It's when you feel an arm drape itself over your shoulder, tucking you closer against the warmth of another body, do you realize that at some point during the night you fell asleep.

Not only that, but you've fallen asleep on someone.

You blink groggily as the contact rouses you from your sleep, your eyes adjusting to the room around you. At some point during Sirius' retelling of his antics from when he was younger and the moments he had shared with his group of friends, the very same ones who helped make the Marauders Map, you must've fallen asleep against his shoulder. When you glance up at his face, his eyes are closed and his gaunt features are free of the lines of stress that seem to overshadow them when he's awake, and it hits you that at some point after that, he must've fallen asleep as well. His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, while his body is leaning up against the back of the lounge, his other arm still propped against it with his head resting in his hand from when he first nodded off.

You applaud his kindness to not just shoving you off the lounge as soon as you passed out, but the feeling of your cheeks growing hot at the realization that you just fell asleep draped against a man you barely even know is mortifying, to put it lightly. Carefully, as to not wake him up for the time being since he seems quite comfortable for someone sleeping in such an awkward position with dead weight lying against him for what must've been hours, you gingerly move yourself out from under his arm, placing it back down at his side as you scoot away from him. You'd stand, but you don't trust the floor to not squeak and wake him.

Pulling up your sleeve and checking your watch, you make a face at the time it reads. 4:45 AM. Soon students and teachers alike will get getting up, and the early risers are the ones you need to be careful of if you want to get through the castle without anyone noticing you've been out of your bed all night. You really don't want to wake Sirius; you can only imagine how long it's been since he's had a proper night's rest, but you know he'd at least want to know if you're about to skip out without a goodbye. He's had enough problems with people betraying his trust in the past, and assurance that you didn't leave while he had his guard down to go tell the Headmaster about his whereabouts is the least you can offer him.

You put a hand to his bony shoulder, shaking him lightly and doing your best to be gentle about it so he doesn't get alarmed by the contact. He groans, sitting upright and rubbing his face as he wakes.

"You're awake?" He mumbles, his eyes squinting through the dark as he turns to look at you.

You chuckle awkwardly. "Yeah, uh- sorry about falling asleep on you. I promise I don't drool." Nice one, [Y/N].

He lets out a breathy laugh. "It's alright. It's been a long night for both of us, and considering I fell asleep too, there's no need to dwell on it."

Comforting. But if anything you've already proven your inability to not dwell on things with everything you've done in the past few days.

"I didn't want to wake you up, but we've only got a short window of time if I'm going to get back without Filch spotting me and putting my head on a spike as a form of punishment."

You hold up your wrist to show the numbers on your watch, the digital lights are dim in the darkness of the room, and he leans forward to get a better look.

"Are you a muggleborn?" He asks at the sight of the technology. You forgot that digital watches are no more of a thing within pureblooded wizard society than any other type of electronics that muggles have come up with.

You shake your head. "I'm a half-blood." You don't feel hesitant to say it, knowing that Harry Potter himself is a half-blood, and if Sirius was friends with his parents then he must not have an issue with those who aren't from a pureblooded lineage like himself. "My mum and dad moved here from America way before they had me, since relationships between witches and muggles were forbidden over there at the time. After the law got repealed they just decided to stay since we have family here, but most of them are on my dad's side so I get a lot of interaction with muggles. Still don't have a clue how this works in and around Hogwarts, though. It doesn't even have a battery in it." You grin as you tap the face of the watch, and it's infectious upon Sirius, who smiles fondly in return.

"I'm glad. It's nice to see someone so lighthearted about their blood status. I'm afraid I never got to experience that much when I was your age." His eyes turn downcast, but he catches himself before he can get carried away with the morose feeling. "But yes, you're right. Let's go get you back to the castle." When he stands, he stops you before you can move to the door. "I'm going to have to transform back into Scruffy, if you don't mind. I don't need the dementors catching my trail again, and it's a lot less incriminating to be caught with a dog by your side than it is to be with a public menace."

