Harry had quiet days for the rest of the week, punctuated only by short trips out for food and post each day.

Percy had given him some good advice, and now Mr Weasley was writing to Harry on an on-and-off basis. It felt a little like how Harry imagined a job interview might go, if conducted via owl.

Draco was complaining about holiday homework, having apparently left it to the last minute. For the first time in his life, Harry understood – truly, viscerally understood – how Hermione must have felt around him and Ron last timeline. His instinctive confusion, as to why Draco hadn't organised himself a little earlier, warred with a smug confidence that Harry had done everything he needed to. Perhaps he could give some advice. He wondered if Draco had considered a study schedule.

Harry found himself smirking; it explained so much about Hermione that he'd never understood before!

His hired help-people were keeping in touch, although apparently the legalities of inheritances and trials and wills and all that were very slow going. Mr Lloyd-Elliot was very regular and professional with his updates, while the accountant more sporadic but chatty. It was all very informative and Harry found himself taking notes of their progress just so he could keep it all straight. He had sticking charms all over the one wall in his study compartment now, long lists of who needed to be contacted for what, and what Ministry responses his team were now waiting on. Hermione would have been impressed, had she but known.

And finally, finally, his studies regained their lustre. It was unbelievably satisfying to be looking at textbooks which he had never studied before, and Harry hadn't considered what a relief that might seem.

He positively poured over his new reference books; he'd gone out to buy the textbooks without even waiting for the Hogwarts list to come out, he was that keen. Muggle studies seemed to fresh, runes looked new and exciting, and arithmancy seemed positively challenging after two years of revision!

Indeed, there were only two disruptions to Harry's plans, which were otherwise swanning along swimmingly.

First: the Daily Prophet Galleon Draw was drawn, and the Weasley's hadn't won anything.

Instead, Harry discovered as he poured over the paper over breakfast in Diagon Alley once again, there was a piddly little three paragraphs in tiny font that named six families as winners of the Exciting Daily Prophet Grand Galleon Draw, one of whom had won the Grand Prize. There were also instructions to contact the Daily Prophet to claim their prizes.

Harry's eyes scooted down the short list: Bacon, Newman, Hudson, Bishop, Ross, and MacGillivray. Six family names, but none of them was Weasley.

He paused. He reread the whole article, this time slowly devouring every word.

Six winners: Bacon. Newman. Hudson. Bishop. Ross. MacGillivray. In no particular order. They needed to contact the Prophet editor to find out what they had won.

Feeling strangely empty, Harry crumpled his brows, licked his lips and folded the paper closed.

His eyes glanced blankly out the window, allowing a few random passersby to wander across his vision, before he returned his focus to the problem at hand.

"Hmmm." He cracked his neck thoughtfully.

Not Weasley then. So Sirius' grand escape would need alternate arrangements. Distantly, Harry felt his mind shift gears, a sudden calm descending upon him.

Plans filtered through his mind, barely slow enough for him to catch hold of them: alternative arrangements he'd thought up on the long nights he couldn't sleep.

Harry chewed his lower lip.

Idly, he wondered how quickly everything had moved last time; Sirius had to arrive at Privet Drive before the end of the holidays for Harry's plan to work, and time seemed very tight.

He finished breakfast with furrowed brows, mind racing. Then, with an unconscious shake of the head and a wriggle of the shoulders that would have embarrassed him if he'd noticed it, his brows cleared and he swallowed the last of his porridge with relaxed shoulders and a cheerful air.

He'd owl the lawyer man, Mr Lloyd-Elliot. Surely he could arrange the donation of a couple dozen – a hundred, maybe – newspapers to Azkaban in the name of charity? And perhaps – Harry's mind worked so swiftly and efficiently when he was feeling good – perhaps he could owl Colin Creevey and ask for a few photos of the young Gryffindor crowd.

The Potter Spotter column was still around, embarrassingly enough, but this time it would serve his purpose well.

Ron still carried Scabbers around most places – surely he'd be in a few photos. Harry could pick and choose what to contribute.

