All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

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Like the castle in its corner

In a medieval game

I foresee terrible trouble

And I stay here just the same

I’m a fool to do your dirty work

Oh yeah

I don’t wanna do your dirty work

No more

Saturday 24th June 1995

He waited in the pumpkin patch. It was all that Dumbledore would allow –too risky to watch the Third Task with the rest of the crowd, even as Padfoot. But Sirius insisted that he had to be at Hogwarts. Just in case…

In the end, they compromised: the pumpkin patch, squashed between the edge of the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid’s hut. It would be easy enough for Sirius to make an escape into the woods, should he need to. But with the dog’s hearing, he could at least make out the sounds coming from the distant quidditch pitch—the cheers of the crowd as the task began, which faded to a low buzz of chatter once the champions were sent into the maze.

Dusk deepened; night fell; the hum of voices rose and subsided in the stands. There were a few disturbances—raised voices, surprised exclamations—but nothing to indicate that any of the champions had completed the task. Padfoot waited, lying on his belly, leaning his chin against his paws.

He knew the moment that something went wrong. There were cheers, at first—then screams, waves of them, cresting and crashing and rippling. He could hear footsteps, shouting; he stood, ears pricked, every muscle tensed to run. Sirius had to fight himself to remain in place, to keep his promise to Dumbledore that he would wait.

Harry—what’s happening—is Harry—

 He paced, growling, eyes locked on the pitch. People were spilling out of the stands, leaving—what was happening? Where was Harry??

He had no idea how much time had passed—it felt like hours; it felt like an eternity—before he spotted a figure moving towards him, robes billowing as she hurried across the grounds. Sirius experienced a strange sense of déjà vu as he found himself staring up at Professor McGonagall’s pinched expression.

“Got a bloody dog now, has he…” She muttered to herself, eyeing Padfoot warily. He cocked his head and barked, once.

“Come along, then,” McGonagall ordered, looking a bit harassed, “You’re to follow me to Dumbledore’s office. He…says he will be with you shortly.”

Sirius had a very different definition of “shortly” than Dumbledore. He felt half-mad by the time the old headmaster finally showed up, pacing frantically across the cluttered space as the phoenix perched next to the headmaster’s desk watched him, with what Sirius imagined to be a distinctly haughty expression.

Eventually – finally – the door swung open; Dumbledore swept in, and following behind him was—

“Harry!”

Sirius could have collapsed in relief. He rushed forward, clinging to the boy, running hands over his shoulders, examining him for injury.