Heavenly Waters||Sirius Black

Chapter 38

Gwen cranes her neck, pulling at the shoulder of her long sleeve so that she can see what is bothering her.

The greyish blue color is significantly darker in a few splotches, unfortunately damp against her skin. A sad smile pulls at her lips. Tears that only a half giant could make soaked her shirt even after the walk from his hut to her classroom. Sweet Hagrid. He was one of the purest people she'd had the pleasure of meeting, a being scorned by those that would likely learn the most from him if they would just listen. She had to fight her urge to stay with him, to protect him from the people she knew would soon arrive to execute his beloved hippogriff. If she didn't have hope for the alternative outcome, she wouldn't have considered leaving.

Hagrid didn't want her to stay anyway. He didn't want her to watch the execution. It was so sweet that he thought she hadn't seen worse. So she left his small hut after having shared tea from cups that were far too large for her hands. But before she walked up the hill to the castle, she had paused and looked at Buckbeak for what she hoped wasn't the last time. She didn't bow, and he didn't climb to his feet to study her. She had simply nodded her head, certain that no matter what the hippogriff would be okay. Her heart strained with affection when the creature dipped it's beak in return. She was glad she hadn't caved to her desire for a sleeping draught. It would have dulled the beauty of this memory she hoped to have for a long time. One of two beings trusting in one another.

She had a newfound appreciation for the beauty of such a magical creature. She was almost certain she would be purchasing a painting of one as soon as she found one that captured such distinction in it's face. Prideful, awe inspiring beings. Not beasts. Nothing about something so intuitive should be called 'beast.'

Gwen stares at the paintings in her office, humming thoughtfully as she assesses when she could put her hypothetical hippogriff portrait. She tries not to stop on the painting she loved most. Her eyes go to it anyway.

It looks a little different each time she studies it, even before the focal point went missing. She sucks in a slow breath when she looks at where her cottage used to be. Now, there were only dunes and water and sky. As if a home had never touched the sand. As if she had never walked that beach.

"Professor! Professor!"

Gwen's eyes don't leave that spot on that painting, even as someone bursts through her door and causes it to bang against the wall. Her shelves rattle, the objects shifting. She just watches the birds circling in the background of her painting, the swipes of paint blurring as they pick up speed. It calls to her like always, but a voice interrupts it rather abruptly,

"Bloody hell. Ninnie!"

She blinks at the exasperated delivery of words and asks calmly without turning her head, "Yes, Harry?"

He quickly comes to her side, entering her peripheral vision with panic written across his face. He clears his throat, glancing briefly at the painting she often stares at before saying firmly, "You have to save him."

Gwen's face splits into a half smile at his words, "Which 'him' are you referring to, Harry?"

"Buckbeak!" His frustration is palpable, his hands raking through his hair irritably, "They're going to execute him! We've tried everything. You can stop them!"

Her brows raise in surprise, and she finally glances at him for just a second, "And how would you suppose I do that?"

His cheeks are red, and the way he looks away from her tells her everything she needs to know. The scars on her back begin to ache. She clears her throat, "You want me to charm the minister of magic."

"Just this once," He blurts out, "Just to save Buckbeak."

A part of her wants to do it. To ignore Dumbledore's wishes and her own intuition. Harry would hate her for this, she was certain of it. He would hate her for leaving, hate her for lying. But if she did as he asked, he would hate her for putting his chance to know his godfather at risk. She couldn't win. Fortunately, she'd never been driven by winning.