Wanderings of the Wolf

by Linda Lupos

Sequel to "Prisoner of the Moon"; the story continues! Find out what Remus and Sirius did during book 4!

18. The Third Task

OK, I really need to learn how to write short chapters. I used to think that chapter 12 was so long because it had ELEVEN pages.

This one has sixteen.

It's insane, it really is. There used to be a time when I would call a three-page chapter long. Now 3 pages is just enough for a Remus-bit, I usually try and make it four at least... The problem was that I hadn't kept in mind that the entire Third task is so long, so I kept just ading bits of my own (I was having loads of fun in Dumbledore's office - you'll read what I mean) until I realised ow many pages I had...
Oh well, don't think YOU'll mind, but don't count on coming chapters, be it in this fict or other ficts, being this long!

There is one swear-word in this chapter, but it's nothing worse than what's said in the first HP movie ("BLOODY brilliant", Ron? In front of MCGONAGALL??).
Have fun!

June 24, 1995.
"Harry's nerves mounted as June the twenty-fourth drew closer, but they were not as bad as those he had felt before the first and second tasks. For one thing, he was confident that, this time, he had done everything in his power to prepare for the task. For another, this was the final hurdle, and however well or badly he did, the tournament would at last be over, which would be an enormous relief."

I wrote the letter as you requested, although I do not feel comfortable with it. It sort of has this feel about it as if I'm placing big flashy arrows pointing to my cave all through the area, with signs saying 'follow this route and find Sirius Black!' But I suppose it's too late to do anything about it now. Of course, if this goes wrong, there'll be the Devil to pay – and quite literally in my case too. (Then again, I've never been really bad, so I can't see why anyone in their right mind would send me to hell, but that's probably an entirely different matter.)
I enclosed the letter to Kingsley Shacklebolt (what a name! Surely I would have remembered him, but I can't figure out who he was), if you would be so kind as to forward it to him?
Padfoot.
PS: aah?

Before he opened his eyes and turned on his back to face the ceiling, Remus had already made up a new invention.
It was a habit he sometimes indulged in; making up new machines. It would usually start with 'I wish I had a…', then he'd start imagining what a machine like that would have to be able to do (walk up a stairs, pick up the right book, take it from the shelf and walk downstairs to where Remus was sitting on the sofa, for example). Then he'd start envisioning what it would look like (it would of course need feet to walk, and little grippers to pick up the book) and even what material and colour he'd use (he figured little wooden duck-feet would be funny. And the grippers would be made of steel and be covered with some kind of soft material as to not hurt the books). And in the end it always remained a weird dream.
The invention of this morning started off with something completely unrelated. He woke up, and the first thought in his mind was: today's the Third Task in the Triwizard. He felt a strange mix of excitement and nervousness, and he wondered if Harry was feeling the same. Probably, but most likely twenty times as much, he thought. How great it would be if he could actually see it instead of reading it in letters and the Daily Prophet. He could already see himself sitting on the wooden Quidditch stands, Padfoot next to him of course (if it was a dream, he might as well make it a good one), watching Harry win the Triwizard cup. I wish I had a sort of big screen on my wall, or even on the ceiling above my bed, to watch it just as it happens, he thought. And that was where the inventing took off.
Of course, he'd read about tv's and computers. He had almost had to, in order to keep up with the Muggle side of his family, but it had always remained sort of vague and hard to understand. And besides, all those wires and buttons sounded terribly complicated. No, what Remus had in mind was much simpler: a sort of poster you could pin against the wall, and events you would want to see (Quidditch matches or something) would simply be played out for you. Or even better: magical paint you could paint on the wall, which would make up the screen, he thought excitedly. He wasn't quite sure how the images would get projected on the screen, but at the moment he was too taken with his new idea to concern himself with trivial matters such as that.
He turned on his back and opened his eyes, staring at the white ceiling, which was now blue because of the sunlight filtering through the blue curtains. The ceiling would be the perfect size for such a screen, he thought. And you would be able to watch it while you're lying lazily on your back. I think I'll call it the 'see-screen', because that's what it is.
The Daily Prophet fell with a thud on the doormat. Remus sighed. Time to get back to the mundane every-day life. He sat up, feeling slightly amazed and proud that he was still able to sit up from lying flat on his back without pushing himself up, and got out of bed.

Thirty minutes of doing his usual morning routines later, he was standing in the hallway, staring at the Daily Prophet's headline: "HARRY POTTER "DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS."
"Now what?" he said out loud. He walked towards the kitchen as he read the article, Monster on his heels.
"The boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unstable and possibly dangerous," Remus read to nobody in particular. "'Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly collapses at school, and is often heard to complain of pain in the scar on his forehead.' Must be a very recent thing then. 'He might even be pretending," said one specialist. "This could be a plea for attention.'" Remus snorted. He read a few sentences in silence as he sat down at the table. Then –
"Potter can speak Parseltongue," he imitated Draco Malfoy's snobbish drawl. "There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a duelling club and set a snake on another boy.' Oh yes, that's absolutely the sign that someone's a potential Dark Wizard. 'It was all hushed up, though. But he's made friends with werewolves – "
Remus read this last bit again.
"But he's made friends with werewolves and giants too. We think he'd do anything for a bit of power." Remus growled at the paper. Oh, how badly he now wished he was still Malfoy's teacher so he could abuse his authority to get revenge. Dumbledore most likely wouldn't approve of it, but right now Remus couldn't care.
"A member of the Dark Force Defence League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue "as worthy of investigation," "Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with evildoers." Similarly, "anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence," Remus read. He snorted again. This unnamed person didn't seem to realise he hadn't just dismissed Harry as a potentially dangerous wizard, but also pretty much the entire staff of Hogwarts – including Albus Dumbledore himself.
"Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament," the article concluded. "Some fear that Potter might resort to the Dark Arts in his desperation to win the tournament, the third task of which takes place this evening."
Remus disdainfully folded the paper and threw it aside (and thus missing the rather interesting article about Cornelius Fudge's newest Sunior Undersecretary, a certain Dolores Umbridge). He fancied himself better acquainted with Harry than some reporter for a newspaper, and he was sure that using the Dark Arts was the last thing Harry would do to win the Tournament. Come to think of it, Remus wasn't even sure if Harry even knew any curses or Dark spells, only how to defend himself against such spells.
He glanced at the clock to see what time it was and sighed. Nine more hours until the Third Task…

