Harry-

I hope you will have had a good time at the Quidditch Cup, I'll be listening in as well.

The news about your scar is the latest in a series of odd events that I'm aware of. If your scar hurts again, tell Dumbledore immediately. Send my best to Ron and Hermione. I'll try to see you after the Cup, I'll write to you.

My best,

Sirius

Back in England and back in Magdalena's house, Sirius wrote and sent the letter as soon as they reached the house, as well as another to Dumbledore, informing him of the news about Harry's scar. Meanwhile, Magdalena had pulled out a radio from somewhere, and was trying to find a channel to listen in to the match.

Having sent the letters, he started unpacking, taking out and laying on the table all the books he got from the late witch's house, alongside the adorned wooden trunk, which he turned back into its original size and placed into a corner of the living room. Digging into his pockets, he pulled out an assortment of knick-knacks and cigarette stubs he'd been mindlessly placing back in his during their trip back, as well as a trinket he had forgotten about.

He pulled out the vial Ablai gave him, and examined it closely again.

"Hey…hey Leni-..." He'd slowly gotten used to calling her by name, or at least a bastardisation of it or another, more and more during their travel back in the country, in the brief moments of conversation they had. Their trip back had been quiet, as he wondered just how long their fragile allyship and companionship would last. In her desperate attempt to free herself of debt, for how long would she be able to endure his instability, his reactivity? So he spoke less to her, and simply listened in, listened to the wind, listened to the birds flying alongside them, listened to her humming foreign, lulling tunes.

"Before I left, Ablai gave me this, and said it's for sleep. Have you ever seen something like it?" he asked, opening the vial and putting a drop onto the tip of his finger. The liquid was slightly viscous, and stained his skin in a deep blue colour. Magdalena approached him, and pressed a finger against his, before smelling it.

"Told me one drop, at the back of the throat, once each week at most, and I'll be back to sleeping like a baby. Figured the old hag maybe wanted to poison me."

"Mina? That's not her style…" she chuckled, wiping the potion off her finger. "I think I've seen her make this before, it's strong stuff. She was a good potioneer, you know?"

"You foreign wizards all know each other, don't you?"

"Yes, I'm related to half of the entire Bulgarian Quidditch team." she answered half-heartedly, turning her attention back onto the radio.

Sirius watched her amused for a few seconds, before shooing her off, and taking a seat next to the enormous, old contraption.

"Move over, I'll miss half the game by the time you get that working." he pretended to sound exasperated, yet amused. He looked at the clock, and figured they had a good half-hour before the match would start.

"I'll get some drinks, then."

Sirius recalled her bringing in two glasses and an enormous bottle.

The next morning, as he groggily lifted himself off the floor, he could recall that part clearly. And he figured he must had had too many to drink as he could see nothing but shards next to his feet. With a shaking hand and clearing his throat, he muttered a tired 'Reparo' as the shards turned back into two glasses and a bottle. Slowly, the events of the previous night started unfolding in his head, alongside waves of nausea and pangs of pain at his temples.

He lifted the blanket laying above him, only to realise it was his robe, and he was only wearing a pair of trousers he'd changed into upon his arrival to Magdalena's house. When did he take his robe off?

Was it before or after the result of the final match? By Merlin, he could barely remember who won… was it Ireland in the end? He pulled his robe back onto his head and looked onto the couch, where, to his surprise, Magdalena was still sleeping. That is, if the bundle of blankets with dark hair poking out of one end was her. Sirius pushed what must have been her feet aside, and took a seat onto the couch, bringing an enormous jug of water towards himself, as well as one of the two previously smashed glasses.

Ah, he remembered now- the Krum guy had caught the Golden Snitch. That was when, in what must have been a heavily drunken haze, they threw their glasses. He remembered he laughed. He remembered himself clearly, his laughter roaring throughout the living room alongside the celebrating newscasters, but he also remembered Magdalena, and how close she was to him- it wasn't him laughing loudly, it was the both of them.

Sirius pressed his fingers into his cheeks, almost in disbelief over himself. Slowly, his memories of the night before were returning to him, and he remembered that in the middle of the match, as spirits heightened on the playing field miles and miles away from him… ah, yet the memory was escaping him.

No, it was there, if he closed his eyes, he could dig for it, if only he were to ignore the painful pangs each time he tried to dig too deep. He could picture the scene, he could picture the small, sunrise-coloured buttons on Magdalena's dress, and how she had a hair strand caught in it, and how he took it out, and how his hand lingered on her bodice, and on her chest, and how warm and soft it felt, how warm she felt to touch, and how he could see his reflection in her necklace, and how, in his drunken stupor and his madness at having to look at himself, he almost ripped it from her neck, and the way in which she looked at him as he did so, and slowly, he remembered their argument.

"What do you see when you look at me?"

"What sort of question is that?"

"Answer it, then-"

"Why, I see a man, of course! Who-"

"Do you? Do you really? I have seen you naked as you were born, and you had no care in the world as you turned to me, as if I were no more than a child, a dog, a plant or an owl on your windowsill. Do you show your body to all your fellow men, then, or do you see them as men as they are? Would you show yourself like that to any other man?"

