Sirius sniffed at the bag the boy carried. It smelled like a dozen chicken legs, a loaf of bread, and a flask of... pumpkin juice? Pumpkin juice. Although there was a hint of old bourbon in there and backwash from whoever tried to dip a pretzel stick down inside it back when it had held hot tea. He wagged his tail - he wanted to scarf the stuff immediately - but instead led them through a scrubby patch that led to the foot of the mountain. There at the very foot of the mountain, where the ground was covered with boulders and rocks, Sirius bounded like a mountain goat. The kids struggled, but he pushed them higher and harder until they made it into this second cool, dimly-lit cave. They bowed to the beast while he transformed back into a man.
He was suddenly painfully aware of his ragged grey robes - the ones he'd worn when he'd left Azkaban. He remembered how long he'd been away from O'Della, the cold of Smoo Cave, of the scissors he'd lost. He spat the newspaper from his mouth and said, "Chicken!" hoarsely.
Harry passed him the bag.
"Thanks," said Sirius, grabbing a drumstick, sitting down on the cave floor, and tearing off a large chunk with his teeth. "I've been living off of rats mostly. Can't steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I'd draw attention to myself." He grinned at his godson.
Harry grinned back reluctantly. Feigning welcome. Couldn't he feel welcome at least with his own godson? "What are you doing here, Sirius?" Harry asked.
"Fulfilling my duty as godfather," said Sirius. He gnawed on the chicken bone and slobbered on it. "Don't worry about it, I'm pretending to be a lovable stray." He grinned.
Harry's brow was knotted together tight. Not merely unwelcome: a burden of worry.
Sirius said, "I want to be on the spot. Your last letter... well, let's just say things are getting fishier. I've been stealing the paper every time someone throws one out, and by the looks of things, I'm not the only one who's getting worried." He nodded at the stack of them. It was a huge stack.
Ron picked them up and unfolded them. Good. They needed to realize how serious it was.
"What if they catch you?" Harry asked. "What if you're seen?"
"You three and Dumbledore are the only ones who know I'm an Animangus," said Sirius. Well, there was Lupin and Peter Pettigrew but... what did that matter? Lupin wouldn't tell and Peter had no one to tell, still feigning death as he was. It's not like Voldemort had returned. He shrugged and went after the chicken again as they read.
"They're making it sound like he's dying," said Harry slowly. "But he can't be that ill if he managed to get up here..."
"My brother's Crouch's personal assistant," Ron informed Sirius. "He says Crouch is suffering from overwork."
"Mind you, he did look ill, last time I saw up close," said Harry slowly, still reading the story. "The night my name came out of the goblet..."
"Getting his comeuppance for sacking Windy, hasn't he?" said Hermione, an edge to her voice. Who was Windy? Hermione was stroking Buckbeak, who was crunching up his chicken bones. "I bet he wishes he hadn't done it now - bet he feels the difference now she's not there to look after him."
"Hermione's obsessed with house-elfs," Ron muttered to Sirius, casting Hermione a dark look.
Sirius perked up. "Crouch sacked his house-elf?"
"Yeah, at the Quidditch World Cup," said Harry. "A bunch of death eaters showed up and started causing a scene. Then someone threw up a real Dark Mark into the sky. Turned out it was Winky - Crouch's house-elf Winky. She stole my wand to do it. Crouch was furious."
Sirius had risen. He grabbed a second chicken leg and paced. "Let me get this straight," brandishing his leg like a sword, like Chesterton dictating a story about dueling to a stenographer. "You first saw the elf in the Top Box. She was saving Crouch a seat, right?"
"Right," said the kids together.
"But Crouch didn't turn up for the match?"
"No," said Harry. "I think he'd been too busy."
Sirius paced all around the cave in silence. He didn't touch his chicken. "Harry did you check your pockets for your wand after you'd left the Top Box?"
"Erm... No. I didn't need to use it before we got to the forest. And then I put my hand in my pocket, and all that was in there were my Omnioculars." The boy stared. "Are you saying whoever conjured the Mark stole my wand in the Top Box?"
"It's possible," said Sirius. He thought of Wormtail scrambling for someone else's wand.
"Winky didn't steal that wand!" Hermione insisted.
"The elf wasn't the only one in that box," said Sirius, his brow furrowed as he continued to pace. "Who else was sitting behind you?"
"Loads of people," said Harry. "Some Bulgarian ministers... Cornelius Fudge... the Malfoys..."
"The Malfoys!" said Ron. His voice ricocheted in echoes throughout the cave.
Buckbeak tossed his head around.
"I bet it was Lucius Malfoy!"
"Anyone else?" said Sirius.
"No one," said Harry.
"Yes, there was, there was Ludo Bagman," Hermione reminded him.
"Oh yeah..."