Sirius wished he knew what time it was.
Dumbledore had owled him at what time the Third Task would begin (at seven the champions would go to the maze and fifteen minutes later the first champions – Cedric and Harry - would enter it) but he had no idea how long he had to wait. It was a pity he had never quite mastered seeing what time it was from the position of the sun, and unfortunately dogs never wore watches.
Padfoot was pacing to and from the pillared entrance to Hogwarts in dog-form, much like he had done before the Second Task. He wasn't really feeling nervous, more annoyed that he was once again forced to take a passive role and learn everything that had happened second-hand.
He had just laid down to stare depressedly at one of the winged boars on top of the pillars when he felt someone walk towards him (felt because the ground shook slightly with every step but he didn't really hear someone coming). He looked up and saw Hagrid walking towards him.
Padfoot hastily scrambled to his paws and did a few steps back. He had no idea how much the Gamekeeper knew about him and he wasn't sure what Hagrid was going to do when face to face with the supposed traitor of the Potters. But maybe he's just heading for Hogsmeade, he thought hopefully.
That hope was soon crushed when Hagrid headed straight for the big black dog and crouched down. "Sirius?"
Padfoot gave the dog-version of an uncomfortable smile. Hehe… I never realised Hagrid was this big… and potentially dangerous when he's angry…
"Professor Dumbledore asked me to take yeh ter my hut, so yeh'll be closer ter the Triwizard," Hagrid said. He straightened up again and patted his thigh. "C'mon."
Padfoot followed Hagrid hesitantly, walking just behind the half-giant in a perfect imitation of a repentant dog. When, however, Hagrid hadn't said anything for a few minutes, Padfoot got more confident he wasn't going to be murdered for something he didn't do, and he sped up a little to trot next to the Gamekeeper.
It was quite a strange experience to take an authorised walk on the Hogwarts grounds. There was enough to see: the Durmstrang ship in the Lake, the Beauxbaton carriage with the giant flying horses in a paddock nearby, and of course the castle itself. It was hard to miss; it dominated everything else as it was standing there on its cliff above the Lake, being reflected in the water.
Padfoot was too busy looking around in the somewhat idle hope of seeing Harry somewhere that he didn't notice that Hagrid was sometimes glancing curiously at him. When they reached Hagrid's hut, the Gamekeeper opened the door and invited Padfoot in. Padfoot hopped up the three steps but stopped to sniff the air carefully. Then, scolding himself because he was getting too dog-like, he entered. His attention was immediately drawn by a low growling in one of the corners.
A large grey wolfhound was growling menacingly at Padfoot. He couldn't help it; the hair on his neck reflexively got on end and he growled back.
"Fang, cut it," Hagrid said. Both the dog and the Animagus started - Padfoot had quite forgotten Hagrid was there. Fang stopped growling but still looked suspiciously at Padfoot.
"'t might be better if yeh change back ter yer…real form," Hagrid said. He closed the door, stomped to the table and sat down.
Padfoot looked around, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Walking around as Sirius in his cave with just Harry, Remus or Dumbledore around was fine, but it was something else when he was in an unfamiliar environment with someone he wasn't sure was friendly towards him. He took a deep breath and changed into Sirius.
If Hagrid was surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, the Gamekeeper gestured at a chair. "Take a seat."
Sirius saw Fang staring at him, obviously trying to figure out how a dog could change into a man. He growled at the grey dog, who started. Sirius laughed and sat down.
"Er, hi," he said, suddenly nervous. He started fidgeting with his frayed sleeve. "Look, I didn't betray J-James and Lily, okay?" he said hastily. "And I do not want to murder Harry. I'm innocent, it was all Peter's doing, he was really the one working for Voldemort – "
Hagrid flinched but said nothing.
" – and I only found out about two years ago, and I've been on the run since then. But Harry's my Godson, and I want to help him, so I've been hiding in this cave, and – why do I have the feeling Dumbledore's told you all this months ago?" Hagrid's smile had become progressively bigger during Sirius' speech.
"Don't worry, Dumbledore explained it all ter me," he said, patting Sirius' shoulder in a painful way. "He wouldn't 'ave asked me ter take yeh here if I didn't knew anyway."
Sirius felt rather stupid. It was something he could have thought of himself.
"Uhm," he said. Out of embarrassment, he took a biscuit from a saucer on Hagrid's table, just to do something. The moment he took a bite, he wished he hadn't – the biscuit was nearly too hard to bite. He put it back on the table and hoped Hagrid's hadn't noticed.
"So, what am I going to do now?"
"It's another five hours and thirty minutes 'till the Task," Hagrid said. "I think yeh'd best stay here, and when it's time yeh can stay outside in me pumpkin patch. Yeh can just see teh Pitch from there."
"Okay, fine with me." Sirius had hoped for a closer spot than Hagrid's pumpkin patch, but he knew he wasn't in a position to make demands, and the pumpkin patch was even closer than he had thought he would be this morning. If he was lucky, he could just see the castle from his cave, so just seeing the Quidditch pitch was a definite improvement.
Shortly after, Hagrid went outside again to do his daily business, taking Fang with him and leaving Sirius to himself. He looked at the clock. Five hours and fifteen minutes. He wandered around in the two-room cottage for a bit until he had seen every inch of it. He sat down on the bed and bounced up and down, noticing enviously how much softer it was than his own dead-leaves-and-pine-needles bed. He glanced at the clock on the wall again and sighed. Those darn hands just didn't seem to move.
When Hagrid returned, three hours later, Sirius was about to actually start reading the books about fantastic beasts instead of just flipping the pages and looking at the pictures. He was so relieved to see the Gamekeeper, he jumped up to greet the relief of his boredom.
"I brought yer some food, I need ter get back to the castle right away," Hagrid said. He laid a few packages and a flask on the table. "Everything alrigh'?"
"Yes, fine," Sirius said, concealing the fact that he was extremely bored up until a minute ago. "Thanks for the food."
Hagrid left again. Sirius unpacked his dinner and ate it slowly, making sure to take a long time. When he was finished, it was less than two hours until the Third Task.
He was now starting to feel how nervous he was; he felt a sort of knot in his stomach and he didn't appear to be able to sit still. He started pacing the small living room, occasionally glancing at the clock with its agonisingly slow hands.
When they crossed the one-hour line, Sirius started to look out of the window to see if there already were students walking towards the Quidditch pitch. But the grounds were deserted.
Sirius gave an irritated sigh and did another few rounds of pacing. The hands of the clock suddenly sped up and before Sirius knew it, it was half past six. The sky was beginning to get darker. Sirius knew the Task began at seven o'clock, he knew what it was, what Harry had to face and how difficult it was, but he found out the wait was actually worse than any task imaginable.
At five to seven, he saw the first few students walk past. His stomach did a back-flip and he scurried towards the door, for some reason running a hand through his hair to straighten it. He changed back into Padfoot, opened the door with his paws and slipped outside, into Hagrid's pumpkin patch.
Hagrid's hut wasn't that close to the path towards the pitch, so Sirius could only see a vague outline of the students as they walked towards the stadium. He heard their excited chatter, a cheerful buzzing. He had taken position near the fence, looking through two beams.
It only took a few minutes, then the grounds were quiet again save for the faint buzz that came from the direction of the Quidditch pitch. Padfoot got to his feet and started pacing again, careful not to treat on the small pumpkin plants. He mentally went over the rules again.
