"Professor Greengrass!" Harry gasped in surprise.
The sight of his familiar, trusted teacher inexplicably eased his tightly wound nerves. "You're really here. I mean… Mr. Noctis just now—"
Sagres's long fingers gently stroked Noctis's jet-black head, his gaze settling on Harry's face.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter," Sagres said, his voice deep and steady. "Noctis's actions deviated from his preassigned task, which required me to intervene personally. However, that is not the only reason I am here tonight."
He paused, his grey eyes fixing directly on Harry, a look that made Harry instinctively straighten. "There is an extremely serious matter that concerns you directly. The Ministry of Magic has not yet made it public, but I believe you have the right to know—and I will require your assistance."
"Concerns me directly?" Harry's heart leapt. All the confusion and resentment from running away were instantly pushed aside by the weight of those words.
He respected Professor Greengrass and knew he was not someone given to exaggeration.
"Yes," Sagres said evenly. "A few days ago, there was a breach at Azkaban. An extremely dangerous prisoner escaped from under the Dementors' guard."
"A breach?" Harry froze. He had heard enough about Azkaban to know how terrifying that was. "Who escaped?"
"Sirius Black." Sagres spoke the name clearly, watching Harry's reaction closely.
Harry blinked in confusion. The name sounded vaguely familiar. He thought he might have heard it once on the television, mentioned in passing as a fugitive the government was searching for—armed and dangerous.
But that was all.
He looked back at Professor Greengrass, baffled, waiting for him to continue.
A flicker of understanding passed through Sagres's grey eyes. He continued in the same calm, controlled tone. "It seems you are not aware of the full weight of this name. Sirius Black was once one of your father's close friends during their school years."
"What?" Harry was completely stunned. His father's friend? That was utterly incompatible with the image of an "extremely dangerous prisoner."
"However," Sagres went on, his tone shifting slightly, "it was this very person who betrayed your parents during the height of Lord Voldemort's power. He revealed your parents' whereabouts to Lord Voldemort, directly leading to their deaths."
Each word fell like a blow from a cold iron hammer, striking heavily against Harry's heart.
Betrayal. Revealed. Killed. His father's friend.
A violent shock and an indescribable, numbing pain seized him all at once. Harry swayed, his face draining of color, his lips trembling, yet no sound came out.
His parents' deaths—caused by the betrayal of someone they trusted?
"Is… is that true?" Harry forced the words out at last, his voice hoarse.
"The evidence is conclusive, Mr. Potter," Sagres replied firmly, leaving no room for doubt. "For more than ten years after Black was sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban and up until his escape, he never once denied his crime."
Lord Voldemort's follower.
The murderer of his parents.
Harry felt a rush of dizziness. A blazing fire of hatred, sharp enough to cut to the bone, ignited in his blood, instantly burning away the initial shock and grief.
He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, his body trembling faintly with the force of his rage.
So the real devil was the man named Sirius Black.
"He… he escaped?" Harry's voice turned icy with hatred. "What does he want?"
"According to the Ministry of Magic and Headmaster Dumbledore's assessment," Sagres said calmly, "Black's likely target after escaping is you, Mr. Potter. You represent Lord Voldemort's greatest failure."
"As Voldemort's most fanatical follower, Black would almost certainly view killing you as the final step in completing his master's unfinished work. After all, Lord Voldemort fell at your hands."
A bone-deep chill swept through Harry from head to toe. The blazing anger from moments ago was smothered beneath a wave of fear.
A madman who murdered his parents.
A faithful hound of Lord Voldemort.
A devil who had escaped from Azkaban.
He is looking for me. He wants to kill me.
Harry's eyes darted instinctively into the surrounding darkness, as though that wild-eyed, deranged wizard might leap out at any second.
"Professor…" His voice shook slightly. "The Ministry of Magic… will they catch him?"
"The Ministry is conducting a full-scale manhunt," Sagres replied evenly, "but Black is exceptionally cunning, and he clearly possesses abilities the Ministry does not yet understand. So… their chances are uncertain."
"Then what should I do?" Harry asked, his voice unsteady, utterly lost.
