Banish Misfortune

Chapter 7:

It's not from vain gold, nor costly robes, I'll tak me estimate o' man,
But when I meet a friend that's true, why I'll stretch to him my hand,
And wi' him I'll drink, for him I'll fight, and to him my mind reveal,
And friends we'll be whatever way blind Fortune turns her wheel.
                       --trad.

 

Folberg School, 17 November.

The rain beat against the windows; the fire burned merrily; the little sofa was pulled up to the hearth. Remus and Sirius slouched contentedly at either end of it, each with a bottle of lager wedged securely into the cushions. Remus's voice was just audible over the sound of the rain.

"It's been a very interesting couple of weeks: I'm feeling my way and have managed not to offend anyone as nearly as I can tell. There's definitely some tension here: most of the faculty have been civil but not overly friendly. Everyone's waiting to see whose side I'm on, but nobody's tried to kill me yet.

"It seems that there are two broad categories of lifestyle here: urban and rural. Or southern and northern, perhaps. The southern wizards are more like people we're familiar with; you'd know what to expect from them. Northern wizards here are more isolated, more farm or forest-dwellers, practicing much older styles of magic. The extreme of this type are the Sami—or maybe they should be considered separately. There are two Sami on staff here: old Aslak, the Shaman, one of my friendlier colleagues; and his wife Minne, who teaches Divination. They've been great: Minne's gone out of her way to make Andie welcome.

"The only one who's been overtly hostile has been the History of Magic teacher, Ola. He's a Dane, more cosmopolitan than most, apparently quite good, but not very popular. He talks down to people quite a bit, kids and grownups alike. He doesn't care for me, and lets everyone know it. I think it's just the old anti-Werewolf thing, but he hasn't actually said. It could be that he just disapproves of my credentials, or what he imagines my family background to be—his wife, Carina, is very socially conscious. It's a slightly different sort of bigotry than we get at home: not only do they disapprove of Muggles, but also of ‘old-fashioned, unenlightened' wizards, by which I gather they mostly mean the Sami. She doesn't teach anything, but the kids all know her well enough. They call her ‘Kjerringa', which sounds a bit like ‘Carina' from a distance, but roughly means ‘old battle-axe'.

"The kids are great, by the way: funny, a bit more innocent of the Muggle world than what we see at Hogwarts, but just as inventive when it comes to getting into trouble or lying about their homework. There are two distinct physical types: the little, dark Sami and the  blond Nordic kids who begin to tower over me starting about in the third year. It's reassuring, and no small credit to Andreas, that all the kids get on together very well: apparently Sami kids weren't admitted here until he came to the school, about five years ago."

Remus paused and smiled at Sirius, who was listening with a Padfoot-like cock to his head and his feet drawn up on the cushions. "So what have you been up to, Padfoot? Andie's been convinced that you're pining away, starving to death, reverting to the wild, and generally falling apart without her there to look after you—but you look boringly healthy. How's it been going?"

Sirius laughed and shook his head. "To tell the truth, I haven't had time to revert to the wild or any of the rest of that: Dumbledore's had me chasing after information about the current state of Dark activity. First, I spent nearly a week in Little Hangleton, snooping around an old deserted house where Voldemort lived as a kid, and where the old caretaker died, earlier this year. They don't like stray dogs there, I can tell you that: they threw stones at me, and I nearly got picked up several times. Nothing there to show for it, either. The place smelled like snakes, and all I was supposed to do was watch to see if anyone went in or out. They didn't.

"Then he sent me to Albania, where I poked around in some little villages and into the forests, looking for traces of Bertha Jorkins. I know, it had been done, but Dumbledore doesn't think they put their hearts into it. I talked to some wizards and some Muggles, none of whom were much help. It appears that she simply vanished, and Voldemort, they were all fairly sure, had left the area. I wish I'd had Andie with me when I got to the woods. I spent a lot of the time in the forest as Padfoot, but wild animals are not so willing to talk to him. And as a falcon, I tend to scare off most potential informants."

"As a… say that last bit again, please." Remus sat up straight, staring at his friend, bewildered.