"I see that name is catching on," You smirk. "And that's fine; obviously I'm only here as an excuse to hang out with a dog."

Down the creaky staircase, into the hole under the rotted wood floors, and back through the tunnel that leads you back out under a now moving again Whomping Willow (whose knot you have to poke before fully exiting the base; don't want to get hit in the face by an unruly branch if you can stop it.) You find yourself walking back to the castle again, this time with Sirius Black at your side, trotting along in his dog form. You hold the Marauders Map in your hand, and glance down at it every now and then to be assured that no one would walk by and see you. Since Sirius can't respond to anything you might say, there isn't any conversation to be had on the way back, but as you reach the same window you snuck out of only hours before, you can't help but start one, even if it's only one-sided.

"I want you to know that I really do believe you," You say quietly, hoping that the reassurance of your word will give him peace of mind after you two part, so that he can trust you won't go back on your word to not tell on him. You wouldn't. Not after everything he's disclosed to you tonight. "I can't imagine how hard it must be for you to endure what you have, only to find yourself having to stay hidden and be denied your chance at the life you've missed out on. It's not much but, I'll do my best to help you get the freedom you deserve, okay?"

You can't stand around trying to gauge his reaction, so you choose to leave it at that, turning to shimmy your way back through the window, pulling yourself up with all your strength and nearly tumble back in the same way you left.

When you poke your head out one last time to show you got in alright giving him a thumbs up, he takes that as his cue to leave, bounding away back towards the Forbidden Forest and the Whomping Willow.

***

A few hours later after having returned to the tower without a hitch and falling asleep as soon as you climbed into bed, you get oh-so-gently woken up by a pillow getting thrown at your face. You nearly fall out of bed at the sensation of being hit, a strangled sound of shock coming out of your mouth as you swat it away from you. You scowl at your roommate who stands at the end of your bed, her arms crossed across her chest.

"Why..." You hiss out.

"Because, you're going to miss breakfast if you don't get up! We were starting to think you were dead." She says.

Another roommate heading past her to go out the door nods in agreement. "I suggested dumping water over your head; be glad it was her."

"Oh, Hell." You mutter as you flip the covers away, quick to get dressed and nearly tripping down the stairs of the dorm; only to find Fred and George are already standing with their arms crossed at the bottom of the staircase, waiting for you to deliver the map back to them. You hold it out in front of you as soon as you reach them at the bottom step. "I fell asleep as soon as I got back. Didn't mean to keep you two waiting."

"Mhm," George sounds unconvinced.

"Long night?" Fred waggles his eyebrows.

You would slap him with the map if you knew it wasn't so valuable. "Just take the damn map, will you?" They oblige happily, Fred plucking it from your hand and tucking it away in his jacket.

"Did it fulfill its purpose?"

"Yes, it did." In more ways than one. You went from trying to prove that Sirius Black is an animagus, to finding out that he's not only innocent, but that the real murderer is somewhere in the castle pretending to be a rat.

Fred and George drag you with them to breakfast despite your protests of wanting to go back to sleep until your first class. They make idle conversation with you as you walk, but your attention isn't all there and you're limited to giving simple replies. Not only are you still tired, but you're not over what happened between you and Sirius. Are you sure that even happen? Maybe you never even left the tower, and instead everything you thought happened last night was actually just a hyper realistic stress-induced dream. But you know better than to lie to yourself; the situation you've somehow found yourself wedged within is way past that point now and you know you're not creative enough to conjure up such things. You couldn't make up the authenticity of Sirius' story even if you tried.

Teachers are already getting settled at their table when the three of you enter, some that go to breakfast before the mass of students start piling in are already leaving, but some are just arriving, Professor Lupin included. He's covered in his signature tattered cloak, and you can see he's using a cane today. Has he always looked like that after the night of the full moon? So worn and weak? There are tiny scratches lining his face, and he looks exhausted, his eyes glassy and bloodshot with deep dark circles underneath them showing a lack of sleep.

