Chapter 43: The Prisoner of Azkaban and Maria — 1-1

The Potter siblings sat huddled on Magnolia Crescent in the dead of night. Not a single car passed. They were surrounded by their heavy luggage—mostly school supplies. The chaos of a few moments ago felt like a distant fever dream.

Once again, we had run away from home.

For most children, summer vacation is a time of excitement—indeed, my own children back then were exactly like that—but such a thing did not apply to us Potters. Between the suspicion following the Dobby incident and our eventual escape by smashing a window, we had been living a miserable existence under "house arrest," starving and cold. Then there was the incident with Ron’s telephone call. I hadn't realized Harry had given the number to Ron.

The Dursleys, still reeling from the shocks of the previous year, had shoved all our school supplies into the cupboard under the stairs and forbidden us from even touching anything "unnatural." In other words, they had stripped us of the means to do our homework.

This was a dire situation. While we were denied the usual joys of summer, we were still burdened with the usual mountain of holiday homework. If we didn't chip away at it, we’d be facing a string of detentions the moment the new term started.

Left with no choice, I pulled out a pin. It was the moment the lock-picking skills I had been personally taught by Fred and George truly hummed to life.

Fortunately, the Dursleys seemed so traumatized by the ruined window from the previous year that this time Hedwig was allowed out and the window remained unbarred. We were still stuck in the house, but at least they hadn't put an outside lock on our bedroom door. Harry was fed up, but having known far more restrictive lives, I considered this a significant upgrade.

Using our parents' inheritance, I had stocked up on non-perishable sweets and food for emergencies, and Hedwig had successfully delivered our birthday cards and presents. It was a rather wonderful start.

And then—the storm arrived, just as predicted.

That day, I was looking at a clipping of Ron’s trip to Egypt, while Harry was staring at his Hogsmeade permission form.

"Hey, you brats."

Uncle Vernon spoke, his eyes darting resentfully toward the corner of the room as he announced the impending visit of Aunt Marge. Harry turned pale. Harry disliked Aunt Marge even more than the rest of the Dursleys. Every time she visited, he was treated horribly. ...And, of course, so was I.

Aunt Petunia held at least a shred of complex emotion for her late sister, Lily, but Marge, Vernon's sister, had no such ties. Every time she saw me, she’d bark about how I shouldn't be "making eyes" at her precious "Duddy-kins." I didn't understand it then, and I still don't. It was utterly nonsensical.

At that moment, my plan was to leave the house early to avoid the "Aunt Marge Balloon Incident." However—seeing Harry staring so longingly at that Hogsmeade form, I changed my mind.

...It’s probably no use, but for Harry’s sake, let’s give it a try.

The plan was to secure a signature on the form by being perfectly "normal" while Aunt Marge was there.

The result: Aunt Marge turned into a magnificent balloon anyway.

The way she puffed up and floated away was a performance worthy of ten points from Professor McGonagall—along with a month of detention.

I grabbed our pre-packed bags and bolted into the night with a fuming Harry. I had expected and prepared for this, but there was one miscalculation: the reason Harry lost his temper wasn't an insult to our parents, but the verbal abuse directed at me.

Apparently, between women, there are many things to pick apart. Personally, no matter what vile things she said, I didn't care—I don't exactly possess a typical "maiden’s heart"—but Harry was different. Seeing him get so angry for the sake of his family made me think, He really is Mum and Dad’s son. (Though, to be fair, if that pig-balloon had said those things to Ginny or Lily, I would have been swinging my wand without mercy, too.)

Feeling a strange tickle of warmth in my chest, I pulled my brother close. His eyes were still glowing with feline rage.

"I can't forgive her... saying those things to Maria..."

"What was it? A 'filthy female hyena preying on men'? And then that bit about being a f—"

"Maria!"

Though he whispered, he scolded me firmly, and I struck a pose of reflection. Harry is always getting hurt on my behalf, so I often forget to get angry for myself. Though if someone attacks Harry, I’m the first to blow a fuse.

"...What do we do now?"

"Who knows?"

Having caught the night breeze, Harry seemed to have cooled his head, and he whispered with a hint of insecurity. For me, the Knight Bus was the only real option, but there was something I wanted to do first.

...I wonder if he’s there.

"Maria?"

While holding Harry, I looked around the area. I strained my eyes against the darkness.

...If I don't find him, that’s fine. I wanted to see him, I wanted to hug him right this second, but the tension made my heart ache. I wanted to see him, yet I didn't. I laughed at myself for being so pathetic—longing for him while simultaneously hoping he wouldn't appear.

"Maria...?"

Just as Harry peered into my face with concern—Whimper.

A faint, cautious sound came as the shadows seemed to split. It took the shape of a large dog.

Ah... Sirius.

"M-Maria, it's a stray dog! Stand up!"

