Moments ago, butterbeer slid down his throat, the sugary concoction leaving a pleasant taste on his tongue.
Moments ago, he was mimicking a first year who got lost on a flight of changing stairs, believing he was trapped forever on the third floor.
Moments ago, a scream rippled through the night and Sirius’ ears craned only slightly towards the direction of the noise. The second one commanded his attention, loud enough to prickle at his spine, raise a small pattern of goosebumps along his arms -- hidden by the quick shimmy of the sleeves of his robe.
Anxiousness coupled with impulse led Sirius to the window of The Three Broomsticks, catching bits and pieces of light flash through the forest, the all too familiar tug of electricity that came with casting magic.
“Didn’t know everyone was so passionate about Qudditch,” he called over his shoulder, his voice neutral other than the twinge of humor he allowed to seep in. “Guess Hogwarts should play their best more often.”