Not once during the night did you hear even a single howl come from within the Forbidden Forest, despite Sirius' worries, and you wonder how it's possible that he transformed during the full moon without any telltale signs aside from his now haggard appearance. Sirius did have a point; how did Dumbledore make such an arrangement work?

Before you can realize you're still standing, and blatantly staring at Professor Lupin, Fred and George pull you down to sit on the bench, already having noticed.

"Not falling for our newest professor, are you [Y/N]?"

"What? No!" You almost yell. What is with them trying to nose their way into your nonexistent love life? "I was just taking notice of his use of a cane today. Has he always had that?"

Fred and George look at each other before replying. "Maybe? I think I saw him use it once last month."

They don't take notice of the unusual nature of his using a cane, and you wonder if it's the knowledge of his lycanthropy that Sirius had confirmed last night that makes all the little things stand out so much more. "Huh." You say simply, and let the conversation drift out as you begin to make yourself a plate of food.

As you eat, your eyes drift further down the Gryffindor table, narrowing when they land on Ron Weasley, who's seated among his fellow third years, with Sirius' godson Harry Potter right at his side and the girl who owns the perceptive cat that's in on the same secret as you sitting across from him.

He doesn't have Scabbers- Peter, with him, and as much as you'd like to breathe a sigh of relief, you know you can't. It's too early for you to have to pretend that he's nothing more than a rat, but you still need to plant the seeds of your plan if you want to help Sirius, and that unfortunately requires you to have to interact with the man that's been hidden in plain sight for so long.

Ignorance is bliss, and it's awfully hard to recreate such a feeling when you know what you know.

"[Y/N]," George speaks up, causing you to turn away from looking at the group of third years.

"Is there any reason why you're trying to burn a hole into our dear baby brother's head with your fiery gaze?" Fred asks the question before he can.

"That's weird, yeah? I just have a question about rats... and the care for them. I figured that Ron is the best person to ask since Percy entrusted him with Scabbers."

"Why do you need to know about rats?"

"I was thinking about getting one. My birthday is coming up, and graduation will be here before you know it, so why not award myself for both milestones with the gift of companionship in the form of a pet?"

At the mention of your graduating, George pretends to wipe away tears from under his eyes, and Fred solemnly pats him on the back. "I had always assumed you were more of a dog person. It's like we don't even know you anymore, [Y/N]. Adulthood is changing you." He says through his fake sobs.

"I think dogs are a lot more trouble than I originally believed." A slow smile spreads across your face at your own inside joke. "So, do you think you can put a good word in with Ron for me? Maybe he can let me borrow Scabbers so I can get some experience in before I go out and buy a rat for myself."

"I don't think Ron is the best person to seek rat ownership advice from. It's a wonder that grubby looking thing has lasted this long." Fred says.

"And how long has it been, again?"

He hums in thought. "I don't know, I can't remember when Percy found him, but it's been well over a decade, I'd say."

"He's been in our family for twelve years, more or less." George chimes in to clarify.

"That's an awfully long time..." You say slowly, trying to detect any sort of sign that they thought of it as odd.

They both shrug. "I dunno'," Fred says. "Percy probably did something to him to make him stay alive this long, either that or all the terrible care he's had to suffer through after getting passed down to Ron has given him a resilience that other rats can only dream of."

You hoped that at least the twins would find his lengthy life span to be odd, but they look completely unfazed. Though, if they hadn't noticed the name Peter Pettigrew loitering around by their brother's side on the Marauders Map beforehand, it's not that much of a leap to assume they wouldn't think twice about the unnatural lifespan of one of the family's pets. You grimace at the thought of them living in the same house as such a man for almost their entire lives without even knowing it. And to think you thought Sirius pretending to be a dog around you was bad at first.

"I suppose you really want a rat that badly, I don't see why we can't ask Ron about it." Fred says.

"Have I mentioned how much I tolerate the two of you?"

