In mid-March, the long-awaited early spring had finally begun to establish itself at Hogwarts, though the ancient Scottish Highlands remained reluctant to fully release winter's grip. The weather still carried a trace of winter's lingering chill, with occasional gusts of cold wind that swept across the castle grounds and rattled the diamond-paned windows.
The Gryffindor common room, however, remained a haven of warmth and comfort, insulated from the unpredictable March weather by thick stone walls and the ever-burning fire that crackled merrily in the massive hearth.
Harry had taken the very best armchair in the common room—the one closest to the fire with the deepest, most comfortable cushions—and was contentedly occupying it like a weary king upon his throne.
His body was sprawling across the leather, swaying slightly with exhaustion, his messy black hair even more disheveled than usual. His eyes were closed behind his glasses, and his breathing had settled into the slow, steady rhythm of someone completely drained of energy.
The grueling Quidditch training session that had just concluded had extracted nearly every ounce of strength from his tired body. Wood's relentless practice regimen was legendary throughout Gryffindor House, and today's session had been particularly brutal, involving countless repetitions of the Wronski Feint and high-speed Snitch chases that had left Harry's muscles aching.
Though he was gradually becoming accustomed to the demanding schedule, five intensive Quidditch training sessions per week could definitely be described as nothing short of grueling.
The constant pressure to perform, combined with the physical demands of flying at breakneck speeds while dodging Bludgers and competing teammates, was beginning to take its toll on his academic performance and social life.
However, Harry couldn't bring himself to voice even the smallest complaint about Wood's methods—after all, their recent victory against Ravenclaw had been sweet vindication of their hard work, but the bitter sting of their unexpected loss to Hufflepuff still haunted the entire team.
He understood that he needed to push himself even harder, to dedicate every spare moment to improvement. There was simply no way around the brutal reality of competitive Quidditch.
At that moment, the sound of footsteps echoed across the common room's carpet, approaching from the direction of the portrait hole.
Harry reluctantly opened his eyes and turned his head to see Hermione walking toward him with visibly tired, dragging steps. Her appearance showed clear signs of exhaustion and there were dark circles under her eyes.
She was carrying an enormous stack of books and parchment scrolls that seemed to weigh almost as much as she did, and her school bag bulged with additional academic materials.
Without formality, Hermione collapsed into the armchair beside Harry's with a deep, weary sigh, letting her heavy burden of books tumble to the floor beside her with a series of soft thuds. She sank into the comfortable cushions with the same exhaustion that Harry had showed moments ago.
"How was Muggle Studies?" Harry asked casually, though he could already see from her expression that the answer might be complicated.
"It was... actually quite interesting," Hermione's voice sounded soft and drowsy, with the slightly slurred tone that comes from extreme fatigue.
She rubbed her temples with her fingertips as she spoke. "Professor Burbage spent the entire class telling us fascinating details about Muggle technology and social structures. Although I already knew most of the basic information, she shared some..."
Hermione's voice grew quieter and more distant as she spoke, her words beginning to blur together as exhaustion overwhelmed her determination to share her brand-new knowledge.
Eventually, her academic enthusiasm was completely overcome by fatigue, and her voice faded into nothing more than the steady, rhythmic breathing of deep sleep.
"Hermione?" Harry called softly, concerned by the sudden silence.
He turned his head with confusion and discovered that she had already fallen completely asleep, slumped sideways in the armchair with her head resting against the wing-back at what looked like an uncomfortable angle.
Ron came through the portrait hole entrance at precisely that moment, arriving just in time to witness this scene of academic burnout.
He was holding a handful of Fizzing Whizzbees in his hand. When he noticed Hermione, he immediately lowered his voice to a concerned whisper.
"What's happened to her?" he asked quietly, his eyes wide with worry as he took in Hermione's obvious exhaustion.
"She just fell asleep mid-sentence," Harry whispered back, careful not to disturb their sleeping friend. "You know how many classes she's taking this year. Between all her regular subjects and those mysterious additional courses, she somehow manages to attend, she's probably running on about three hours of sleep per night. I think her body finally demanded payment for all that."
Ron nodded with understanding and handed Harry a portion of his magical candy, then sat himself in the armchair across from his friends.
As he made himself comfortable, his expression grew thoughtful and somewhat troubled, as if he were wrestling with some internal puzzle that he couldn't quite solve.
He had been grappling with a particularly strange and seemingly meaningless question lately—a puzzle that had been gnawing at the edges of his mind for weeks now.
The question was whether it was physically possible for a single person to appear in two completely different places at exactly the same time.
