FOURTEEN
' fool '

☾⋆₊✧

JUNE
1994

EVERYTHING for the last two months had been relatively calm at Hogwarts.

The days turned cloudless and sweltering, leaving everyone longing to wander onto the grounds and sprawl out on the grass with a few pints of iced pumpkin juice. Some passed the time with a relaxed game of Gobstones, while others watched the giant squid glide lazily across the lake's shimmering surface. No one wanted to do anything more than enjoy the weather and let the warmth lull them into forgetting, just for a little while, that school and stress still existed.

But Calista couldn't relax, and neither could anyone else. Exams loomed just ahead, forcing the students to stay cooped up in the castle, their attempts to focus battling against the warm, tempting breezes that floated in through the open windows. Even Fred and George Weasley had been caught studying— a rare sight— as they prepared for their O.W.L.s.

Hermione still won first place most wound up student in the castle. Callie often watched her with a mix of concern and admiration as she juggled a workload that seemed impossible for one person to handle.

"Hermione?" Ron had said cautiously, his tone laced with hesitation. Interrupting Hermione these days was a bit like approaching a sleeping dragon—you never knew when she might snap. "Er–are you sure you've copied down these times right?"

"What?" Hermione barked, snatching up the exam timetable and glaring at it as if daring it to be incorrect. "Yes, of course I have."

"Is there any point asking how you're going to sit two exams at once?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Callie tensed at the question, burying her face in her notes to avoid giving anything away. She knew the answer, but how could she say it without revealing too much? Of course, Hermione had been using a Time-Turner—she'd told Callie months ago. But explaining that to Harry and Ron without betraying Hermione's secret wasn't an option.

"No," Hermione said curtly, slamming the parchment back onto the table. "Have any of you seen my copy of Numerology and Grammatica?"

"Oh, yeah, I borrowed it for a bit of bedtime reading," Ron joked, though his voice barely carried. Hermione, oblivious, started digging through the mountain of parchment on her desk, her frustration simmering.

Callie glanced up just as a rustle by the window announced Hedwig's arrival. Harry was already untying the note from her beak, his curiosity evident.

"It's from Hagrid," he said, unfolding the note. "Buckbeak's appeal—it's set for the sixth."

"That's the day we finish our exams," Hermione said distractedly, still rifling through her things. Callie couldn't help but notice the stress etched into her friend's face; it was the kind of tension that came from holding too many secrets and juggling too many responsibilities.

"And they're coming up here to do it," Harry continued, his face darkening. "Someone from the Ministry of Magic and—and an executioner."

Hermione froze, her hand hovering mid-air. "They're bringing the executioner to the appeal! But that sounds as though they've already decided!"

"Yeah, it does," Harry admitted grimly.

"They can't!" Ron burst out, his voice filled with outrage. "I've spent ages reading up stuff for him, they can't just ignore it all!"

Callie bit her lip, a deep unease settling in her chest as Harry's expression darkened further. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Lucius Malfoy's hand was behind all of this. Sure enough, Draco, who had been unusually quiet since Gryffindor's Quidditch victory, began strutting around the castle again with a swagger that made Callie's stomach churn.

She glanced at Hermione, who was now back to searching for her book, her determination unwavering despite the chaos looming over all of them. Hermione wasn't just trying to pass exams; she was trying to fix everything. Callie silently vowed to do the same—even if it meant keeping secrets of her own.

Exam week descended on the castle, bringing with it a tense, almost eerie silence. Callie felt the weight of it pressing down on everyone, herself included. By lunchtime on Monday, the third-years were dragging themselves out of Transfiguration, pale and weary, clutching their exam parchments like they'd just survived a duel. Conversations erupted as they slumped into seats, comparing notes and groaning about how impossible it had all been—especially the part where they had to turn a teapot into a tortoise.

Callie had managed it, more or less, but it had been far from perfect. She could still hear Hermione's anxious muttering as they left the classroom: "It looked more like a turtle," she'd fretted, which had earned more than a few glares from their classmates. Callie had kept quiet—Hermione's tortoise had been leagues better than hers. Callie's had kept the teapot's curved spout, which stuck out like a tail, and every so often it would whistle faintly. She'd caught Ron muttering, "At least it didn't explode," which had made her feel slightly better.

"Were the tortoises supposed to breathe steam?" someone asked miserably.

"Mine still had a handle," another groaned.

Callie was too drained to join in the lamenting, scarfing down a hasty lunch before heading off for Charms. Hermione had been right— Professor Flitwick was testing Cheering Charms, and nerves had everyone fumbling their spells. Hermione managed to cast her Charm well enough to make Callie feel slightly giddy, but nothing compared to Harry's overzealous attempt. Poor Ron ended up doubled over in hysterical laughter, tears streaming down his face as he gasped for breath. Flitwick had to send him to a quiet room until he calmed down enough to perform the spell himself.

