Written in the Stars - A Look Towards the Moon

A Look Towards the Moon

January 1994

It was a breathless Harry that pushed himself to his feet, wincing as the aches and pains he’d accumulated since returning home for the Christmas holidays made themselves known.

Cassie too was breathless, and she nodded approvingly at his efforts.

Nonetheless, she had beaten Harry soundly during every one of their dozens of bouts over the festive period. Her skill with her wand not having waned over the many decades she had lived.

“You’re getting better,” she praised. “You are far beyond your years in terms of skill and ability. You should be very proud.”

“I still can’t beat you,” Harry pointed out.

“The day you do, you will no longer need me to protect you, Harry,” Cassie replied sadly.

The thought of such a thing was a maudlin one.

Harry, no matter how skilled he became would always have need of the woman in his life.

It had always been just them against the world, and there was nothing that would change how much he relied on her.

“Well, that day isn’t today,” he chuckled, “and I don’t think it will come soon.”

Cassie offered him a smile as she cupped his cheek.

“It will come sooner than you believe,” she replied. “Now, do you have everything ready for the trip back tomorrow?”

Harry nodded.

He had packed earlier in the day so that he wouldn’t have to lose out on any time with Cassie in the evening.

“Good,” the woman declared. “Let’s have dinner.”

Harry joined her at the table where Elgar served them a hearty beef stew and freshly baked bread.

Neither hesitated to tuck into the meal, and whilst they did so, Harry pondered what the rest of the school year would entail.

The lead up towards the winter break had been spent studying deeper into his chosen subjects, something he was enjoying immensely despite the increase in homework.

When he was not in class or pursuing his own ventures around the many hidden rooms throughout the school, he often found himself in the duelling hall, watching, and inevitably being challenged by the other students.

Already, he had carved himself quite the reputation, and even Headmaster Karkaroff had come to see him duel.

The man had been impressed having witnessed Harry defeating older students, some he had combatted several times now, and new faces who wished to test themselves against him.

Zabini never failed to challenge him, and though she had yet to beat Harry, she fared much better against him the more they duelled, something else Harry was looking forward to resuming.

Although he won, he still learned much from the older girl, and the older students who were surprised at how adept in the art he was proving to be.

Other than Cassie, however, it was Viktor that proved to be his toughest challenge.

Many believed him to be only talented in Quidditch, but he had shown otherwise that he was no slouch with his wand.

The duels between him and Harry never failed to elicit a wave of anticipation amongst the others, and though Harry had emerged victorious during their three bouts thus far, all of them had been closely contested.

Regardless of his success, Harry still found it strange just how he had become as good as he was almost immediately.

Of course, he had improved over the months he had actively been taking part in duels, but he was still convinced there was more to it.

It was as though the entire art was familiar to him, that he had an ingrained, instinctual grasp on it that he simply could not explain.

Perhaps he was merely a gifted fighter, or he had indeed somehow inherited some of Voldemort’s own ability the night the man had attempted to murder him.

There was no doubt that he had obtained his ability with parseltongue, so was it truly beyond the realm of belief that other things could have found their way to him?

It was something that Harry knew he couldn’t answer for himself, and he had his doubts that any other could come further than establishing a theory.

What had happened to him was an unprecedented occurrence, so the fallout of it could not possibly be known with complete certainty.

To avoid inducing a headache from pondering the matter, he instead released a deep breath.

“Did you write to Pansy?” Cassiopeia asked, offering Harry a much-needed reprieve from his own thoughts.

“I did,” he confirmed. “She enjoyed her time with her grandmother, but Lord Parkinson doesn’t believe she has much time left. If she is still around for the summer, they will be visiting again.”

Cassie offered Harry a sympathetic smile.

“You miss her.”

Harry shrugged.

“I do, but we will have time to catch up eventually,” he replied. “Things happen, and they get in the way of other things. We still write regularly, so that’s all that matters for now.”

Cassie nodded as she pushed her empty bowl away.

“Have you been keeping up to date with the news?”

Harry’s expression darkened, knowing immediately whom the woman was referring to.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t been captured yet,” he muttered irritably.

“As am I,” Cassie agreed. “I have all the houses being watched, so if he does turn up, I will know about it.”

Harry nodded.

“Is it bad that there’s a part of me that don’t want him to be captured?” he asked. “Is it wrong that I want to be the one to find him.”

“No, it isn’t,” Cassie assured him. “It’s understandable that you would with what he did, but I expect I will find him long before you are in a position to begin your own search. I will ensure he pays for what he has done.”

