Chapter 550: The Godfather
Sirius Black was Harry's godfather.
The news hit Harry like a physical blow, leaving his head ringing as if a
massive brass bell had been struck inside his skull.
Beside him, Hermione clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Justin
and Ron were physically pinning Harry to the bench, their own hands trembling
with a mixture of shock and fury.
In the booth next to them, the adults were still talking. Sean noticed the light
around Harry's silhouette rippling—the boy was leaning forward with a desperate,
starving intensity, as if he could physically pull the words out of the air. To
Harry, the world suddenly felt like it was trapped behind a sheet of frosted
glass.
"Because Black was in league with You-Know-Who?" Madam Rosmerta's voice drifted
over.
"Worse than that, dear..." Fudge's voice dropped to a low, somber mumble. "Few
people realize that the Potters knew the Dark Lord was hunting them. Dumbledore,
who was working tirelessly against the dark at the time, had a network of
capable spies. One of them tipped him off. He warned James and Lily immediately
and advised them to go into hiding. But as you can imagine, hiding from the Dark
Lord was no easy task. Dumbledore told them their best hope was the Fidelius
Charm."
"How does that work?" Rosmerta asked, her breath hitching with curiosity.
Professor Flitwick cleared his throat, his squeaky voice gaining a lecture-like
quality. "An immensely complex spell, my dear. It involves the magical
concealment of a secret within a living soul. The secret is locked inside the
chosen person—the Secret Keeper—and can never be found, even if the enemy puts
his nose against the very window of the house... unless, of course, the Secret
Keeper voluntarily reveals it."
"So Black was the Potters' Secret Keeper?" Rosmerta whispered.
"Naturally," McGonagall said. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die
rather than betray them. Black himself intended to go into hiding as well... yet
Dumbledore remained uneasy. I remember he even offered to be the Secret Keeper
himself."
"He suspected Black?" Rosmerta asked, shocked.
"He was certain that someone close to the Potters was feeding information to the
Dark Lord," McGonagall said grimly. "In fact, he had suspected for some time
that we had a traitor in our ranks."
"And James insisted on Black?"
"He did," Fudge said heavily. "And then, barely a week after the charm was
cast—"
"Black sold them out?" Rosmerta breathed.
"Yes. Black grew tired of playing double agent. He was ready to declare his
support for the Dark Lord openly, and it seems he planned to do so the moment
the Potters were dead. But as we know, the Dark Lord met his match in little
Harry. He lost his power, became a shadow, and fled. This left Black in a very
awkward position. He had unmasked himself as a traitor just as his master fell.
He had no choice but to run—"
"FILTHY, STINKIN' TRAITOR!"
Hagrid's roar was so loud it silenced half the pub. Sean felt a warm drop of
moisture hit his arm—Harry was crying, the tears silent and hot.
"Hush!" McGonagall warned.
"I saw 'im!" Hagrid bellowed, his voice shaking with rage. "I musta been the
last one to see 'im before he murdered all them people! It was me who pulled
Harry out of the ruins after Lily and James were gone!
"I was carryin' the poor little scrap, he had that great long cut on his
forehead, and his mum and dad... they were just lyin' there. And then Sirius
Black shows up on that flyin' motorbike of his. I didn't have a clue what he'd
done! I didn't know he was the Secret Keeper! I thought he'd heard the news and
come to help.
"The lad was white as a sheet, shakin' all over. And d'you know what I did? I
comforted the murderous dog!"
"Hagrid, please! Keep your voice down!" McGonagall urged.
"How was I to know he weren't cryin' for Lily and James? He was cryin' for his
master! Then he says, 'Give 'im to me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather. I'll look
after 'im—'
"HA! But I had me orders from Dumbledore. I told Black no. Dumbledore said Harry
was to go to his aunt and uncle. What if I'd given 'im over? I bet he woulda
chucked the lad off the bike over the middle of the ocean! His best friend's
son! When a wizard goes over to the dark, they don't care for nothin' and no
one..."