Or – the thought occurred, and blossomed rapidly in Harry's mind – or he could continue his anonymous association with Rita Skeeter and try to get some more coverage that way. If he could continue this agreement, he was sure an 'in' with Skeeter would become very useful one day.

All up, Harry figured he could arrange Sirius' escape without too much trouble.

Second: Aunt Marge came to visit the Dursleys.

Having arranged everything necessary for Sirius' prison break, Harry found himself suddenly bound to eavesdrop on the muggles around him. What did the papers say? What was in the news?

How soon could he reasonably expect Sirius to arrive at Privet Drive?

After a mere two days of hiding behind the roses, listening to the evening news anchors, Harry's free and easy living was interrupted.

By Marge.

And her dog, Ripper.

He was only beginning to wriggle into position, finding that soft spot in the dirt with indents in all the right places so he could listen for the telly, when he heard a noise behind him. With the sound of a scrabble of feet on concrete, Harry was startled alert from his cozy patch in the garden by a rush of low barks, and Harry spun where he lay. Ripper's solid body charged through the rosebushes powerfully, his barks starting deep in his chest and rumbling outwards. Petunia's well-pruned rose branches snapped like dry twigs in his wake.

Shocked, Harry searched desperately for his wand to keep Ripper back, well back, to keep himself safe. Inching back, he cycled his legs madly, trying in vain hope to stop the grumpy thing from latching on to an ankle.

"Still stuck with that brat, I suppose?" Marge's booming voice reached Harry from the window, and all of a sudden Harry put the clues together, realising with a pang that she must have moved in while he was studying. Then he scuttled backwards another few inches, because priorities.

Vernon mumbled something, Harry wasn't sure what, and Marge replied again with all the self-righteous confidence of a charging bull.

Harry kept scrabbling backwards.

"I say, the quicker you can get rid of the rot the better, Vernon."

Everyday sounds from the telly continued, even as the Dursley siblings talked and Harry fended off a slathering dog.

"I always said you didn't want dodgy baggage in the house," Marge continued while Harry managed to clamber to his knees, arms frantically searching under his shirt for his wand. "You never know when the infection will spread, and I'm sure you don't want our Dudley corrupted by any sick, nancy habits…I'm sure you know what I mean."

Outside the house, Harry dragged his left shoe out of Ripper's mouth and finally dragged his wand from its pouch. Madly scrambling away on his stomach, Harry twitched his wand a few times behind him, driving the dog back with a few well-placed stinging hexes.

Tiny golden flashes dashed at the dog; it flinched on impact. Growled. Slobbered some more. Then the last two sparks hit it and Ripper whimpered just once.

With one ear out for trouble, Harry heard the sounds of couch springs protesting and knew Marge was leading forward, lumbering out of her seat. "What in the blazes…?" she began.

"Found a squirrel, you think?" Vernon's voice asked.

Grimly, Marge exclaimed. "That's not the sound of my Ripper on the hunt." Floorboards creaked from within the room even as Harry managed to scramble out of the garden and rise to his knees.

"What's going on out here then?" Above him, a shadow moved towards the window.

Harry's eyes darted: there was no return to under the window, no point trying to get low and out of sight.

Ripper took a moment to shake off the stinging and then charged at Harry again, barking menacingly.

The corner of the house, Harry decided, and he scuttled forward, almost tilting over as he dashed headlong towards shelter. Half facing the dog, half leaning towards the edge of the house, Harry nevertheless kept in mind the nosy neighbours and hoped that his wandlights weren't obvious.

"RIPPY-POO?" Marge bellowed from within the Dursley's living room. "What's going on, Rippy-poo? Where's my boy?"

There was the sound of something crashing, and Harry wondered in a distant corner of his mind if it was Petunia being surprised, by the noise or afraid of his discovery, he wasn't sure. Or maybe it was Marge crushing another glass.

"RIPPY-DARLING?! Come to Mama!"

The dog charged after Harry's heels.

Hoping he was in time to remain unseen, Harry lunged around the corner of the house and out of sight, Ripper close enough behind for him to feel his hot breath and saliva spray.