Harry nodded gratefully.

As much as he did wish to be the one to find Sirius, killing him would be a very poor way for his reputation to be cemented as the future head of house Black.

There would likely be the Lords and Ladies that understood, but it would still be a permanent stain on his character that could create problems in the future.

“Why don’t you go for a fly to clear your head,” Cassie suggested. “It won’t do you any good dwelling on things you have no control over.”

“I think I will” Harry decided as he stood, wrapping his arms briefly around the woman before placing a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks, Cassie, for everything.”

The woman smiled once more, and as Harry took his leave of the room to fetch the Firebolt she had bought him for Christmas, he let go of the darker feelings he was harbouring, something that only the prospect of a good flight could truly manage.

(Break)

Despite the lingering exhaustion from his latest transformation, Remus had insisted that he returned to teaching when the school year resumed, and as such, he found himself stood before his fifth-year class consisting of Gryffindor and Slytherin students.

Having set them to task, he took a moment to lean against his desk so that he could catch his breath.

The days leading up to the full moon had always left him feeling rather unwell, and the few that followed were perhaps worse than those, but recently they had only become more so.

He suspected that his emotional state was the catalyst for the unwelcome changes he was experiencing, but he was doing his best to take them in his stride.

For twelve years, he had done all he could to ignore the sting of betrayal he had felt, ignore that the man he had considered to be one of his few and closest friends had done what he had.

Remus had often questioned just why Sirius had turned on them, on James, Lily, and Harry, but nothing he could begin to comprehend made any sense to the werewolf.

Sirius had been the most vocal against Voldemort, had been the most eager to fight against the man and those that had chosen to follow him, so what had changed?

Remus had no answer.

In the year leading up to Voldemort’s downfall, he had not seen James and Lily who had gone into hiding, nor had he spent much time with Sirius.

Anything could have happened in those intervening months, and something evidently had.

With a gentle sigh, he shook his head of the thoughts that had plagued him for so long and shifted his attention back to his students, frowning suspiciously as he watched the Weasley twins who had their heads together, looking down on something they were concealing below their desk.

Although Fred and George had not often caused mischief in his class, he had been warned about them by every member of staff in the castle, and Remus had learned that when they were quiet, as they were now, they were likely up to no good.

So not to draw attention to himself, he casually made his rounds of the classroom, offering advice to the other students who were completing their work.

When the redheads noticed him drawing closer, they hurriedly finished what they were doing and looked up, offering Remus a pair of equally unconvincing, but seemingly innocent smiles.

The werewolf raised an eyebrow at the duo as he caught one of them attempting to conceal something within his robes.

“Hand it over,” he sighed.

For the briefest of moments, he thought the boy would refuse, but with an unconcerned shrug, he relented, placing an old piece of parchment in Remus’s hand.

It took every last part of his self-control to not react when he realised what it was he held.

“What is this?” he asked the twins.

“Just an old piece of parchment, Professor,” one of the boys answered.

“Is that so?” the werewolf asked amusedly. “Well, as it seems to be such a distraction for you both, I think I will hold onto it for the time being.”

“Suit yourself, Professor,” the other responded, and without another word on the matter, they finally settled down to work.

Remus shot them a final questioning look before returning to his desk and pocketing the piece of confiscated parchment.

The twins knew exactly what it was they had, and though they had appeared to be casually dismissive of Remus taking it from them, he had not missed the hint of panic both displayed.

How they had come into possession of the map, Remus knew not, but what was more concerning was just how they had managed to figure out how it worked?

The Marauder’s Map had taken the best part of three years to complete and perfect and was nothing short of a magical marvel.

Although Remus had been heavily involved in its creation, he still did not understand how they had managed to make it work as well as it did.

It was a mixture of purposeful charms, and many unintentional outcomes from the combined effort of him, James, and Sirius.

Until it had been confiscated during their sixth year by Mr Filch.

It was one of the few times that they had been truly furious with Wormtail for being so careless, and neither of the group had seen the map again since.

They had assumed that it had been destroyed, but Remus now held the proof that it somehow still existed.

The thought brought a melancholic smile to his lips.

“Professor, I think that the lesson is over,” Angelina Johnson called.

Remus’s gaze shifted towards the clock and he nodded.

“Of course, be on your way,” he allowed.

The students packed their things and took their leave of the room leaving only two of their peers behind.

“Professor, our parchment,” one of the twins reminded.

Remus removed the map from his pocket and stared at it for a moment before shifting his attention to the waiting boys, narrowing his eyes at them.

