On Friday, Hermione wanted to visit Hagrid, as she had every week since Buckbeak's hearing had been announced, even though Harry's final practice before the match against Ravenclaw went on for hours, and it was almost time for their trip down to the dungeons by the time Oliver finally let them go. Madam Hooch, who had been overseeing every one of Harry's practices, had fallen asleep, and Hermione insisted on waking her up so she could take them to Hagrid's hut, because technically Harry was not allowed to be outside unsupervised, even on Hogwarts grounds. Madam Hooch was angry that they had let her sleep, but agreed to take them along.
Hagrid met them in a state of confusion. His cramped room was in a state of disarray, everything related to Buckbeak's hearing strewn about. He showed them the letter he had received the day before. Buckbeak's hearing had been abruptly moved up to the following Friday.
Trying to appear composed, Hagrid tried to brush off the unsettling news. He tried to suggest that the change of date might not carry any significant implications, might just be a scheduling issue, but none of them believed that.
Ron shook his head. "Not like Malfoy has the entire ministry in his pocket, or anything."
Hermione did her best to look determined, promising Hagrid to help him gather all their supporting arguments together and prepare his defence strategy, despite the limited time she had. The boys nodded along uncertainly.
After Hagrid had returned them to the castle, Hermione and Ron followed Harry to a secluded classroom so they could talk to Sirius as well, to update him on the situation.
Sirius was pacing restlessly in front of the mirror again. He let them know at once that he was alone, Lupin having chosen to stay at Hogwarts to watch Harry's match the following day. He looked eager to talk over their secret plans and projects, but sobered up once he heard the news. After mulling it over, he had a somewhat different view on it.
"I'm not sure that this is necessarily all bad—" He held up his hands at the protestations. "Now, hold on. Yes, there's very little time left. But think this way. Why would Malfoy use his influence to move the date?"
"You mean why not just influence the committee to vote as he wants them to?" Hermione said ponderously.
"Well, it must play into his strategy somehow – if he really is responsible for it," said Ron.
Sirius nodded. "Hagrid might be right and it might just be a scheduling problem. Not like the ministry officials never make a mistake." He rolled his eyes.
"But if it was Malfoy…?" prompted Harry.
"If it was Malfoy, then maybe Malfoy's manoeuvring to ensure that a particular individual will be present or absent from the proceedings. Do you see? This might unveil a vulnerability in Malfoy's strategy," Sirius said, looking like he was itching for action. "Perhaps there's someone whom Malfoy fears or wants to control at the hearing," he speculated. "If we can uncover this person's identity and intentions, we might be able to reach out to them, gain their support, and use it to sway the outcome in Buckbeak's favour."
Ron took it on himself to execute the first step of that task, by writing to his father to find out if Mr Weasley knew – or could find out – something about Buckbeak's hearing and the people who would – or would not – be present.
~HP~
The rest of the school got to see Harry's Firebolt on the day of the quidditch match, when he took it with him to the great hall for breakfast. The Slytherin team looked thunderstruck. Draco Malfoy came over to have a closer look and to snidely bemoan the Firebolt's lack of a parachute – in case of another dementor attack.
It was all Harry could do to merely respond with, "Pity you can't attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy. Then it could catch the snitch for you."
Internally, the topic of Malfoy's arm had reminded him of the whole reason for Buckbeak's trial in the first place. Partly for gaining a little advantage in a quidditch match, Malfoy had doomed the poor creature… Harry's determination to win surged.
It was a clear, cool day. Harry made sure to have his wand on him, under his quidditch robes, in case the dementors decided to make another appearance. Lee Jordan made sure to devote a good section of the match commentary to Harry's Firebolt, much to Professor McGonagall's annoyance. The Ravenclaw seeker, a petite, very pretty fourth year named Cho Chang, kept cutting in front of Harry, forcing him to change direction, until he faked seeing the snitch, dived, then reversed direction and left her far behind. Then he saw the snitch.
Chang, many feet below him, did as well, and screamed, pointing down.