By the time dinner rolled around, Callie was beyond exhausted, but there was no chance to relax. The common room was buzzing with frantic energy as students cracked open their books, scribbled notes, and prepared for the mountain of exams still looming ahead—Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, Astronomy. Callie caught Hermione thumbing through three textbooks at once, lips moving silently as if reciting every detail by heart.

Callie set her own stack of notes in front of her, taking a deep breath. This was only the beginning, and she already felt like she was sprinting to keep up.

Hagrid oversaw the Care of Magical Creatures exam the next morning, though Callie could tell his heart wasn't in it. He seemed distracted, his usual enthusiasm dimmed. Instead of anything challenging, he'd set up a large tub of Flobberworms, explaining that the test was simply to keep their Flobberworm alive for an hour. Callie stared at the squirming, dull creatures and sighed in relief—it was easily the simplest exam they'd faced all week.

As the minutes ticked by, the class settled into a lazy sort of calm, many of them barely even glancing at their worms, which mostly thrived when ignored. Callie spent most of the time fiddling with her quill and watching the sunlight glint off the nearby lake. Around her, students whispered in hushed voices, but Hagrid didn't seem to notice or care. He was moving from student to student, bending low under the guise of checking on their worms.

When he reached her, Harry, Hermione, and Ron, she could just make out his gruff voice as he leaned as close as a half-giant could. "Beaky's gettin' a bit depressed," he muttered, running a hand nervously through his wild hair. "Bin cooped up too long. But still... we'll know day after tomorrow—one way or the other."

Callie felt a pang of sympathy for both Hagrid and Buckbeak. She knew what it was like to wait for something you couldn't control, to dread the worst but still cling to some sliver of hope. Shaking her head, she glanced back at her Flobberworm, which hadn't moved an inch. Easy as this exam was, it didn't feel like much of a victory.

Potions that afternoon was, as always, a tense affair—at least for most of the class. Callie, however, found herself oddly at ease. The Confusing Concoction felt almost too straightforward, the instructions so clear that she hardly needed to think as she worked. With steady hands, she chopped the billywig stings and stirred counterclockwise, the potion thickening to the perfect consistency with a satisfying swirl. A faint purple haze began to rise from the cauldron, just as the textbook described.

As Snape finally reached her table, she stepped back slightly, letting him inspect her work. His face remained unreadable as he leaned over the cauldron, but when he moved on without a cutting remark, she felt an undeniable surge of satisfaction. She could've sworn she saw him scribble something with a ninety along the parchment.

Astronomy at midnight was a chilly affair, even in late spring. Callie stood on the tallest tower, her telescope balanced carefully as she charted the stars and planets with a focus she hadn't known she possessed. The stillness of the night felt heavy, the faint rustle of parchment and the occasional scrape of a telescope the only sounds breaking the quiet. She let herself enjoy it, even as the exhaustion tugged at her.

By Wednesday morning, the calm was shattered by the monotony of History of Magic. Professor Binns droned on as usual, his ghostly form floating aimlessly, but Callie had her head down, scribbling furiously. She remembered bits and pieces of what her father had told her about medieval witch hunts, fleshing them out with the same kind of creative flair she used when sneaking around their home to avoid trouble. She couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for something cool to drink in the sweltering classroom—perhaps the iced pumpkin juice the older students talked about so wistfully.

Wednesday afternoon brought Herbology under the unrelenting sun. The greenhouse was stifling, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and strange plants. Callie worked methodically, tending to the specimens without complaint, but by the time she returned to the common room, the back of her neck was pink and sore. She slumped into a chair, thinking longingly of this time tomorrow, when it would all finally be over. The thought of freedom—and maybe a little more time spent outside without the weight of exams—was the only thing keeping her going.

Their second-to-last exam, on Thursday morning, was Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Callie had been dreading it all week. Her dad had designed an obstacle course unlike anything she'd ever expected— outside in the warm sun, which made it feel almost like a game, if not for the mounting pressure.

The course began with wading through a deep paddling pool housing a Grindylow, its long fingers snapping at anyone who didn't move quickly enough. Then came the potholes filled with Red Caps, followed by a marsh where a Hinkypunk's ghostly lantern tried to lure them off track. The final challenge was climbing into an old trunk and facing a Boggart.

Callie watched as Harry went through the course first, navigating the obstacles with ease. He emerged from the trunk grinning, earning full marks. Ron was next, doing well until the Hinkypunk led him astray and into the quagmire, where he sank waist-high. Hermione breezed through most of the course but stumbled at the trunk. When she emerged, pale and shaking, she stammered something about Professor McGonagall telling her she'd failed everything. It took a few minutes and quiet words from Lupin to calm her down.

Finally, it was Callie's turn. Her heart raced as she stepped up to the start. The Grindylow splashed at her feet, but she hurried past it, keeping her balance. The Red Caps tried to grab at her ankles, but she dodged them with careful, quick steps. The Hinkypunk's lantern flickered, its voice soft and alluring, but she ignored it, squishing through the marsh with determined strides.