"Falcon. A very small falcon; a merlin. It happened by accident; I can't really explain. I'd just finished reading Andie's first letter and was feeling a bit sorry for myself, but at the same time glad that things were going so well for you here. I was sitting on the doorstep, thinking about being alone, how sometimes it's OK, you know—and eventually my feelings sort of solidified around the idea of a falcon. Then, all of a sudden, that's what I was. You can't imagine the sensation of just leaving the ground behind—it's a cross between pure terror and the best thing in the world! Dumbledore says it's not very common, but he can do it: he changes into a dirty great eagle. He had come calling; he was there when I came back down, and he made me change a couple of times while he was there. I can do it whenever I want: it's a handy shape to have, sometimes."

"You are possibly the only multiple Animagus in history, friend—I've never heard of such a thing. Nice to know you've kept busy! Did Dumbledore have anything to say about it, apart from how rare it is?"

"Not much, yet, but he says he needs to speak to me about it. He says it's just a matter of knowing what I'm doing. He also said he's been expecting something like this from me. More than I can say for myself: I certainly wasn't expecting it. Mind you, I'm not complaining: it's great fun." He grinned suddenly. "Maybe when I get back to Hogwarts, he'll tell me something; he says I can stay around for the first task in the Triwizard Tournament. Which reminds me: does Andie have her dragon yet?"

"I had a note two days ago, saying she'd got there and would be setting out the next day to the mountains for the dragon—the handlers had spotted it some weeks ago and know just where to find it. They think they'll be arriving back at Hogwarts around the twenty-first or twenty-second; it's going to take a few days to get to it and get it ready for transport. I don't mind telling you I'm afraid, but what is there to do? I could hardly tell her not to go; she'd have just laughed at me."

Sirius looked thoughtfully at his friend, took note of Remus's change of tone and his worried eyes, and decided not to laugh. He nodded sympathetically. "Yes; she can turn prickly, as I recall, when people start telling her what to do. I haven't tried it in years, but the scars are still there.... You really are frightened, aren't you? Look, old friend—you said it yourself: she's very good at this. She'll be with a team of handlers. She'll be fine. When she gets to Hogwarts, I'll be there, and so will Hagrid and tons of other people. Besides, by that time, she'll have talked the dragon into being her best friend…. Do you know, this is unnerving, a bit: I don't think I've ever seen you really scared before."

Remus smiled ruefully and examined his fingernails. "I suppose you're right: I'm more used to causing fear than....

"This summer, though, after we met in the Shrieking Shack—that's when I learned about real fear: I was terrified that you'd be caught. Or that I wouldn't be able to find you, or that you'd been so badly damaged in Azkaban that I wouldn't be able to help you. When I came to, that next morning, in the forest, and didn't know what had happened to you—I was never so scared in all my life." He looked shamefacedly at Sirius, attempted a smile, tried for a lighter tone.

"As it turns out, both you Blacks are rather important to me. It's just my bad luck that neither of you is especially good at looking after yourself. Trust you to have a sister who thinks dragons need her protection."

Sirius found that his throat was too tight to form the words for an answer; he had no idea what to say anyway. He sat silent, embarrassed, profoundly touched, looking around the little cabin. He surveyed the ceiling, noting the log rafters and the wooden laundry-drying racks hoisted up with pulleys and tied off at the wall: a Muggle arrangement; odd. He stared into the fire, waiting for some words to come. The only acceptable answer was an answer in kind. He pulled his beer bottle out from the cushions and finished it off, then grinned and finally replied.

 "You know, you're not the most restful companion yourself, mate. Here you are, filling in for a murdered man, surrounded by unknowns, in a place that's at least partly hostile. Dumbledore's told me a bit about this setup: why Andreas is here, why you're here. I hope you're treading carefully: you're fairly important to us, too, remember.

"The fact is, all three of us do what we want, don't we? None of us would be happy for very long, doing safe, boring things. Being scared for each other is the price we pay for having our own fun, and it's worth it, isn't it? We've been happier than I'd ever have thought possible, the three of us."

Sirius got up and paced around the little room, pausing briefly behind the sofa to put his hands on Remus's shoulders. He gripped tightly, held on for a long moment, then walked to the window, drew back the curtains and watched the storm. "We'll be having a soggy run tomorrow night, if this keeps up. I was expecting snow, for some reason. Looking out this window, you'd think we were back home."

