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"Obviously!" Ron said gleefully. "I bet he wouldn't dare come near Harry—not after that Quidditch match. If he saw it, he'd be hiding as far away as possible to avoid Harry burning him to ashes!"
"Then why would he dare show up in the Gryffindor common room?" a group of Ravenclaw students nearby chattered. "I reckon he didn't see that match, or he wouldn't have the guts."
"Enough! Quiet down!" Percy's voice cut through the noise. "I'm the Head Boy, and I'm announcing that lights go out in ten minutes. No one is to speak after that, understood?"
"He's such a prat," Ron whispered to Harry. "Always ruining the fun. If he knew how annoying he is, maybe he'd stop."
"He's Head Boy, Ron," Harry murmured back. "Comes with some perks, doesn't it?"
Ron shrugged, silently agreeing with Harry.
Meanwhile, in the Forbidden Forest.
Sirius Black, in his mangy dog form with patches of fur missing, sat whimpering in pain.
How had Hogwarts changed so much since he'd last been here? Even the Gryffindor portrait had changed!
If he'd known the new guardian was a Sphinx, he wouldn't have dared mess with it, not for anything.
Merlin's beard…
Sirius licked his wounds, his mind racing.
It was time to find another way to track down that traitor.
But… how exactly? He was still puzzling it over.
"Black dog."
A soft, ethereal voice sounded nearby. It was Poppy Sweating.
Poppy carried a food basket in her mouth, one she'd nicked from Newt's tent.
"Eat something," she said. "What happened to you?"
She noticed the wounds on Sirius's matted fur.
"Oh, got scratched by a tree," Sirius barked, making an excuse. "My fault for not watching where I was running. Got caught on some bark."
"I see. You should be more careful," Poppy replied softly, understanding his dog-speak.
But she only grasped the gist—that he'd been scraped by a tree.
This dog's not the brightest, she thought.
Harry lay awake in his sleeping bag, his mind consumed with thoughts of Black.
Why would that man barge into the Gryffindor common room?
Even Voldemort's most fanatical followers wouldn't storm a common room in broad daylight to kill a student, would they?
As he pondered, he heard the door creak open, followed by more footsteps.
"Headmaster?"
That oily, drawling voice was unmistakable—Harry knew at once it was Professor Snape.
"I've checked the entire fourth floor. He's not there. Filch searched the main castle—nothing," Snape reported to Dumbledore.
"What about the Astronomy Tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The owlery? Those are all likely hiding spots, Severus," Dumbledore said.
"All checked," Snape replied, his tone clipped, as if he were grinding his teeth.
"Very well, Severus. I don't truly believe Black would linger," Dumbledore said softly.
"How did he get in? You must have some idea, Headmaster," Snape said, his voice heavy with implication, as if he'd already pinned the blame on someone in the school.
And likely someone Snape despised, Harry thought, recognizing the same venomous tone Snape used when Harry got under his skin.
"Many possibilities, Severus, but I don't believe your suspicions are correct," Dumbledore replied, clearly picking up on Snape's insinuation.
"You recall our conversation, Headmaster? Just before—oh—the term began?" Snape said pointedly, his lips barely moving, his expression like someone suffering from a toothache—not Dumbledore's, but his own.
"Of course, Severus," Dumbledore said, a hint of warning in his tone.
"It seems—almost impossible—that Black could've entered without inside help," Snape said, his oily voice resolute. "And I warned you at the time, about him and…"
"I don't believe anyone in this castle would help Black," Dumbledore interrupted, his tone tinged with displeasure, likely because Snape was accusing someone Dumbledore deeply trusted.
"If Potter hadn't incinerated those Dementors, Black might already be in their grasp," Snape said, glancing down at Harry, who was looking up at him. "Reckless Gryffindor, isn't that right, Potter?"
"Fancy having the Dementors take a few sips of me, do you?" Harry shot back.
"Not sleeping? Five points from Gryffindor."
Snape's mood seemed to lift instantly. He strode out of the Great Hall with a spring in his step, leaving Harry staring, stunned.
"I think he did that on purpose," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "Baited you into speaking so he could dock Gryffindor points."
"That's what I think too," Harry said, taking a deep breath and turning to Dumbledore. "If it's alright, Professor, can we talk?"
