A mangy black dog lunged, sinking its teeth into Snape's calf. Pain shot through him as he tried to shake the beast off, but it held fast. With a vicious kick, he sent it flying—followed by a swift Bombarda that exploded against the wall.
Sirius dodged nimbly, dodging the worst of the rubble, but the blast grazed him. It bought Lupin just enough time to bolt. In moments, he vanished into the shadows.
Snape staggered after the dog, blood soaking his leg and making every step agony. He could barely run. "A friend of the beast is a beast," he snarled, halting his pursuit. Protecting Harry came first—giving Sirius any opening would be disastrous.
Snape knew Lupin wasn't there to attack St. Mungo's; he was worried about the boy. The sudden black dog puzzled him—until he recalled Lupin's werewolf nature. A stray mutt as a pet? It fit.
...
Lupin raced to their rendezvous, waiting anxiously until Sirius limped up. The dog morphed back into a man, grimacing through bared teeth.
"You okay?" Lupin rushed forward, helping Sirius ease onto the ground.
Sirius winced. "That damn greasy git went for the kill. Probably cracked a few ribs."
Lupin managed a wry smile. "Better than me—I didn't break anything." Spotting Snape had set off alarms in his head. With the man's grudge, he wasn't holding back. Good thing Sirius's Animagus secret stayed hidden; otherwise, escape would've been impossible.
"How'd he spot you?"
Sirius's mind sharpened despite the pain. "Saw him slinking near the hospital, tailed him a bit. He entered, I turned—and caught an Expelliarmus to the back."
Lupin rubbed his bruised arm. "No chance of sneaking into St. Mungo's now. Snape knows we're around; he'll be watching."
"I won't risk getting pinned for an assault and dragged to the Aurors," Sirius growled.
"What? Handed over?" Sirius surged up, only to hiss as pain tore through his side.
Lupin fretted. "Let's head to Diagon Alley first. I can round up a healer to check you out."
Sirius barked a laugh. "Those hacks in Knockturn Alley? I'd sooner die from Snape's curses than their 'care.'" He paused, grimacing. "Besides, between us, we couldn't scrape a Sickle for treatment."
Lupin sighed. Money woes had trapped them here—without Galleons, options dwindled.
Sirius shifted, groaning. "Find something to brace me." They scavenged branches and ripped cloth strips into makeshift splints. Settled again, silence fell.
"What now?" Sirius finally asked.
Lupin dusted off his robes. "We lay low. The Ministry and Hogwarts have eyes on you. My slip-up at the hospital tipped off Snape—if we push closer, we're done."
He didn't voice the rest: even if they reached Harry, in their battered state, grabbing Peter might fail and tip their hand. Better to wait, let tensions ease. Peter hadn't struck yet; patience could pay off.
A loud growl broke the quiet—Sirius's stomach. Lupin's own twisted in hunger. Eyeing his last three Knuts, he headed reluctantly toward Knockturn Alley for the cheapest black bread he could find.
...
Snape pushed into Harry's ward, where Mrs. Weasley was spooning lunch to the boys.
"Careful, Professor," she warned as he strode in. "Mr. Mitchell layered defenses here this morning. Don't trigger them."
"Defenses?" Snape's sharp gaze scanned the room. It took effort, but he spotted the subtle weaves—impressive work.
Shock flickered in his eyes. This new Auror Director was no novice. Snape himself might stumble if careless. No wonder Sirius had limped away half-dead; anyone breaching this would meet a grim end.
He unpacked vials and ingredients, arranging them methodically.
"Professor, what's all this?" Mrs. Weasley asked.
"Dumbledore's source of a cure. I'm here to administer it."
Tears brimmed in her eyes. Watching Ron's once-vibrant son reduced to this haze had broken her heart. She'd braced for a lifetime of it—now, hope flickered.
Snape ignored her emotion, focusing on the brew.
The door creaked open. Alan Mitchell entered, his eyes narrowing briefly at Snape before smoothing over.
Alan had planned to slip the rat—Scabbers—into place quietly. But Snape's presence complicated things; any move would draw scrutiny.
He approached with a nod. "Professor Snape, fancy meeting you here."
"Mr. Mitchell, keep your distance—and your Aurors'. The blood scent interferes with my potions."
"Apologies, Professor. We'll wait outside." Alan flashed a polite smile, signaling his team. As they filed out, Mrs. Weasley watched Snape intently, the Aurors distracted.
No eyes on him.
Seizing the moment as the door swung shut, Alan palmed the rat from his sleeve and tucked it into a table crevice by the entrance. Peter didn't hesitate, scurrying into the shadows.
Back on the desk at last…