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18 November, A Letter:

Dearest Remus, and Sirius if you're there yet—

We've found her: it's a female. She's enormous, she's absolutely beautiful, and she has a clutch of eggs. I told the team we need to find another one; that it would be extremely risky to try to transport a nesting mother, but they say that's what they've been sent for! I can't imagine what will come of this.

So, as requested, I spoke to her. I told her we would be taking her and her eggs to Scotland; that she was needed as a test of courage for some of our young. She replied that we would not touch her eggs, or she would eat us, and feed our bones to her own young, when they hatched. I tried to reassure her that nobody would harm the eggs, but she said humans are Dark creatures, and not to be trusted. She is prepared to fight; the team is holding a conference here at our camp deciding on how best to move her. I'm beginning to think this is a terrible idea; it's a good thing I came down to oversee this. It really isn't right to interfere with nesting mothers. I am going to keep a sharp eye on this whole competition, and when it's over, the Ministry of Magic is going to hear from me!

I thought I'd take this chance to get off a note to you; I'm beginning to be really uneasy about leaving you alone up there. I've been thinking about some of the other teachers: I don't like that Ola and his wife. Don't let him catch you in the forest if you two transform at the full moon. How long can Sirius stay? Keep him as long as you can: I don't want to think of either of you alone just now. Look after yourselves, dears. Has it stopped raining yet?

I should go back up to the den and try to speak to the dragon a bit more. I wish I could calm her fears, but that doesn't seem likely when I share quite a few of her misgivings. Humans as Dark creatures: I'm ashamed that they think of us that way.

Love from Andie.

                                

19 November, A Letter:

My Dear Sirius,

I trust you are having a satisfactory visit at Folberg; please give my best regards to Remus, and to Andreas.

I have what you may consider a strange request: Before you return to Hogwarts to witness the first task on the twenty-fourth, I would like for you to journey to the home of Alastor Moody, and have an exhaustive look around, both outside the house and inside. I have no wish to imply that I distrust him, but his manner here has been more unpredictable than I have ever known it to be, and slightly disturbing. I would like to know what, if anything, he was working on, what clues you, as his former student, may be able to glean about his state of mind and the circumstances surrounding the break-in at his home two months ago.

It may well be that you will be unable to get into his home at all, but I believe that if anyone can, you will be able to manage it. As much as he ever trusted anyone, he trusted you. This is not a task I wish to entrust to any of the present Aurors; Alastor's work is not taken seriously by many in the field at present, nor is he as well-respected as he should be. I believe that you, having worked closely with him, may find things others may miss.

I wish I could provide you with more information, but my own concerns are so nebulous that I cannot even define what they are. I am looking for clues to his state of mind primarily. Please do what you can: you may want to take a couple of days to go through everything carefully, and check for Protections of various types before opening any files or documents: I have no wish for you to be injured.

Dumbledore

                          

"Damn." Sirius read the letter, waved it impatiently, and handed it to Remus as they walked up the path to Remus's classroom. The rain had slackened to a slight drizzle, the clouds appeared to be breaking up for the first time in days. "I don't like this, start to finish. I hate the thought of spying on Moody. He was a—not a friend exactly; Moody didn't have friends—but I respected him more than most. In any case, I'm likely to be killed trying it: there's no telling what nastiness he has wrapped around his house. Then, supposing I do get in, what am I to look for? The whole thing's a mess: I wrote to Harry before I left home, telling him I'd talk to him by fire early on Sunday. I was hoping to do that at home, but now, it's clear I won't be able to stop there at all. I suppose there's no help for it; I did tell Dumbledore I'd work for him."

He took the letter back from Remus and crushed it into a ball. "And with my luck, it'll be raining there, too. I didn't know Norway had bloody monsoons." He looked sideways at Remus, who regarded him quizzically, and began to laugh. "Sorry about the rant. Your kids are waiting; I think I'll go for a walk, since I can do it now without drowning. See you at dinnertime; isn't Andreas coming to dinner again tonight? Do you want me to start cooking?"

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Hogwarts, Top of the Northernmost Tower, 23 November

Dumbledore opened the window to admit his guest. "Sirius, how good it is to see you! I admit, I was a bit worried about asking you to undertake this task. Did all go well?" Dumbledore indicated the table, where a substantial tea was laid. "Help yourself, and tell me what you found."