The window with Marge's shadow disappeared from his periphery.

Finally, Harry had the time and opportunity to solve his problem; out of sight from any onlookers, hidden by the house wall and the fence, he let rip a handful of well-known, familiar spells.

"Impedimenta! Muffliato!" Harry mumbled desperately, and to his relief the dog paused, silent and arrested but for the snarl forcing its way through its jaw.

"Oh. Um..silencio."

Harry paused, straightened and slowly dropped his wand down to his side, letting the adrenaline flush through his system.

Of all the stupid things to be caught out by, he'd completely forgotten about muggle dogs.

He turned his head carefully to see if there were any watchers and visibly sighed in relief when all the windows he could see where empty. Nevertheless, he managed to cast the muggle-repelling charms and notice-me-not on himself in case his uncle's sister came charging around the corner in search of her darling.

He could still hear her forceful voice calling for the creature from the lounge as Harry stalked thoughtfully around the restrained but vengeful animal. He realised with a sinking feeling that the dog would hold a grudge. Harry...he didn't know if this would complicate his plans.

Finally, "Stupefy," he muttered, and released the restraining spells in order to allow Ripper to collapse to the grown in a semblance of sleep. Harry eyed it once more; the pose seemed realistic enough, but Marge wouldn't like how she'd been ignored.

He conjured up a slightly grubby rubber ducky and tucked it between Ripper's paws before turning to leave. That should satisfy her suspicions when the dog was found. Then Harry turned to leave.

Hopefully he could sneak into the house unnoticed while everyone came out to search for the animal.

Soon the Hogwarts lists arrived, telling Harry exactly what he needed to buy to prepare for the year. Some of the textbooks he'd already bought in his desperation to learn something new; they were huge, heavy things, bound in stiff leather and he anticipated building up his arm muscles if he lugged them around much this year.

Other equipment was varied. Harry was surprised by the instructions to buy an abacus for arithmancy alongside all the various supplementary texts that he had been expecting.

He found himself sitting at his study desk, spinning the beads absently while he pondered what the new school year might bring. The thought was actually exciting. He had so much planned!

Then he always returned to his studies.

It was a relief to dive back into preparation for school, but he kept his trunk lid open in case any new chaos erupted in the house that might indicate Sirius had finally found him.

Harry found himself on edge, tension in every fingertip as things went well, as time went past and all of his plans began coming together.

There was only one frustration: all the spells to keep the Dursleys away from his cupboard didn't work on the dog.

At least twice a day Harry was disturbed from his studies to overhear Marge fussing over his cupboard door, or more accurately, fussing over her dog pawing at his cupboard door which she could not see.

"That brat that you used to have," he heard one day through the cracks in his wooden door, over the rumbling growls of a vengeful canine. "He never hid anything illegal under your house or anything, did he?"

Petunia's indistinct voice dithered hesitantly, and Harry realised that with the muggle-repelling and forgetfulness spells cast on his cupboard, the Dursleys had been left to fill in the gaps on their own.

"You might want to get police dogs round," Marge's voice continued booming. "He's run off now, has he? And good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. But if he's left any traces or evidence of what he got up to, you'll want to report it yourself before he brings more trouble knocking."

Inside his trunk the sound carried well enough, and at his desk Harry was surprised to find his fists clenched tightly.

Harry flinched again later when Ripper's scratching against the door began again. After thinking about the problem, he had to climb out of his compartment to cast an imperturbable charm on the door just in case Ripper's repeated charges broke the door in and all kinds of secrets were revealed.

He couldn't think of anything else to do.

It was the Monday after Harry turned thirteen when the Daily Prophet finally reported a sudden Azkaban break-out by none other than Sirius Black. Muggle news reports followed the next morning, as Harry discovered from the breakfast conversation he eavesdropped on, from the safe side of his cupboard door. There was confirmation from numerous muggle headlines when he bought his own papers later that day.