At about a quarter past seven Cedric Diggory and Harry would enter the maze. There were several things they had to face – a Boggart, a Sphinx, a gravity-reversal spell, a bog with Hinkypunks, something called a Blast-Ended Skrewt, a herd of Doxies and various other things – until they reached the centre, where the Triwizard Cup was waiting for them. The Cup was made into a Portkey which transported the winning champion out of the maze again, in front of the jury, which would then give the winner his or her prize. There was no time-limit, the Task could take the entire night if needed. Sirius hoped the champions would hurry up and take half an hour at most.
He laid down on the slightly damp ground. At one point, he faintly heard a whistle: Cedric and Harry were in the maze. Two more whistles followed, then it got quiet. Padfoot stared at the sky, watching more and more stars appear as it got darker. He wondered what Buckbeak was doing, what Dumbledore was doing, what Remus was doing – and most importantly, what Harry was doing.
It was already so dark that Sirius couldn't see the castle anymore, when the first red sparks shot up in the sky. They shot up like firework but suddenly seemed to freeze, remaining hanging in mid-air. Sirius knew red sparks meant a champion needed assistance and was out of the Tournament, but he didn't know who it was. He hoped it wasn't Harry.
It seemed like only a short time later, when the second set of red sparks shot into the sky. There were now only two more champions in the running. Padfoot got to his paws again and started pacing.
The chance of Harry still competing was rather slim. The other three champions were at least three years older than he was, and more experienced. On the other hand, he had faced things even an adult wizard wouldn't survive. Then again, the Triwizard Tournament wasn't exactly the same as fighting Voldemort…
Sirius kept arguing with himself in this manner until it was too dark to see where he was walking. He laid down again, closed his eyes and waited…
He surely must've fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again the stadium was buzzing louder than ever before. He even thought he could make out faint screaming. He scrambled to his paws and stared intently at where the sound was coming from, as if he could will his ears and eyes to be sharper. He started pacing again, furious that he was supposed to stay put while all he wanted was to run towards the pitch and see what was going on.
Time passed by, the noise eventually got softer but never really disappeared. Padfoot sat down again but waited impatiently – for what, he didn't know.
Half an hour later (although he didn't know that), he heard footsteps on the path towards Hagrid's house. Finally, he thought, and got to his paws. He started, however, when he saw who it was.
Minerva McGonagall.
She walked determinedly towards the pumpkin patch, looked around for a big dog and when she saw Padfoot she didn't lose time with long explanations. "The Headmaster needs you," she said and immediately turned on her heels, back towards the castle.
Padfoot jumped over the fence, relieved that something was happening but at the same time extremely worried. He had to run a bit to catch up with McGonagall.
"Harry is alright," she said when he was walking next to her. "He has won the Tournament, but the Cup was a Portkey to Merlin-knows-where. He disappeared and came back an hour later with a broken leg and Cedric Diggory's dead body in his arms."
Padfoot nearly tripped over the stairs to the Entrance Hall when he heard this. McGonagall apparently choose to ignore this; she held the oak doors open for him, then she lead the way up the stairs, continuing her story. "Moody took him over from Albus and dragged him to his office – " She snorted with disapproval that someone could think his way was better than Albus Dumbledore's. " – where we found them half an hour later, Moody ready to kill Harry."
They had reached the gargoyle that stood in front of the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Padfoot stared at McGonagall as she said the password. The information he had just got was a little too much to take in at once.
The gargoyle leaped aside, showing the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office.
"Professor Dumbledore will be with you shortly," McGonagall said. She barely took time to watch Padfoot step on the first steps of the staircase; she walked away again as soon as she saw he was going up.
The staircase started spiralling upwards. As soon as the corridor was out of sight, Padfoot changed back into Sirius again. The sudden change from four to two feet nearly made him fall off the stairs, but he remained standing. He reached the oak door to Dumbledore's office and opened it. As he took the handle of the door, a feeling of comfort and safety washed over him. If he wasn't safe in Dumbledore's office, he wasn't safe anywhere.
It was dark inside the circular room, but the moment Sirius stepped over the threshold lamps were magically lit and a fire appeared in the fireplace. He even thought he saw damp coming from a silver pot standing on a small table near a comfortable chair next to the fireplace. He walked towards it and lifted the lid to be sure, and discovered hot chocolate. The mere sight of it made his mouth water.
He looked around the office. The walls were lined with books, as expected. Fawkes the phoenix was blinking sleepily at him, having just been woken up by Sirius' entrance. Piled on two desks were even more books, quills, a glass sphere, a lunascope and several silver instruments which tinkled softly. Apart from that, the office was silent, until –
"Oh no, now what? Has something happened?"
Sirius jumped and looked wildly around. There was nobody.
"It's him!" a woman's voiced said shrilly.
"Hush, Albus told us about him, hasn't he?" someone else said soothingly. "He's not here to cut us apart, that was an unfortunate accident."
"Unfortunate accident, sure," someone else muttered darkly. "It took them weeks to repair her."
Sirius was still looking around to see where the voices were coming from, when he suddenly noticed all the paintings on the walls were looking at him. He froze.
It had happened sometimes, when he was younger, that his parents threw a big party for their well-to-do friends. His mother would dress up, his father would put on his best robes, the ones with the silver embroidery, and Sirius would look scornfully as he was once again kept upstairs with his house-elf nanny. But occasionally his parents made him come down, dressed in his best, to show him to their friends. The feeling of a few dozen of grown-ups staring at you as you walked into a room wearing uncomfortable, stiff clothes was worse enough, but it was next to nothing compared to being stared at by dozens of ex-Headmasters when you were looking far from your best. And were worrying about your Godson too.
"At least you can get to your other portrait in the Ministry," the woman's voice spoke again. "I only got this portrait."
"Don't be daft, Virginia," another portrait said. "You've got that portrait in the corridor on the fifth floor."
"Oh, of course," Virginia said, blushing a little. "Well, I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm not going to wait until he takes out his knife." And with that, she disappeared.
"Good riddance," another portrait muttered.
Sirius took a few steps towards the portraits, to get a closer look. "There we are!" a cheerful old wizard said as Sirius got into a better view. "My, would you look at you!"
"Oh, Phineas is going to love this," another wizard, wearing purple robes and holding a map, said.
"Can we leave Phineas out of this?" another wizard complained loudly. He was painted holding a golden statue of a griffin. "The less we have to deal with that misanthropic old whiner, the better."
"Watch who you're calling a misanthropic old whiner," came another voice from Sirius' left. "Last time I checked, I was still the one who died with a lot of money and heirs to inherit it after being Headmaster for twenty years, while you were still the so-called 'brave' Gryffindor who thought griffins were fit for riding – and who was painfully proven wrong."