Harry looked down as well, to see what looked like dementors below him. He did not realise the reason they had no effect on him until much later, after he had successfully cast the patronus, caught the snitch, and was soon engulfed by the Gryffindor supporters running onto the field as soon as the whistle had sounded.
It was with great satisfaction that Harry learned that the supposed dementors had actually been Malfoy, his friends, and Flint under disguises, who all got detention for the prank they had played and lost Slytherin fifty points.
The party afterwards was huge. Percy went to collect the ten galleons he had bet against Penelope. Fred and George even sneaked away and brought back butterbeer, pumpkin fizz, and several bags full of Honeydukes sweets from Hogsmeade.
"How did you do that?" squealed Angelina Johnson as George started throwing Peppermint Toads into the crowd.
Fred, conveniently close to Harry, muttered about Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs – before describing having to face the 'chilling' sight of the Grim by the Shrieking Shack in order to retrieve the drinks from the village. Catching Harry's alarm, he took it to be at mentioning the Marauders' names.
He rolled his eyes. "Relax. No one else could've heard me. And anyway, they wouldn't mind a bit of daring, I reckon – and celebrating that we now have a chance to win against Slytherin. If Snape's prejudiced against one of them, then they're unlikely to have been Slytherin students…?"
He let the question hang, but caught unawares, Harry had already answered, "Of course—"
"Ah, not Ravenclaws, either, then?" Fred wanted it confirmed. Then he grinned. "Oh, or did you mean they'd be really happy? That they were Gryffindors?"
Harry was a little annoyed that it seemed the twins were now actively fishing for information on the Marauders, rather than patiently waiting for their clues, but nodded, admitted that the Marauders – all four of them – had been Gryffindors, but also said that there would be no further hints that week.
Harry wondered about the shape of his patronus. He had been too busy catching the snitch to see what it had looked like, and his friends had told him afterwards that it had been far away and gone too quickly for them to have identified its shape – other than that it had been large. If it happened to resemble the Grim, what would people be thinking? With the unwise comments he had made earlier in the year, and Sirius' inability to stay out of sight for too long…
Harry made himself leave the party to question his godfather on his unexpected visit to Hogsmeade. Sirius admitted he had been there, but said there had been a good reason for it. He had been worried that Pettigrew might try something during the quidditch match, when the headmaster and all the teachers would be preoccupied. Harry shifted guiltily, knowing that his vulnerability to the dementors was partly to blame for that.
Sirius explained that he had managed to add an additional security measure to The Hog's Head. "I floated over a – modified – empty bottle on Thursday. There's plenty of those around in that pub, that no one would toss it out, I thought. I went back last night to make sure it was still there. It was. And it didn't ring any alarms. Of course I was also constantly watching my map of Hogwarts." He frowned. "As far as I can tell, no one tried anything at either the school or the village…"
That night, Harry had a very strange dream of walking through a forest, his Firebolt over his shoulder, chasing a silvery-white figure. It weaved through trees ahead, visible only in glimpses. He hurried to catch up, but it matched his pace. Running now, hooves ahead sped up. He sprinted, hearing galloping. Around a corner into a clearing, and—
Ron must have been dreaming at the same time, talking in his sleep. Harry could not make out his friend's mumbled words, and Ron went back to sleep without ever having properly woken up.
~HP~
Once Hermione had made up her mind that it was important to prioritise, she went about it with the same dedication she did everything else. It meant small changes, like finishing her muggle studies essay ('Explain Why Muggles Need Electricity') at the last minute on Sunday evening, together with Ron, or she and Ron each reading half of the enormous book entitled Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles and telling each other the summaries.
(Harry, incidentally, was ambivalent about that change. It was partly funny for Ron to be asking him questions similar to his father's about muggle life. It was also a bit of work answering those.)
But it did not end there.
The main hurdle, as Hermione saw it, to having time for their projects, was Harry's quidditch practice. Oliver had not relented, even after their victory against Ravenclaw, and was still planning to continue training five days a week. Harry might have objected, but Sirius had sided with her, once again enthusiastic about their animagus spells in a way he had not been in the past couple of months. Hermione talked to Percy after failing to make Oliver see sense herself.
