Chapter Forty-Seven – A Midnight Visitor

Madame Pomfrey was able to clear away the paint on Blaise's face in 10 seconds, but the lecture he received lasted much longer.

"Directed your own wand at your face!" she stated with a scandalized expression, "And to actually cast a spell? You're lucky you did no more damage than this! And really, after all the praise Professor Flitwick has said in your favor, I expected you to have more sense!"

Although he had to endure the public shaming, Blaise was still able to return to his dormitory that very afternoon. Harry would not be so lucky. Madame Pomfrey insisted on keeping him over the weekend, in spite of his several assertions that he was fine.

Harry was certain that he would have slept better in his own bed, secure in the knowledge that Blaise was only one four-poster away, and the familiar snores of Crabbe and Goyle lulling him to sleep. Instead, he tossed and turned in the narrow hospital bed for hours, only to fall into a fitful slumber. His dreams, or rather his nightmares, were plagued by the memory of his mother's screams. Left with no distractions from teammates or friends, Harry had been left to ruminate over the memories the dementors had resurfaced, and his mind would not stop racing over the horrid sound of his mother, begging for his life, while that high-pitched voice mocked her...

He woke with a start, thankful to have escaped the nightmare, but confused. He wasn't sure what had roused him. The hospital wing was shrouded in shadow, the moon obscured by dark storm-clouds outside. He thought perhaps a clap of thunder had woken him, and yet he couldn't escape the nagging sensation that he was not alone. He groped blindly for his glasses, sitting on a bedside table near him. Slipping on the frames, he turned around, hoping to see that it was only Madame Pomfrey making her nightly rounds.

He almost screamed.

A large, dark figure, blacker than the shadows of the surrounding room, hovered near his bed. At first he thought it was a dementor, but as his foggy, sleep-deprived brain cleared, he realized it was just the dog again, its large forepaws resting on the edge of his bed.

"Oh, it's just you," Harry said, breathing a sigh of relief. Then an odd thought struck him, and he peered at the dog with suspicion, "How did you get in here?"

The dog uttered a low, soft whine as it stared into Harry's eyes. As Harry stared back, the dog's face began to change. He realized, too late perhaps, that the dog was transforming into something else entirely. Its snout receded, and he black fur seemed to melt away. Only the dark brown eyes retained any sense of familiarity, as Harry found himself face-to-face with none other than Sirius Black.

Harry scrambled backward in his bed, his hand reaching desperately for the wand at his bedside... But Black leaned over him, stopping his arm with one rough hand and using the other to cover Harry's mouth.

"Wait a moment, Harry, and listen to me," he whispered in a pleading tone, "I know what you must think... What they must have told you... But think for a moment. If I really wanted you dead, wouldn't I have attacked already?"

Harry stopped struggling against his hold as he processed Black's words. It was true that Black, in the guise of the dog, had been by his side every day over of the summer. And Harry had seen him again in Hogsmeade, near the Shrieking Shack where there were no adults around. Even now, Black could have easily killed him in his sleep. He clearly had no problem with getting in and out of the school undetected, so what was stopping him?

When Black saw that Harry had grown calm, he asked, "If I remove my hand, do you promise you won't scream?"

A proper Slytherin would have made the promise, been released, and promptly screamed as loud and as long as they could. But Harry had never subscribed to being a perfect Slytherin, and when he met Black's eye and gave him a firm nod, he meant to keep his promise.

Black released him. He settled on the edge of Harry's bed, observing him quietly for a moment. Harry stared back at him, taking in the entirety of his appearance. Being on the run had not been kind to Black. His hair was long and matted. His cheeks were gaunt, and the clothing that hung on his boney frame was dirty and torn. There was grime under his fingernails, and imagining one of those hands over his mouth just now had Harry wishing he could rub his sleeve against his lips, but he refrained, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Then an idea suddenly struck him, and he quickly snatched up his wand, keeping it gripped in one hand and at the ready.

Black made no move to defend himself. Instead, he smiled at Harry, revealing chipped and yellowed teeth.

"You look so like your father," he said.

There was a tenderness to his voice that Harry hadn't been expecting. It put him off guard, and at first he didn't know what to say. He tried to summon the anger he felt for the man in front of him as he replied, "My father that you betrayed? They say you're the reason he's dead."

Black's eyes flashed in anger, and for a moment Harry saw a bit of the madman from the wanted posters.

"That is what everyone believes, Harry, but I tell you this. It – is – a – Lie."

He spoke slowly, punctuating each word with a significant pause. His voice was still low, barely a whisper, but it had taken on a sharp edge that warned of danger. Harry considered him again. The prison tattoos marring his pale flesh, the skin pulled taught over a face that may once have been handsome. He was looking at Harry so intently, as if nothing else mattered but that Harry, and Harry alone, believe what he said.