"Passive defense is not the optimal strategy. We must take the initiative—find him, and deal with him," Sagres said calmly, looking at Harry. "For that, I will require your assistance, Mr. Potter."
"My assistance?" Harry looked stunned. "What can I do?"
"Many believe Black's target is you," Sagres replied evenly. "Which means you are the most effective bait to draw him out."
His tone remained composed. "An exposed lure, combined with a trap of my own design, is the simplest and most reliable plan under the current circumstances."
Harry's heart nearly stopped.
Bait?
To place himself directly in front of that madman?
Instinctively, he wanted to retreat—to hide behind the shut door of the Dursleys' house, suffocating though it was.
But when he looked up and met Sagres's deep, steady gaze, a strange courage welled up inside him.
He trusted the Professor before him, just as he trusted Headmaster Dumbledore.
And this was a chance to catch the man who betrayed his parents.
As the truth of their deaths resurfaced, and the image of the betrayer Black burned in his mind, Harry's fear was slowly crushed beneath a far greater force: anger, and the desire for justice.
Pain and fear flickered through his green eyes, but in the end, they were replaced by firm resolve.
"W-what do I need to do, Professor?" Harry asked. His voice still quavered slightly, yet his gaze was unwavering. "If it means catching him… I'm willing to do anything."
He straightened his back. Though his body still trembled slightly, his resolve was unmistakable.
A trace of approval flickered in Sagres's eyes. "Very good, Mr. Potter. Your courage is commendable. But you must remember—every action must follow instructions precisely. Emotion is the greatest interference to any plan."
He nodded once and reached out, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "First, we need a suitable 'exposed' environment. Preferably somewhere crowded, with many eyes upon you."
The moment his words fell, Harry felt a violent pressure twist through the space around him.
The dim streetlights, the silent road—everything warped, stretched, and spun like paint hurled into a whirlpool.
A powerful wave of dizziness and nausea followed immediately. His stomach lurched, his vision went black, and his legs nearly gave way beneath him.
"Dizziness is normal," Sagres remarked casually. "The fact that you didn't vomit means your spatial adaptation is quite good."
When the nauseating distortion finally subsided, Harry blinked hard, forcing his vision to focus.
He was standing in a dim alley. The damp cobblestones radiated a clammy chill. Sagres stood beside an unassuming wooden door.
Harry looked up and saw the crooked yet instantly familiar sign above it—
The Leaky Cauldron.
"You'll stay here," Sagres said as he pushed the door open. The smells of smoke and alcohol spilled out, along with the low hum of voices. "And you'll visit Knockturn Alley once a day. Leave the rest to me."
"Knockturn Alley?" Harry echoed in shock. He knew that place—home to Dark Wizards of the worst kind.
"Yes, Knockturn Alley." Sagres quickly arranged a room for Harry at the bar.
"The environment there is complicated, and Dark Wizards gather in great numbers. It is the most likely place for Black to hide or to gather information."
"So now…" Harry glanced around the dim, bustling interior of the Leaky Cauldron, feeling as though he had been swept into an unfamiliar current.
"Now, you rest," Sagres said, waving a hand lightly. "The operation begins tomorrow. During this time, Noctis will remain with you."
"Understood, Professor." Harry nodded, then hesitation flickered across his face. "Um… Aunt Marge…"
The chaotic scene at the Dursleys' house surfaced in his mind, the woman's frantic, wordless struggle, and he couldn't help worrying that the Ministry of Magic might hold him responsible.
"Don't worry," Sagres replied calmly. "She brought it upon herself. If anyone from the Ministry comes looking for you because of it, tell them directly that I was responsible."
"But Professor, won't that get you into trouble?" Harry asked, concern clear in his voice.
"The Ministry of Magic does not have the courage to trouble me," Sagres said evenly.
A great weight seemed to fall away from Harry's chest, as though a heavy stone had finally been lifted. He looked at Sagres with genuine gratitude. "Thank you, Professor."
Sagres did not answer. He simply glanced at the raven, and Noctis immediately understood, hopping neatly onto Harry's shoulder.
"Go, Mr. Potter. Don't worry," Sagres said, his voice carrying an unmistakable sense of reassurance. "The moment Black reveals himself, I will appear."
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