"Tom…"
It was only now that Sirius finally realized why Harold had come. He blinked and said, "I didn't do anything to him."
"Then why did Tom suddenly vanish?" Harold frowned. "I've looked everywhere—the Forbidden Forest, Hogsmeade—there's no sign of him. Don't tell me you were afraid he'd reveal your hideout and so you—"
"I swear, I absolutely did not!"
Before Harold could finish, Sirius cut him off.
With an expression more serious than Harold had ever seen, Sirius declared, "In the name of the Marauders, I did not harm Tom in any way."
The Marauders—that name once belonged to James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin. Mischief-makers, trouble-seekers... but to Sirius, that name meant more than anything.
For him to swear on it—that was proof enough.
"In fact," Sirius continued, "Tom just went deeper into the Forbidden Forest. Crookshanks didn't dare follow, so I asked him to help me instead."
"Help you catch that rat?"
"Exactly."
"And what if he accidentally killed it?"
"That would be ideal," Sirius said coldly. "But it won't happen. I know Peter. He's cowardly, spineless, and pathetic, but he's not stupid. That rat's full of tricks. He'll do anything to survive. There's no way he'd be killed by a cat."
Harold couldn't help thinking of Ron. Hadn't he been protecting Scabbers this whole time?
"Then I asked Crookshanks to get me the Gryffindor common room passwords," Sirius added. "That way, I could go in myself and kill him."
"And did you get them?"
"I did." Sirius pulled out a piece of parchment, covered with an entire week's worth of passwords.
"I was planning to—HEY! What are you doing?!"
Before he could stop him, Harold had ripped the parchment into shreds and vanished the pieces with a flick of his wand.
"If you'd really broken into the Gryffindor dormitory, Neville would've taken the fall."
Plenty of students wrote passwords on scraps of parchment, but only Neville would've written down so many. His memory was famously terrible—he often forgot the day of the week—so he kept a full list to read out loud at the entrance.
"I—I'd have made it up to him," Sirius muttered. "And I'd only be there for Peter. I wouldn't hurt anyone else…"
"I believe you," Harold said. "But would anyone else? Don't forget, to the world, you're an escaped Death Eater. You think people will believe you snuck into Gryffindor Tower just to catch a rat?"
Sirius turned away, silent. Even he wouldn't believe that if he heard it.
"And besides," Harold continued, "if you kill Peter now, you cut off any chance of ever reconciling with Harry. Without Peter, there'll be no proof, and no one will believe you. You and Harry will always be enemies."
Sirius flinched.
He wasn't afraid of death, nor of the Dementor's Kiss. But Harold's words just now… those hit him where it hurt. Every time Harry looked at him with hatred—it was like a dagger to the heart.
"What should I do?" Sirius collapsed onto the ground in defeat.
"I don't know. Maybe go back to the Shrieking Shack and think about it," Harold said. "I've got a lot on my plate these days. Can't babysit you two forever—"
"There's a qilin horn in the Black family house," Sirius suddenly blurted. "I'll give it to you as thanks."
Harold rubbed his ear. "Did you just say… what?"
"A qilin horn," Sirius repeated. "You probably haven't seen one. It's a magical creature from an ancient country in Asia. Only a wizard acknowledged by a qilin can become President of the International Confederation of Wizards."
"I know what a qilin is," Harold said. "But how did the Blacks get a horn? Aren't you worried about sanctions from the Confederation?"
Just as Sirius said, the qilin was sacred—part of the process for choosing the President of the International Confederation. The wizarding world protected them fiercely.
Forget owning a horn—even plucking one hair would get you sanctioned.
Qilin also carried magical properties similar to unicorns—dangerous, even cursed. Any wizard who harmed one would eventually face dire consequences.
Just ask the one imprisoned in Nurmengard.
"Well… I hate to admit it," Sirius muttered, "but the Blacks are an old pure-blood family. Three hundred years ago, it wouldn't have been that unusual for them to get hold of something like that."
"Three hundred…" The fire in Harold's eyes dimmed.
That long ago? Even if the Black family did have a qilin horn, the magic inside would've long since faded. No way could it still be used as a wand core.
But still… a qilin horn, even just for decoration, was worth it.
"Of course, I'm not doing this for the qilin horn," Harold said nonchalantly. "I'm just helping out a friend. Harry and I are close, after all—I couldn't just let him stay in the dark."
At that moment, a thunderous cheer erupted from the Quidditch pitch, followed by Lee Jordan's ecstatic yelling.
"Harry's caught the… the Golden Snitch… Firebolt… victory—!"
The words were scattered, but clear enough—the match was over.
"I can't tell you exactly what to do," Harold said quickly, "but I can give you some advice."
"What kind of advice?"
"Stop trying to think. You're not good at it," Harold said flatly. "Go to Lupin. I'm sure you can find a way to get his attention."
Sirius nodded.
He had a very simple way—just show up as Padfoot. Remus would know it was him immediately.
"He might kill me on sight," Sirius said bitterly.
"No, he won't," Harold shook his head. "He'll want answers first. Like, why you betrayed the Potters."
"I didn't!"
"Then save that for Lupin. And make him believe it."
"He won't."
"You never know." Harold reached into his pocket and pulled out a weathered piece of parchment.
"The Marauder's Map?"
"Yep." Harold handed it over. "I've seen Peter's name on here more than once. Now you can use it."
"Thanks," Sirius said, taking the map. Something about all this felt oddly suspicious…
"When Lupin believes you, let him figure out how to expose Peter," Harold added. "Seriously, you are terrible at planning. Getting Crookshanks to hunt him down? Stealing Neville's password list? What were you thinking?"
"You'd have been better off just capturing Neville and torturing the password out of him. At least that way he'd be less blamed afterwards."
…
(End of Chapter)