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┄┄ .•* 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟗 *•. ┄┄

𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒃𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒔

────── *•. ⚡︎ .•*──────

Harry stayed in the Hospital Wing for the rest of the weekend—Poppy insisted—and along with him, stayed Ron and Hermione who only left at nightfall or for meals.

"Harold cut it out," Hermione told him sternly on Sunday as he kept sulking. "I know you're thinking you're going to die, and that the dementors have it out for you, but you won the game! So stop sulking. I know how the dementors affect you. I know it's hard but, for the love of God, get that stick out of your arse."

That made Harry stop sulking immediately and he started chit-chatting with his two friends.

On Monday the trio made their way to Defense. Well, they had to drag Hermione as she just wanted to keep seating on the comfortable, comfy, snuggling, relaxing couch in the common room.

"If Snape's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I'm skiving off," said Ron as they headed toward Lupin's classroom after lunch. "Check who's in there, Hermione."

Hermione smiled sarcastically at him and opened the classroom door walking in. As they didn't get a response Harry and Ron followed suit.

As the class took their seats Hermione saw Lupin smile as the outburst of indignation blew out, that and she saw something behind him, but as she squinted her eyes it disappeared. Huh. It kept happening to her. It was like she was seeing things, or people, but then they'd disappear. It was exactly that, actually.

"It's not fair, he was only filling in, why should he give us homework?"

"We don't know anything about werewolves—"

"—two rolls of parchment!"

"Did you tell Professor Snape we haven't covered them yet?" Lupin asked, frowning slightly. The babble broke out again.

"Yes, but he said we were really behind—"

"—he wouldn't listen—"

"—two rolls of parchment!"

"—Snivellous."

Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face. "Don't worry. I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay."

"Thank God," said Hermione, looking very happy. "I didn't even know what we had to do!"

They had a very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box containing a Hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looked as though he were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless looking.

"Lures travelers into bogs," said Professor Lupin as they took notes. "You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead—people follow the light—then—"

The Hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass.

When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Hermione among them, but—

"Wait a moment, Hermione, Harry," Lupin called. "I'd like a word."

Hermione and Harry glanced at each other and doubled back watching Professor Lupin covering the Hinkypunk's box with a cloth.

"I heard about the match," said Lupin, turning back to his desk and starting to pile books into his briefcase, "and I'm sorry about your broomstick, Harry. Is there any chance of fixing it?"

"No," said Harry. "The tree smashed it to bits."

Lupin sighed.

"They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts."

Hermione snorted at this but kept quiet otherwise.

"People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance."

"Did you hear about the Dementors too?" said Harry with difficulty.

Lupin looked at him quickly.

"Yes, I did. I don't think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time. . . . furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds. . . . I suppose they were the reason you fell?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just—?"

"I also get affected like that, Remy," Hermione agreed with Harry, and he sent her a smile.

"It has nothing to do with weakness," said Professor Lupin after doing a double-take on Hermione's nickname and her eyes—that we're now full-on silver. Such a familiar silver. . . . "The Dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don't have."

Harry nodded though he frowned slightly. What horrors had Hermione gone through?

Hermione also frowned. She was adopted, yes. But what happened exactly that night?

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can't see them. Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself — soul-less and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life. And the worst that happened to you, Harry, is enough to make anyone fall off their broom. You have nothing to feel ashamed of."

Hermione kept quiet, if she were to tell them the truth, questions would start to surface.

"When they get near me—" Harry stared at Lupin's desk, his throat tight. "I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum."

Lupin made a sudden motion with his arm as though to grip Harry's shoulder, but thought better of it. There was a moment's silence, then—

"Why did they have to come to the match?" said Harry bitterly.

"They're getting hungry," said Lupin coolly, shutting his briefcase with a snap. "Dumbledore won't let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up. . . . I don't think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch field. All that excitement. . . . emotions running high. . . . it was their idea of a feast."

"Well, they have a whole feast and need to go for the lanky chicken?" Hermione asked and Lupin laughed as Harry glared at her.

"Azkaban must be terrible," Harry muttered after a while. Lupin nodded grimly.

"The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheery thought. Most of them go mad within weeks."

"But Sirius Black escaped from them," Harry said slowly. "He got away. . . ."

"Yes," he said, straightening up, "Black must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn't have believed it possible. . . . Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long. . . ."

"Black must be a dog with a bone, then. Not letting go of his powers, I mean," Hermione said feigning apprehension and Lupin's eyes widened slightly at the analogy.

"You made that Dementor on the train back off," said Harry suddenly.

"There are—certain defenses one can use," said Lupin. "But there was only one Dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist."

"What defenses?" said Harry at once. "Can you teach me?"

