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The years in Azkaban corroded his taste buds to the point where he could properly disillusion himself into believing that poorly roasted rat was an appetizing dinner. At the very least the blaze from his very small fires, never lit for more than a few minutes to not attract undue attention, scorched away any potential fleas or parasites on the meat. Prolonged exposure to Buckbeak also played a factor in his changed palette. The hippogriff had deadly aim with his diamond-hard beak when catching the vermin wandering about their cave.
Their cave. Sirius snorted under his breath as he attempted to darn the hole in the knee of his only pair of pants. He'd never learned household charms, Kreacher was always there, as vile as the house-elf was to him. Who was he now that he called this wretched fissure of rock his cave like it was his home. Still...it was better than the island on the North Sea. It was also much closer to Harry, and with events unfolding like they were that was where he needed to be.
Buckbeack ruffled his feathers behind him in his sleep, disturbing Sirius's thoughts. He needed to step out for some fresh air.
The chilly fall air didn't seep into his bones as much when he was in Animagus form. It only helped the fact that he owned one pair of clothes and the more time he spent in his furry form, the less chance he ruined the trousers and shirt stolen from Remus. He'd never given much thought to where his clothes went when he transformed before he was on the run, but now he had no energy or resources to research it.
His paws were soft against the dying grass on the path down to Hogsmeade. Sometimes after nightfall he would be able to beg a few scraps off of kitchen hands in the Three Broomsticks. He couldn't do it too often; his form was too easily recognizable and frankly caused most of the employees a fright. Thankfully Rosmerta recently hired several more people to help with the influx of patrons, what with the Triwizard Tournament in full swing.
The scent of grilling meat and sizzling eggs pooled in his mouth and nose, creating a heady and nearly hallucinogenic state of mind. Leaning back on his haunches briefly to catch his breath and gather his wits he was content to swim within the heavenly river of cooking smells surrounding him. A sharp smell of cut flowers and alcohol slid through the invisible cloud and disrupted his reverie.
Cracking open one eye he cocked his head in the direction of the intrusive smell to see what was causing it. Colors were muted in this form but he was not colorblind like most dogs, so the acid green quill flitting around a head of golden blonde hair immediately caught his attention.
"Pick up the pace, they'll be weighing the wands soon enough and I want as many shots as possible of our champions!"
The last time he'd heard that voice he was fourteen and unceremoniously stuck to a cobblestone wall. His curiosity was instantly piqued and his paws moved almost of their own volition to silently trail behind the witch and the hovering photographer. A bag swinging next to the man's camera drew him closer and closer. A quick nip and a dozen loping steps and he could the proud owner of a take away bag of breakfast food. It was too dangerous, he couldn't distract Harry and compromise his safety…
Sirius trailed a safe distance behind the two of them, a ball of jealousy growing in his chest as he heard them discuss interviewing the champions, specifically his godson. As they reached the gates they were granted entrance without any chaperones to meet them. The reporter he vaguely recognized and whose identity was plaguing him.
Bright cherry lipstick painting a feral grin caught his attention as she turned and he remembered her name like a punch to the gut. Rita Skeeter, the woman he'd pined after for a few years while he was at Hogwarts, reading each of her small Transfiguration journal publications on advanced transformations. He remembered the pinch of sadness when he realized she'd moved onto a different sort of journalism just as the war was escalating.
With a low whine, he hung his head and loped away from the pair entering the castle grounds and made a point to filch every Daily Prophet he could into his cave. Their cave. A cave that he would never even consider bringing such a beautiful woman to. The years had changed them both, he considered, and not for the better.