Percy and Oliver were, after all, in their NEWT year, while Fred, George, Angelina and Alicia were in their OWL year. Percy had a few choice words with Oliver about prioritising some things over others, and the quidditch practice was reduced to three sessions a week. Oliver would spend the rest of the month glaring at Hermione.
With only four remaining electives, and having made up her mind to reduce the work she put into muggle studies, Hemione had breathing room again herself to look through their project materials. She found a book among those they had brought back from 12 Grimmauld Place that turned out to be a bit of a surprise.
The Magic of the Mundane Beast was a large, illustrated book about animal transfiguration in general, with a focus on magical characteristics. That meant the sorts of traits that Hermione used to think of as folklore – rats being associated with traitors, for example. The really interesting part was the final chapter, dedicated to the animagus transformation. It was partly speculative, the authors warned, as only a small number of animagi were known to have ever existed. Or made themselves known, Hermione silently amended. She immediately went for the entry about dogs, and indeed, many of the words of her animagus spell were named as magical character traits there.
No wonder Sirius' guesses had been so accurate, Hermione thought a little sourly – completely ignoring her hypocrisy.
Harry and Ron found the book just as engrossing, looking through all the entries that matched the sketchy descriptions they had of their animagus forms. Harry was bound to have more luck, having found more words. Songbirds seemed to fit in general, but somehow the ones that most looked like what he remembered of his partial transformation did not seem the closest matches.
Harry greeted his godfather with the book in front of him, holding his lit wand next to it, when next he called Sirius. "How come you didn't tell us about this?" he said, thinking like Hermione that Sirius had liked appearing mysteriously knowing.
Sirius, instead of caught out, looked a little impatient. "That's all conjecture. Not useless, but not what you need to be focusing on. Actually, I've been meaning to remind you – and you should share this with Ron and Hermione, or maybe we could discuss it together – you must get that book from McGonagall. That's the only book you need to be focusing on now."
"You mean the one that we need for the final transformation? But we won't be needing that for ages yet—"
Sirius dismissed the objection impatiently. "She only brings it out once a year, when she's teaching the final years about the various forms of human transfiguration. That's always right before the Easter break, the final big topic before the preparations for the exams begin. If you don't get it then, your transformation may have to wait until I can devise an alternative in the summer—"
Harry was taken aback. "Wait, you expect us to need it before the summer? So soon?"
Sirius rolled his eyes, but was barely suppressing a smile. "You only need a handful of sentences, usually. Hermione has found enough words that she probably has the skeleton of the entire incantation by now. A few rounds of self-reflection – and maybe one proper adventure – should do it, I think."
Harry made a choked-off sound of surprise, which echoed in the empty classroom. He shook his head. He did not want to speculate what Hermione might think of having an 'adventure' in order to complete her spell, but all he could focus on was that he was not far behind her. Suddenly the animagus transformation seemed to be enticingly close, almost within his grasp. His eyes fell on the book he had brought to show his godfather.
"The thing is, though, none of the birds seem to fit. All of those brown songbirds – nightingales and larks and finches and sparrows—" Harry grimaced. "They're all about singing and happiness and – and romance, and whatnot. None of them are associated with death, or even truth. Secrets – maybe some of them, a little bit, but—"
"Wait, wait. Why brown songbirds? Didn't we discuss that it's usually the black animals that are associated with death?"
"But my feathers were clearly brown."
A strange look of confusion passed over Sirius' face, before morphing into dawning realisation, followed by a bark-like laugh. "No, no, Harry. You're looking at the wrong birds! You're forgetting that you're still a juvenile. You're looking at adult brown birds, when you should be looking at black birds which are brown as juveniles—"
Harry wished Sirius would stop saying that word. He was aware of his face turning red and was suddenly very glad that this conversation had not taken place in his friends' presence.
