Harry eats breakfast with Hermione the next morning, the both of them settled together on the Gryffindor table. It's something Harry likes about Hogwarts in the mornings - because of the more lax nature of breakfast and lunch, the both of them being open over several hours rather than at a particular time like at dinner, one can sit wherever they like.

But Harry knows better than to ever take Hermione over to the Slytherin table to eat.

"I didn't see you at dinner last night," Hermione says, and Harry gives a small nod of his head. He trusts Hermione with every fiber of his being, but he doesn't know if he can tell her about Black. Hermione will abandon the rules in a second if she feels it necessary, but school rules and the law aside, would she believe that Black was safe? Would she believe that she could trust him, just because Harry trusts him? Does Harry trust him? He'd handed Black his wand, and Black hadn't murdered him or done him any harm, but on the chance that Black does turn out to be utterly mad, that he does try to murder him, Harry needs someone else to know. He needs Hermione there.

"Nah, I didn't go," Harry replies, and he glances up and down the Gryffindor table. It's still early in the morning, and the activity on the table is scattered; none of the other third year Gryffindors are downstairs yet, but Harry can see Percy eating alone near the top of the table, and occasionally the head boy will glance down at them. "I need to tell you something, but not here." Hermione frowns at him, concern obvious in her features, but Harry just slowly shakes his head, and she takes his meaning.

"Er- well, did you enjoy Transfiguration yesterday?"

---

Just as Harry and Hermione are standing to leave the great hall, the Weasley twins appear in the great hall's doorway, their matching gazes focused on Harry. They don't seem to be all that cheery - if anything, their focus is determined, and they move towards Harry.

"We need to talk to you about where you were last night, Harry," Fred says, waggling his eyebrows, and Harry stares at him. How had he and George known? Fred and George glance between Harry and Hermione, and Harry knows Fred was intentionally vague, but...

"We need to go somewhere private," Harry murmurs impatiently, and he gestures for the three of them to follow him. They walk quickly to the Astronomy Tower, and Harry finds the brick Celia Hayworth had pointed out last year, hissing a command in Parseltongue and allowing the stone to open up. Fred and George look delighted, stepping eagerly aside, and Harry shuts the entrance behind the three of them, hissing for the torches around the cupboard to light themselves.

Harry immediately drops himself onto the floor, leaning against one of the walls: the little storeroom is utterly clean of dust, and the shelves are empty, but George and Fred still each peer curiously onto every one as Hermione slowly sits down on the floor beside him.

"How did you know where I went?" Harry asks, and the twins share a glance, frowning and crossing their arms over their chests as they look down at Harry and Hermione. Harry's too tired to bargain with them this morning - he already owes Draco three favours for last night. "No favours, no swapping, no back-and-forthing. I'll be honest with you if you're honest with me." Hermione is silent, watching them all carefully, but she's being patient, Harry can see. She wants to know what all of this is about more than she wants to take control.

"Shall we tell him?" Fred asks, and George gives a slow nod of his head.

"It's worth it if we can get down to Hogsmeade another way." Harry frowns, narrowing his eyes slightly, and the twins kneel together. George pulls a piece of old parchment out of his back pocket, spreading it on the stone floor. It's an odd, old piece of blank parchment, ripped in some of its corners, and Harry raises his eyebrows, but then George taps its middle with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Harry and Hermione watch in fascination as black ink bleeds up from the parchment, spreading over its surface.

"The Marauder's Map?" Hermione repeats, peering at it with interest, and then she goes silent again: there's awe on her features as a map of Hogwarts spreads over the parchment's surface, with little dots labelled individually. "Where are we?"

"They mustn't have known about this place," Fred says, shaking his head. "When they made the map, I mean, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs: the Chamber of Secrets isn't on it either. We saw you here." Fred points to the Whomping WIllow out on the grounds, and Harry can see the passage arcing off it and off the edge of the map's boundaries, into Hogsmeade. "We've never been able to get down there, but we saw your name disappearing off the edge of the map. How did you do it?"

