Chapter 255. Black, Arrest!
"All right, I only hope I still remember how this spell works."
Adrian Wesson traced a circle in the air with his wand and spoke an obscure incantation.
A brilliant blue light flared from the wand tip and rippled outward.
"Jamison's" features began to twist and warp; even the outline of his body shifted again and again.
At last, a figure Adrian had expected appeared before him.
"Hello there, Sirius Black," Adrian said with a smile. "I truly didn't expect we'd meet under these circumstances."
Black did not look as bedraggled as he did in the newspaper sketch. Though his clothes didn't fit, a sharp light flickered in his eyes.
He, too, realised his true identity had been exposed.
He sighed. "I suppose you're not going to let me walk away."
"Good to see your judgement is still clear."
Adrian levelled his wand at Black. Black, to his credit, raised both hands, though his gaze stayed restless, taking in their surroundings.
Only when the Devil's Snare deftly whisked the wand off the floor did the hope in Black's eyes finally gutter out—without a wand, he had no chance of breaking free from an adult wizard.
All the more so with a watchful Mengli right beside them.
"Let me think—what should I be saying now...?" Adrian put on a show of pondering. "...By procedure, this is when you get to make a statement. Anything you want to say, Mr Black?"
"Take me to see Dumbledore," Black rasped.
"As you wish," Adrian said cheerfully.
For the moment, that truly was Black's only option.
He couldn't kill Peter now, so the only course left was to lay the truth bare.
Fortunately, while Peter was still alive, clearing his name would not be difficult.
Ten minutes later, in the dining hall.
Adrian and Black sat facing each other, a generous spread laid out before them.
In the empty hall, only the crisp clink of cutlery rang out.
They'd come early; for now, the hall held only the two of them.
"You said you'd take me to Dumbledore. So now..." Black stared blankly at Adrian, who was calmly eating his lunch.
"Oh, do hold on a moment, Mr Black," Adrian shot him a glance and took a sip of coffee. "Lunch is the priority for me. The food's rather good today—especially the raspberry pie in front of you. Do have a taste."
For a moment, Black didn't know what to do.
He stared at the pie without moving. He hadn't had a proper meal in a very long time, but he had no appetite now.
"You don't look surprised at all," Black said hoarsely. "Aren't you afraid I'll bolt?"
Adrian shrugged and unhurriedly cut into his steak. "First, you've no wand. Second... even if you did, you still wouldn't beat me."
Black gave a bitter smile.
He felt like a fish on a chopping board, helpless beneath this man's knife.
With that thought, he simply picked up his fork and, resigned, began to eat.
After the two of them finished lunch, Adrian led Black towards the Headmaster's office.
Black's steps grew heavier; his knuckles whitened from how tightly he clenched his fists.
"Don't worry, Mr Black," Adrian said breezily. "You'll likely be sent back to Azkaban, with a small chance of the death penalty... none of which is such a big deal, is it."
Black said nothing for a while.
He truly couldn't fathom why this fellow stayed so laid-back.
"Here we are." Adrian stopped before an ugly stone gargoyle. "The password is... let me think... oh, right—Fizzing Whizzbees."
The gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the spiral staircase.
Black drew a deep breath and followed Adrian up.
The office door swung open of its own accord. Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, leisurely dropping sugar cubes into a cup of coffee.
When he noticed the pair, his hand stilled; the sugar cube fell onto the desk, and surprise flashed across his face.
"Look whom I've caught," Adrian said lightly, nudging Black forward a step.
Black didn't want to waste time. Hoarse and urgent, he said, "Professor Dumbledore, Peter was the traitor back then—he's at Hogwarts right now!"
Dumbledore froze for a beat at that.
He had not expected that the culprit responsible for so much trouble at Hogwarts would appear so abruptly in his office at midday.
And to open with a statement so packed with implications.
After a few seconds to sort his thoughts, he rose slowly, his eyes fixed on Black. "Tell me in detail, sir."
So Black, as quickly as he could, laid out the truth of those days: twelve years ago, he had secretly transferred the role of Secret-Keeper to Peter Pettigrew, rather than keeping it himself as everyone believed. The move was meant to mislead Lord Voldemort—only for Peter to have already pledged himself to the Dark wizard in secret.
Dumbledore tapped his fingers lightly on the tabletop, then spoke slowly. "So why did you come to Hogwarts?"
Fury flared in Black's eyes.
"For revenge!" His voice trembled. "I saw it in The Daily Prophet—the Weasley family's rat is Peter! He's an Animagus; I'd never mistake him!"
Dumbledore's gaze turned razor-sharp. "You mean to kill Peter?"
Black nodded without hesitation. "What reason does he have to live in this world? He got James and Lily killed! He deserves to die!"
For a moment, the air in the office seemed to congeal.
In any circumstance, death was a heavy subject.
Dumbledore walked around the desk to stand before Black, meeting his eyes calmly. "I don't believe that is a good way to proceed, Mr Black. If Peter dies now, you will have no way to prove what you say is true."
"I don't care!" Black's head snapped up.
Adrian listened in silence at the side.
Judged purely by reason, Black sneaking into Hogwarts to kill Peter was not a sound course of action.
But people cannot remain rational forever.
He understood him very well.
"One more question," Dumbledore said, his expression turning grave. "Tell me, Mr Black—twelve years ago, why didn't you clear this up?"
"No one gave me the chance to stand trial!" Black's smile was wry. "By then Peter had vanished—what could I possibly use to prove my innocence? Veritaserum?"
"Besides..." Black shuddered suddenly. "Under those Dementors, you can't hold on to your sanity."
Dumbledore didn't answer, but his face grew heavy.
Black's explanation, though strained in places, was not without reason.
And Dumbledore recalled the irregularities he had recently sensed around Peter.
Perhaps—just perhaps—the truth really was as Black claimed.
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