Harry did not have much time to scan the book again, this time to look at black songbirds. As it was a Monday evening, he had to go down to the dungeons to help with the Wolfsbane potion. Harry remained unsure about how to interact with Snape, torn by conflicting thoughts. It was easy to focus on the annoyance for Snape's guilt-inducing remarks about Hermione's advice to Neville. Snape had been entirely unfair, considering that Hermione would be losing the closest friend she had in that hostile class if Neville really dropped ancient runes.
However, Harry had a compelling reason to talk to Snape that evening. He had not voiced his concern that his patronus might resemble Padfoot, but from Lupin's explanation, it seemed a possibility, at least. And Ron and Hermione had said it was big… He tried telling himself that there was no reason whatsoever for anyone to connect his patronus' shape with his godfather's animagus form – even on the off chance that it happened to be Padfoot. Snape did not even remember Sirius' nickname. He was just being paranoid—
"Professor, were you at the match on Saturday?" he found himself asking rashly.
Snape somehow managed to grow still without slowing down the rate at which he was stirring the cauldron. "Fishing for compliments for your quidditch victory, Potter?"
Harry had been expecting the crabby reply and rolled his eyes. "I was just wondering if you saw my, er, my patronus. I didn't have time to look, and Ron and Hermione couldn't see it clearly. Could you tell what shape it took? It's, er, it's supposed to look like an animal – but not a magical animal—"
"I know what a patronus is, Potter."
Once again, it was not the answer that Harry found odd. Rather, it was the odd expression with which Snape was regarding him. Almost apprehensive. It made Harry uneasy. He remained silent.
"I couldn't tell for certain. It was gone quickly." Snape averted his eyes.
"Do you know how to cast a patronus, then?" asked Ron.
Harry shot his friend a quick look, while he felt Hermione tense up imperceptibly next to him. He had been contemplating asking Snape something along similar lines, wondering why the thought made him apprehensive.
Snape remained silent for a noticeable moment, before answering with a curt, "Yes."
"What shape does it take?" Harry tried to sound casual, but was aware of holding his breath, feeling a strange tension whose root he was not sure he could name. He tried telling himself he was imagining it—
"That's a private matter, Potter." Snape looked away again. He made a jerky movement, and then had to vanish a few drops of potion spatter from the floor.
"All that time spent on learning that spell," Snape went on, cutting through the silence that had threatened to fall. "Not to mention quidditch practice. It certainly showed in your essay on undetectable poisons. I suppose you did get your revenge on my House – landed two members of the Slytherin quidditch team with detention—"
Harry thought it rather hypocritical of Snape not to be counting the time they spent on helping him. Hermione, shooting him a warning look, picked up the topic of undetectable poisons. Snape had returned their essays that morning, and Harry had received a respectable E on his. Perhaps it had been closer to an A than his recent essays had been, but he did not expect to receive straight Os, like Hermione did.
"I read your feedback, Professor," his bushy-haired friend was saying. (Harry would have liked to have asked her where she had found the time.) "I know I could've written more, but then I wasn't sure where to draw the line. If you include any substance that could cause harm, that would be a very long list—"
"You certainly don't, Granger," Snape answered with his customary sneer. "Part of your task was to understand what the definition of a poison is. The official definition, Granger. I specifically remember telling you three about this, about the fine line between what is and isn't defined as a poison. Really. Considering how often we've discussed poisons, I'd have thought—"
"Oh, yes! Your master work, wasn't it?" said Ron. "You managed to make something that was basically a poison but was still allowed as a master work." He thought it over. "I don't think you ever said what it was, though."
And Snape, who had been so tight-lipped about it before, did not even hesitate. His gaze turned distant, as if reminiscing about the past. "It's a potion that induces a profound sense of despair and regret in the drinker. It doesn't cause physical harm, but is just as effective at completely incapacitating the drinker."
Hermione's brows drew together. "Why would you create something like that, Professor?"
She had focused on her unease at hearing about the existence of such a potion, but from her indrawn breath a moment later, Harry suspected she had recognised the description just as he had. He tried telling himself he was imagining it. What were the chances—
Snape leaned back, his gaze meeting theirs. "Imagine a scenario where a valuable object needed protection, but using conventional defensive spells could draw attention. A similar setup to needing undetectable poisons, if you think about it. This potion would make the drinker feel so despondent that they would have little interest in causing trouble. It is a unique way of safeguarding without raising suspicion."