"It works every time," the purple-robed wizard said cheerfully as the wizard with the griffin huffed. "Just mention his name and insult him and he'll show up. Hello Phineas. Look who's here. One of your heirs. Looks like he could do with a bit of money." The other paintings grinned.
"Sounds like you could do with a bit of brains," Phineas muttered. He squinted his eyes a bit; from where he was hanging, Sirius was just standing out of view. "Who is it?"
"Walk towards him, will you, dear?" an old witch said. Sirius reluctantly did a few steps towards Phineas Nigellus' painting. This was hardly the first time he encountered his great-great-grandfather's portrait. In fact, there had been a portrait of the ex-Headmaster in Sirius' room. His parents had hoped it would be an inspiring example for their eldest son, but the last thing Sirius had wanted was to be the second Slytherin Headmaster in the family.
He pulled a face when Phineas came into view and he saw the green robes embroided with silver snakes and the Black crest. It took his ancestor a few moments longer to realise who he was looking at, then he pulled a face as well.
"This is what the noble house of Black has come to?!" he said. "This – this – I don't even know how to call it!" The other portraits grinned and winked at one another. "What's that you're wearing?"
"An Azkaban uniform," Sirius said. He didn't feel like having a shouting-rally with a portrait, but he didn't feel like being polite either.
"I think it's quite charming," a witch with white curls said, and giggled. "Really… noble." The other portraits burst into laughing.
"Yes, not something I can say of your family members," Phineas said sharply. The witch immediately stopped laughing and shot an insulted glare at Phineas, who gave a disdainful smirk back. He then turned his attention back to Sirius.
"Well, what are you doing here, boy?"
"Dumbledore asked me to come here," Sirius answered. "At least, McGonagall said Dumbledore asked me, but she didn't say why."
"Maybe something with the Triwizard," another wizard said.
"Did she give any hints?" a fat wizard with blond curls said. "Minerva can be rather… evasive."
"She said it had something to do with Moody, and one of the champions died," Sirius told him. There were gasps from the portraits.
"Who died?" a witch wanted to know.
"Cedric Diggory."
Another witch gave a gasp and she disappeared out of sight.
"Where's she going?" Sirius wanted to know.
"She has a portrait in the Hufflepuff common room," the purple-robed wizard said. "But you said something about Moody?"
"Yes, McGonagall said that Moody was about to kill Harry." As he was saying it, Sirius still couldn't really believe it.
"Harry Potter?" a wizard with a black waist-length hair and beard said. "James' boy?"
"Yes," Sirius confirmed, and swallowed. Hearing Harry being referred to as "James' boy" made it all the more painful that Sirius hadn't been able to do anything.
"What's so important about that?" Phineas said. Then, seeing Sirius' glare: "what?"
"Does anybody have a portrait in the Defence office?" the wizard in purple robes said loudly, thus avoiding an argument. There were mutters around the office of "no, sorry."
"Nobody has a portrait there, Samuel," a wizard with a rather odd-looking hat on, said. "Moody's taken them all out at the beginning of this year. Said he didn't want anybody spying on him when he was working."
"Dumbledore let him, because he's such a good friend of his," a witch explained to Sirius. "Who had his portrait there last year?"
Another witch waved enthusiastically. "I did!"
"I don't want to know," Sirius muttered. The witch looked positively indignant.
"Why not?" she said. "He was by far the most charming Defence teacher we had in years."
"That's not that difficult," said a wizard a bit sourly. "Who did we have last year again?"
"Remus Lupin," the witch said, and giggled. Sirius rolled his eyes.
"Oh, I remember!" the wizard said. "Wasn't he that werewolf-boy Albus accepted into Hogwarts a few years ago?"
"That wasn't exactly a few years ago," Sirius said. The portraits ignored him and kept on chatting.
"Is it always this noisy?" Sirius asked the only person who wanted to listen, incidentally Phineas.
"Unfortunately, yes," the ex-Headmaster said. "Until Dumbledore comes in and tells them all to shut up because he can't sleep or think."
"Does that happen a lot?"
"Once in a while. Not often enough, if you ask me."
"Oh Phineas, don't be such a spoil-sport," the griffin-wizard said.
"Wasn't Dumbledore supposed to come to his office?" Phineas asked Sirius loudly.
"Shall I go and see if he's coming?" another wizard offered. Without waiting for consent, he hurried out of his portrait. He came back a few moments later. "They're two corridors away, I supposed it'll be a minute."
To Sirius' surprise, the Headmasters started adjusting their robes and hair, making sure they looked their best on their portraits. Phineas merely snapped an invisible peck of dust off his robes and smirked at Sirius. Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but then the door of the office opened and the portraits froze.
Dumbledore helped Harry over the threshold, into the office. The moment Sirius saw Harry's white face and the mud on his robes and even in his hair, a rush of panic went through him. He rushed forward.
"Harry, are you all right?" he said urgently. "I knew it – I knew something like this – what happened?" He helped Harry into a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. His hands shook, he couldn't help it. "What happened?" he asked more urgently. Harry was in no state to answer, so he directed this question to Dumbledore. The Headmaster walked towards the two of them and explained everything that had happened in Moody's office. Sirius never left Harry's side, although halfway through Dumbledore's story he nearly forgot his Godson was even there. The whole deal with Barty Crouch disguising himself as Moody was even weirder than Harry and Hermione rescuing Sirius with the aid of a Timeturner.
While Dumbledore was near the end of his tale, Fawkes left his perch and flew towards Harry, landing on the boy's knee. Neither Dumbledore nor Sirius paid much attention to the bird, however.
Dumbledore sat down behind his desk. Sirius was still standing behind the chair Harry was sitting on. He saw how Harry was looking down at Fawkes, avoiding Dumbledore's eyes.
"I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze, Harry," said Dumbledore. His tone was calm, but there was no denying the determination.
"We can leave that till morning, can't we, Dumbledore?" said Sirius. He put his hand on Harry's shoulder. The boy had gone through so much this evening, it was simply unfair to question him now. "Let him have a sleep. Let him rest." Dumbledore, however, seemed to ignore Sirius. He leaned forward.
"If I thought I could help you," he said gently, "by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened."
Fawkes let out one soft, quavering note. It seemed to hang in the air for a few moments, like the image of firework that's still visible after it's disappeared. At first, Sirius wanted to slap the bird for making a sound during such a frustrating moment – why won't Dumbledore let him sleep? WHY must he always be right? – but then a warm, soothing feeling seemed to gulf through him. Not only Sirius got strengthened by the phoenix' song, Harry seemed to get a little extra strength as well.
Harry took a deep breath and began to tell them, starting with how both Cedric and he had touched the Triwizard Cup. Not only Dumbledore and Sirius were listening; several times, Sirius saw a portrait widen his eyes with shock or amazement. Sirius listening as intently as they were; when Harry told them Wormtail had been there and that he had killed Cedric, Sirius almost involuntarily wanted to say something (although he didn't quite know what), but Dumbledore stopped him. However, when Harry reached the part where Wormtail cut Harry's arm to get some blood, both Dumbledore and he reacted.
Sirius swore badly (he didn't see it, but behind his back, Phineas smirked). The Headmaster jumped to his feet, walked around the desk and asked Harry to stretch out his arm. Harry showed his Headmaster and his Godfather the place where his robes were torn and his skin was cut.