A long, heavy silence followed Hagrid's story. Finally, Madam Rosmerta spoke
with a touch of satisfaction. "But he didn't get away, did he? The Ministry
caught him the next day!"
"If only it had been us," Fudge said bitterly. "It wasn't the Ministry that
found him. It was Peter Pettigrew—another of the Potters' friends. He must have
been half-mad with grief. He knew Black was the Secret Keeper, and he went after
him alone."
"Pettigrew... that little fat boy who used to trail after them like a puppy at
school?" Rosmerta asked.
"He hero-worshipped Black and Potter," McGonagall said. "In terms of talent, he
was never in their league. I was often quite hard on him... you can imagine how
I regret that now." Her voice broke.
"Now, now, Minerva," Fudge said gently. "Pettigrew died a hero.
Witnesses—Muggles, of course, whom we later Obliviated—said he cornered Black
and yelled, 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?' Then he reached for his
wand. But Black was faster. He blew Pettigrew to atoms."
McGonagall blew her nose loudly. "Poor boy... he was never a duelist... he
should have left it to the Ministry..."
"I tell ya, if I'd got to Black before Peter did, I wouldn't have bothered with
a wand," Hagrid growled. "I woulda ripped 'im limb from limb!"
"You don't know what you're saying, Hagrid," Fudge said sharply. "Cornering a
wizard like Black requires a trained hit-squad. I was Junior Minister at the
Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on
the scene after the blast.
"I... I'll never forget it. I still dream about it. A crater in the middle of
the street so deep the sewers were cracked open. Bodies everywhere. Muggles
screaming. And Black just stood there, laughing his head off. And in front of
him... all that was left of Pettigrew was a blood-stained robe and a few—a few
fragments."
Fudge's voice trailed off. The sound of five people blowing their noses echoed
in the booth.
"And that was that," Fudge finished. "Black was taken away by twenty members of
the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, and Pettigrew was awarded the Order of
Merlin, First Class. A small comfort for his poor mother, I suppose. Black has
been in Azkaban ever since."
Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh. "Is he truly mad now, Minister?"
"I wish I could say yes," Fudge said slowly. "I believe his master's fall broke
his mind for a time. The murder of Pettigrew and the Muggles was a cornered
animal's act—cruel and pointless. But when I saw him on my inspection, he
looked... normal. He spoke to me quite rationally. It was deeply unsettling. He
acted as if he were merely bored—asked me if I'd finished with my newspaper,
cool as you like. Said he missed the crosswords.
"Truly, the Dementors seem to have very little effect on him. And as you know,
he's in the highest-security wing. They sit outside his door day and night."
"But what do you think he's after now?" Rosmerta asked. "He's not trying to find
You-Know-Who, is he?"
"I suspect that is his—er—ultimate goal," Fudge said vaguely. "But we hope to
have him back in a cell before that happens. If the Dark Lord were to find his
most loyal servant again... the thought of him rising with that kind of help...
well, it chills me to the bone."
Sean heard the light clink of a glass meeting wood as McGonagall set her drink
down.
"Well, Cornelius, if you're to have dinner with the Headmaster, we'd best be
heading back to the castle," she said.
The doors of the Three Broomsticks swung open, a flurry of snow swirled in, and
the teachers vanished into the cold.
The moment they were gone, Harry's body went limp. Sean deactivated the charm,
and the group's silhouettes flickered back into existence. Neville and Hermione
stared at Harry, their faces pale and speechless.
Suddenly, Harry bolted. He threw himself toward the door and vanished into the
snowstorm.
No one had expected the sudden break.
"I'll watch him," Sean told the stunned group. He whispered a single name:
"Will."
The Pukwudgie butler appeared instantly beside the table. He took Sean's hand,
and the two of them vanished with a sharp crack.
Outside, the snow was blinding. Through the white haze, a figure appeared in
Harry's path. Harry was standing in the middle of the Hogsmeade High Street, the
crowds rushing past him while he stood as still as a rock.