"I don't know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps," said Sirius, still pacing, thinking of the posters on his old room in number 12. "What's he like?"
"He's okay," said Harry. "He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament."
"Does he, now?" said Sirius, frowning more deeply. "I wonder why he'd do that?"
"Says he's taken a liking to me," said Harry.
"Hmm," said Sirius. The house elves reserving a spot was rather odd. It reminded him of the dark days. Crouch and that ruthlessness of his-
"We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared." Hermione told Sirius. "Remember?" she said to Harry and Ron.
"Yeah, but he didn't stay in the forest, did he?" said Ron. "The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite."
"How d'you know?" Hermione shot back. "How d'you know where he Disapparated to?"
"Come off it," Ron said. He sounded incredulous. "Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?"
"It's more likely he did it than Winky," said Hermione stubbornly.
"Told you," said Ron, looking meaningfully to Sirius, "told you she's obsessed with the house-"
But Sirius held up a hand to silence Ron. There was always Imperio. "When the Dark Mark had been conjured and the elf had been discovered holding Harry's wand, what did Crouch do?"
"Went to look in the bushes," said Harry, "but there wasn't anyone else there."
"Of course," Sirius muttered, pacing up and down, "of course, he'd want to pin it on anyone but his own elf ... and then he sacked her?"
"Yes," said Hermione in a heated voice, "he sacked her, just because she hadn't stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled-"
"Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!" said Ron.
Sirius shook his head. The elf was the bloody key. "She's got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." He ran a hand over his unshaven face. Why would the man leave? Had he ever? Crouch's actions reminded him of himself as a kid: running away because he was hiding something, trying to keep it hidden. "All these absences of Barty Crouch's ... he goes to the trouble of making sure this house-elf saves him a seat at the Quidditch World Cup, but doesn't bother to turn up and watch. He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that too... It's not like Crouch. If he's ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I'll eat Buckbeak."
The beast looked up and stared at him, offended after they'd come so far.
Sirius was that hungry.
"D'you know Crouch, then?" said Harry.
Such an innocent thing to ask. Sirius' face darkened. He bared his canines and furrowed his brow. His hunger rumbled and he thought he heard the kennelmaster's call of the hunt. "Oh I know Crouch all right," he whispered. "He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban - without a trial."
"What?" asked Ron and Hermione together.
"You're kidding!" said Harry.
"No, I'm not," said Sirius, taking another bit of chicken. "Crouch used to be Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?"
The kids shook their heads.
"He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic," said Sirius. "He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical - and power-hungry. Oh never a Voldemort supporter," he said, reading the look on Harry's face. "No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side . . . well, you wouldn't understand . . . you're too young. . . ."
"That's what my dad said at the World Cup," said Ron, with a trace of irritation in his voice. "Try us, why don't you?"
A grin flashed across Sirius's thin face: yes, Ron reminded him of himself. Ornery streak, large pure-blood family, the runt of the litter in a lot of ways. "All right, I'll try you. . . ." He walked once up the cave, back again, and then said, "Imagine that Voldemort's powerful now. You don't know who his supporters are, you don't know who's working for him and who isn't; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You're scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing . . . the Ministry of Magic's in disarray, they don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere . . . panic . . . confusion . . . that's how it used to be.
"Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning - I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers - powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you - plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened. . . ." Sirius smiled grimly. "Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power."
"Crouch's son was caught?" gasped Hermione.
"Yep," said Sirius, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak, flinging himself back down on the ground beside the loaf of bread, and tearing it in half. "Nasty little shock for old Barty, I'd imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn't he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while . . . gotten to know his own son." He began to wolf down large pieces of bread.
"Was his son a Death Eater?" said Harry.
"No idea," said Sirius, still stuffing down bread. "I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I'd bet my life were Death Eaters - but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf."
"Did Crouch try and get his son off?" Hermione whispered.
Sirius let out a laugh that was much more like a bark. "Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again - doesn't that tell you what he's like? Crouch's fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn't much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy . . . then he sent him straight to Azkaban."
"He gave his own son to the dementors?" asked Harry quietly.
"That's right," said Sirius, and he didn't look remotely amused now. "I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though . . . they all went quiet in the end . . . except when they shrieked in their sleep. . . ." For a moment, the light faded from his eyes as the memory of other senses took over. He remembered himself slipping, remembered feeling as if he'd never be happy again, as if he'd confess any number of things in order to get out. How he'd realized they didn't have eyes and wouldn't recognize the difference between dampened happiness and the emotional spectrum of a dog and so he'd transformed. But the thing about being a dog was that everything was heightened for distance and the sensory system didn't go eyes-ears-nose, but rather nose-eyes-ears. He remembered the smell of feces and blood and fingernails being filed away as they dug at the slick obsidian walls. And the sounds were amplified: sounds of men howling, sounds of women driven to the pangs of childbirth though barren inside.