“I think I will hold onto it,” he declared. “We can’t have you distracted by such a frivolous thing, can we?”

The twins shared a worried look with one another, but quickly realised the situation was out of their hands.

“Of course, Professor,” one of them eventually responded, “but we would like it back. It has sentimental value to us.”

“It was the first piece of parchment we brought before coming to Hogwarts,” the other explained. “It may seem stupid, but things like this mean something to us.”

“Then I will be sure to take care of it,” Remus assured them. “Now, off you go.”

Reluctantly, they did so, evidently safe in their assumption that Remus did not know just what it was he held, and with a free period from teaching, the werewolf locked the door to his classroom.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he murmured, tapping the seemingly inane piece of parchment with his wand.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, a genuine smile graced his lips as the ink welcoming him to the wonder that was The Marauder’s Map danced across the surface, and Remus ran the tips of his fingers across it reverently.

Despite the bittersweet feeling of having it returned to him, he chuckled as he watched the many dots of all within the castle going about their day, though he frowned as he caught the briefest glance of one that should not be there.

“Wormtail?” he whispered, as the one labelled Peter Pettigrew vanished beyond the boundary of the school grounds.

Remus continued to stare at the spot in disbelief for several moments before shaking his head.

No, Peter was dead.

Sirius had seen to that more than a decade ago.

Perhaps the magic of the map was fading, or it simply was not as perfect as the Marauders had believed?

Still, why that very name and not one of the hundreds of others that had passed through the castle since it had been created?

Remus felt a weight of dread settle into his stomach, and although he hoped the map was merely malfunctioning, he could not shake the feeling that something was horribly amiss.

(Break)

The hot spring that Viktor had introduced him to had quickly become Harry’s favourite place at Durmstrang. No matter what Olaffson put them through during their rigorous training sessions, the water always washed away any signs of soreness from his aching muscles and bones.

“Do you think there is magic here?” Harry asked the Bulgarian curiously.

Viktor merely shrugged in response and Harry frowned.

“What’s up with you?” he pressed. “You’ve not been yourself since we came back.”

Viktor deflated.

“How do you cope with it?” he asked. “The fame.”

“I don’t,” Harry snorted. “Outside of Britain, no one would be able to pick my face out of crowd. At home, it will be different because I look just like my Dad. I’ll have to deal with it one day.”

Viktor nodded his understanding.

“I tried to go Christmas shopping for my family and didn’t have a moment of peace,” he explained. “There were journalists everywhere, watching everything I did.”

“That’s the price for being the best Seeker in the world,” Harry pointed out. “You might not like it, you miserable git, but there’s not a person in the world that doesn’t know who you are. Your mug has been plastered across the world media for months now.”

“Not the best in the world,” Viktor denied, a slight grin of amusement tugging at his lips. “One day I will be.”

Harry shook his head.

“There is not a single Seeker I have seen that would stand a chance against you,” he said honestly. “If Bulgaria doesn’t win the World Cup, it won’t be because of you.”

His words seemed to touch the other boy who nodded appreciatively.

“Thanks, Harry,” he replied, patting him on the shoulder.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me,” Harry grumbled, “and don’t even think about letting your head swell. You’re the best because you worked hard for it. You’d better not get any ideas about slacking. I’ll slap you silly if you miss even a day out here.”

Viktor chuckled as he held up a hand.

“I wouldn’t leave you alone with him,” he promised, jerking a thumb in the direction that Olafsson had left in only moments prior.

“Good, because I’m not beyond making your life a misery if you give me a reason to,” Harry warned. “Quidditch superstar or not, you’re still the same prat who roped me into helping him with his training.”

Viktor grinned triumphantly as he ruffled Harry’s hair.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Harry hummed as he pushed Viktor’s hand away.

“Piss off,” he muttered.

Viktor laughed heartily.

“If only the world could see us now,” he sighed. “Harry Potter and Viktor Krum sharing a hot bath together. Could you imagine the scandal?”

Harry snorted amusedly.

“Don’t talk it up, there could be one of your journalist friends watching us.”

Viktor scowled at the thought.

“They are not my friends,” he denied. “I don’t have many of those left.”

“You’re the most popular student here,” Harry pointed out incredulously.

“Yes, but most of them only wanted to spend time with me when they saw how good at Quidditch I was,” Viktor explained. “My family is pureblood, but not rich. That means everything here unless you have something else to offer. I have Quidditch, and they came flocking to me. I would be at the bottom of the pile if it wasn’t for that.”

“Well, that’s for you to figure out,” Harry replied. “For what it’s worth, I still think you’re a prat and still would without Quidditch.”

