The First Encounter
by DawningStar
Her name was Nicoma, she was eight years old, and she was entirely lost.
This was hardly unusual for her, and she was not at all scared despite being in a very dark forest in the middle of the night. Nicoma got lost every time she stepped out of the house, it seemed, which made her mother very reluctant to let her out. But this time she'd managed to slip away just after dinner, escape the magical boundary around the house (it didn't extend past the woodshed, which had a loose board at the back) and go off to explore the forest.
By this time, however, she was getting rather tired and cold and not a little annoyed at the perversity of the twigs, which caught painfully in her long dark hair and refused to come out, and she was trying in a roundabout sort of way to find her way back. So the sight of the flickering light up ahead was a welcome one.
It was not, she saw with faint disappointment as she drew nearer, her house. Instead, a warm fire flickered in the center of a clearing, and a smell of roasting meat hung in the air. The fire and meal were tended by a man in ragged gray wizard's robes. His black hair had obviously not been brushed, washed, or cut in quite some time, and he was very thin. He looked familiar somehow, as though Nicoma might have seen him somewhere before, but that was hardly likely and she dismissed it.
He was probably a tramp, she decided. The forest was several miles wide and there had been people living in it from time to time. She had met a tramp once before, and he had showed her the way back home. Maybe this one would do the same. Nicoma ducked underneath a final low-hanging branch and into the small clearing.
At the sound of her footsteps, the man whirled, a look of something like fear in his eyes. "Excuse me," Nicoma called to him, "but I'm lost. Do you know the way to my house? Or into town?"
The man relaxed only very slightly. "No," he said warily, "I'm afraid not." His voice, Nicoma noted, sounded as though he didn't often use it. He must have been alone for a long time.
"Are you lost, too?" she ventured, drawing closer to the fire. "What's your name? I'm Nicoma."
There was a long hesitation. "Call me Padfoot," the man said finally. "I suppose I'm lost, yes. But I've been getting along all right out here."
"Oh." Nicoma looked wistfully at the roasted meat hanging over the fire.
Padfoot caught the look, and after a moment offered, "Would you like a bit of the meat?"
"Yes, please!" Nicoma nodded eagerly. Supper seemed very long ago by now, and she hadn't eaten much anyway. Then she looked again at Padfoot. "Er...unless you want it. You look like you need it more than I do." Realizing what she had said, she gasped and covered her mouth. "Sorry! Mother says I haven't a hint of tact."
Padfoot smiled bitterly. "That's all right. You go ahead. It wasn't living in your forest that made me look this way--I can get more." He took one of the sticks on which pieces of meat were speared off the fire and handed it to her, taking a second for himself. "Careful, it's hot."
Nicoma sneaked a look at Padfoot while she blew on the steaming meat. He looked so old...not old like her grandparents, who had a sort of stately dignity about them, but instead crushed under the weight of years and memories. And his eyes held a haunted look that echoed her father's, especially recently--especially on one subject in particular.
Several thoughts came together in the child's mind with an almost audible click. Naïve Nicoma might be, but no one could call her anything less than intelligent. "Have you heard about the escape from Azkaban?" she inquired casually. "How Sirius Black got away and all?"
Padfoot stiffened slightly. "I can't say that I have," he replied, in a forced sort of voice.
"I can't think why not, it's all over the news. Mother will be awfully worried about me being out here, she always is...I like the forest, but she's afraid there might be horrible things lurking in it." Nicoma grinned. "She wasn't too happy when Daddy decided to move out here in the first place."
"You'd be the McKinnons' daughter?" Padfoot asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject. "They mentioned you in town. You've got quite the reputation as a troublemaker."
"Well, I don't mean to," Nicoma said plaintively. "Things just sort of turn out wrong."
Padfoot came the closest he had yet to a genuine smile. "I was pretty mischievous myself in my school days at Hogwarts."
But Nicoma wasn't about to let herself get sidetracked that easily. "Do you think Sirius Black might be around here someplace?"
"Oh, I wouldn't think you'd have to worry about him," Padfoot replied--rather evasively, Nicoma noted.
"That's what Daddy says."
"Does he?"
"Yes." Nicoma held her breath for an instant, then took the plunge. "Daddy was sort of happy when Sirius Black escaped."
Padfoot might have tensed, just a bit. "And why was that?"
"Well, he didn't get a trial--did you know that?"
"I did, yes."
"Daddy had some evidence he thinks should have been brought up. But no one listened, because everyone just wanted to forget about everything that'd happened--you know, before. Daddy was on the squad that captured Black...Daddy got his wand. Daddy says nobody knows what really happened the night the Potters were killed. But he says he used the Priori Incantatem spell on the wand, and the last spell it had cast wasn't that explosion spell."
Nicoma paused, her eyes on Padfoot. The adult was staring at her now, his face a strange mixture of fear and hope. "Which means," she added quietly, "that Black didn't kill all those people. And there was really only one other person who could have done it."
"Pettigrew," Padfoot snarled, and there was a terrible hatred in his voice.
"It's true then?" Nicoma pressed. "Black's innocent?"
