The rest of that night, and all the next day, Sirius cowered under a bush in the Forbidden Forest, shaking with reaction. It had been a near miss, and all for nothing. There had been no squeak of alarm, no reek of rodential fear, no telltale scurrying movements. Peter had not been there.
He knew he dared not enter the castle again. Even the portraits would be alerted to his presence after this. He could imagine how the whole thing had looked from Ron's point of view. He shuddered.
He tried to tell himself it was a good thing that Peter was no longer living daily in the same room with Harry, but all Sirius could think was that that meant he could now be anywhere. He certainly wouldn't be coming anywhere near enough for Sirius to sniff him out, so how was he to find him? Where had the bloody rat gone?
It was almost night again before he got his answer. Crookshanks came down from the castle, heading toward Hagrid's hut. Sirius barked once, sharply, to get the cat's attention, and then pressed himself to the ground once more. The cat changed course and headed into the forest toward him. As he came closer, Sirius could see his ginger fur standing on end, and a hunted look in his eyes.
Sirius had no patience for whatever the cat's troubles might be. Forcefully, he shot an image of the rat at Crookshanks, colouring it as an interrogative.
In answer, Crookshanks showed him stained cloth and the smell of blood and an angry Ron aiming a kick at the cat.
Sirius sent another image, this time of a rat being eaten by a large, fluffy cat.
In answer, Crookshanks hissed and flexed his claws; an emphatic "no".
The dog shook his head in disbelief.
The bastard's gone and faked his own death again! Unbelievable! And this time, he had framed poor Crookshanks for his murder. Sirius growled. He's doing all over again, tearing apart Harry's friends. Well, this time he's definitely not getting away with it.
There was nothing to be done for the moment but to lay low. People would be watching more carefully now than ever before. It would behoove him to avoid being seen by anyone for a while. In the meantime, Crookshanks would search the castle for any sign of the wayward rat, and Sirius would search the grounds. As plans went, it was unsatisfactory, but there was little else they could do.
It did not help Sirius's already-agitated state that spring chose that week to arrive. In Azkaban, the difference between the seasons had been almost imperceptible, and like all other things inside the prison, had showed itself in varying shades of gray. Sirius had nearly forgotten the rush of joy that came with the first appearance of snowdrops carpeting the forest floor, that first hint of warmth in the air, the lengthening of the days as the sun stretched and yawned and cast pointed looks at the remaining patches of snow.
Spring fever thrilled in his blood, but under the circumstances, served only to make him edgy and irritable. He wanted nothing more than to lie in the sun and let his worries evaporate with the snowmelt, but he knew he must not - and indeed, was not able to - relax his guard even for a moment, lest the rat slip by him unnoticed. If he could not enjoy the beautiful weather, he sure as hell was not going to let Peter enjoy it.
He wondered if anyone else could sense the oppressive feel of the air. Maybe Hagrid, bidding Sirius and Fang farewell as he and Buckbeak boarded the Knight Bus for the Hippogriff's hearing in London. Despite the huge man's optimistic words, Sirius could smell the fear on him. He whined as comfortingly as he could, and licked Hagrid's hand in farewell. He had no love for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures himself; their treatment of werewolves particularly set his teeth on edge. Sirius had grown fond of Buckbeak over the past few months, and he hoped that the Hippogriff might be pardoned, considering how weak the case against him was, but he could have wished not to have this extra helping of worry on top of his own troubles.
The following day marked a week since the rat's "death", with no sign of Peter either within the castle or without. At a loss as to what else to do, when Sirius viewed the students exiting the castle en masse for a day in Hogsmeade, he opted to tail them. If Harry was among them, perhaps Peter would take the opportunity to make a move outside the circle of Dumbledore's protection.
He followed unnoticed at a safe distance, steeling himself as he slipped past the Dementors, and padding down into the village. Slinking from building to building, he sought sight or scent of the skinny boy who so resembled his best friend, but could not find him. He saw Hermione walking alone, and a few minutes later, spotted Ron, also by himself. Harry was nowhere to be seen.
Sirius was just circling the post office when something rather like a feathery Snitch hit him between the eyes, making him blink and step backward in surprise. On the ground before him lay a very small and slightly stunned owl with a miniscule scroll tied to its leg. The tiny bird recovered quickly, hopping to its feet and taking off again with a shrill, whistling hoot. It circled Sirius several times before landing on his head, digging tiny talons into the dog's black fur. Clearly it thought that running headlong into another creature meant that they were now the best of friends.
Sirius shook his head irritably. He did not have time for tiny owls now, no matter how friendly they might be. For a moment, he thought he had caught Harry's scent. The last thing he needed was for everyone in Hogsmeade to be staring at the very large black dog with the very small owl on its head.
