» a werewolf's heart » {wolfstar}

interlude; 1994

Of course I want to see you. But it's not exactly safe to be caught with me, is it? It's all up to you. If you're sure... The old haunt. Tomorrow. Late.

— Padfoot

-moony-

The note is in my pocket, and I'm sitting on one of the less dilapidated pieces of furniture in the Shack, though it still creaks ominously under my weight. The whole place is in disrepair.

I worry my wand between my fingers, twirling it, senses keen in the darkness. Worried for Sirius. I'm not worried that he won't show up. I know he will, if he can. He's always been a little too foolhardy for his own good. But while the dementors have left Hogsmeade, there is still the chance that he might get caught. And so I worry, and I wait.

It's nearly midnight when the black dog slips into the room, all but invisible in the shadows. Tonight is dark enough; there is only a sliver of moon in the sky, and the stars are dimmed by the heavy, foggy air. He would be nearly unnoticeable roaming the streets of Hogsmeade, though he has to be especially careful now—Wormtail might find Voldemort any time and rejoin him, and then any Death Eater will know Sirius' Animagus form. Then if he's spotted prowling the streets it could be fatal.

"Sirius," I murmur quietly, and he stares at me for a moment before changing back into human form. He still looks an awful mess—and hollow, depressingly hollow after Azkaban. But he's still Sirius, and so he's still beautiful.

He strides over to me, wraps his arms around me, and says hoarsely, "I'm glad you came."

I smile into his mat of hair, all of it long and tangled after years in Azkaban and months on the run. He feels bone-thin—thinner than I am, and a werewolf's salary hardly pays for a healthy diet all the time. "Did you really think you needed to worry?"

He pulls back and smiles, but even through the light dancing in his eyes, making him look almost as I remember him I can still see the empty darkness Azkaban has put in him. "No. But if we get caught together..."

"Don't worry about that. Let's just get out of here. Somewhere safer." I walk to the window and peer outside, checking to make sure no one is about.

Sirius nods when I look back at him and says, "I want to go somewhere warmer." He shivers, and that hollow look in his eyes intensifies. I know he's remembering the dementors. He spent twelve years guarded by the creatures, and it's hard enough to endure a minute around one. I don't think there's enough chocolate in London to cure him of what the dementors have done to him.

"We'll stop at my house first," I tell him. "Stay there a night or so. Then we can head south."

"I'll take Buckbeak," he says. "You Apparate."

I shake my head at him, and feel a curious tightening in my chest. No. I don't want to separate. I've been apart from Sirius for long enough, thinking he betrayed his friends. Thirteen years is more than enough wasted time. "I'll ride with you." I smile and add, "I've wanted to ride a hippogriff since Hagrid brought his lot in." Besides, Sirius doesn't know where I live now.

He smiles, and I know he can see straight through my hippogriff excuse. "Well, come on, then. I'll take you to Buckbeak." He changes into Padfoot, looking up at me with liquid eyes that seem far less hollow than his human ones, and then leads me out of the Shrieking Shack.

-o-

Riding a hippogriff is decidedly less romantic than I was illusioned to think; it's an almost violent ride, with Buckbeak's flanks rising and falling to each beat of his wings, the wind whipping my hair about my face. Sirius is behind me, but his hair is long enough that it stings my cheeks as much as his in the grip of the wind; his arms are loose around my waist, and I keep feeling that he might fall off behind me, but apparently he is more accustomed to riding Buckbeak than I am.