Sirius transformed into his human shape and slid down from the windowsill, gratefully accepting a sandwich. "I don't believe I ever told you, Albus, about the time Moody attacked me in a pub." Sirius grinned at the memory. "It was during my training, one evening after a long, frustrating day. I'd left him in a bit of a temper and stopped in the local on the way to where I'd left the bike. I was just sitting there, chatting with some pretty young thing, forgetting my troubles, when a couple of hands grabbed me around the throat, from behind. The girl started to scream, but I knew instantly it was him—don't ask me how I knew. I just sat there like a stone; I was still too annoyed with him to play into what I thought was some sort of game. Then he began to laugh, and finally said, ‘This is the next Chief Auror, lass; you see, he knows me. A real student should always know his teacher, but precious few actually do.' Then he paid for our drinks, which was a real shock, and stalked out. I was over the moon at the time; it was only his way of telling me I'd done well that day. That was as close as he ever came to a compliment; it was a definite ego boost.

"I remembered that incident while I was breaking into his house: I'm not sure I'd know him now, if he grabbed me. Albus, the outside doors weren't Protected at all! Also, there was no sort of enchantment around the dustbins in the back; I don't think there ever was. Whatever he did to them had to be on the spot, at the time of the break-in.

"Inside, things seemed a bit more what I expected: his desk had a spell on it that knocked me backwards into the opposite wall: vintage Moody. When I finally got it off, and opened the desk, I discovered that he's writing a book: reams of papers, all in code, as if his handwriting weren't indecipherable enough. I couldn't begin to make any of it out, but I copied a couple of the top pages, so that you could see. I'll bet Remus could get through it, if you want to ask him.

"I made a fire in his fireplace that first night, and talked to Harry just a bit; no hitches there, but I swore I could feel Moody breathing down my neck. Everything else I could see looked as I would have expected it to, except for one thing." Sirius paused, looked up at Dumbledore thoughtfully, frowning slightly as he considered how to phrase his doubts.

"Under Moody's bed, I found his old leather rucksack; I'd never seen him without it. I'd never dared look inside it, either; it gave me a weird feeling when I did. There was only a mild repelling charm on it; I suppose because it was always with him it didn't need much. I got it open, no trouble, and in there was his set of Muggle picklocks. I remembered those: they were a sort of good-luck talisman for him, I think. He made me learn to use them, even gave me a duplicate set—they're with my bike, wherever that is. There was other stuff: a photograph of a woman, some of his everlasting disgusting dried beef, a spare set of robes, his notebook, quills, a couple of tools I remember him using—the thing is, I'd have expected him to have all that stuff with him. There was nothing odd about the rucksack itself, only that it was there, you see. He'd been using it, too: the notebook had late August entries. All in his code, of course, so I can't tell you what it said—but the dates were in English."

Dumbledore nodded. "I see… well done. Yes, I knew Alastor was writing a book; I don't think we need to save these pages. You were satisfied, were you, that it was his handwriting?"

Sirius blinked, startled. "Yes, it was his handwriting. I didn't see any signs of another person living there, if that's what you're thinking. Do you think someone would want to falsify some of his writing?"

"No, I don't think that would serve any purpose: I'm not sure what I'm thinking just yet. There's something amiss, though, with Alastor: his behaviour is somewhat disturbing to me and I don't know why. I had not seen him for a number of years before I contacted him about replacing Remus; perhaps the rumours are true, and his mind has undergone some changes during those years. What were your impressions of his home?"

"Once I was inside, as I said, things were as I remember them, or as I would expect from him. Only the rucksack under the bed, and the fact that his doors were unsecured, seemed fishy. Oh, and another thing: there was a little girl outside watching me when I first came to the house and knocked on the door. Tiny little lass, maybe four or five. Annie. She said, ‘Are you looking for Mr Moody?' and when I said I was, she said, ‘He's gone to be a schoolteacher and he's not coming back till summertime.' We had a bit of a chat; Mr. Moody's her special friend. He used to tell her scary stories and play with her dog, Wiggles. The day he left, she said, he hurt her feelings. He couldn't be bothered to say ‘good morning', and he tripped over Wiggles and said a BAD WORD. That's wrong, too: as ferocious as Moody was to the rest of us, he was putty in the hands of little girls. He'd have said ‘good morning' to Annie if he was on his way to be hanged."

