Beyond the Prophecy – Book Three: The Goblet of Fire

by RewriteTheWizardingWorld

Chapter 7: Padfoot’s Return

The morning after the Yule Ball, Lily woke to the weary, irritable sounds of girls forcing themselves out of bed. The curtains around her four-poster were still drawn tight, keeping the light at bay. Her eyes remained closed, yet she was keenly aware of the comforting weight of the blankets, the faint, lingering scent of exotic herbs trapped in the fibres of the leather cloak hanging at the foot of her bed, and the soft touch of her nightdress against her skin. She did not have a headache, but there was a gentle heaviness, as though her head had not quite decided to part ways with the pillow.

 

Her body felt… strange. Not sore, not tired—rather a subtle, unfamiliar tension, rising from deep within her thighs and settling low in her stomach. When she turned onto her side, that same hidden warmth stirred, a quiet ache responding as though something roused the night before had no intention of fading just yet.

 

A slow breath slipped through her parted lips. It felt as though her body had awakened before her mind, nudging her memory awake. It took a moment for the previous night to return—not sharply, but like the wavering glow of candlelight. Snow across the grounds… the weight of a heavy cloak… the warmth of whisky… the careless touch of icy wind against her skin… cigarette smoke… George’s laughter… Leo trying, unsuccessfully, to steer her towards the hospital wing… and then—not a clear image, not truly—just a brief flicker behind her closed eyelids: dark hair falling across a forehead, grey eyes blurred by the shadows of her thoughts, and… the memory of her own hand slipping along her side.

 

Lily blinked slowly. The steady pulse rising from deep within her was not embarrassment, nor fear. It was something quieter—like the slow settling of a private, unspoken confession. For the first time in her life, something living and undeniably feminine had stirred awake inside her… and it was bound, unmistakably, to one person.

 

She pressed her forehead into the cool pillowcase. Her eyes still heavy with sleep, she murmured, barely aloud,

“Sirius…”

 

At once, her thoughts leapt to the letter hidden beneath her pillow. Her hand slipped beneath the fabric, drawing it out as she opened her eyes fully, focusing enough to read it again.

 

She blinked several times, letting her gaze trace the lines. This time, she read not with the restless excitement of the night before, but with the strange, sober weight of morning—one that made every word feel clearer, more real. Between the uneven strokes of his handwriting, she sensed something she had not noticed before: a raw, unguarded longing.

 

For a few moments, she simply stared at the words. I’ll stay hidden near Hogwarts. Perhaps we might see each other. Write to me about Christmas at the castle. That small knot tightened again in her chest—not sharp or burning, as it had been the night before, but slow and deep. As though somewhere between drunkenness and waking, she had understood something without quite admitting it… and now, in the daylight, she would have to face it.

 

Around her, the fourth-year girls had resumed their bickering. Someone complained about the freezing bathwater; another couldn’t find her shoes; someone else, half-asleep, grumbled that she couldn’t be bothered to shrink the enchanted full-length mirror again.

 

Lily drew in a steady breath, folded the letter, and tucked it carefully back beneath her pillow. Then she pushed herself upright. Her legs still felt faintly unsteady. Drawing the curtains aside, she blinked several times, letting her eyes adjust to the light filling the dormitory.

 

Cold, blue winter light flooded Lily’s bed. Around the dormitory, girls with creased faces, tangled hair and hoarse voices were gathering clothes and makeup from chairs and scattered corners. The room no longer felt like a dormitory at all—more like the backstage of a performance that had ended the night before, abandoned now that no one had the energy to tidy it away.

 

Padma turned as the curtains around Lily’s bed were drawn back. Taking in Lily’s pale face, the faint shadows beneath her eyes, and the crumpled nightdress she still wore, she said irritably,

“Finally awake? Where were you last night? I looked everywhere for you at the Ball! When it ended and we came back up, you were passed out on your bed! Why did you sleep in that?”

 

Lily sighed and sat up.

“Honestly… I had a drink that didn’t agree with me. So I came back early to sleep. How was the Ball?”

 

Padma tugged on her school robes, scowling.

“Utterly dreadful—at least the part where I had to endure Ron! He’s a complete oaf! How on earth are you friends with him? I honestly don’t know!”

 

Lily nodded, pulling a clean set of clothes from her trunk.

“You’re right. I’m not defending him. He behaved terribly. What happened after that?”

 

Padma tossed her hair with satisfaction.

“I met Gérard. One of the Beauxbatons boys. We had a lovely time. He was actually polite—imagine that! I can’t believe I never noticed him at the Ravenclaw table before. We’re meeting again on the next Hogsmeade weekend. If I hadn’t run into him, the whole night would’ve been ruined.”

 

“I’m glad it didn’t end badly for you,” Lily said, with little enthusiasm.

 

Padma narrowed her eyes.

“And you? Was George as unbearable as Ron, or what?”

 

Lily gave a faint smile.

“No. George was very kind. He really tried to make sure I had a good time. It’s just that Snape caught us. Um—Sue, were you saying the bathwater was cold?”

 

Sue, perched on her bed and bandaging the blisters on her feet with magical plasters after dancing in heels, replied,

“I don’t think it was as warm as usual.”

 

“Wait until midday,” Padma advised. “If the water’s still cold, it might make your cold worse.”

 

“Even if it’s freezing,” Lily said, heading towards the bathroom, “I desperately need a shower.”

 

Standing beneath the warm spray, she closed her eyes for a few seconds. Water slid from the nape of her neck down her spine, and her skin felt more sensitive than usual beneath its touch. Washing herself felt… different. When she wrapped herself in a towel and looked at her pale reflection in the steamed mirror, something inside her seemed to cry out: He said he’s coming. I’ll be able to see him—soon.

 

Eventually, she dressed and dried her hair. Crossing the Ravenclaw common room, she descended the spiral staircase at an unhurried pace and made her way down towards the Entrance Hall.

 

From the Great Hall came the low, weary murmur of voices. As on all holidays, breakfast was being served until ten. By the time Lily entered, the dancing lights of the forest fairies were gone. Most students were eating with a mixture of fatigue and mild irritability. They had waited so long for Christmas that, now it was over, a certain emptiness hung in the air. Lily let her gaze drift over puffy eyes, crooked robes, and drooping expressions before turning towards the Ravenclaw table.

 

Her thoughts kept circling back to the folded letter in her pocket. She sat down heavily.

“Morning, Luna.”

 

“Hello, Lily,” Luna said, calmly continuing her breakfast. “Are you feeling better?”

 

Lily nodded.

“Much better. And—thank you again for last night.”

 

“This morning I managed to release that owl,” Luna added. “Poor thing stayed by the fire all night to keep warm. I think it came from very far away, don’t you?”

 

Lily lowered her gaze to her eggs and bacon.

“Yes… I think so.”

 

They fell quiet. They had barely taken a few bites when Leo sat down opposite Lily at the Ravenclaw table.

“Merlin’s beard! You look surprisingly normal! Do you remember anything from last night?”

 

Lily laughed softly.

“Morning. I remember enough of it—but not very clearly.”

 

“Splendid,” Leo said dryly. “Just so you know, Bulgakov from Durmstrang has been asking around all morning at the Slytherin table about his cloak. Among the things you do remember—any answers for him?”

 

Lily chewed thoughtfully.

“So that cloak was the only thing he owned? I don’t even remember where I picked it up. But I can’t give it back now—he’d know it was me.”

 

Leo shook his head.

“Just dump it somewhere out of sight. Either he’ll find it himself or someone else will and return it. Honestly… I never thought you had it in you to get drunk. I can’t remember ever seeing you like that.”

 

Lily took a sip of pumpkin juice.

“Everything has a first time, Leo. And yes—I made a mistake. If I could go back, I wouldn’t drink it. But what’s done is done.”

 

“That’s odd,” Leo said, narrowing his eyes. “Normally you’d be a nervous wreck after something like that. What’s changed?”

 

Lily considered for a moment, then shrugged.

“Every time I get anxious, you’re the one telling me to relax. Isn’t that right?”

 

“Maybe,” Leo said suspiciously. “Still—you owe me an apology for ruining my Yule Ball plans.”

 

The bite stuck in Lily’s throat.

“Was Isabella very upset?”

 

Leo sighed.

“After I finally got you to the dormitory and came back, she threw her drink in my face and called me a complete idiot. I’d say that’s a sign of someone who’s rather upset.”

 

“Oh—Leo,” Lily said, setting down her glass. “I’m really sorry. Should I go apologise to her?”

 

He shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter now. The Ball’s over.”

 

Lily ate a few more mouthfuls in silence, then noticed Harry, Ron and Hermione sitting at the relatively quiet Gryffindor table. She wiped her mouth with her napkin.

“Come on. Let’s see if they’ve heard anything new.”

 

Leo sighed and followed Lily towards the Gryffindor table. As she drew closer, she spotted Fred and George sitting near Harry. The moment George saw her, he burst into laughter so sudden that his pumpkin juice shot up his throat and came spraying out of his nose.

 

Fred hurled a napkin at him.

“What’s wrong with you!?”

 

Lily and Leo sat down opposite them, beside Hermione. George wiped his mouth and nose, still grinning.

“Merlin’s underpants! Are you all right? What on earth happened to you last night?”

 

Hermione, whose hair had already returned to its usual bushiness, looked startled.

“Why should anything have happened to her?”

 

Lily laughed.

“Me? I’m fine. What about you? What did Snape do to you?”

 

George shook his head cheerfully.

“One full week of scrubbing the dungeon toilets. Every night. No magic allowed. And the week doesn’t even start until term begins again, when everyone’s back and the loos are good and filthy. But honestly—worth it. Absolutely worth it.”

 

He glanced at Fred, and the two of them burst out laughing together.

 

“I’m sorry,” Lily said, smiling, “but I had a wonderful time too.”

 

Ron stared at George in disbelief.

“A week of cleaning toilets? Without magic? What did you do?”

 

George winked at him.

“Far too early for you to experience that level of enjoyment, little brother. Maybe when you’re older.”

 

With that, he and Fred got up and left the table.

 

Ron watched them go, still looking stunned. Lily turned back to Harry, who was yawning. Leaning closer, she lowered her voice.

“Last night, when I was out on the grounds, I heard Snape and Karkaroff talking. Karkaroff sounded… frightened. Like something was worrying him.”

 

Harry leaned in as well.

“Yeah. Ron and I heard it too. He was saying something had become clearer. Did you catch what he meant?”

 

Lily shook her head regretfully.

 

Leo murmured,

“Perhaps… he meant the signs.”

 

“What signs?” Hermione asked.

 

Ron answered before Lily could.

“Obviously—the signs of You-Know-Who’s return. Didn’t Sirius write that even Dumbledore had noticed them?”

 

It seemed Ron and Hermione had silently agreed not to continue their argument from the night before. Though their voices were a little stiff and formal, they were friendly enough. Ron went on,

“That aside, Harry and I heard something even bigger.”

 

They all leaned closer over the table. Harry and Ron told them, in detail, about the secret conversation they had overheard between Hagrid and Madame Maxime. When they finished, Hermione—who looked entirely unsurprised—said calmly,

“I suspected it. I knew she couldn’t be a full giant—pure-blooded giants are over six metres tall. But I thought she might be half-giant. What else could she be? And honestly, all this hysteria about giants is ridiculous. They’re not all dangerous. It’s exactly the same sort of prejudice people have against werewolves!”

 

Ron pulled a face in disgust.

“Hermione! How can you not see the difference? Werewolves are ordinary people who’ve been attacked. Giants are—well—they’re inherently violent and dangerous!”

 

“But Hagrid isn’t!” Harry said quickly.

 

“For once,” Leo said thoughtfully, “Ron might be right. No wonder Madame Maxime denied it so fiercely. I doubt anyone would want others knowing they were related to giants.”

 

“And in the end, what difference does it make?” Lily murmured. “If Hagrid’s half-giant, then she must be too. I’ve never met anyone who looked more like him.”

 

The five of them fell silent, each lost in thought.

 

Then Lily’s gaze drifted across the crowded Great Hall and settled on the tall, misted windows. At that moment, several frost-bitten owls swept inside, carrying letters and small parcels as they swooped over the tables. Instantly, she thought of Sirius—and the folded letter in her pocket pressed against her side like a small but comforting weight.

 

She couldn’t wait any longer.

 

In a quiet, slightly hoarse voice, she said,

“I… I need to go to the Owlery.”

 

Leo looked up at her.

“Who are you writing to?”

 

“No one,” Lily replied softly. “I just want to check on Romeo.”