This bizarre thought had been troubling him persistently ever since he had witnessed Hermione hurrying to her next class on several different occasions, often seeming to appear from directions that made no logical sense given where she should have been coming from based on her previous class location.
Of course, Ron reasoned with himself, in most normal situations this wouldn't really present a problem worth worrying about. People took different routes between classes all the time, and maybe he had simply been mistaken about the timing or locations.
But the nagging feeling that something unusual was happening refused to leave him alone.
Suddenly, a sharp "tap tap tap" sound from the rain-spattered window near the fireplace interrupted Ron's perplexed thoughts.
A snow-white owl was perched on the narrow stone ledge outside, gently tapping the glass with her beak to alert the wizards inside the warm room to her presence.
"It's Hedwig!" Harry exclaimed with delight.
He quickly jumped up from his position and hurried to open the window, releasing the brass latch and pushing the glass panels outward.
Cold wind mixed with fine, penetrating rain immediately rushed into the warm common room, making him shiver as the temperature difference struck his skin.
Hedwig gracefully hopped inside, shaking the accumulated water droplets from her white feathers. She extended one leg toward Harry, revealing a large, official-looking envelope secured with unfamiliar wax seals that had no recognizable crest or marking.
"Good girl, you've done excellent work," Harry said warmly, gently stroking her soft head feathers.
He lightly tapped her with his wand, and the warm, drying current from his carefully controlled Drying Charm made Hedwig close her eyes with obvious pleasure and contentment.
She affectionately nuzzled Harry's finger with her beak, then spread her wings and flew gracefully away.
Ron approached with curiosity, still chewing thoughtfully on his Fizzing Whizzbees, which were creating small pops and sparkles in his mouth.
"Who's the letter from?" he asked around a mouthful of candy. "It looks pretty official."
Harry already had suspicions about the letter's origin and immediately tore open the envelope with anticipation.
Inside the envelope was a single letter, written in handwriting that was somewhat messy and hurried but still remained barely legible to someone willing to concentrate on translating it.
When Harry's eyes found the signature at the bottom of the letter, he couldn't help but take a sharp breath—it was indeed from Sirius Black.
Just the previous week, Harry had spent considerable time composing a careful letter to Black. The speed of this reply was both surprising and somehow reassuring, showing that Black had been eager to maintain contact.
Harry's hands shook slightly as he eagerly unfolded the letter and began to read the contents.
Dear Harry,
I didn't expect you to be the one to write to me first. To be completely honest, I had been worried that you might have reservations about me because of some that have circulated about my character and past actions.
However, there is something crucially important that I need to tell you formally, though you may already have learned this information: I am your godfather. (Twelve years ago, when your parents decided to entrust you to me, I was so excited that I spilled an entire bottle of Firewhisky on my newly bought dragonhide boots.) Though you might find this absurd, it's the truth, even though I don't have any evidence to prove it.
There are more things I think we should discuss in detail when we next meet—they're not something that can be written on ordinary letter paper.
Also, you should have received what I sent you. It's a map that I "borrowed" from two red-haired students. You can choose to keep it for yourself or return it to them—it's up to you, because I was one of the creators of this map.
Sirius Black
Harry put down the letter, his fingers trembling slightly, his chest rising and falling rapidly, almost unable to catch his breath, as if he had just finished an intense Quidditch training session.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron noticed his friend's obviously abnormal state immediately and asked with growing worry in his voice. "You look like you've seen a dementor. Is it terrible news?"
Harry turned toward Ron with a numb, almost dazed expression, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
"I never knew," he said quietly. "I never knew I had a godfather."
"A godfather?" Ron was visibly startled by this, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline. "Who is it? Is it Professor Westeros? That would actually make perfect sense—I think this should be considered good news. He's always taken such excellent care of you, almost like family."
Harry's mouth twisted into a bitter smile, and he shook his head slowly. If only the situation were that simple and straightforward, he probably wouldn't be experiencing such emotional turmoil.
That scenario would have represented the best possible outcome—a godfather he already knew, trusted, and respected.
Instead of explaining further, Harry simply handed the letter to Ron and collapsed back into his armchair, feeling emotionally drained by the unexpected revelation.
Ron accepted the letter with curiosity and began scanning the somewhat messy handwriting with growing concentration. His eyes moved quickly across the lines of text, but when he reached the signature at the bottom, he gasped sharply and couldn't help but exclaim in a voice loud enough to wake the dead, "Sirius Black?!"
This sudden cry of surprise and shock was more than sufficient to wake the deeply sleeping Hermione.
