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Disclaimer: I still own zilch

Chapter Ten

Thanks for the penknife. My cousin Dudley once had a normal one and I’ve always sort of wanted one. I know Dudley would be jealous if he knew what it could do, but he would probably end up breaking it. But it’s a really great gift and I carry it around with me all the time now.

Sorry I haven’t written in a while. The teachers piled on tons of work before Christmas and Quidditch practice took up lots of time. We won, by the way. Hopefully we’ll manage to win the Quidditch Cup again this year. We’re up against Hufflepuff next but we’ve got a pretty good team and I think we can do it. I’m just hoping that Angelina, our new captain, doesn’t exhaust us too much with practices.

I was also wondering about something. I think there might be something wrong with the Marauder’s Map. You see the map only showed up one person when we heard two people talking. Is there any reason why the map wouldn’t show someone up? We’re a bit confused by it. I was also wondering how you can add rooms to the map since I found this room that isn’t shown and wanted to add it only I’m not sure how. Do you have any suggestions?

I hope you’re safe wherever you are. And say hi to Buckbeak for me. I think Hagrid misses him but he’s happy that he’s away from the Ministry.

Stay safe,

Harry

P.s. I hope you like the food I sent. I tried to get stuff which would last for quite a while but I was a bit unsure on some bits. I did look up a food-preserving charm but I’m not sure whether it worked or not.

P.p.s (or is it p.s.s.?) I sent this with a Hogwarts owl since Hegwig, my owl, is a bit distinctive. I told the owl to wait for you to reply, so hopefully he will.

Sirius put down the letter and untied the package. His lips twisted into what would have been a smile on a different face. He ripped open the packaging and barked a laugh as he viewed the goods

His godson had included an assortment of foods ranging from Honeydukes chocolate to a rather well preserved cooked chicken. There was some fruit squeezed in and some bread as well as a slab of cheese. The preservation charms had only failed the salmon which was emitting a rather disgusting pong.

Sirius quickly chucked the offending fish in Buckbeak’s direction. The Hippogriff eyed the rest of the food stuffs suspiciously but still gobbled down the rotten salmon. The proud creature snorted his disgust at such a paltry meal but Sirius wasn’t about to give up anything else to the Hippogriff.

The unkempt convict feasted on the chicken, ripping bits off with his hands, tearing into the dead bird with abandon.  It was greater fare than the diet of rats he'd lived on for the last month or so. Grimly he wondered what his old etiquette teacher, a certain Madame Beaufort, would say if she could see him now. Probably have a fit and send a barrage of stinging hexes his way, he thought to himself as he managed to recall Madame Beaufort’s primary method of discipline. It was so much easier to dredge up unpleasant memories.

“I wonder what’s wrong with the map,” said a man’s voice as Sirius tucked into his feast. “We made it to show everyone.”

Sirius grunted and continued to eat. His eyes remained firmly fixed on the cold meat.

“Ah, so you’re back to ignoring me. I feel like I should be offended.”

“You’re not real,” said Sirius in a choked voice, his eyes still glued to the chicken he continued to devour.

In the background Buckbeak whined. Whether he was concerned for his master or just pining for more food was hard to decide.

“That’s hardly the point.” The voice was dismissive, as though the fact that he was a hallucination was insignificant. “Aren’t you supposed to treat the dead with a little respect.”

Sirius let out a derisive laugh. His tangled mane of black hair fell in straggly knots around his face, briefly covering his eyes as he slowly turned his head to look at the apparition. “The dead are supposed to stay dead.”

In the dim lighting of the cave Sirius could still make out a boyish grin and a pair of bemused eyes lurking behind a pair of wide-brimmed glasses. “I think I’m detecting a little bit of ghostism. Sir Nick wouldn’t be too impressed with you.”

Sirius’s face crumpled and he quickly averted his eyes away from the image of his grinning best friend. His grinning, dead best friend. “Why won’t you leave me alone?” he asked softly.