Harry could barely believe his ears. Snape had volunteered the information they had so urgently been trying to find. Not only did he know about the mystery potion – he had invented it. And he had admitted to it – clearly against his better judgement. Harry could no longer delude himself into thinking that he did not know the reason for it.
"Because you can't create unbreakable protections without dark magic, you mean," said Hermione, checking that they really were on the right track. "Your potion is the best you can do without using dark magic – as it's officially defined."
Snape raised his eyebrows at her. "Very good, Granger. I didn't think you had such interest in the dark arts—"
"Was it by request, then? The potion?" asked Harry.
Snape made another jerky motion, then set his jaw. For a moment, Harry thought they had gone too far, had asked for too many confidences in one go, but instead of becoming angry, a look of regret settled on Snape's face.
"Not quite. I'm afraid that's the direction my thoughts were travelling in back then. But mentioning it among a particular crowd certainly caused interest… It might even have led to certain suggestions in certain circles to speed up my apprenticeship, so I could then do my master work."
"It's strange to create a master work right after an apprenticeship, isn't it?" said Ron. "Don't you have to become an expert first?"
Snape sighed. "As I said… certain suggestions in certain circles. I was clever enough, no doubt—" he said without a trace of humility, "—but cleverness alone wouldn't have moved the old masters set in their ways – not for a young upstart without any family connections…"
Afterwards, amid celebrating their lucky discovery of Kreacher's mystery potion, Hermione turned to Harry with an imploring expression.
"You can't keep trying to manipulate Professor Snape, Harry," she said. "It works too well. And once he discovers that you knew of his friendship with your mum – and he will – he'll be so mad at you. With how he reacted today – Harry, you're playing with fire! If you want to know about it, then just show him that photograph from your cousin and ask him about it!"
~HP~
Tuesday morning's post brought some news. Hermione discovered another curious little article in the Daily Prophet:
A scheduling error at St Mungo's on Saturday led to a flurry of confusion as patients and staff found themselves colliding in unexpected ways. Healers rushed between double-booked appointments, patients faced delays and cancellations, and the receptionists worked tirelessly to restore order. The hospital administration is addressing the issue and working to prevent future disruptions…
That explained Pettigrew's absence from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade that day, they concluded grimly.
Ron also got a reply back from his father. Mr Weasley did not know the exact makeup of the Committe for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, and clearly did not intend to find out on their behalf. On the contrary. It was a sternly worded letter, telling Ron that actively trying to sabotage Lucius Malfoy's plans went beyond what he should even be contemplating. Mr Weasley was understanding, commended their compassion, but firmly let his son know that if there were anything that could be done, he would have done so himself. It was no place for children to interfere.
Disappointed but having prepared for the possibility, Ron and his friends proceeded to Plan B: they asked Neville to talk to Susan Bones on their behalf. Intrigued by the request, the Hufflepuff girl found them at dinnertime, in the great hall.
"Not that I don't want to help you protect that poor animal from Malfoy," she began. "But I still remember the last time I forwarded a letter from you, Potter. My aunt wouldn't tell me what it was about, but I could tell it was a giant headache."
Harry tried to go for a reassuring smile, but only managed an awkward grimace as he promised that this letter should be less of a headache. Susan may or may not have believed him, but the very next day she had a reply from her aunt for them.
It turned out Sirius had been right: Madam Bones had written to her niece that she suspected the reason for the change of date of the hearing might have something to do with a certain Dirk Cresswell being on holiday that week. Cresswell, she had written, was employed in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and still in the beast division, although he was transitioning to the being division. He was known to not be overly fond of the Malfoy family – mostly for their views of his muggleborn status. Madam Bones had also advised her niece against giving her Gryffindor classmates undue hope that they could affect the outcome of the hearing, but had still helpfully included Cresswell's postal address in her letter. Susan obligingly let them copy it.