 

She didn’t meet his eyes. She didn’t want anything to show there. Rising, she straightened her robes, slipped out from behind the bench and headed towards the great wooden doors.

 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Leo called after her.

 

She shook her head.

“No. I’ll go on my own. I’ll see you later.”

 

The cold air stung her cheeks as she made her way up the narrow stone path towards the Owlery—the tower that always smelled of straw, warm feathers, and owl droppings. With every step higher, she felt lighter, as though each stair closed the distance between her and Sirius.

 

Wind rushed in through the open windows, swirling through the tower and stirring the soft rustle of fallen feathers. A few sleepy owls dozed on their wooden perches. Pale morning light filtered through the snow gathered along the window ledges, filling the space with a muted grey glow.

 

Lily sat on the stone bench against the wall and pulled a sheet of parchment, a quill, and her ink from her bag. She meant to begin at once—but the quill hovered, uncertain, above the page.

 

What tone should she use?

 

Formal? That would make her restraint too obvious.

Friendly? Safe. Harmless. She could keep everything balanced on the edge, leave room to deny it later.

Or… something a little warmer? The same warmth that still clung to her skin from the night before?

 

After a few seconds, she finally wrote:

 

Dear Sirius,

 

Seeing the words on the parchment sent a small shiver through her heart. She went on:

 

Your letter arrived last night, and I think it reached me at exactly the moment I needed it. I don’t know how long the poor owl had to fly through the cold to reach Hogwarts, but thank you—for thinking of me, and for wanting to write.

You asked me to tell you about Christmas so you could imagine it, but I don’t think you can. The castle is more beautiful and magnificent than ever. This year, with all the foreign guests, they went to great lengths with the decorations. Crystal icicles that never melt hang from the stair railings. There are twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall, decorated with glowing fruit and live owls. And every corridor ceiling is draped in mistletoe—so you have to be very careful not to end up standing alone beneath it with someone you didn’t intend to.

Last night was the Yule Ball. I don’t know whether they ever held dances when you were at school. Harry and the other champions opened it—though Harry was far more nervous than necessary. He kept saying that facing a dragon was easier than finding a girl to go with. It was a strange, eventful night, but what I loved most were the glowing forest fairies—there were more than a hundred of them, flitting around the snow-rose bushes at the edges of the Hall. Dumbledore even invited a famous band—the Weird Sisters, though I’d never heard of them. This year, for the sake of appearances in front of the guests, he didn’t set off any Exploding Snap. But Peeves is still hiding in the suits of armour, singing rude songs and tormenting Filch. You’re not the only one who wished you were here. I wished you were too—and that you didn’t have to spend the New Year alone.

 

She paused.

 

Was that too direct?

It didn’t matter.

 

She continued:

 

I can’t describe how I felt when I read that you’re coming closer to Hogsmeade, and that we might be able to see each other. I was happy—and worried. I know you can take care of yourself. Just don’t forget that we need you.

Until we meet,

Lily

 

She set the quill down. Her cheeks felt faintly warm. Folding the letter, she lifted her head.

“Romeo… come here.”

 

The large black owl—with his amber eyes and unmistakable, regal bearing—leapt from his perch and glided smoothly through the air, landing on her arm. Lily smiled and stroked the feathers at his neck.

 

“How are you, good boy? Don’t forget what I told you. Fly in the dark. No one must find his hiding place. All right?”

 

Romeo blinked.

 

She tied the letter to his leg and murmured close to his ear,

“Perhaps the journey will be shorter this time. Go quickly—and come back soon. I’ll be waiting.”

 

Without hesitation, the owl spread his great wings. Ignoring the sudden blast of icy wind that swept through the tower and carried a flurry of snow with it, he launched himself through the window. With a few steady beats of his wings, he vanished into the white sky.

 

Lily remained where she was for a moment longer. Her eyes followed his path, though her thoughts were elsewhere. At last, she tucked her frozen hands beneath her cloak and turned towards the exit.

 

…

 

A few days later, Lily received the latest issue of the Daily Prophet at breakfast—and nearly choked on her toast when she saw the headline splashed across the front page. Rita Skeeter had published a full account of Hagrid’s half-giant parentage. When term resumed, Professor Grubbly-Plank appeared in Care of Magical Creatures in Hagrid’s place. Weeks passed, and still no one caught a glimpse of Hagrid.

 

By mid-January, the next Hogsmeade weekend arrived. Hermione was distinctly surprised when she learned that Harry intended to go, just like everyone else.

 

“I thought you’d use the empty common room to work on the golden egg,” she said. “Harry, you really ought to be taking this seriously now.”

 

“You know,” Harry replied, hesitating, “I… I’ve more or less figured out what it’s about.”

 

Hermione looked impressed.

“Really, Harry? Well done!”

 

Lily knew perfectly well that Harry was still resisting Cedric Diggory’s advice and had not yet solved the egg’s riddle, but she didn’t press him further. She had already decided not to interfere with the second task at all. Harry would get through it without trouble—of that she was certain. After that, she and Leo would need to focus entirely on preventing Cedric from reaching the Triwizard Cup in the third task.

 

That Saturday, Lily, Leo, Harry, Ron and Hermione left the castle together, crossing the damp grounds in the bitter winter air and heading for the school gates. As they passed the lake, their eyes were drawn to the Durmstrang ship, still anchored in the water. Just then, Viktor Krum appeared on deck. He was wearing nothing but a pair of swimming trunks.

 

At first glance he looked thin, almost bony—but appearances were deceiving. He climbed up onto the railing, raised his arms, and plunged straight into the lake.

 

When Krum’s head resurfaced in the middle of the water, Harry stared in disbelief.

“Is he mad? It’s January—the water’s freezing!”

 

“Where he comes from, it’s much colder than this,” Hermione replied. “That’s probably why the water feels pleasant to him.”

 

“What about the giant squid?” Ron asked.

 

There was no concern whatsoever in Ron’s voice—if anything, he sounded rather hopeful that the lake’s giant squid might swallow Krum whole. Hermione frowned.

 

“He’s a very nice person. Yes, he goes to Durmstrang, but he’s nothing like what you imagine. He told me himself that he likes it here much more than his own school.”

 

Ron said nothing, but Leo smirked.

“Well… that’s because Durmstrang doesn’t have you.”

 

Hermione flushed, and Ron shot Leo a glare. Lily said cautiously,

“Maybe… maybe he’s practising?”

 

“Practising?” Harry echoed, bewildered. “Practising what—swimming?”

 

Leo shot Lily a meaningful look. She said quickly,

“I don’t know—physical training, perhaps. He’s still got two tasks left in the tournament, after all.”

 

Harry shrugged.

“I hope we won’t need that sort of training.”

 

As they made their way along Hogsmeade’s slushy main street, Harry kept scanning the surroundings intently. At last, Leo asked,

“What’s wrong? Are you looking for someone?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “Hagrid. If we see him here, maybe we can convince him to come back to teaching.”

 

Lily studied the shopfronts carefully.

“If he were around, we’d spot him straight away. At that height, he can’t exactly hide behind people. Maybe he’s gone to the Three Broomsticks?”

 

“Let’s go there,” Ron said. “I’m freezing! And maybe we’ll find Hagrid while we’re at it…”

 

They all agreed and set off towards the Three Broomsticks. As usual, it was crowded, but one quick glance around the tables told them that Hagrid wasn’t there either. They went up to the counter and bought butterbeers from Madam Rosmerta. Lily was struggling to open her bottle when Hermione said quietly, without preamble,

“Look over there. Doesn’t he ever go to his office?”

 

Hermione nodded towards the large mirror behind Madam Rosmerta. In its reflection, Lily spotted Ludo Bagman sitting in a shadowy corner with a group of goblins. All the goblins sat with their arms folded, their expressions distinctly sour and unfriendly. It was a holiday, and with no task imminent, there was no real reason for Bagman to be there at all. Just then, Bagman glanced across the room—and the moment he spotted Harry, he leapt to his feet.

 

“Just wait a moment,” they heard him say hastily to the goblins. “I’ll be right back!”

 

“I think he wants you,” Leo muttered to Harry.

 

Bagman hurried over to Harry, who looked taken aback. His boyish grin spread across his face once more.

“Harry! How are you? I’ve been hoping I’d run into you! All well?”

 

“Er… yeah. Fine,” Harry replied.

 

“Harry,” Bagman said eagerly, “do you mind if I have a quick private word with you? Children—would you give us a couple of minutes?”

 

They exchanged glances.

“All right,” Ron muttered.

 

They moved away to find an empty table while Bagman guided Harry towards the far end of the bar and began talking to him in earnest.

 

Hermione watched the goblins from the corner of her eye.

“They look rather… unpleasant. What do you think they’re doing with Bagman?”

 

Leo took a sip of his drink.

“Bagman’s Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Maybe they’re expecting him to pull a few strings at the Ministry for them.”

 

“They should be dealing with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Hermione said sharply. “Not Bagman!”

 

“Perhaps,” Lily said, turning back to her drink, “if we wait, we’ll find out.”

 

After a few minutes, Harry returned. The moment he sat down, Ron asked,

“What did he want?”

 

“He offered to help me with the golden egg,” Harry said.

 

Hermione looked appalled.

“What? He shouldn’t have done that—he’s one of the judges! And you’ve already solved it, haven’t you?”

 

“Er… almost,” Harry said.

 

Lily gave him a meaningful look, but Harry avoided her eyes. Hermione, clearly outraged, said,

“If Dumbledore finds out that one of the judges tried to coax you into cheating, he’ll be furious. I hope he offered the same help to Cedric.”

 

“He didn’t,” Harry said. “I asked.”

 

“If he helps Diggory, nobody minds,” Ron said. “Harry’s the one everyone panics about.”

 

Leo took another sip of his butterbeer.

“Those goblins looked threatening. Did he say what they wanted?”

 

“They’re looking for Crouch,” Harry replied. “Bagman said he’s still ill and not coming into work.”

 

“Maybe Percy’s slowly poisoning him,” Ron suggested. “Figured if Crouch drops dead, he’ll be made Head of International Magical Cooperation!”

 

Hermione shot Ron a sharp look, silently warning him not to joke about such things. Then she said,

“It doesn’t make sense. Why would goblins be looking for Crouch? What do they want from him?”

 

“Aren’t most goblins employed at Gringotts?” Lily asked. “Maybe it’s something financial.”

 

Harry shrugged.

“Crouch speaks a lot of languages. Maybe they needed a translator.”

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Ron said to Hermione. “Now you’re worried about the poor little goblins? Planning to start a Society for the Protection of Evil Goblins?”

 

Hermione laughed sarcastically.

“Oh, ha ha. They don’t need your protection—or mine. Haven’t you listened to Professor Binns about the goblin rebellions?”

 

“No,” Harry and Ron said together.

 

Hermione stared at them.

“Did you honestly learn nothing in class?”

 

Leo took another drink.

“The Wand Ban. That’s what they rebelled over. The law that forbids any non-human creature from carrying a wand.”

 

“But goblins don’t need wands to do magic!” Ron protested.

 

“Not for simple spells,” Lily said, “but complex magic can’t be performed without one. That’s the whole point of the law—to prevent non-human beings from expanding their magical power.”

 

“Either way,” Hermione said, “they manage perfectly well alongside wizards. They’re clever—nothing like house-elves, who never take action to defend their own rights.”

 

At that moment, Ron—who had been watching the door—said,

“Oh no.”

 

Rita Skeeter had entered the pub. She was wearing a lemon-coloured robe and bright pink nail varnish on her long nails. Her burly photographer friend followed close behind. Rita bought herself a drink, then threaded her way through the crowd to a table not far from theirs. As she passed, people glared at her openly.

 

Rita Skeeter, looking thoroughly pleased with herself, chatted rapidly to the photographer.

“…didn’t want to speak to us at all. Why do you think that was, Bozo? And what was he doing with those goblins? Why were they trailing after him? He said he was showing them the sights—absolute rubbish. He’s hopeless, can’t lie to save his life! I smell a story. How about we dig around a bit? A scandal involving the Head of Magical Games and Sports—what a way to open a piece, eh, Bozo? We’ll have to give it a little push…”

 

Harry couldn’t stop himself. He shouted,

“Trying to ruin someone else’s life again, are you?”

 

Several heads turned. The moment Rita spotted Harry, her jewelled glasses magnified her eyes with delight.

“Harry! How marvellous to see you. Come and join us—”

 

“I wouldn’t come near you on a ten-foot broomstick!” Harry snapped. “Why did you do that to Hagrid?”

 

Rita raised her pencilled eyebrow.

