A/N: Okiee....my first attempt at this sorta style. I know I should have done a bit more of Black, but I really didn't know what more to say for him....oh, and I might do a Lupin part as a companion to go after Snape, but I'm sorta eh-ish...I'm not really too great at serious stuff. I sorta pondered weather to do this in first or third person, but I stuck with my usual third....I'm a wimp.
The Morning After...
New Hope and New Havoc
The sun's rim pushed from over the horizon, its dazzling rays spraying warmth over the earth. Brilliant hues of purple, blue, red and orange filled the sky as the magical birth of a new morning slowly spread across the land, and Sirius Black had the perfect view of it all. Sirius Black, who had lived his past13 years in the dark squalor of Azkaban, and within the hidden shadows of the Forbidden Forest. Up here among the clouds, he felt freer then he ever had with the wind whipping at his gaunt face. So many changes had taken place since the last time he had seen a sunrise.
Now he was gripping a Hippogriff's reins, which was considerably difficult to fly compared to his old enchanted motorbike. But Sirius was an expert flier, and it was the open feeling of having nothing but the sky above and below him that made it all the same. It was nearly an euphoric flight till the last hours of darkness, when it suddenly once more came pounding in his ears that his entire purpose of coming back had failed. Pettigrew was still out there, probably heading straight for the high road. All of them were running, running for something they couldn't seem to catch, something that had left so long ago.
But in a way last night, for a split second, it had felt as if James hadn't gone. Yes, he was still well and alive in the spirit of his son, the son Black hadn't even known. Harry had grown up knowing so little of his past, and yet he was practically a blueprint of his father. Both with the same skill on a broomstick, both with the gift compassion Black couldn't come to grips with half the time himself. Sirius was impulsive, not usually sparing much time for thought. And yet now, he had the world on his mind.
In all his wildest ideas, never once had he seriously considered taking on responsibility of becoming a father figure to little Harry Potter. In Azkaban, concern for Harry's safety was only a lesser part of his itch to get at Peter. But now he had seen his face, now it was known too well that Harry was a Potter though and though, and no longer simply a babe in Lily's arms. Harry had lost his innocence long before he raised the wand to his chest last night, and for the most part it was none but Sirius' fault himself. And now it was up to him to change that, to give back part of what a foolish mistake had taken. The Firebolt was like giving a lump of happiness, and somehow there was now a mad desire to give more…But if only he could!
Lead sunk in Black's stomach. There were still so many restrictions, still so many precautions with the ministry on his tail. But at least there was a chance now, and the beginnings of new start. And the first thing he planned to do once landing was write two letters, one to Dumbledore, one to Harry. 'Yes', he nodded decidedly 'yes…a simple start'.
Sirius pulled Buckbeak down now, just beneath the clouds so that they seemed no more than a speck of grey against the sky. Scanning for a grove of trees, they sailed downwards cautiously. Suddenly, Buckbeak let out a mighty squawk and Sirius jerked back on the reins in surprise. It was a tiny minute owl that was circling the Hippogriff's head, hooting, screeching…
***
…Screeching of 800 or so insolent children reached his ears as Severus wrenched open the doors of the great hall and strode up to the staff table. His face was set so grimly that even his own students peered up at him with a wordless curiosity as he swept by. But they kept chattering, most of them. They, of course, had slept the whole night ignorantly, as all most fortunately impish pupils do. But besides being a regular nuisance, they never gave him as much grief as the three that had been rollicking about the grounds with those Snape despised equally, and had despised, since he first set foot in Hogwarts.
Of course, nothing worked precisely in the fashion Snape would have liked. He would have highly enjoyed an Order of Merlin, highly enjoyed seeing James Potter's infamous hero of a son expelled, highly enjoyed the termination of Sirius Black…but alas, none of this had happened. Yanking his high-backed chair out, he sank into it and ignored the soft pop as sausages and bland porridge appeared before him, glaring around at the milling students wearing a trademark scowl no one would think out of the ordinary. Beside him sat Professors Sinistra and Flitwick, talking animatedly about something completely irrelevant and unimportant. Most likely that this morning's toast was a little over-browned. Such horrible, heart stopping troubles they had!
Snape's gaze wandered to three empty seats at Gryffindor's table. Good. All the better. It would save him more indigestion. His own house, sitting before him at a table with ornate carved serpents twisting around the legs, seemed to have gone sour too. Malfoy must have heard of the Hippogriff's escape. It was no comfort to know someone else was having a bad morning, no less a boy of merely an old colleague who he didn't even truly give a damn about. So Snape sneered down at his golden plate and speared a sausage with his fork disdainfully, although he was in no mood for Hogwarts food. Some of whatever Hagrid drank on Friday nights in some cheap pub seemed more suitable.