“Thanks,” Viktor returned dryly, but once more, Harry could see the words meant something to him. “Come on, if we don’t get back, they’ll send a search party for us, and then the media will find out about this.”

Viktor grimaced at the thought as he pushed himself out of the pool before drying himself off with a wave of his wand.

Harry followed suit, and the two of them made their way back into the school, parting ways in the entrance hall to prepare for the day ahead.

It was still early yet but Lucinda was already in the common room when he entered, her hair still wet from the shower she had evidently taken.

“Do vampires need to wash?” Harry asked curiously.

The girl raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“What a stupid question,” she mumbled to herself. “I could forego showering if you like. I’m sure my natural scent will be most appealing.”

“Well, I don’t expect you would smell like garlic at least,” Harry quipped.

Lucinda’s nostrils flared.

“So, it’s going to be one of those days, is it?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Harry replied innocently as he took a seat next to her.

Lucinda simply glared at him and Harry busied himself by retrieving the books he would need from his trunk, doing his best not to wilt under her gaze.

The girl was rather intimidating when she wanted to be, though she was distracted by Cain as he entered the common room, the werewolf too offering Harry a look of displeasure.

“It’s still there!” he growled, pointing to the ginger fuzz resting above his top lip.

“I can see that,” Harry replied. “I could always have another go at removing it.”

“No!” Cain snapped. “You and your wand can stay away from me, Harry.”

“Fair enough,” Harry chuckled.

“It’s not funny!” Cain huffed. “What if it never goes?”

“It’s not permanent,” Harry insisted. “It will go soon, I think.”

Cain cursed under his breath and folded his arms petulantly.

The moustache he was sporting was an experiment of Harry’s that had gone awry.

He had been working on some rather complex transfigurations that would change someone’s appearance.

Unwilling to try it on himself, a sleeping Cain had become his unwitting volunteer, and the red facial hair had been the result.

It had been a week now, and it remained as prominent as ever.

Even the healer in the medical bay was reluctant to try reversing the magic when her first efforts had only resulted in the colour becoming brighter.

Her advice had been to wait for it to fade by itself.

Harry suspected that he could remove the hair if given the chance, but Cain was reluctant to allow him to do so.

As a result, he was left to play the waiting game, and was growing more irritable with the addition the more days that passed.

“Breakfast time!” Eleanor declared brightly as she entered the room with the rest of the group in tow.

She was always in an overly enthusiastic mood, something that Harry found he appreciated with the constant presence of temperamental creatures around them.

Even Ana who was quite happy for the most part had her off days and could be quite short with them, especially when she was completing homework or studying for exams.

It was understandable.

Harry too had not been the best company recently. But regardless of their shifting moods, they all understood one another.

Still, despite often having to navigate his friends base tendencies, it didn’t stop Harry from having fun with them.

“Blood-Pop,” he offered to Lucinda as they made their way towards the main hall.

“Since when do you eat them?” she asked suspiciously.

“I don’t,” Harry replied. “I got them for you. I thought they might help if I find myself on your bad side.”

The vampire frowned at him but accepted the treat nonetheless and placed it in her mouth, her pupils dilating joyfully as she did so.

“Ah, so it will work,” Harry murmured.

“Don’t push your luck, Potter,” Lucinda warned.

“Would I do that?”

Lucinda removed the confection from her mouth and allowed some red liquid to trickle over her lips.

“You wouldn’t if you knew what was good for you.”

“Duly noted,” Harry acknowledged.

“Are you still working on the Patronus Charm?” Lucinda asked.

Harry nodded but didn’t comment further.

With Sirius having broken free from Azkaban and the news that the Dementors were stationed around Hogwarts looking for him, Harry had remembered that the creatures had once allied themselves with Voldemort and may well do again in the future.

Through all of his research and enquiring about them with Professor Sidorova, the charm seemed to be the best defence against them, though it was a notoriously difficult spell to master.

Nonetheless, Harry had time to do so, and it was something he had included in his daily practices.

Thus far, he hadn’t managed to produce anything other than a weak shield that would likely have no effect on a Dementor that was baring down on him, but it was a start, and something he would continue to build upon.

(Break)

It was with a pounding head that Remus awoke on the hard floor of what had once again become familiar surroundings after a transformation. The shrieking Shack evoked many memories of happier times within the man, but those times had certainly passed.

Still, there was a thread of hope within him that when he turned, he would find his three childhood friends there with him, the trio having spent the night in their Animagus forms to make his monthly horror just that little more bearable.