"It's part of a long story," Harry says, "I was about to explain to Hermione when you guys came down. Uh- look, everything I'm about to say can't leave this room, okay? I'm trusting you two, and you have to understand, this isn't just about secret passages or whatever. There's more to it than that." The twins lean back on their heels, sharing a look, and then they sit down cross-legged on the ground, nodding their heads.

"Where were you last night, Harry?" Hermione asks, and Harry sighs.

"I was walking home in Little Whinging this summer, early evening. And this bloke came up to me, a proper tramp, and I just assumed he'd ask me for a quid or something, but he didn't do that..."

---

Harry breathes in when he finishes telling the three of them all about Black: to their credit, Hermione and the twins had stayed utterly silent throughout his entire explanation, but Harry has no idea if that's a good sign or not. Hermione does look utterly horrified, after all, and the twins look positively solemn as they press their lips together, obviously thinking deeply.

"You really think he's innocent?" Hermione asks seriously.

"I don't know," Harry admits. "But I know he didn't set that knight on me, and I know he's not here at Hogwarts to kill me. He's obviously sick in the head, after all those years in Azkaban. I can't know for certain if he betrayed my parents or not, but I know that I don't believe he did. I don't think he can really lie properly at the moment, Hermione: what the dementors must have been like over all that time..." He trails off, giving a little shake of his head, and Hermione bites her lip.

"What's the rat?" George asks.

"No idea," Harry says, rubbing at his eyes. "Talking to him is hard, it's like getting blood out of a stone just to get him to answer a question."

"He sounds crazy," Fred says.

"He is," Harry agrees. "But I don't think it's his fault. So, from what I know... Okay, the actual story is that when my parents were in hiding, Black and this other bloke, Pettigrew, both knew where they were hiding. Apparently, Black betrayed my parents to Voldemort, and then ran off to get Pettigrew. He murdered the guy, along with a dozen Muggles, in this big explosion, and they sent him straight to Azkaban, no trial."

"Pettigrew?" George repeats suddenly, "Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yeah. Peter, that was his name. But the two of them were friends with my dad here at school - as well as Remus Lupin."

"No, no," Fred says suddenly, and he grabs at the map, turning it around and scanning the pages with urgent eyes. "Look, look. There he is." Fred jabs at the page, where the Gryffindor tower is drawn, and there's a little dot on the page: Peter Pettigrew. Harry and Hermione both lean forwards, staring at the page.

"I don't understand," Hermione says. "I thought Harry just said he was dead?"

"It's an error in the magic," George explains. "We think that when they were originally making the map, they must have used Pettigrew as an experiment to hold up the charm. He was the first one they added to the charm: when he left Hogwarts, the map mustn't have known what to do, so it just started showing old haunts of his."

"He's not really there," Fred adds, "We've looked for him a few times, and there's never been a person where his dot is on the map. But that's too big of a coincidence, right? We figured Pettigrew must have been someone they knew, or even one of them."

"How old is this map?" Hermione asks. "Maybe Black's seen it before." George gives a shrug of his shoulders.

"We don't know," Fred says. "We nicked it out of Filch's office a few years back."

"We should show it to him," Hermione says firmly. Harry glances to her, and she meets his gaze, confused. "What?"

"You believe me?" Harry asks. "You're not going to go tell McGonagall I'm harbouring a fugitive or something?"

"Don't be stupid," Hermione says sharply, "If he is innocent, he'll get the Kiss. We need proof one way or the other." Harry throws himself forwards, wrapping his arms tightly around her, and he lets out a relieved laugh against her chest. Hermione hugs him back, tightly, and when he draws back, she focuses on the map again. "Does it show Black?"

"It should, if he comes onto Hogwarts grounds," Fred says. "But it only covers the castle - it doesn't go all over Hogsmeade, and that's where the Shrieking Shack is."

"It's an amazing piece of magic," Hermione murmurs, stroking absent-mindedly over the Astronomy Tower. "So. What are we going to do now?"

"I need to bring him some clothes," Harry says. "I told him I would. And food, too. There's some cans in the cupboard of the kitchen, but they're just some tomatoes, some baked beans, stuff like that, and we almost finished the bag of dried pasta I had left last night. I didn't bother stocking it up for next summer."