"I would, Sirius Black, I have, and I would, and I will! What I do-"

"Why did you do it, then?"

He remembered the change of tone, and how she pulled back, but he could not remember her answer as much as he tried. But he knew that in answer to it, he took his robe off, and remained in his trousers, as if to prove a point to both her and himself. Whatever the point was, as now, more sane and certainly more sober, he could not remember. Perhaps, as a lie to both her and himself, that he felt comfortable in his own skin, that he was normal, that he was ready to embrace life.

He pulled at the blanket covering his sleeping drinking partner, and shook her ankle, trying to wake her up. He was met only by a nasal snore at the shake, and tried again, this time with his hand higher, moving the blanket and her robe aside as he touched the inside of her knee. The skin was unexpectedly soft and delicate, and he pressed his palm against it, basking in its warmth in the same manner he must have done a mere hours ago. Without thinking, he dug his fingers in the soft flesh, watching the tips of his nails disappear momentarily in the fullness of her thigh. He was enthralled by the smoothness, the warmth it emanated against the back of his hand and his palm, and he barely noticed the goosebumps when he dug his fingernails again, and only woke up from his reverie when she spoke in a voice just as groggy as his own.

"Are you sure that you want to do this?" she asked, and he remained still, moving his eyes to meet hers. He put his other hand on her legs stretching outwardly, and pulled them close to him, feeling the pain in his head subsided as his hand reached further to her upper thigh, where he was met by goosebumps on her flesh.

"One day, perhaps." he sighed, and pulled the hem of her robe back onto her legs, removing his hands from them.

"A day like a few hours ago, perhaps?" she continued asking in a whisper as he got up, before she followed suit. "A day like a night, and a night like when England would win the Quidditch Cup, perhaps."

That, my Quidditch-impaired friend, would mean never, he thought to himself amused, as he noticed a pair of owls waiting on the windowsill. One seemed to have the Daily Prophet, however he could not recognise the second one, that seemed to have a small perforate coin attached to one leg.

"I suppose that would be for the best, for you and I." he finally replied, approaching the windowsill as he scratched at his eyes. A third owl had just landed, which, unless he was still half-drunk, looked a lot like Harry's.

Sirius did not pay much attention to her answer, as he opened the windowsill, and realised that was indeed Hedwig.

Sirius,

We're safe and back at Ron's. Don't try to come here, Ron's mom is already on edge. I'll write and tell you everything, the Daily Prophet is lying.

Harry

Sirius furrowed his brows, and opened the Daily Prophet, only to be greeted by a sight he hadn't seen since the war. A Dark Mark in the sky. He read the article quickly, skimming to the author the moment he read about several alleged bodies.

Ah, Rita Skeeter seems to have started grabbing bigger pieces now.

The Dark Mark however, with or without Skeeter's embellishments, was unequivocally real, and at one of the biggest events he could possibly conceive to happen in Britain, apart from the Tournament. An international event as well, at that.

He turned to face Magdalena, and showed her the headline, before noticing that she too looked sobered up by whatever she was reading in her letter.

"Is Harry safe?" she asked, taking the Prophet and reading through it.

"He is, he's at his friend's."

"I suppose you would want to visit him, then? Make sure he's alright." she asked, digging around for a dark blue cape which she put on top of her clothes. "I have to leave too."

Sirius furrowed his brows, watching her shove the letter she received in the pocket of her cape - she was certainly eager to leave the house, and fast.

"Right after finding out about the Dark Mark, of all times?"

Magdalena stopped for a moment, and looked at him in surprise.

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Where to, if you don't mind me asking?"

To the pub they had been before with Harry was the answer. To an impromptu gathering of international wizards, many who have fought in the wizarding war on their side, to discuss the events that occurred at the World Cup, with the British and French Ministers in attendance. The moment she explained he immediately jumped at the chance to come with and find out more about what happened at the scene, and be able to connect others' stories with Harry's own.

"I'll be in my Animagus form, I'll pretend to be your dog. You have to let me come. I need to know what they say."

"I can let you know what happened after."

"I won't accept that."

"Do you not trust me, then? Do you think I would alter my own memories, hide things from you?"

Sirius did not answer her question. That is truly what he believed. That from a misguided attempt at keeping him 'safe', she would hide things. He remembered now, in the middle of the night, a slow, slurred, drunken whisper. I'm afraid that you will die before your time, Sirius, and I am afraid I may be correct.

"What if I refuse to let you accompany me, Sirius Black?"

"I'd find a way, and you know me well enough to know this." he whispered, in the same intonation she had used to speculate on his supposed untimely death.

"Would you hex me? You would, I suppose… you would coerce me magically, wouldn't you?"

He carefully wrapped the Daily Prophet and put it on the table, feeling the tension in the room rise. He would. If he could ensure the demise of Death Eaters, ensure the eternal demise, and not for some measly decade-or-so of Voldemort, he would put himself and everything but Harry through fire and hell, just to do so. He could not let any chance to get himself closer to that goal escape him, even if it meant it was just a chance to investigate.

"I don't have enough time on my hands to attempt it otherwise, I am afraid."