It wasn’t to be, however.

Instead, he was alone as he had been for over a decade now, weakened by his antics of the previous night, and shaking as he used the remains of a nearby table to help himself to his feet.

There was a time that James and Sirius would do that before all but carrying him into the castle and placing him in his bed where he could rest.

Remus swallowed down the lump that formed whenever he pondered those days.

Sirius, James, and Peter had been the best friends he could have hoped for, and now only one remained, the very same that had shown his true colours.

With his breathing laboured, and though he wished to rest more, Remus could no longer face being in the shack, and stumbled from the room, somehow descending into the tunnel below where he paused at the sight of a piece of parchment containing only one word scrawled across the front.

Moony

There was only one who would address him with the moniker he had been given during his formative years, and Remus felt a weight of dread hit his stomach, and his blood boil with rage.

How dare he?

How dare Sirius write to him after what he had done.

Did he truly expect to be forgiven, or that Remus could ever understand any reason why that he could offer?

With a growl, the werewolf tore the note from the wall, his jaw tightening at the thought of Sirius once more trespassing onto the school grounds.

For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to either shred the letter as it was or hand it Dumbledore.

Something, however, prevented him from doing so.

Perhaps it was the somewhat sentimental mood he had woken in, or the deep-seated longing he felt for just a moment of what had been his best years.

Remus couldn’t be certain, but with a shaking hand, he opened the letter.

Moony,

I expect that you believe that it was me who betrayed James and Lily to Voldemort, and you would be right, but not in the way you think.

However, I did not give him their location!

My part in their betrayal was by showing trust in the wrong man, and convincing James to show that same trust.

Contrary to what you may know, James and Lily were living under the Fidelius Charm, and it was Peter who was their secret keeper, not me as you would expect.

It was my idea to use Peter.

Voldemort and his followers knew that I was close to them, so I played the part of the decoy and went into hiding myself, as did Peter, or so I believed.

He sold them out, Moony. You have to believe me.

I would have given my life to keep them all safe, and when I learned what Peter had done, I went to look for him.

He’s not dead, Remus.

I cornered the snivelling coward, and he declared that I had sold James and Lily out before he blew up that street.

Before I knew it, the Aurors had arrested me and I was in Azkaban.

It wasn’t until shortly before I escaped that I learned that Peter was still alive, check the photo I have included and you will see it is him.

I’m begging you, Moony, to believe what I am saying.

Look at the photo and get the rat and you will know the truth.

Padfoot

Remus read the letter several times to take in what had been said, not wanting to believe that what he had thought happened all those years ago had been a lie.

However, when he looked at the photo that had been taken from The Daily Prophet back at the beginning of July, there was no denying that the rat sitting atop Ron Weasley’s shoulder was indeed Peter.

Remus had seen the boy turn into the creature dozens if not hundreds of times.

Could Sirius be telling the truth?

Swallowing deeply, Remus shook his head.

No, he didn’t want to believe it.

It had been Sirius who had betrayed James and Lily, Sirius who had left little Harry an orphan.

Remus’s breath hitched in his throat as he remembered what he had seen on the map only a few weeks prior, the name of the very man that Sirius had allegedly murdered in cold blood.

It had to be a mistake, surely a coincidence.

“The map doesn’t lie,” he whispered to himself.

Ever since it had come back into his possession, he had looked at it in his free time, just watching the dots as they moved about the school.

Not once had anything else been amiss, but he hadn’t spotted the dot belonging to Peter again either.

Pocketing the letter, he made his way back towards the castle, and though he was feeling fatigued from his transformation, he was determined to get to the bottom of what had happened.

As much as he did not wish to believe what Sirius had written, he could not dismiss it out of hand whilst the evidence was beginning to stack in favour of what his former friend had said.

One way or the other, he would learn the truth of what had happened, and if by some miracle Sirius had been framed, then wizarding Britain owed him an apology, none more so than Remus who had readily accepted what the media had assured the public had transpired.

(Break)

June 1994

The remainder of the school year had passed Harry by in a blur. With the increased intensity of their lessons, his own pursuits, and continuing to assist Viktor, he had little time to himself, but he preferred to remain busy.

It was the latter of the things he had committed to that was occupying his morning, and as had become a common sight, he and Viktor were flying around the Quidditch pitch, both seated atop a matching Firebolt, not that the equally good brooms equated to a fair contest.

Although Harry was vastly improving, Viktor’s ability seemed to be limitless.

Still, Harry was never one to shy away from a challenge, and he enjoyed being pushed to his physical limits by the other boy.