Fortunately for Harry, the photo and interest piece featuring him and his friends had been deemed interested enough to make it into the paper quite quickly, and Harry rejoiced even as wizards and muggles the length of Britain were warned against approaching the dangerous, armed criminal.

He began the next stage of the plan, making sure to charm Ripper to sleep before he crept out of the house that night, and every night that followed.

He would have garnered a few strange looks from the neighbours over the next few days if he had not been lurking so late at night. A midnight black cloak covering him carefully, Harry huddled near the hedges, chasing after every sudden rustle and spun violently at every noise. He skulked up and down the road for an hour or two each night, twitching at every noise, jerking at every dog bark that might be Sirius before he realised he was acting ridiculous.

Even Harry himself eventually realised he was acting a bit mad, and settled down around the sheltered side of the house with a fresh plate of steaming food in a full bowl beside him.

Since it was unlikely, Harry realised, that he would be able to sneak up on a desperate, ravenous animagus, Harry would simply have to lure him with food.

One evening, he startled alert just after midnight, convinced he had seen the strange glow of eyes in the dark.

Harry jerked his arm away from his mokeskin pouch, where it had darted, lurched forward, and stared at the spot he had seen them disappear.

He gazed so fixedly into the heavy shadows and gloom that white spots began dancing before his eyes.

The wind picked up, and Harry shivered. He stuffed his pouch back beneath his shirt, gazed at the garden, and stood to sneak inside.

Unlike other evenings, when Harry brought the plate inside, he was careful to leave the food behind when he went in.

Harry was beside himself the next morning when he snuck out early to find the bowl scraped empty and gleaming. He scanned the garden as he picked it up, eyes lingering on the shadows. He saw nothing, and heard nothing unusual.

Then, stooping quickly, from out of his mokeskin pouch he promptly pulled out a large salami, and placed it in the bowl, followed by a large, plastic container of bottled water. Harry pushed the water back with his toe, edging it neatly just out of the morning sunlight and into the shade of the eaves.

He turned and went quietly inside.

From the cramped safety of his cupboard Harry then waited nervously for the rest of the household to wake.

Petunia roused first, and soon sizzling sounds and food smells emanated from the kitchen. With snuffling, slobbery bounds, soon Ripper the bulldog crashed down the stairs, and Marge opened the door to let him out for a moment.

Harry pressed his ear against his cupboard door eagerly. To his relief, the dog only stayed outside long enough to relieve itself before Marge brought it back inside. Perhaps it was the smell of sausages and bacon frying? Or the allure of Harry's smell lurking just out of reach under the steps, because Ripper was soon alternating between snuffling wetly outside Harry's cupboard, and scoffing down its generous meal.

For Harry himself, the experience was not pleasant. But he bore with it in relief, knowing that it would give Sirius more time to approach the house without Ripper on his heels.

He bided his time until Marge and her dog lumbered back upstairs for a moment, and then snuck back out into the garden to confirm the food was gone.

The plate was empty. And, to Harry's satisfaction, not only had the water gone, but the bottle had too.

His initial contact being established, and his plan successfully underway, Harry managed to focus on his studies for the rest of the day.

He returned outside with more food and water that evening, and stayed out there long enough only to confirm that this time he was certain he saw gleaming yellow eyes staring out at him from the dark. The pattern continued for a few days, until Harry judged the time ripe. That morning, Harry did not return inside, simply backing away from the bowl to some distance and sitting back on his heels.

There was a rustle of bushes that had him lurching forward in eagerness, but Harry held himself back. Sirius had not been rational when Harry first met him in the first timeline, and that had been after months of being on the run. This Sirius had only just escaped from Azkaban, and was probably far more paranoid than Harry could guess. And he really didn't want to scare Sirius off by revealing anything was wrong.

As the thought occurred, Harry hid his trembling fingertips under his arms and hoped his scent didn't reveal anything too damaging.

He looked eagerly at the hedge where the crackling of twigs was coming from. Little snaps and sounds of heavy breathing reached his ears, and ever so slowly the great black body of a huge wolfhound crept out on its haunches from beneath the shrubbery. Harry held his breath.