Sirius paused again, and looked doubtfully at Dumbledore. "Do you think he could have been bewitched in some way, just before he left?"

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Hogwarts, the Forbidden Forest, 23 November

"Andie!" Hagrid lifted her off the ground. "It's great to see yeh, yeh look wonderful! How've you been keepin'? Dumbledore said you'd be up with these dragons; did y'ever see anything so beautiful?" He set her down and the two of them set off to his cottage for tea.

"They're wonderful, but I hope the officials know what they're doing, with these eggs and everything. They expect kids with no training to face these animals. It sounds mad to me. But the dragons all seem quiet enough at the moment; I think we're safe to visit for a bit. How are you? I hear you're teaching a course here now; that's good news for the kids, I'll bet. D'you like it?"

"Well, it's harder than I thought it would be: regular kids ain't like you were. They have to be sort o' led into things; they don't have patience to just watch what creatures do. I don't know, maybe it'll get easier. Still, I ain't complainin', there's some good days too." He ushered her inside, to be nearly bowled over by an ecstatic Fang, who clearly remembered her with great affection.

"Down, silly! Yes, you're beautiful, and I remember you, too! But I've had a bath, thanks!" She filled Hagrid's enormous kettle, set it on the fire, and put tea in the pot, just as she'd always done. "Did you know Charlie Weasley is here too? He came up with the Horntail's team. I haven't seen him since he was fourteen; it's great he's working with dragons! And my old headmistress is here too—in fact, didn't I see her with you last night, watching us trying to get them settled?"

To her consternation, Hagrid blushed furiously and began to stammer. "To tell you the truth, hen, I was hopin' you could tell me a bit about her: she's a fine-lookin' woman an' all. I'd like maybe to start a chat or sommat with her, or have her for tea, maybe. But she's so grand, I don't know if she'd want owt to do with me. D'you think I should smarten up a bit, or get her some sort of present? What d'you think she'd like?"

Andie quickly adjusted her thoughts to accommodate the idea of Hagrid and Madame Maxime as a couple: not such a stretch after all, she thought, with some surprise. "You know, Hagrid, she used to frighten me when I first started school: as you say, she's very grand, always dressed so splendidly, and so sophisticated—but she's really very kind. She knew I was lonely and unhappy, I'm sure she let me stray out of bounds more than I should have done.

"One time, she found me crying over a letter I'd just got from my father: he said in it that he missed me, and I missed him terribly. She gave me a hug, and took me into her office and fed me biscuits.  She asked me if I'd like the job of looking after the unicorn; he was getting old, she said, and wanted a bit more attention than the caretaker had time to give him. I don't think, now, that he needed me at all, but she knew I would love being with him. And in the summer, and on holidays, she let me care for all the horses at the school; I was in heaven.

"I think, if you just ask her to tea, she'll be pleased. Just talk to her—tell her about the Forest. Show it to her, a bit, as you did with me. I wouldn't try to ‘smarten up', if I were you: you're wonderful as you are. She won't mind that your ways are different from hers. Give it a go; ask her to Hogsmeade for an afternoon, maybe. And I have no idea what she'd like for a present; you'd better just get to know her a bit first, to find out what she likes. Does that help at all?" 

"Well, you're right: I couldn't match her for style, I know that. I just hope—ah, Andie, I never fancied anyone before; I hope I don't do anything stupid, that's all. But that's enough about me an' my troubles; what about you? You told me when you left here, you never intended to have a man—that it were a waste of time. You still think so? Handsome, clever young woman like you, I'll bet they're lookin', anyway. Any of ‘em worth lookin' back at?" He looked teasingly over his cup, into her eyes.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I do have a man now, and a good one, too." She blushed, but smiled happily back at Hagrid. "You know him, in fact: Remus Lupin.  I met him this July, at his aunt and uncle's house in France. He's so kind, and so brave and patient and clever; I can't believe my good luck. He's teaching school in Norway just now; I was there with him until Professor Dumbledore asked me to come down here with the dragons. You know," she paused for a moment, "I'm grateful for the chance to tell you about him; I'm so happy just now. It's wonderful to be able to talk about it."

