The moment Harold admitted the spell was his own creation, the looks on everyone's faces completely changed.

Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey stared at him in disbelief, as if they were seeing him for the first time.

From the unicorn's appearance and demeanor, it clearly wasn't something conjured from magical energy—it looked like the true soul of a unicorn...

And magic involving souls had always been among the most complex and profound branches of magic, with barely any wizards able to master it. And yet Harold had casually pulled it off?

Even Dumbledore couldn't help but keep his gaze fixed on Harold.

"Amazing," Dumbledore said with admiration. "That old coot Garrick really knows how to keep a secret. He's never once mentioned this… Oh, apologies—I didn't mean anything by that. That's just how we refer to each other."

"I understand, Professor," Harold said. He certainly knew how close Dumbledore had been with his grandfather, and it was perfectly normal for them to have unusual nicknames for one another.

"'Old coot' is actually pretty polite," he thought, remembering how Lockhart once tried to show off his friendship with Professor Flitwick by calling him 'that sly old dog'—which embarrassed Flitwick terribly.

"Besides, the way I learned this spell was kind of a shortcut," Harold explained. "It's probably not what you're all imagining."

"There's no shortcut in magic, Harold," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile, then added seriously, "No matter how you came to it, if you can cast it with your wand, then it's fair to say you've mastered it."

He glanced at the unicorn in the room and murmured, "Such pure magic… it's almost indistinguishable from a real unicorn. And creatures like this are exactly what dark wizards dread most… It's entirely possible it truly did drive Black away."

"I really don't know, Professor," Harold said. "I just wanted to drive him off, so I used the spell. Then I blacked out."

"Magic responds to intent," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "I suspect your strong desire at that moment triggered some kind of transformation in the unicorn's spirit—that's what forced Sirius Black to flee."

"Is that so?" Harold asked with uncertainty.

"That's what I believe," Dumbledore replied. "Oh, right—you said earlier that you took a photo of him, didn't you?"

"That's right." Harold seemed to remember suddenly and quickly pulled out a camera hanging around his neck.

"Revelio!"

Dumbledore tapped the camera lightly with a finger.

The film inside began to unroll in front of them, and one of the images enlarged, displaying itself for all to see.

In the photo was a disheveled, wild-looking man tearing at a painting's canvas like a lunatic.

"It really is Sirius Black," Professor McGonagall said, lips pressed tightly. She had been reluctant to believe something so outrageous before—that Sirius Black could've broken through layers of Dementor security and infiltrated Hogwarts Castle.

But now, the evidence was undeniable. She had no choice but to believe it.

Soon, however, another thought occurred to her.

"Harold, how could you do something so reckless?" she scolded, glaring at him. "Taking a photo of Black… What you should have done was run away immediately!"

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harold said sincerely. "It won't happen again."

Professor McGonagall remained stern-faced and silent.

She didn't even want to imagine what might have happened if Harold hadn't managed to drive Black away.

"Minerva, I think we should let the students return to their dorms," Dumbledore said just then. "Sleeping on the Great Hall floor can't have been comfortable."

"But Sirius Black…"

"I believe he's fled," Dumbledore continued. "Unicorns are a natural bane to corrupted souls. Black was probably already wounded last night and escaped—he's likely hiding in some unknown place now to recover."

"Well… alright." Professor McGonagall hesitated for a moment but chose to trust Dumbledore.

Countless past experiences had proven that Dumbledore's instincts were rarely wrong.

She left to instruct the students in the Great Hall to return to their dormitories.

Dumbledore turned back to Harold.

"Let's talk about something more cheerful," he said as he stood up. "All of us at Hogwarts—including myself—have always told students that if you ever encounter Sirius Black, you must run. Never try to fight him.

"Your actions aren't exactly what we encourage… but you did manage to drive him away. Let's see… how about two hundred points to Gryffindor?"

Harold wasn't concerned with the house points—his mind was on something else.

"Professor," he said, "about the bounty in the Daily Prophet…"

"Oh! I almost forgot." Dumbledore held up the photo. "It says one thousand Galleons for concrete evidence, and I don't think anything could be more concrete than this picture."

He winked and added, "I'll pass it along to the Ministry of Magic."

Not long after, Dumbledore also left, and Harold lay back down on the bed.

He had been worried about one thing this entire time.

When he transferred the petrified black dog into his transfigured lizard-skin pouch, Peeves had seen it.

Harold had been afraid Peeves would blab to the professors.

Others might not understand what the black dog meant, but Dumbledore and Lupin certainly would. They'd immediately suspect that Sirius Black was in his hands.

But just now, neither Dumbledore nor Professor McGonagall had mentioned anything about a black dog, and Lupin hadn't shown up at all. It looked like Peeves hadn't said a word about it.

Which made sense. Compared to the infamous Sirius Black, a common black dog was nothing remarkable. Even if Peeves had noticed, he probably just assumed it was Harold's new pet—and then promptly forgot about it.

That was perfect.

Harold let out a sigh of relief. He hadn't gone through all this effort just to turn Sirius in for a thousand Galleons.

…

Somehow, the news of Harold waking up spread quickly. By noon, the area outside the hospital wing was packed with students, all wanting to visit him.

Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey turned them all away, not letting a single one inside.

Meanwhile, in the third-floor staff lounge, Snape threw the door open and looked at Lupin.

"Aren't you concerned about your old friend?" he asked, eyes flashing with malice. "Sirius Black was spotted at Hogwarts, you know."

"I swear I had nothing to do with it," Lupin said, looking up, his expression serious. "If I get the chance, I'll capture him myself."

"You'd better," Snape said darkly.

"Wait, Severus."

Just as he was about to leave, Lupin asked, "I heard it was a student who drove him off?"

"Harold Ollivander," Snape said with a sneer. "Shocking, isn't it? He was driven off by a third-year student."

Lupin was indeed surprised.

Even Snape had been left speechless when he first learned of it.

He instinctively harbored doubts, but couldn't find any flaw in the story.

Sirius Black had appeared on the eighth floor and torn up the Fat Lady's portrait. Harold Ollivander happened to arrive, encountered him at the door, and took his picture… If the story ended there, Snape wouldn't believe it was just coincidence.

But then Harold had fainted, supposedly from magical exhaustion… and Madam Pomfrey confirmed it. That couldn't be faked.

A vandalized painting. A fugitive in flight. A student who collapsed after confronting him… Everything fit too perfectly. So perfectly that not even Snape could find anything suspicious.

Later, Peeves even claimed that Sirius Black vanished right after Harold passed out.

Which meant Harold must have done something just before fainting—maybe cast a high-level spell, or engaged in an intense fight.

In any case, magic doesn't drain itself for no reason. Even if Harold didn't directly force Sirius Black to flee, he must have scared him enough to make him run.

After all, this was Hogwarts. The moment any professor sensed something strange, they'd rush to the scene.

Black must have feared exactly that.

…

(End of Chapter)