“The public has a right to know the truth. I merely acted in the interests of—”

 

“To hell with him being half-giant!” Harry shouted. “There’s nothing wrong with him!”

 

“Harry,” Lily warned softly, “calm down…”

 

The pub had fallen silent. Madam Rosmerta stared at them from behind the bar, unaware that the glass she was filling had overflowed. Rita’s smile froze—then slid back into place. She opened her crocodile-skin handbag, drew out her Quick-Quotes Quill, and said sweetly,

“Harry, how about an interview? You could tell me all about the Hagrid you know—that giant of a man. Your unusual friendship. Tell me… has Hagrid replaced your father?”

 

Hermione leapt to her feet. She gripped her glass as though it were a grenade.

“You vile woman,” she said through clenched teeth. “Nothing matters to you, does it? You’ll use anyone and anything to write another sensational piece. It makes no difference whether it’s that unfortunate man Ludo Bagman—or anyone else!”

 

Rita’s expression turned cold the moment she saw Hermione.

“Sit down, you silly girl,” she said coolly. “If you knew what I know about Ludo Bagman, your hair would stand on end—though it’s hardly neat enough as it is.”

 

She cast a mocking glance at Hermione’s frizzy hair. Hermione rose angrily and stormed out of the pub under the eyes of the other customers. Harry and Ron followed her a moment later.

 

Lily stood up—but Leo caught her wrist and pulled her back down.

“Leave them. They’re going to see Hagrid.”

 

“Why aren’t we going with them?” Lily whispered, keeping one eye on Rita Skeeter.

 

“Because we don’t need to,” Leo replied calmly. “They’ll convince Hagrid to come back to teaching—and in the process, Hagrid will convince Harry to use Cedric’s clue for the golden egg. We don’t have anything to do right now. Let’s take a break.”

 

Lily shifted in her seat. Not interfering with the course of events was difficult—but she knew Leo was right.

 

For now, Harry didn’t need her.

 

…

 

Hermione said crossly,

“You said you’d solved the golden egg!”

 

Harry snapped back, irritated,

“I just need to… tidy it up a bit!”

 

“Hush!” Lily growled under her breath. “Flitwick’s already glaring at me again!”

 

Lily, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting together at the back of Charms. That day they were practising the Banishing Charm—the opposite of the Summoning Charm. Since flying objects had a habit of causing unpleasant accidents, Professor Flitwick had thoughtfully provided each student with several cushions to practise on. If a cushion failed to reach its target and dropped halfway, at least no one would be hurt.

 

It had seemed like a very clever idea at first—but it wasn’t working particularly well. Neville’s aim was so poor that he kept sending much heavier objects sailing through the classroom instead—Professor Flitwick included.

 

When Flitwick went hurtling past them for the third time and landed with a thump on a tall bookcase, Harry muttered,

“Can we drop the golden egg for a minute? I need to tell you about Snape and Moody.”

 

Charms was the perfect place for a private conversation; everyone was so busy wrestling with their cushions that no one paid attention to anyone else. Over the last half-hour of the lesson, Harry broke his story into fragments—his trip to the prefects’ bathroom, finally solving the egg’s riddle, seeing Crouch’s name on the Marauder’s Map, and being rescued from Snape by Moody.

 

Ron’s eyes lit up with excitement as he flicked his wand and sent a cushion skidding away—knocking Parvati’s hat clean off her head.

“Snape searched Moody’s office?” he whispered. “So—do you think Moody’s here to keep an eye on Karkaroff and Snape?”

 

Harry waved his wand carelessly; instead of flying straight, his cushion veered sideways and landed on Flitwick’s desk.

“I don’t know whether Dumbledore asked him to,” Harry said, “but Moody’s watching Snape like a hawk. He said Dumbledore’s only kept Snape here to give him another chance.”

 

Ron’s cushion shot into the air, clipped the chandelier, changed direction, and smacked straight into Flitwick’s table. Ron’s eyes widened.

“What? Harry—do you think Moody suspects Snape put your name into the Goblet of Fire?”

 

Lily reached out and snatched both Harry’s and Ron’s wands from their hands.

“What’s wrong with you two? You’re wrecking the entire lesson!”

 

Hermione shook her head doubtfully.

“No, Ron—don’t you remember? We thought before that Snape was trying to kill Harry, and it turned out he was actually trying to save him.”

 

She banished her cushion neatly; it soared across the room and dropped straight into the crate where they were meant to land. Lily sighed.

“Moody doesn’t even trust his own shadow. His suspicion of Snape proves nothing. Besides… Snape doesn’t just work for Dumbledore—he’s very close to him. If Dumbledore truly suspected him, he wouldn’t let him anywhere near Harry.”

 

Hermione nodded.

“Lily’s right. I don’t care what Moody thinks—I’m sure Dumbledore isn’t a fool. He trusted Hagrid and Professor Lupin when no one else would give them jobs… and we all know he was right. So why couldn’t his trust in Snape be justified too? I admit Snape’s a bit—”

 

“—nasty,” Ron cut in. “Just say it, Hermione! If he’s innocent, why does everyone who hunts dark wizards keep searching his office?”

 

Hermione ignored him.

“I’m more interested in why Crouch is pretending to be ill. It doesn’t make sense. How could he be too sick to attend the Yule Ball, but somehow manage to sneak into the castle in the middle of the night?”

 

Professor Flitwick’s voice rang out:

“Miss Dinalfi—may I ask why you appear to be holding three wands?”

 

Flustered, Lily hurriedly handed Harry’s and Ron’s wands back. Ron gave his a sharp flick and sent a cushion flying straight out of the window.

“Admit it, Hermione—you just hate Crouch because of that house-elf. Winky, I mean.”

 

Hermione banished her cushion cleanly into the crate.

“And you always think Snape’s plotting something!”

 

Lily sent her final cushion in a smooth, gentle arc into the box.

“I think you’re both right. Crouch is suspicious—and so is Snape. But honestly? I think the chances of Karkaroff putting Harry’s name into the Goblet are much higher than Snape’s.”

 

Harry said irritably,

“I just want to know what Snape did to deserve a second chance in the first place.”

 

He flicked his wand—and sent his cushion straight across the classroom, landing perfectly on top of Hermione’s in the crate. A ripple of astonishment spread through the room.

 

…

 

From that day on, Harry, Ron and Hermione focused entirely on one problem: how Harry was supposed to survive for an hour underwater on the twenty-fourth of February. Ron insisted that Harry should simply use the Summoning Charm again. Harry explained, patiently, how Muggle diving equipment worked, but Ron kept insisting that Harry ought to summon a set of diving gear from the nearest Muggle town.

 

Hermione promptly dismantled Ron’s plan. She pointed out that even if Harry somehow managed to learn how to use diving equipment for a full hour, he would almost certainly be disqualified for breaking the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. There was no chance Muggles wouldn’t notice a set of diving gear flying over villages toward Hogwarts.

 

“Even if you had the equipment, it wouldn’t help,” Lily added. “You’re not allowed to use Muggle tools or methods in a magical tournament. It’s written into the competition’s regulations.”

 

“The best solution,” Hermione said, “would be to Transfigure yourself into a submarine—or something like that. But unfortunately, we haven’t studied human Transfiguration yet. I don’t think we even start until sixth year. And if you get it wrong, it’s extremely dangerous.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, “I really don’t fancy growing a periscope out of my head. Though… if that did happen, I could always attack whoever’s standing in front of Moody. He’d do the same for me.”

 

Then he looked at Lily, miserable.

“You were right.”

 

Lily blinked.

“About what?”

 

“About Krum,” Harry said, shaking his head. “When we saw him jumping into the lake, you said he was probably training. You were right. He must’ve solved the golden egg and realised he needed to practise swimming for the next task. I can’t even swim. The Dursleys never sent me to swimming lessons…”

 

Lily fell silent.

 

Hermione said seriously,

“The best option is probably some kind of spell.”

 

That was how Harry realised he would be spending a great deal of time in the library. Once again, he found himself buried among the library’s thick, dusty volumes, searching for a charm that would allow him to survive without oxygen for an hour. They searched every day—at lunchtime, in the evenings, and throughout the weekends. Harry even asked Professor McGonagall for permission to consult the Restricted Section, and appealed to Madam Pince for help, but still they found nothing.

 

One day, as the three of them frantically combed through yet another pile of books, Lily—sitting nearby with Leo—sighed softly.

“Can’t we at least give him a tiny hint? He’s coming apart at the seams.”

 

Leo replied without the slightest trace of emotion,

“No need. Dobby will find what he needs. If you say anything now, it’ll look suspicious. Besides, he might decide to go to Snape’s office himself and steal the gillyweed. If Snape catches him, he’ll have his blood.”

 

“I can suggest that we ask Dobby for help,” Lily said helplessly.

 

Leo smirked.

“And Hermione will stand there watching you send Dobby off to steal and exploit him. No—forget it, Lily. Step back.”

 

Lily shifted in her seat. Not interfering with the course of events was hard—but she knew Leo was right.

 

…

 

Gradually, fear and unease took hold of Harry, and he could no longer concentrate on his lessons. Lily felt guilty for keeping silent, yet she knew he would make it through in the end. When there were only two days left before the task, Harry had lost his appetite entirely.

 

That morning, Lily was standing at the Gryffindor table, trying to persuade him to eat something, when Romeo came swooping into the Great Hall. Spotting Lily at once, he flew straight towards the Gryffindor table. When he stretched out a leg towards Harry, everyone jumped.

 

Harry stared at the note tied to the owl’s leg.

“That’s for me?”

 

Romeo blinked.

 

Harry untied the note, then said in surprise,

“Romeo’s been with Sirius? But I—I sent my last letter with one of the school owls!”

 

Lily felt the heat rise to her cheeks and guessed she must be blushing. She busied herself untying the second note from Romeo’s other leg.

“I… I wrote to him. He probably realised Romeo would reach him faster than the school owls. That’s why he sent your reply back with him.”

 

Harry, Ron and Hermione stared at Lily with mild surprise. It was clear that Lily writing to Sirius—without involving Harry—struck them as entirely unremarkable. Lily slipped the second note into her pocket without opening it.

 

Harry unfolded his own letter and, after a moment, said,

“This is probably the shortest letter he’s ever sent me. He just says I should send him the date of the next Hogsmeade weekend with this owl.”

 

Ron smirked.

“Clearly he likes Romeo.”

 

Harry turned the parchment over, hoping there might be something written on the back—but it was blank.

 

Hermione leaned closer and whispered,

“It’s in a fortnight. Take my quill and write it on the back—Romeo will get your reply to him faster.”

 

Harry scribbled the date of the next Hogsmeade visit in his spidery handwriting, then tied the note back onto Romeo’s leg. Lily stroked the owl gently at the nape of his neck.

“Go on, love… be careful.”

 

Without complaint, Romeo took off once more and disappeared.

 

“Why does he want to know the date of the next Hogsmeade visit?” Ron asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry said dully.

 

Lily drew a slow breath. Her heartbeat had clearly quickened. She knew Sirius was probably already near Hogsmeade—but she couldn’t say so. Her secret correspondence with him had already raised enough questions.

 

“Come on,” Harry said to Ron and Hermione. “Care of Magical Creatures is about to start…”

 

They got up and headed for the Great Hall doors. Once Lily was sure they were far enough away, she hurried out after them and turned towards the middle courtyard. Despite the cold, she sat down on one of the benches and unfolded the note at last.

 

Dear Lily,

I’ve reached Hogsmeade and found a safe place to hide. For now, I don’t want Harry to know I’m here—he’d only get himself into trouble trying to come and find me. Unfortunately, thanks to a few youthful exploits I was involved in myself, he has access to all the castle’s secret exits through the Marauder’s Map. In these circumstances, that’s not in his best interest—and it doesn’t do much for my peace of mind, either.

I have one small favour to ask. Whenever you can, send me a little food with your owl. I can’t steal too much from Hogsmeade without drawing suspicion from the locals. But please—only if it’s easy for you. Don’t get yourself into trouble, and don’t draw attention. I’m still a capable hunter, and I don’t mind chasing the occasional small rat. I can manage a few days without food.

I’ll see you on the next Hogsmeade visit.

Sirius

 

Lily’s heart dropped painfully in her chest. Her frozen fingers began to tremble around the note. She thought of all the food still laid out on the breakfast tables—and of Romeo, whom she had sent away empty-handed.

 

If only she’d read the letter sooner. She could have sent at least a few pieces of bread with him.

 

The thought of Sirius surviving for weeks on rats made her shudder. She wished desperately that Romeo would return quickly so she could send him some food—but when he did, would he even have the strength for another journey straight away?