“But I’m not really here, Padfoot. I’m just a projection from your mind in the form of James Potter. Make that the James Potter; I’m pretty famous nowadays.”

“I was wrong,” said Sirius with a short barking laugh. “Azkaban did send me mad. Only I’ve gone bonkers after leaving that hellhole.”

“You always liked to be different,” said the apparition helpfully.

Sirius snarled. “You’re not helping.”

“Actually, I think I am. I’m your defence mechanism come alive to stop you from going stark-raving mad. But really, no thanks are needed; I have nothing better to do.”

Buckbeak was starting to look at him in concern. The fierce intelligence that burned behind the Hippogriff’s orange eyes understood that something wasn’t right with his new master.

“Strangely, I always thought that talking to oneself was a sign of madness. Hallucinating your dead best friend must be pretty high up on the list for those needing to be committed!”

“Don’t talk about being committed.”  James’s voice had turned serious.

“Sorry, I forgot about your great uncle.” Sirius then seemed to realise that he was apologising to, well, himself and he shook his head in dismay, letting his shaggy locks fall in front of his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” waved off James. “Great-Uncle Richard died years ago. I think it was the best thing for everyone in the end.

“But getting back to the map and my son. What do you think’s the problem? It’s possible that it’s malfunctioning but that would mean other things should be going wrong.”

Coming to the conclusion that he might as well just accept James’s presence, he sighed deeply before replying. “We put in safeguards to avoid tampering and the map never lies. . . Harry was probably just imagining things.”

James laughed. “Says the man who’s imagining his dead best friend. I’m inclined to believe that Harry hasn’t lost it, unlike some.”

“Well, if Harry wasn’t imagining things and the map is functioning perfectly then there must be another solution. What doesn’t show up on the map?”

It was hard thinking back to those Hogwarts days. So hard to recall those fun times when he could escape his ever disapproving family and run wild with his three friends. The days before the war, before the parting of ways, before the betrayal, before James died. . .

“Inanimate objects, so I suppose if someone charmed something to speak. . . Animals don’t show up except for Animagi. Remember – we added that feature after that run in with McGonagall. What else. . .?” James rapped his fingers against his legs as he tried to think. “We didn’t bother with the ghosts since we couldn’t figure out how to make something dead show up. Oh, and what about house-elves; their magic resisted the tracking charms somehow. And don’t forget the portraits since by that point we were pretty fed up with the whole thing and only added certain statues and the like where there were secret passageways. There’s quite a few things we didn’t include when you think about it.”

Sirius was already noting down all the suggestions on the back of the letter with a Self-Inking Quill he’d swiped from his brief stint in Flitwick’s office. He added on a few pleasantries and a quick thank you for the food before folding it and tying it to the eagle owl who stared at him warily with amber eyes.

He watched as the owl beat its wings and took flight. As soon as it departed from the cave Sirius turned to where James was standing, saying, “I suppose. . .” His voice trailed off as he realised that the apparition had gone.

Buckbeak was looking at him with sorrow filled eyes. Sirius couldn’t help but reflect on how low he had fallen that a mere Hippogriff pitied him. In a sudden surge of anger he turned on the Hippogriff. “Oh yeah, well fuck you!”

The Hippogriff growled back at him before turning away and stalking further into the cave. Sirius guessed it was the Hippogriff equivalent of the middle finger.

In the background, trickles of water dripped down the off-white walls of the cavern filling the air with the sound of its rhythmic continuity. The horizontal gallery stretched deep into the rock with thin, fragile stalactites descending from the cave roof. A wintry chill echoed throughout the cavern, unaffected by the ineffectual warmth provided by the waning fire. But even then it was warmer than the seeping coldness found outside.

The sheltered enclosure suddenly felt like it was closing in on him. It was a feeling that continued to haunt him in whichever country he was in. A remnant, he presumed, of years spent in Azkaban; in his gloom-filled cell enclosed in shadows and filled with the unerring presence of Dementors.