That evening, Harry got Sirius to help and they all worked feverishly to draft the most imploring letter they could to a person about whom they knew very little. Sirius grimaced, suggested that Lupin might actually have come across Cresswell, because as a werewolf he was classified as a beast and had some (usually unwanted) interaction with the beast division. However, they all decided time was of the essence. Harry would be able to talk to Lupin properly the following evening, during his patronus lesson, but as the hearing was scheduled for Friday, that would be cutting it too close.
Sirius then wanted to go back to talking about the potion Snape had invented. Harry had only had time for a quick call the evening before, and had been preoccupied by the other things Snape had said – or not said.
Once again, that was the topic he went back to. "Just because he didn't want to say what shape his patronus takes doesn't mean it has anything to do with my mum, right?" he asked, clearly hoping for a positive answer. "It might be private for other reasons. And anyway, it's not like I'd be able to guess it had anything to do with her, if he named whatever random animal it is."
"Well, it wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility that you'd know what Lily's patronus looked like." Sirius grimaced. "It was a doe, in case no one's ever mentioned. And… I still doubt that she was ever friends with Snape, but she did always defend him against us…"
Harry had not asked why exactly Snape had needed defending, but something about that phrasing had bothered him.
The next day, during his anti-dementor lesson, Harry was tempted to ask Lupin about it, but found himself hesitating. He felt it was acceptable to talk to Sirius about it, because he told Sirius virtually everything. But discussing what appeared to be a private matter for Snape with someone the potions master so clearly disliked seemed like a betrayal of sorts.
So instead, Harry asked about his patronus and whether or not it might have been Padfoot.
Lupin regarded him strangely. "No, I don't think your patronus is the shape of a dog. I rather thought… well…"
"Yes?" Harry urged.
"I'm not sure that I'm right. It was in the middle of the quidditch pitch – some distance away from where I sat. And it was gone quickly. But I rather thought it might've been a stag—" At Harry's indrawn breath, he hesitated, the name 'Prongs' resonating unvoiced between them.
The possibilities swirled around in Harry's mind. His emotions were high, but undirected. He found it difficult to draw conclusions, for more than one reason. There was uncertainty, and there were hints at something to be uncovered. But he would not make hasty guesses.
Naturally, Harry had to try the spell right away, but as before he was unable to conjure a corporeal patronus in the presence of even a facsimile of a dementor, created from a boggart. Lupin took that moment to caution him not to become reliant on his developing ability to cast a patronus, as the spell was considerably more difficult with a real dementor present. Harry restrained himself from rolling his eyes and did not say that he was well aware of it.
Instead, he decided to switch topics and bring up the other topic he had been volunteered to discuss with Lupin. He asked about Dirk Cresswell.
"I do know him, yes," Lupin answered with a confused frown. "He's somewhat younger than the average employee in that department. Usually, it tends to be the last stop for ministry employees, before they retire." It looked like Lupin wanted to say something else there, but he dismissed that thought. "Anyway, Cresswell is younger and – there by choice. Working with magical creatures was his first choice, is what I mean. Even more unusually, he's not one of those fanatics who's trying to protect the magical population from all magical creatures at all costs. He's somewhat more – er – respectful."
Harry nodded happily, feeling hopeful. At Lupin's questioning look, he began to explain, only to watch his listener's face close off with every word.
"You asked a ministry employee whom you don't know to oppose Lucius Malfoy? What happens if he takes your letter directly to Malfoy? Or worse, presents it at the hearing as an attempt at bribery—"
"What? No! You said yourself that he's alright!"
"He appears to be! At first glance! I don't know the guy all that well – and you don't know him at all, barely heard his name a couple days ago. He's muggleborn, the son of old hippies, I think. He seemed to like advocating for things – creatures – for the sake of it—" Lupin broke off, took a deep breath. "And that's not even taking into account how much trouble Malfoy would want to cause you if Cresswell really does decide to help you."
