p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"span lang="EN-US"disclaimer: I dont own Sirius Black, nor Mazatzal mountains, even the remote island in the North sea isnt mine. the same goes for Hogwarts, or any place appearing at future chapters./span/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"span lang="EN-US"Chapter 3. I'm Sirius Black… or maybe not/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"Mazatzal mountains flying arena, Arizona, USA, July 28supth/sup 2023/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"The days following the disastrous training session passed in a blir for Marcus and Emily. First, their training had been cancelled for a week. a day after this announcement, an unexpected trio of an owl, a floo call, and a patronus woke the pair at dawn; all three literally screamed the same message: "get the hell out of Britain, as fast as you can!" even though the unknown patronus shouted it in an apparently drunken Hog's head style English with Hispanic accent, and a floo call from sobbing Luna Scamander nearly pleaded them to comply, the final decision lay in the envelope. the letter even contained a portkey, along with legal documents, straight to the entrance of Four peaks amethyst mine. Once there, another surprise awaited, in a form of Scamander family. It appeared that they, or exactly their son Lysander, were hit by mr Bravos' ire too. Fresh from Hogwarts, the boy got obsessed with pilot gig rowing; the team of seven he happened to join in actually consisted of squibs. It meant he was the only person capable of doing active magic, so hiding it was quite easy. Then at the end of june, the invitation from Adam Greenbush to take part in some special project turned all of their lives upside down. In addition to rowing, the team now practiced singing and flying, both alone and in formations. Everything went alright, til the 12supth/sup of July. That evening, according to Luna (unfortunately, Rolf was in Australia for some creature related work), "the boys were out celebrating. They were leaving for USA, due to someone messing up with their training, or so Lysander told me. Someone attacked them on the way home, and cut all of my boy's hair." It forced the family leave for the states even earlier than planned, fearing for more dangerous occurrences. Now, at the end of the month, they were all training again, concentrating on the approaching competition./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"-/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"Brian Bravos had many maybe not so pleasant traits, but hopeless wasn't one of them. The day flying team left for the states, he was preparing to do the same. Retrieving the needed information from the drunken rowing team (what the waste of time!) was too easy, so was acquiring a lot of hair from one of Scamander boys, he didn't even care which one. Crafting a semi-legal (nothing's illegal, when it comes to your own career, short of murder) portkey to across the pond wasn't a big deal either. Making it through the states security with some borderline incriminating items, such as a gallon of Polyjuice potion base (without any hairs), a modified Weasleys' wicked windhorn (thanks George, for a clearly visible and easily correctable runic design), a full wig of blond hair, and a vial containing a dead man's memory from thirty years prior, would have landed him in prison, if not for a few strategically placed Confundus charms. The following few days consisted of polyjuicing his way through the continent, checking every forest and mountain for signs of magical training facility. His fruitless search ended in the Mazatzal mountains, where he overheard the locals talking about strange songs coming from deep underground. Another several days and flasks of disgusting potion later, Brian strided triumphantly through a rarely used mining tunnel, every now and then checking the map he bought from some mine workers. The said corridor, if he wasn't mistaken, lead to a hidden entrance of the synchronized flying arena, similar to the British one. Luckily, he had really chosen a correct path; at about midway through the tunnel, something about the right wall felt… strange. Just like the entrance of the kitchens in his old school, protected by a password. The amethyst (or was it a magical eye?) set at about the face level, confirmed his suspicions. Definitely a password, but what could it be? The only thing he could do was wait for someone to come out, then slip inside. The heat radiating from the stones and the air as dry as a desert made waiting difficult. "oh how I love you and your stupid climate, sweet home Arizona" - he muttered sarcastically, considering drinking the solution prepared for one and only obstacle in his life, by himself. Suddenly, the wall slid open. "really? Sweet home Arizona? Who would even think of this no-maj reference?" bewildered, Brian Bravos slipped inside. Spotting the object he needed left in plain sight, he cackled to himself. "meet the end of your career, you damn phoenix!"