He shuddered and quickly grabbed a nondescript canvas bag before making his way to the cave entrance. He only felt calm when he saw the sky. He gulped down the fresh air. Feeling slightly shaky still he gently lowered himself onto the ground and regretted it as soon as he felt the wetness of melted ice sink into his thick, second-hand cloak.

The view in front of him was desolate. A snow-covered landscape rolled out before him with occasional clumps of tall, spindly trees poking out of the whitened, mountainous scenery.

Fishing around in his cloak he felt relief as he grasped a long, thin rod of wood. A wand. Tugging it out of the numerous black folds he examined it as was his daily custom. A wizard, he had come to realise many, many years ago, was nothing without a wand.

The nine-and-three-quarter inch willow wand wasn’t a perfect match unlike his original. He had acquired it through less than legal means with the help of Remus’s borrowed wand. Remus hadn’t questioned his wand’s brief disappearance, nor the sudden appearance of the willow wand. Something he was grateful for.

He had left Remus’s company a few days later. As they parted, he had hinted at lying low with a vague reference to South America. Remus had nodded and said it was a good idea; he always had believed the best of people.

Instead of lazing around under the glare of the South American sun he was spending his time trekking across Europe and becoming a connoisseur of caves. He didn’t think this was what his mother had imagined for his Grand Tour of Europe.

Dismissing his thoughts as irrelevant to the goal, he delved into the canvas bag and removed the square box contained within. The mother of pearl inlay that covered the top was in mint condition while the silver outline and fittings had become tarnished from years of neglect. Where the large opening catch was found was the elaborately embellished Black seal.

Flicking the catch open, he carefully removed the thick glass bowl from the snug, red velvet interior. Carved in minute detail on the inside of the bowl were a collection of runes. It was a scrying bowl that allowed the user to see into the present and past. The future was only possible for those born with the gift of Sight; something that Sirius didn’t have.

He had taken it from Grimmauld Place, the Black townhouse in London, just before leaving the country altogether. It was a family heirloom that had been passed into the Black dynasty as a dowry gift when Hermia Proudfoot had married into the Black lineage several centuries ago.

Sirius’s grandmother had used the scrying bowl many times during her lifetime and he had numerous childhood memories of watching her spy on others in society with the use of the bowl. It was a dying art that had passed out of favour in the last century and so few remembered to cast anti-scrying wards and charms, thus allowing Melania Black to glimpse in on scenes thought private. Once she had died, however, the spying instrument had been left in storage until Sirius had come along.

While Sirius may have left many with the impression of laying low, he wasn’t about to hide away while Wormtail walked free. He hadn’t spent twelve years in hell to just forget about the person who’d put him there. The flame of vengeance that had burnt inside him through twelve years in Azkaban was now fully ablaze and demanded retribution.

Thus the reason why he was spending the winter encamped in a cave on the Apennines with only an irritable Hippogriff for company. It wasn’t ideal but he had little choice: a high price had been placed upon his head and few would offer shelter to someone they believed to be the Dark Lord’s second in command.

So far he had managed to track Wormtail’s movements through Europe as the rat wormed his way from France, through the Swiss border and over the Alps into Italy. Wormtail had been sure to cast all kinds of anti-tracking charms over himself during his prolonged stay with the Weasley family but had obviously remained ignorant of the old art of scrying.

Sirius quickly gathered up some snow and ice from his chilly surroundings and placed it in the glass bowl. The bowl itself gave out some magical warmth that caused the frozen water to slowly melt into a puddle.

Judging the bowl to be filled enough for his purposes, Sirius pointed his wand at the scrying bowl. “Video Peter Pettigrew!” he intoned and a stream of silver sparks entered the bowl of water creating a controlled whirlpool that finally cleared to show an image.

A terrace street lined with houses that differed from white to a tea-stained wash in their outer facades. High above a few balconies poked out and shutters, some painted pale blue, others washed in white, enclosed windows to add an extra protection from the coldness evident in the flurries of tainted snow that had been brushed aside from the middle of the road. The street itself curved round on a sloped descent with two lanes of shallow steps coloured in a dark grey emerging from the lighter stone work.

