Just imagining Sirius spying on Harry throughout his third year like…
The sun was high in the sky, casting golden light over the rolling hills of the Hogwarts grounds. Sirius stood by the entry of his temporary cave, arms folded across his chest, watching Harry soar through the air on the back of Buckbeak. The hippogriff's powerful wings beat rhythmically, each stroke gliding Harry faster across the lake, Harry’s laughter carrying faintly on the wind.
He laughed like his mother.
Sirius let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Damn," he muttered under his breath. "Professor Grubbly-Plank never let us fly the hippogriffs. Wouldn’t even let us near them most of the time."
A smirk tugged at his lips as he imagined James' reaction. James, whose competitive streak had one of Sirius’ favorite characteristics. James, who never missed an opportunity to claim the best broom, the highest dive, the fastest lap around the Quidditch pitch. If James had been here to see this...
"Oh, he'd be throwing a fit right about now," Sirius tilted his head as he watched the animal arc back for land. "Harry getting to fly a hippogriff before he ever did? He wouldn’t let that go for weeks.”
The ache of loss that usually lingered just beneath the surface softened into something warmer. James was gone, yes, but here was Harry—alive, thriving, and so breathtakingly himself. He seemed to have his father’s confidence, his mother’s laugh, and something all his own that Sirius couldn’t quite put into words yet.
He transformed back into Padfoot, watching as Buckbeak tilted to one side, Harry adjusting easily, and laughing louder. Padfoot felt a rare kind of peace settle over him, a smile lingering on his face he laid down in the sunbeams pushing through the trees.
Good for you, kid, he thought quietly. Good for you.













