The large, black dog lay in the shade of the fence around the small yard, head on his paws, and watched the little dark-haired boy toiling in the tiny herb garden alongside the back wall of the house. The boy had been outside for almost an hour now, and had yet to put down the trowel. Though the boy seemed fit enough, he did not seem happy at his work, frowning slightly and with a tongue poking out between his lips, as if he had to concentrate hard at what he was doing. The large dog had to keep from growling as he watched the boy, for nearer to the door into house, sitting in the damned shade with a tall glass of something cold with ice, and watching to make sure the boy kept working, was the scrawny, hook-nosed bane of Padfoot's existence: Snivellus Snape.

Thank goodness being in his Animagus form kept Padfoot from experiencing extremes of emotion, or he would have been enraged enough to have already bitten through Snivelly's throat and left him to bleed to death in his own backyard. But he knew that, no matter what, James' son didn't need to see any violence of that sort. The boy had already experienced enough trauma in his short life, from seeing his mother killed in front of him and the horror of You-Know-Who trying to kill him, too. He didn't need to have someone -- even a man as terrible as his kidnapper -- ripped to shreds in front of him.

But Padfoot would see Snape in Azkaban for this, at least! Dementor Kissed, too, if he could arrange it. He simply could not understand how Dumbledore could be allowing this . . . this Death Eater anywhere near his godson. It was a travesty! In fact, Padfoot's whole journey to find his Harry had been one unpleasant surprise after another, from the moment he'd heard the awful words from the mouth of Cornelius Fudge, that something was wrong at the house of Harry's guardians, all the way until now, at the house of his oldest enemy. Nothing in this rescue attempt had gone as planned.

Unable to keep from growling low in his throat as he remembered the news from Fudge, that despicable man, Padfoot hurriedly lifted a hindfoot to his ear and scratched a few times before lying back down on the dirt. A week ago, Fudge had come into Sirius' cell, looking pompous and acting like the fucking prick he was. He had obviously wanted to taunt Sirius Black with news about the godson he had not seen in years, and seemed disappointed when he got little reaction from the convict. But Sirius had learned a long time ago in Azkaban how to control his emotions; the prison was a harsh classroom. The human guards were bad enough if a prisoner got worked up; the Dementors were far worse. It was not an exaggeration to say that less than an hour in their presence could make a man wish he had never been born, and one of those creatures could literally eat a man's soul for breakfast. The sound of their approach through the cells -- the rustle of their tattered cloaks over the soft grind of their dessicated bones, and the low cries of tormented inmates they left in their wake -- was a sound Sirius would never forget. He feared that sound above any other thing on earth now. More than looking into the face of You-Know-Who. More than death itself.

If he never heard that sound again before he died, he would die a happy man.

Unless he failed to free his godson from this monster, who was treating him like a slave.

Sirius knew Snape had probably taken Harry from his relatives because he wanted complete control over James' son, wanted to treat Harry like a slave, but he could not discount the possibility that he was acting on the orders of one of the many Death Eaters who had managed to avoid Azkaban. Lucius Malfoy came to mind. He'd been a N.E.W.T. student when Snivellus (and the Marauders) started school, but Sirius remembered Malfoy acting as a guide to young Snivelly, showing him the ropes in Slytherin, such as they were. No doubt, they had conspired from the very beginning to take revenge on the boy who had brought down their Dark Lord, no matter what Sirius had heard at Hogwarts to the contrary.

The memory of what had sent him looking for Harry at Hogwarts brought another faint growl to his throat, and he swiftly stilled it before Snivellus looked up from his book. When Sirius had escaped from Azkaban, right after Fudge's visit, he had first gone to Surrey, traveling as Padfoot so as not to raise suspicion -- who would notice one more stray dog on the roads of Britain? In Surrey, however, he had been unable to find Harry. He had found the house in Little Whinging where Lily's sister and brother-in-law lived, of course. At first, though, he had thought it was the wrong address since he had found no trace of Harry there.