For the most part, it was only the two of them that trained daily.

They were sometimes joined by the other older students a few times a week, but as Viktor had predicted, Harry had quickly caught them up before surpassing them completely.

It had taken the best part of two years of hard work, but he had made it, and more often than not, he would find himself facing off against the Bulgarian as the only one that presented something of a challenge to him.

Despite the weather having become significantly milder having entered the early summer months. It never truly became warm in this part of the world, but both Harry and Viktor were sweating profusely from their efforts, nonetheless.

They had been at it for close to an hour now, and already, Harry had needed to prevent the older boy from catching the Snitch four time.

Regardless of his successes, it was only a matter of time before it would happen.

“Ready to give up, Harry?” Viktor called as they passed one another.

“Up yours, Krum,” Harry replied.

The Bulgarian laughed heartily, and Harry stiffened as he spotted a glimmer of gold shoot by behind him.

Without thought, he urged his broom forward, flattening himself against the shaft to build as much speed as he could.

Viktor was on him only a moment later, but Harry’s eyes never left the Snitch as the two gave chase, the Bulgarian drawing level as the elusive ball shot vertically into the sky.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Viktor’s voice sounded over the howling wind.

Harry merely gritted his teeth in response as the Snitch plunged back towards the ground.

It was then that Harry realised just how high they had climbed in pursuit of it, but with the speed of the broom, the ground returned to them quickly as they remained side by side in a potentially deadly test of wills.

Neither would relent, and as they both reached for the Snitch, their brooms became entangled and Harry and Viktor crashed to the ground, sliding through the slush and grime before coming to a stop.

“Well, bollocks,” Harry groaned, as he felt a sharp throbbing in his left arm.

Even breathing was painful, and he coughed as he heard the sound of rushing footsteps.

“Viktor?” he called.

He received a groan in response.

“Are you dead?”

It was a pained laugh that answered him, and Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him knowing that his friend was okay, or as well as could be in the circumstances.

“That was bloody stupid, wasn’t it?” Harry snorted.

“That’s Quidditch,” Viktor wheezed from somewhere to his left.

Harry chuckled, wincing as another stab of pain lanced through his ribs.

“Is it wrong that I found it fun?”

“That just means you’re as mad as me.”

Harry nodded as he attempted to sit up, managing it on his third attempt, though his head was spinning and he felt nauseous.

“Get up you lazy bastard,” he huffed, spotting Viktor laying half a dozen feet away.

The Bulgarian managed it as a rather irate Olaffson reached them.

“Stupid boys,” he declared, his nostrils flared. “Are you hurt?”

“A few broken bones maybe,” Harry answered, grimacing from the pain in his arm.

Viktor nodded as he pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling, and blood flowing from a wound above his eyebrow.

Nonetheless, he laughed as he helped Harry to his feet.

“Ow, watch my arm,” Harry groaned.

Viktor said nothing else, wide smile cresting his lips as he nodded towards Harry’s uninjured right arm.

Within his closed fist, two golden wings were beating against his hand.

“I caught it,” he whispered.

Looking up at Viktor, he thought the boy would be angry with him, but the smile remained, and he wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulder.

“You finally got one,” he said proudly.

Harry shook his head.

“I don’t remember catching it.”

“We both tried,” Viktor reminded him, “and you got there first. Well done.”

“Does that mean we have to do it again?”

Viktor nodded as he wiped the blood out of his eye.

“Every day.”

“Bloody hell, I don’t think I can go through this every day.”

Viktor laughed, and Olaffson shook his head, eying Harry with something akin to respect.

“Come on, off to the medical bay with you both,” he instructed, ushering them back towards the school.

“At least we will get a day off,” Viktor said thoughtfully.

“I doubt it,” Harry countered. “They’ll just bring our work to us.”

“They will,” Viktor agreed with a sigh. “Still, it was worth it, wasn’t it? You can tell the world you got the better of me.”

Harry frowned as he shook his head.

“Why would I do that?” he asked. “It doesn’t change anything. We’ve trained together for two years now. It was bound to happen at some point. The other Seekers you play against don’t have that benefit.”

“True,” Viktor conceded.

“Besides, who would believe it? The only witness was Olaffson, and he doesn’t strike me as the type to speak to the media.”

Viktor laughed at the thought.

The Icelander barely spoke to the other members of staff.

“So, it will only be us, and that monster who will know?”

Harry nodded.

“I don’t see why anyone else needs to.”