"He said my blood would make him stronger than if he'd used someone else's," Harry told Dumbledore. "He said the protection my – my mother left in me – he'd have it too. And he was right – he could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face."
Sirius saw the tiniest of smiles flit over Dumbledore's face. But it was already gone and replaced by an expression of grave seriousness when the Headmaster had resumed his seat behind the desk.
"Very well," he said, sitting down again. "Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Harry, continue, please."
Harry went on; he explained how Voldemort had emerged from the cauldron, and told them all he could remember of Voldemort's speech to the Death Eaters. Sirius couldn't help but snort when he heard that Lucius Malfoy had been there. Typically Malfoy, he thought. Always sucking up to safe his life.
Harry then told the two of them how Voldemort had untied him and how he had forced him to duel. Sirius only broke the silence when Harry told them how the two wands had been connected with some kind of golden beam of light.
"The wands connected?" he said. "Why?" He looked at Dumbledore. Not at all to his assurance, there was a rather worried look on the elder wizard's face.
"Priori Incantatem," he muttered. He looked at Harry, again ignoring Sirius.
"The Reverse Spell effect?" said Sirius sharply to get Dumbledore's attention again.
"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "Harry's wand and Voldemort's wand share cores. Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix. This phoenix, in fact," he said, and nodded to Fawkes, who was still perched on Harry's knee.
"My wand's feather came from Fawkes?" Harry said, amazed.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Mr. Ollivander wrote to tell me you had bought the second wand, the moment you left his shop four years ago."
"So what happens when a wand meets its brother?" said Sirius. This was all unknown stuff to him, and he didn't like things he couldn't explain, especially not if it was something harmful to Harry.
"They will not work properly against each other," explained Dumbledore. "If, however, the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle... a very rare effect will take place. One of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed – in reverse. The most recent first... and then those which preceded it..." He looked at Harry, who nodded as if they had just had a conversation Sirius hadn't heard. "Which means," continued Dumbledore slowly, his eyes upon Harry's face, "that some form of Cedric must have reappeared."
Harry nodded again.
"Diggory came back to life?" said Sirius sharply. He still didn't completely understand it. He was now painfully aware that there was a twelve-year lapse in his life in the wizard world. It felt as if he had to learn everything from scratch.
"No spell can reawaken the dead," said Dumbledore almost sadly. "All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo. A shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand... am I correct, Harry?"
"He spoke to me," Harry said. His voice was trembling. "The... the ghost Cedric, or whatever he was, spoke."
"An echo," said Dumbledore, "which retained Cedric's appearance and character. I am guessing other such forms appeared... less recent victims of Voldemort's wand...." Sirius suddenly realised he didn't like where this conversation was going to. Victims of Voldemort…
"An old man," Harry said, his voice still trembling. "Bertha Jorkins. And . . ."
"Your parents?" said Dumbledore quietly.
"Yes," said Harry.
Just to hear him say that. A boy, only fourteen, who has just seen the return of the most evil wizard ever know. His parents. Sirius gripped Harry's shoulder even more tightly than before, but he didn't really realise he was doing it. He was staring straight ahead, out of the dark window, trying to keep those bloody tears out of his eyes.
"The last murders the wand performed," said Dumbledore, continuing the conversation as if this was some kind of highly interesting theoretical discussion of a rare spell instead of the almost-resurrection of Harry's parents and Sirius' best friends. Oh Merlin, I am going to cry. "In reverse order. More would have appeared, of course, had you maintained the connection. Very well, Harry, these echoes, these shadows… what did they do?"
Sirius had to let go of Harry's shoulder as the boy told them how his parents had appeared, how Cedric had made his last request and how Lily had helped him. He staggered backwards, for some reason unable to stay near Harry anymore. He felt an insane jealousy that Harry had seen them, if only an echo, that he had even talked to them. He had talked to James… He fell down into a chair and covered his face with his hands, his eyes burning with unshed tears.
"I will say it again," Dumbledore broke the silence. "You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers." Sirius looked over his hands at the Headmaster, who was finally looking at him as well, finally acknowledging him. "You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it – and you have now given us all we have a right to expect. You will come with me to the hospital wing. I do not want you returning to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion, and some peace... Sirius, would you like to stay with him?"
Sirius nodded and stood up. He changed back into Padfoot and guided Dumbledore and Harry to the hospital wing. He faintly noticed that Harry was walking as easily as ever before, but he didn't know how that came to be. He actually couldn't care either.
There was already a group of people in the hospital wing when they entered. A short, slightly fat woman with violently red hair shrieked when she saw Harry.
"Harry! Oh Harry!" Dumbledore, however, stopped her from running to the boy and hugging him.
"Molly," he said, holding up a hand, "please listen to me for a moment. Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet." Padfoot nudged Harry's hand with his snout, and the boy gave a small smile.
"If he would like you all to stay with him," Dumbledore continued, "you may do so. But I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer, and certainly not this evening."
The people addressed – three redheads (one of them Ron, Padfoot noticed) and Hermione – kept an impressed silence. Madam Pomfrey, however, wasn't so easily silenced.
"Headmaster," she said, staring at the great black dog, "may I ask what – ?"
"This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while," said Dumbledore simply. "I assure you, he is extremely well trained." Sirius snorted softly. "Harry – I will wait while you get into bed. I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge, Harry," continued Dumbledore. "I would like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school." He left.
Madam Pomfrey led Harry to a nearby bed, Padfoot right behind them. On one of the other beds laid the real Alastor Moody in a deep sleep.
"Is he okay?" Harry asked.
"He'll be fine," said Madam Pomfrey reassuringly. She gave Harry a pair of pyjamas and pulled a screen around the bed so that he could change for bed. Once Padfoot had heard Harry climb in, he came around the screen, followed by Ron, Hermione and what he figured had to be Ron's mother and elder brother, although he couldn't for the life of him imagine why they were there.
"I'm all right," Harry told Ron and Hermione. "Just tired."
Padfoot took position under Harry's bed. He was just small enough to fit under it. He laid his head on his front paws, determined not to let anybody disturb Harry anymore.
Madam Pomfrey's feet appeared.
"You'll need to drink all of this, Harry," her voice said. "It's a potion for dreamless sleep."
Apparently Harry had drunk it, because the weight pressing the mattress down shifted and became a long shape. Padfoot himself kept his eyes open, watchful, keeping an eye on everybody in the hospital wing.
For about an hour, there was nothing to worry about. Ron, Hermione and the other two Weasleys (Sirius had realised after a while that Ron's mother was in fact Molly Weasley, one of his cousins, but this was hardly the time for a little family-get-together) were talking softly. Moody was sleeping soundly and, from what Padfoot could see, Harry wasn't moving either.
Everybody looked up when they heard voices in the corridors. Padfoot raised his head. If he wasn't much mistaken, McGonagall was shouting about something. The mere thought was utterly ridiculous – McGonagall didn't shout – but then again, so many unbelievable things had happened that this was actually rather normal.