"Prove it," Harry said, "If you're really innocent, then prove it to me."

"I've been trying for years, but no one has believed me yet..." Black replied. He seemed nervous, and Harry thought he understood why. While in the school, Black could be discovered at any moment. Then it would be back to Azkaban, or worse, into the arms of the dementors. He was taking a huge risk to see Harry like this inside the walls of Hogwarts, but Harry still couldn't understand why.

"I want to tell you the truth. I do," Black said in a rush, "But I can't do it here, understand? That's the whole reason I've come... To tell you... You of all people deserve to know... You do want to know, don't you? The real reason your parents are..."

"Dead," said Harry, finishing his sentence when it became clear that Black was rambling, and that he could no longer continue. "Why can't you tell me now?"

"No time... There's no time," Black muttered. He was now flinching at every sound as the continuous thunderstorm raged outside. "Will you come meet me, Harry? In secret? I can tell you everything you want to know."

It sounded like a trap, but Harry still couldn't make sense of Black's behavior. If he wanted Harry dead, why lure him out of the school to kill him? Why not do it as he slept, or over the summer when he'd had access to Harry every day?

Harry suddenly remembered what Minister Fudge had said about the sigils and wards around Mrs. Zabini's house. He said no one could get past the enchanted barriers if they meant to do him harm. Black had never been inside, but he had been in the garden. Did that mean he was safe?

Harry came to a decision.

"I have to tell Millie and Blaise."

Black gave Harry a despairing look, and said, "Harry, the more people who know about me, the more danger I'll be in. I can't be captured until I've had my revenge."

Harry wondered what he meant by 'revenge,' but it certainly didn't sound. He was sure, more than ever, that he would not be meeting with Black alone.

"I have to tell them," Harry insisted, remembering the promise he had made with Millie last year about keeping secrets, "They're my best friends."

Black stared at Harry. The thunderclouds outside finally broke, and the moon shone full and bright outside. Harry was shocked to see that Black's eyes appeared to be swimming with tears, but perhaps it was only a trick of the moonlight.

"Can they be trusted?" he asked.

Harry gave him a confident nod. "They'll do what I ask."

Black agreed to his terms.

"Do you know where the Whomping Willow is planted?" he asked.

Harry nodded. He had never seen the tree himself, but after hearing one of his teammates mention it, he was sure he could locate its place on the school grounds.

"Meet me there as soon as you can," Black said, "I'll check every day until you come. But please hurry. I may not have much time."

A sudden sound alerted them to movement nearby. Black jumped up from the bed, clearly startled. With a last charge to remember his promise and not forget their meeting, Black quickly shifted into his dog form once more, then dashed out of the hospital wing on silent paws.

"Padfoot," Harry said to himself, finally thinking of the perfect name for his dog, now that it was too late.

It had all been so strange, waking up to see him there, the whispered conversation, and his vanishing almost as quickly as he arrived. Harry was almost inclined to think it was nothing but another dream brought on by his stressed mind, until Madame Pomfrey entered the room and scolded him soundly for being awake this late at night.

When Blaise and Millie came to visit him in the hospital wing the following morning, Harry told them everything. He explained the whole situation as best he could, and stated plainly that he wanted to meet Black at the earliest opportunity.

Blaise was completely against it.

"You're insane if you think we're letting you do that," said Blaise.

Millie nodded in agreement at his side. "We ought to tell Snape."

"Snape!" Blaise exclaimed, "Forget Snape! We're taking this straight to Dumbledore. He can talk to Fudge, get the Dementors to ambush Black, and send them all back to Azkaban."

"I'm going to meet Black," Harry said with stubborn determination, "I need to know what he meant when he started talking about revenge."

"He was talking about you, Harry," Blaise argued, "The only reason he hasn't killed you yet is probably because he wants to find whatever's left of Voldemort and turn you over himself."

"I only told you about this because I thought you'd support me," Harry said, adding a significant pout to bolster his argument, "But if you won't come, then fine. I'll go myself. You know you can't stop me."

Millie looked prepared to fight him on this, using her fists if necessary. A few more days laid up in the hospital wing would be enough time to alert the headmaster and capture Black before he could meet Harry again. But Blaise could see by the look on Harry's face that he was determined, and they both knew there would be no talking him out of a plan once his mind was made up. He would find a way to Black, one way or another. Blaise groaned and threw his hands in the air, a gesture of both frustration and resignation.

"Alright! We'll go!" he said, agreeing for both himself and Millie.