 

…

 

The night before the second task, Harry was in the library with Lily, Leo, Ron and Hermione. They were turning the pages of spellbooks in mounting agitation, each of them lost behind towering stacks of volumes, barely able to see one another. Harry looked even more frightened than he had before facing the Hungarian Horntail, and Lily’s guilt over her silence grew heavier with every passing minute.

 

“I don’t think such a spell exists, Harry,” Ron said bluntly. “There’s nothing in any of these books. The best we’ve found is a Drying Charm that can drain streams and small rivers—but it’s nowhere near powerful enough to dry out the lake.”

 

Hermione dragged the candle closer and muttered,

“There has to be something. They wouldn’t make part of the tournament impossible.”

 

Her eyes were so tired and heavy that she was peering at Ancient and Forgotten Charms from only a few inches away.

 

“Well, it is impossible,” Ron said. “Honestly, Harry—the best thing you can do tomorrow is march down to the lake, stick your head underwater, and yell at the merpeople to give you back whatever they’ve taken. Maybe they’ll feel sorry for you and chuck it out.”

 

Leo barely managed to suppress a laugh.

“Sorry—but how exactly is he meant to shout underwater without drowning?”

 

“There must be a way!” Hermione snapped. “There has to be!”

 

She seemed to take the library’s failure to provide an answer as a personal insult; Hermione had never before been defeated by a lack of information. Harry dropped his head onto Ingenious Solutions for Difficult Magical Problems and groaned,

“I know what I should’ve done… I should’ve become an Animagus—like Sirius.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Ron said. “Then you could’ve turned into a goldfish whenever you liked.”

 

“A frog would’ve done,” Harry added sleepily.

 

Lily smiled faintly.

“You don’t get to choose what you become,” she said. “When you take the Animagus Potion, it transforms you into the animal that most closely matches your inner nature and personality…”

 

Ron frowned.

“So Sirius’s personality is… a dog?”

 

Lily’s smile wavered.

“He was fiercely loyal—to Harry’s parents. And to Harry himself.”

 

“Couldn’t we somehow get hold of an Animagus Potion and I just… take my chances?” Harry asked.

 

Lily shook her head regretfully.

“It’s incredibly difficult to brew. For a full lunar month—from one full moon to the next—you have to keep a single mandrake leaf in your mouth at all times. You’re not allowed to swallow it, and you’re not allowed to remove it—not even while you’re asleep.”

 

Ron and Harry stared.

 

“After that,” Lily continued, “you place the leaf in a crystal phial where it must be exposed to pure moonlight. If the sky is cloudy that night, the entire process fails and you have to start over. Then you add one of your own hairs, a teaspoon of dew collected at dawn, and the chrysalis of a Death’s-head Hawkmoth. The phial must be sealed and hidden away in total darkness until it is struck by lightning during a thunderstorm.”

 

Ron let out a low whistle.

 

“There’s also an incantation,” Lily went on, “which has to be repeated every day at sunrise and sunset throughout the entire process—right up until the storm. If everything has been done correctly, the potion will turn blood-red. That’s when you drink it.”

 

“And then,” she added quietly, “you still have to learn to transform. The first attempts are usually extremely painful—and in most cases, the Animagus form matches the wizard’s Patronus. Which, in your case…”

 

“A stag,” Harry finished faintly.

 

He and Ron continued staring at her in disbelief. Finally Ron said,

“That’s insane. No one in their right mind would go through all that!”

 

Madam Pince shot him a look of pure loathing from the far end of the library.

 

“So my dad and Sirius actually did all that?” Harry asked.

 

Lily shrugged.

Leo said, with a fascination he tried not to let show,

“They must’ve been… remarkable boys. Seems like nothing could stop them once they’d set their minds on something.”

 

Hermione, now skimming Bizarre Magical Dilemmas and Their Solutions, said absently,

“Even if you could turn into a goldfish, you’d still have to register. Remember what Professor McGonagall said? Every Animagus has to register with the Improper Use of Magic Office—name, form, distinguishing marks. It’s to prevent abuse.”

 

“I was joking,” Harry said miserably. “I know I can’t turn into a fish by tomorrow.”

 

Hermione slammed her book shut.

“Ugh! Useless! Honestly, who wants to turn their nose hairs into dangling ringlets?”

 

At that moment, Fred’s voice drifted over from between the shelves.

“I wouldn’t mind having ringlet-shaped nose hair. Everyone’d talk about it, wouldn’t they?”

 

They looked up. Fred and George had just emerged from behind the bookcases.

 

“What are you two doing here?” Ron asked.

 

“Looking for you,” George said. “McGonagall wants to see you and Hermione.”

 

Hermione blinked.

“What for?”

 

“No idea,” Fred said. “But she didn’t look pleased.”

 

Ron and Hermione glanced at Harry, then at Lily and Leo. At last Hermione said,

“All right… we’ll see you back in the common room, Harry. The library’s closing anyway. Take as many books as you can carry.”

 

They got up to leave. Both looked tense and anxious, and Harry felt sick with worry.

 

“Right… see you,” he said.

 

Lily sighed. She couldn’t tell Harry that they wouldn’t be seeing him again before the task. She gave Ron and Hermione an encouraging nod as they left, though her eyes lingered on them.

 

At eight o’clock sharp, Madam Pince extinguished the library lights and ushered them out. Lily and Leo helped Harry carry an alarming number of heavy books into the corridor.

 

As they walked through the deserted hallways towards Gryffindor Tower, Harry looked visibly pale.

 

“Skim them,” Leo said. “If you find nothing, go to sleep. Lily’ll check the Ravenclaw tower library. I’ll keep looking too. One of us might find something useful by morning.”

 

“And if we don’t?” Harry asked, his voice tight.

 

“We’ll think of something,” Lily said firmly. “Don’t worry.”

 

At the foot of the staircase leading to the Fat Lady’s portrait, they carefully stacked the books in Harry’s arms.

 

“You all right carrying those?” Leo asked.

 

“Yeah,” Harry said unsteadily. “Thanks for walking me this far…”

 

He climbed the stairs, wobbling slightly. Once he was far enough away, Lily said softly,

“I wish there were some way to calm him down…”

 

Leo tugged gently at her sleeve.

“When he’s stressed, he actually performs better. Go back to your dormitory and sleep. Dobby will do exactly what he’s meant to do.”

 

Still worried, Lily cast one last look towards Gryffindor Tower, then turned and headed up towards the higher floors.

 

…

 

At nine o’clock the following morning, the castle grounds were bright and the air biting cold. Lily and Leo stood with the rest of the students beside the Black Lake, waiting for the second task to begin. The stands that had surrounded the dragon enclosure back in November had now been moved to the opposite shore of the lake. The spectator area was packed, its reflection rippling across the dark water.

 

Lily had arrived early on purpose and had chosen the lowest row of seats, close to—and overlooking—the judges’ table. The panel sat behind a long table draped in gold cloth at the water’s edge. Cedric, Fleur and Krum stood just behind them.

 

Lily rubbed her palms together to warm them.

“Why isn’t he here yet? It’s getting late…”

 

Leo checked his watch calmly.

“There’s still ten minutes. Dobby’s probably only just woken him up. Don’t worry—he’ll make it.”

 

Lily stared again at the dark surface of the lake.

 

Suddenly, a voice called from behind them,

“Have you seen Ron and Hermione?”

 

Lily and Leo turned. Fred, George and Lee Jordan were standing there. Lily shook her head.

“No. We haven’t seen them since you said McGonagall wanted them last night.”

 

“HARRY’S late too!” Fred said. “What if someone’s held him up? If he doesn’t show up on time, he’s forfeited!”

 

Leo glanced at his watch again.

“He’s still got time. He’ll get here…”

 

“Fancy a bet?” George said cheerfully.

 

Lily laughed, remembering their disastrous bet with Bagman at the World Cup.

“On what?”

 

Fred and George stepped closer.

“Ten Sickles,” George said.

 

Lily shook her head.

“No—ten Sickles is nothing. I’ll bet a Galleon that… that Krum gets the highest score.”

 

Fred and George exchanged looks.

 

“We don’t have a Galleon,” Fred said. “But there’s no way you’re winning. Between Harry and Krum, we’re backing Harry.”

 

Lily held out her hand.

“All right. If I win, I take your ten Sickles. If you win, I give you a Galleon. Deal?”

 

Grinning, Fred and George shook her hand enthusiastically.

 

As they walked away, Leo said dryly,

“Could you not bet like that? Are you trying to bankrupt us?”

 

Lily laughed.

“I was trying to make up for that bet you lot lost to Bagman.”

 

At that moment, a roar rippled through the crowd. Harry came sprinting towards the judges, breathless and running flat out. Amid cheers from the Hogwarts students—especially the Gryffindors—he skidded to a halt in front of the judges’ table, splashing a bit of mud onto Fleur’s swimming costume.

 

“I’m here,” he panted.

 

Percy, sitting in Crouch’s place at the table, said stiffly and disapprovingly,

“Do you have any idea where you’ve been? The second task is about to begin.”

 

“No, no, Percy,” said Ludo Bagman hastily, clearly relieved. “Give him a moment—let him catch his breath—”

 

Dumbledore smiled at Harry. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff, however, looked anything but pleased; it was obvious they had assumed Harry wouldn’t turn up at all.

 

Harry bent over, hands on his knees, struggling for breath. He barely had time to recover before Bagman began positioning the champions along the lake’s edge. Each stood about ten paces apart. Harry was placed at the end of the line, just before Krum. Krum was already wearing his swimming trunks, wand in hand.

 

Harry glanced up at the stands for a moment. Lily bounced up and down, waving anxiously at him. Harry nodded once—then turned his gaze back to the lake, tense and pale.

 

As Bagman led Harry a few steps farther away from Krum, he leaned in and whispered something in Harry’s ear. Then he gave Harry’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze and returned to the judges’ table. Raising his wand to his throat once more, his voice boomed across the lake.

 

“The champions are ready to begin the second task. The task will start at the sound of my whistle. The champions will have one hour to recover what they have lost. They have already been given a clue to what lies ahead. On the count of three. One… two… three!”

 

The whistle pierced the cold, still air. At once, cheers and shouts erupted from the stands. Without sparing the other champions a glance, Harry pulled off his shoes and socks. Then he took something from his pocket and shoved it into his mouth. A moment later, he began wading into the lake.

 

Cedric, Fleur and Krum all cast spells on themselves and immediately dived into the deeper water, vanishing from sight. Harry, however, showed no sign of magical aid at all. He continued to walk forward, half his body still above the surface, shivering violently in the icy wind.

 

Laughter rose from the crowd—especially from the section where the Slytherins were sitting. Harry kept his eyes firmly away from the stands. Lily leaned forward anxiously, straining to see any sign of change. The laughter grew louder and louder—until Harry suddenly clutched his throat.

 

He was clearly struggling to breathe, as though choking; his face began to turn bluish. Lily spotted two large protrusions forming beneath his ears, twitching in the cold air. Without thinking, she lunged forward and shouted,

 

“Harry—Harry! Get your head under the water!”

 

Harry hesitated no longer and plunged beneath the surface.

 

When several seconds passed without him reappearing, the Slytherins’ laughter faded away. Lily let out a shaky breath and suddenly noticed the enormous hourglass beside the judges’ table—its sand had begun to trickle steadily downward. Now they would have to wait a full hour before any of the champions returned.

 

As time dragged on, the students grew restless and bored. The low hum of conversation rose and fell around them. Leo, still staring out at the lake, brushed his fair hair back from his forehead.

 

“You know what?” he said. “I honestly think Rowling didn’t write this part very well.”

 

Lily raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Why?”

 

Leo gestured toward the crowd.

“Just look at this! From Harry Potter’s point of view, it’s exciting—but logically? The Triwizard tasks are terribly designed. Apart from the first task, the second and third are awful for spectators. We can’t see what’s happening underwater, and we won’t see anything in the maze either. If there were some kind of camera down there, or a screen up here showing what’s going on—it would actually be interesting…”

 

Lily sighed softly.

“Yeah… I guess you’re right.”

 

The sand in the upper chamber of the hourglass dwindled steadily. Lily shifted restlessly, bouncing her foot. Time seemed frozen. She was reminded of the night she had waited in the Ravenclaw common room for Sirius to contact her—how it had felt as though some invisible hand had seized the clock’s hands and refused to let them move.

 

Her thoughts drifted back to Sirius. As the cold wind stung her cheeks, she wondered whether he had managed to find anything to eat. Whether he was warm. Whether he was worrying about Harry.

 

He probably was.

 

And if he were here now, watching this black, icy water with his own eyes, he would be far more anxious than she was.