"They'll wake him if they don't shut up!" Molly Weasley hissed.
"What are they shouting about? Nothing else can have happened, can it?" That was Bill, Ron's brother. Molly had got to her feet, Padfoot could see it from under the bed.
"That's Fudge's voice," she whispered. "And that's Minerva McGonagall's, isn't it? But what are they arguing about?"
Footsteps now joined the agitated voices. It was clear that they were walking towards the hospital wing because both the footsteps and the voices were getting louder.
"Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva –." Padfoot got to his paws. That was Cornelius Fudge. He had heard the man speak only a few times, but he'd recognise that voice everywhere.
"You should never have brought it inside the castle!" yelled Professor McGonagall. "When Dumbledore finds out –"
The door to the hospital wing burst open. From where Padfoot was standing, he could only see three pairs of feet and legs coming in; a pair with pinstriped trousers, McGonagall's navy blue robes and a pair of legs dressed in black trousers with buttons at the ankles. The pinstripes walked to Molly Weasley.
"Where's Dumbledore?" Fudge demanded to know.
"He's not here," said Molly sharply. "This is a hospital wing. Minister, don't you think you'd do better to –"
The door opened again, and Dumbledore's ruby-red robes joined the group.
"What has happened?" he said sharply. "Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I'm surprised at you – I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch –"
"There is no need to stand guard over him anymore, Dumbledore!" she shrieked nearly hysterically. "The Minister has seen to that!"
"When we told Mr. Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight's events," Snape's voice joined the conversation, "he seemed to feel his personal safety was in question. He insisted on summoning a Dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch –" Padfoot already knew what had happened, but he was right now thinking about something completely unrelated, trivial and stupid: why is Snape wearing buttons at his ankles?
"I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!" McGonagall continued the conversation. Her voice sounded shrill and agitated, and her Scottish accent was clearer than usual. "I told him you would never allow Dementors to set foot inside the castle, but –"
"My dear woman!" said Fudge angrily, "as Minister of Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when interviewing a possibly dangerous –"
But McGonagall overruled him – or overscreamed him. "The moment that – that thing entered the room," she screamed, "it swooped down on Crouch and – and –"
A ringing silence filled the room. Everybody knew what had happened.
"By all accounts, he is no loss!" stammered Fudge. "It seems he has been responsible for several deaths."
"But he cannot now give testimony, Cornelius," said Dumbledore. His voice was calm, but Padfoot thought he heard a distinct… disappointment. "He cannot give evidence about why he killed those people."
"Why he killed them? Well, that's no mystery, is it?" said Fudge. "He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who's instructions!"
"Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius," Dumbledore said. "Those peoples deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body."
Fudge began to sputter, not willing to believe this nonsense. "You-Know-Who... returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore..."
"As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you," Dumbledore continued calmly, "we heard Barty Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, and how Voldemort – learning of his continued existence – "
Padfoot snorted. What a way to say Barty Crouch was still alive.
" – from Bertha Jorkins – went to free him from his father and used him to capture Harry. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped Voldemort to return."
Again a stunned silence. Then –
"See here, Dumbledore," said Fudge, sounding a bit hesitantly, "you – you can't seriously believe that You-Know-Who – back? Come now, come now... certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who's orders – but to take the word of a lunatic like that, Dumbledore..."
"When Harry touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, he was transported straight to Voldemort," said Dumbledore firmly. "He witnessed Lord Voldemort's rebirth. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office." A short silence. "I am afraid I cannot permit you to question Harry tonight."
Judging from the movement of the pinstriped legs, Fudge looked at Harry, then back at Dumbledore. "You are – er – prepared to take Harry's word on this, are you, Dumbledore?"
Padfoot jumped to his paws and growled, the hair on his neck on end. If Fudge was going to insult Harry, he'd have to get past him first.
"Certainly, I believe Harry," said Dumbledore coldly. "I heard Crouch's confession, and I heard Harry's account of what happened after he touched the Triwizard Cup; the two stories make sense, they explain everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer."
"You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer," said Fudge disbelievingly, "and a boy who... well..."
"You've been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr. Fudge," came Harry's voice suddenly.
Several people jumped, Padfoot could see it. Fudge turned to Harry, then again to Dumbledore.
"And if I have?" he said defiantly. "If I have discovered that you've been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth, eh? And having funny turns all over the place –"
"I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?" said Dumbledore coolly.
"You admit that he has been having these pains, then?" said Fudge. "Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly – hallucinations?" it was more than clear what the Minister was suggesting: Harry was stark raving mad.
"Listen to me, Cornelius," said Dumbledore. The red robed did a step towards the pinstripes. "Harry is as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts him when Lord Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous."
The pinstriped did a small step back. "You'll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I've never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before. ..."
"Look, I saw Voldemort come back!" Harry shouted. The weight on the mattress shifted as though Harry was trying to get out of bed, but Molly Weasley pushed him back. "I saw the Death Eaters! I can give you their names! Lucius Malfoy –"
Snape's feet seemed to loose their balance for a moment.
"Malfoy was cleared!" said Fudge sharply. "A very old family – donations to excellent causes –" Padfoot snorted.
"Macnair!" Harry continued.
"Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!"
"Avery – Nott – Crabbe – Goyle –"
"You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!" said Fudge angrily. "You could have found those names in old reports of the trials! For heavens sake, Dumbledore –" the pinstripes turned to the red robed again. "The boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year too – his tales are getting taller, and you're still swallowing them – the boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he's trustworthy?"
"You fool!" came McGonagall's voice. It was something Padfoot had wanted to say. "Cedric Diggory! Mr. Crouch! These deaths were not the random work of a lunatic!"
"I see no evidence to the contrary!" shouted Fudge, equally angry. "It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilise everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!"
"Voldemort has returned," Dumbledore repeated. "If you accept that fact straightaway, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the Dementors –"
This idea was the most idiotic of all things Fudge had heard this evening. "Preposterous!" he shouted again. "Remove the Dementors? I'd be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the Dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!"
"The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!" said Dumbledore. Once again someone took the words right out of Padfoot's (or rather Sirius') mouth. "They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the Dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!"