Then came the trunk. She hesitated, her hand trembling on the lid, knowing exactly what awaited her inside. She'd only faced her Boggart once before, during a rushed practice session. When it had emerged as the full moon, bright and chilling, she'd barely managed the incantation. Her father hadn't said much afterward—he never could about things like this— but he'd given her a quiet nod and a pat on the shoulder, which had been enough to steady her nerves.

Callie climbed into the trunk, her wand ready. As expected, the moon appeared, full and luminous, its glow pressing down on her like a weight. Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to focus. Ridikkulus, she said firmly, slashing her wand. The moon shimmered, then popped like a balloon, shrinking into a harmless glowing orb that bounced around like a ball.

She climbed out, her chest heaving, but her face set with determination. Dad gave her a small, approving smile as she passed him, his eyes full of the subtle encouragement she'd come to recognize. She returned the smile, feeling a rare flicker of pride.

Once Calista was done, she returned to the castle with her friends. Ron seemed slightly inclined to laugh at Hermione's Boggart, but an argument was averted by the sight that met them on the top of the steps.

Cornelius Fudge, sweating slightly in his pinstriped cloak, stood near the castle entrance, gazing out over the grounds. Callie stiffened, instinctively shrinking back. Her heart skipped as she sidestepped behind Hermione and Ron, careful to keep herself out of his line of sight. She didn't trust the Minister for Magic to let sleeping Hippogriffs—or secrets—lie.

Fudge turned at the sound of footsteps, his eyes lighting up at Harry. "Hello there, Harry!" he said, his tone overly cheerful. "Just had an exam, I expect? Nearly finished?"

"Yes," said Harry shortly. Hermione and Ron lingered awkwardly beside him, exchanging uneasy glances. Callie hung back further, pretending to adjust her bag as she studied the ground.

"Lovely day," Fudge remarked, casting an eye over the sparkling lake. His expression darkened. "Pity... pity..." He sighed heavily and turned back to Harry. "I'm here on an unpleasant mission, Harry. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures needed a witness for the execution of a mad Hippogriff. Since I was already visiting to check on the Black situation, I was asked to step in."

Callie tensed at Sirius's name, her fists clenching by her sides. She didn't dare lift her head, instead adjusting her bag again, as though deeply focused on the strap.

"Does that mean the appeal's already happened?" Ron asked, stepping forward boldly.

"No, no, it's scheduled for this afternoon," Fudge said, his gaze flickering to Ron with mild curiosity.

"Then you might not have to witness an execution at all!" Ron declared stoutly. "The Hippogriff might get off!"

Before Fudge could reply, two more wizards emerged from the castle behind him. Callie peeked from behind Ron and Hermione, then quickly averted her gaze. One of the men was ancient, stooped and squinting as if the sunlight might knock him over; the other was tall and broad-shouldered, with a thin black moustache that did nothing to soften his sharp features. Callie swallowed hard, her stomach twisting as her eyes caught the glint of an axe hanging from his belt.

The older wizard squinted toward Hagrid's cabin and spoke in a frail voice. "Dear, dear, I'm getting too old for this... two o'clock, isn't it, Fudge?"

The black-moustached man ran a thumb along the blade of his axe, the motion unnervingly deliberate.

Ron opened his mouth, clearly about to speak, but Hermione jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, cutting him off. "Come on," she whispered urgently, jerking her head toward the Entrance Hall.

Callie followed quickly, keeping her head down and her steps light, relief washing over her as the castle doors shut behind them.

"Why'd you stop me?" Ron said angrily, as they entered the Great Hall for lunch. "Did you see them? They've even got the axe ready! This isn't justice!"

"Ron, your dad works for the Ministry. You can't go saying things like that to his boss!" Hermione reminded him, but she, too, looked very upset. "As long as Hagrid keeps his head this time, and argues his case properly, they can't possibly execute Buckbeak..."

But Callie could tell Hermione didn't really believe what she was saying. All around them, people were talking excitedly as they ate their lunch, happily anticipating the end of exams that afternoon, but the four of them, lost in worry about Hagrid and Buckbeak, couldn't find the urge to join in.

Calista, Harry and Ron's last exam was Divination; Hermione's, Muggle Studies. They walked up the marble staircase together. Hermione left them on the first floor and the other three proceeded all the way up to the seventh, where many of their class were sitting on the spiral staircase to Professor Trelawney's classroom, trying to cram in a bit of last-minute revision.

"She's seeing us all separately," Neville informed them, as they went to sit down next to him. He had his copy of Unfogging the Future open on his lap at the pages devoted to crystal-gazing. "Have you ever seen anything in a crystal ball?" he asked them unhappily.

