Black was Harry's godfather.
The news left Harry's head buzzing. It was like his ears were ringing, or like a giant bell was being struck over and over inside his skull.
Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. Justin and Ron were holding Harry down, but both of them were shaking badly themselves.
The conversation up ahead still hadn't ended. Sean could see the light around Harry distorting slightly.
Harry was trying with all his strength to lean closer.
His face was full of longing, but it felt as though the world were separated from him by a sheet of frosted glass.
"Because Black was working with You-Know-Who?"
Madam Rosmerta's voice drifted over.
"Worse than that, my dear…"
Fudge lowered his voice and muttered darkly,
"Not many people knew the Potters were aware You-Know-Who was hunting them. Dumbledore, of course, was still fighting him relentlessly at the time, and he had some very capable spies. One of them passed word to him.
He warned James and Lily immediately and advised them to go into hiding. But of course, hiding from You-Know-Who was no simple matter.
Dumbledore told them the best solution was the Fidelius Charm."
"How does that work?"
Rosmerta asked, breathless with curiosity.
Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.
"It is an extraordinarily complex charm,"
he explained in his high voice.
"It hides a secret inside the soul of a living person by magic. The secret is sealed inside the chosen individual—the Secret-Keeper—and so it can never be discovered… unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper gives it away willingly.
As long as the Secret-Keeper says nothing, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James lived for a thousand years and still never find them, even if he pressed his nose against their sitting-room window!"
"So Black was Potter's Secret-Keeper?"
Rosmerta whispered.
"Naturally,"
said Professor McGonagall.
"James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die before betraying where they were, and Black himself was preparing to go into hiding…
Even so, Dumbledore was uneasy. I remember he offered to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself."
"He suspected Black?"
Rosmerta asked, astonished.
"He was certain that someone close to the Potters had been reporting their movements to You-Know-Who,"
McGonagall said darkly.
"In fact, for some time before that, he had already suspected that one of us had turned traitor and was feeding a great deal of information to You-Know-Who."
"But James insisted on Black?"
"Yes,"
said Fudge heavily,
"and then, less than a week after the Fidelius Charm was cast—"
"Black betrayed them?"
Rosmerta asked quietly.
"Yes. Black had grown tired of playing a double game. He was prepared to publicly declare his support for You-Know-Who, and apparently intended to do so the moment the Potters died.
But as we know, You-Know-Who was defeated before little Harry Potter. He lost his powers, became extremely weak, and could only flee.
That left Black in a very awkward position. Just when he had exposed his true nature as a traitor, his master fell. He had no choice but to run for it—"
"Filthy, rotten traitor!"
Hagrid roared, and half the pub went silent.
Sean felt Harry's tears fall onto his arm.
"Shh!"
Professor McGonagall warned Hagrid.
"I saw him!"
Hagrid bellowed.
"I must've been the last person to see him before he murdered all those people!
After Lily and James died, I pulled Harry out of that house with my own hands! I had just got him out of the wreckage, poor little thing, with that great long cut on his forehead, his mum and dad dead…
Then Sirius Black showed up on that flying motorbike of his. I hadn't the faintest idea what he'd done there. I didn't know he was Lily and James's Secret-Keeper. I thought he'd heard You-Know-Who had attacked and had come to help.
The lad was white as a sheet, shaking all over. You know what I did? I comforted that murdering traitor!"
Hagrid roared.
"Hagrid, please! Lower your voice!"
said McGonagall.
"How was I supposed to know he wasn't grieving for Lily and James? What he cared about was You-Know-Who! Then he says:
'Give Harry to me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather. I'll take care of him—'
Ha! But I had Dumbledore's orders, so I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was to go to his aunt and uncle.
What if I had handed Harry over to him? I'd bet he'd have thrown the boy off the bike into the middle of the sea. His best mate's son! Once a wizard joins the dark side, they stop caring about anything—stop recognizing anyone…"
When Hagrid finished, there was a long silence.
Then Madam Rosmerta, with a trace of satisfaction, said,
"But he didn't get away, did he? The Ministry caught him the very next day!"