Fudge appeared to be gasping for breath.
"The second step you must take – and at once," Dumbledore continued, "is to send envoys to the giants."
"Envoys to the giants?" Fudge shrieked. "What madness is this?"
"Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late," said Dumbledore, "or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom!"
"You – you cannot be serious!" Fudge gasped. "If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants – people hate them, Dumbledore – end of my career –"
"You are blinded," said Dumbledore, and the tone of his voice made Padfoot glad he wasn't standing in Fudge's shoes, "by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognise that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be!" Padfoot nodded furiously. He carefully poked his head out from under the bed to actually see what was going on.
"Your Dementor has just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any," Dumbledore continued, "and see what that man chose to make of his life! I tell you now – take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act – and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!"
"Insane," whispered Fudge. He backed away from Dumbledore. "Mad..."
The was again a silence. Padfoot saw Madam Pomfrey at the foot end of Harry's bed, staring wide-eyed at the group in her hospital wing. McGonagall was looking daggers at Fudge, while Snape appeared to be listening intently, an expression of deep concentration on his face. The Weasleys and Hermione were looking at Fudge as well, just like Dumbledore, who radiated an aura of sheer power.
"If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius," said Dumbledore calmly, "we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I – I shall act as I see fit."
Fudge reacted as if Dumbledore had just declared war. "Now, see here, Dumbledore," he said threateningly. "I've given you free rein, always. I've had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I've kept quiet. There aren't many who'd have let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you're going to work against me –"
"The only one against whom I intend to work," said Dumbledore just as calmly as before, "is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side."
Fudge didn't think this over; he didn't appear to be able to think at all. He was too shocked to actually make a reasonable decision. He rocked back and fort on his feet and finally said: "he can't be back, Dumbledore, he just can't be..."
To the surprise of pretty much everybody, Snape stepped forward, quickly unbuttoning the left sleeve of his robe and pulling it up. Padfoot hastily stepped forward to look.
Snape revealed a pale lower arm, the veins clearly visible like blue lines. But that was not what drew their attention. It was a black tattoo, as clear and sharp as if it had just been made, of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth.
"There," the Potions Master said harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."
Fudge gaped at Snape, who was looking back with a hard, cold stare. Even though he didn't say anything directly threatening, there was something ultimately defiant in the way he held his head. Fudge looked from Snape to Dumbledore to McGonagall and finally back to Dumbledore.
"I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore," he said, "but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry." He made for the door. Snape deftly stepped out of the way, rolling his sleeve down again. Fudge had almost reached the door when he stopped. He turned around, strode back down the hospital wing and stopped at Harry's bed. He was lucky, actually, that he was standing on the other side of the bed than where Padfoot was standing, because the Animagus wasn't sure if he could resist biting Fudge's ankles.
"Your winnings," Fudge said shortly. He took out a large bag of gold and dropped it on Harry's bedside table. Padfoot could hear the coins tinkle. "One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances..." He glared at Harry, put his bowler hat back on his head and stomped out of the hospital wing. The moment he was gone, Dumbledore turned to the group.
"There is work to be done," he said, suddenly businesslike. "Molly... am I right in thinking that I can count on you and Arthur?"
"Of course you can," said Molly resolutely. "We know what Fudge is. It's Arthur's fondness for Muggles that has held him back at the Ministry all these years. Fudge thinks he lacks proper wizarding pride."
"Then I need to send a message to Arthur," said Dumbledore. "All those that we can persuade of the truth must be notified immediately, and he is well placed to contact those at the Ministry who are not as short-sighted as Cornelius."
"I'll go to Dad," said Bill. He got to his feet. "I'll go now."
"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, however. If Fudge thinks I am interfering at the Ministry –"
"Leave it to me," said Bill. He took little time to say good-bye, put on his cloak and walked out of the hospital wing. Dumbledore then turned to McGonagall.
"Minerva," said Dumbledore, "I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also – if she will consent to come – Madame Maxime." Without a word, McGonagall nodded that she had understood and left the hospital wing. Next in line was Madam Pomfrey.
"Poppy, would you be very kind and go down to Professor Moody's office, where I think you will find a house-elf called Winky in considerable distress? Do what you can for her, and take her back to the kitchens. I think Dobby will look after her for us."
"Very – very well," Madam Pomfrey stuttered, and she left as well.
Dumbledore walked after her to the door, making sure that it was shut and that she was gone. Then he turned around and said: "and now, it is time for two of our number to recognise each other for what they are. Sirius... if you could resume your usual form."
Padfoot looked reluctantly at Dumbledore, but there was no refusing. With a small sigh, he changed back into Sirius.
The result was as he had thought. Molly Weasley let out a shriek and jumped back from Harry's bed. "Sirius Black!" she shrieked.
"Mum, shut up!" Ron yelled to Sirius' immense relief. "It's okay!"
Then Sirius looked at Snape. What little colour there usually was in the man's face had now left it. He was glaring at Sirius, but that was not unexpected and Sirius glared right back.
"Him!" Snape snarled. "What is he doing here?"
"He is here at my invitation," said Dumbledore sternly, looking at both of them, "as are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other."
Sirius snorted and Snape scowled. I'll be dead before I trust an ex-Death Eater, especially if it's Snape, Sirius thought.
"I will settle, in the short term," said Dumbledore a bit impatiently, "for a lack of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any us."
Snape glared at Sirius as if he was promising him slow and painful death if Sirius dared touch him. Sirius looked back with pretty much the same expression, except that Snape's death would be done with a long and – at the moment – rather blunt knife. But there was no resisting Dumbledore. Gritting his teeth, Sirius held out his hand just far enough for Snape to be able to reach it. With an expression as if he was doing it all because this was supposed to be good but he had serious doubts about it, Snape reached out as well. Their hands touched only for about two seconds, but it was enough to completely freak Sirius out. Snape's hand was dry, almost scaly, from all the times he had washed his hands before and after making a potion. It felt very unnatural and creepy and Sirius carefully wiped his hand on his frayed robe, although he did make sure Dumbledore didn't see it.
"That will do to be going on with," the Headmaster said, stepping between them once more. "Now I have work for each of you. Fudge's attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything." He looked at Sirius. "Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher – the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin's for a while; I will contact you there." Sirius nodded. In his head, he had already called up a map of England and was planning the shortest route to everybody.