"So he's still in Azkaban?" Harry said.
"No," said Sirius dully. "No, he's not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in."
"He died?"
"He wasn't the only one," said Sirius bitterly. "Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son's body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it." Sirius threw aside the bread he had just lifted to his mouth and instead picked up the flask of pumpkin juice and drained it. There at the end, the hint of bourbon and pretzel.
"So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made," he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic . . . next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray." Of course, they had said the same thing about Sirius himself, so it wasn't much. "The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him." Which was also true about Sirius' father. There was that. "So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation."
There was a long silence.
Sirius wished Crouch would have suffered worse. Much worse.
"Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards," Harry told Sirius.
"Yeah, I've heard it's become a bit of a mania with him," said Sirius, nodding. "If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater." He wished he'd catch hold of Snape.
"And he sneaked up here to search Snape's office!" said Ron triumphantly, looking at Hermione.
"Yes, and that doesn't make sense at all," said Sirius.
"Yeah, it does!" said Ron excitedly.
Sirius shook his head: not quite like him, after all. Ron was dim-witted at times. "Listen, if Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn't he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him."
"So you think Snape could be up to something, then?" asked Harry.
Hermione broke in. "Look, I don't care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape -"
"Oh give it a rest, Hermione," said Ron impatiently. "I know Dumbledore's brilliant and everything, but that doesn't mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn't fool him -"
"Why did Snape save Harry's life in the first year, then? Why didn't he just let him die?"
"I dunno - maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out -"
"What d'you think, Sirius?" Harry said loudly, and Ron and Hermione stopped bickering to listen.
"I think they've both got a point," said Sirius, looking thoughtfully at Ron and Hermione. "Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was," Sirius added.
Harry and Ron grinned at each other.
Maybe he shouldn't encourage the boys towards meanness. Had Severus deserved being tricked into the willow's passage?
"Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters." Sirius held up his fingers and began ticking off names. "Rosier and Wilkes - they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges - they're a married couple - they're in Azkaban. Avery - from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse - he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater - not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble."
"Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet," said Ron. "Yeah, you should've seen Snape's face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!" said Harry quickly. "Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape's been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn't see what it was."
"He showed Snape something on his arm?" said Sirius. His eyes bugged out a bit. He ran his fingers distractedly through his filthy hair, then shrugged again. "Well, I've no idea what that's about . . . but if Karkaroff's genuinely worried, and he's going to Snape for answers . . ." Sirius stared at the cave wall, then made a grimace of frustration. "There's still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn't, but I just can't see him letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he'd ever worked for Voldemort."
"Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape's office then?" said Ron stubbornly.
"Well," said Sirius slowly, "I wouldn't put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher's office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defense Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody. I'm not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he's seen, it's not surprising. I'll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though . . . he's a different matter . . . is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape's office? And if he's not . . . what's he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so important he didn't turn up in the Top Box? What's he been doing while he should have been judging the tournament?" Sirius lapsed into silence, still staring at the cave wall.
Buckbeak was ferreting around on the rocky floor, looking for bones he might have overlooked.
Finally, Sirius looked up at Ron. "You say your brother's Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?"
"I can try," said Ron doubtfully. "Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch."
"And you might try and find out whether they've got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you're at it," said Sirius, gesturing to the second copy of the Daily Prophet. He wondered if Dumbledore had found anything else.
"Bagman told me they hadn't," said Harry.
"Yes, he's quoted in the article in there," said Sirius, nodding at the paper. "Blustering on about how bad Bertha's memory is. Well, maybe she's changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn't forgetful at all - quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip. It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic . . . maybe that's why Bagman didn't bother to look for her for so long. . . ." Sirius heaved an enormous sigh and rubbed his shadowed eyes. "What's the time?"
He watched Harry check his watch. There was water in it.
"It's half past three," said Hermione.
"You'd better get back to school," Sirius said, getting to his feet. "Now listen . . ." He looked particularly hard at Harry. "I don't want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right?" Actually, he did. But knew they shouldn't. "Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you."
"No one's tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of grindylows," Harry said.
Sirius scowled at him. "I don't care . . . I'll breathe freely again when this tournament's over, and that's not until June. And don't forget, if you're talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?"
Sirius handed Harry the empty napkin and flask and went to pat Buckbeak good-bye. "I'll walk to the edge of the village with you," said Sirius, "see if I can scrounge another paper." He transformed into the great black dog before they left the cave, and he walked back down the mountainside with them, across the boulder-strewn ground, and back to the stile. Here he allowed each of them to pat him on the head, before turning and setting off at a run around the outskirts of the village.