Chapter 14

The Match

Sirius, as Snuffles, was peacefully taking a snooze on the couch in the Shack, the sun warm on his back, just taking a snooze, when Crookshanks came barreling into the Shack. 

Snuffles!

Sirius fell off the couch, landing with a thud on the dusty floor. Wha-?

The match!

He sprang to his paws in an instant. It's starting?!

Yes!

That was all Sirius needed to go dashing out of the shack, running through Hogsmead with such speed that he knocked over a man in a pinstriped cloak and a bowler hat, not thinking about who it was, though feeling a little bit bad when he heard an "Oomph!" from the man, and the squelch as he fell into the mud. 

He continued to tear through the village, running towards the grounds, and finally making it to the Quidditch pitch. The match was already starting. The teams had been announced, and he was glad that one of the teams was wearing canary yellow robes. Hufflepuff. However, he couldn't distinguish the color of the other team, their robes looking a muddy brown. Stupid colorblindness, he thought. 

The one downside of having a dog animagus form. He'd spent so long as a dog that the side-effects, such as enhanced senses, and of course, colorblindness, had become a part of him, even as a human. Fortunately, it was only red-green, though it wasn't ideal when distinguishing between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Luckily, he was spared of the difficulty of having to decide whether the robes were red or green when a whistle was blown and Madam Hooch yelled over the wind and rain that soaked and buffeted everything and everybody on the pitch. "Gryffindor!"

Sirius barked happily, though the sound was swallowed up by the roaring wind. He scanned the players on the Gryffindor team, hoping against hope that the person he most wished to see was there. He tried creeping closer until he was on the very edge of the field. 

The players began to mount their brooms, but one, in particular, got his attention. It appeared to be a boy, with a mass of untidy black hair on his head. But that could have been anybody. What got Sirius' attention was the fact that this boy mounted his broom in a way that he'd only seen one other person do. James. So that meant... it couldn't be. Harry! He barked, though the boy obviously didn't hear him, and he wouldn't understand him anyway. But Sirius didn't care. His godson, right in front of him. Playing Quidditch no less! And on the Gryffindor team, though that wasn't much of a surprise to him. 

The match began, and Sirius scampered up the stands, all the way to the top row, just to be sure that he didn't catch the eye of any students. Though he didn't really care. A dog watching a Quidditch match, perfectly normal right? 

The wind was really howling now, drowning out most of the sound, so that the boo's and cheering from the crowd below was almost inaudible, and only a few words from the commentary could be heard. The rain streamed down Sirius's fur, worsening his visibility, but for the most part, he could see the match. 

It had been ages since he'd seen a Quidditch match, so as expected, Sirius was totally into it. He barked joyously when the players in their red, though they appeared a muddy brown, robes scored a goal and growled angrily when the yellow-clad players scored a few goals of their own. Nothing against the Hufflepuffs of course. 

It was then, during this, that he saw Harry's eyes land on him. Even though the boy was at the center of the pitch, and at a considerably high altitude, Sirius could practically feel the fear emanating from him. Just as suddenly, he looked away, staring at a goal that had been made by the yellow team. Sirius took this as his chance. Harry had seen him, and he certainly didn't want his fear of himself, Sirius, to jeopardize Gryffindor's win, though he couldn't determine why exactly was the boy so scared, for what Sirius could only see as no reason. 

He tailed down the stands, almost slipping on the slick surface, the wind and rain not letting up, and ran back towards Hogsmead. But he couldn't resist a look back at the pitch. What he saw nearly stopped his heart. 

Dementors. Tons of them, heading towards the pitch. As Sirius watched, horror-struck, a player fell down from the clouds looming above, the same player which he had watched with such intensity throughout the match. Harry. 

He saw the boy's progress towards the ground slow down almost, and sensing that the occurrence was a result of magic, he hoped that the boy would be okay. His broomstick flew off and Sirius, not bothering to think better of it, tore after it, though skirting the edges of the pitch very carefully, not wanting to attract the dementors attention, and trying his best to keep his feelings to himself, not wanting them to detect those either. 

He saw the broom land and ran over there. With a sinking heart, he saw the all-too-familiar branches of the Whomping Willow. And there, lying in the grass were the splintered remains of what could have been a very nice broom at some point, but were now destroyed. I'm sorry Harry. Sirius thought desparedly. If he'd just gotten there sooner. 

He was still brooding over this, his ears and tail drooping, when he heard the distinct sounds of someone approaching. Not missing a beat, he ducked under the branches of the tree, which was especially violent today, having just been hit with a broom, touched a knot in the wood to stop it, and was down in the tunnel, racing away towards the Shack before one could say Minerva McGonnagal. 

As he ran down the tunnel, a plan was formulating in his head. He would get Harry a new broomstick, the best one there was, even if it killed him.