He attempted to communicate this notion to the owl, which was so startled at the intrusive urgency of the thought that, with another high-pitched hoot, it tumbled to the ground again. Sirius looked imperiously down his long, canine snout at the bird.
Go away, he thought at it.
But it was no use. Almost at once, the owl was in the air again, hooting excitedly and communicating by means of flickering bird-thoughts its desire to help.
Not now, Sirius thought fiercely. Don't you have a letter to deliver? You can help me some other time.
The little owl whistled with joy and zoomed away. Sirius watched it go, buffeted and occasionally turned head-over-tail feathers by the strength of the spring breezes.
Can't hurt to have another ally, he thought. I hope.
He turned, trying again to catch Harry's scent among the thronging Hogwarts students and Hogsmeade residents.
There. He had the scent, but could not pick the boy out of the crowd. Sniffing carefully, he edged closer to the street. The scent was stronger there, but still no Harry.
Then he spotted Ron again, still ostensibly alone, but talking rather conspicuously out of one side of his mouth, and casting very shifty glances at the air beside him. Sirius had to stifle a bark of laughter, remembering a number of occasions on which Peter - and probably himself as well - had worn that very expression.
So Harry has Prongs's old cloak.
He was pleased to discover that it had been passed on to the boy; James had been extremely proud of the garment, which had belonged to his own father before him. Then a shadow passed across his thoughts.
I wonder if he's wearing it because of me?
The thought that James's son being frightened of him filled Sirius with sadness.
Carefully keeping himself out of sight, the dog slunk along the street, following the boys, visible and invisible, from shop to shop. He continued to sniff carefully for any scent of rodent in the air, but there was nothing save the occasional flickering of a mouse in the shadows.
After leaving Zonko's, the boys' footsteps carried them out of the village. Sirius found it much easier to avoid notice amongst the trees that lined the muddy lane, despite the early-spring lack of vegetation. On the hill above them loomed the dark outline of the Shrieking Shack, and Sirius felt a mild internal thrill at the memories it held, from weeks and years ago.
Sirius's sharp ears caught the sound of voices even before the boys ahead of him could hear, and he hid himself quickly behind a bush, his attention turned to the three boys approaching the Shrieking Shack from the other direction. Draco Malfoy and his lackeys. Sirius growled low in his throat. This boy was the cause of Hagrid's distress, and the presence of a Malfoy had never boded well for anyone for whom Sirius cared.
Unsurprisingly, Malfoy seemed to be gloating over his "victory" against Hagrid and Buckbeak. However, once he noticed Ron leaning, apparently alone, against the fence, he broke off, and a nasty smile uncurled across his face. Sirius growled softly again as Malfoy proceeded to lay into Ron with remarks which echoed words Sirius remembered Draco's mother - his own cousin Narcissa - had used to mock Remus's shabby appearance and secondhand belongings during their own schooldays.
He almost considered springing to Ron's defence when, out of nowhere, a clot of mud exploded against the side of Malfoy's face. Sirius had nearly forgotten Harry's presence. He remained hidden, panting with amusement as more muck scooped itself off the ground and leapt through the air at Malfoy and his cronies.
Prongs couldn't have done it better. And there had been more than one occasion on which this same cloak had been used for just such a cause.
When Harry's head appeared suddenly, and the three Slytherins fled in terror, Sirius was forced to turn tail and flee as well, running for long minutes until he was well and truly alone. Only then did he throw back his head and howl with laughter.
By the time he returned to the village, it was late afternoon. He performed a quick sweep of the streets, but could not pick up Harry's scent anywhere.
Probably went back up to the castle, he thought.
It had occurred to him that perhaps the reason Harry had worn the cloak today was not because of himself after all, but rather because Harry might not have permission to be visiting Hogsmeade under the present circumstances. He had detected no trace of fear in the boy's scent.
If Harry had been in Hogsmeade without permission, then the incident with Malfoy had probably sent him scurrying back to Hogwarts just as quickly as the Slytherins, in which case, he was safely within the circle of Dumbledore's protection once more.
Sirius took his time in returning to the castle. It was a pleasant early spring afternoon, though the presence of the Dementors at the gates chilled him. They paid him no heed, but still he quickened his pace as he passed them, shuddering with horror and loathing. He could not go near them without recalling with ice-cold clarity the chilly stones of Azkaban.
I'll never go back there, he promised himself grimly. I'll clear my name or they'll perform their damn Kiss. Either way, I've seen the last of that place.
Few inmates had received the Dementor's Kiss during his time in prison, but he was aware that, once they had been drained of their souls, victims were usually released to the care of their families, or to St Mungo's. With no soul to torment, they no longer held any interest for the Azkaban guards.