Millie glared at him, then directed one final exasperated eye roll at Harry before turning on her heel and stalking out of the hospital wing.

"Does that mean she's coming with us?" Harry asked. He was worried she'd left only to expose him to Professor Snape, as she suggested. Millie could be just as stubborn as Harry at times.

Blaise shrugged, "She'd better. We'll probably need one of her full-body binds if we're going to face Black."

Harry was released with Madame Pomfrey's blessing earlier than he could have hoped for. They had an entire afternoon before classes started again the next day, and Harry wasn't going to wait for another opportunity to slip out of the school.

The sun was shining, and as the students had a free day, there was nothing odd about Blaise and Harry going outdoors and taking a stroll toward Hagrid's cabin. But as they headed down the slopes, Blaise took a sudden turn off their usual path. Harry checked to make sure none of of the other students walking about the grounds had noticed their movement, but no one other than Harry's small group ever came down this way, unless it was for a Care of Magical Creatures class. Certain that they were unobserved, Harry quickly followed Blaise down the path toward the previously agreed-upon meeting place.

"There it is," Blaise said, pointing toward an old, twisted tree that was standing alone, "The Whomping Willow."

It was surprisingly calm. With a name like the Whomping Willow, Harry had been expecting something more wild. He didn't see Black, and started to venture closer to the tree, wondering if he had taken shelter near the trunk.

"Watch it!" Blaise cried out, and a second later he had pulled Harry backward just as a branch collided with the ground in front of him. Harry shouted in surprise as the branch rose back up to its former position, uttering an eerie groan as the wood shifted back into place.

"Well, where's this new friend of yours, Harry?" Blaise asked testily, "I hope his plan wasn't to have you crushed by the tree."

"He isn't my friend," Harry shot back.

At that moment, he saw him. Black, in the now familiar guise of the dog, waited at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Harry pointed him out to Blaise, and they both watched as the dog turned and slipped into the cover of brush and shadow.

Harry had his fair share of adventure in the Forbidden Forest last year, and he wasn't keen on making another trip. Still, he had made a promise, and he was burning for answers. After he and Blaise paused long enough to make sure they were still unobserved, they followed the dog into the woods.

The dog was sitting in a clearing, panting with impatience as they approached. Harry was so used to seeing the familiar face and lolling pink tongue that it was hard to reconcile his canine friend with the escaped convict. As if to challenge the very thought, Black transformed again.

Turning his human eyes on Harry, Black shrieked, "Green!"

Harry's nerves had already been at their breaking point, and they were pushed over the edge by Black's sudden scream. He flinched, and noticed Blaise also gave a start, his hand instinctively moving toward the wand in the pocket of his robes. Harry's reflexes were not as fast, and he stared at Black, thinking he must really be as mad as everyone claimed, but Black continued to speak.

"Green!" he said again, pointing to Harry's robes, "You're in Slytherin, Harry? How can that be?"

Harry was confused. "You didn't know I was in Slytherin?" he asked.

"Dogs are color blind, Harry!" Black cried.

Fortunately, Blaise was there to get them back on track.

"I wasn't aware we came all the way out here to talk about Harry's robes," he said coldly.

He had drawn his wand out from his pocket, though he held it loosely at his side. Black's eyes flickered over Blaise's face, then down to the wand.

"This must be one of the friends you mentioned, Harry," he said with a crooked grin, "But where is the other?"

"She's here," Harry replied honestly, "But she's under cover. She'll have her wand pointed at you right at this moment. If you try anything, she'll curse you without a thought. She's quite good at curses."

Black smiled, impressed rather than cowed by the threat.

"Your father's cloak?" he asked.

Harry was startled. Only Blaise, Millie, and Mrs. Zabini knew about the cloak. No, he thought, correcting himself. Neville and Hermione knew of it, too. But no one except those in Harry's inner circle knew that the cloak had belonged to his father.

"How do you know about that?" Harry asked.

Black laughed. "Oh, the stories I could tell you! If only you knew what sort of trouble we got into because James and his cloak!"

"You were his enemy..." Harry said slowly, as if testing the feeling of the words on his lips. They sounded wrong to him, even now.

Black shook his head sadly. "No, I was never his enemy. I was his friend. His best friend."

"If you were his friend, then why did you betray him?" Harry asked.

Black took two quick steps toward Harry, but Blaise lifted his wand toward him, and it checked Black's progress before he could reach them both.

"I never betrayed James to anyone," Black said, his eyes pleading for Harry to understand. "I would sooner take my own life. You must believe that."

In spite of his better judgment, Harry was starting to believe him. But it still didn't answer an important question.