"Patronus," Hermione muttered and Lupin smiled proudly at her.

"I don't pretend to be an expert at fighting Dementors, Harry—quite the contrary. . . ."

"But if the Dementors come to another Quidditch match, I need to be able to fight them—"

Lupin looked into Harry's determined face, hesitated, then said, "Well. . . . all right. I'll try and help. But it'll have to wait until next term, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill."

"Can I come too, Remy?" Hermione grinned.

"Very well."

Lupin smiled and both students went to leave his classroom with the promise of learning how to conjure a Patronus—

"Hermione, wait for a second," Lupin called out and she turned around with a smile.

"What do you need, Remy?" She grinned.

"I heard about your rift with Professor Snape—"

"If you're going to judge, please save it. Dumbledore already said I must have my reasons and that I wouldn't be punished. Snape is a downright git and someone should've told him that long ago," Hermione said promptly.

"Actually, I just wanted to tell you to be warier around him. Snape might give you a P because you dressed the wrong socks," Lupin smiled and Hermione laughed.

"Does he even know what socks are?"

The rest of the term flew by quickly.

When Hermione wasn't with Ron or Harry she was either with the twins, Ginny, Dean and Seamus, Angelina Johnson—which she found a friendship in; they would usually be at the pitch at the same time and Angeline insisted on playing a one vs. one game—or alone—which usually involved Madlibs or trying to play movies in her head. That or she went out in the Quidditch pitch to fly—usually alone but sometimes with one of her flying partners.

One time as she was in the air there was a loud shout from the stands making her stop. Hermione looked around the pitch and saw Draco Malfoy and his cronies beckoning her over. She did what every sane person would do and ignored them. After a couple more laps around the pitch, she decided to stop and flew down. As she landed the really obnoxious voice that made her want to bang her head against a wall decided to talk.

"Didn't know you could fly mudblood," Malfoy sneered and Hermione faked an overly sweet smile.

"You think I can fly, Malloy?" She asked and Malfoy went red at the lack of acknowledgment of the slur and the fact that he complimented her.

"You think you're so smart and cool with that leather jacket. It would do you well to remind yourself you're nothing but a little disgusting mudblood," Draco sneered and his cronies laughed making Hermione roll her eyes.

"Better a mudblood than a bleach-haired stuck-up arsehole with daddy issues," Hermione said sweetly and went to pass by them only to have their wands pointed at her.

"Watch your mouth, mudblood!" Malfoy snarled and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Three against one? Honestly, Malloy, I thought you had more honor than that," Hermione sighed.

"It's Malfoy, you mudblood."

"No. I'm pretty sure it's Malloy," Hermione told him.

She didn't have a wand with her and she hoped that small talk would eventually get her out of it if someone decided to show up.

"You dare disrespect your superiors?"

"Dude, I'm older than you," Hermione scoffed and Draco was about to retort when a huge black dog appeared out of the bushes and placed himself in front of Hermione snarling at the three.

This made them run in whimpers and caused Hermione to laugh hysterically.

"Thanks, Padfoot," Hermione smiled at the dog who was goofily staring at her with his tongue out. "You shouldn't be here, though. What if someone sees you?"

The dog barked and shook his body as if shrugging.

"You do know Harry thinks you're the Grim right?" she asked Padfoot, and the latter barked out what seemed like a laugh. "I better go but I'll send you more food soon! Bye, Pads!"

Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays.

Hermione and both her dumbarse friends were staying in the castle. Harry because he had no other choice. Ron because of Harry, and Hermione because she wanted to see what Hogwarts was like on Christmas—she sent a letter to her parents asking if she could and they told her yes.

To everyone's delight except Harry's, there was to be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of the term.

On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Hermione dressed in some skinny jeans and her leather boots with a double sweater and her leather jacket to top it off. She also used a cap on her head and had a scarf wrapped around her neck. She and Ron bid goodbye to Harry and were off to Hogsmeade. They spent the first hour in Zonko's and in a music store. Hermione had to drag Ron to the latter and then drag him out of it after she had introduced him to Muggle music—which surprisingly the store had.

They then went to Honeydukes and Hermione knew Harry would be showing up. She was anxious to see the map. The Marauders Map. The coolest thing ever. Except maybe other stuff.

Ron and Hermione were standing underneath the (UNUSUAL TASTES) section examining a tray of blood-flavored lollipops. Hermione was frowning.

"I wonder what they taste like," Hermione was saying. "Imagine blood in a lollipop. That's like a Vampire's dream."

"How about these?" said Ron, shoving a jar of Cockroach Clusters under Hermione's nose cutting her rant off.

"Definitely not," said Harry. Ron nearly dropped the jar.