Viktor said nothing else but offered Harry an appreciative nod as they finally reached the school, both eager to have their wounds seen to by the healer.

(Break)

It was an irritable Cornelius Fudge who had arrived with Walden Macnair at Hogwarts to oversee the execution of the beast that had injured Lucius’s boy, who, by all accounts other than Draco’s own and his friends had deserved exactly what he had gotten.

Nonetheless, Cornelius was not going to risk falling out with Lucius for the sake of a single Hippogriff, and it wasn’t as though the entire affair would not be forgotten about quickly.

“That’s it, is it?” he asked the executioner, nodding towards the large creature tied up in the pumpkin patch behind the hut belonging to the gamekeeper.

Walden nodded, his thumb rubbing against the shaft of his axe in anticipation.

“Then let us get this over with,” Cornelius sighed, knocking smartly on the door.

The man that answered it was enormous, and the Minister swallowed nervously.

If he chose to make this difficult, Cornelius doubted that even the combined efforts of himself and Walden would do little good.

Perhaps he should have brought a few Aurors along?

Clearing his throat, Cornelius stood as his full height before addressing the crying man.

“Mr Hagrid,” he greeted him. “You know why we are here.”

Hagrid nodded.

“He’s in the back,” he croaked. “I can’t watch it.”

Cornelius breathed a sigh of relief.

Intimidatingly large he may be, but the man was a coward.

“There is the formality of the paperwork,” the Minister informed him. “You must sign the declaration.”

Cornelius removed the roll of parchment from within his robes, and the man stepped aside to allow them entry into what he considered to be his home.

“Good gracious!” Cornelius gasped as a large dog made their way towards them. “What is that?”

“Fang, get back!” Hagrid commanded, pulling the drooling creature away. “It’s just Fang, my dog.”

Cornelius nodded as he placed the parchment on the table, though his breathing had become more laboured.

“I just need you to sign here confirming that we arrived at dusk, and that the execution was carried out to the Ministry standard,” he explained.

With a trembling hand, Hagrid did so, followed by Cornelius, and then Walden who was quickly becoming impatient with the affair.

Tapping the parchment with his wand, the decree was sealed with the Minister’s own stamp, and Cornelius placed it back within his robes, scowling as a frantic knock sounded at the door.

Before Hagrid could answer it, a shabbily dressed man barged in having evidently ran from the castle.

“Lupin, what’re you doing here?” Hagrid demanded.

“Sorry,” the new arrival wheezed, “but there is something you have to see.”

Cornelius looked on in confusion as the man began rifling through one of the cupboards in the kitchen area before unleashing an exclamation of joy only to yelp as something squealed loudly.

“No you don’t!” Lupin growled, aiming a spell at a fleeing rat.

The man was deranged, had undoubtedly taken leave of his senses, but as the spell collided with the scurrying creature, Cornelius looked on in shock as it began to shift and transformed into a man with a somewhat familiar face.

“Pettigrew?” the Minister whispered.

Before the rodent-like man could respond, Lupin had stunned him.

“What are you doing?” Cornelius demanded to know.

“It was him, Minister,” Lupin hurriedly explained. “He was the one that sold the Potters out to Voldemort, and when Sirius Black went looking for him, he faked his death by blowing up the street and killing the muggles.”

The man truly had lost all sense of logic, and Cornelius shook his head.

He did not know how Pettigrew was alive or why he had hidden for so long, but there had to be another explanation.

“No,” he denied, his gaze shifting towards Macnair.

The man seemed to be positively alarmed by Pettigrew’s appearance.

“Minister, it is the truth!” Lupin insisted. “Look at his hand. The only part of Pettigrew they found…”

“Was a finger,” Cornelius whispered as he eyed the unconscious man.

“He has been hiding from fear that people would discover the truth,” Lupin sighed tiredly. “I didn’t want to believe it either, but Black is innocent. He didn’t kill Pettigrew or the muggles. Pettigrew cast the spell that did it.”

Cornelius didn’t know what to say.

It was not often that something occurred that left him so speechless, yet here he was having to face what was shaping up to be quite the injustice.

Crouch was of course to blame.

He had been the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time of Black’s imprisonment.

Still, this would not look good on the Ministry, and Cornelius would need to find a way to mitigate the fallout.

Already, his mind was working on a way for him to come out of this mess with his reputation intact.

“Wake him up, I want a word with him,” he instructed. “Walden, send for the Aurors.”

“Minister, I do not believe…”

“Do it!” Cornelius snapped irritably.

Without another word, Walden left the shack, and Lupin tied Pettigrew up in thick ropes before Cornelius tapped Pettigrew with his own wand.

