"Happy birthday, Harry."
Sean slid his wand between the pages of the Wizard's Book.
The Dursleys swore they'd never seen anything like it—the book actually grew a slender hand from its spine.
The hand snapped its fingers with a crisp pop, and a beautifully wrapped, colorful gift box materialized out of thin air.
Harry clutched the box, biting his lip so hard it went white.
But the Dursleys were losing their goddamn minds.
"You have to change her back! Fix her right now!"
Vernon was too terrified to yell directly at Sean, so he roared at Harry instead.
"You promised you'd make her speak nicely!"
Harry shot back, voice shaking but defiant.
Vernon trembled with rage, but for once he didn't have a comeback.
"Today's your birthday, is it, boy? Well, forget it! No birthday for you!
And that bloody Hogsmeade trip? Forget that too!
None of us are signing that damn form!"
Vernon was practically hopping with fury.
Harry stared down at his plate, ears ringing like someone had jammed a drill into his skull.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
Then a figure stepped between him and Vernon.
"Harry," Sean said quietly, "do you want to leave this place?"
"I…"
Harry didn't know.
"It's okay. You've got time to decide."
Sean's voice was calm, almost drifting on the air.
"In every human language there's crying, there's asking for help… and there should be 'I don't know.' If you're lost, just follow me."
Vernon had grabbed one of Marge's swollen feet, trying to drag her down. Instead he nearly got lifted off the ground himself. Then Ripper lunged and sank his teeth straight into Vernon's calf.
"I'll… I'll go with you."
Harry made the decision in that moment and meant it.
He didn't want to know how much the Dursleys had changed, didn't care if he was doing the right thing, and sure as hell didn't want to hear another word from Marge.
He was leaving.
With Sean.
No one had time to stop him. Harry bolted from the dining room, raced down the hall, and the cupboard under the stairs swung open by itself the second he reached it.
He glanced back. Sean was smiling at him.
In under a minute he'd hauled his trunk to the front door, sprinted upstairs, dove under his bed, pried up the loose floorboard, and yanked out the pillowcase stuffed with textbooks and birthday gifts. He grabbed Hedwig's empty cage, thundered back downstairs, and headed straight for the trunk.
That was when Vernon burst out of the dining room, one trouser leg shredded and soaked with blood.
"Get back here! Fix her!"
Harry didn't even slow down. He kicked the trunk lid open so hard it slammed against the wall.
"She deserved it," he panted, chest heaving. "She brought it on herself. Now get the hell out of my way."
The living-room television was still on. A news anchor's voice droned in the background.
"…reminding the public that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hotline has been opened—anyone who sees Sirius Black should report it immediately."
Vernon glared at the screen with pure venom and bellowed, "When are they going to learn the only way to deal with people like that is to string them up!"
He finished the sentence without even daring to look toward the open front door.
Night had fallen like someone flipped a switch.
Sean felt a strange prickling at the back of his neck—like someone was watching him. The street looked empty, every square house dark, no lights in any windows.
But he could sense it: something—someone—crouched in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence.
Sean stared straight into the pitch-black alley.
He didn't need it to move. He already knew what it was.
He raised one finger. A soft orb of light bloomed at the tip—wandless, wordless Lumos.
The garage door of number two Privet Drive lit up like a mirror.
There, between the wall and the garage, was a huge, shaggy black dog. Its eyes glowed bright and wild.
Sean walked toward it. The dog looked ready to bolt, but for some reason it stayed.
Up close it was painfully thin, fur matted and filthy, but those eyes burned with intelligence.
The dog growled low in its throat.
"I don't speak dog," Sean muttered. "That's inconvenient. So, Mr. Sirius Black—would you mind turning back into a wizard so we can talk like civilized people?"
The dog snarled and launched itself at him.
It never reached him.
A butler in neat formal robes appeared from nowhere and pinned the dog to the wall with a single motion. Puck's bow was already drawn, arrow nocked and steady.
"You'd better keep your distance from my master, you rude bastard!"
The black dog stared hard at Sean—straight into those vivid green eyes.
"Do as my master says," Puck growled, voice low and dangerous, "or I'll use the true-form reveal right here."
Sirius changed.
The man who appeared was painfully gaunt. Ragged clothes hung off him like they were draped on a skeleton. His skin was wax-white and stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. Dirty hair fell all the way to his elbows. Only the sunken eyes still burned with life.
He glared at Sean with open hostility.
"Who the hell are you? Who do you work for?"
"Sean Green," Sean answered evenly. "I work for myself."
"Don't play games with me! What's your angle? Where are you taking Harry?!"
Sirius's voice was hoarse, raw, eyes darting for any escape route.
"The Leaky Cauldron."
Sirius actually laughed—a low, creepy sound that raised the hairs on Sean's neck.
An arrow instantly pressed against his cheek.
"Show some respect to my master, fugitive," Puck snarled, anger rising like steam off hot metal.