 

A sudden roar from the crowd snapped Lily out of her thoughts. Cedric Diggory’s head burst from the lake, along with Cho Chang’s. Lily joined the cheering. Cedric had one arm wrapped protectively around Cho, guiding her carefully toward the shore, where Madam Pomfrey and several others were waiting with towels and blankets.

 

“Well done! Well done, Mr Diggory!” Bagman shouted. “The Hogwarts champion is the first to retrieve his hostage from the merpeople! Thank Merlin they both appear safe and sound. Now we need only wait for the remaining three champions…”

 

Cedric and Cho were wrapped in blankets amid thunderous applause and seated beside a portable fire on the shore.

 

Only a few minutes later, Lily jumped to her feet in alarm.

“That—what is that?!”

 

A creature had surfaced from the lake. It looked vaguely human, but it clearly was not. Its skin was dull grey; thick, dark green hair streamed down its back. Its eyes were yellow, like its jagged, broken teeth, and it looked sly and dangerous. A necklace of pebbles strung on cord hung around its neck, its torso bare.

 

Dumbledore rose at once and approached it, speaking in a strange, lilting language. The creature hauled itself higher out of the water to hear him better—and Lily caught sight of a shimmering silver fish tail where its lower body should have been.

 

“Merpeople?” Leo murmured.

 

“They don’t look anything like the mermaids I imagined,” Lily whispered.

 

Leo nodded.

“The beautiful sirens with enchanting voices who lure sailors to their deaths? Those live in oceans. Not lakes.”

 

After a few moments, Dumbledore turned back toward Bagman and translated what the merperson had said. Bagman raised his wand to his throat, his voice echoing sadly across the lake.

 

“Unfortunately, we have learned that Miss Delacour encountered grindylows along her route and was unable to free herself in time to continue. The merpeople, who kindly agreed to assist us in this task, helped her escape and are now bringing her to shore. As a result, Miss Delacour has not completed the second task and is eliminated from this round of the tournament…”

 

A collective groan rose from the Beauxbatons students. Madame Maxime stood abruptly and strode toward the shore, coming to a halt beside Dumbledore. Moments later, several merpeople thrust Fleur Delacour out of the water. She looked shaken and had suffered a few shallow cuts. They vanished beneath the surface again at once.

 

Madam Pomfrey draped a towel over Fleur’s shoulders and tried to examine her injuries, but Fleur was sobbing hysterically, struggling to break free and return to the lake. Madame Maxime rubbed her shoulder, attempting to calm her, but Fleur kept repeating,

 

“Gabrielle… they took Gabrielle… let me go back, please. I don’t care about the points—I’ll withdraw from the tournament! Just let me bring Gabrielle back…”

 

Lily, deeply affected, whispered,

“Oh no… poor thing… why won’t anyone tell her that nothing’s going to happen to her sister?”

 

But before anyone could explain anything to Fleur, another surge of noise rippled through the crowd. A shark’s head burst from the water—its jaws opening directly in front of Hermione’s face. For a few seconds, Lily couldn’t even recognise Hermione without the usual mass of frizzy hair framing her features. Then the shark’s head vanished beneath the surface and re-emerged as Viktor Krum.

 

The Durmstrang students and Karkaroff erupted into thunderous applause. Krum held Hermione firmly with one arm, powering toward the shore with the other. As they were hauled out of the lake, Bagman shouted,

 

“Ladies and gentlemen! Our third champion! Mr Krum has successfully retrieved his hostage from the merpeople and returned safely to shore! Of course… we’ll need to examine the young lady first, to ensure Mr Krum’s teeth didn’t do her any harm—but nevertheless, well done! Well done, Mr Krum!”

 

Hermione and Krum were wrapped in towels and blankets and seated beside Cedric and Cho near the portable fire. Fleur, meanwhile, was still sobbing beside the water, frantic and inconsolable, while Madame Maxime and several of her classmates tried to comfort her.

 

Lily was growing increasingly agitated. The sand in the upper chamber of the hourglass was almost gone, and there was still no sign of Harry. She leaned as far over the edge of the stand as she could, while Leo placed a steady, reassuring hand at her waist.

 

“It’s all right… it’s all right,” he murmured. “He’ll be here any second…”

 

Lily’s gaze darted to the judges’ table. Bagman, Dumbledore and Percy all looked tense and uneasy. It was clear they weren’t entirely confident Harry would return safely. Even Hermione—her hair drying and beginning to puff up again—was scanning the lake anxiously. Many of the spectators were visibly worried now, murmuring among themselves about what might happen to Harry, Ron, and Fleur’s sister once the hour was up.

 

The Slytherins’ snide whispers and sniggers began again—until, suddenly, amid gasps of astonishment, the surface of the lake broke with a loud splash.

 

A head of red hair appeared—Ron’s—followed by the blond head of a small girl. The crowd erupted into cheers. Lily lunged forward, while Leo tightened his grip on her arm.

 

“Where’s Harry—where is he?”

 

At last, Harry’s head broke the surface. He was panting, pale, and exhausted. All around him, green-haired merpeople surfaced, smiling at him. Lily clapped wildly and shouted,

 

“Well done—well done!”

 

The spectators were in an uproar, cheering and whistling; it seemed everyone had leapt to their feet. From the crowd’s reaction, Lily guessed many had assumed Ron and the little girl were dead—but they were clearly mistaken. Both had their eyes open. The girl looked dazed and frightened, but Ron coughed up a great deal of water, blinked several times in the daylight, then turned to Harry and said,

 

“Blimey, mate… you’re soaking!”

 

Then he spotted Fleur’s sister and added,

“Oi—why’d you bring her along?”

 

Lily couldn’t hear Harry’s reply over the roar of the crowd as he continued gasping for breath. Together, Harry and Ron took Fleur’s sister under the arms and guided her toward the shore near the judges’ table, where the officials were already standing to watch.

 

Around them, twenty fearsome merpeople rose from the water like an honour guard, escorting them as they sang their harsh, echoing songs.

 

Lily hurried down from the stands toward the lake. Leo didn’t try to stop her—nor did he follow.

 

She spotted Madam Pomfrey briskly ushering Hermione, Krum, Cedric and Cho toward the fire, scolding them all the while. Dumbledore and Ludo Bagman were standing near the water’s edge, waving and smiling at Harry and Ron as they struggled toward shore. Percy, however—pale-faced and looking younger than ever—splashed forward to meet them.

 

Nearby, Madame Maxime was struggling to restrain Fleur, who looked frantic and half-wild, clawing and twisting as she tried to break free and rush back into the lake.

 

“Gabrielle—Gabrielle!” Fleur cried. “She’s alive, isn’t she? She’s not hurt?”

 

Harry was so utterly exhausted that he couldn’t even answer her. Percy seized Ron and began dragging him toward the shore.

 

“Let go of me, Percy!” Ron shouted. “I’m fine!”

 

Dumbledore and Bagman hauled Harry out of the water. Fleur, finally breaking free of Madame Maxime, threw her arms around her sister and burst into tears.

 

“The grindylows attacked me… oh—Gabrielle… I thought—I thought—”

 

Madam Pomfrey grabbed Harry’s arm, guided him toward the others, and wrapped a thick blanket tightly around him. Then she forced a mouthful of hot Pepperup Potion down his throat. Steam immediately began pouring from Harry’s ears.

 

As Lily hurried closer, she heard Hermione—hugging Harry beneath Krum’s dark, watchful gaze—say,

 

“Well done, Harry… you did it. You figured it out all on your own.”

 

Lily stumbled forward. When Madam Pomfrey moved to block her, Dumbledore lifted a hand, stopping her. Lily stepped closer and wrapped her arms tightly around Harry, blanket and all.

 

“Are you all right?” she said urgently. “We were so worried. But I knew you’d manage it—I knew you’d find a way. Well done, Harry…”

 

Harry glanced toward Karkaroff, who still hadn’t risen from behind the judges’ table. He coughed and said weakly,

 

“Yeah… I suppose I did.”

 

Krum stepped closer and said gently to Hermione,

“Hermy-own… there is a water beetle in your hair.”

 

It was obvious he was trying to draw her attention—remind her that he’d rescued her from the lake. Hermione, flustered, plucked the beetle from her hair and flicked it aside.

 

“But Harry,” she said, frowning, “you came back much later than the hour. Did it take you that long to find us?”

 

Harry muttered, embarrassed,

“No—actually, I found you pretty quickly.”

 

Hermione stared at him in surprise. Lily, rubbing Harry’s back through the blanket to warm him, said quickly,

 

“It doesn’t matter—it doesn’t matter at all! You did brilliantly. You made it back. That’s what counts.”

 

Dumbledore was crouched by the water’s edge, apparently speaking with the leader of the merpeople—a fierce, sharp-featured merperson. He produced the same harsh, rasping sounds of the merfolk tongue, and Lily couldn’t fathom how his throat was capable of making such noises. At last, Dumbledore straightened and walked back toward the judges.

 

“I believe we should confer before announcing the scores,” he said.

 

The judges gathered together. Madam Pomfrey went to rescue Ron from Percy’s grip, wrapped him in a blanket as well, and forced some Pepperup Potion down his throat. Then she hurried over to Fleur and Gabrielle.

 

Up close, numerous cuts and scratches were visible on Fleur’s face and hands, but she seemed not to care. She wouldn’t even allow Madam Pomfrey to tend to them.

 

“Please—Gabrielle first,” she insisted.

 

Then she rushed over to Harry, breathless.

 

“You saved her,” she said fervently. “Even though she was not your hostage—you saved her.”

 

Harry, suddenly looking as though his bravery had dawned on him as foolishness, said awkwardly,

“Er… yeah.”

 

Fleur flung her arms around him and kissed both his cheeks soundly. Then she released him, turned to Ron, and said,

 

“You helped him too, yes?”

 

Ron puffed out his chest slightly.

“Yeah… I helped a bit.”

 

Fleur hugged Ron as well and kissed his cheek. Ron froze, utterly incapable of reacting. Hermione looked faintly displeased—but at that moment, Ludo Bagman’s magically amplified voice boomed across the shore, startling everyone into silence.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached a decision. Chief Marcus, leader of the merpeople, has given us a full and detailed account of everything that occurred beneath the lake, and this has greatly influenced our judgment. Scores are awarded out of fifty points.

 

“Miss Fleur Delacour, despite her clever and appropriate use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was waylaid by grindylows and therefore failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points.”

 

Applause echoed across the lakeshore. Fleur, her throat tight with emotion, shook her head and said quietly,

“I should not have received any points at all.”

 

Bagman continued,

“Mr Cedric Diggory also used the Bubble-Head Charm and was the first to return with his hostage.”

 

A roar of enthusiastic applause burst from the Hufflepuffs. Lily saw Cho cast Cedric a proud, shining look.

 

“For this,” Bagman went on, “we award Mr Diggory forty-seven points.”

 

The cheering swelled again.

 

“Mr Viktor Krum,” Bagman said, “employed Transfiguration. Unfortunately, the spell was imperfect, but nonetheless effective. He was the second champion to surface with his hostage. We award him forty points.”

 

Karkaroff was clapping louder than anyone, beaming with pride.

 

“Mr Harry Potter,” Bagman continued, “made excellent and timely use of gillyweed. He was the last to return and arrived well after the allotted time. However, Chief Marcus has informed us that Mr Potter was in fact the first champion to locate the hostages, and that his delay was caused by his insistence on ensuring that all hostages were returned safely to the surface.”

 

Harry dropped his head. Lily clapped enthusiastically and called out,

“Well done, Harry—well done!”

 

Ron and Hermione, however, were both staring at Harry with expressions that mingled anger and fierce sympathy.

 

Bagman cast an irritable glance toward Karkaroff and said,

“The majority of the judges agreed that this demonstrated a commendable commitment to moral principles and deserved full marks. However… Mr Potter is ultimately awarded forty-five points.”

 

Harry gaped at Bagman. Ron and Hermione, both stunned, burst into laughter and joined the rest of the crowd in cheering. Ron’s voice rang out above the din.

 

“Well done, Harry! That was brilliant! You didn’t mess it up at all—you just stuck to your morals!”

 

Fleur was clapping enthusiastically too, but Krum looked distinctly displeased. He tried once more to catch Hermione’s attention, but she was far too busy cheering Harry to notice.

 

Lily bounced up and down, hardly able to contain herself.

“That means you and Cedric are tied for first place after two tasks! Do you realise that, Harry? First place!”

 

Bagman raised his voice again.

“The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June. One month prior to the task, full details will be provided to the champions. Thank you all for supporting our competitors.”