/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"-/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US""we're hearty souls on the ocean's flow,/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"Heave, ho, onwards we row!/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"Forever off to new shores we go,/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"span style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /spanHeave, ho, onwards we row!/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"We sail so long and so far from home,/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"We brave the storms and the cold./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"From port to port on the waves we roam,/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"We're venturesome and bold…"/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"Including the muggle song into a synchronized flying sho/spanspan style="mso-ansi-language: LT;"w/spanspan lang="EN-US" was another ingenius idea Adam Greenbush came up with. The first one was changing the scenario. Instead of just zooming around at the beginning, Marcus and Emily would play a modified version of swivenhidge. Instead of getting cursed not to be able to fly, the boy would "be turned" into a phoenix and remain stuck in this form, til Emily, with a help of seven rowers/fliers, finds the cure. Together, they row, sail and fly all over the world, until eventually the girl lifts the curse. Recreating this as a flying routine (no, flying work of art) would require weeks of training, but they had time. Or so everyone thought./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"While two happy fliers messed around over the grassy field, a nervous wreck named Brian Bravos sat in the spectator stands, disguised as a random magical maintenance worker, who's hair he managed to pluck out. Over the arena, the bane of his future career and his girlfriend were playing something reminiscent of no-maj tennis. Everything seemed alright, as if the blasted boy didn't drink the water he, Brian, had prepared minutes ago. It took him just a Confundus charm on a memory fial (confusing it to act as a normal liquid), a no-contact liquid transferring spell, and a switching spell, to dissolve the memory of Sirius Black just after escaping Azkaban, in distilled water. He really drank it, didn't he? But why nothing's changing? The enchanted lake appeared, the wind picked up, the rain started… the boat emerged from nowhere, its crew of seven singing their heads off… the boy's broom started acting up, well, not so badly as at the British arena… the waves in the lake intensified, the voice of an invisible coastal guard ordered them to return to the shore… and then it happened. Marcus plummeted to the ground, obviously in pain, by some miracle transformed in the air, and vanished. Just like it, no flash, nothing. Everyone froze, not believing their eyes. Then all hell broke loose, angry and terrified shouts reaching the surface and frightening the locals./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"The memory pulled Marcus inside itself, even though no one knew it yet. No one, except one person, who amidst the chaos disaperated, too scared of the consequences of his actions./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"-/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US"Unnamed island, North sea, July 29supth/sup 1993/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span lang="EN-US""wake up, master flier!" – a high-pitched voice rang through the rocky outcropping in the middle of the sea. A wizard wearing synchronized flying uniform, but looking not like himself at all, just groaned. In desperation, the elf gathered a bucket of cold seawater and dropped it on the sleeping form. "was it really necessary?" – the person grumbled. "I feel like being run over by a stampeed of erumpents… can someone tell me the number of a broom I fell off?" the small creature seemed unfazed. "your Firebolt extreme, my master flier. and aren't you supposed to feel like Sirius Black, who just escaped Azkaban?" the "master flier", or Marcus Longhurst, sat bolt upright. Memories from the previous day flooded back: he was training at Mazatzal mountains indoor facility… exhausted, he drank a full bottle of water in one gulp during the time out… then, after returning, he fell off his broomstick, transformed, and passed out. But at the same time, he slipped through the slightly open door of his cell, as a dog of all things, made it to the seashore, and headed southward. Was it a dream? No, it couldn't be. Why would he dream of Azkaban in the first place? And why did Alexa, his trusty elf, seem to be afraid of him? Standing up, Marcus spotted his trunk, which somehow appeared unshrunk and undamaged. He pulled out a mirror and nearly fainted – the face staring at him wasn't his. Unkempt hair, sunken eyes, skeletal cheekbones… "you're right as always, Alexa", - the wizard admitted, though not believing his own words. "I'm really Sirius Black… or maybe not"./span/p