"Nope," Ron replied, in an offhand voice. He kept checking his watch; clearly focused on  counting down the time until Buckbeak's appeal started.

Calista just shook her head at Neville. "Make something up, if you have to."

The queue of people outside the classroom shortened very slowly. As each person climbed back down the silver ladder, the rest of the class hissed, "What did she ask? Was it OK?"

But they all refused to say.

"She says the crystal ball's told her that, if I tell you, I'll have a horrible accident!" Neville squeaked, as he clambered back down the ladder.

"That's convenient," Ron snorted. "You know, I'm starting to think Hermione was right about her," he jabbed his thumb towards the trapdoor overhead, "she's a right old fraud."

"Finally," Callie muttered.

"Yeah," Harry added, looking at his own watch. "Wish she'd hurry up ..."

Parvati came back down the ladder glowing with pride.

"She says I've got all the makings of a true Seer," she informed them. "I saw loads of stuff ... well, good luck!" As she scurried away, she smiled encouragingly at Calista, though the girl knew it wouldn't go as well for her.

"Ronald Weasley," said the familiar, misty voice from over their heads. Ron grimaced at Harry and Callie, and climbed the silver ladder out of sight. Harry and Callie were now the only people left to be tested. They settled on the floor, backs to the wall, not talking much.

"I don't think I want to be in a room alone with her," Callie finally spoke up.

Harry chuckled. "Me neither. But I'm sure we'll both be fine."

A few minutes later, Ron's large feet reappeared on the ladder.

"How'd it go?" Harry asked him, as he and Callie both got to their feet.

"Rubbish," Ron answered. "Couldn't see a thing, so I made some stuff up like Callie said to. Don't think Trelawney was convinced, though..."

The misty voice then called, "Calista Lupin."

"Good luck, it'll be over before you know it," Ron assured Callie. She slowly climbed the ladder, and emerged into the dark room.

The tower room was stifling, the air thick with heat and the sickly-sweet aroma Callie had come to dread. The curtains were drawn tightly, casting the room in an oppressive gloom. The fire crackled behind her, adding to the suffocating warmth. She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her temple as she wove her way through the maze of chairs and tables.

Professor Trelawney sat waiting for her, her wide, unblinking eyes fixed on the large crystal ball in front of her.

"Good day, my dear," she said in her usual ethereal tone, gesturing delicately toward the Orb. "If you would kindly gaze into the Orb... take your time, now... then tell me what you see within it."

Callie slid into her seat reluctantly, the heavy atmosphere pressing down on her. She stared into the smooth, glassy surface of the crystal ball, at first seeing nothing but her own blurred reflection.

She bent her neck at every angle and stared at it as hard as she could, willing it to show her something other than swirling white fog, but nothing happened.

"Well?" Professor Trelawney prompted delicately. "What do you see?"

The heat was overpowering and her nostrils were stinging with the perfumed smoke wafting from the fire beside them. "Uhm–," Callie tried, "a dark shape... um..."

"What does it resemble?" Professor Trelawney whispered. "Think, now..."

For a moment, the Orb stayed like a blank slate, an ordinary object. But then, something shifted. At first, it was faint—a flicker at the edges of her vision. Her breath hitched as the images sharpened.

She saw Sirius's face, pale and tense, his eyes fierce with desperation. Then, the image changed—a gnarled tree thrashing violently, its limbs writhing as if alive. The Whomping Willow?

Her heart began to race. A terrible howling split through her mind, echoing so vividly she nearly jerked back. The scene shifted again, and she saw a luminous full moon, its light cold and merciless.

Callie tore her gaze away from the Orb, her hands trembling slightly. She blinked rapidly, trying to ground herself. What had she just seen? It couldn't be real—or could it? She glanced nervously at Trelawney, but the professor's expression remained calm, expectant, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"What have you seen, Cub?" Trelawney prompted, her voice soft but insistent, "What do the visions reveal?"

Callie hesitated, her throat tight, unsure of how to explain the chaotic images. She could feel the weight of the professor's stare, and for a moment, she considered lying— making up something simple to end the session. But she couldn't shake the feeling that whatever she had glimpsed meant something important, something she couldn't yet grasp. The image of the full moon lingered in her mind, cold and threatening.

"I—I don't know," she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. "I saw... a lot of things, but they don't make sense. I saw someone... Sirius Black, I think. And a tree—no, the Whomping Willow... and then something else. A howl. And... the moon." She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening at the memory of the image. "It... it doesn't make sense. I don't know what it means."

Trelawney was silent for a long moment, her eyes never leaving the crystal ball. Callie glanced at her, the professor's face now as still as a statue. The air in the room felt thick, almost suffocating, as though the very atmosphere itself was waiting for something. Callie shifted uneasily, unsure whether she should speak again.

Then, without warning, Trelawney murmured, her voice low and distant, as though speaking to no one in particular, "It will happen tonight."