"You'll see me very soon. Harry," he said. "I promise you. But I must do what I can, you understand, don't you?"
"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah . . . of course I do." The sight of Lily's eyes in James' face confused Sirius for a moment. He took his Godson's hand and squeezed it briefly. He then nodded to Dumbledore, changed back into Padfoot and literally ran out of the hospital wing, to his cave, to Buckbeak.

"Okay Buckbeak, we're going to go for a ride – a flight – whatever," Sirius said, pulling Remus' rucksack from his bed. Dead leaves rained from it. He hung the rucksack on his back, folded up his blanket, then he swept the dead leaves out of his cave with a branch he broke from a tree outside. As he was coaxing the Hippogriff out of the cave, he looked back, and it suddenly didn't seem like his cave anymore.
Buckbeak let out a soft shriek.
"No, we won't come back," Sirius said shortly. He put the folded blanket over Buckbeak's back and climbed onto the Hippogriff. "Okay, first stop… let's make it Surrey, to Arabella. Maybe we can get a good scare out of the Dursleys as well. Off we go then." He prodded Buckbeak's flanks with his heels and the animal set off with his hind-legs, down south, to gather the Order of the Phoenix.

I passed the letter on, but I haven't had a reply yet. Maybe he needs time to think things over, so we can expect a letter in a few days.
Incidentally, I know quite a few people who would gladly send you to hell. Snape's number 1. And number 2. And all the other people, actually (must have a multiple personality disorder).
Moony.
PS: oh, if you're so interested, I got various books on Roman mythology and history. Nice, old, dusty tomes for you to read this summer… won't you be having fun?

PS: a request. Like I did with Prisoner of the Moon, the fict before this one, I'm going to do a "fun" chapter at the end. I'm thinking of doing an interview again, but this time a Sirius-one. So if you have any questions you'd like to ask him, you can send them in. Questions for Remus are welcome as well, he'll of course be present.

Now, click that nice blue review-button, please!