The huge dog took a moment to stagger to its feet, and then sniffed the air cautiously.

Harry's heart dropped when it caught his scent and froze. Was Sirius too paranoid to feed in front of Harry?

The silence stretched out at the two of them stared at each other. Harry's eyes didn't see that well in the darkness, but he could pick out the frozen stiffness and tautness of body in the outline of his godfather's body.

He opened his mouth, and the little wet pop of his lips separating caused the dog's ears to dart forward. Harry licked his lips.

"I left food for you, P–", he stopped. Calling him Padfoot would definitely scare his godfather off. "P-P…Puppy," he managed. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

The dog gave no other indication of hearing him, but his ears flickered a little bit in the night.

"Go on," Harry tried again after a few minutes, when Sirius had failed to look away or blink. "I'll…I'll just leave you to it then, shall I?"

He rose as quietly as he could and began backing slowly away from the dog, around the corner of the house. Sirius' head swivelled to follow him all the while. Moving slowly, it took Harry a few minutes to disappear around the corner, but he had not made any sudden movements or scared his godfather off so he sighed, and stretched his spine.

Hardly the delighted reunion he had hoped for, but not a failure yet, either.

He trudged inside, letting himself in the door silently, and hoped that tomorrow would bring him more luck.

Three days later, Harry had finally made some progress. He had left food and water out each evening, and each morning, and every time he checked the bowls the food and water were gone.

He tried to get closer to the dog again that night, and was allowed to crouch at a distance while the great black beast scarfed the food down. The bowl was empty and the water gone within ten minutes.

Approaching little by little each day, the emaciated black dog finally let Harry watch him while he ate on Wednesday night, and let Harry pet him gently the following weekend.

"Can I call you Snuffles?" Harry whispered, while the black dog lay – still tense – at his feet. He ran his fingers lightly over the matted hair, feeling the ridges of the skull, and the prominence of each rib. "I've got no friends in this house. And I have to hide from Aunt Marge before she says something stupid and I blow her up. It would be nice to have someone who wants me."

He tried to mix his past and future timelines. The original thirteen-year-old Harry would have wanted a dog to love him, and had hidden as best he could from Aunt Marge and her horrible dog. The present Harry Potter wanted to seem young and lonely, so that Sirius would follow him away when he left.

Harry lurched back to sit on the ground, resting his body on the side of the house. His godfather – Padfoot, Snuffles – twitched at the movement, but then crept forward to gnaw gently on one of Harry's shoes. It wasn't exactly the resounding 'yes' that Harry was hoping for, but it felt like a friendly kind of slobber. Harry took it to mean that the dog, the animagus, was slightly attached to him now.

They sat in companionable silence, Harry couldn't say for how long. He continued to gently pat the beast at his side, and slowly, when nothing else moved but the rhythmic clap of Harry's hand against Padfoot's body, the great dog huffed, and flopped down heavily to lie on top of one of Harry's feet. Its great tail began a very slow wag, thumping against Harry's side as they sat together in the dark.

He found himself nodding in sleepiness as the night deepened. It was a dry night, although it was overcast and dark, and the body of his godfather was radiating feverish heat despite being so skinny.

Harry dozed off, his hand petting the dog slowed and came to a halt, and his head nodded forward to rest on his chest. Dimly he registered Snuffles' head rise, his long, wet tongue darting out to moisten Harry's face, and it was a natural thing for Harry to giggle a little while he drowsed.

Harry thought that he actually slept for a while, despite the chill of the night, and the solid ground he sat on. He thought that he dreamed of Sirius, that his godfather had ruffled his hair and called him a good cub, but even in his dream Harry thought that such a thing would be too convenient.

He woke quite suddenly a few hours later, when the dark of the night was just beginning to pale into the pre-dawn. Padfoot's heavy head lay on his knees, and his godfather was awake and gazing up at his while he did so. Harry took a moment to recollect himself, to collect his thoughts, remembering what was now and what were his memories of the last timeline. He thought he remembered a nice dream, but Padfoot's head was right before his eyes, and Harry didn't want to seem suspicious.