Callie froze, her breath catching in her throat. The words hung in the air, inexplicably heavy. She tried to make sense of them, her thoughts racing.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes wide as she leaned forward, desperate for clarification. "What's going to happen tonight?"

Trelawney blinked, her expression shifting. She looked confused, as if she had just awoken from a deep trance. Her eyes flickered toward Callie, and the vacant expression that had been on her face just moments before was now replaced with one of mild bewilderment.

"Tonight?" Trelawney repeated, her voice steady again but distant. She blinked rapidly, adjusting her glasses. "Oh, my dear, I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about. We were simply gazing into the Orb, weren't we? No need to overthink it."

Callie stared at her, feeling a chill creep up her spine. The tension in the air had not left, but now it felt like she was grasping at something just out of her reach. Trelawney's nonchalance only made the unease settle deeper in her chest.

The professor smiled faintly, adjusting her shawl. "Shall we move on? You've done decently, despite your level of engagement in the subject."

But Callie couldn't shake the feeling that something ominous was lingering, something she hadn't yet fully seen. Her thoughts were consumed by the words "it will happen tonight," and the strange images she saw through the orb. The plan, their plan... was tonight the night?

As she descended the ladder, Callie spotted Harry waiting at the base, looking anxious.

"So? How did it go?" he asked quickly.

Callie gave a short nod, trying to keep her voice steady. "It was fine. I just told her I saw Sirius Black being flanked by Dementors. Nothing she hasn't heard before." She hesitated, then added, "I'll meet you back at the common room, yeah?"

Harry looked puzzled, clearly wanting to ask more, but before he could get a word in, Professor Trelawney called his name from above. Callie turned and walked away, her pace brisk.

She didn't stop until she reached the corridor, where she pressed a hand to her chest and took a slow, shaky breath. The vision—if it had even been a vision—still echoed in her mind. Trelawney had looked possessed for a moment. Could it have been real? Was it just a trick of the light, or had she witnessed an actual prophecy?

Still unsettled, Callie made her way to the common room. The Fat Lady barely glanced at her as she muttered the password. Inside, Ron and Hermione sat in a quiet corner, huddled over a piece of parchment. They looked pale, serious.

Callie walked over, heart still thudding. "What's going on?" she asked, but before either of them could answer—

The portrait hole flew open. Harry came rushing in, breathless.

"Professor Trelawney," he panted, "just told me—"

He stopped short at the sight of their faces.

"Buckbeak lost," Ron said weakly, holding out the letter. "Hagrid's just sent this."

The note was dry this time—no teardrops, no smudges—but the tremble in the handwriting was worse than ever.

Lost appeal. They're going to execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don't come down. I don't want you to see it.

Hagrid

The quartet shared a grim, wordless glance. No one needed to say it aloud. They would be going to see him—as soon as they could.

☾⋆₊✧

They went down to dinner with everyone else, but they didn't return to Gryffindor Tower afterward. Instead, they slipped into an empty chamber off the Entrance Hall, listening carefully until they were sure the place was deserted. They heard the last few students hurrying across the Hall, followed by the distinct sound of a door slamming shut. Hermione, after peering around the door, gave them a thumbs-up to signal that the coast was clear.

They stepped out into the courtyard, their eyes darting around for any sign of danger. The executioner, the same one they had seen earlier, was standing near the edge of the courtyard, his blade gleaming in the dim light as he sharpened it. A murder of crows circled overhead, casting long, eerie shadows, and the executioner looked up at them with a grin that sent a shiver down their spines. Without a word, they hurried past him, quickening their pace as they started toward Hagrid's cabin.

"I can't believe they're going to kill Buckbeak! It's too horrible," Hermione muttered, her voice thick with frustration.

"It just got worse," Ron said, pointing ahead as they exited the passageway leading to the hill.

Up ahead, Draco Malfoy, along with Crabbe and Goyle, were hiding behind a cluster of large menhirs, their binoculars trained on Hagrid, who was standing in the pumpkin patch, tossing dead ferrets to Buckbeak. Hagrid seemed to wipe his eyes before trudging into the hut, clearly upset.

"Did I tell you? Father said I can keep the head," Draco said, smirking as Crabbe chuckled beside him. "I think I'll donate it to the Gryffindors' common room."

The three of them stood there, seething with anger. Callie's hand immediately went to her wand, ready to hex them into the next century. But before she could act, Hermione had already started marching toward them, her face set in a grim expression.

Draco turned around with his signature grin. "Ah, come to see the show?"

"You!" Hermione shouted, pulling out her wand and pointing it at him. "You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!"

Malfoy staggered back, his eyes widening in fear as Hermione jabbed her wand at his chin.

"Hermione, no!" Ron called out, rushing to stop her. "He's not worth it."

Hermione's wand stayed steady, her eyes locked on Draco's, watching him whimper in place. But then, with a final huff, she lowered it, turning on her heel.

