After arranging his Christmas gift deliveries, Harold left the Owl Post Office.
He did a quick calculation and figured that the gifts he had prepared would cost him about two silver Sickles in postage—quite a reasonable price.
But as he stepped onto the main street of Hogsmeade, his eyes immediately caught sight of a large black dog crouching by the roadside.
"Sirius?"
Harold walked over, puzzled. "Didn't you say you'd be staying in the castle to keep Harry company? What are you doing in Hogsmeade?"
Sirius barked twice and flicked his tail in a certain direction.
Harold instinctively turned his head—and spotted Hermione and Ron.
They were standing side by side, but oddly, a small gap separated them—as if someone else were standing there too.
And they were both looking toward that gap, chatting to it.
"So… Harry's in Hogsmeade?"
The black dog nodded, confirming that the invisible figure between Ron and Hermione was indeed Harry under his Invisibility Cloak.
Harold pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket—the Marauder's Map was still in his possession. So how had Harry made it here?
Oh, right—Fred and George.
Harold suddenly remembered: even without the map, they could still help Harry access a secret passageway to Hogsmeade.
Ever since the defeat in the last Quidditch match against Slytherin, Harry had been in a low mood. Maybe this was their way of cheering him up.
As he was thinking, the trio spotted Harold and immediately ran over—or rather, two of them ran over.
Harry, feeling playful, took a detour to sneak up on Harold. But as he got close, a corner of his cloak snagged and slipped, making him hastily pull it back down.
"How did you see me?" Harry asked in surprise.
"It wasn't me," Harold replied, nodding toward the dog at his feet. "It was him."
Only then did Harry notice the black dog crouching beside Harold and couldn't help clicking his tongue. "He's really smart."
"That's nothing—just a basic canine skill," Harold said dismissively. "He can do way more than that. Want to see?"
"Like what?" Harry asked, intrigued.
"Watch closely." Harold extended his hand toward the dog. "I'm getting hungry. Go cook me two dishes, and bring back a few Galleons while you're at it."
The dog rolled his eyes in a very human-like manner and turned away.
The others looked at Harold, deadpan.
For a second there, they'd really thought the dog was special—but it turned out Harold was just messing with them.
"I'm not joking. He actually can do it," Harold insisted.
"Pfft." Ron scoffed, thinking that line was colder than the growing snowstorm around them.
He didn't even bother humoring Harold and instead changed the subject. "We're planning to show Harry around the rest of Hogsmeade. You coming with us or off to buy sweets?"
"I'll go grab the candy first," Harold said. "Still need a few more Christmas presents. Candy works well."
"All right," Hermione nodded. "We'll meet at the Three Broomsticks later then?"
"No problem," said Harold.
After bidding them farewell, he pushed his way into the student-packed Honeydukes.
He bought all the classics: Fizzing Whizzbees were a must, along with Jelly Slugs, pink coconut ice, Pumpkin Juice Pops, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs…
Harold bought a mountain of candy. Though the shopkeeper was incredibly busy, he still took the time to pack each bundle in a separate decorative box, tying them off with bright ribbons.
With that, Harold had all his gifts sorted.
After paying, he shoved his way back out of the shop.
In just the short time he'd been inside, the snow had grown heavier. Wind howled through the village, and most people were walking with their heads down, pushing against the gusts.
As agreed, Harold made his way to the Three Broomsticks.
By now, Harry and the others were already there, sitting at a table near the window. But only Ron and Hermione were visible.
When they saw Harold glance over, they shook their heads quickly and anxiously, as if to warn him not to look in their direction.
Harold spotted part of a shoe poking out from beneath their table.
Harry's shoe—he was hiding under the table. And the reason was most likely the group at the next table over.
Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Hagrid, Dumbledore—and the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge.
After last time's Dementor search of Hogwarts, Fudge had returned. And now he was chatting and laughing with Dumbledore, as if they hadn't just recently clashed.
Dumbledore, however, didn't stay long.
The moment Harold opened the door, a gust of cold wind blew inside, making Dumbledore shiver. He stood up.
"Apologies, Cornelius. I'd love to stay longer, but Hogwarts demands my attention."
"Of course, Albus. Hogwarts always comes first," Fudge said cheerfully. "Though I do hope you'll consider my suggestion. Everyone in the Ministry is highly qualified—more than capable of taking on a teaching position."
"I'll give it thought, Cornelius," said Dumbledore, shooting the Minister a meaningful glance before his eyes quickly flicked toward Ron and Hermione's table. Then he turned and left the Three Broomsticks.
After Dumbledore left, an awkward silence settled over the table. Fortunately, Madam Rosmerta arrived with a tray in hand.
"Where's Professor Dumbledore?" she asked. "I brought his favorite—Aged Oak Mead."
"He had work to attend to," said Professor McGonagall.
"He's going to regret leaving early when he hears what he missed," Fudge chuckled. "Rosmerta, my dear—mind if I have his drink? I suddenly fancy a mead."
"Of course, Minister."
Madam Rosmerta then took Dumbledore's vacant seat and joined in the conversation.
Harold found himself a quiet seat and listened in.
Rosmerta was mostly complaining.
Ever since Dumbledore had banned the Dementors from getting close to the school, they'd been roaming Hogsmeade instead.
Over the past few days, they had even entered the Three Broomsticks multiple times, scaring off customers every time. Rosmerta wanted them gone—or at the very least, to stop barging into her establishment.
Fudge, of course, didn't agree. He just gave vague, noncommittal answers.
At that moment, Harold felt something by his foot. He looked down and saw a large black dog crouched under the table, staring up at him.
"Are you insane?" Harold hissed under his breath. "Professor McGonagall is a master of Transfiguration—and an Animagus expert. You think she won't recognize you?"
The black dog shrank back slightly but didn't leave. Instead, it simply lay there, staring through the gap beneath the table—at Harry, who was similarly hiding just a few feet away.
Harold considered it and decided not to force Sirius to leave.
He didn't know how Sirius had gotten in without being seen, but leaving now would definitely be riskier—especially with McGonagall sitting directly across from the door.
In comparison, staying hidden under the table was safer—so long as McGonagall didn't suddenly decide to flip the table over, Sirius wouldn't be found.
…
(End of Chapter)