"Sirius, we agreed—just a quick look," Harold said in a low voice once they were outside the castle. "But you were practically glued to Harry just now. It's a good thing it was Harry—anyone else might've realized something was off."
"I—I couldn't help it," Sirius replied, transforming back into his human form. He shrank into the shadows, back turned toward the castle, but there was a smile on his face—one he hadn't worn in years.
"I've never seen Harry up close like that. He really does look like James… but those eyes, they're all Lily's."
He tilted his head to the sky, eyes distant with memory.
"Thank you," he said suddenly. "Thank you for letting me see him. I still don't know what you're really after, but whatever it is—if I can do it, I will."
"Don't worry. You can," Harold replied.
By now the sky had darkened even more, and lights glowed faintly from Hagrid's cabin in the distance.
"You should head back to the castle," said Sirius.
"No rush. I've got this," Harold said, holding up the Marauder's Map. "You know as well as anyone how many ways there are back inside."
"Two," Sirius replied. "One through the Quidditch locker rooms, one via the outer wall at the rear of the castle." He eyed the map with a touch of pride. "The Marauder's Map… probably our finest creation."
"But there's one thing I still don't get." His gaze turned to Harold. "How did you know I was Padfoot?"
"Don't say it was Remus who told you," he added quickly. "I know him too well—he wouldn't."
"It wasn't Professor Lupin," said Harold. "I saw it myself."
"You… saw it?"
"Yeah."
"Impossible. You weren't even born when we made the map."
"That's not what I mean," Harold said. "I saw it in a crystal ball. I have the gift of prophecy."
Sirius looked at him skeptically.
It wasn't that he didn't want to believe him—it was just that true Seers were exceedingly rare. Maybe a handful per century.
"I mentioned this before, didn't I?" Harold went on. "I once made a prediction about Harry—that this year, he'd gain a new family bond, something related to his father."
Sirius's pupils narrowed.
He remembered now—Harold had said exactly that back when they were in what looked like a doghouse. And at that point, Sirius hadn't yet told him about his relationship to Harry.
"You really have the gift of prophecy?" he asked uncertainly.
"Of course. I saw you in the crystal ball. You were holding the map and telling Harry, 'I'm Padfoot, and Moony is your Professor Lupin.'"
"Remarkable," Sirius murmured. He wanted to believe it… maybe even needed to.
Believing Harold meant believing that one day, he'd be able to meet Harry as himself and talk with him freely. If that future had already been foreseen, then maybe it could really happen.
Harold was quite pleased.
This excuse that Tom Riddle had once used to frame him… turned out to be incredibly useful.
Anything he said could just be chalked up to a "prophecy," and somehow, everyone bought it.
Sirius was the perfect example. Harold's explanation hadn't even convinced himself, but once he mentioned prophecy, Sirius was all in.
Divination truly deserved more credit—it was quickly becoming one of his most useful subjects, second only to Transfiguration.
Now he just needed to make it more believable, even to the professors. They'd likely never believe in his gift completely—after all, most thought Trelawney was a fraud—but at the very least, they needed to have heard rumors.
If enough students talked about his predictions, then later when Harold brought it up again, they'd recall those rumors and think, "So it was all true."
The best part? He actually did have a bit of the gift.
So even if someone tried to verify it, his cover would hold up perfectly.
"What do I need to do next?" Sirius asked.
"Nothing," said Harold. "Just keep being a good dog… stay near Fang. He's a black dog too, so you won't stand out.
"And no approaching Harry or Ron."
"But Peter, that rat—"
"No 'but', Sirius," Harold cut in.
His ring shimmered faintly, and in its surface, an orange-yellow slit pupil appeared like a vertical eye.
"You have to follow my lead. Or I won't hesitate to petrify you again."
"Why?" Sirius growled. "I don't need your help. I can take care of him myself! And if all you want is the Black family home, fine! Once I've killed Peter, I'll give you the address and key."
"That's the point. Peter can't die," said Harold. "I have… a half-formed idea. Something that might be more important than anything in the Black house. And only Peter can get to it. So he has to live."
Honestly, Sirius didn't really understand.
He wasn't under any illusions about Peter. That cowardly traitor—what could he possibly access that mattered? The only thing he could reach was Voldemort.
Then suddenly, Sirius went quiet. A realization was dawning.
"If this is about clearing my name," he said slowly, "You don't have to. I'm not worth that, Harold."
"What?" Harold blinked. "Ah—yeah, right. He could clear your name… like suddenly showing up in public or something."
"So don't rush things," he added quickly. "Do it for Harry. His relatives haven't treated him well—he ran away from home this year, you know."
"For Harry…" The words seemed to carry power. Sirius paused, then nodded.
"Fine. I won't go after Peter."
Harold raised an eyebrow.
Interesting wording. Sirius had said he wouldn't go after Peter—but what if it wasn't deliberate?
What if he just happened to find Harry? Everyone knew the Hogwarts trio was always together. Where there was Harry, there was Ron.
And where there was Ron, there was Peter, still disguised as Scabbers the rat.
Still, Harold didn't call him out.
Sirius had survived in Azkaban all these years clinging to hatred—there was no way a few words would erase that need for revenge. This level of compromise was already pushing him to his limit.
"Wait until Christmas," Harold said. "If you behave, maybe I'll sell you a wand."
"A wand?" Sirius looked stunned, then gave a bitter laugh. "No one's going to sell me a wand."
"Now that's just silly. Have you forgotten my last name?" Harold said, flipping his hand—and a dozen different wands appeared between his fingers.
"Allow me to reintroduce myself. Harold Ollivander. Yes, that Ollivander. Wandmaker."
He tucked the wands away again. "It's just a wand. I'll sell you one. Heck, I'll custom-make it for you if you can pay."
"Ollivander… a wand…" Sirius stared, dazed. "But I thought you were a Seer?"
"Oh, that?" Harold snorted. "Prophecy's just a side talent. My real job is wandmaking. I'm going to inherit Ollivander's shop one day."
He pulled out a particular wand and waved it in front of Sirius. "See this one? Feel familiar?"
"…Not really," Sirius admitted.
He didn't understand what Harold was getting at—why would he feel connected to a random wand?
"The core is Harry's hair," Harold said with a grin.
"I'll take it!" Sirius jumped to his feet. "If that's true, name your price!"
"It's real, alright," Harold said. "Harry ordered a custom wand from me, and I had enough material left for a second one.
"I know it might sound weird—using a wizard's hair in a wand core—but don't worry. Stay around Hogwarts and you'll see for yourself: Harry's got two wands now."
…(End of Chapter)