Just as she did, Draco and his goons burst into laughter, and before anyone could stop her, Hermione whirled back, her fist flying in a perfect arc. SMACK! The punch landed clean on Malfoy's jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Stunned, Malfoy scrambled to his feet, eyes wide, and sprinted off, Crabbe and Goyle puffing and huffing behind him, too slow to keep up.

"That felt good," Hermione said, her voice barely concealing her satisfaction.

"It does, doesn't it?" Callie replied, her lips curling into a grin.

"Not good—brilliant!" Ron added, still staring at Hermione in wide-eyed awe.

They continued their way down the slope, passing Buckbeak who was chewing on a ferret with an idle satisfaction. Callie's heart sank at the sight—Buckbeak didn't know what was about to happen to him. He was just going about his business, completely unaware of the fate that loomed so near.

When they reached Hagrid's door, they knocked, and it swung open almost immediately. Hagrid peered out at them, his face tight with worry.

"You shouldn't be here," he muttered quickly, ushering them inside before closing the door behind them with a soft thud.

He walked over to the window, his gaze immediately drawn to Buckbeak. Harry, Callie, and Ron took a seat, while Hermione busied herself making tea.

"Oh, look at 'im," Hagrid said quietly, his voice tinged with affection. "Loves the smell o' the trees when the wind blows through 'em."

Callie looked out the window, heart heavy. She wished there was something they could do.

"Isn't there anything anyone can do, Hagrid?" Harry asked, his voice determined. "Dumbledore—"

"He's tried," Hagrid interrupted, shaking his head sadly. "He's got no power ter overrule the Committee. Told 'em Buckbeak's fine, but they're scared... yeh know what Lucius Malfoy's like... threatened 'em, I expect... an' the executioner, Macnair, he's an old pal o' Malfoy's... but it'll be quick an' clean..." Hagrid trailed off, his voice breaking slightly. "An' I'll be beside him..."

Hagrid swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the cabin as if he were searching for something—some shred of hope, some comfort he couldn't quite grasp.

"Dumbledore's gonna come down while it—while it happens," he continued, his voice thick with emotion. "Wrote me this mornin'. Said he wants ter—ter be with me. Great man, Dumbledore..."

Hermione, who had been rummaging through Hagrid's cupboard for another milk jug, let out a small, muffled sob. She quickly straightened up, clutching the jug tightly in her hands, fighting to keep the tears back.

"We'll stay with you, too, Hagrid," Hermione started, but Hagrid shook his shaggy head firmly.

"Yeh're ter go back up ter the castle. I told yeh, I don't want yeh watchin'. An' yeh shouldn't be down here anyway... if Fudge an' Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Harry, yeh'll be in big trouble."

Hermione didn't answer, but silent tears streamed down her face as she hurried around, making tea. She poured some milk into the jug, but as soon as she lifted the bottle, she let out a startled shriek.

"Ron! I—I don't believe it—it's Scabbers!"

Ron blinked, looking confused. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione hurried over to the table, turning the milk jug upside down. With a frantic squeak, Scabbers the rat came sliding out, scrambling to get back inside.

"Scabbers!" Ron exclaimed, still in disbelief. "Scabbers, what are you doing here?"

He grabbed the struggling rat and held him up to the light. The sight of him made Callie's stomach tighten. Scabbers—or whatever it was—looked awful. His fur was sparse, leaving large, sickly bald patches, and he was unnervingly thin. His eyes, though, flickered in a way that Callie recognized instantly. There was no doubt in her mind now about the truth.

Her hand clenched around her wand instinctively, and she shot a glare at the rat.

"It's OK, Scabbers!" Ron said, trying to soothe the rat. "No cats! There's nothing here to hurt you!"

But Callie wasn't listening to Hagrid anymore. Her eyes were fixed on the rat, her whole body rigid with a rising, sickening realization. She couldn't tear her gaze away. Her thoughts were a storm, crashing into each other—loud, urgent, impossible to ignore.

Peter Pettigrew was here. Right here, in front of them all. And no one knew.

Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might shake loose from her chest.

Suddenly—SMASH!

A glass jar on the shelf shattered violently, sending bits of glass skittering across the floor. Hermione let out a gasp, snatching up a jagged, star-shaped stone. Before anyone could react, a second stone flew through the air and struck Harry squarely on the back of the head.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, turning sharply toward the window.

Everyone turned to look.

Outside, Dumbledore and Fudge were making their way across the grounds, their figures growing larger with every step. And behind them—shrouded in a swarm of fluttering crows—came the executioner, axe glinting at his side. The sight turned Hagrid's panic into something desperate.

"Yeh gotta go!" he said hoarsely, eyes wide. "They musn' find yeh here... go on, now..."

Ron, pale and fumbling, shoved Scabbers deep into his pocket. Callie stood frozen, her feet rooted to the floor, mind still spinning with the weight of what she knew.

