Hogsmeade Village buzzed with weekend energy, a haven for young witches and wizards. Honeydukes' sweets shop, Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, the Three Broomsticks pub, Zonko's Joke Shop—they drew crowds of students, leaving little room for adults.
Argus had two goals here: scout potential shops in the village and draw out Sirius Black, based on fresh intelligence that the fugitive was lurking nearby.
It didn't take long. As Argus strolled the lanes, he spotted a shadowy figure trailing him—a mangy black dog, nose to the ground, scavenging scraps. Its eyes darted toward him repeatedly.
"Argus, fancy a pint at the Three Broomsticks?" Draco asked, clapping him on the shoulder with forced nonchalance, like a worldly pub crawler.
Argus shook his head. "I've got business to handle. Meet you there later."
"Goyle, Crabbe!" At his call, the pair lumbered over, arms loaded with sweets and chocolate frogs—far more appealing than Draco's talk of mulled mead or butterbeer.
"Go with Draco, grab a table," Argus instructed. "I'll join soon."
"Yes, sir!" they chorused.
Under Draco's sullen glare, Argus slipped away, weaving through alleys until he reached a quiet dead end.
Sirius, tailing him in dog form, felt a surge of triumph. This had been too easy. He'd worried about isolating the boy, but Argus had wandered off alone. The so-called heir of Grindelwald wasn't the genius the papers hyped, it seemed.
He pictured Argus's terror when he revealed himself—a quick scare, some flattery, and the kid would spill everything to help him.
Nipping at the stray bitch behind him for cover, Sirius padded into the shadows.
Argus sensed the approach but played it cool, feigning ignorance. It was a classic tactic: let the other side think they held the upper hand, then flip the script. His price? The Black family's vault of rare books. The acolytes needed galleons for expansion, and he'd squeeze every knut.
Sirius drew within range. Argus's lips curved slightly as he whipped out his wand.
"Expelliarmus!"
The dog yipped, tumbling backward in a spray of dirt. Even in canine form, Sirius's eyes widened in stunned confusion. How? He'd been a dog—undetectable.
His old wounds throbbed, reopening. If Argus had aimed to kill, he'd be dead, joining the Potters in the next world.
Argus sauntered over. "Let's see... an unregistered Animagus."
The words hit like ice water. Sirius's hackles rose.
"If I turn you over to the Ministry—"
"Woof! Woof!" Panic overrode caution. He'd evaded capture, even reached out to his old allies. But Azkaban as a common criminal? Unthinkable.
Desperate, Sirius barked twice before shifting back to human form, clutching his chest and slumping against the wall, gasping.
"No... not the Ministry!"
Argus pinned him effortlessly with a binding spell. "Sirius Black. Never figured you'd sneak all the way here to finish off Harry."
He knew the real reason but feigned ignorance, wand trained on the man.
"I didn't come for Harry Potter!" Sirius wheezed. "I came for you—"
"To murder me?" Argus interrupted, voice dripping sarcasm.
Sirius flushed crimson. What twisted logic was this? He didn't even know the boy—why assassinate him?
"I'm not here to kill Harry. Or you. I... I need the acolytes' help, just this once."
"The acolytes don't aid Death Eaters," Argus said flatly. "Drop it."
"But I'm not a Death Eater!"
Sirius watched for shock, but Argus just stared, expression screaming skepticism—like every Azkaban inmate swearing innocence.
The negotiation was Argus's to command. He knew Sirius's truth, shared only with Lupin so far. Playing it too savvy might tip his hand. His seer gift explained a lot, but broadcasting it would force him to hoard future edges against Voldemort and Dumbledore.
Unfazed, Sirius pressed on in a rush. "Someone can vouch for me!"
"Who?"
Words tumbled out: the fight against Voldemort, Peter's betrayal, the frame-up. He ended breathless, eyes locked on Argus. "Help me catch Pettigrew, and I'll make it worth your while. I'm the last Black heir."
Argus smirked, silent.
Sirius barreled ahead. "The acolytes are clashing with Britain's pure-blood elite, right? Capture Peter, and I'll hand over the Black family's stakes in their businesses."
Still nothing. Argus watched, impassive.
Sirius exhaled sharply. "We've got prime land holdings too—all yours."
No response. Jaw clenched, Sirius upped the ante. "Generations of magical artifacts. The family library—pick any books you want!"
Argus's scoff ignited Sirius's temper. "You doubt me?"
"Precisely. It's your word alone. No proof, no witnesses. Who'd buy that tale?"
A voice cut through from the alley's mouth. "I can testify!"
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