"Don't lie, [Y/N], we know how smitten you are with the two of us. One day we'll get you to admit it!"

"Keep it up and you won't live to hear it in the first place!"

***

Lupin's class is significantly less dreary today when you walk in; with all the shutters open once more and the projector tucked somewhere out of sight. He's shuffling through papers at his desk when students begin to walk in, and he looks up to greet each one with a smile. "Hello, class. It's good to see you all again. I apologize for my absence yesterday, but I trust you were left in good hands with Snape as my substitute."

The same girl who had told you how Snape was teaching the same material to every class is the first to complain about your Potions Professor, visibly upset by the lack of material learned the day before. "He taught us and every year below us about werewolves. We didn't get to try the Patronus Charm like you promised."

Lupin's eyes widen briefly, and you can see a flicker of fear flash across his face before he masks it with a tight-lipped smile when he looks back at her. "That is very curious, indeed. I shall have a word with him later on the matter. For now, let's pick up where we left off last week- with the Patronus Charm, just like you said." She's pleased with his answer, and so is the rest of the class. The mention of the charm gets everyone excited and successfully diverts any focus that still remains on Lupin's absence back onto the prospect of finally learning such an important line of defense.

At the start of the term when Professor Lupin found out this his N.E.W.T. level students never had the opportunity to learn how to produce a Patronus due to last year's replacement, Gilderoy Lockhart and his abysmal teaching skills, he swore that by the end of the school year almost all of you will be capable of producing a Patronus of your very own. In the previous weeks it's been nothing but learning the foundation of what the charm consists of, and everyone is eager to get to finally try it firsthand.

With a wave of his wand, the desks that are still out are slid away into the corners of the rooms, and everyone takes out their wands, standing in two rows facing each other on opposite sides of the class.

"First, I want us to start out simple. If someone ends up conjuring a corporeal Patronus today, don't be discouraged if you yourself still cannot. Producing such a powerful Patronus can vary depending on the person, but it typically doesn't come on the first try, some of you might never be able to, due to the complexity of the spell; but I'm not grading you solely on your ability to conjure one. There are full blown Aurors who still struggle with it." There's a chorus of relieved murmurs at that. "I want you all to begin first with thinking of a happy memory; the happiest you can think of. Don't be afraid to close your eyes and take a moment to picture what that may consist of for you. When you have one in your mind, say the incantation, "Expecto Patronum" and draw out a circle with your wand to cast it. Continue this action until you can sense it working, if you have to try a different thought because you believe yours isn't powerful enough, try that. Now, let's begin." Everyone looks to have been thinking of a strong enough happy thought while he was explaining, and as soon as he finishes there's a portion of students already attempting to perform the spell.

Faded wisps of silver appear out the tip of some of your classmate's wands, small, barely even noticeable at first, until soon there's a portion of your class already close enough to producing a real Patronus, the smoky magic escaping with their exclaiming of the spell and brightening the room with its blinding light. No one has yet to produce a corporeal one, but there's a few Ravenclaws that are coming close.

You try not to be frustrated, but as class goes on and more of the students around you are producing partially formed Patronus' of their own and you can't get anything to happen, it's not hard to be discouraged. Lupin promised it would take a while, but you didn't expect to be one of the people who take the longest to accomplish such a feat. When your hand drops to your side and you sigh in frustration, Lupin comes to your side, placing a supportive hand on your shoulder. "[Y/N], just because you're a N.E.W.T. level student, does not mean you're expected to conjure such a spell on the first try, it may be hard to see others begin to master it before you, but this is very complex magic; something that takes time to practice and perfect. You'll get there eventually. Have you tried thinking of a different happy memory?"

"I've gone through so many so far that I might be running out. I'm going to have to resort to making up ones if one doesn't work soon." You grumble.

"That's not a terrible idea, actually." He chuckles. "I'm grading this on effort and willingness to learn, not on the ability to produce it. In some cases, it's possible to not yet have a happy enough memory. It's not to say you have no happy memories, but this has to be a strong, significant one to maintain the spell's strength. I have no doubt that it will come to you eventually."