The view was taken from a perspective significantly lower than a normal adult’s. Peter remained in his rat form as he had done throughout his journey across central Europe.

The images glimpsed in the scrying bowl altered as Peter scurried through the maze of narrow paths and hidden alleyways, passing open courtyards, porticoes with high-reaching white columns and impressive renaissance constructs.

Sirius kept staring intently at the continuous stream of images desperately hoping to find something that would clue him in to where Peter was heading. Anything. . .

Then he saw it. In a haze of unfathomable Italian words dotted around he made out the place name – L’Aquila. Suddenly Sirius realised exactly where Wormtail was headed. The rush of elated understanding knocked his intense concentration and the images became more and more abstract until it became, once more, a clear puddle of water.

Sirius carefully packed the rune inscribed bowl back into its box and re-entered the cave. As he collected all signs of his brief stay he continued to push away Buckbeak’s head as the Hippogriff followed him around the cavern in curiosity.

“We’re going south, old chum,” he told the Hippogriff, an almost manic grin stretched over his gaunt face. He chuckled to himself. “Shouldn’t take too long to get there. I reckon no more than an hour.”

Buckbeak seemed to understand that they were moving on and he started to back away from Sirius. He obviously knew what was soon to come.

Sirius realised this and gave the Hippogriff a pointed look. Shaking his head he swiftly attached all his belongings to the makeshift saddle he had made before leaving England.

Scanning around the dim cavern he concluded that all signs of his presence were gone. That settled, he swung himself on to Buckbeak’s back and directed the Hippogriff towards the cave entrance.

Stroking Buckbeak’s grey feathers in a calming, soothing motion with his left hand he aimed his wand at him with the other hand and cast a Disillusionment Charm silently. He then had to hold on tight as the Hippogriff’s barely visible feathers bristled and he reared back in outrage.

Sirius made some shushing noises as he got the Hippogriff back under control. “Come on, boy, it’s not that bad.” As if to prove this point, he cast the same charm on his own person.

A few minutes later and they were in the air. The Hippogriff’s long wingspan slashed through the sky as they flew, man and beast, over the snow covered mountains that reached out of the earth. The icy chill of the wind cut through Sirius’s worn cloak as shards of ice bombarded him.

Screw it, he thought to himself and cast a Warming Charm, deciding that the risk of such detectable magic was worth it. Besides, it was safer casting while on the move since, while the magic could still be pinpointed, only the origin of the magic emission would be flagged-up.

Looking down onto the mass of white that littered the landscape below, he realised that finding the end locale could be a problem. Each Muggle settlement was the same as the next. Only one thing for it: “Reperio Amiternum!

The willow wand twisted in his hand and Sirius nudged Buckbeak in the right position.

He was finally gaining on Wormtail. Revenge was on the cards and this time there was no Harry to spare the worthless rat’s life. He didn’t blame his godson from interfering but the knowledge that he had come so close to enacting retribution only for it to slip through his fingers gnawed on him.

There were some things in life that couldn’t be forgiven. Turning Judas on your own friends was one of them.

Godric’s Hollow, Halloween 1981. James’s body buried in falling debris. Glassy brown eyes that would never again alight with laughter. Lily lying so still. Deep red hair splayed out in a halo. Pale white skin cold to the touch. A baby’s shrieking cries for parents who would never again comfort him.

A low whine knocked him out of his memories as Buckbeak alerted him that he was gripping his feathers too tightly. He immediately loosened his grip and once again checked that they were heading in the right direction.

Located near to L’Aquila, Amiternum was a gateway into a small magical precinct known for shady deals and even shadier characters. The magical community had settled in during Roman times and, unlike the Muggles who had left it to fall into ruins, the magical population had remained and taken their business underground.