“Ennervate,” he murmured.

The man’s eyes fluttered open, and Cornelius glared at him.

“Do you know who I am?” he questioned.

Pettigrew nodded.

“Good,” Cornelius declared. “Are you or are you not, Peter Pettigrew?”

Another nod.

“I have been told a most interesting story,” Cornelius informed him. “It is my understanding that it was you who sold out the Potters. Is that correct?”

Pettigrew began to shake fearfully.

“You don’t understand,” he whimpered. “I didn’t have a choice. He would have killed me.”

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE LET HIM!” Lupin roared furiously.

Cornelius merely glared at the portly man before stunning him once more, taken aback by the sudden return of Walden who had Lucius Malfoy in tow.

“Is it true?” the blonde asked worriedly.

“Where are the Aurors?” Cornelius questioned confusedly.

Lucius did not reply, his wide eyes locked on the stout man bound in ropes on the ground.

“I was in the village when I bumped into Walden,” he explained smoothly. “He said that the Minister needed assistance, so here I am.”

Cornelius nodded gratefully, and even Walden seemed to be more relaxed with Lucius here.

“Indeed, we will need to get him to the Ministry,” Cornelius sighed. “What a mess this will create.”

“Do not worry, Minister, I will be pleased to help you navigate it,” Lucius assured him.

‘At what cost?’ Cornelius asked himself internally.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Let us get on with it.”

“What about the Hippogriff?” Walden questioned.

“I think this is more important than a Hippogriff, Macnair,” Lucius responded.

The executioner did not argue, and between them, they levitated Pettigrew from the hut.

“We will return to carry out the execution,” Cornelius informed, twirling his bowler in his hand nervously. “Your beast has had a lucky escape. It will live to see at least one more day.”

Hagrid merely nodded.

“I’ll be coming too,” Lupin declared, his eyes narrowed towards Lucius and Walden suspiciously.

“That will not be necessary,” Cornelius said dismissively. “We are perfectly capable of..”

“MINISTER!”

The trio that had remained in the shack hurried outside to find Walden and Lucius on the ground with a bundle of ropes between them.

“What happened?” Cornelius demanded.

“He woke up,” Lucius groaned. “He transformed into a rat and fled.”

“Idiots!” Lupin growled, his eyes flashing a dangerous amber colour. “Oh no,” he gasped, his eyes shifting towards the night sky.

With a scream of agony, the man collapsed to the ground and his body began shifting.

Cornelius could only look on in horror as he transformed into a beast he had only heard the most horrific tales about.

“He’s a werewolf,” he whispered in disbelief.

“GET BACK INSIDE!” Hagrid roared, bodily throwing the Minister back into the shack.

Walden and Lucius joined him immediately and slammed the door behind them.

“What’s happening?” Cornelius asked, pushing himself to his feet as he approached the window. “Goodness me!”

He and the two other men could only look on as Hagrid and the werewolf traded blows, yelps of pain and cries of agony renting the air.

“He’ll be killed!” Cornelius whimpered.

“Us too if we go out there,” Walden pointed out.

Cornelius nodded, wincing as the werewolf landed a savage blow on the enormous man who collapsed to the ground, his large overcoat torn across the chest.

Pouncing, Lupin landed on his chest and attempted to maul Hagrid who somehow still had some fight left in him.

With one hand, he seized the werewolf by the throat to keep its teeth away, but Lupin continued to claw at the man, tearing pieces of flesh from his face and body.

Just as he believed the fight would end in the death of the gamekeeper, another screech sounded, and another creature joined the fray, attacking Lupin with its own claws.

The Hippogriff had managed to break free to help its owner.

Despite the viciousness the werewolf possessed, it fled into the nearby forest, unleashing a final howl as it did so.

“Is he dead?” Cornelius asked, nodding towards the still form of Hagrid.

The man had saved their lives, after all.

“No, he’s still moving,” Macnair whispered.

Cornelius nodded in relief.

“And here comes Albus,” he groaned, noticing the man exiting the castle in the distance with what appeared to be the entire Hogwarts staff with him.

“What do we tell him?” Walden asked.

“The truth,” Cornelius replied firmly.

Lucius shook his head and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Minister, do you not think it would be best to forget what happened here tonight?” he questioned. “You can give Hagrid a silent commendation for his actions, and even let him keep his Hippogriff. This could prove to be quite embarrassing for all involved if it were to get out.”

Cornelius nodded his understanding.

“Perhaps you’re right, Lucius,” he conceded.