 

Harry, still dazed, turned to Lily. She grinned at him.

“It’s over—really over! Until June, you don’t have to worry about anything!”

 

Madam Pomfrey, shooing the champions and their hostages toward the castle with brisk gestures, called to Lily,

“Run along and join the others now. These lot need to change out of their wet clothes at once. You—move along! Head back to the castle ahead of the rest!”

 

As the champions and their hostages climbed the stone steps toward the castle, Lily watched them go and let out a long, relieved breath. The second task was over—and now she had several months to plan how to save Cedric.

 

Suddenly, a voice behind her said,

“That’s one Galleon you owe us!”

 

Lily turned. Fred and George were grinning from ear to ear, hands outstretched. George said triumphantly,

“Krum got forty points, Harry got forty-five! We win!”

 

Lily reached into her pocket, rummaged briefly, and dropped a golden Galleon into Fred’s palm.

“A bet’s a bet. I don’t even mind losing!”

 

Fred bit the coin.

“It’s real, right? Not leprechaun gold?”

 

Lily laughed.

“Straight from Gringotts. If you’ve got complaints, take them up with the goblins. And besides—this is the last time I ever bet against Hogwarts.”

 

With that, she turned and skipped toward the stone steps of the castle.

 

…

 

The following morning, as pale winter sunlight crept through the tall windows of the Ravenclaw common room, the castle was still shaking off the exhaustion and excitement of the second task. Sleepy Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs wandered the corridors, having celebrated late into the night in their common rooms. Everywhere else, students were still talking animatedly about what had happened beneath the lake. Lily noticed that the easy warmth between the Beauxbatons students and those of Hogwarts had suddenly multiplied.

 

At breakfast, Lily could barely force down a few mouthfuls. Each bite reminded her that Sirius might, at that very moment, be curled up as Padfoot in the freezing damp of some cave, trying to keep himself warm—and perhaps even considering hunting a few field mice for lunch. The thought made her push her bowl of porridge away. If Romeo returned, she could probably wrap up some meat and bread at lunchtime and send it to Sirius. Hogsmeade was close, and despite the cold, Romeo should be back soon with Harry’s note. He was fast and strong; if he was willing to fly again, he could deliver a parcel of food quickly.

 

One of the best consequences of the second task was that everyone was desperate to hear what had happened beneath the lake—from the hostages themselves. This meant that, for the first time, Ron found himself at the centre of attention just as much as Harry. At breakfast, and later in the Entrance Hall and the corridors, clusters of students gathered around him, listening intently. Lily noticed that each time Ron retold the story, it changed slightly.

 

Yesterday, his account had sounded close to the truth, matching what Hermione said. Dumbledore had assured the hostages they would all be perfectly safe and would awaken as soon as they were brought back to the surface. He had then enchanted them into a magical sleep. But Ron’s version was slowly becoming a thrilling tale of abduction, in which he had been forced to fight single-handedly against fifty armed merpeople—who had, before managing to restrain him, been compelled to beat him senseless.

 

Now that Ron was basking in attention, even Padma—despite her earlier annoyance—was treating him more kindly. After finishing one particularly dramatic retelling for her, Ron added,

 

“But I’d hidden my wand up my sleeve, see, and I could’ve taken those stupid merpeople down any time I wanted.”

 

Hermione said coolly,

“Oh really? And how exactly? By snoring at them?”

 

After being teased relentlessly for being Viktor Krum’s most treasured hostage, Hermione had grown irritable and touchy. Ron’s ears turned scarlet at her remark, and from that point on, he reverted to the original story—the one involving a peaceful magical sleep.

 

As they made their way back toward the Great Hall for lunch, Lily said irritably to Leo,

“Hogsmeade isn’t that far. Why hasn’t Romeo come back yet?”

 

Leo rested a hand on her shoulder.

“The wind’s been fierce for the past couple of days. It can throw owls badly off course. He’s probably taken shelter somewhere, waiting for it to die down before flying back.”

 

The moment they entered the Great Hall, Lily’s eyes flew to the Gryffindor table—and to her utter disbelief, she saw the large black owl settling onto it. She grabbed Leo’s hand and tugged him toward the table.

 

“There—he’s back! Come on—quick!”

 

The feathers along one side of Romeo’s body lay crooked, clearly blown out of place. It was obvious he’d fought hard against the wind to reach the castle as fast as he could. The instant Harry untied Sirius’s note from his leg, the poor owl launched himself back into the air and vanished. He didn’t so much as glance at Lily when she called after him. It was painfully clear he was afraid of being made to carry yet another reply.

 

Lily leaned quickly over Harry’s shoulder to read the note. Sirius’s letter to Harry was, once again, brief and to the point. It read:

 

Be at two o’clock sharp on Hogsmeade day, at the top of the steps by the little lane at the far end of the road, near Dervish and Banges. Bring whatever food you can get hold of.

 

Ron stared at it, incredulous.

“You don’t think he’s actually coming back into Hogsmeade, do you?”

 

Hermione said quietly,

“That’s exactly what it sounds like.”

 

They exchanged uneasy looks. After a few seconds of silence, Ron said,

“Oh, come on—he’s brilliant at hiding. Besides… the Dementors aren’t crawling all over the place anymore.”

 

Harry folded the letter, thoughtful.

“I can’t pretend I’m not glad. I am worried… but I really want to see him again.”

 

Leo sighed, cast Lily a look that plainly asked Are you reassured now?, and headed off toward the Slytherin table. Lily squeezed Harry’s shoulder encouragingly and left the Gryffindor table herself. As she walked back toward Ravenclaw, she thought, Romeo can rest for a few hours, then take the food… or maybe… I’ll use one of the school owls instead.

 

Half an hour later, while the rest of the students were still deep in animated debate about the underwater events and the terrifying appearance of the merpeople, Lily—her bag bulging with bread, smoked meat and cheese—slipped quietly out of the Great Hall and made her way toward the Owlery.

 

The corridor was cold as ever; her breath fogged in front of her. Even before she opened the door, the familiar scent of feathers and straw filled her nose. She pushed the heavy wooden door open with her shoulder and stepped inside.

 

Romeo, as usual, was perched on one of the high beams of the Owlery, tearing into the remains of a small animal Lily suspected was a mouse. The thought that Sirius might be forced to eat such things made her shudder. At first, Romeo pretended not to notice her at all. But when Lily moved toward one of the school’s large speckled owls, intending to send the parcel of food with it instead, he reluctantly spread his vast wings and swooped down onto her shoulder. It was as though his pride could not tolerate her resorting to another owl.

 

Lily laughed softly and raised her forearm. Romeo stepped down from her shoulder, settling his heavy weight onto her arm. Straining not to let it sag under him, Lily stroked his head.

 

“Hello, good boy… I know you’re tired… but Sirius needs this food. At least it’s not a long flight. He’s in Hogsmeade, isn’t he?”

 

Romeo blinked, solemn as ever.

 

Still stroking him, Lily went on,

“If I knew exactly where he was, I’d take it to him myself. That way I could see him. But I don’t know precisely wh—”

 

She broke off mid-sentence.

 

The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning, sending her heart racing. For several seconds, she stared into the amber eyes of her enormous owl. Romeo was clever—cleverer than most. She couldn’t remember a single time he had disobeyed something she’d told him. Carefully, hardly daring to hope, she asked,

 

“When you took the letter to him… was Sirius in a cave? In the hills beyond Hogsmeade? Down there, beneath the castle?”

 

Romeo blinked again—and inclined his head slightly. This time, more firmly. As though to say exactly there.

 

Lily’s hands began to tremble so badly she could no longer support Romeo’s weight. She set him gently down on one of the Owlery’s stone benches and dropped to her knees in front of him. Staring up at him, pleading, her voice shaking with excitement, she whispered,

 

“Romeo… can you—can you show me where that cave is?”

 

Romeo simply stared back at her, unblinking. Lily had no idea whether there was any precedent in wizarding history for asking one’s owl to locate a hiding place. She persisted, enunciating each word carefully.

 

“If we go to Hogsmeade together… can you fly to the place where you delivered the letter? Can you show me where it was?”

 

At last, after a few seconds’ pause, Romeo blinked again and tilted his head. His wild amber eyes gleamed. Then, with a short, decisive motion, he nodded.

 

Something seemed to drop straight through Lily’s chest. A sweet, sharp rush of nerves shot down her spine.

 

“All right,” she breathed. “Then… I’ll bring the food myself. You can fly alone—it’ll be easier for you. Romeo, listen very carefully. I want you to fly to Honeydukes in Hogsmeade. Sit on a tree or a post outside the shop and wait for me. I’ll be there before it gets dark. All right? Do you understand?”

 

Romeo spread his wings again, as though this plan surprised him not at all. Uncertain he’d fully understood, Lily repeated,

 

“Honeydukes. Wait for me outside the shop. Don’t go anywhere else. All right?”

 

Romeo beat his wings once and shot out through one of the Owlery’s small windows.

 

Feeling as though she herself might take flight with excitement, Lily hurried out of the Owlery after him.

 

…

 

Late that afternoon, roughly two hours before sunset, Lily slipped quietly out of her dormitory. She was wearing the Durmstrang fur cloak she had stolen on the night of the Yule Ball, with a large cloth bag slung over one shoulder beneath it. The ground floor of the castle was almost deserted at that hour on a Sunday. Torches burned low along the walls, their flames casting long, wavering shadows across the stone.

 

The statue of the one-eyed witch stood at the far end of one of the corridors, slightly tilted toward the wall, her weathered face fixed in a watchful expression. Her blind eye was a dark, hollow socket that seemed bottomless. Lily paused halfway down the corridor. In the stillness, the sound of her own footsteps echoed back at her in a way she found unsettling. But the thought of seeing Sirius steadied her resolve, and she walked straight toward the statue.

 

She drew her wand, tapped it lightly against the stone, and said in a low but firm voice,

“Dissendium.”

 

The stone floor beneath her feet shuddered faintly. A soft sound—like an ancient sigh—rose from within the statue. The witch’s mouth began to open, slowly, revealing a narrow crack in the wall beyond it, a passage that led into deep, inviting darkness. Cold air rushed out of the tunnel and brushed against Lily’s cheeks.

 

She took a step forward. Before entering, she glanced back down the corridor one last time—at the torches, the empty passage, the castle pretending it had seen nothing. Dumbledore always said help would come to anyone at Hogwarts who asked for it, she thought. This is a kind of help too. There’s nothing wrong with using it.

 

Then she stepped into the stone mouth, and as the wall closed quietly behind her, she was plunged into total darkness.

 

“Lumos,” she whispered at once.

 

In the soft, bluish light of her wand, she stared at the steps descending before her. She moved quickly, knowing the journey ahead was long and tiring. The damp tunnel, with its low ceiling, reminded her painfully of the passage beneath the Whomping Willow—the one she had crept through the year before to see Sirius. Why was it, she wondered, that seeing him always required this sort of trouble?

 

After what felt like an indeterminate stretch of time, Lily finally reached the end of the tunnel. She climbed the last steps and cautiously lifted the trapdoor they led to. She was so nervous she felt as though she were dreaming—as though it couldn’t really be her, sneaking out of school and standing beneath a shop in Hogsmeade. Strangely, that unreal feeling dulled her fear; nothing seemed quite dangerous enough to stop her.

 

She peered out into the cellar. Aside from stacks of crates filled with sweets and bottled drinks, it was empty. Pulling herself up, she set foot on the floor and then climbed the remaining steps, opening the door into the shop with care.

 

Honeydukes wasn’t as crowded as it was on Hogsmeade weekends, but it wasn’t empty either—still busy enough that no one paid Lily any special attention. She slipped out from behind the door and quickly ducked into one of the aisles, pretending to examine the rows of sweets lining the wall. When her breathing steadied and she was sure no one was watching her, she made her way toward the exit.

 

Had Romeo understood her? Was he waiting outside—or had she come all this way for nothing?

 

Stepping out of Honeydukes into the pale afternoon light, Lily’s heart leapt. Her large black owl was perched in a tree opposite the shop, feathers puffed out as he dozed. Everything felt more dreamlike than ever. It seemed to her that the hardest part was over—and that Sirius was now only one step away.

 

In a voice that trembled with excitement, she called softly,

“Romeo… come here…”

 

The owl stirred from his doze and, spotting Lily, swooped down toward her. Hoping that a Durmstrang student walking through the village with an owl on her shoulder wouldn’t draw too much attention, Lily set off toward the far end of Hogsmeade.

 

As she made her way slowly up the village’s main street, she spoke under her breath, carefully and deliberately.

