Ch 127
"Sirius Black!"
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. Her mind was in complete chaos. She could not understand how the black dog she had rescued out of sheer kindness had suddenly turned into the most notorious wanted criminal in the wizarding world. She had seen this face countless times in newspapers and posters.
"Animagus…"
The word struck her like lightning. In an instant, everything made sense. Just like Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black was an Animagus. She had released a dangerous fugitive from a cage with her own hands.
Cold fear spread through her limbs.
She knew she had no chance of overpowering him. The difference in strength, experience, and even physical build was absolute. In front of a man who had survived Azkaban, raising her wand would likely only result in it being knocked aside in an instant. Dark wizards who had lived through countless life-and-death battles possessed terrifying combat instincts.
Yet what troubled her even more was why Sirius Black had been imprisoned here—inside a cage, hidden in a Slytherin dormitory.
Had a student captured him by accident?
Or worse… had that student known exactly who he was?
Hermione didn't know.
And she didn't dare follow the thought that crept into her mind.
What if this was all part of Black's plan?
Dark wizards were ruthless not only to others, but to themselves. Feigning weakness, enduring imprisonment, even suffering torture—anything was acceptable if it allowed them to lower suspicion and get closer to their target.
Harry.
If Harry, with his strong sense of justice, had stumbled upon this scene one day, he would never have turned away. And then Sirius Black would have succeeded.
Just like now.
Hermione stood alone before him. The tall, gaunt man in tattered clothes stared at her, his hollow eyes burning with a strange excitement.
"You may kill me," Hermione said, her voice trembling uncontrollably, "but your plan won't succeed. Your master will never return. You might as well give up."
Her entire body shook. The closeness of death made her vision blur. Unbidden, the image of her parents surfaced in her mind.
If I die here… will they even understand what happened?
A desperate thought followed—If only the Ministry could erase their memories. Then they wouldn't have to suffer.
A harsh, joyless laugh burst from Black's throat, as though she had told the most ridiculous joke imaginable.
Hermione's heart sank further.
This man was truly mad.
The Dementors may not have reduced him to a mindless shell, but they had twisted him into someone who felt no weight in taking a life—perhaps even pleasure. Killing her might, in his mind, bring him one step closer to whatever scheme he was pursuing.
"I have to say," Black suddenly spoke, his hoarse laughter fading, "you should continue trusting your pet."
"Crookshanks?" Hermione echoed blankly. Only then did she remember that it was Crookshanks who had led her here.
Before she could react, Black reached out with long, claw-like fingers and lifted Crookshanks into his arms.
The cat didn't struggle. He was completely calm, as though held by someone familiar.
"Let him go!" Hermione shouted sharply.
"Oh?" Black raised an eyebrow. "Jealous, are we?"
He placed Crookshanks back on the floor.
The big ginger cat immediately trotted back to Hermione's side, tail flicking anxiously.
"We can talk," Black said, his tone suddenly mild. "Since you're his master."
"Don't talk to me," Hermione spat, fury cutting through her fear. "You filthy Death Eater. If you think you can use me to get to Harry, you're wrong. I'd rather die."
Her eyes were steady now—filled with resolve. She could already guess his intention. Killing her outright would gain him nothing. Capturing her and using her to lure Harry out would be far more effective. And Harry, she knew, would never ignore such a trap.
"If only he'd had that awareness back then," Black murmured, his gaze drifting, his eyes strangely damp. "Dying for a friend… what a noble way to die."
"Hearing that from you is laughable," Hermione shot back coldly. She didn't understand his words, but she refused to show hesitation. In truth, she was deliberately provoking him—hoping he would lose patience and kill her quickly, rather than use her against her friends.
"Yes," Black sighed softly. "A joke."
Then his expression shifted, and he looked at her intently.
"But if I said I was innocent… would you believe me?"
"Innocent?" Hermione frowned, disbelief and anger flashing across her face. A man who betrayed his friends, murdered a dozen Muggles, and pledged himself to Voldemort—innocent?
That idea was absurd.
Black seemed to recognize her disbelief. He shook his head.
"Words alone won't convince you. I understand that." His voice hardened. "Then I suppose I'll have to inconvenience you a little, Harry's friend."
His gaze sharpened, dangerous and cold.
He didn't have his wand, yet the threat was unmistakable.
"Faint—"
"Wait." Hermione interrupted him quickly.
She had one last gamble. Buying time—any amount—was better than surrender. If she delayed long enough, students might return from the match.
Black paused, eyes narrowing.
"You expect me to trust a stranger's words?" he said flatly. "Even if you convince yourself, you won't convince me. If Harry's friend can't do better than this, it's safer for you to lose consciousness now."
"I'll believe everything you say," Hermione replied suddenly, her voice steady and calm. "Every word. Every sentence."
Black hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"But," Hermione continued, slowly pulling a small transparent bottle from her pocket and holding it up, "you have to drink this first."
The clear liquid inside caught the light as she raised it between them.