"See! I told you!" squeaked Flitwick as he prodded professor Sinistra's shoulder, pointing to the back of the hall. Severus looked up far too soon, and saw a shabby man step quietly between the rows of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor to make his way up to the staff table. Snape's hand closed upon his golden goblet and clenched violently, though he took no notice of it rattling against the table as his fist shook. How dare he show his face in this school again? His dark eyes narrowed as he watched Lupin step timidly up to the headmaster, mumbling something frantically till Dumbledore shook his head and bent over to whisper something. The pumpkin juice in Snape's goblet could have been boiling now. The last empty staff table seat was just beyond Professor Flitwick, and Lupin took it with a look of pure apprehension and weariness on his face.
"You!" Snape snarled down the table "you sent packing yet?"
Lupin looked up calmly and met Snape's glare for but a moment, gave a mild shrug and stared down at the royal purple tablecloth, hands folded thoughtfully as he propped his elbows up on the table.
"Enjoyed your night in the forest?" his voice rose softly again, eyes flashing with a dangerous taunt. This was the only way to vent possible, the only way to get the upper hand. It was a foolish, childish mind game dated back to his sixteenth year. And Snape couldn't care less now, couldn't care less if Dumbledore blasted him into a million pieces for it. (And If the headmaster was that much of a softie to allow an insane maniacal murderer to escape by the hands of a thirteen year old, he certainly wouldn't). Lupin coughed something unintelligible into his napkin and looked away. "We should have paid more attention to our scheduled doses, so shouldn't we?" Snape arched a brow, a glint of vengeance in his eyes
"Severus…I really wish to be left alone. If you wish to speak to me later-" Lupin started dryly, a wary frown crossing his expression.
"I thought you enjoyed pleasant conversation Lupin...liked everything handled nice and calmly over bacon and hash browns" he sneered back, voice raising a little. Hate was racing through his veins, brewing uncontrollably like the insides of one of that abysmal boy Longbottom's cauldrons waiting to explode. His voice was harsh, losing the usual oily quality from a night of pacing back and forth in his office. A head raised from the table before him- Draco Malfoy had glanced up cautiously, abandoning a drawling conversation with Pansy Parkinson. "…but considering moon phases, I suppose you'd prefer other breakfasts now, wouldn't you?"
"Snape…" Lupin's voice was rising testily now too, though still moderately calm. His eyes, however, were downing in panic. Flitwick and Sinistra exchanged worried looks and edged their chairs away from the table a good few feet or so. It was hard for Flitwick, whose feet didn't even touch the floor. Malfoy now nudged his cronies, who blinked stupidly and stared up. All three figured a brawl at the staff table was about to ensue, and grinned up at their house head with a mischievous awe as they tuned out the rest of the noise. No one else in the hall seemed to notice anything was wrong. Hagrid was down at the other end, jovially laughing and probably still drunk as anything. McGonagall, Sprout and Dumbledore were engaged in some pointless ongoing conversation, no doubt. And the rest of the student body went on eating mindlessly, stuffing their adolescent faces with biscuits, blueberry muffins and soft boiled eggs.
Severus Snape smirked, a look of decided menace slipping over his features, greasy hair, hooked nose, and all. He was itching to make Lupin's day most unpleasant. Hatred that had a whole year, no, half his life to build up was at the tip of his tongue, and the moment was too good to ignore.
"And I suppose you'd be wanting to act a little more civil after your nightly romp on the grounds, wouldn't you, werewolf?".
One magic word was all it took, far more effective than any incantation or hex. Lupin's fork fell from his hand with a clatter, eyes widening before turning away with a horror-stricken wince. Malfoy leaned forward in his seat and nearly fell off, gaping up at Lupin's shamed look told the world it was no lie. He turned, hit Goyle on the side of the head and exclaimed in a hoarse voice of incredulous disbelief.
"Professor Lupin's a werewolf!" Five Slytherin heads pricked up.
"A werewolf?"
"Professor Lupin! He's really a-"
"Werewolf? Where'd you hear-?"
"Snape!" shrieked Pansy Parkinson in delight of the dropped bombshell. A wave of violent hissing followed, travelling down the table like two hundred little serpents. One first year toppled off his chair. Peeves would have been extremely pleased by the chaos, but none more pleased than Snape himself.
He leaned back lazily in his chair, coal eyes set triumphantly on Lupin. It would be a reasonably good day.