 

“Romeo… when we reach the mountain, you fly ahead and I’ll follow on foot. Don’t fly too fast—I can’t lose you. You’ll need to land every few seconds so I can catch up. If you go too far or fly too high, I’ll fall behind. Take me straight to the cave. We have to get there before it’s fully dark—otherwise I won’t be able to see you. Do you understand? Be careful, all right?”

 

Romeo gave no reply, of course—but by now Lily felt certain he understood every word.

 

Twenty minutes later, she turned past Dervish and Banges and headed toward the edge of the village. She had never been this way before. The winding path led her toward the fields beyond Hogsmeade, where the houses grew fewer and farther between, their gardens stretching wider. Lily walked straight toward the mountain that rose above the valley where the village lay.

 

The weight of the Durmstrang cloak, Romeo on her shoulder, and the heavy bag of food began to wear on her. Halfway along the path, she suddenly realised that in her rush she had forgotten to put on her thick woollen stockings; her bare calves were already numb and flushed red in the cold of the approaching evening.

 

The road curved, and she caught sight of the steps at its far end. She turned to Romeo and said quietly,

“Go on. Remember—land every few steps so I can keep up. Don’t lose me, all right?”

 

Romeo beat his wings and leapt toward the mountain. Lily followed, climbing the steps and pushing through dry undergrowth.

 

He led her to the lower slopes, strewn with jagged rocks and massive boulders. Romeo flew easily, perching on stones every few minutes to wait for her—but Lily was soon gasping for breath. She climbed for a full half hour along the steep, winding, rocky path. Thorny bushes and low branches scraped her bare legs again and again, drawing thin scratches, but the cold had dulled the pain.

 

Dusk was closing in; the light was fading fast, and she knew that soon it would be impossible to follow her black owl through the darkness.

 

At last, Romeo stopped before a narrow opening in the rock face.

 

Lily hauled herself closer and stared at the opening. A sudden fear seized her—what if she startled Sirius by appearing too suddenly, drove him into a foolish, defensive reaction? Carefully, she whispered to Romeo,

“You go first. Let him know I’m here—so I don’t have to shout.”

 

Romeo slipped easily through the gap and vanished inside the cave. No sound followed.

 

A few seconds passed. Lily called softly,

“Sirius… it’s me. Lily.”

 

Silence.

 

She waited another moment, her nerves stretched thin, then said a little louder,

“It’s Lily. Don’t be scared… I’m coming in.”

 

Drawing a steadying breath, she crouched—and squeezed herself through the narrow opening into the cave.

 

She found herself at once in a cold, dimly lit cave. She blinked several times, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, broken only by the fire burning low at its centre. At the far end of the cave, she spotted Buckbeak—his halter fastened securely to a massive rock—half grey horse, half enormous eagle, his head tucked beneath his wings, asleep.

 

Lily barely spared him a glance.

 

Her attention was fixed on the trembling figure emerging from the shadows—Romeo perched on his forearm.

 

Sirius was wearing a battered grey cloak. The same one she had seen on him the year before, on the night he escaped Azkaban. His dark, wavy hair was longer now than it had been when he’d appeared in the fire, and once again hopelessly untidy. He was thinner—again. But it was his eyes that held her: wide, grey, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief, fear and something dangerously close to hope.

 

He took a few steps toward her and said, his voice hoarse, unused, rough around the edges,

 

“Have you lost your mind? What are you doing here? How—how did you even find me?”

 

Lily let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. For a few seconds she just stared at him, grounding herself in the fact that he was truly there, solid, breathing—real. At last, a faint smile curved her lips.

 

“You’re the one hiding in a cave like a feral creature and living off mice,” she said softly. “And I’m the mad one?”

 

Romeo hopped from Sirius’s arm onto Lily’s shoulder. She murmured warmly,

“You did well. Good job. You can go back to the castle now. Go on—I’ll manage.”

 

The owl pressed his head briefly against her temple, then launched himself into the air and disappeared from the cave.

 

Sirius remained where he was, frozen, the firelight flickering behind him. Lily watched his stunned expression and added, almost casually,

 

“Romeo showed me the way from Hogsmeade. He’s clever—kept stopping so I wouldn’t lose him.”

 

Sirius stared at her as if she’d spoken a foreign language.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at school right now?” he demanded. “It’s not even a Hogsmeade weekend. How did you get out?”

 

The weight of what she’d done suddenly settled on her. In the space of a heartbeat, Lily felt foolish—exposed. She realised she shouldn’t have come to him looking so desperate. He didn’t look relieved; he looked alarmed. Every step she’d taken to reach this cave suddenly felt reckless, childish.

 

Quietly, she said,

“I snuck out. Through the secret passage behind the one-eyed witch. The one that leads to—”

 

“Honeydukes’ cellar,” Sirius finished for her.

 

A slow, disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. In an instant, he looked years younger—reckless and brilliant in the firelight. He muttered,

 

“You’re completely unhinged. You absolutely should not be here. I know you shouldn’t be here.”

 

Then, after a beat—softer, rougher, undeniably honest—

 

“But… damn it. I’m glad you came.”

 

Lily let out a long breath. It felt as though the sense of foolishness slipped off her all at once, replaced by a strange, unexpected ease. Sirius—flustered now, unmistakably pleased—took a few steps toward her.

 

“Are you just going to stand there?” he said. “Come on. Come closer—let me actually look at you. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I talked to a living human being?”

 

Lily smiled and stepped forward. The closer she came to the fire, the clearer Sirius became—and she knew she must be coming into focus for him too. She laughed softly.

 

“Since the night you talked to me through the Ravenclaw fireplace?”

 

Sirius let out a short, bark-like laugh.

“Exactly. Since then.”

 

He studied her more closely, eyes narrowing slightly, then frowned.

“And what in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”

 

Only then did Lily remember the Durmstrang fur cloak still draped over her shoulders. She slipped it off and held it out to him.

 

“I brought this for you. The nights are still freezing. With this, you won’t feel the cold at all. The Durmstrang students wear these up north.”

 

Sirius took the cloak from her, running his fingers through the dense, tangled fur, clearly surprised.

 

“Durmstrang?” he said. “This—this is their uniform?”

 

She nodded.

 

“And how exactly did it end up in your hands?” he asked, more baffled than suspicious.

 

Lily shifted her weight, suddenly sheepish.

“If I’m being honest… I stole it. Not on purpose! I meant to give it back, but—well—I’m sure whoever it belonged to has a spare. You need it more.”

 

At the word stole, Sirius’s eyebrows shot up.

“You stole it? I didn’t know Ravenclaws did that sort of thing.”

 

She laughed.

“I think when they spend enough time around Gryffindors, they pick up bad habits.”

 

Sirius laughed again, then looked her over properly this time. His gaze dropped to her bare legs—scratched, reddened from cold—and he shook his head with something like quiet dismay.

 

“Dinalfi… honestly. What did you do to yourself?”

 

Embarrassed, Lily said,

“I was in such a rush sneaking out that I forgot to put on socks. And this cloak— it kept me so warm I didn’t even notice anything was missing.”

 

Sirius dropped the cloak to the ground. Then, without hesitation, he reached out and took her hand.

 

“Come on,” he said more gently. “Sit closer to the fire.”

 

As Lily moved nearer, she noticed Buckbeak was awake now, watching her with bright orange eyes. She stepped forward, inclined her head, and bowed. The hippogriff regarded her with cool dignity before dipping his head slightly in return, allowing her closer.

 

Smiling in quiet wonder, Lily stroked the feathers along his neck.

“Hello… do you remember me? We met before—at Hagrid’s.”

 

Buckbeak nudged his head against her hand.

 

Sirius settled onto a rock beside the fire and watched them with a faint smile.

 

“Stubborn brute,” he said fondly. “But I love him. He’s my only company. We have some very… sophisticated conversations.”

 

Lily moved closer and sat on another rock beside Sirius. She opened her large cloth bag and pulled out a piece of bread, some cheese, and a bit of smoked meat, holding them out to him.

 

“It’s not dog food,” she said lightly, “but I think you’ll like it. At least it’s better than those… creative hunting choices you mentioned.”

 

Sirius didn’t hesitate for a second. He reached out eagerly.

“Oh—Merlin—meat…!”

 

He took the food from her and began tearing into it almost desperately. Lily watched him for a few seconds as he ate with something feral in the way he chewed. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, the firelight illuminating his thin, pale chest.

 

She murmured under her breath,

“You’ve lost so much weight…”

 

Sirius shrugged.

“I suppose life’s been a bit… inhospitable.”

 

Lily sighed and pulled out a bottle of pumpkin juice, handing it to him, then leaned the bag against the cave wall.

 

“I’ll leave the rest here. I brought whatever I could find—apples, biscuits, chocolate… anything from the dormitories. Eat slowly. Just—don’t run out.”

 

Sirius had nearly swallowed the last bite whole. He uncorked the bottle and took a long drink. Only then—when the hunger seemed dulled enough for his thoughts to catch up—did he look at her properly, his expression tightening.

 

“You could’ve sent some of this with your owl,” he said firmly. “You didn’t need to come all the way out here. I told Harry not to know where I was so he wouldn’t do something stupid and sneak out of school. And you—”

He stopped himself.

“You came alone. Through the mountains. At dusk.”

 

Lily lifted one shoulder.

“Well… no one put my name in the Goblet of Fire. So I’m not exactly a target.”

 

Sirius shook his head.

“You don’t need someone actively plotting your murder for sneaking out alone to be dangerous. Why didn’t you at least bring that boy with you? What was his name—your cousin?”

 

She smiled faintly.

“If I’d told him, he would’ve said I’d lost my mind.”

 

“He’d have been right,” Sirius snapped. “You can’t just keep showing up like Little Red Riding Hood, wandering into the wolf’s den with a basket of food.”

 

Lily burst out laughing.

“You know who Little Red Riding Hood is?”

 

Sirius let out another short, barking laugh.

“Yeah. Lily told me once. I mean—Lily Potter. Harry’s mum.”

 

The laughter faded slowly from both their faces.

 

Sirius exhaled.

“Lily… you don’t owe me this. You don’t have to put yourself in danger just because I’m hiding somewhere.”

 

Her smile turned quiet, a little sad.

“No. But I wanted to see you. You said it yourself—you haven’t talked to anyone in so long. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

 

Silence settled between them. Firelight flickered in Sirius’s pale eyes. At last, he stood and moved toward her.

 

Without saying a word, he reached down, took hold of her legs, and shifted them closer to the fire.

 

Lily forced herself not to shiver at the sudden contact—at the roughness of his hands against her scratched, chilled skin. Unlike the last time he’d touched her, his hands were fully warm.

 

Sirius turned back and settled into his place again. He tilted his head slightly and asked,

“So—how was the second task?”

 

Lily let out a quiet breath of relief. He’d given her exactly the excuse she needed to pull her thoughts away from the ghosts of the Yule Ball night. She began recounting everything—carefully, vividly, every moment and detail of the second task from beginning to end.

 

When she finished, Sirius stared at the fire, incredulous.

“So… he really did get lucky, didn’t he?”

 

She nodded.

“Very. But what matters is that he made it through.”

 

Sirius shook his head, a trace of regret darkening his voice.

“I should’ve been there for him. I’ve never done anything for him—nothing that actually mattered. If James were alive, he wouldn’t have left him alone in a situation like that. He made me Harry’s godfather in case anything happened… and I—”

 

“You are doing everything you can,” Lily murmured quickly. “Please don’t do this to yourself. Besides… Harry isn’t alone. We’re watching him—constantly.”

 

Buckbeak had tucked his head back beneath his wings and fallen asleep again. Sirius leaned forward, prodding the fire with a metal rod, shifting the logs. Then his gaze dropped to Lily’s legs stretched toward the warmth.

 

“You warm enough now?”

 

She nodded.

 

He leaned back again and looked at her face, firelight flickering across her features. Slowly, a smile curved at the corner of his mouth.

 

“I see you’ve changed your hair again.”

 

Lily smiled faintly.

“I went back to my natural colour.”

 

He nodded approvingly.

“Good choice. This one suits you better. Makes you look like you did the first few times I saw you.”

Then, more lightly,

“Though I hope that’s not just because I was rude enough to tell you last time that it looked awful.”

 

Praying silently to every god she could think of that he would never realise the real reason she’d changed it back, Lily said dryly,

“You really think your opinion affects me that much?”

 

Sirius laughed under his breath. In just a few minutes, he already looked more alive, more himself. Lily caught sight of the faint creases at the corners of his eyes as he smiled, and suddenly it felt as though an entire swarm of butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach.