"Sorry, Snuffles," he murmured, gentled pushing the dog off his lap. "I need to get going so that nobody inside sees me."

His godfather lumbered to his feet, panting at Harry in a vaguely disapproving manner.

"I'll get you more food," Harry promised, "And then see you again tonight? Stay safe, don't let anyone see you."

Shortly thereafter, Harry was safely ensconced in his cupboard, and Padfoot had disappeared for the day.

It was time to put his plan into action.

Harry disappeared from his trunk an hour or so later, popping off to Diagon Alley for breakfast before returning to his luggage to work. He did his best to study that day, distracting though his plans were, but he eventually gave up and plotted and planned his way through the next few days instead. He dashed off to Diagon Alley for supplies near noon, and then twice more later on in the day for things he had forgotten.

By the time he could admit to himself that dinner would not be unreasonably early, Harry was as ready as he thought he could be. He had also totally ruined a perfectly good piece of parchment with scribbles, scratches, and doodles. Exiting the trunk, Harry closed it, disillusioned it and dragged himself out of the stuffy cupboard.

The Dursleys were busy for the moment: Dudley ensconced in his bedroom with some new game, Vernon, his sister and her dog making a ruckus in the lounge in front of the telly. Petunia was alone in the kitchen, just beginning her preparations for their meal. Harry paused for a moment to watch her bustle about. For one brief moment as he watched her, he felt sorry for her. Was this what she had dreamed for herself when she was still only his mother's sister? Preparing piles of food for a family that took her for granted? Then she noticed his presence, and startled, her habitual scowl took over her face.

"Thanks," Harry nodded her way quietly. "I'm off."

She made a shooing gesture at him with hands, "Shoo!" Petunia whispered with a glance towards the noise coming from the lounge. "Marge hasn't noticed you're here. Be off with you." Her face was even more pinched-looking than usual, and Harry wondered if she was looking pale. "Good riddance."

"That's what I have planned," Harry continued to Petunia's bewilderment. "I just need one thing…"

"What?" she hissed.

Harry held out a pen and parchment to her. "I need someone to sign this form here. This is a permission slip for – "

"Oh, give it here," Petunia snapped, one eye still on the door into the lounge. She scribbled her signature at the bottom of the page without looking at it, and thrust it back towards Harry. "Take it and get out."

Perfectly happy to leave the family behind him, Harry took the hint and crept quietly towards the front door. Behind him Petunia started clanking and rattling the pans with vigour.

The front door opened with a very quiet click.

Harry stepped over the threshold and heard to his dismay the heavy, rapid pattering of a heavyset canine heading his direction. He had not been quiet enough, apparently. Ripper rounded the lounge door and accelerated towards him with an evil, canine smirk.

Harry rushed through the door and spun around to grab it awkwardly. The thundering of Ripper's charge was right upon him when Harry managed to slam the front door between them.

There was a mad scrabbling as the dog tried to slow its mad charge, but Harry was satisfied to hear the deep thud of a heavy animal crashing into the solid door. Hopefully it had been headfirst.

There had been no time for the dog to avoid the crash. Harry patted himself down frantically as he heard Marge rouse herself loudly from inside the house.

Pockets, pouch, wand, luggage, he had everything.

"Ripper? Rippy-pooh?" the woman's unpleasant voice boomed out through the open windows into the early evening. "What happened here?"

Harry dashed away from the door.

"Pa– Snuffles?" he called quietly, glancing furtively around. "Here boy! Where are you boy?"

His youthful voice wavered out across the garden.

The voices behind the door seemed to rise in intensity.

Harry wondered for a panicked moment if the ruckus inside the house would follow him outside. "Come here, boy, come here!" he called once more, trying to make his voice carry, while simultaneously not drawing attention.

To his great relief, the large form of his godfather appeared in a distant corner of the garden.

"Come on," Harry beckoned. "Come with me. I'm running away."

He turned and hurried towards the end of the road, trusting his godfather to follow after him.