He seemed to remember where he was then, and looked away quickly. "It's possible, I suppose. I don't know."
"Well, you're the only one who can say, aren't you?" she asked reasonably. "Seeing as you're him."
Padfoot stared at her for a long moment, and Nicoma felt a twinge of fear despite herself at his gaunt face and hollow eyes. He certainly looked like a murderer. But she supposed twelve years in Azkaban would do that to anyone--if they survived twelve years in that hopeless place. "You trust me," he said flatly, and Nicoma nodded.
He laughed shortly, a laugh with no amusement in it whatever. "You're too quick to believe the best of people, child. Life will cure you of that soon enough."
"I'm right about you, though."
"And if you are? You don't know that I might not kill you, to keep you from reporting me."
"You won't," she said confidently. "You're good."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you," he muttered. "Would you be surprised to learn that I am headed to Hogwarts to kill someone?"
It did surprise Nicoma, though perhaps not for the reason he had expected. "Pettigrew's at Hogwarts?"
Padfoot choked on a mouthful of meat, spluttered, and finally cleared his mouth. "How do you figure that?" he demanded.
She shrugged nonchalantly. "Who else would it be? But I thought he'd blown himself up."
"No," Padfoot snorted. "He was too cowardly for that."
"How'd he get away, then?"
The adult said nothing, tearing another bite from the meat.
"You can trust me," Nicoma assured him. "I won't tell anyone, ever, if you don't want me to. Cross my heart." She made the gesture of the childish pledge.
Padfoot gazed into the fire, then finally turned to Nicoma. "All right. I suppose no one would believe you even if you did tell..." It had the sound of a man trying to convince himself. Nicoma felt faintly insulted, but said nothing. As long as her curiosity was satisfied, he could think what he liked. And besides, there was more than a little truth to his comment.
So he told her the story, and Nicoma listened raptly to the tale of friendship and betrayal, of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. He even showed her his Animagi form, apparently touched by her lack of fear and genuine interest.
At the sight of the huge black dog, Nicoma let out a squeal of delight and rushed forward to pet him. "And no one knows?" she giggled. "You're safe then, Padfoot! Nobody'd ever find you like this!"
He changed back rather suddenly, looking a little uncomfortable with her hands tangled in the shaggy black hair falling past his shoulders. "I certainly hope not," he muttered.
Unembarrassed, Nicoma disentangled herself and added severely, "You need a haircut. I haven't any scissors with me or I'd give you one myself. Honestly, anyone who caught a glimpse of you would be calling the police even if they'd never heard of Sirius Black."
Padfoot shook his head, unconsciously reaching to feel the unkempt mass. "I don't have time," he said. "I have to get to Hogwarts. Harry Potter is in danger."
"Right," she sighed, "I suppose so." Suddenly she brightened. "Wait a second. If you turn into a dog, you must have a good sense of smell then."
"I'm glad you have such knowledge of the canine genus," Padfoot said dryly.
Nicoma didn't seem to notice the sarcasm. "Mother says I'm a regular encyclopedia," she agreed. "But the point is, you can find my way back."
His dark eyes met hers, less guarded than before, a little more emotion in them now. "I suppose that might be possible," Padfoot admitted at last, his sense of responsibility winning out. "Might take quite a while, though, depending on how far you've traveled."
She shrugged. "I'm not very tired, so I didn't walk too far. I think."
It was a very unsatisfactory estimate of distance, but he really couldn't leave her out here alone. Not to mention that it would be safer for him if no one came out looking for her. With a put-upon sigh, Padfoot took the last of the meat off the fire and transformed. He dug rapidly with his large paws, covering over the coals with earth to prevent any spread of fire, and then sniffed about and led her off into the forest.
It didn't take as long as he had feared; Nicoma had followed a meandering path, but one not difficult to retrace, and she had apparently spent a great deal of time climbing or trying to climb trees and in other such activities. Perhaps half an hour later, they stood just beyond the woodshed, lights flickering invitingly from within the house.
It was a large house, standing alone in the middle of the forest. Nicoma was quite fond of it; it had once belonged to her Grandmother and Grandfather McKinnon, whom she had never met, both killed in a fight against Death Eaters years ago. There were all sorts of hidden crannies, and Nicoma was certain that if she looked long enough, she would eventually find a secret passage. So far, though, she had only discovered the loose board in the woodshed.
She put a hand on the rough wood and turned to Padfoot. "Once you get to Hogwarts," she whispered, "once Harry Potter is safe and everything...if you ever need anything, I'll try to help. Just leave a rock or something inside the board here and I'll meet you at sunset. No one ever comes in the woodshed except me. It's my secret place--I'll check every day, promise..."
Abandoning dignity, Nicoma flung her arms around the huge, black dog. "Thank you for helping me, Padfoot," she murmured into his fur. "Don't get caught. Please."
Padfoot let out a low whine of assurance--certainly he would do his best. And he wouldn't involve this child again if he could help it. The girl shouldn't get caught up in matters of convicted criminals and fugitives from the Ministry of Magic.
But somehow it was nice to know that someone trusted him; that someone believed he was innocent.