He regarded the by then no longer so optimistic-looking boy in front of him. "I wish you had discussed your plans with an adult, Harry—" He broke off, mulled that over. "Please tell me that Sirius was not in favour of that plan."
"Er—" Harry grimaced, unable to think of a quick enough misdirection.
Lupin's face did not show what he was thinking. He appeared mostly calm, as he asked Harry to discuss any similar future plans with him or another trusted teacher before implementing them. Harry doubted he included Hagrid in that list.
Regardless of Lupin's admonishment, Harry helped to write a note to Hagrid that evening, telling him all they knew about Cresswell, in case he did make the hearing after all. Hedwig got to deliver the note, which Harry hoped would serve as a kind of apology. The day before, Harry had barely been able to face her, as Hermione had sent a school owl with their letter to Cresswell, but with the aurors constantly monitoring Hedwig – and potentially leaking some of Harry's letters' contents to Lucius Malfoy – there had been no other choice.
Friday was spent in tense anticipation of the verdict of the hearing, but while Hagrid was in London, there was also the trip to Hogsmeade to think of which would be taking place the following day.
Harry, for once, was not planning to sneak out. Sirius would not be meeting up with them, as he was still laying low at Lupin's. And while Hogsmeade itself was always entertaining, Harry and Hermione had a more useful way to spend the day in mind. They would be mirror-calling Sirius and continuing working on their animagus spells with his help. Ron had opted out, and was planning to join his brothers for a trip to the village. His spell was not as advanced and the lure of Hogsmeade had won out.
~HP~
It was not the first time that Remus had found Padfoot greeting him when he dropped by his cottage to check up on Sirius. His old friend seemed to be spending a significant amount of time in his animagus form, he was beginning to suspect. However, on previous occasions, he had found Padfoot within the bounds of his garden, if not the actual house. This time, Remus spent a good quarter of an hour searching, then waiting, until the dim outline of the dog animagus finally appeared among the darkened surrounding woods. Padfoot finally picked up speed once he saw – or possibly sniffed – him.
"Where have you been?" Remus tried to keep his voice neutral, rather than accusatory.
Once transformed, Sirius grimaced, glanced away. "Here and there. Come on, let's go in. I haven't had dinner yet."
It was well past nine in the evening.
Remus followed behind into his tiny, cramped kitchen, where Sirius was trying to use his wand to warm up the remains of a muggle take-out. Remus waved him aside and lit his stove. He spotted another empty firewhisky bottle peeking out from the bin and after a moment's thought, he also put a kettle on for tea. The fancy, loose leaf stuff, of course. He had found his stash of simple tea bags replaced within days of Sirius' stay there.
When Remus had first found out so unexpectedly that Sirius was innocent, he had been elated. It had not seemed quite possible, quite real. Even when he had entertained the thought – fleetingly – in the months following the news that Sirius was alive after all, he had not dared to hope to see his old friend again. He had dreaded the thought, impossible guilt gnawing at him, of the sorry state Sirius was bound to be in after a decade in Azkaban and over a year on the run.
Thus, it had appeared to him almost a dream to see his friend again in the headmaster's office on Christmas, laughing, healthy, handsome – looking just as he remembered him. He had noticed the differences later, of course. Sirius was undoubtedly changed. He looked older and showed signs of starvation and ill health on closer inspection.
There were other, more important, changes as well. Azkaban had left its mark. Sirius' eyes were shadowed in a way Remus did not remember.
But more worrying than the changes was the creeping realisation that even a decade in Azkaban had been insufficient to teach Sirius caution.
"You know, if the aurors should follow you here, they'd be all too happy to arrest me alongside you without asking too many questions," Remus said mildly.
"Emotional blackmail, Moony? Bit early in the game, isn't it?"
The exchange was familiar – but not the same as before. The grin on Sirius' face was brittle, a thin veneer. The words sent up a surge of nostalgia in Remus, and he suspected the same held true for his friend.