"What else is in the tent?" George asks.

"Well, this bathrobe that came free with it. About four towels, two sets of bedsheets, my cousin's old radio... Other than that, it's just the furniture and the hangers in the wardrobe." Fred rubs his chin as he looks down at the map, seeming to consider the thought. "I can't order stuff in by owl."

"No," Fred agrees. "That'll be way too suspicious, even if all four of us order little things. There's no need for any of us to want a jar of spaghetti or some adult-sized robes. Well, food we'll just nick out of the kitchens. We've taken food for parties from the elves before, and they never ask any questions."

"How big is Black?" George asks. "How tall is he?"

"Not that tall," Harry says. "Maybe five foot eight, five foot seven?"

"Percy's old robes," George says firmly. "That set he was going to chuck out after his last growth spurt."

"Perfect," Fred says with a nod of his head. "We can nick his old jumpers from the bottom of his trunk, too. The fourth and fifth year ones should fit Black, and he never notices what he's missing unless it's his special quill or his glasses case." Harry looks between the two of them, taken aback.

"Are you guys really going to do this? Help me help him?"

"'Course," George says simply. "You think he's an innocent man, right, Harry? We'll stand by your stupid, serpent self. You can always trust Gred and Forge."

"Well," Hermione murmurs. "That's not strictly true." George grins at her, showing all his teeth.

"Oh, come on, Hermione. You know you love us." Hermione snorts, shaking her head, and she begins to talk rapidly, pulling a piece of parchment out of her bag and making a list of things they need to get for Black as George and Fred nod their heads, adding things to the list or thinking of solutions, and for a few long minutes Harry stays utterly quiet, shocked into silence by the gratitude, the wonder, warming his chest.

---

"Okay, take the bag," Fred says, handing it off to Harry, and Harry nods his head. "Make sure you stay under the cloak, okay? You don't want anyone to see you going down there."

"We're not stupid, Fred," Hermione says, and he pats her head.

"It's sweet that you think that." George laughs, but he gives her a wink.

"Good luck, guys. Don't get murdered."

"Yeah," Fred says seriously. "Because we want that map back." Harry shakes his head back as Hermione shoves George in the arm, muttering something about that's not funny, George, Fred, stop it. Harry slips the cloak over the both of them, and they creep carefully out of the castle as Fred and George push the doors open. The grass is indented under their feet as they make their way down the hill, but it springs back soon enough, and Harry tries to ignore it.

They creep under the swinging branches of the Willow, and Hermione gets out from under the cloak and into the passage first, Harry following her down. It's a long passageway, Harry realizes the second time around - last night, he'd been so focused on rushing after Black that he hadn't really considered how long he'd been running, but it truly is.

"Just up these steps," Harry says, and Hermione lets him past her. He folds up the cloak, peering into the Shrieking Shack: the lanterns in the tent are on, as golden light streams out of the tent's open flap, and he calls, "Mr Black?" Wrapped in the same yellow bathrobe as last night, Black slowly pokes his head out of the tent's entrance, and he smiles. Sleeping in a real bed must have done him the world of good - the bags under his eyes aren't quite as pronounced, and his smile seems more natural, less forced. "Me and my friend have brought some things for you."

"Friend?" Black repeats, and Harry reaches back for Hermione's hand, pulling her to come forwards.

"My name's Hermione Granger," she says, giving a little nod of her head: her grip on Harry's hand is so tight Harry wonders for a second if she's going to break some of his fingers. "It's nice to meet you." Black beams at her, and he slowly puts out his hand. His hand shakes violently in its place, but Hermione releases Harry's hand and takes Black's nonetheless, shaking it.

"Thank you," Black whispers, meeting her gaze, and he retreats back into the tent. Harry puts the bag down on the coffee table, beginning to unpack what they'd managed to get hold of that morning, and Hermione walks across the room, grabbing at Dudley's old radio from on top of the wardrobe and starting to try and tune it. "What are you doing?" Black asks.