Hagrid hesitated, then smiled back at her. "Andie, hen, I'm that glad for yeh, and for him! Lupin—Remus Lupin's a good man, right enough," he said slowly, "but…." He stopped, unsure of how to finish his thought.

"You needn't worry about his being a werewolf. I wish I could tell you the whole story; maybe I can some day. But I can tell you this much: Since this past August, he's healed. The full moon doesn't rule his life any more. He isn't dangerous, and he's not ill any more, either. He's an Animagus now: he can become a wolf whenever he likes, and the Wolf isn't dangerous, at least not to me. We watch the full moon together; it's wonderful. Besides," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief, "I like animals." She laughed, and Hagrid joined in.

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The First Task, 24 November:

The handlers were a seemingly unrelated group: male and female, multinational; mostly, but not all, young. All, however, were listening attentively to Charlie Weasley, who consulted a scrap of parchment from time to time. "Right," he was saying. "The task will be this, and it seems risky, but possible: each kid will be required to get past the mother dragon and pick up a golden egg, which will be placed in with the dragon's own eggs. We're going to have to be fast, and on guard all the time. 

"The first team out will be the Short-Snout. She can be in the enclosure before the crowd gathers; that should make things a bit less frantic. When the kid who faces her is in the ring, all of you lot need to be on hand, wands out. Then, as soon as he gets his egg, if he does, you Stun your dragon, levitate her back to her pen, and secure her. Caretakers, you'll have to move fast to get her eggs out of the way, because at the same time, the Welsh team will be moving their dragon in. I don't know what will happen if any of these mamas encounters another dragon's egg; don't want to find out today." He paused a few moments to allow the various teams to translate his words to their members.

"Welsh team, same procedure: you stand by, wands out, while the second kid tries to get past her. As soon as it's over, same as before: Stun her, caretakers grab the eggs, move her back to her pen.

"Third team: the Fireball. Yuen, can you tell your people what I just said again? In fast, watch close, out faster.

"Then the last team will be mine: the Horntail. I'm not ashamed to say our crew could use any support the rest of you can provide: she seems the crabbiest, and the most resistant to stunning. So if anyone's free, maybe you could join us at the ready for the last kid. By that time, maybe some of you lot on the Swedish team will be done, and can come stand by with us.

"Well, that's it, I think—about ten thousand chances for a slip-up, but if we're really lucky, nobody will get burned too badly. And if all goes well—the party's in my tent this evening." He grinned and sat down to scattered applause and cheerfully rude remarks in several languages.

Andie grinned in spite of herself. The dragon people were an unfailingly cheery lot; she enjoyed their company. Half an hour till starting time; she strode back to the Welsh Green's enclosure. The dragon turned her head to watch Andie's approach. She had not softened her attitude to being captured or tied down, but she had come to believe what Andie told her, most of the time.

(What will you do to me?)

Andie tried to be reassuring. (We will transport you with your eggs to an enclosure where many of my people can see; then one of our young will come alone to face you. The youngster will be required to take a metal object from amongst your eggs: he will not be allowed to harm the eggs in any way.)

(I will not allow the young one to approach my eggs; there is too much risk of injury to them. I agree not to eat your young, but I will not allow this.)

(That is only fair; that is what we expect. It is a test of the young one's courage and cleverness. You know your own kind often test themselves against humans. I will be watching: I will not allow any harm to come to the young one, or to the eggs.)

(You are small and evil, and could be easily burned, but you tell the truth. I will not harm the youngster, unless he damages my eggs.)

Andie heard shouts and movement from the Short-Snout's area; they were moving her in. Slowly, cautiously, she moved near the Welsh Green, and laid her hand on the warm, shining scales of her neck. The dragon made no move to draw back, nor to attack. She closed her huge golden eyes briefly, and then drew herself up to her full height. Andie stepped back. Her teammates were approaching, wands out, ready to stun. The task would soon begin.

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Padfoot trotted purposefully out of the forest and under the stands, finally poking his nose under the purple velvet covering at the front. "Best seat in the house," he thought cheerfully to himself, listening to the sound of feet on the boards over him as the students trooped in. The scent of dragon was nearly overpowering: a sharp, sulphurous smell, filling his consciousness, sorting itself into four similar, yet distinct scents.