As kind and genuine as the words sound, it doesn't help you to not feel discouraged. So you may be capable of producing it already, but you might not have a happy memory strong enough to produce it? What a scam. How was having a relatively cheerful disposition going to help you if you can't even use it towards performing one of the most powerful defensive charms? You certainly don't want to have to wait what could be years until you've experienced something happy enough to get it to work.

By the end of the lesson, you want to crawl back to your room in shame. No one could care less about your lack of performance on the spell, and it's not as if you aren't the only one who can't do it. A few Slytherins proved to be unsuccessful also, and it did cheer you up a bit to see Percy struggle up until the very last second, but not being the odd one out doesn't come as a comfort for you, since you're too caught up in the fact that it wasn't your performance that was keeping you from perfecting the spell, you just don't have a happy enough thought, apparently.

You went through so many happy memories, all of them leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling in your heart as you thought back to them fondly. Birthdays shared with friends and family, vacations, even small interactions between you and your friends that you'll always think back to with a smile. So why did nothing come from any of them? How could these memories, all very happy to you, not be strong enough in the first place? And how happy of an experience is it going to take for you to be able to produce a Patronus?

***

After your disappointing Defense Against the Dark Arts Lesson, and despite the steadily dropping temperature, you go back to the dorms to put on the thickest jacket you can find in your trunk to keep yourself warm (though the same can't be said for the rest of you), and after stopping by the Great Hall, you head outside for lunch; needing the time away from school and willing to deal with the cold if you must.

You bag is heavy with food, and you feel kind of weird having packed so much- unsure if Sirius is even going to continue showing up as a dog now that you're aware of who he actually is. But you don't see why he wouldn't, unless he feels like trying to survive off of scraps from rubbish bins in Hogsmeade and starving to death before winter arrives, and it feels like it's coming early.

You shiver to yourself as you sit down on the grass, but soon enough you forget about the frigid temperature, your attention shifting to focus on the familiar head of a dog that pops its way out of the nearby brush of the Forbidden Forest.

"Look who decided to show," You say as he comes towards you, sitting obediently next to you and trying not to stare at the bag at your side. "I thought you would've been holed up in the Shrieking Shack debating on the etiquette of coming back here as a dog to get free food off me." He bats his paw against your bag, not breaking eye contact as he does. Has he no shame? "Clearly the desperate side won this round."

Did he just roll his eyes? The audacity of this man is astounding. "I think I liked you better when you were just a dog."

He makes a face that you can only describe as what would be a sarcastic, "Really?" if he could speak properly in this form.

You pull the bag out from under his paw before he can continue; opening it and casually placing the food out in front of him. "Since I'm now aware of your predicament, I guess sticking to the dietary restrictions of a dog are off the table now, so I brought some fruit and vegetables too; we can't have you getting scurvy. Ha. I crack myself up sometimes. Will you stop looking at me like that? Cut me some slack, I'm doing my best to hold a one-sided conversation here. If no one here is able to laugh at the things I say I have to do it myself."

He stops his eating to make a face that leads you to believe he wouldn't be laughing even if he could.

"You should drop the attitude, you happen to be sitting in the presence of a future rat owner in training, all thanks to the good word that Fred and George are about to put in for me with Ron."

His head snaps back up to look at you, taking on a much more serious demeanor at your words.

"Step one to getting my hands on your backstabber is a go. I asked them this morning if they could see about it, and I don't see why Ron wouldn't be willing. I'll probably have to keep hounding them so they'll remember, but it's a start."

You have to keep reminding yourself that the dog you're talking to is Sirius Black, because it's hard to imagine the man you've seen with your very own eyes just last night, who was nothing more than skin and bones and dirt and a face that would make any wizard who paid attention to the papers run in the opposite direction being the dog in front of you who's wagging his tail at the possibility of getting his freedom.