 

He picked up the bottle of pumpkin juice again, took a casual sip, and said—trying very hard to sound indifferent,

“But for all the hair-dyeing, you still haven’t changed your shampoo.”

 

Lily blinked.

“What?”

 

“Your shampoo,” he repeated. “It’s the same one.”

 

She stared at him.

“How could you possibly know that?”

 

He shrugged.

“You still smell the same. Same scent I noticed the first time I got close enough.”

 

Her voice came out softer than she intended.

“How could you even remember that?”

 

He gave her a mildly reproachful look.

“Have you forgotten I’m a dog? I’ve got a good nose.”

 

Then—perfectly naturally—he leaned forward a little and drew in a slow breath.

 

“night blooming Jasmine,” he said quietly. “That was the smell in the Shrieking Shack last year. When you—”

 

Lily cut in, trying not to laugh,

“When you were trying to strangle me?”

 

“Oh, don’t,” Sirius groaned. “You know perfectly well I wasn’t trying to strangle you.”

 

She smiled, softer now.

“Yeah… I know.”

 

Then, as though she’d suddenly remembered something, Lily slipped her hand into the pocket of her cloak.

 

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

 

Sirius straightened slightly.

“Every single moment tonight has been a surprise,” he said lightly. “What is it?”

 

Lily pulled out two slim cigarettes and held one out to him.

 

Sirius stared at it in disbelief.

“Since when do they hand cigarettes out at Hogwarts? I thought that tradition died with me and James.”

 

He took one anyway, rolling it between his fingers. Lily laughed.

 

“Fred and George Weasley,” she said. “Same ones who cracked the Marauder’s Map. I figured you’d have a lot in common. I got these from George. Thought maybe… it could be a small diversion for you.”

 

Sirius kept turning the cigarette between his fingers, smiling faintly.

“I don’t even remember the last time I smoked. Must’ve been before prison. That’s… a long time ago, Lily.”

 

He picked up a dry twig from the ground and leaned toward the fire. When it caught, he brought the flame to the cigarette between his lips and lit it. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took the first drag. Then he held the burning twig out to her.

 

Lily lit her own cigarette and took a careful pull.

 

Sirius watched her for a few seconds, then laughed.

“I would never have guessed you smoked. You just keep surprising me tonight. Sneaking out of school… stealing a cloak… cigarettes…”

 

“I don’t smoke,” Lily protested. “I just thought we could… relax a little.”

 

He smirked.

“If you don’t smoke, how’d you know who at school even has them?”

 

She exhaled a thin stream of smoke.

“What does that have to do with anything? He gave me one at the Yule Ball, I figured he must’ve had a pack hidden somewhere. That’s all.”

 

They sat in silence for a few moments. Cigarette smoke mingled with the smoke from the fire, thickening the air inside the cave.

 

At last, Sirius asked—casually, a little too casually,

“So… since we’re on the subject—how was the Yule Ball? You said in your letter Harry had a miserable time finding a date. Guess he didn’t inherit James’s nerve.”

He paused.

“Who did you go with?”

 

Lily took another drag, eyes on the ground as she traced idle lines in the dirt with a thin stick.

“George Weasley.”

 

Sirius blinked a few times. Then, in the same cool tone,

“Huh. George Weasley. Interesting.”

 

Catching it instantly, Lily tilted the corner of her mouth.

“You say ‘interesting,’ but what you actually mean is why him, right?”

 

Sirius shrugged, half-smiling.

“Doesn’t surprise me. You said he and his brother have a lot in common with me. So—must be a charming bloke.”

 

He crushed the end of his cigarette under his boot and stared into the fire. After a few seconds, he spoke again, sounding almost incredulous.

 

“Hey… I remember that kid.”

 

Lily looked up.

“George Weasley?”

 

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “I’ve seen him. Both of them. I think they were… about a year old.”

 

She frowned.

“What? How’s that even possible?”

 

Sirius didn’t look away from the flames. His voice slipped into memory.

 

“Back when Voldemort was at full power, Dumbledore had a covert group fighting him. We were all part of it. I remember Molly Weasley. The day we told her her brothers—Fabian and Gideon—had been killed fighting five Death Eaters.”

He swallowed.

“The twins were clinging to her. She was crying so hard she couldn’t breathe. The babies started crying too, because she was—and no one could calm them down.”

A faint shake of his head.

“Strange scene.”

 

He sighed and pulled himself fully out of the memory. Turning back to Lily, he said, half-amused, half-stunned,

“So that kid with the droopy nose grew up enough to take you to a ball? Merlin… look how time flies. I’ve officially become ancient.”

 

Lily smirked.

“He didn’t ask me,” she said. “I asked him.”

 

Sirius blinked. One corner of his mouth tilted upward in a crooked smile.

“Do you like him?” he asked. “Is he a good lad?”

 

Lily went back to scratching idle lines into the dirt.

“No. I don’t. There was nothing between us.”

 

He folded his arms, studying her.

“Then why did you ask him?”

 

She stared into the fire and crushed the end of her cigarette into the ground.

“Because if I hadn’t,” she said quietly, “I would’ve had to go alone.”

 

Sirius raised his eyebrows. His voice softened, curiosity still threaded through it.

“I find that hard to believe. A girl like you—going to a ball alone?”

 

Lily let out a tired breath.

“Apparently, once Cho Chang exists, no one else does.”

 

Sirius’s expression darkened instantly. He leaned his forearm against his knee.

“Cho Chang?”

A pause.

“Who’s that?”

 

Lily shrugged, a little dismissively.

“A Ravenclaw. Half the boys are in love with her. Cedric Diggory, for one, and—”

She stopped herself.

“…anyway. She’s sort of the school favourite.”

 

Sirius narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased by what he’d heard. His tone sharpened.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t ask me to believe you aren’t popular at school. That makes no sense.”

 

Lily gave a small, sad smile and shrugged again.

 

He shook his head, more firmly now.

“No. Impossible. You’re incredibly attractive. This—whatever you’re saying—it doesn’t add up.”

 

She shifted slightly on the rock, her voice quieter, as though conceding a bitter truth.

“Apparently, not everyone agrees with you.”

 

Sirius sighed.

“Sounds like the taste at Hogwarts has gone downhill since my time.”

 

Lily laughed softly.

“Really? So if I’d been born earlier, there might’ve been hope?”

 

He nodded without hesitation.

“If you’d been at Hogwarts in my day, the boys would’ve been tripping over themselves to get to you.”

A beat.

“Honestly—I might’ve even asked you to the Yule Ball myself.”

 

Lily narrowed her eyes at him, unconvinced.

“Sirius, you were the school heartthrob back then. Don’t tell me you’d have even looked twice at a girl like me.”

 

He held her gaze, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

“No,” he said lightly.

“I would have.”

 

Her eyebrow arched, openly disbelieving.

 

Sirius finally gave in. He drew a deep breath, laughed, and admitted,

“All right—no. I wouldn’t have.”

 

Lily’s eyes widened. She laughed in disbelief.

“Honestly—no trace of manners or decency survived in you, did it?”

 

He gave a dry chuckle.

“Lily, I was spectacularly stupid at that age. Not a single sensible decision to my name.”

Then, more quietly:

“I know that because I had twelve years to think about it. The sensible thing would’ve been asking you.”

A pause.

“But if I’m being fair, I don’t trust my teenage judgment all that much.”

 

Lily smiled faintly—yet something about the honesty in his voice sent a subtle shiver through her.

 

Sirius sighed, shaking his head with a half-smile.

“But if I were that age now,” he went on, “I could absolutely have impressed you enough that you’d have asked me instead of George Weasley.”

 

Lily stared at him. At the fine lines etched at the corners of his grey eyes. At the shadow of stubble along his pale jaw. At the sharp line of his cheekbone, still proud. Even a few strands of silver threaded through his dark curls.

 

“You’re still the same person,” she said softly but firmly.

“Life’s just been cruel to you.”

 

He scoffed, raking a hand through his hair and looking away.

“Right now I’m just an aging fugitive Azkaban did a number on.”

 

Lily studied him, then shook her head. After a moment, a mischievous smile curved her lips.

“Actually,” she said lightly, “I’ve always preferred older men.”

 

Sirius paused mid-motion as he reached for the bottle of pumpkin juice. A wicked grin crept across his mouth; one eyebrow lifted.

 

“Older,” he drawled.

“As in… how much older?”

 

She shrugged, fingers tracing the edge of the stone she sat on, feigning casualness.

“Ten years, maybe?”

A beat.

“Perhaps… a bit more.”

 

He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, eyes locked on hers. The spark of his younger self flared unmistakably.

 

“Well, well,” he said.

“Seems you’ve got very particular taste, Dinalfi. So tell me—what do these older men have that us younger lads don’t?”

 

Lily smiled knowingly. She tilted her chin, resting it between two fingers like she was considering a serious question—though the amusement in her eyes gave her away.

 

“Experience,” she said.

“Confidence.”

“And a certain… dangerously appealing edge.”

 

Sirius raised an eyebrow and barked out a laugh.

“Dangerous appeals to you?”

He grinned.

“Because if we’re counting the constant risk of arrest and being dragged back to Azkaban, I might just be the most attractive man alive.”

 

Lily laughed with him—then something shifted. Her gaze lingered. The humor drained from her voice when she spoke again.

 

“You know you’re attractive,” she said quietly.

“Black.”

 

Sirius fell silent. He hadn’t expected that. His smile deepened instead of fading, and something warmer stirred behind his eyes—something that went far beyond teasing.

 

Within seconds, the cave felt heavier. Charged.

Something undeniable moved between them now.

A feeling they hadn’t yet dared to name.

 

At last, after a stretch of silence, Sirius seemed to pull himself back together. He stood, reaching a hand out to her. When Lily took it, his grip—warm, rough—closed around hers as he drew her to her feet, brushing at the shoulders of her school robes.

 

“All right, Dinalfi,” he said lightly.

“I think it’s time you went—before these older men become more dangerous than you actually enjoy.”

 

Lily startled.

“I—no,” she said hesitantly. “I don’t want to go yet.”

 

Sirius smiled faintly, tilting his head. After a moment, his voice softened with genuine concern.

“I’m serious. You have to go, love. It’s late. If Honeydukes closes, how exactly do you plan on getting back into the castle?”

 

She drew in a slow breath, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to let the moment end.

“Well… I could come back tomorrow,” she said quietly.

 

He shook his head, gentle but firm.

“I don’t doubt you’re brave. But a girl like you shouldn’t spend the night in a place like this.”

Then, wryly:

“Don’t look at me like that—I’ve grown used to this sort of life. You haven’t. You belong in your dormitory, in your bed.”

 

Lily hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

 

Sirius took her arm with one hand, lifting her chin with the other until she had no choice but to meet his eyes.

 

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Look at me. Tonight was… a very good night. Thank you for coming. I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy.”

A pause.

“But you have to promise me something. Never—never—sneak out of school to see me again. All right? Promise.”

 

Feeling the rough warmth of his fingers beneath her chin, Lily leaned into his hand just slightly.

“All right,” she whispered.

“I promise.”

 

He smiled and let her go.

“I’m not worth that kind of risk. If something happened to you, it’d be one more worry on top of too many already.”

Then, lighter:

“But in two weeks, during the Hogsmeade visit, we’ll see each other again. I’ll transform and walk you back to the village. Might even have to bark a bit outside Honeydukes to distract people from the cellar door.”

He nodded at her wand.

“Light it. It’s very dark outside.”

 

She nodded and murmured, “Lumos.”

 

The tip of her wand glowed.

 

Sirius glanced at Buckbeak, who was awake again now, eyeing him with clear disapproval. He laughed.

“He still hasn’t forgiven me for the transformations. Absolutely hates it when I spin around and turn into something else. Every time I’m about to do it, he knows—and gives me that look.”

 

Lily turned to the hippogriff and waved.

“Goodbye, Buckbeak. I’ll see you soon. If I can, I’ll bring you a ferret. Deal?”

 

Buckbeak turned away with regal disdain.

 

Sirius stepped back, turned once—and moments later, a massive black dog stood where he had been.

 

Lily met the dog’s pale grey eyes and nodded.

“All right… let’s go. You lead.”

 

The great dog wagged his tail, tongue lolling briefly, then turned and squeezed carefully through the narrow crack in the rock and out into the dusk.

 

Lily followed, wand held forward, and after one last lingering moment of warmth and firelight, stepped back into the cold, dark world beyond the cave.

Notes:

Thank you for reading this chapter of Beyond the Prophecy. Beyond the Prophecy is for fans who love the canon story of Harry Potter —
but crave a new perspective.

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Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Beyond the Prophecy