By the afternoon, the storm seemed to have lessened… well, not really. The wind had simply gotten stronger—so strong it felt like it could blow a person backward. Compared to that, the rain hardly seemed worth mentioning.

But the storm didn't dampen anyone's enthusiasm. By game time, the entire school had come out to watch the match just like always.

Even Dumbledore had arrived. He stretched out his hand and, whatever he did, a dome of calm instantly enveloped the stands. The wind and rain were completely shut out.

But only the stands—the players still had to contend with the downpour.

This was a match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. The commentator, Lee Jordan, a friend of the Weasley twins, had to crane his neck just to make out who was holding the Quaffle through the sheets of rain.

As the match went on, the cheers from the stands rose louder and louder.

Harold watched for a while before getting pushed to the edge by the excited crowd.

It was hard enough to see the field in weather like this, and now, all he could see were the backs of people's heads.

No helping it.

With a sigh, Harold gave up and quietly headed back to the castle.

It was completely empty.

He made his way to a deserted corridor on the eighth floor.

Pulling out the Marauder's Map, he made sure there was no one else nearby—no people, no ghosts—before stepping in front of a tapestry showing a troll clubbing a knight named Barnabas the Barmy. He paced back and forth three times, thinking to himself:

A doghouse no Dementor can enter… a doghouse no Dementor can enter… a doghouse no Dementor can enter…

On the third pass, a door appeared in the wall.

Harold stepped forward and pushed it open.

Inside was a small room with a five-foot-tall doghouse. Beneath the red triangular roof were white walls with a semicircular opening, lined with thick, dry straw.

A large black dog lay motionless inside, its front half sticking out of the opening.

Harold raised his wand.

A moment later, a blue unicorn burst forth and crashed into the dog with a heavy thud.

"OWWW!"

A piercing yelp rang out as the black dog finally moved, but something wasn't right.

The dog convulsed on the ground, howling in agony, the cries growing weaker and weaker.

Harold had initially thought it was an act—that Sirius was faking it to lower his guard and escape. But when he saw the dog's eyes roll back, he knew something was wrong.

He quickly cast two more spells:

"Vigoris Excito!"

"Sanatio Velox!"

With the unicorn wand's unique properties, both offensive and healing magic were especially potent. A blue and a yellow beam of light struck Sirius's body, slowly bringing warmth and flexibility back to his stiff limbs.

Several minutes later, the black dog opened his eyes and immediately transformed back.

"I swear I almost died just now," Sirius panted, lying on the floor. "Whoever you are, just hand me over to Azkaban already. You don't have to torture me like this."

"I only used a spell to reverse the petrification," Harold replied. "I've gone through it myself—it felt no different from undoing a regular Full Body-Bind Curse."

Sirius didn't respond, but his expression said it all—he didn't believe a word of it.

No feeling?

It had felt like a train had smashed through his chest. He was torn into a thousand pieces and slammed back together all at once. For a moment, he saw flashes of his entire life—scenes from childhood to now flashing by.

First entering Hogwarts… meeting James Potter… becoming friends with Lupin… Harry being born… becoming his godfather…

It was more vivid than any memory he'd ever recalled. Even in Azkaban, he'd never experienced anything like that.

So no, he absolutely didn't believe Harold.

But Harold didn't bother trying to explain further. He just shrugged. "Why would I lie to you?"

"If you say so," Sirius muttered, trying to sit up and look less pathetic.

"Mind telling me your name?"

"Harold Ollivander."

"Ollivander…" Sirius smacked his lips. "So why'd you catch me? The bounty? If that's it, I can pay more. Not just a thousand Galleons—ten thousand, even. I'll give you anything."

"I'm not doing this for money," Harold said. "If I had to give a reason, I guess… I wanted to help you."

Sirius stared at him for a long time before sighing.

"Ten thousand's not enough?" he asked weakly. "I don't have more. Unless I go to Gringotts, but if I show up there, they'll recognize me, and then—"

"I already said, it's not about the Galleons," Harold cut in.

But Sirius clearly didn't believe him. He assumed Harold was just haggling.

It made sense—any goodwill Harold had shown so far was dwarfed by that one soul-ripping spell. To Sirius, that had felt like a fourth Unforgivable Curse. In fact, it could've replaced the Cruciatus Curse entirely.

He knew the pain of the Cruciatus all too well—he'd faced it many times back in the day, back when Death Eaters opened fights with one of the three Unforgivable Curses. And yet, not once had the Cruciatus shown him his own life.

And then there were those eyes… that one eye. That thing had frozen his soul.

"Well then, maybe this will convince you," Harold said, pulling out a piece of parchment.

"The Marauder's Map?" Sirius blurted out.

"Yep," Harold nodded. "I saw your name on it—that's how I rushed to the eighth floor just in time."

"Thanks to your map, Mr. Padfoot."

Sirius's eyes widened. "You… Wait, no. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe Moony does," Harold said with a grin. "Professor Lupin—he's the current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I'm sure he'd be happy to answer a student's question."

"Remus? Teaching Defense?" Sirius repeated, stunned.

"Surprised?" Harold said. "A werewolf, teaching at Hogwarts. Hard to believe, I know—but it's true. If you don't believe me, you can check for yourself. It's not that hard."

Sirius's mind was spinning.

This kid didn't just know Remus was a werewolf—he also knew their old nicknames. Had Remus told him?

But why would he?

"What do you really want?" Sirius asked, voice low.

"Let's just say," Harold replied, "I made a prediction to Harry. Now I need that prediction to come true. Make sense?"

Sirius shook his head.

"Okay then." Harold shrugged. "The truth is, I want something from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place."

"No problem!" Sirius instantly perked up, nodding eagerly. "Take whatever you want. Empty the whole place if you want. Just don't hand me over to the Dementors."

…

(End of Chapter)