In many ways it was a smaller version of Britain’s Knockturn Alley only rather more cut-throat in that Italy was a magical nation at war with itself. After several centuries the city states of Italy still fought against each other, though no one was sure as to why. The fighting had gradually slowed to a simmer over the last fifty or so years after a brief united front in aiding and abetting Grindlewald. It was now seen more as a bitter and oft-times hazardous rivalry but the occasional random deaths were still seen as normal instead of alarming.

The journey ended up taking just under forty minutes as Sirius steered Buckbeak into landing in an area just out of reach of Amiternum’s Roman ruins. Instructing the Hippogriff to remain where he was, Sirius – still disillusioned - started to make his way towards the round stone-work structure of what had once been an amphitheatre.

The ruins were void of people. Not that that would have stopped Sirius.

The snow here was white and pristine with no sign of any footprints. Sirius felt relieved to have made it there before Wormtail until he realised that his own tracks had disappeared. Grunting softly to himself he changed into his dog form, feeling the Disillusionment Charm dissipate.

It wasn’t something he wished to do. As Padfoot worries seemed to slip away, emotions dulled, thoughts became disjointed. But other senses were heightened. He could hear Buckbeak’s whining in the distance. He could smell the scent of everyone who had passed here recently. He could smell Wormtail’s scent.

Like a dog going wild for a bone, Padfoot chased the scent’s trail with avid ferment. So close. So near. Soon.

The scent stopped at a slab of stone where amphitheatre seats would once have been situated. Wiping the slab clean of some snow, Padfoot looked down at the rune engraved into it. The part of Padfoot that was still Sirius knew it to be the rune designating an entrance and so he pressed his cold, black nose against the rune.

With a crushing, pressurised feeling not dissimilar to Apparation, Padfoot found himself in what the magical world thought of as Amiternum. He let out a slightly startled woof as he gazed around the underground structure.

The narrow cobbled-stone path twisted and turned with light provided by hanging balls of illumination and young boys guiding cloaked adults under lanterns swinging off long poles. Either side of the street were buildings squished together in a higgledy-piggledy fashion.

Cloaked figures, some hiding their faces under elaborate masks hurried on their way while a few sellers advertised their wares in the road. They shouted at each other in heated phrases, foreign and exotic, filling the lane as negotiating price became an art.

On one stall stood a hag. Her collection of bones was arranged in size order and a bowl filled with decayed teeth stood to one side. She licked her lips when she spotted Padfoot and smiled at him, revealing a toothless mouth with sore red gums.

Nearest to him was a run-down pub with withered flowers that had received one Rejuvenation Charm too many. One shutter was half pulled off from the wall and another was missing entirely. The heady mix of sweat, spilled alcohol and smoke enveloped the property. But in contrast to all this was the soft, lilting feminine voice that carried through the air in a soaring Italian aria.

While Padfoot’s dog instincts begged him to explore the diverse aromas that filled the underground precinct Sirius restrained himself and instead sniffed out Wormtail’s distinctive scent. Following the reclaimed smell he nudged open the door and entered the dilapidated pub.

The smells became overpowering inside.  The voices deafening. But all that seemed irrelevant when he spotted the rat he had sought for resting under a nearby table occupied by three heavily cloaked figures.

Padfoot started to growl. His legs bent and he raced towards the now alarmed rat.

Wormtail started to flee, weaving his way across the pub’s wooden floor. Padfoot followed, his large form knocking chairs aside in his pursuit.

Raised Italian voices yelled their fury as they were jostled by the large dog. More than one voice fearfully proclaimed the title of “Gramo” on Padfoot’s black dog form. One witch started firing curses at him and soon others joined in forcing him to dodge from one side to the next.

Some curses connected with other witches and wizards and soon Padfoot was forgotten as the wizards took up arms against each other. Flashes of colour darted through the air in an uncoordinated symphony. Screams and cries of outrage rang out.

In the confusion Wormtail scurried to the door. Not willing to let the rat slip through his fingers again, Padfoot bounded after him. Just before leaving the premises Wormtail transformed and swiftly pluck a fallen wand from the floor with his pudgy fingers. Padfoot followed close behind, crashing through the wooden door, before he too transformed.