The chill of the Dementors had penetrated his thick fur, settling into his bones, and the air was cooling in the soft spring evening. Perhaps he would go to Hagrid's; it was always pleasantly warm there, and he might even find himself a hot meal. He hoped that Hagrid would bring good news back from London, but he knew it was a faint hope at best.
Sure enough, it was a red-nosed and tearstained Hagrid who answered the door at his scratch. Sirius was quite taken aback when the huge man fell to his knees and gathered him into a despairing embrace as if he were little more than a puppy, sobbing into his thick, black fur.
"It's horrible!" Hagrid's voice was muffled against Sirius's side. "Those bastards on th' Committee are goin' ter have poor Beaky executed!"
Sirius whined and wuffled sympathetically, but struggled out of Hagrid's grasp nonetheless. He looked around the hut and noticed Buckbeak lying in his usual corner, looking remarkably unimpressed by the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures' decision.
Hagrid blew his nose long and loud in a large, checked handkerchief. "They've let me bring him back here until they can set a date," he gulped. "I made a right mess o' things. 'S all my fault. That Lucius Malfoy -"
He collapsed into a groaning chair, sobbing uncontrollably into the handkerchief, unable to continue. Sirius gave Hagrid's hand a sympathetic lick, then curled up under the table with a doggy sigh. He knew that, with Hagrid in this state, he would find no supper here.
Well, at least it's warm, he thought, closing his eyes.
Worn out by anxiety and lulled by the comforting confusion of warm animal scents in the hut, he quickly fell asleep.
The tension in the air surrounding the castle continued to mount as the days and weeks of spring passed. This phenomenon was highlighted when Hermione, of all people, slapped Malfoy full across the face following a Care of Magical Creatures lesson during that first week of warm weather. Sirius was deeply gratified by the event, and even caught Hagrid smiling over it.
Serves him right, he thought smugly. He should know better than to aggravate a woman during that time of the month.
He had learned long ago to keep his mouth shut when he scented the sharp increase in Lily's hormonal levels. He still cringed at the memory of one or two of the tongue-lashings he had endured at her hands.
As the world warmed and the Forbidden Forest waxed green with new growth, Sirius began to find it difficult to sleep or eat or even be indoors. Stillness was anathema; he wanted to be moving, doing, solving. And still there was no sign of Peter. He had apparently vanished without a trace. Sirius spent his days watchful, and his nights prowling the grounds for any rat-like sight or scent. But there was nothing.
The days grew longer. The school cleared for the Easter holidays, and then filled again. Tension mounted. Sirius witnessed more than one fight break out in the grounds between students of rival houses. Even the professors seemed edgy. It felt as if the world were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen, unsure whether that something would be good or bad.
One night, a week after the students had returned from their break, Sirius cornered Crookshanks at the edge of the forest, demanding to know what was happening inside the castle. The cat shrugged mentally, indicating that all had been ominously quiet for some time. Sirius could see, though, that the cat looked just as frazzled by the tension in the air as everyone else. His wayward ginger fur was standing on end, and his eyes were round and haunted.
I need that rat, Sirius thought at him fiercely. Alive, for preference.
Crookshanks replied irritably that he knew that, but he had no more idea where Peter was than Sirius did.
There must be someplace we've missed, he thought. Look again.
The cat laid back his ears in disgust, but agreed. He turned back to the castle, his bottle-brush tail twitching.
The following day, Sirius watched the school empty into the Quidditch grounds. He considered sneaking in to watch the match; Gryffindor v Slytherin was almost always worth seeing, house rivalries begin what they were. But he knew his inability to keep still would spoil his enjoyment of the match, and possibly draw unwanted attention to himself. He wondered if he dared attempt another incursion into the castle, and decided against it.
He thought about going to the Shrieking Shack, but what purpose would that serve? He had not visited the old house in more than a month. For a time after Christmas, he had gone there almost every day, knowing he shouldn't, but hoping he would find Remus there. Their encounter after Christmas still haunted Sirius's dreams whenever he managed to sleep. But Remus had not come again, not even with the January full moon. Sirius had seen no more sign of him than of Peter in the intervening months.
He wanted badly to see Remus again, though he tried to ignore the feeling and concentrate on the problem of Peter. Sometimes he thought he would go mad with the knowledge that only a stone wall stood between him and the man he loved, and yet he was as inaccessible as when Sirius had been in Azkaban.
Before long, the school year would be over. What then? Sirius wondered. How can I track Peter across Britain if I can't find him at Hogwarts?
But perhaps the summer would give him the chance he needed to talk to Remus - to make him understand - to enlist his help. The thought gave him hope, but he knew that if he did not deal with the matter of Peter Pettigrew before the summer holidays came, he might never get another chance.