"It's okay, Harry. If we move suddenly, he'll get defensive. ...He's hungry, I'm sure of it."

He really was. So hungry he had become nothing but skin and bone.

The black dog, looking more frightened than threatening, approached us slowly, taking its time. It was as if he were giving us time to run away. ...I'm sure that was exactly what he was doing.

"Good evening. Are you lost too?"

"Maria... there's no point talking to a dog."

"If Harry can talk to snakes, it wouldn't be strange if I could talk to dogs, right?"

"If you could, the first thing you'd do is order him to bite Aunt Marge’s Ripper, wouldn't you?"

"Good point."

We shared a small giggle. Harry seemed to relax, seeing that the dog was gentle despite its appearance. Don't let your guard down so easily if it’s actually a stray, little brother.

"Hey, come here. I have some chicken. I'll give it to you."

"Wait, is that from Aunt Petunia’s dinner? Since when?"

"I swiped it from Dudley’s plate during the chaos. Call it helping him with his diet."

"Maria, you really are..."

The word Harry left hanging was likely "shrewd." But I had wanted to give this to him for so long. Since before I was even born—so to speak.

"I'll leave it here. ...Hey, can I pet you?"

I asked softly as the dog began ravenously devouring the three pieces of chicken I’d placed on the ground. The black dog froze and looked up at me with an expression that was remarkably human.

...He looks like he’s asking, 'Are you serious?'

Then, after a few blinks, he lowered his head again.

"He says I can! Harry!"

"It looks to me like he’s just gone back to focusing on his food... Stop it, Maria. Just like Hedwig, animals get angry if you mess with them while they're eating—hey, Maria!"

Ignoring Harry’s protest, I began ruffling the dog’s fur. Harry scolded me, and the black dog’s ears pricked up in surprise at Harry's voice. Sirius, do you realize you're a dog right now? Your emotions are a bit too easy to read.

"See? You startled him because you raised your voice."

I teased as I hugged the neck of the dog who had looked up reflexively. The black dog looked utterly flustered. Far too easy to read.

"Maria... don't come crying to me if you get bitten. ...Does the wizarding world even understand rabies?"

"If they can fix a hand bitten by a dragon, I'm sure a dog bite is nothing."

"I guess..."

Harry tentatively reached out his hand as well. He brushed aside the coarse, mud-caked fur, and as his fingers touched the skin beneath, he let out a sharp intake of breath.

"Maria, this dog..."

"...I know. He's hungry."

"Yeah..."

He must have been shocked to feel the bone directly beneath the skin without any meat in between. His beautiful green eyes clouded with pity. Hidden beneath his large frame and overgrown fur, his condition was—truly, it was horrific.

While being fussed over by Harry and me, the black dog sat quietly and yielded to us, looking bewildered. I was glad Sirius was in his dog form. If he had been human, I would have broken down crying without a second thought. Even now—just touching him like this was painful.

I’m sorry, Sirius. I wish I could have pulled you out of that hell sooner.

I... I had been running away the whole time.

After sharing as much warmth as I could, I placed the entire bag of emergency rations I’d bought for the summer next to him.

"This is your dinner. We'll be fine. ...Our parents left us more money than we know what to do with. I don't think the two of us could spend it all if we tried."

Harry nodded, petting the clearly shaken dog. I cupped the dog's gentle cheek—careful not to let him hide his teeth—met his eyes, and blew a kiss to the tip of his nose.

"See you again."

We will meet again. —My Harry's godfather.

After surviving a night of the Knight Bus’s atrocious driving, we stepped out in front of the Leaky Cauldron. As expected, Cornelius Fudge was waiting. Fudge patted Harry’s shoulder and back, offering words of comfort before leading us to a room. My presence was treated as an afterthought. Truly, the man never changes.

After the brief introductions, before Harry could fearfully confess about Aunt Marge, I spoke up first.

"Actually, I was the one who inflated our aunt. What will my punishment be?"

"Maria!?"

"Harry, we have to be honest. You don't need to try and cover for me."

"What are you talking about..."

"Harry! What a kind soul you are! However, even for the sake of family, it is not good to hide the truth. I see, I see... so it was you. Not Harry Potter, but you..."

Fudge nodded, his eyes narrowing in relief. The man has no talent for political maneuvering.

Hiding the truth is not good—look who’s talking.

"Maria, you certainly did something you shouldn't have. But the law has many loopholes. For a first offense, a warning will suffice. There will be no punishment, Harry. Rest easy."

Fudge laughed brightly at Harry, who was biting his lip with a stern expression. For Fudge, the most important thing was that the "Harry Potter brand" remained untarnished.

Having finished his tea in high spirits, Fudge made us promise to stay within Diagon Alley and departed.

Well, now that the nuisances have been cleared away—

"...Ma... ri... a?"

I suppose I should start by cheering up my sulking brother.