Saturday morning.
After their morning run, Harry and the Weasley twins were just about to head back for a well-deserved nap when the ever-energetic Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, intercepted them.
"You lot aren't heading back to the castle," Wood declared, a determined gleam in his eye. "I've already had your broomsticks brought to the Quidditch pitch…"
George and Fred let out matching groans of despair.
"No, Oliver, you can't do this to us!"
"I left in such a hurry this morning, I didn't even get to say goodbye to my dear little bed!"
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but at the sight of Oliver's grave, uncompromising expression, he thought better of it and fell silent.
Off to the side, Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder, grinning with unrestrained mischief.
"Don't worry, mate. Hermione and I will handle posting the club notices. You're Oliver's golden boy—he'd never let you off the hook."
Wood turned, fixing Harry with an intense, almost reverent stare.
"Ron's right, Harry. You're the best Seeker we've got."
He immediately turned to George and Fred, his tone just as fierce:
"And you two—unbeatable Beaters, the both of you."
George and Fred exchanged a look, then put on exaggerated blushes, speaking in perfect unison:
"Merlin's beard, Oliver, you're making us blush!"
Wood solemnly patted all three on the shoulders, his voice suddenly tinged with tragic resolve.
"Gryffindor hasn't won in seven years. This is my last year—after that, I'm gone. There won't be another chance.
We have to win the Quidditch Cup. This is… my last shot.
I spent the whole summer working out new tactics. This year, we're going to beat them—even if they've got the latest broomsticks.
So—you'll help me, won't you?"
Something about the passion in Wood's words, coming from such a burly, determined figure, lit a fire in the others. They nodded, hearts pounding with newfound determination.
Hermione, meanwhile, grabbed Ron by the sleeve and hurried off the lawn—they needed to get the Hogwarts Magical Detective Club recruitment flyers up on the noticeboard before breakfast.
—
After the run, Professor Lupin headed straight for the Defence Against the Dark Arts office.
Douglas, who usually led the morning jog, hadn't shown up. Out of genuine concern—and nothing else, he told himself—Lupin wanted to check if his colleague was unwell.
He knocked on the office door.
Inside, Sirius was in the midst of haggling with Douglas, trying to win permission to sneak out to the Quidditch pitch and watch Harry's training. He'd just spotted several students in Gryffindor Quidditch robes heading that way from the office window.
The sudden knock made everyone freeze.
Douglas's office door had been specially enchanted: whenever someone touched it from outside, a mirror on the back would reveal the visitor's identity.
When Sirius saw that it was Lupin, he panicked, instantly shifting back into his dog form and bolting for the fireplace.
But Douglas was faster. With a flick of his hand, Binding Rope shot out, wrapping Sirius up tight before he could reach the hearth—muzzle and all.
Ignoring Sirius's muffled protests, Douglas signaled for Dobby to open the door.
Lupin, upon seeing Dobby, barely blinked. Thanks to Arthur Weasley's big mouth, the news that the Malfoys' house-elf had become Holmes's butler was now common knowledge across the wizarding world.
He offered Dobby a warm smile and greeting, then stepped inside.
"Good morning, Professor Holmes. I just came to—"
He stopped dead after two steps, eyes locking onto the large, trussed-up black dog by the fireplace. His pupils shrank; all color drained from his face.
Sirius, for his part, turned away in shame.
Lupin's gaze snapped to Douglas, and though he tried to keep calm, his voice trembled:
"Professor Holmes, where did you find this dog? And why, exactly, are you tying up dogs?"
Douglas gestured to the breakfast spread on his desk, smiling serenely.
"Have you had breakfast? Care to join me?"
Lupin's right hand slid toward his wand as he edged closer to Sirius, suspicion sharpening his tone.
"Answer me, Holmes. Why did you catch him?"
Douglas had never seen Lupin like this. He replied matter-of-factly,
"To eat dog meat, of course. Look at him—besides, black dog blood is a rare potion ingredient."
Both Lupin and Sirius stared at him, wide-eyed—unable to tell if Douglas was joking or deadly serious.
But Sirius couldn't stand seeing Lupin being toyed with like this. He tried to transform back, only to find that some magic was locking his Animagus form in place. That stunned him even more.
By now, Lupin had reached Sirius's side. Hearing Douglas claim it was just for eating, not that he'd caught Sirius, Lupin let out a shaky breath and forced a smile.
"Actually, I think this dog's meat would be dreadful. You know my… condition. I've had dog meat before, so I can tell the good from the bad.
How about you let this one go, and I'll help you catch a tastier one?"
Douglas let out a long, thoughtful "Oh," then stood and said lightly,
"But not every dog is called Padfoot, is it?"
At that, Lupin's wand flashed out, pointing straight at Douglas.
Douglas shouted, "Dobby, hold!"
Dobby's outstretched finger froze midair, his enormous bat-like ears quivering with agitation.
"Don't you dare point your wand at Dobby's master! Dobby is very angry—very angry indeed, and the consequences will be serious!"
But Lupin paid Dobby no mind, his focus locked on Douglas.
"So, what's your plan? Turn him in?"
Douglas shot Dobby a helpless look. Ever since he'd let the elf watch Muggle films, Dobby had never stopped quoting dramatic lines.
He turned back to Lupin, tone calm but probing.
"If it were you, what would you do? Hand him over to the Ministry, or hand Harry over to him?"
Lupin's eyes reddened as he slowly lowered his wand.
"I want to ask him why."
Douglas snapped his fingers. The Binding Rope loosened, freeing Sirius.
Before Lupin could react, a voice he hadn't heard in over a decade sounded behind him.
"Remus."
Lupin spun, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Sirius. His voice was a raw, anguished shout:
"Why!"
Sirius hung his head, silent.
Douglas cleared his throat,
"Professor Lupin, perhaps—"
"Shut up!" Lupin snapped. "I wasn't talking to you. And why'd you untie him? What if he runs?"
Douglas was momentarily speechless. Wasn't it you who was just worried he'd get hurt?
Sirius finally raised his head, meeting Lupin's gaze with haunted, red-rimmed eyes. He struggled to speak, as if his throat were blocked, but at last managed three words:
"I'm sorry."
Douglas, unable to watch the scene any longer, sent a newspaper floating over to Lupin.
"You might not have noticed this before…"
The paper hovered in front of Lupin's face. He recognized the Weasley family at a glance—and on Ron's shoulder, a rat.
Lupin gasped, realization dawning in an instant as he looked at Sirius in disbelief.
"He's still alive. Why didn't he show himself before, unless…"
He glanced between Sirius and the photo, both men's eyes fixed on the image of Scabbers.
Lupin's voice trembled with urgency.
"Unless he's the traitor we could never find… unless you switched… and never told me."
Sirius nodded slowly, eyes shining with unshed tears.
At that moment, Douglas interjected with perfect inappropriateness,
"So, how about some breakfast? We can talk while we eat."
Sirius and Lupin rounded on him in unison.
"Get lost!"
Then, catching each other's eyes, they burst out laughing.
Lupin finally lowered his wand, and the two old friends embraced—brothers reunited at last.
🔥 Want to read the next 20 chapters RIGHT NOW?
💎 Patreon members get instant access!
⚡ Limited-time offer currently running...
👉 [Join on - patreon.com/GoldenLong]