He meant about Sirius Black—things couldn't keep going like this. Catching the criminal was the only way forward.
Prevention was no match for action. Better to deal with the source once and for all.
"Of course," Dumbledore said with a warm smile.
They stepped out into the corridor, where Dumbledore paused by a window, gesturing at the waning crescent moon outside.
"Go on, what's on your mind?" he asked cheerfully, pulling two candies from his robe. "Try these. I've always thought they're rather good."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, taking the candy. "Why is Sirius Black so fixated on hunting me? Is it really just to avenge Voldemort?"
Dumbledore didn't answer immediately. He unwrapped the candy, popped the bright orange sweet into his mouth, and chewed with a childlike glee that belied his age.
"We can't know for certain until we catch him," he said, munching. He didn't look like an old man with bad teeth.
Harry paused, frowning. "Can you tell me the real reason? Mr. Weasley told me not to go looking for him. Why's he so sure I'd seek out someone who wants to kill me? Just because I'm a Gryffindor?"
"No, Harry," Dumbledore said, his eyes lowering with a sigh. "It's complicated. Mr. Weasley is trying to protect you—he thinks you shouldn't know. But I believe you deserve to."
"Will you tell me, then?" Harry asked eagerly.
Just then, three Heads of House approached, drawn by their voices.
"Albus!" Professor McGonagall said sternly. "I don't think it's right to tell Mr. Potter about this now…"
"You saw his performance on the Quidditch pitch, Minerva," Professor Flitwick interjected, waving his arms. "Merlin's beard, all those Dementors—gone in one fell swoop! Do you still think we should treat Harry like a child?"
Flitwick turned to Harry, serious now. "Listen to me, Harry. You have a right to know."
"Go on, Albus," Professor Sprout, the Hufflepuff Head, added. She'd clearly watched the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff match, where flames had swept the sky, leaving an indelible mark.
"Very well," McGonagall sighed. "If Mr. Potter insists on knowing."
Harry understood McGonagall's protective instincts and thanked her. "Thank you, Professor."
"This boy…" McGonagall said with a fond smile.
"Of all the people who've fallen in with the wrong crowd, Sirius Black is the last I'd have expected," Sprout began. "I remember at school, he and Harry's father were thick as thieves, weren't they?"
"Yes, they had a little group—several of them, with codenames, no less," Flitwick said with a chuckle. "They'd come to me to discuss Charm applications. Your father was a mischievous one, though—sometimes… well, he'd play pranks on classmates with minor hexes."
"You could say Black and your father were the ringleaders of their little gang," McGonagall said, her tone a mix of exasperation and nostalgia. "Both brilliant—truly brilliant. I don't think we've ever seen a pair so adept at causing trouble. Even the Weasley twins couldn't hold a candle to them."
Harry could tell that, despite her words, McGonagall had been fond of his father, James.
"Like the time they enlarged a Hufflepuff's head," Sprout said, her tone less amused. She looked at Harry. "I sent him to detention with Filch. If you checked Filch's records, you'd still find that punishment listed…"
Harry cringed. He hadn't known his father picked on anyone besides Snape.
"Good thing you're not like that, Harry," Sprout added quickly. "We've always been glad you take after your mother more."
"Black and your father were close," McGonagall continued. "Almost like one person…"
"If you didn't know one was a Potter and the other a Black, you'd swear they were brothers," Flitwick chimed in. "Inseparable!"
"Absolutely," Sprout agreed. "Their bond was genuine, built on absolute trust—more than they had with any other friend. Even after graduation, it held strong."
"When your parents married, Black was their best man," Sprout added. "And they chose him as your godfather."
Harry froze.
He'd never imagined that Sirius Black, the Azkaban escapee, was his father's best friend.
Or his godfather.
"You're saying Sirius Black was my father's best friend? And my godfather?" Harry struggled to process it. "But why? Why does he want to kill me now? Did he forget his friendship with my father?"
"People change, Harry," McGonagall said with a heavy sigh. "It's complicated…"
Anger surged through Harry, rushing to his head.
He couldn't accept that Sirius had betrayed his father's friendship. Or that his godfather was now hunting him.
"I'm going to catch him!" Harry declared, his voice shaking with fury. "I'll catch him myself and make him atone at my parents' graves!"
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