The news hit Harry like a Bludger to the skull. Sirius Black was his godfather.
His ears rang. For a second he thought a church bell was going off inside his head.
Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. Justin and Ron pinned Harry in place, but their own hands were shaking hard enough to give them away.
The conversation at the next table rolled on. Sean saw the air around Harry ripple slightly—he was trying to lean closer, desperate to hear every word.
His face was raw with longing, but the world felt like it was behind frosted glass.
"Because Black was working for You-Know-Who?" Rosmerta asked.
"Worse than that, my dear…" Fudge dropped his voice to a low mutter. "Very few people know the Potters were even aware You-Know-Who was hunting them. Dumbledore, of course, had been fighting him tooth and nail. He had some very capable spies. One of them passed him the information.
"He went straight to James and Lily and told them to go into hiding. Not an easy thing to do when You-Know-Who is after you.
"Dumbledore suggested the Fidelius Charm as the safest option."
"How does that work?" Rosmerta asked, almost breathless.
Flitwick cleared his throat.
"An extremely complex spell," the tiny professor squeaked. "It hides a secret inside a living soul. The secret is placed inside the chosen person—the Secret-Keeper—so it can never be found… unless the Secret-Keeper chooses to reveal it.
"As long as the Secret-Keeper stays silent, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James lived for a thousand years and never spot them—even if he pressed his nose against their sitting-room window!"
"So Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper?" Rosmerta whispered.
"Naturally," McGonagall said. "James told Dumbledore that Black would rather die than betray them, and Black himself was ready to go into hiding…
"But Dumbledore still wasn't comfortable. I remember he offered to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself."
"He suspected Black?" Rosmerta sounded shocked.
"He believed someone close to the Potters had been feeding You-Know-Who information for some time," McGonagall said darkly. "In fact, he'd already begun to suspect a traitor among our own ranks."
"But James insisted on Black?"
"Yes," Fudge said heavily. "And less than a week after the Fidelius Charm was cast—"
"Black betrayed them?" Rosmerta breathed.
"Exactly. Black had grown tired of playing both sides. He was ready to declare his loyalty to You-Know-Who openly—right at the moment the Potters died.
"But then You-Know-Who was defeated by little Harry Potter. He lost his power, became terribly weak, and fled.
"That left Black in a very awkward position. The moment his master fell, his own treachery was about to be exposed. He had no choice but to run."
"Filthy, treacherous scum!" Hagrid roared. Half the pub went quiet.
Sean felt a hot tear land on his arm—Harry was crying.
"Shh!" McGonagall hissed.
"I met him!" Hagrid bellowed. "I must've been the last person to see him before he murdered all those people!
"After Lily and James were killed, I pulled little Harry out of the ruins myself! I'd just got the poor mite out of the wreckage—forehead all cut up, Mum and Dad gone—when Sirius Black came roaring up on that flying motorbike of his.
"I never thought twice about why he was there. I didn't know he was the Secret-Keeper. I figured he'd just heard the news and come to help.
"The lad was white as a sheet, shaking like a leaf. And you know what I did? I comforted the murdering traitor!"
Hagrid's voice cracked with rage.
"Hagrid, please—keep your voice down!" McGonagall begged.
"I had no idea he wasn't grieving for Lily and James. He was only worried about You-Know-Who! Then he said, 'Give Harry to me, Hagrid—I'm his godfather, I'll look after him—'
"Ha! But I had Dumbledore's orders, so I told him no. Dumbledore said Harry was to go to his aunt and uncle.
"If I'd handed the boy over… I reckon Black would've dropped him in the middle of the ocean. His best friend's son! When a wizard goes over to the Dark side, he stops caring about anyone or anything…"
A long, heavy silence followed Hagrid's story.
Then Rosmerta spoke, a note of grim satisfaction in her voice.
"But he didn't get away, did he? The Ministry caught him the very next day!"
"If only it had been us," Fudge said bitterly. "It wasn't the Ministry who found him. It was Peter Pettigrew—another of the Potters' friends. He must have been out of his mind with grief. Knowing Black was the Secret-Keeper, he went after him alone."
"Pettigrew… that chubby little boy who used to trail after them at Hogwarts?" Rosmerta asked.
"The one who worshipped Black and Potter like heroes," McGonagall said. "Talent-wise he was never in their league. I was often quite hard on him. You can imagine how much I regret that now…"
She blew her nose, voice thick.
"There, there, Minerva," Fudge said gently. "Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eyewitnesses—muggles, of course; we later modified their memories—said he confronted Black, sobbing, 'Lily and James! Sirius, how could you?' Then he drew his wand. Black was faster. He blew Pettigrew to pieces…"
McGonagall sniffed loudly. "The poor, foolish boy… He never stood a chance in a duel. He should have left it to the Ministry…"
"If I'd got to Black before Pettigrew, I wouldn't have wasted time pulling out a wand," Hagrid growled. "I'd have torn him limb from limb!"
"You don't know what you're saying, Hagrid," Fudge said sharply. "Only highly trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance. I was Deputy Head of the Disaster Department back then. I was one of the first on the scene after Black killed all those people.
"I'll never forget it. There's still nights I dream about it.
"A crater blown right in the middle of the street, deep enough to crack the sewer pipes. Bodies everywhere, muggles screaming. And Black just standing there laughing, with nothing left of Pettigrew except a blood-soaked cloak and a few… fragments…"
The adults blew their noses again.
"That's the story, Rosmerta," Fudge said, voice muffled. "Black was taken away by twenty Magical Law Enforcement officers. Pettigrew was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. I imagine it was some comfort to his poor mother. Black has been in Azkaban ever since."