You'd like to talk more about how you're going to lead Ron into believing you have a genuine interest in rats, but you'd much rather wait until Sirius can voice his responses properly as a human instead of yes or no answers through the form of head movements and tail wags. Instead, you move onto a different topic, one with the only thing at stake being your pride.

"Scruffy," The nickname causes him to huff. You ignore it; you can't feasibly stick to calling him Sirius when out in the open like this, so he's going to have to deal with being called by such a ridiculous name every now and then. "Do you know how to conjure a Patronus?"

He gives you a nod, and you groan. He tilts his head to the side, curious as to why you've asked such a question and why you're reacting in such a way. "We're learning to cast it in class, and for some reason I can't get it to work. Not even a little bit! Your dear friend Lupin thinks that I haven't experienced a happy enough memory to conjure one yet." You know he can't respond like this, so you continue your venting.

"You know what? I don't care. It's too early to say it, but I give up! I give up. I don't even care that it's defeatist of me to think that way, either. I wish I could've taken Care of Magical Creatures this year; I bet I would've gotten extra credit by taking you with me under the guise that I had tamed a Grim. Can you imagine that?" You chuckle, your shoulders shaking with the laugh. Sirius looks like he doesn't find that any funnier than your last joke, but you brush his unamused look off with a wave. "I've got to laugh away the pain; both mental and physical. It's freezing out here and I think if I stop moving I'm going to be frozen in this position. You're lucky you're so fluffy as a dog; you can't tell how horrid it is."

Sirius looks to ponder what you said, and to your surprise he moves closer, laying down by your side and resting his head beside your leg. "Are you trying to keep me from freezing to death?" He lifts his head slightly, as if to say yes, and you can't help but laugh. "I guess if it keeps me alive to continue bringing you food, then it's okay." He closes his eyes, relaxing into his position and appears to be comfortable enough to take a nap right then and there if he really wanted to. It's a touching gesture, and you almost take it as a compliment to know he trusts you enough to do that. With everyone out to get him and trying to throw him back in the cell he should've never been in in the first place, you appreciate that he can relax around you, if only just a little.

The feeling of being comfortable in the other's presence is mutual, that you're certain of now. Or maybe you were already certain of it when you managed to accidentally fall asleep on him only after a few hours of finding out the truth about him; talk about a serious display of trust. But despite the limited interactions you can have with him, Sirius' company, even as a dog, really has been a welcomed change of pace like you originally thought it was before you knew who he really was- even if it has escalated to helping him prove his innocence by catching a murderer.

***

As the week starts to pass you by, the frustration over still being unable to perform the Patronus Charm mixed with your growing impatience at the lack of progress being made with getting your hands on the rat-that's-not-a-rat is fully stressing you out, and even the company of Sirius during your lunch breaks isn't helping.

Fred and George had promised to speak to Ron, but every time they ask about Scabbers, Ron grows annoyed at the mention of him, upset by the fact that he himself can't even find him, because, "That bloody demon cat!" Whose name you found out to be Crookshanks, who is owned by Hermione Hermione Granger, the 3rd year who could give you and the rest of your fellow N.E.W.T. level 7th years a run for your money, has been relentless when it comes to attacking Scabbers, and is sending him into such terrified fits that he's taken to running away and hiding for days at a time.

It's hard to hide your anger, not towards Ron, but towards the spinelessness of Peter Pettigrew, who still continues to keep up his charade of pretending to be a rat even when he's left defenseless in the warpath of a cat that will stop at nothing to get its paws on him. You wonder if you should ask Sirius if he could get Crookshanks to lighten up, because while the cat may see you as some kind of rat catching competition, his unyielding force when it comes to catching Scabbers is only sending him further away from your grasp and ruining your own plans of getting him to Sirius. Neither of you are going to be able to help Sirius and put an end to Peter's deception if you can't even find him in the first place. You were already planning on meeting up with Sirius during the weekend anyway, but this time without the use of the Marauders Map aiding you. Fred and George will get suspicious if you keep asking for it, and now that you know the best way of getting out of the castle undetected, you're just going to have to rely on your own skills to not get yourself caught in the process.