It was Sirius who spoke first. "Why are you here anyway? Not that you're not welcome – in your own house – but weren't you supposed to help supervise the trip to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"
"I am." Remus sighed. "I won't stay long. I have a long day ahead at Hogwarts tomorrow. But… there's something I thought I should discuss with you." It was not in Remus' nature to be evasive, especially when talking to Sirius – regardless of the gap in their acquaintanceship. He came straight to the point and told Sirius of his opinion of letting Harry contact Cresswell.
Sirius went from confused to amused to finally annoyed as Remus talked. "First of all, Buckbeak's trial is a useful distraction for Malfoy. Besides, he really shouldn't be able to get away with something so obviously unfair."
Remus felt an ancient tiredness rise up in him. That same stubborn idealism – had they not had similar, futile arguments so long ago? It all felt like a return to things long since past. In fact, all of Sirius' actions did. And was there not good reason for that? Remus berated himself. Sirius had not seen the outside world evolve away from the war in the past decade. It made sense that he would still be stuck in that old war mindset: trying to fight Malfoy, the Death Eater, at all costs. The worst part was that he had involved Harry and his friends, of course.
Remus began suggesting something along those lines, following up with, "He really seems to be looking up to you. He even thought his patronus might be Padfoot, did you know that?"
Sirius clearly had not known that. He drew back. Surprise passed over his face, followed by something deeper and more fleeting.
Remus, awkwardly, had to explain then that he suspected Harry's patronus might be Prongs instead.
Another strong emotion passed over Sirius' face at Prongs' mention, gone just as quickly. "What, you think I'm not trying to protect Harry?" He sounded offended. "I'm doing my best to keep him away from Pettigrew! That's another thing Buckbeak's trial is serving: keeping Harry a little distracted—" Sirius visibly held himself back from saying more.
"Distracted from what?" asked Remus.
Sirius took his time answering, chasing down the last of his dinner with his remaining tea. "Distracted away from actively hunting Pettigrew. No, don't make that face. You barely know him. Really, Moony. I'm disappointed. You have repeatedly failed to notice when he's up to no good. And it's not that difficult to spot. He looks eerily like Prongs when he tries to look innocent—"
"Yes, well. I kept noticing him looking like you, instead—"
"Me?" Sirius was all astonishment.
Remus nodded, a fleeting smile passing over his face. "He misdirects like you – sometimes. He doesn't lie like you, though. Either he doesn't lie nearly as much as we used to, or—"
"He's much better at it," Sirius finished ruefully.
Silence fell between them, melancholy, yet filled with a kind of warmth Remus had been missing for far too long.
Then Sirius shifted and began in an altogether more serious tone. "There are storm clouds gathering on the horizon, can't you tell, Remus? I know – I know – that you think me paranoid – for trying to smoke out the rat, rather than asking Albus for a trial right away. But you don't know how precarious the situation has become – with what Pettigrew and Malfoy, and whoever else may be involved have planned—"
Here Sirius paused, gathered his resolve. Remus almost interrupted, but something in his friend's face stopped him, some of that old knowledge of him, of knowing when Sirius really was serious for once—
Then Remus got to hear all about Quirrel in the hospital and Dumbledore's project to track Voldemort through him, and any wish to interrupt Sirius fled as he listened with growing alarm.
"That stupid chaos at the hospital the other day, do you think—" he began to ask faintly.
"Yes, of course that was another attack," Sirius said impatiently. "I wish I knew how much they managed to accomplish. I didn't even get to hear about it until late Tuesday night. I got it all wrong. I was sure they'd go for Hogwarts or Hogsmeade that day. There have been plenty of fresh traces from Pettigrew around the outskirts of Hogsmeade recently—"
Remus considered asking if that was where Sirius had been that day, but decided the details could wait. Instead, he began recounting what he knew from Tonks, about the previous break-in into St Mungo's, as well as the description of the person who had sent the parcel containing Wormtail to Hogwarts.
It was not much, he felt, and such a change of his previous mindset that was. He had come with quite a different conversation in mind. But he was beginning to get used to that – to having his viewpoint challenged – altered – turned on its head. He felt the old elation creep in again, despite the seriousness of the situation, the one he had not felt since he had last considered himself a Marauder.