The Dursleys were an odd bunch, he had decided. When he first arrived at their cookie-cutter house, Sirius had just watched them go about their day. The couple staggered around the place almost like Inferi, pasty-faced, dull-eyed and nearly silent. All three sported huge, dark circles under their eyes, as if none of them had slept in ages. Their whale of a child had been lying on the divan, and he whined constantly about food: wanting it, wanting something different, or just being hungry. His eyes were red from his constant crying, and snot streamed in twin rivers out of his nose, which he swiped at over and over with his fat, grimy fingers. When Sirius went in for a closer look, and even sneaked inside the Muggle house, he found a mess he guessed had been months in the making, with dirty clothes, stale food and their containers scattered on furniture, the floor and counters. Harry's uncle stared at the Muggle velly-tision, barely blinking and clutching an empty beer bottle in one massive fist. Petunia's eyes were hardly open as she slumped in a kitchen chair, her blond hair -- which Sirius recalled from long ago being nearly spell-proof with shellac -- now hung in dull, greasy strands.

Sirius had been unable to figure out what exactly happened to them, but he had no doubt that Snivellus had done something to Harry's relatives, tortured them or cursed them somehow in order to get the boy. When he absolutely had to ask them where Harry was, since the boy was not to be found at the local school or anywhere in the house, the Dursleys had been far less riled up by his appearance than Sirius would have imagined. He could recall them, on previous occasions, behaving like loons in the presence of wizarding folk, and James had regaled him with a tale or two of their utter Mugglishness in reference to wizarding culture. Even Lily had once described her sister as "a screechy prude," but the woman Sirius spoke with was anything but, stuttering when she spoke and jumping at every sound or motion. She did, however, say that a "horrid, nasty creep of a man," had taken "the boy" from them and then come back days later to gloat about the fact and to torment her "poor, dear family."

That description fit Snape to a tee, or Sirius' Animagus form was platypus.

Deciding from that meeting that he needed extra help in finding Harry -- and realizing Fudge had been right about there being something weird going on at the Dursleys' place -- Sirius had become Padfoot again and traveled to Hogwarts. He hoped to find out something of Harry's whereabouts from Dumbledore, if the Headmaster had not already tracked Harry down and brought him to the safety of the school.

By the time he reached Hogsmeade, he knew the Ministry was aware of his escape from Azkaban, and he had nearly been caught while in the Three Broomsticks. Ach, even now, he could hardly believe his stupidity in that escapade. Thinking the barroom empty, he had -- only briefly! -- changed into his human form so he could question Rosmerta -- who had always flirted with him when he'd been at Hogwarts -- about what, if anything, she had heard about Harry from the school. Alas, the room had not been empty, and one of the old Order was there, Fletcher, he thought now. Dementors had been called to Hogwarts before the end of the day.

Keeping to his Animagus form, since he could get past the wards that way, just as he had at Azkaban, Sirius had entered the school and learned that Harry was in residence. Or he had been, till recently. But he had been even more shocked to hear that Snivellus not only was employed by the school -- as a Potions Master, no less! -- but that he had custody of Harry and claimed to be Harry's father!

Sirius had nearly killed Argus Filch, the bastard, for saying as much. But Filch hadn't known Sirius was there. The caretaker had been going about his nasty business, with his nasty Miss Norris, and almost sing-songing what he would do when he got "that li'l urchin of Snape's" back in his claws, no matter what curse that foul Snape had laid on him, and that he "should've done th'whelp in like 'e deserv'd," when he'd first gotten his hands on him, but he wouldn't make a mistake like that again, oh no. . . .

It had been too much for Sirius to bear without killing the man, and he had almost fled the school entirely, not wanting to hear anything more about what horrors might have been visited upon his Harry, by Filch or Snivellus or anyone else. Instead, he had collapsed in a corner of the Entry Hall hidden in shadows to lick his wounds like any other dog. But then he had spied a couple of Gryffindors -- Weasleys by the look of their hair -- coming out of the Great Hall and talking quietly together. When he had caught the word, "Harry," whispered from the younger one's lips, he had trailed behind the boys, all the way to Gryffindor Tower, staying hidden and yet listening to their conversation, just like the Auror he had once trained to be, with James, so many years ago now.

Obviously thinking they were alone while they walked, the two boys discussed Sirius' godson and how safe Harry was, "from his murdering godfather," now that the Weasley house was protected by Dumbledore. They only hoped the "murderous traitor of those poor Potters" would be caught by the holidays, as they were looking forward to seeing Harry over Christmas break, assuming he would visit with the Weasleys, even if the boy was living with "his father" all the time now. The older one -- Bill, Padfoot remembered from years ago -- even said he hoped "Professor Snape" would return for second term, as he was the best Potions teacher they'd had yet at Hogwarts, even if he was a bit brusque.