When Saturday finally arrives, so does the much anticipated start of Quidditch season. You wake early to the sound of Quidditch gear clanking together and loud conversation from the common room. With a groan you shove your head under your pillow to hide from the ruckus. As excited as you are, you were hoping to get some extra sleep in before the match so you could successfully go to the Shrieking Shack tonight and not end up passing out on Sirius halfway through the night, but that's definitely not happening now. It's practically a requirement to show your support for Gryffindor by going, so if everyone is already up and ready to go, it's only a matter of time before someone is barging in and forcing you to get ready. You lay there for a few more minutes, gathering up the incentive to get out of bed and becoming increasingly aware of the sound of rain pelting against the windows of the dorm. Poor Oliver Wood, a torrential downpour on Gryffindor's first game of the season? The guy really can't catch a break.

When you finally get up to get ready for the match, you end up getting swept away in the excitement, wearing your house colors with pride and even going so far as having a bit of face paint applied on your cheek by one of the girl's in your year. You throw on your rain poncho, Gryffindor emblem proudly displayed on it and charmed to be extra waterproof for games just like this one, and leave the dorm, heading down the heavily crowded moving staircases and following the hordes of people to the Quidditch Pitch. Just as the teams are heading out to the field, gear on and brooms in hand, you make your way up to sit in the stands high up in the air, which give you a great view of aerial sport.

When Madam Hooch raises her hand and blows into her whistle, the match begins.

The wind is unbearable and the rain is coming down hard, yet the game plays on as it would on the sunniest of days, each move by the players is precise and all the work that they put in shows in their performance. The face paint on your cheek has but all melted off from the rain pelting against you, yet it doesn't bother you, nor does it bother those around you; too focused on the match and how it will play out for your house.

There's a crash of thunder and your eyes follow towards two of the players as they break away from the rest, flying higher in the sky and barely visibly as they fly through the dark clouds. It doesn't take long to recognize them as the seekers, both speeding towards what you assume is the snitch somewhere above them, how they can see in the blinding rain is beyond you, but it captures your focus nonetheless, and you're hypnotized by their movements, eager to see the outcome.

As your eyes follow them up, a spot of black in one of the highest towers on the opposite side of the pitch that remain empty due to the risk of getting struck by lightning catches your gaze. Just barely, and it's so brief that you almost miss it, but your lock on the two players is broken when you squint to see through the rain and inspect the empty tower. There, sitting upright and as stiff as a statue is a black dog; not just any black dog, but Sirius' animagus form. You swear it's him, it has to be. Unless there's another oversized black dog roaming the grounds with human-like characteristics and a slightly haughty personality to boot.

He looks awfully out of place in the empty stands, soaked to the bone with his head is high in the sky as he watches the match like you do, his own eyes locked onto the two seekers as they continue their ascent, and you know he's most likely only focused on one of them, Harry Potter.

There was a shout from beside you, and you look to find the people around you staring above at the sky in horror, you turn your head up to look to see what was causing the sudden tense atmosphere to see a body coming into view, plummeting fast towards the ground. It's Harry, his broom nowhere to be seen as he free falls straight to the earth below. Black smoky figures are floating down after his form, skeletal body parts peeking through the black that billows around them. The closer they get the more you're able recognize them. Dementors.

You hear Dumbledore's voice bellow out a spell and Harry's movements are halted, his body being lowered gently to the ground as the crowds begin to part and rush from the stands to get a better look at what happened. Teachers and staff are making their way out onto the field below to assure the safety of the players, and some are pointing their wands to the sky, sending out their own Patronuses to send away the remaining dementors who are floating dangerously close to the action.

When you turn away from the commotion to look back at Sirius, the rows are empty.