Peter Pettigrew.

But Hagrid's voice cut through her paralysis like a slap to the face. She blinked hard, sucked in a breath, and forced herself to move.

"I'll let yeh out the back way," Hagrid murmured, his face pale. The urgency in his tone sent a chill through her.

They followed him toward the back door into the garden, and Harry's heart sank as he saw Buckbeak a few yards away, tethered to a tree behind Hagrid's pumpkin patch. The Hippogriff's sharp head swivelled from side to side, sensing something was wrong, pawing the ground restlessly.

"It's OK, Beaky," Hagrid whispered softly, though his voice cracked with emotion. "It's OK..."

The words felt hollow as Callie's gaze flickered from Hagrid to the creature. She could feel the heavy weight of what was about to happen, the injustice, the helplessness.

Hagrid turned to them, desperation in his eyes. "Go on," he urged. "Get goin'."

But none of them moved. Callie's chest tightened, and she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears.

"Hagrid, we can't—"

"We'll tell them what really happened—"

"They can't kill him—"

But Hagrid cut them off with a fierce, almost desperate command. "Go!" His voice cracked. "It's bad enough without you lot in trouble an' all!"

Callie swallowed hard, her mind spinning with everything happening so quickly. She took a hesitant step forward, placing a hand gently on Hagrid's arm, trying to offer him some comfort, though she was just as shaken. "We'll fix this," she whispered. "You're not alone, Hagrid."

Hagrid blinked at her, his eyes softening for a moment. Then, as if caught in a flood of emotion, he whispered, "Thank yeh, Red, yer just as kind as yer father."

Callie froze, her stomach lurching. Harry and Ron exchanged confused glances, but Hermione's eyes widened. Callie looked up at Hagrid, feeling a strange warmth rise in her chest. She hadn't expected him to say that.

Before anyone could respond, a rapid knock echoed through the cabin's front door. The moment was shattered, and the sense of impending doom hung in the air.

As the four of them bolted down the back steps, they could hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps entering the cabin—Fudge, Dumbledore, and the executioner, all arriving through the front door.

Above them, a veil of crows fluttered down onto the roof of the cabin, their wings beating steadily in the cold evening air. More dropped into the pumpkin patch, slowly circling Buckbeak. The Hippogriff stood unmoving, his sharp eyes darting nervously, as though he could sense the tragedy about to unfold.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Callie ducked behind the pumpkins, trying to stay hidden, though it felt almost impossible to avoid the reality of what was happening just a few yards away. They could hear Hagrid greeting the others solemnly, his voice barely carrying over the wind.

Suddenly, Hermione turned sharply, her eyes wide. A branch snapped nearby.

Callie nudged her, a frown creasing her forehead. "What?" she whispered, a sense of unease creeping in.

"Nothing, I just thought I saw... Never mind." Hermione's voice was tight, her usual certainty replaced by a hint of doubt.

"Let's go," Ron urged, his voice low but determined.

They began to run up the slope, trying to distance themselves from the cabin, but with each step, the weight of what they had just witnessed felt heavier. Buckbeak's sad growl carried through the air, making Callie's heart ache. She glanced over her shoulder, but they were too far away now to turn back.

They had made it far enough to feel safe, but none of them could bring themselves to move any farther. The air was thick with tension. The crows continued to circle, casting shadows over the pumpkin patch. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Callie saw the executioner step out of the cabin. His towering figure was nearly hidden by the pumpkins, but the gleaming axe raised high above his head was impossible to miss.

The world seemed to hold its breath as the axe lingered in the air, suspended in time, before finally, with a sickening thud, it dropped from view.

The sound of the chop echoed in the distance, slicing through the air like a knife.

The moment hung heavily between them. Callie's throat tightened as she felt the weight of what had just happened, what they had just lost. Without a word, the tears began to fall—rivers of grief they had been holding back for too long. They clung to each other, not caring about the secrets, the lies, or the fights of the past year. In that moment, all that mattered was the shared pain of losing something innocent.

It was the first—and most likely the last—time they could do this. The thought gnawed at Callie's heart, but she didn't pull away. She held onto her friends in the midst of all the grief, more than anxious about the pain to come.

Callie's heart raced as she quietly pulled out her wand, fingers trembling slightly. She whispered a spell under her breath, one that caused her wand to emit a high-pitched whistling sound, barely audible to human ears but resonating at a frequency that only certain animals could hear—cats, rats, dogs, and wolves. She watched, her eyes narrowed, hoping it would work.

"Scabbers, keep still," Ron hissed, his voice strained as he clamped his hand over his chest. The rat was wriggling violently, as if it could sense something was wrong. Ron came to an abrupt halt, trying to force Scabbers deeper into his pocket. "What's the matter with you, you stupid rat? Stay still—OUCH! He bit me!"