"Brusque!" the younger boy, likely a Fourth Year, echoed with a laugh. "That's putting it mild."

Bill smirked. "He's a whiz at Potions, though." The smirk turning into a lopsided smile, he added, "But I figure you can forgive a man a bit of brusque, when it's obvious how much he loves Harry."

The younger boy had shrugged but nodded, and the two of them had climbed through the portrait, leaving Sirius shaking with anger in the corridor behind them.

How dare Dumbledore let that sniveling snake get his greasy hands on Harry! Sirius fumed. James must be rolling in his grave!

It had not taken much more sneaking about Hogwarts to learn that Snape was living in the same place as where he'd grown up, which was coincidentally in the same town that Lily was from, before they'd each started at Hogwarts. And Sirius knew exactly where that was!

Shortly before her parents had been murdered by You-Know-Who, Lily and James had been walking together in her parents' neighborhood during the holidays, and she had pointed out to James the playground where she had met "young Severus," as she called him, also mentioning how odd things had turned out for the two of them, once they'd been sorted into different Houses. She had even told James about the house Snivellus had lived in! As if she had been there! As if James would care one tiny bit!

Of course, unable to hide his jealousy, James had told Sirius all about this conversation, and Sirius had naturally assured him that he nothing to worry about from Lily -- she knew what a horrible snake Snape was, and it was obvious she adored James. For his best friend's sake, and to pay Snivellus back for all he had done to Lily (and James) over the years, but especially for James' unwarranted envy of that slimy git, Sirius had paid a visit to Snivellus' house.

Almost ten years ago now, Sirius had stood on the cobble stoned street and stared at this same tired, tiny 2-up, 2-down on Spinner's End, the back yard garden of which he was now lurking in as Padfoot. Ten years ago, Sirius had been filled with righteous vengeance on behalf of his best friend's fiancée against that hateful wanker. With a few well placed spells, and never having to enter the house, Sirius had broken every window, mirror and odd piece of glass in Snivellus' house, then filled the front sitting room with Thestral dung. In was the least that slimy snake deserved for making James doubt Lily's intentions.

And now, watching as Snivellus guarded Harry and treated the poor little boy like a slave, Sirius wished he had gone with his gut and set Fiendfyre loose inside this place ten years ago. But he would destroy Snivellus tonight, oh yes, just as the Slytherin snake was set on destroying James' son. It was obvious Harry was being starved -- he was little more than skin and bones, and no larger than an average four-year-old, when he was seven! And, from the way he was working without stopping, without complaints, it was just as obvious that he was used to chores like this: weeding, planting beds, mulching and the like. House elf work.

The longer he watched, the harder it was to stay still and not rescue his godson right now. But Padfoot was nothing if not patient. Azkaban had taught him that.

Suddenly, the snake came to his feet. Padfoot lay perfectly still, not wanting to draw his attention, but ready to intervene if Snivellus dared to put a hand on his godson. He would rip the ugly git's throat out if he came any closer to the boy.

"Harry," the greasy-haired man called, and the boy looked over at Snivellus, coming to his feet immediately with the trowel gripped tight in his little hand, as if he had been trained to obey every word, as soon as his captor said it. "Come along now. It's time for lunch."

"Yes, Father," Harry said with a nod, and without pause, trotted over to Snivellus.

Unable to keep from growling at the name Harry used for the greasy git, Padfoot kept the sound as soft as he could, but it was almost too much for him. How had the evil bastard convinced Harry to call him that? What else had he forced Harry to do since he had kidnapped him from the Dursleys?

Padfoot tensed as Snivellus reached out a hand, but he only touched the top of Harry's head to guide him into the house, and did not strike him as Padfoot thought he would. Lucky bastard, Padfoot thought. He would have leaped for the beast's throat if he'd hurt Harry in front of him, Harry's sensibilities be damned.

As the two went up the couple steps to the backdoor and inside the house, Padfoot settled on his haunches in the dirt with a light sigh. He could hardly wait till tonight. He would get his godson out of this slimy git's clutches, and Harry would be safe once more, with him.

And Snivellus would not be able to come after Harry again. This time, Sirius would take him down as he should have done, ten years ago. This time, Sirius would not leave him alive.