"What about the blood ones, Harold? Isn't blood super hot?" Hermione asked Harry casually and he laughed as Ron was seemingly speechless.

"Wow!" said Ron, looking very impressed, "you've learned to Apparate!"

"'Course I haven't," said Harry. He dropped his voice so that none of the sixth years could hear him and told them all about the Marauder's Map.

"Wicked!" Hermione grinned as Ron seemed outraged.

"How come Fred and George never gave it to me?!" said Ron, "I'm their brother!"

"That's because your a git and Harry is less of one," Hermione shrugged, "You're not handing it in, are you?

"No, I'm not!" said Harry.

"Are you mad?" said Ron, goggling at Hermione. "Hand in something that good?"

"If I hand it in, I'll have to say where I got it! Filch would know Fred and George had nicked it!"

"Calm down people. I was just making sure! That's too precious to fall in the wrong hands," Hermione hissed.

"Are you talking about Black?" Ron asked and Hermione thanked God Harry talked first rather than her, otherwise, she would've instantly said no, and then she'd sound mad—well, madder.

"He can't be getting in through a passage," said Harry quickly. "There are seven secret tunnels on the map, right? Fred and George reckon Filch already knows about four of them. And of the other three—one of them's caved in, so no one can get through it. One of them's got the Whomping Willow planted over the entrance, so you can't get out of it. And the one I just came through—well—it's really hard to see the entrance to it down in the cellar—so unless he knew it was there—"

Harry hesitated, Ron, however, cleared his throat significantly, and pointed to a notice posted on the inside of the sweetshop door.

BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Customers are reminded that until further notice, Dementors will be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade every night after sundown. This measure has been put in place for the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will be lifted upon the recapture of Sirius Black. It is therefore advisable that you complete your shopping well before nightfall.

Merry Christmas!

"See?" said Ron quietly. "I'd like to see Black try and break into Honeydukes with Dementors swarming all over the village. Anyway, Hermione, the Honeydukes owners would hear a breaking, wouldn't they? They live over the shop!"

"I didn't even say anything! " Hermione exclaimed.

"He'd have a job spotting Harry in this," said Ron, nodding through the mullioned windows at the thick, swirling snow.

"Seen the Fizzing Whizbees, Harry?" said Ron, grabbing him and leading him over to their barrel. "And the Jelly Slugs? And the Acid Pops? Fred gave me one of those when I was seven—it burnt a hole right through my tongue. I remember Mum walloping him with her broomstick." Ron stared broodingly into the Acid Pop box. "Reckon Fred'd take a bite of Cockroach Cluster if I told him they were peanuts?"

When Hermione and Ron had paid for all their sweets, the three of them left Honeydukes for the blizzard outside.

"That's the post office—"

"Zonko's is up there—"

"We could go up to the Shrieking Shack—"

"Tell you what," said Ron, his teeth chattering, "shall we go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?"

They entered the tiny inn a few minutes later. It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

"That's Madam Rosmerta," said Ron. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he added, going slightly red and Hermione laughed—took a picture—and looped her arm with Harry's, making her way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.

"Merry Christmas!" he said happily, raising his tankard.

They drank happily, making small talk, all the while Hermione was waiting for the drama causer. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again and she heard Harry choking, which made her grimace—she'd have to deal with a moody teenager with background issues, now.

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak—Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

In an instant, Ron and Hermione had both placed hands on the top of Harry's head and forced him off his stool and under the table. Then Hermione used wandless and nonverbal magic and made the Christmas tree beside their table rise a few inches off the ground, drifted sideways, and landed with a soft thump right in front of their table, hiding them from view.

Hermione and Ron watched as Madam Rosmerta approached the table.

"A small gillywater—"

"Mine," said Professor McGonagall's voice.

"Four pints of mulled mead—"

"Ta, Rosmerta," said Hagrid.

"A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella—"

"Mmm!" said Professor Flitwick, smacking his lips.

"So you'll be the red currant rum, Minister."

"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," said Fudge's voice. "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us..."

"Well, thank you very much, Minister."

They watched as she went away and came back with the drinks while sitting down. Hermione had to kick Harry as he was starting to get fidgety.

"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?" came Madam Rosmerta's voice.

"What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?"

"I did hear a rumor," admitted Madam Rosmerta.

"Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" said Professor McGonagall exasperatedly.

"Do you think Black's still in the area, Minister?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"I'm sure of it," said Fudge shortly.

"You know that the Dementors have searched the whole village twice?" said Madam Rosmerta, a slight edge to her voice. "Scared all my customers away. . . . It's very bad for business, Minister."