The game is put to an end at that, and Hufflepuff leaves with a win because Cedric Diggory had more than enough time to grab the snitch while Harry was having a near death experience and plunging through the sky without a broom. He's carried away on a stretcher conjured up by Dumbledore himself and rushed to the infirmary, and rumors are already swirling around about his current condition.

When you exit the stands and reach the bottom of the steps to the pitch, ready to make your way to walk back to the castle with the remaining students who are about to leave, an arm comes out from the tarps colored in Hufflepuff house colors, grabbing you by the fabric of your rain poncho and pulling you under and into the wooden frame of the pitch, successfully keeping you out of sight from behind the decorations, before you can even scream, Sirius is putting a finger to his lips, shushing you quickly so you don't make a sound.

"What the hell are you doing?" You whisper angrily. He's soaking wet; his hair weighed down with rain and his waterlogged clothes are clinging against his frame. "Are you out of your mind? Wait, no- don't answer that! It was you sitting in the empty stands, right? I assume you saw what happened? Dementors are lurking way too close to the grounds! If they catch you-"

"I heard that he's a seeker, just like his father; I just wanted to see. But that fall- he wasn't even conscious. Is he okay? Do you know if he's okay?" His voice cracks halfway through the question and you feel bad that you only now take notice that he's trembling as well. Any anger you might have for his recklessness is washed away with the rain and you're too focused on the fact that he's freezing and terrified for the only family he has left.

"Hey- Hey," You put your hands onto his arms, rubbing them to warm him up. It's midway through the action do you realize that this impulsive contact with him is the second time you've lacked any awareness of the personal space between the two of you, but he doesn't mind, and thank Godric he doesn't mention it, instead, he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering close at the warmth you supply him with. It's quite a compromising position to be in with the man who is in danger of being caught by being so near the crowds of people still making their way out of the Quidditch Pitch. "I'm sure he's fine. If you haven't noticed, that kid has at least six good lives left in him at this point. I heard from Fred and George he fainted on the train at the start of the year because of the dementor that got on, so he probably had the same reaction when they got too close to the pitch. They seem to have a nasty effect on him, and they will on you if you don't get out of here before they sense you're near! If it helps, I'll go to the infirmary and check if he's okay with my own eyes."

You mean what you say, and you have no doubt that it's the best thing for you to do. Maybe it's the worry in his eyes, or the pained look on his face, but you can't leave him with the fear of not knowing if Harry's okay in good conscience. Harry is the last ties he has to James; he's his godson and you can see how deeply he cares for him, and he hasn't even met him properly yet. You've never spoken to Harry before, and if he even knows who you are it's only by extension of him being friends with Ron, whose own extent of knowledge about you is that you're friends with the twins and share classes with Percy. But it wouldn't seem out of character for you, his Gryffindor upperclassman, to go and see if he's okay.

"You'd do that for me?" he says.

"Of course." You murmur. "He's your family; maybe not by blood, but it's clear how much you care for him. I know if you don't have assurance that he's okay you might worry yourself to death or try and sneak into the hospital wing yourself; and it wouldn't be right to come without making sure I can tell you exactly how he's doing."

That puts a small, barely-there smile on his face. "You're too kind to me, [Y/N]. I still don't understand why you continue to go the extra mile to put yourself in thick of things to help me when I don't deserve it."

You shrug, feigning a look of disinterest at his words. "You're growing on me. And I think my need to see justice come to fruition is dictating most of my decision making, if I'm being totally honest." You wink, letting your hands drop away from his shoulders, nearly forgetting that you still have them there in the first place. You don't miss the way the corners of lips twitch down ever so slightly at the loss of contact, but perhaps it's just a trick of the light, or the absence of it within the shadows of the tarps keeping you both hidden from view. "Now, if you would please make like a man who actually cares if he lives to see tomorrow and get yourself as far away from this Quidditch Pitch as possible, that'd be great. I can't feasibly tell you about how Harry's faring if you get caught by dementors, can I?"