The young Weasley boy was talking animatedly to a tall, distinguished looking man with salt and pepper hair with tanned, wind-burnt skin. The man looked impressed with the Third year's knowledge.
"I was not sure anyone else noticed that," the man commented. "It's not part of the released numbers. It's not unheard of. Sometimes injured players of a certain calibre determined to tough it out actually step up their game. The league actually looked into if it was use of accidental magic but then they saw it was true in Muggle sports as well."
The Weasly boy looked surprised at the explanation. "Do you track Muggle sports?" he asked curiously.
The man laughed. "Well, Quidditch will always be my favourite but I've been known to catch the odd football match now and then. But Muggles have put a lot more resources into studying human motion, physical improvement and rehabilitating injured athletes then we wizards have. Sure we can heal them faster, but getting the body back into peck performance is something else. And even more importantly is training them to move right so they don't get hurt in the first place. Muggles have a lot to teach us."
The boy looked even more surprised. The man seemed to notice it as well.
"Surprised to hear one of us 'dark, evil, Syltherins talking about Muggles this way?" the man asked with some amusement in his eyes. The boy blushed so much Sirius thought he might pop a blood vessel.
"I… I'm sorry, Coach Steven. It's just… it's just… all I've heard growing up was bad things about the Slytherins. And some of it was true! Malfoy is a spoilt git and his little band of followers just make trouble for everyone else. And their Quiditch team just plays dirty! But- but." The boy seemed to wind down. There was a pause and then he sighed. "But Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise don't seem to be like that. I know Daphne was the one that made the potion we used to help Scabbers when he was sick last year even though no one told me."
"Scabbers?"
"He's my pet rat. My brother Percy found'em when he was little. He was missing a toe on his forepaw and it was still scabbed over. So he named him Scabbers. I got him after Percy got an owl for making Prefect his Fourth year; my First. He mostly sleeps all day but he was sick last year and they gave me a potion to heal him up."
The man chuckled at the story. "So, what are you going to do about my daughter and her friends?"
The Weasley boy looked down in embarrassment. "Dad told me to apologize," he almost mumbled. "I tried - but I just can't."
To his credit, the man merely nodded solemnly although the boy couldn't see it. Sirius could see there was amusement in his eyes. "I see. Maybe a note if you can't say the words aloud? I am sure my daughter would appreciate it. You know she was the only other person outside my staff to comment to me about Smyth's performance after his injury? I think she would enjoy having someone to argue Quidditch with."
The conversation continued but Sirius stopped listening. A rat missing a forepaw toe that lived for at least ten years? Common rats didn't live that long even in the magical world. And the Weasley's fit the profile of being a place no one would look for a Death Eater. A family famous for its support of Dumbledore and the Light? A family notorious in Pureblood circles for being blood traitors and Arthur's obsession with Muggle technology? No. No one on either side would look for the little rat there. Nor would they look in Gryffindor tower for an animagus that is supposed to be dead.
Sirius knew the wards at the Burrow would alert the Weasley's if he went there. He was sure Arthur revoked his access from the wards after his escape if not before. Dobby, like all house-elves, was prevented from accessing another family's home unless called for from within the wards. That left just one option.
Padfoot was going back to Hogwarts.
29 October 1993
The large black dog was making his way through the dark Hogwarts grounds. The only light was coming from the school's windows. The full moon was in a few days but a layer of clouds blocked most of the moon's light. Padfoot was being careful not to be seen. He didn't want to alert anyone that he was on the school grounds. If Wormtail caught word that a large, black, Grim-like dog was spotted on the grounds he'd probably do a runner. And then he'd have to start all over again tracking him down.
The dog animagus was moving along the side of Greenhouse #4 when the werewolf came around the greenhouse corner. The creature was massive and much more wolf-like than any werewolf he'd ever seen. Danger and power seemed to radiate from the creature and it sent Padfoot's hackles up. This thing was dangerous.
The werewolf made a show of covering its eyes with one massive clawed hand. It raised its other and started to slowly bring in the thumb. When it started on its pinkie, Padfoot suddenly realized, 'Oh crap, its counting down!'
The large black dog shot off across the field as fast as it could go. Seconds later it could hear the werewolf sprinting after it. He started running a wild evasion pattern trying to lose the creature. No one knew the hidden paths and obstacles of Hogwarts like the Marauders. But the creature seemed to know them all also.
Then it caught him.
The massive claw reached out and smacked the Grim-looking dog on the flank. Padfoot yelped in shock and lost his footing. The dog tumbled to the ground but quickly jumped up expecting an attack.
Instead he saw the werewolf sitting on its haunches thirty feet away, its tongue lolling out in amusement. Padfoot panted for breath as his brain tried to catch up. Finally, he realized, 'The damn werewolf is playing with me!'
It turned to leave and looked back as if to say, "Your turn." Then it took off in a ground eating lope. The large dog barked a laugh and started out after creature.
...
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