"Ron, be quiet!" Hermione whispered urgently, her eyes darting around the darkened space. "Fudge'll be out here in a minute—"

"He won't—stay—put—" Ron struggled, but Scabbers was having none of it.

The rat's frantic wriggling only intensified. Something was spooking it. Callie's eyes flicked toward the shadows, and she knew what it meant.

"What's the matter with him?" Ron muttered, confusion in his voice.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, they saw it. Slithering toward them, body low to the ground, was Crookshanks. His wide yellow eyes glinted in the dim light, looking almost unnatural.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione moaned, her voice a mix of frustration and fear. "No, go away, Crookshanks! Go away!"

But the cat wasn't listening. He was getting closer, his movements smooth and purposeful.

"Scabbers—NO!" Ron yelled, his voice rising in panic.

It was too late. Scabbers, terrified beyond reason, managed to slip from Ron's grasp and hit the ground with a soft thud. In an instant, Crookshanks pounced, his claws extended, his body coiling as he sprang after the rat.

"NO!" Ron shouted again, but the scene was already unfolding too quickly. Before any of them could react, Scabbers had scampered away.

And with a single, swift bound, Crookshanks was right behind him. Before he could be stopped, Ron, eyes wide with desperation, chased after them into the fading daylight.

Callie, Hermione, and Harry exchanged alarmed glances before sprinting after him. The sound of Ron's pounding footsteps echoed through the darkening grounds, accompanied by his frantic shouts.

"Get away from him—get away—Scabbers, come here—"

A loud thud interrupted his shouting, making Callie's heart leap into her throat.

"Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat—" Ron's voice was muffled and full of exasperation.

The three nearly collided with him as they skidded to a stop. Ron was sprawled on the ground, his face red with effort, but Scabbers was once again squirming in his pocket, Ron's hands clamped tightly over the frantic lump.

"Ron—come on—we have to get back—" Hermione panted, glancing nervously over her shoulder. "Dumbledore—the Minister—they'll be coming back out any second—"

Callie barely had a chance to catch her breath, her eyes darting between Ron and the darkness around them, when the sound of something approaching sent a chill down her spine.

Soft, deliberate thuds echoed through the stillness—gigantic paws pounding against the ground. Callie's stomach twisted as an enormous figure emerged from the shadows, its pale eyes gleaming like twin moons. Sirius was here.

An enormous, jet-black dog, its fur glistening under the faint light, bounded toward them with unsettling speed.

"It's the Grim!" Ron screeched, his voice high-pitched and terrified.

Callie barely had time to process the massive, black dog before it lunged, its powerful frame colliding with Harry. She gasped as he was knocked backward in a whirlwind of fur and teeth. She reached instinctively for her wand, heart pounding, but the dog's momentum sent it rolling off Harry, giving him a moment to struggle upright, clutching his ribs.

Ron staggered to his feet just as the dog charged again. Before Callie could even shout a warning, Ron threw himself in front of Harry, pushing him aside. The dog's massive jaws clamped onto Ron's arm instead.

"No!" Callie yelled, raising her wand. "Not like this!"

Harry grabbed a handful of the dog's thick fur, struggling to pull it away, but it dragged Ron as though he weighed nothing, his legs flailing uselessly against the ground. Callie darted forward, desperate to help, but before she could act, something huge slammed into her side.

The impact sent her sprawling, pain exploding in her shoulder as she hit the ground. She could hear Hermione cry out nearby, the sound sharp and full of fear. Callie struggled to breathe, stars dancing across her vision. She fumbled for her wand, her fingers trembling.

"Lumos," Harry's voice came, hoarse and desperate.

The wand-light flickered, illuminating their surroundings. Callie's stomach dropped as she saw where they were: the Whomping Willow loomed above, its thick branches thrashing wildly, creaking and groaning as though in a fierce storm.

Near the base of the gnarled trunk, the dog was dragging Ron into a large gap in the roots. Ron fought wildly, his free arm clawing at the ground, but it was no use—his torso was already slipping out of sight.

"Ron!" Callie screamed, scrambling to her feet. She tried to rush forward, but a heavy branch swept through the air, forcing her to leap back. The tree was relentless, its limbs a deadly barrier between them and their friend.

They could see only one of Ron's legs now, hooked desperately around a root to stop himself from being pulled further. The dog tugged harder, and then a sickening crack split the air. Callie's stomach lurched as Ron's leg twisted unnaturally. He gave a strangled cry, and then his foot vanished into the darkness beneath the roots.

"Ron!" Harry and Callie shouted together, but Sirius was gone, taking Ron with him.

into the climax/confrontation we go! i don't have much to say except buckle up...

but also, thank you all for 7k reads and we're almost at 8 now! i didnt expect this story to get much traction but im glad it is and that people are enjoying the story and my writing. act one is soon to be finished and im so grateful for all of you who have stuck along.

happy MM!!!