Peter’s small watery eyes brimmed with fear. Visible beads of sweat trailed down his pasty face beneath thinning grey hair. “Sirius. . . please-”

A flash of black whipped through the air, halting Peter’s pleas as he dodged behind the hag’s stall. The toothless hag was looking slightly worried as her fingers edged nervously to her collection of bones. It seemed she had recognised the Entrail-Expelling Curse.

“Fool me once, Peter, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Expulso!

The wooden stall exploded. The bowl filled with teeth jumped into the air and scattered the decayed teeth over the cobblestoned street. Fragments of bone crashed to the floor in a series of thumps. The dishevelled hag screamed in outrage, Italian threats spewing from her mouth as she shook her fist at him.

A few passersby had stopped to look on. Some of the children gathered were cheering at the spectacle while parents tried to block them from view. To them, this was entertainment.

Peter was now using the hag as a human shield. Occasionally he sent an odd spell Sirius’s way but all were blocked.

Duro!

While Peter was distracted by his wailing shield slowly turning into stone, Sirius silently transfigured three of the decaying teeth into mimics of his Animagus form. The process was far more tiring than he remember as he directed the three black dogs to devour Peter.

It was some heightened instinct that told Sirius to put up a shield. He was just in time as a flash of Expelliarmus-red hit him from behind.

Confident that the dogs would keep Peter occupied for a while, Sirius turned to see who else had attacked him. There were two men – one bulky and thickset, the other lanky and thin - and one woman whose main feature was a face half-ravaged with angry red burn marks. He recognised none of them.

“I don’t have any quarrel with you.”

The bulky one spoke in broken English. “You Sirius Black.”

The three of them started to open fire, their spells remaining non-lethal as they launched an obvious attempt at capturing him if the number of incarcerating spells they sent his way was any indication. Someone wanted to claim the bounty on his head.

But he hadn’t come this far to be stopped by some mercenaries. His wand spurted out a seemingly continuous stream of curses. The Skin-Flaying Curse, Disorientation Hexes, Eye Bludgeoners, Shields. . . Transfiguring the remaining teeth into a swarm of insects he animated them with the instruction to bite the three mercenaries.

Fighting against four people had never been the plan. He only wanted Peter dead. Peter who had somehow managed to kill one transfigured dog and put another one to sleep. The third dog had latched onto his arm and was refusing to let go. Colourless dog slobber mixed with blood glistened on his left sleeve. Swinging the arm around Peter continued to scream: “Get off! Get off!”

Peter suddenly seemed to realise that Sirius was once again focused on him. In a last ditch attempt to free himself from the teeth of the animated black dog he Apparated a few metres away with a loud “Pop”.

The dog fell to the ground, an arm still caught in its mouth. A small boy of four or five watching from atop his father’s shoulders clapped his hands in glee at the splinching.

Peter was looking at his lost arm in dismay. It seemed this, above everything else, worried him the most.

“Well last time all I got was a finger. I suppose an arm was the next logical step,” said Sirius as he tugged the arm out from the hound’s gaping jaw. He waved the arm in the air. “Hands off to you, Peter.”

Understanding Peter enough to know what would come next, Sirius sent the Sponge-Knees Curse at him. It flew over the top of his rapidly shrinking body as Peter reverted to his rat form in an attempt to escape.

“No you don’t,” growled Sirius and bounded after him as Padfoot, arm in mouth.

Together they both reached the runic exit to the Muggle ruins.

The sudden glare of natural sunlight blinded him for a moment. The cold wetness of snow melted into his fur.

He returned to his human form. “Animagum inverto!”

Where a rat – now missing an entire leg – had been was now a man. The forced change sent him tripping over onto the snow covered ground.

His rat-like face peered at Sirius. His bald patch reflected some of the sun light as his watery eyes looked up at him from his fallen position. “Sirius. . . Padfoot. . . Stupefy!”