"Wish it had been us,"
said Fudge bitterly.
"It wasn't us who found him. It was Peter Pettigrew—the Potters' other friend. He must've gone mad with grief, knowing Black had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper, and set out to hunt him down himself."
"Pettigrew… that chubby little boy at Hogwarts, the one who used to trail after them everywhere?"
Rosmerta asked.
"He worshipped Black and Potter like heroes,"
said McGonagall.
"In terms of talent, he was never in the same league as they were. I was often very harsh with him. You can imagine how much I regret that now…"
Her voice broke.
"That's enough, Minerva,"
said Fudge gently.
"Pettigrew died bravely. The witnesses—Muggles, of course, we later Obliviated them—said Pettigrew cornered Black and cried, 'Lily and James! Sirius, how could you?' Then he drew his wand. Naturally, Black was quicker. He blew Pettigrew to pieces…"
McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly,
"Foolish boy… foolish boy… he never stood a chance in a duel… he should have left it to the Ministry…"
"I'm telling you, if I'd got to Black before Pettigrew did, I wouldn't have wasted time drawing a wand—I'd have torn him apart, piece by piece!"
Hagrid growled.
"You don't know what you're saying, Hagrid,"
Fudge snapped.
"Cornering Black was something only a trained Magical Law Enforcement hit wizard would have had even the slightest chance of doing. At the time, I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes, and I was among the first on the scene after Black killed all those people.
I—will never forget it. Sometimes I still dream about it.
The middle of the street had been blasted into a crater so deep the sewer pipes burst open. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming in horror. And there stood Black, laughing like a madman. And all that was left of Pettigrew in front of him was… a heap of bloodstained robes and a few—few fragments—"
Fudge broke off abruptly. For a while, the only sound was all five of them blowing their noses.
"That's how it was, Rosmerta,"
said Fudge, his voice muffled.
"Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, and Pettigrew was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. I suppose that was some small comfort to his poor mother. Black was sent straight to Azkaban."
Rosmerta let out a long sigh.
"Has he really gone mad now, Minister?"
"I wish I could say yes,"
said Fudge slowly.
"I do believe the fall of his master unhinged him for a while. Killing Pettigrew and all those Muggles was a cornered animal's act—brutal… pointless.
But what shocked me was how normal Black seemed afterward. He spoke to me quite rationally. That unsettled me.
You'd think he was simply bored—asking if I'd finished reading the paper yet, saying he fancied doing the crossword. Calm as anything.
Honestly, I was astonished. The Dementors seemed to have very little effect on him—and you know, he was one of the most heavily guarded prisoners in the whole place. Dementors were outside his door day and night."
"But what do you think he escaped for?"
Rosmerta asked.
"Dear me, surely he isn't trying to return to You-Know-Who?"
"I suspect that was his… er… ultimate goal,"
said Fudge vaguely.
"But we hope to catch Black before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and powerless is one thing…
But if he regains his most loyal servant, he could rise again very quickly. The thought of it sends chills down my spine…"
Sean heard the soft clink of glass against wood and saw Professor McGonagall set down her cup.
"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the Headmaster, you'd best get back to the castle now."
said McGonagall.
The door of the Three Broomsticks swung open again, and another blast of wind and snow swept in. The teachers were gone.
At the same moment, Justin and Ron both felt Harry go limp.
Their own bodies slowly reappeared.
Neville and Hermione's faces came into focus in front of Harry. They were both staring at him blankly, with no idea what to say.
Then suddenly Harry went madly charging out of the pub.
No one had expected it.
"I'll go after him…"
Sean said to the still-stunned group, then called softly,
"Will."
The Pukwudgie butler appeared respectfully in front of the table.
He carefully took the young wizard's hand, and the two of them vanished.
Outside, the wind and snow were raging.
In the distance, someone emerged in Harry's blurred world.
He stood in the middle of Hogsmeade's street while the crowd rushed past around him, and yet he remained there like a reef in a storm.
"Harry, do you want to go back to Hogwarts?"
a voice asked through the snow.
Harry didn't want to answer, but those emerald-like eyes seemed able to see straight through him, and in the end he still nodded.