 Things above him began to settle down. He put his head all the way under the cloth and looked around the enclosure. There was one of them: a huge bluish grey beast, pacing up and down in front of a clutch of eggs. Terrifying, magnificent. He looked around for Andie; couldn't see her. He had not really shared Remus's anxiety for her safety, but now, face to face with this creature, he began to be uneasy. He shook off the feeling: she could take care of herself.

The magnified voice of Ludo Bagman filled his ears: Bagman, that fool. So, this was a Swedish Short-Snout, and the first champion was the other Hogwarts kid. Nice-looking kid; Diggory's son, it appeared. Padfoot watched the proceedings with interest. The kid had courage, no question; that idea of a decoy dog was not bad either. Close call there…. Still, success. The handlers rushed out, Stunned the Short-Snout, carried her off, followed by two people transporting the eggs carefully behind her.

Ah, there was Andie, transporting the eggs for the second dragon. He wanted to bark joyfully to her, but contented himself with quietly wagging his tail. A Welsh Green; beautiful animal. He'd seen one of these fellows once, a long time ago; it had nearly fried him, but he'd gotten away. This one seemed more collected than the Short-Snout: less pacing. There was the champion: a girl. She looked a bit Veela-ish; what school had Bagman said? She was doing an Entrancing charm—appropriate for a Veela. It seemed to be working: nice job, girl! Eventually she too had her egg; Andie and the others moved the Green out.

The next team were mostly Oriental-looking, their dragon brilliant red and gold. So this was a Chinese Fireball—wow. Incredible animal, so serpent-like; great colours, too. The champion was a kid from Durmstrang, all business. He and the dragon circled carefully, then the kid aimed a… Conjunctivitis curse… dead in its eye. Smart kid; that's what Sirius would have done—what he had wanted to tell Harry to do. The roars and shrieks were horrible; the dragon staggered around in agony. The kid darted around it and got his egg, but he must have made some sound, because the blinded dragon tried to follow him, trampling some of her own eggs. The crowd were screaming with excitement; one of the young Chinese handlers was yelling for help.

There was Andie again, she and the Chinese lad were attempting to get to the eggs, but were held back by the other handlers. The Fireball was Stunned and carried off; Andie and the Chinese lad, both brushing away tears, gathered up the remaining eggs and checked them over. Padfoot watched solemnly: this was not good. He realised, now, why Andie had been so worried: there had been no way to prevent this from happening. He decided not to go to her yet; he'd be no use, and besides, the next champion would have to be Harry.

Golly, what a brute! What was this thing? Hungarian Horntail. And there was Harry: Padfoot caught his breath. He was so small; he looked so vulnerable. And he was just standing there—what was he playing at? Aha—the Firebolt! Why hadn't he, Sirius, thought of that: it was a natural choice! Harry soared into the air, as comfortably as if he'd been born on a broomstick, then back down toward the dragon, teasing, tantalising the beast to chase him. Brilliant flying. Padfoot had seen Harry fly last year: now, as then, he saw James in his mind. Loyalties, ties—old evolving into new. He'd defend Harry with his life. As he should have done for James.

The Horntail finally took to the air—amazing that something that massive could fly! Quick as lightning, Harry swooped under her, grabbed his egg and was off. The kids in the stands went wild—rightly so! Handlers Stunned the Horntail and removed her; Harry landed and was mobbed by enthusiastic friends and admirers. Padfoot started toward him, but stopped in time. This was too public; it wouldn't be wise to come out in the open here, even as Padfoot. He edged back under the stands, wishing he could be one of the ones pounding Harry on the back and celebrating with him.

Padfoot sniffed the air; he wandered through the trees toward the dragons' individual enclosures. There: there was the Fireball with bandages round her eyes, the young Chinese handler talking earnestly to her. Andie sat beside him, patching a crack in one of the surviving eggs. She saw him coming, put down the egg, rested a hand on the young handler's arm and spoke to him for a moment before running to her brother.  Padfoot stepped into the shadow of a huge tree and transformed, in time to put his arms around her and let her cry.