"Rosmerta, dear, I don't like them any more than you do," said Fudge uncomfortably. "Necessary precaution. . . . unfortunate, but there you are. . . . I've just met some of them. They're in a fury against Dumbledore—he won't let them inside the castle grounds."

"I should think not," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?"

"Hear, hear!" squeaked tiny Professor Flitwick.

"All the same," demurred Fudge, "they are here to protect you all from something much worse. . . . We all know what Black's capable of. . . ."

Hermione flipped him off, though the Minister couldn't see her.

"Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought... I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd have said you'd had too much mead."

At this Hermione grinned slightly which, thankfully, went unseen by Ron.

"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," said Fudge gruffly. "The worst he did isn't widely known."

"The worst?" said Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity. "Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?"

"I certainly do," said Fudge.

"I can't believe that. What could possibly be worse?"

"You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta," murmured Professor McGonagall. "Do you remember who his best friend was?"

"Naturally," said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. "Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here — ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"

Harry dropped his tankard with a loud clunk. Ron kicked him. And Hermione grinned again. What she would give to see their friendship.

"Precisely," said Professor McGonagall. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course—exceptionally bright, in fact—but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers —"

"I dunno," chuckled Hagrid. "Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer their money."

At this Hermione snorted and in return got a kick from Ron. She glared at him and flipped him off.

"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" chimed in Professor Flitwick. "Inseparable!"

"Of course they were," said Fudge. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him."

"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"Worse even than that, m'dear. . . ." Fudge dropped his voice and proceeded in a sort of low rumble. "Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was, of course, working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm."

"How does that work?" said Madam Rosmerta, breathless with interest. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.

"An immensely complex spell," he said squeakily, "involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or SecretKeeper, and is henceforth impossible to find — unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window!"

"So Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"Naturally," said Professor McGonagall. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself. . . . and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself."

"He suspected Black?" gasped Madam Rosmerta.

"He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements," said Professor McGonagall darkly. "Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who."

"But James Potter insisted on using Black?"

"He did," said Fudge heavily. "And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed —"

"Black betrayed them?" breathed Madam Rosmerta.

"He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it—"

"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet and Hermione scowled.

"Shh!" said Professor McGonagall.

"I met him!" growled Hagrid. "I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an' James's house after they was killed! Jus' got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an' his parents dead... an' Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin' motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily an' James's Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know- Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR!" Hagrid roared.

"Hagrid, please!" said Professor McGonagall. "Keep your voice down!"

"How was I ter know he wasn' upset abou' Lily an' James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou'! An' then he says, 'Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him—' Ha! But I'd had me orders from Dumbledore, an' I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. 'I won't need it anymore,' he says.

"I shoulda known there was somethin' fishy goin' on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin' it ter me for? Why wouldn' he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he'd bin the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin' ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was after him.

"But what if I'd given Harry to him, eh? I bet he'd've pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes' friends' son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to em anymore..."

A long silence followed Hagrid's story. Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction, "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!"

"Alas, if only we had," said Fudge bitterly. "It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew—another of the Potters' friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself."

"Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" said Madam Rosmerta.

"Hero—worshipped Black and Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I—how I regret that now..." She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold. Hermione just wanted to scream out 'BLACK IS INNOCENT!', but she couldn't. . . .

"There, now, Minerva," said Fudge kindly, "Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eyewitnesses—Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later—told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?' And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens. . . ."

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, "Stupid boy. . . . foolish boy. . . . he was always hopeless at dueling. . . . should have left it to the Ministry. . . ."

"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't've messed around with wands —I'd 've ripped him limb—from—limb," Hagrid growled.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," said Fudge sharply. "Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I — I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him. . . . a heap of bloodstained robes and a few—a few fragments —"

Fudge's voice stopped abruptly. There was the sound of five noses being blown.

"Well, there you have it, Rosmerta," said Fudge thickly. "Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black's been in Azkaban ever since."

Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh. "Is it true he's mad, Minister?"

"I suspect it started when his fiancee and child die. But I'm not sure. I wish I could say that he was," said Fudge slowly and Hermione frowned.

Sirius had a family? Outside of the Marauders, that is.

"I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man—cruel. . . .pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there's no sense in them. . . . but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You'd have thought he was merely bored—asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the Dementors seemed to be having on him—and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night."

"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" said Madam Rosmerta. "Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?"

"I daresay that is his—er—eventual plan," said Fudge evasively. "But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing. . . . but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again..."

There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their glass.

"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the headmaster, we'd better head back up to the castle," said Professor McGonagall.

One by one, they stood up and went away. The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the teachers had disappeared.

"Harry?"

Ron's and Hermione's faces appeared under the table. They were both staring at him, lost for words. In Hermione's case because she had no idea Sirius had a family. Maybe this world was an alternative universe or something.

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