returned with a tea-stained Daily Prophet. "Front page."

I opened up the paper, and turned it sideways to Remus could see. There, emblazoned on the front page, was a picture of the holding cells in the Ministry of Magic and the bold headline.

PETER PETTIGREW ESCAPES MINISTRY CUSTODY.

I felt an electric shock shoot through me.

Peter Pettigrew, who has been in Ministry Custody the last three weeks pending an investigation
into the murders of James and Lily Potter and a dozen innocent Muggles, was found missing from
his holding cell shortly before midnight last night when an Auror came across the empty cell during
a scheduled check.

According to officials, there was no evidence of outside help.

"He was just gone," said Devin Cumberland, the Auror who first discovered Pettigrew's escape.
"There was no sign of a break-out. The door was still locked when I came 'round at midnight."

Remus and I stared at each other.

"There's no leads," the barman supplied. "It's just like he vanished into thin air. The papers said he was an Animagus, right?"

"The Ministry would have taken that into account," I said slowly, my eyes quickly skimming over the rest of the article.

"Harry's safe," said Remus, reading my mind. "Peter can't touch him at Hogwarts."

I couldn't think of a reply. The day after my trial ended, I met with Dumbledore to discuss seeing Harry. He promised to ask Harry if he had an interest in meeting me, and said he would keep me up to date on Harry's well-being. It was the best he could do, he said. The idea of remaining a complete stranger to Harry was maddening under pleasant circumstances, but this changed everything. How was I supposed to protect Harry when his parents' killer was on the loose and the boy didn't even know me?

Tom left to get our food, leaving Remus and I to stare darkly at the paper. I looked around the half-full pub; everyone was discussing the news, shooting furtive glances my way. I glanced at Remus, and saw he was watching me, too.

"How am I supposed to just sit and wait it out?" I asked, already knowing the advice Remus was going to give me.

"By focusing on the things you can control," Remus replied without missing a beat. "Do you know how hard it was for me not to claw my way through the Ministry for information after you were arrested? The Aurors will deal with Peter, not you—they know what he is, now."

I scoffed. "Yeah, except they still haven't charged him with anything," I replied darkly.

"Well, escaping doesn't look good for his case," Remus said firmly. "When are you supposed to hear back about Harry?" he asked, steering the conversation away from Peter.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Dumbledore said he'd talk to him this week." I hesitated. "What if he hates me?"

Remus choked on his butterbeer at that. "Are you thick? What kind of question is that?"

"Come on, Remus, I bet he heard all about it. I was the one that made Lily and James switch. Maybe he'll blame me for it."

"Now why would he do that?"

Remus and I locked eyes for a long, knowing moment.

Because I blamed myself for it.

"If Harry is anything like his dad, his curiosity about you will be killing him," said Remus finally. "And then you can have the chance to show him this whole other life—he grew up with Muggles. You can teach him about his family, help him with his magic—he has this whole other identity he doesn't even know about yet, and you're his link to that."

I knew Remus was right. I drained the rest of my butterbeer and looked out the foggy window.

"Remember the people Harry came from," Remus added when our food was brought to our table. "And give yourself a little credit. You'll be fine."

Remus would kill me if he knew I had taken up smoking again. Sure, he had bought me cigarettes during the nightmare that was my trial, but he also said it was the one and only time smoking was ever warranted.

I often bought Muggle Mayfairs from the nearby grocer, but on the rare instance I dragged myself into Diagon Alley I was able to get the good Brightleaf variety. But since I tended to wander around Muggle London most days, and the Brightleaf gave off an obvious blue tinge to the smoke, I usually stuck to the Mayfairs.

I had taken to using a lot of Muggle things lately.

Like my house, for example. I had a functioning electrical system and even a washer and dryer in the laundry. I had to enlist Remus' help to disable parts of the electricity so it wouldn't interfere with magic, although I would miss the central heating system. After being shocked once or twice, I spent the remainder of my afternoon trying to charm the old washer and dryer into working.

"Why not just get a wizarding set from Diagon Alley?" Remus asked, frowning at me from the doorway.

A jet of water suddenly shot out of the tap, spraying well water everywhere.

"Because it came with the house," was my excuse once we got the flood under control. "And having something to do keeps me from going insane."

I could tell he wanted to, but Remus didn't argue the point further.

"Dumbledore wrote me this morning," I continued. "Said I can come to the school on Saturday."

Remus grinned at me. "Yeah?"

"What the hell do I talk about?" I asked, rubbing a hand on the back of my neck.

Remus shrugged. "Whatever. He's eleven. Tell him about his parents."

"Yeah," I said, running a hand over my chin. "But what if he asks about…you know, the night they died."

Remus sat up straighter. He thought for a minute, then asked, "Well, is anything off-limits? What you're willing to tell him?"

"I guess not," I said slowly. "I just don't want him to hate me right away, you know? I don't want to fuck this up."

Remus gave the wrench one last tug and looking over his handiwork, said, "Try turning the water back on."

I reached for the valve next to me.

"Looks good to me," said Remus confidently. "I don't know how Harry's going to react, exactly, but just be whatever he needs you to be. Let him decide."

I tapped the top of the dryer next to me. "Ready for this one?"

Remus stayed for dinner that night. As soon as he discovered ninety-percent of my new dishes and cookware hadn't been unpacked, he made me tend to the food while he put everything neatly in its place.

"I just don't understand why I need so much," I argued, watching Remus kick a pile of wrapping paper and cardboard to the side.

"Because one day, Sirius, it's going to be just more than you in this house."

"You sound like your mum."

"If she were here, she'd smack you for eating nothing but cereal." He opened up a large cabinet, and turned to me with raised eyebrows. "You have an entire stock of firewhiskey just sitting in here?"

I shrugged. "Lifetime supply."

Remus pulled out a bottle and grabbed two glasses before joining me at the kitchen table.

"You heard from Ms. Novak lately?" Remus asked.

I thought about it. "Not since the day after the trial. She said she had a load of paperwork for me to sign off on—you know, about my retribution money and so on. But knowing her, I'm sure she's making a huge pile all at once—"

"—and she's already completed most of it herself," Remus supplied.

"Maybe I should owl her and find out what's up," I thought out loud.

"Nah, she'll contact you when she's ready," said Remus. He took a sip of the dark liquid.

We never did fix that dryer.