Rosmerta let out a long sigh.
"Is he really mad now, Minister?"
"I wish I could say yes," Fudge replied slowly. "I do believe the fall of his master drove him temporarily insane. Murdering Pettigrew and all those muggles was a desperate, pointless act—cruel and senseless.
"But I was surprised by how sane he seemed when I spoke with him. He was quite rational. It unnerved me.
"He asked if I was finished with the newspaper, wanted to do the crossword—perfectly calm. I was shocked. The Dementors seem to have had very little effect on him—and he was one of the most heavily guarded prisoners they had. Dementors stationed outside his cell day and night."
"But what do you think he wants now that he's escaped?" Rosmerta asked. "Surely he's not trying to rejoin You-Know-Who?"
"I suspect that is his… er… ultimate goal," Fudge said evasively. "But we hope to catch him long before then. You see, You-Know-Who on his own is one thing…
"But if he regains his most loyal servant, he could rise again very quickly. The thought gives me chills…"
Sean heard the soft clink of glass on wood as McGonagall set her cup down.
"You know, Cornelius, if you're having dinner with the Headmaster you'd better head back to the castle now," she said.
The door of the Three Broomsticks swung open again, letting in another swirl of snow. The professors were gone.
The moment they left, Justin and Ron felt Harry sag.
Their Disillusionment Charm faded and the six students reappeared.
Neville and Hermione stared at Harry, lost for words.
Then Harry bolted for the door like a madman.
"I'll keep an eye on him…" Sean told the stunned group. "Will."
Puck the Pukwudgie butler appeared with a respectful bow, took Sean's hand, and the two of them vanished.
Outside, snow whipped through the streets.
In Harry's blurred world, a figure appeared.
He stood motionless in the middle of Hogsmeade's high street while people hurried past like he was a rock in a river.
"Harry, are you heading back to Hogwarts?" a calm voice asked through the blizzard.
Harry didn't want to speak, but those emerald eyes seemed to see straight through him. He gave a small nod.
Warm liquid was pressed to his lips. A dry, steady hand closed around his.
The world spun.
When it stopped, Harry found himself standing in the empty Gryffindor dormitory.
He looked up at Sean, eyes still red.
There was no time to ask how Sean had done it. Harry dropped onto his bed, yanked the curtains shut, and began flipping through his photo album, searching…
He stopped on a wedding photo of his parents.
His dad grinned and waved, messy black hair sticking out in every direction—just like Harry's.
His mum glowed with happiness, arm linked with James.
And there—standing beside them as best man—was a face Harry had never really noticed before.
If he hadn't known it was the same person, he never would have guessed this handsome, laughing young man was Sirius Black.
Had he already been serving Voldemort when the picture was taken?
Had he already been planning the deaths of the couple smiling beside him?
Did he know he was only a few years away from twelve years in Azkaban—twelve years that would twist him into something unrecognizable?
Yet the Dementors had no effect on him. Harry stared at the handsome, smiling face in the photo.
"He doesn't have to hear my mum screaming when the Dementors get close…" Harry whispered.
He turned to Sean, tear tracks still wet on his cheeks.
"Are you going to tell me not to do anything stupid too, Sean? Like Mr. Weasley—don't go looking for him?"
Sean shook his head.
Harry's tight expression cracked. His lips pressed into a thin line.
"Harry, I'm on your side," Sean said.
Harry felt fresh tears sting his eyes.
"I'll bring him to you," Sean added quietly.
Harry didn't doubt him for a second.
His Magic Hand Mirror chimed.
"Harry, listen to me," Hermione sounded frantic. "What we just heard must be tearing you apart, but you can't do anything stupid."
"Like what?" Harry asked.
"Like going after Black," Ron said bluntly.
"You won't, right, Harry?" Hermione pressed.
"Getting yourself killed for Black isn't worth it. The Dementors will catch him and drag him back to Azkaban—he deserves it!" Ron added.
"Do you know what I hear every time a Dementor gets too close?" Harry asked.
Ron and Hermione fell silent.
"I hear my mum screaming, begging Voldemort for mercy. If you'd heard your own mother sound like that before she was killed, you wouldn't forget it quickly either—"
A hatred stronger than anything he'd ever felt flooded Harry's veins like poison.
He saw Black laughing in the dark, the same smile from the photo album now burned into his mind.
He saw Black blow Peter Pettigrew to pieces.
And he heard a high, cold voice whispering in triumph:
"It worked, Master… the Potters made me their Secret-Keeper."
Then another voice—high, insane laughter—the same laugh that filled his head whenever the Dementors came near…
He looked at the photo again and again.
He heard his mother screaming, pleading.
Would Voldemort have spared her?
He remembered Sean's words.
We have to keep striking at evil. He can never truly be killed, but if we keep fighting, one day he won't come back.
The thought had never been clearer. He looked at Sean's calm green eyes—the same eyes he saw in his own reflection.
"I'm going after him," Harry said quietly.
"Sean!" Hermione cried in alarm.
"We're going to catch the man who murdered Harry's parents," Sean said.
The mirror went silent except for the sound of running footsteps.
Tomorrow.
Once Sean secured the goblin contracts, Sirius would sneak into the castle. Lupin had been waiting for that day for a long time.
And Harry—once they had Pettigrew—had every right to the truth.
"Sean, you're sure?" Hermione's voice was shaky.
The dormitory door burst open.
…
While Harry was being comforted, Sean had already returned to Hogsmeade.
He stood outside a dingy little pub, watching a surly old wizard wipe down glasses behind the bar.
Sean knew him, of course.