"I think I can get you one of the wizarding stations," Hermione says, shifting the dial slowly. "Then you can have some music in here."

"Music," Black says, seeming utterly mystified at the concept, and then he looks to Harry. Harry takes out all the food, first - twelve eggs, a load of bread, a packet of bacon, some sausages... George had really gone out of his way to fill an entire compartment of the enchanted rucksack with all the food he could pilfer, and it would be obvious to Harry just looking at the pile of food that he's a child of Molly Weasley. "Food?"

"Yeah, just take whatever to cook, Mr Black-"

"Please," Black interrupts him, desperately, "Not Black." Harry stops short for a second, staring up at the convict in front of him, and he seems so upset all of a sudden, but-

"It's okay, Sirius," Hermione says from her place on the edge of the bed, looking cautiously at him. "We can call you that, if it's better."

"Always Black," he says in his small, hoarse voice, "Twelve years, always Black."

"Sorry, Sirius," Harry says, the name falling awkwardly off his tongue. Black looks so small where he stands, shrunken in on himself, and Harry wonders what he was like before he went to Azkaban - was he always so nervous, so quiet? "Uh, look, if you wanna take some food-"

"I'll do it," Hermione says, abandoning the radio and coming over. She turns on the hob, putting a pan on and grabbing a packet of bacon and some of the eggs. As she works, she begins to put the food away, into the cupboards and onto the side. "Write down oil, would you, Harry? I've only got butter here."

"Oh, yeah," Harry says, writing it down on a piece of parchment as he unpacks the last of the stuff in the bag, a few tomatoes and apples, a cucumber, some bananas. Black stands mutely between him and Hermione, glancing between the both of them. "We've got you some clothes," he says. "Uh, a set of robes - they're Hogwarts robes, but they should fit you for now, and then two pairs of trousers, two jumpers... Sorry there's not more." He begins to unpack the clothes of Percy's Fred and George had managed to get hold of.

Black looks utterly overwhelmed, and Harry says quietly, "Maybe you should sit down." He does, dropping down onto the edge of the bed, and Harry puts the clothes on the top of the dresser. With that, Harry unpacks the last of the stuff he had gotten hold of - a few of his Muggle paperbacks, some wizarding fiction, and then shampoo, soap, a sponge, two toothbrushes, a comb. And then he draws out from the bottom of the bag his photo album, setting it aside. Hermione brings the plate over to Sirius, setting it down in his lap, and then helps Harry put the toiletries away and set the books on the shelf.

It barely takes them five minutes, and in that time Black has utterly emptied his plate, leaving it clean in his lap.

"Can you cook, Sirius?" Hermione asks quietly, and Black hesitates.

"Can. But- Not since-" Black breathes in, letting out a shuddering sigh, and then he says, "Cooked last for Harry. Harry and James." Harry stares at him, and he feels tears burning at the edges of his eyes that he tries to rapidly wipe away. Hermione looks at him, obviously not knowing what to say, and so she turns back to Black.

"That's okay," Hermione says softly. "That's okay. Harry's a really good cook."

"We brought you some stuff," Harry says. "Brought you some books, too, and there's soap in the bathroom now." Black takes his plate over to the kitchen, putting it slowly into the sink, and Harry collects his unused knife and fork from the bed, dropping that into the sink too. Black sits beside Harry on the floor beside the coffee table, and Harry pushes the photo album and the map onto the table.

"We need to ask you, Sirius," Hermione says quietly, sitting across from them. "What exactly happened." Black looks away, staring into the middle distance, and Harry gives a little shake of his head to her. "But we've got some stuff for you first."

Sirius looks at the contents of the table, and then he smiles, reaching for the Marauder's Map and holding it up. "You found this? Filch took it." Harry and Hermione share a look over the table, and then they nod their heads. Black smiles, setting it aside, and then he reaches, slowly, for the photo album. "This?"

"It's mine," Harry murmurs. "People sent me photos of my family. And them some of me, my friends. Thought you'd like to look through it." Slowly, Black gives a nod of his head, and opens the album to its first page.