Then something warm was poured into his mouth, and his hand was wrapped in long, dry fingers.
After a dizzying whirl, Harry found himself in an empty dormitory.
He stared at Sean in surprise, his eyes still red.
There was no time to wonder how Sean had known. Harry sat down on his bed, drew the curtains, and started flipping through his photo album page by page, searching…
At last he found the picture of his parents' wedding and stopped.
His father, beaming, waved out from the photo, his messy black hair—passed down straight to Harry—sticking out in every direction.
His mother was radiant, standing arm in arm with him, happiness shining from her face.
And there… yes, that had to be him. Their best man. Harry had never really thought about him before.
If he hadn't known it was the same person, he never would've guessed that the handsome, smiling man in the old photo was Black.
His face wasn't gaunt and yellowed then. He looked strikingly handsome.
When that picture was taken, had he already been serving Voldemort?
Had he already been planning the deaths of the two people beside him?
Had he known he was fated to spend twelve years in Azkaban, and that those years would leave him almost unrecognizable?
And yet the Dementors didn't affect him. Harry stared at that handsome, smiling face.
"He doesn't have to hear my mother screaming whenever the Dementors come too close…"
Sean heard Harry murmur.
Harry turned his head, looking at Sean, his face blank except for the tracks of tears.
"Are you going to tell me not to do anything stupid too, Sean? Like Mr. Weasley did—telling me not to go after him?"
Sean shook his head.
Harry's tense face suddenly relaxed, though his lips were still pressed tight.
"Harry, I'm on your side."
Harry heard Sean say.
He nearly started crying again.
"I'll bring him to you."
Sean said it last.
Harry didn't doubt him for a second.
Then the magic hand mirror chimed.
"Harry, listen to me,"
Hermione was speaking in a panic.
"What we just heard must have been awful for you, but the important thing is, you can't do anything foolish."
"Like what?"
Harry asked.
"Like going after Black."
Ron said it bluntly.
"You won't, will you, Harry?"
Hermione asked.
"It's not worth dying for Black. The Dementors will catch him and send him back to Azkaban—that's exactly what he deserves!"
said Ron.
"Do you know what I see and hear every time a Dementor gets too close to me?"
Ron and Hermione fell silent.
"I hear my mother screaming, begging Voldemort. If you'd heard your mother scream like that just before she was killed, you wouldn't forget it either—"
A hatred deeper than anything he had ever felt before surged through Harry like poison.
He saw Black laughing at him in the dark, just as if someone had pasted that wedding photo right in front of his eyes.
Like a film playing in his head, he saw Sirius Black blow Peter Pettigrew to pieces.
And he heard a voice whispering excitedly:
"It's done, Master… the Potters made me their Secret-Keeper."
Then came another voice—a high, manic laugh, exactly like the one Harry always heard in his head whenever a Dementor came near…
Again and again he studied that photo. Again and again he replayed it.
He heard his mother screaming, begging Voldemort.
But would Voldemort ever have spared her?
Then he thought of what Sean had once said.
We have to keep intercepting evil again and again. It may never be truly destroyed, but if we keep fighting, one day it won't be able to come back at all.
A thought had never felt so clear.
He saw the calm green eyes of the young wizard before him, and he knew they were the same as his own.
"I'm going to hunt him down."
Harry said it calmly.
"Sean!"
Hermione cried out in panic.
"We're going to catch the man who killed Harry's parents."
Sean said.
On the other end of the mirror, there was complete silence now.
All that could be heard was hurried breathing, as though someone were running.
Tomorrow.
Once Sean obtained the goblin contract, Sirius would slip into the castle. Lupin and Sirius had been waiting for that day for a long time.
And as for Harry—once they caught Peter, he had the right to know the truth.
"Sean, have you really decided?"
Hermione's voice sounded strained now, and emphatic.
The door burst open with a bang.
…
By the time Harry had accepted some comfort, Sean had already returned to Hogsmeade.
He stood outside a filthy little pub, watching an old wizard behind the bar polish a glass roughly.
Sean recognized him at once.