"Harry, do you want to return to the castle?"
The voice came from the swirling snow. Harry didn't want to speak, but the boy
with the emerald eyes seemed to peer directly into his soul. Harry nodded
slowly.
He felt a dry, warm finger close around his wrist. A moment of nausea followed,
and then Harry found himself standing in his empty dormitory.
He looked at Sean in shock, his eyes still red and swollen. He didn't ask how
Sean had known where to take him. He just collapsed onto his bed, pulled the
hangings shut, and began flipping through his photo album.
He stopped at the wedding photo of his parents.
His father was waving at him, his messy black hair sticking up in all
directions—the same hair Harry had inherited. His mother was glowing with
happiness, her arm tucked into James's.
And there... it had to be him. The Best Man. Harry had never looked at him
closely before. If he hadn't known it was the same person, he never would have
guessed the man in the photo was Black. The face wasn't sallow and sunken; it
was handsome, mischievous, and full of life.
Was he already serving Voldemort when this was taken? Harry wondered. Was he
already planning their deaths while he smiled for the camera? Did he know then
that he was trading his life for twelve years of rot?
But the Dementors didn't affect him. Harry stared at the handsome face.
"He didn't have to hear my mother's screams when the Dementors got close," Harry
whispered.
He turned to Sean, tears tracking through the grime on his face. "Are you going
to tell me not to be stupid, Sean? Like Mr. Weasley? Are you going to tell me
not to go looking for him?"
Sean shook his head.
Harry's rigid posture relaxed slightly, though his lips remained pressed into a
tight line.
"I'm on your side, Harry," Sean said.
Harry felt a fresh surge of emotion.
"I will bring him to you," Sean added.
Harry didn't doubt him for a second. At that moment, his Magic Hand Mirror began
to chime.
"Harry, listen to me," Hermione's voice came through, frantic. "What we heard...
it's awful, but you can't do anything reckless."
"Like what?" Harry asked flatly.
"Like going after Black," Ron said, cutting straight to the point.
"You won't, will you, Harry?" Hermione pressed.
"He's not worth your life. Let the Dementors handle him. He deserves Azkaban!"
Ron added.
"Do you know what I see and hear every time a Dementor gets near me?" Harry
asked. Ron and Hermione went silent. "I hear my mum screaming. I hear her
begging Voldemort for my life. If you heard your mother scream like that before
she died, you wouldn't forget it easily."
A poison-like hatred flooded Harry's veins. In his mind, he saw Black laughing
in the dark. He saw Black blowing Pettigrew to bits. He heard a whisper in the
shadows: 'Success, Master... the Potters have made me their Secret Keeper.'
He looked at the photo again. He heard the screams again.
Will Voldemort ever let us go?
Then he remembered Sean's words: "We must strike at the darkness again and
again. It can never be truly killed, but if we persist, one day it will never
return."
A single thought became clearer than anything else. He looked at the young
wizard standing by his bed—the boy with the same green eyes as his mother.
"I'm going to hunt him down," Harry said calmly.
"Sean!" Hermione shrieked through the mirror.
"We will catch the man responsible for the Potters' deaths," Sean said simply.
The mirror went quiet. Only the sound of the others running up the stairs echoed
through the dormitory.
Tomorrow.
Once Sean secured the Goblin Contract, Sirius would enter the castle. Lupin and
Sirius had waited twelve years for this day. And Harry? Once Pettigrew was
caught, Harry had a right to know the truth.
"Sean, have you decided?" Hermione's voice through the door sounded strained.
The dormitory door burst open.
While Harry was being comforted by his friends, Sean had already returned to
Hogsmeade.
He stood before the entrance of a dingy, soot-stained pub. Through the grimy
window, he watched a gruff, elderly wizard wiping down a glass with a dirty rag.
Sean recognized him instantly. It was time to talk to Aberforth Dumbledore.
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