"Come, then…" she sighed, defeated. "Come with, but ensure no one knows where you have been. It's my skin in this as much as yours now."

And so it was decided he would accompany her in his Animagus form. She had wrapped a short, amber shawl around his throat in his form as a dog, grumbling that she would never get such an enormous, black dog with her.

The pub was already filled with several figures by the time they Apparated inside, and Sirius looked around the faces of wizards and witches with great interest. He recognised the portly man dressed in green velvet robes as the Bulgarian Minister of Magic from his picture in teh Daily Prophet, and the person with the thick accent next to him must have been his French counterpart. Sirius followed on, and noticed the grey-haired pub owner that talked to Harry standing near the ministers, listening intently.

Magdalena sat herself next to a stern-looking old man with a wooden, chipped cane. She pulled the seat on her right away from the table, and Sirius took a seat on the floor, still able to see everyone's heads.

"It's bad luck, Lena." A bald wizard spoke up, his voice raised among the waves of whispers and mutters as more wizards gathered. Others turned, and Sirius realised she may have been right - he was attracting attention.

"What is?" Magdalena yawned, and took a cup of coffee from the grey-haired pub owner. The bald wizard whipped her head in Sirius's direction.

"The mutt."

"Send it away if it bothers you, what do I care?"

"Bad luck sending it away."

"Everything is bad luck with you." Magdalena tutted in his direction. "He doesn't do a thing. It's-"

In a foreign language, the grey-haired witch hushed at her, joking that the Ministers do not care much for their bickering at this time, and spoke in a hushed tone in Magdalena's ear. While he could not understand a thing, he did hear the word 'Dumbledore' being mentioned at least twice.

"I take it everyone here read the Prophet and knows the official story, yes?" the grey-haired witch looked around the table, before nodding to herself. "Good."

"There were no deaths." the Bulgarian Minister's voice boomed, as he clapped his hand against the table.

"The Daily Prophet just can't be trusted these days, Minister Oblansk." a young, dark-skinned witch with a crown of roses around her head stated. She still wore Bulgarian national colours and had glitter around her cheeks and eyes, and seemed to have come directly from the World Cup. "If it weren't for the good pay, I'd have moved back home a long time ago."

"Mimi, not the moment." the grey-haired witch shushed her, before continuing. "You were telling me, Minister, when you came in…"

"Ah, yes yes yes, yes." the French minister piqued up, almost excitedly so. "Thank you, Madame Rona. As I was saying, the British Ministry seemed awfully… incapable of handling it. You had… well, Minister Fudge had no inkling, and kept deferring to uh, to Crouch, the-... the… pardon, who is he again?"

"International Magical Cooperation. Although the man could barely cooperate with his own house-elf… what to expect with you and me, Eugene?" Oblansk grumbled, before continuing. "They're blaming the house-elf, see. Makes me afraid of what's going to happen when we send our kids in two months' time. Half-senile, the lot of them. And with these rumours around here- ..." the Minister took a sip from his cup, gesturing towards the others.

"You think You-Know-Who's really coming then? Is that what you saw?" a lanky witch next to Mimi asked, and Sirius watched as Mimi took her crown of roses off her head, and put it in front of her, as if a realisation had suddenly hit the young witch.

"I've seen the group of Death Eaters, I have, even if you missed them… If not him, someone or something else surely will, and the Death Eaters last night proved they're ready to come back whenever. Wouldn't you agree, Minister?"

"We, I-... we need someone in the British Ministry." Oblansk agreed. "I'm not sending those kids there without someone in Britain that can let me know what is happening here. Now, I've met this fellow at the Cup, this Lucius Malf- hey, hey!"

Incredible - of course Lucius Malfoy managed to ingratiate himself! Sirius could hardly contain himself, and only realised the position he was in as he had Magdalena's hands gripping his snout to stop him from barking.

"Apologies, Ministers, my, ah, my dog has a sense of people." Magdalena chuckled, trying to appear amused, before turning towards the table. "I think what my dog is sensing is that back then, there were certain rumours associated with Lucius Malfoy, certain rumours that cannot be ignored, I am afraid, if our fear is indeed the return of a certain individual."

"Lena is correct, Minister, I am afraid." Rona continued. "Unfortunately, we don't have many connections at the British Ministry, on account of-...well… you must know by now."

"There's Amelia Bones-" the lanky witch next to Mimi proposed.

"Amelia Bones would never go against the Ministry." Magdalena retorted in a bitter tone.

"My dear, after two vetoes, I think it's time for you to come up with one at least." Oblansk grumbled, rubbing at his temples.

He'd never tried Legilimency in his Animagus form before, but tried it nonetheless, turning alongside everyone else to face her, and look straight in her eyes. He waited for her to turn her head towards him, and focused the entirety of his being into trying to implant his idea in her mind.

Dumbledore, Leni. Propose Dumbledore. He'll find you someone. And he'll need you as an in-between, which means I'll be in the know as well. Dumbledore.

"Albus Dumbledore. He will know, he knows enough people at the Ministry, surely he'll be able to find you someone trustworthy." she said quickly.