She bounced up from her armchair with startling speed, her exhaustion temporarily forgotten in the face of her friends' agitation. Her brown hair was now completely disheveled, sticking out in all directions like an exploded dandelion, and her eyes were still heavy with sleep but rapidly becoming alert as she tried to assess what emergency had awakened her.
"What's wrong?" She asked in confusion, looking back and forth between Harry's pale face and Ron's expression of amazement. "What's happened?"
Ron, still too shocked to give clear explanations, simply handed the letter to Hermione without additional comment.
After Hermione quickly scanned through the letter's contents, she had exactly the same reaction as Ron had moments before.
"Sirius Black?!" She exclaimed, her voice rising with surprise and concern.
"Yes," Harry replied wearily. "He claims that he's my godfather, but the truth is that I've never even met him face to face. I have absolutely no idea what kind of person he really is, beyond what I've heard in rumors and newspaper articles. For all I know, he could be wonderful or terrible—I simply have no basis for judgment."
Hermione looked at Harry with sympathy and said hesitantly, choosing her words with care, "You should remember that Black is no longer considered a fugitive from justice. His name has been officially cleared by the Ministry."
"I'm aware of that," Harry sighed deeply. "But you have to admit, it's incredibly strange, isn't it? Someone you've never met in your entire life suddenly appears and tells you that he's supposed to be one of the most important people in your world. It's like discovering you have a completely different family than you thought."
"But the situation might not be completely negative," Ron reminded him gently, trying to find some positive aspect to focus on. "If he truly is your godfather, he could potentially become your legal guardian—and at the very least, he would certainly be a vast improvement over the Dursleys."
"Anyone with even basic human decency would be a dramatic improvement over the Dursleys," Harry replied with feeling, his voice carrying years of accumulated resentment and pain.
Hermione carefully folded the letter and returned it to Harry, her expression thoughtful as she chose her words with caution.
"Regardless of how complicated this situation might become, I think you should definitely arrange to meet Mr. Black in person. It's possible that he's a genuinely good person who has simply been prevented by circumstances from being part of your life until now."
Harry nodded slowly, already knowing that she was right, even though the prospect filled him with anxiety. This meeting would require considerable mental and emotional preparation on his part.
More than anything else, he desperately wanted to learn the specific, detailed truth about what had actually happened back then.
At noon, when the weak March sun had reached its highest point in the overcast sky, Fred and George Weasley returned to the Gryffindor common room after their morning classes, their identical faces wearing expressions of mischievous satisfaction that showed they had been up to their usual pranking activities.
Harry approached the twins, carrying the mysterious Marauder's Map that had accompanied Sirius's letter.
He knew from examining it that the yellowed parchment contained powerful magic but Black's letter had provided no instructions for activation, and an entire morning spent experimenting with various spells and incantations had been insufficient to discover the correct method for revealing its secrets.
Fred and George were currently engaged in their favorite pastime of throwing miniature Filibuster's Fireworks at each other's heads.
The small explosive devices were creating bright showers of colorful sparks that flew around the common room in dangerous arcs, illuminating the space with flashes of red, gold, and silver light.
Several nervous first-year students had taken refuge behind the largest sofa, peering over the back with wide eyes as sparks rained down around them.
However, the moment the twins caught sight of the yellowed parchment in Harry's hands, both of their movements froze instantly, as if they had been struck by a simultaneous Stunning Spell.
"Oh, my goodness!" Fred whistled in amazement, his eyes fixed on the familiar object with obvious recognition and delight. "Where on earth did you manage to find that?"
"Sirius Black sent it to me with his letter," Harry explained, holding up the map for their closer inspection. "He told me that he originally obtained it from you two, and that he was actually one of the people who created this map during his own time as a Hogwarts student."
Now it was George and Fred's turn to experience genuine shock—this was absolutely the first time they had ever heard any mention of the map's original creators or its true history.
George stepped forward and carefully took the Marauder's Map from Harry's hands.
Harry watched with fascination and excitement as George put his wand tip lightly against the seemingly blank parchment and spoke the required words: "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
In an instant, thin lines of black ink began spreading across the parchment's surface like a spider web, flowing from the point where George's wand had touched.
The lines formed corridors, rooms, staircases, and passages with incredible detail and accuracy. Countless small ink dots appeared throughout the emerging floor plan, each one clearly labeled with a name and moving in real-time through the various corridors and classrooms of Hogwarts Castle.
Harry stared at the transformed parchment with wide, amazed eyes, his mouth slightly open in wonder.
Such an incredibly sophisticated magical map—he had never encountered anything even remotely similar during his time in the wizarding world.
Creating such a masterpiece would definitely require superior magical skills, years of careful observation and mapping, and a level of enchantment work that was far beyond the abilities of ordinary students.
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