The Other Potter. Book Four.

People care about my opinion.

We left at noon the next day for Hogsmeade. And despite the overcast sky, I decided not to take my cloak. Hermione and I had an argument, but it went a bit like this:

“Take your cloak.” Hermione said

“No.”I replied.

“Take your cloak.”

“No.”

“Willow, take your cloak.”

“Hermione. No.”

“You’re so stupid!”

“You’re a pain.”

“You’re an ache, Willow. An ache.”

“Well, you’re a poo-poo head.”

“You’re a pee-pee head!”

“You’re a plop face.”

“You’re a bum face.”

Then we laughed, and hugged, and she thought I grabbed my cloak, but I didn’t.

Win.

Anywho, Harry had snuck a bag full of food from the lunch table for Sirius, but I had gone one step further, and gotten a shitload of food from the kitchens. Harry had brought a dozen chicken legs, a loaf of bread, and a flask of pumpkin juice, whereas, I had brought a whole fruit cake, spaghetti, bananas, lettuce, mangos, a block of chocolate, a large bottle of water, blueberries, yogurt, grapes, cucumber, coffee, a coffee mug, a candle and some matches, some rolls and salt and pepper.

Don’t judge me.

I asked for food, and I was given some. No arguments.

Kay thanks bye.

...

The weather was milder than it had been all year, and by the time we arrived in Hogsmeade, the others had taken off their cloaks.  

I wasted no time in rubbing it in Hermione’s face.

I’m such a humble child.

We went into a shop to buy a present for Dobby, where we had fun selecting the most lurid socks we could find, including a pair patterned with flashing gold and silver stars, and another that screamed loudly when they became too smelly.

We also grabbed a shirt and trackies for Sirius, though, not knowing his size, I had a feeling they would be too big. P.S. That was my idea. I’m caring, and I have a feeling he’s in the clothes he wore after Azkaban.

Then, at half past one, we made our way up the High Street, past Dervish and Banges, and out toward the edge of the village. The winding lane was leading us out into the wild countryside around Hogsmeade.

We were walking toward the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. Waiting for us was a very large, shaggy black dog, which was carrying some newspapers in its mouth and looking very familiar. . . . 

“PADFOOT!” I yelled running over to him.

He smelt my bag and looked happy, before leading us up the mountain. Sirius seemed to be having fun running around, but we weren’t. We climbed up steep slopes for twenty minutes, in the sun, before we found a narrow fissure in the rock.

I squeezed into it and found myself in a cool, dimly lit cave. Tethered at the end of it, one end of his rope around a large rock, was Buckbeak the hippogriff. Half gray horse, half giant eagle, Buckbeak's fierce orange eye flashed at the sight of us.

All of us bowed low to him, and after regarding us imperiously for a moment, Buckbeak bent his scaly front knees and allowed Hermione to rush forward and stroke his feathery neck.