Protego! Vincula! Expelliarmus!” Peter’s red stunner fizzled out at the shield’s boundary and the rat Animagus found himself fettered in chains and missing a wand.

Reducto!”

Sirius spun round, hoisting Peter’s arm in protection. A splatter of blood squirted out in all direction with a mighty squelch as the top of the arm was blown apart. The spray of red left a stain on the white covered ground.

“That’s my arm!”

It was the witch with the angry burn marks that had followed them over ground.

Sirius was fed up with this. Every time he got to Peter someone had to interfere. This time he would end it. But first he had to lose the single remaining mercenary. He wasn’t in the mood for playing games anymore.

Confringo!”

“Avis!” A flock of birds were blasted apart in a chirping scream of agony.

The woman seemed to get control of herself then as she let loose a quick succession of silent hexes that Sirius wasn’t able to shield entirely. He couldn’t help the grimace of pain as a large slice was taken out of his arm.

Well, two could play the silent-casting game.

It was only as she screamed out clasping her half-severed wand hand that Sirius realised how old the girl was. Seventeen at the most, by the looks of it.

Aduro!” She forced out the Cauterising Charm through gritted teeth. Her mouth twisted into a soundless scream as the wound forced itself shut. It wasn’t healed by any means but it did reduce the pain, especially when she added a Numbing Charm.

“You’re pretty young to be a mercenary,” said Sirius, not inclined to fight someone so young.

The girl snarled at him, her straight black hair falling in mess either side of her face.“Oppugno!”

A flock of conjured falcons started to attack him only to be knocked back with swipe of his wand. “Now you’re not even trying,” he taunted. Adrenaline pumped through him reminding him what it felt like to be alive.

Tears of frustration were starting to gather in the girl’s pale blue eyes as she slashed her wand at him. “Die!” she shouted at him as flashing blue slashes flew towards him.

A conjured shield blocked the attack.

He was perfectly willing to leave the girl alone if he could have Peter. The girl was only a few years older than Harry. Not exactly the kind of person he wanted to hurt badly.

Discutio!” 

Her father, on the other hand. . . He deflected the curse and watched as it bounced into part of the amphitheatre remains, shattering the stone work.

He was getting tired. Perilously tired. He hadn’t truly duelled in years. His muscles had atrophied to a large degree and his stamina was not what it once was. He couldn’t last much longer.

The bulky man’s eyes flicked between Sirius and his daughter. The resemblance between the two was only evident now that he looked past the girl’s burn marks.

As the other wizard made to attack again a loud squawk sounded from the sky above. Buckbeak had arrived to save him.

The Hippogriff whose own Disillusionment Charm had worn off came into land, claws open, on the other wizard.

The sight of a large Hippogriff coming headlong towards him was enough to scare the man into action. With a small “Pop” the man Apparated out of the ruined amphitheatre with his daughter in tow.

Sirius couldn’t help but let out a bark-like laugh as the Hippogriff, now his favourite creature in the world, trotted over to him. Buckbeak nuzzled his head against his, the Hippogriff’s soft feathers warm to the touch.

“Good boy, Buckbeak,” Sirius said as he stroked the spot between the Hippogriff’s ears.

Leaning slightly on the Hippogriff he turned to face Peter. Only to find him gone. Instead a rat was hobbling away from the chains. The Reverse-Animagus Spell had worn out.

“Shouldn’t be too difficult to catch a rat, now.” James was back.

“No,” agreed Sirius, aiming his wand.

But before he could form an incantation, Buckbeak trotted forward to where the rat was. In a move Sirius could never have predicted, the Hippogriff bent down and ate the rat. Only an erratic pink tail dangled from the Hippogriff’s mouth before its movement ceased and the feathered beast sucked it up with a loud slurp.

Licking its lips at the unexpected meal, Buckbeak trotted back to a shell-shocked Sirius.

James turned to look at him. “I’d be careful, Sirius – he still looks hungry.”