"If you didn't betray my parents, who did?" asked Harry.

"Peter Pettigrew," Black said, spitting each word out as if it were poison. "He was their secret-keeper. Not me. James wanted it to be me, but I... I persuaded him against it. I told him that the Death Eaters would suspect me first of all. If they came for me, then I would die for him, but then the charm would be broken. I, to my everlasting regret, convinced him to choose Peter..."

"But... Why?" Harry asked, "Why him?"

"He was one of us, Harry. Your father was betrayed by a friend, but not by me. When I learned of what Peter did, I went for him. Hunted him down like the animal he was. I wanted to kill him... but before I got the chance, the coward faked his own death, killing a bunch of helpless muggles in the process. I was framed for everything, and he got away."

"I suppose it's very convenient that the one person who could prove your story is either dead or missing?" Blaise asked. He shot a quick look to Harry in warning. "He's lying, Harry. I don't know why, but..."

"They only found a finger," Black said, ignoring Blaise as he kept his eyes locked on Harry, "That's all. Pettigrew cut it off to make everyone believe he was killed with the same spell he used to kill the muggles. But there was never a body. Pettigrew survived."

"Where's your proof?" Blaise challenged. Every moment they spent alone in the woods talking to Black seemed to put him more on edge, "If what you're saying is true, then prove it. If he's alive, where is he?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out," said Black, a note of desperation slipping into his voice, "I know he is hiding somewhere in Hogwarts. I saw him, you see. In the Prophet."

"I think if a man who had been dead for twelve years was suddenly in the paper, then everyone would know about it," Blaise said sarcastically.

"And everyone said it was impossible to escape from Azkaban, yet here I stand." Black said, opening his arms wide as if to display the evidence of his argument.

Everything fell into place for Harry. He realized Black must have escaped the prison the same way he'd been able to slip into Hogwarts, unnoticed by the dementors.

"He's like you," said Harry, "He's an animagus."

Black nodded. "A filthy rat. We should have known then what he was. But of course, we had no idea until it was too late."

"When did you see him in the paper?"

"He was with a family. They were photographed in Egypt. I saw him, sitting on one of the boy's shoulders. The article said the boy would be returning to Hogwarts. When I saw him, when I knew he was out there, still alive... That he would be at the same school with James's boy... I couldn't stand it. I knew I had to find him..."

"You expect us to believe Petter Pettigrew is alive, and living as a rat somewhere on Hogwarts grounds?" Blaise exclaimed, "Lies, all of it! He's mad, Harry, don't you see? We should turn him over to the dementors."

"No!" Black said, a look of true terror coming over his features, "I can prove it! I can!"

"How?" Harry demanded.

Black seemed to be thinking about his answer, then a smile spread over this thin lips.

"The map," he said, "The Marauder's Map."

Harry didn't know what he was talking about.

"Who are the marauders?"

Black's mouth dropped open in horror.

"Who are the Marauders? Merlin's beard, Harry! They were us. Your father, me... and Pettigrew..."

Black paused, grinding his teeth at the memory of the man he blamed for his best friend's death.

Harry didn't need proof at this point. Blaise wanted it, but Harry believed Black. He couldn't believe that a man who was left to rot in Azkaban for twelve years could act so convincingly.

"Sirius..." he said softly, trying to draw the poor man out of whatever painful reverie he'd fallen into.

It worked. Black flinched at the sound of his own name. He looked wildly at Harry for a moment, then he seemed to recall the present day.

"The map shows everyone in the school," he continued slowly, as he had never interrupted himself, "It shows where they are, where they are going... Their names. Pettigrew is hiding in Hogwarts, and the map will prove it."

"Great!" said Blaise, "So where is this fantastic map of yours?"

Black considered again, then he gave a soft laugh, "Is that old bastard, Filch, still cleaning up students' messes around the school?"

Harry acknowledged that he was, and Black laughed again.

"Just before we graduated, Filch had us trapped in his office. Scolding us for a simple graduation prank we had concocted, James and I. He took the map. Confiscated it. Of course, he had no idea what it truly was. It's enchanted, you see. Insults anyone who might try to see its secrets unless they have the password. I'll bet the map is still there, in his office, along with all the other things he took from us over the years."

"We can get into his office," Harry said confidently, "All we need is a distraction and the cloak. If I get the map, and what you say is true, we'll help you. But if Pettigrew isn't there..."

"He will be," Black said confidently. "Pettigrew will know I'm after him, and Hogwarts is the most protected place in the country, thanks to you, Harry. He'll be here, where he thinks he's safe."

Harry nodded. There was only one thing left to do.

"Tell me about the map," he said. "What do I need to know?"