Sirius flattened his sheet of parchment against the smoothest creek rock he could find, his feet cooled by the trickle of water streaming between his toes. Dear Moony, he wrote.

I've never hated Snape more than when you told me he revealed your secret to everyone. I'm so sorry that you had to leave Hogwarts, and I feel awful that I played a part in it. I'm not surprised it's been hard for you to find work now that your furry little problem, as James would say, is out in the open.

I'm doing all right here—Buckbeak hasn't been too big a fan of Apparition, so I think I'll be staying in one place for a little while. It's too dangerous for me to come back to Britain right now, but when I do I'll be sure to come see you as soon as I can. I miss you so much.

Anyway, I saw on the news here that someone conjured a Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup the other night. I'm guessing you stayed far away from all of that, but I was wondering if you knew any more than I do about who did it. My money's on the Malfoys—I can't believe the Ministry's let Lucius run free all these years.

It sounds like things are getting serious; I just hope Peter doesn't have anything to do with it. It's a bit rich coming from me, but make sure you're being careful, Moons. I'm sure there are some emboldened old Death Eaters who would love to get their hands on you.

Write back soon, Re—I'm worried about you.

Love, Sirius

P.S. I'm sending an order to Gringotts asking them to transfer 500 Galleons from my vault into your account. Please take the money; you need it more than I do.

Satisfied with his letter, Sirius folded up the parchment and whistled to summon the bird he'd acquired down from the branch on which he perched. The messenger birds here were long-beaked and bright-colored, nothing like the owls Sirius was used to, but the local wizards insisted they were just as capable of carrying post. This bird, a flashy blue one, gave Sirius a harsh peck on the knuckle before spreading its wings and taking off with his letter, swiftly gaining altitude until it broke through the blanket of tree tops into the open sky.

Sirius was hiding out deep in the jungles of the Congo, far away from civilization. He'd stopped in nearby wizarding villages only briefly, to keep up with the news and to buy himself a new wand. He twirled said wand around his fingers now, relishing in the feel of its smooth wood brushing his skin: it was long and dark gray in color, and its core consisted of a feather from a Fwooper. Fwooper wands weren't sold anywhere in Britain, but Sirius was happy enough with this one. Having a wand in his possession at all after so many years in Azkaban was brilliant.

He'd been writing letters to both Remus and Harry as often as he could, determined not to lose contact with either of them ever again. He'd had such a short amount of time to speak to them before he'd escaped, and now he was half a world away, sometimes having to wait weeks to get their replies. Not being able to see them was probably the worst thing about him being on the run.

A great caw! came from behind him; Sirius turned to greet Buckbeak as he returned from his hunt with a bloody jungle animal hanging limply from his mouth. "That's disgusting," he said, scowling at the hippogriff. "Eat that far away from me, will you? It smells."

Buckbeak, as if intentionally defying him, settled down right beside Sirius and began tearing apart his meal. Sirius rolled his eyes, but it was difficult for him to get cross with Buckbeak—he had saved him from getting Kissed by Dementors, after all. He supposed he could cut him some slack for his less-than-pleasant eating habits.

Suddenly Buckbeak's head jerked up, his bright eyes fixed on the jungle canopy. Sirius followed his gaze and found a white bird flitting between the trees, standing out sharply against the tropical backdrop. She was Hedwig, Harry's owl; Sirius's heart gave a lurch at the sight of her.

Hedwig landed gracefully on his outstretched arm and presented her leg to him, around which was tied a piece of parchment. Sirius untied and unfolded the letter, eager to pore over his godson's words.

But as he read, Sirius felt the color slowly leaching from his face. Harry's cursed scar was hurting, something it had only done before in the presence of Voldemort. First the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup, and now this…Sirius didn't know what to think, but he knew that whatever was going on couldn't be good. Could Voldemort have found a way to return to his body somehow?

Screw this, he thought, sending Harry's letter up in a handful of flames. His godson needed him; he wasn't going to stay hidden away in Africa while the only people he still cared about were in danger. Returning to Britain would be reckless, of course, but Sirius had never exactly been known for his caution.

He glanced over at Buckbeak, now picking fitfully at the bare bones of his meal. "Looks like we'll need to do some more Apparating, I'm afraid," he told the hippogriff. "You and me are going home."