Chapter 268. The Dursleys and Black
Although the Dursleys hadn't shown up, Harry wasn't worried.
He quickly picked out a familiar figure in the bustling crowd.
Adrian Wesson was leaning against a pillar not far away, idly fiddling with a pocket watch—he hadn't chosen to take the train today. It had been a fine experience, but, all the same, it took a lot of time.
While the train was running, he'd gone home, straightened up his shop, and made a round of his plantation.
As it turned out, all that had been unnecessary. Ever since he'd hired the house-elf Dobby, the shop was spotless at all times. Truly, hiring Dobby was one of the wisest decisions he'd ever made.
After saying goodbye to the Weasleys, Harry hurried through the crowd toward Wesson, the trolley carrying his luggage rattling over the flagstones.
As he came up, Wesson slipped the watch back into his inner pocket and looked up with a faint smile.
"Put your luggage down," Wesson said, pointing at the floor. "Let's go home."
Harry did as he was told. His luggage—trolley and all—vanished at once, leaving behind only one white feather from Hedwig.
"Your things are already in your room," Wesson explained to the startled Harry. "Hedwig as well—but when you get back, you'd best give her something to eat. She'll be hungry after a long journey."
"Oh—okay." Harry nodded. "How are we getting back?"
"Apparition," Wesson said offhandedly. "Quick and convenient—though if you like, we could call a taxi, although I haven't any Muggle money on me."
He said this as he steered Harry toward the exit.
When they stepped out of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters into the Muggle concourse, a suspicious fellow blocked their way.
He was a strangely dressed man in ill-matched Muggle clothes—a crumpled brown suit jacket and a pair of overly baggy tracksuit bottoms—and, even in the dim corridor, he stubbornly kept on a pair of black sunglasses.
Just as Harry was puzzling over him, Wesson arched an eyebrow. "Black?"
The man whipped off the glasses at once, breaking into a brilliant grin. "Ah, Wesson—call me Sirius, don't be so formal. Of course, I'll still use your surname. I remember you told me you preferred that to your given name…"
So it really was Black. Wesson nodded, unsurprised—Black turning up here at this time was, without a doubt, for Harry.
Harry's eyes widened slightly; he couldn't help feeling a little tense—their exchange made it plain that this odd man was the Sirius Black of rumour.
His heart gave a jolt, his throat tightened, and for a moment he didn't know what to say.
It was the first time he was formally meeting Sirius Black—his godfather.
Sirius turned his gaze to the boy at Wesson's side, visibly moved. "You're Harry, aren't you? Harry Potter."
Harry nodded, not very smoothly, and his eyes slid to Wesson for support.
"I suppose we've exchanged letters—you must know…" Sirius paused, as if sorting through his words. "I'm your godfather."
"Yes," said Harry, a bit at a loss.
"Oh, I thought so." Delighted, Sirius hauled Harry against his side. "Then, as your godfather, it's my duty to see you live better. I've done some digging—you're living with that family called Des—"
"It's Dursley, Mr Black," Harry corrected in a small voice.
"Oh—Desli." Sirius smacked his forehead, entirely missing that he'd got it wrong again. "Anyway, that lot sound absolutely dreadful! I can't believe Dumbledore let you grow up in a place like that! Come live with me—you'll like it there. I've so much to tell you…"
"Ahem."
Wesson gave a small cough, cutting Sirius off. "Sirius, Harry seems to be running out of air."
He indicated Sirius's arm clamped tight round Harry's shoulders.
Sirius came to himself and let go. "Sorry—I got a bit carried away. So—come home with me, Harry. It'll be wonderful."
Rubbing his sore shoulder, Harry managed a smile. "It's all right. I'm very glad to meet you…"
Just one meeting, and he felt this man wasn't bad. But, all the same, moving in with a stranger all of a sudden was asking a lot.
Harry looked hesitantly to Wesson—only to find Wesson staring off at a Muggle in the distance, apparently absorbed in the man's green hat.
In the end, Harry sighed and said, slowly, "Thank you for the offer, Mr Black, but… I think I still have to go back to the Dursleys' this summer."
Sirius's smile froze. "What? Why? Those Durs—Durs—"
He stumbled over it for ages and still didn't get the surname right.
"There are lots of reasons," Harry explained, seeing his confusion. "Most importantly, I need to stay with blood relatives for a while—er… that way the magic on me will keep working."
At that, Sirius raked his hair in frustration. "But…"
"Don't worry about me," Harry said easily. "In fact, I'm not living badly at all. Professor Wesson keeps an eye on me when I need it."
Sirius looked like he still had more to say, but by now the Muggles around them were growing more numerous.
"I think we ought to be off," Wesson reminded them.
Half an hour later.
In the Dursleys' living room.
Harry and Sirius were on the sofa, discussing bloodline magic.
Just then, Mr and Mrs Dursley were cowering at the turn of the stairs, staring at them in terror, while Wesson stood beside them, explaining the situation. "That's Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. He's just finished a twelve-year sentence in prison, and he's especially come to see—"
"Prison!!"
Vernon jumped, his jowls trembling. "What did he do?"
"Oh, you mean why he was sent to prison in the first place?" Wesson said lightly. "He was accused of killing several Muggles… oh—'Muggle' is what wizards call ordinary people. Of course, that wasn't the truth…"
Before Wesson had finished, Vernon's face had gone chalk-white. "Ki… killed people!?"
Petunia wasn't much better.
Wesson, mischievously, let ten seconds tick by in silence before adding, unhurriedly, "—But it was later proved he'd been wronged."
Only then did Vernon and Petunia breathe again.
Even so, this was clearly a man they couldn't afford to cross.
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