A/N: I have been meaning to write more of this story, but with grad school it's really all I can do to work on one story at a time. I do want to give a big thank you to everyone who's reviewed! You've really encouraged me to keep going, and I appreciate all your comments, even if I don't respond to everyone!

I've really been looking forward to posting this chapter, and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Some of you are going to protest some things about Draco in this chapter, and all I can say is yes, he does appear to be a little dense, but to be fair, nobody expects their history books to be wrong. At least, not as drastically wrong as they really are in this case...

Draco was sure Snape had been trying to tell them something by skipping to that section, all the way at the back of the book, but he wasn't sure what. Normally, he would've paid attention and tried to figure it out, but today he'd more exciting things to think about.

The moment class was over for the day (a long, insufferable hour of Binns) he was out of the castle and making his way around to the closest edge of the Forest.

He was able to make a Patronus now, but Draco was grateful that he didn't actually encounter any dementors as he entered the Forest that evening.

"Cygna!" Draco called, once he was under the canopy.

There was no response to his calls, which was unusual, so he ventured a little further into the forest, and then stood uncertainly in one place, unsure of his direction. He'd never been very far in the forest without anybody else, and the trees all seemed to get more menacing by the minute.

"Cygna?" he tried again, abruptly very much aware of how foolish it was to have wandered in here by himself.

"Who are you?" A deep voice asked, and Draco jumped. A centaur stood in the shadows of the trees, watching him carefully.

"I – I'm Draco," he said, unable to help the nervous tone that slid into his voice. The centaur looked him up and down.

"Very well," the centaur said, "Come with me." He turned and began walking further into the forest, and Draco scrambled to follow him. They walked for some time, the trees only getting darker and more oppressive.

He should have at least asked for a name, Draco thought, keeping an eye on the centaur. He didn't want to lose track of the only being who knew where they were. Draco was thinking about piping up and asking the question that his father had banned from ever being spoken in his presence – Are we there yet? – when the trees started to appear to be farther and farther apart from each other, and quite abruptly, they broke into a pleasant little clearing.

Shafts of sunlight broke through the trees, and grass and flowers grew cheerfully all around, but that wasn't what Draco noticed first.

No, instead his attention was caught by the dozen or so centaurs that stood in a loose semi-circle around Cygna, as she pointed a finger menacingly at a huge black dog.

Draco shivered a little when he saw it, because that dog looked disturbingly like a Grimm, and he couldn't help but think of Trelawney's prediction. Was he going to die in the Forest today?

The centaur that led him there stepped forward to join the semi-circle, drawing attention his way.

"Ronan, welcome," Firenze greeted, "and Draco, too."

Draco ventured a little closer at Firenze's words, a little comforted by the presence of the one centaur that had always been kind to him.

"Hello, Draco," Cygna said, sparing him a glance and a quick smile, but her finger did not cease pointing at the Grimm.

"Erm, hello," Draco said, his voice cracking at the end. "What are you doing to that Grimm?"

Several of the centaurs shifted. One laughed; not Firenze, Draco saw, thankfully.

"This is no Grimm," Cygna said grimly. "Nor is it a mere dog. Reveal yourself, wizard!"

She drew her finger through the air, tracing patterns that Draco didn't recognize, and the not-a-Grimm whimpered and growled, shifting weirdly, and then there was a man standing there. A man that Draco recognized from the newspaper fronts of the Prophet.

"That's Sirius Black!" he cried, and the man, dressed in the rags of Azkaban, turned and grinned at him ferally.

"The friend of James and Lily Potter?" Cygna asked, lowering her finger slowly, and the man's gaze shifted back to her, hungrily.

"Yes," his voice rasped, as if he hadn't used it in years. Cygna's hands were at her side now, and even the centaurs seemed bored, except Firenze, who was… smiling?

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, "We have to take him up to the castle! He's a criminal!" His voice got embarrassingly higher as he spoke, but he didn't care.

Sirius Black laughed with a huffing breath.

"He's innocent, Draco," Cygna said, glancing at him. "He was wrongly accused."

Draco shook his head, unconvinced. "He killed people," he insisted. Cygna sighed.

"Well, I suppose it's true we don't know if he killed Peter Pettigrew or not," she admitted, "but there's one murder he's innocent of."

Sirius Black's eyes lit up, and Cygna smiled at him. Black took a hesitant step towards her, and she rolled her eyes at him. "Just hug me and get it over with," she told him, and he immediately did, dropping to his knees, and crying as he wrapped his arms around her.

Draco was feeling confused, and not a little indignant. He didn't know what was going on, but he did know that Black had been imprisoned for murdering Peter Pettigrew and a bunch of Muggles, and as far as Draco saw, there was no proof he hadn't done any of those things.

"But what about Peter Pettigrew," he insisted, interrupting the weirdly emotional hug (on Black's part) that was happening.

Black sat back and snarled fiercely. "I wish I'd killed him."

"So, he's not dead?"

Black barked a laugh and shook his head. "No."

"Well, where's your proof?" Draco demanded.

"Why would I need to prove anything to a Malfoy?" Black sneered.

Cygna stepped back, away from him, and toward Draco.

"He's my friend," she told him firmly, and Draco felt a rush of warmth at her defense.

Black looked back at Draco, obviously reassessing his opinion.

"We were all secretly animagi," he explained, slowly. "Peter was a rat. Suppose that should've been a clue," he snorted bitterly. "We switched last-minute, so he was James and Lily's Secret-keeper, and he betrayed them. I went to confront Peter, and blasted one of his fingers off, but he got away."

"All they found of him was a finger," Draco recalled. The Prophet had taken great delight in reminding everyone in detail of Black's crime since his escape. "Pettigrew transformed into his Animagus?"

"Exactly," Black said.

"Well, how do you know he's still alive, then? If he's still a rat?" Cygna pointed out.

"I know what he looks like as a rat," said Black. "We all learned these forms together. And then there's this – "

He reached inside the tattered coat he wore and withdrew a thin piece of paper – a newspaper clipping – and showed it to them.

It was from over the summer, when the Weasleys had won some Ministry contest and gone to Egypt. Draco vaguely remembered it; his father had muttered something about charity cases and tossed it aside. But Black was pointing to the shoulders of Ron Weasley, where a rat sat, clasping his shirt with its claws.

Except this rat didn't have all its claws. Draco counted twice. It was short by one.

"Should've known Weasley would have terrible taste in pets," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "So, this is why you were trying to get into Gryffindor Tower?"

Black nodded, and Cygna looked at him sharply.

"You did what?"

"He tried to force his way in. Slashed up the Fat Lady's portrait pretty good," Draco said, when Black appeared to be too cowed to answer. "How did you get in the castle in the first place, anyway?"

"Secret passageway," Black admitted. "Under the Shrieking Shack. Used to use it all the time for Moony's transformations."

"Moony?" Cygna asked, beating Draco to it.

"That was Remus," Black said wistfully, "The Marauders, that's what we called ourselves."

"Let me guess, you started all the trouble?" Cygna laughed.

"Please," Black snorted. "James did his fair share, too."

"Sorry, do you mean Professor Lupin?" Draco asked, having recognized the man's first name.

"He's teaching?" Black asked, perking up. "What subject?"

"Defense," Draco told him, but he was suddenly thinking about what Black had just said: his mention of transformations, Lupin's frequent absences, the lesson Snape had taught them just today…

"He's a werewolf!"