Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we start and finish third year! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks...
–
Dear Count Dracula,
Please note that the new school year will begin on Septem-
ber the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross
station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock.
Third years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade
on certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission form
to your parent of guardian to sign.
A list of books for next year is enclosed.
Yours sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harold hummed as he read the letter he had just received. Harold was emancipated, so should he sign the permission form, or should he have one of the quadruplets sign it?
"Verona!" he called suddenly, and minutes later, the door to his throne room opened, and Verona stepped inside, bowing when she reached his throne.
"You called for me, my Lord?"
"Sign this," Harold said, handing the permission form to Verona, before opening his book list.
Putting the book list away, he picked up the day's copy of the Daily Prophet, which he had started subscribing to, and started reading.
BLACK STILL AT LARGE
Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner
ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding
capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.
"We are doing all we can to recapture Black,"
said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this
morning, "and we beg the magical community to
remain calm."
Fudge has been criticized by some members of
the International Federation of Warlocks for
informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.
"Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an
irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to
anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have
the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not
breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone.
And let's face it... who'd believe him if he did?"
While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying
a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use
to kill each other), the magical community lives in
fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when
Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.
Sirius Black... Harold had heard that name before... Like Tom Riddle, it was a name that he felt that he'd heard somewhere in his past, but just couldn't remember...
"Verona, have you ever heard of the name Sirius Black before?" Harold asked, and Verona shook her head.
"No, my Lord. Why do you ask?"
"It feels like I know him for some reason..." Harold muttered thoughtfully as he stared at the article.
–
Harold made his way through the Hogwarts Express, intent on finding Draco. Behind him walked Hermione, who was hurrying to keep up with him, lugging her heavy trunk behind her.
He found Draco in one of the compartments, sitting with Nott, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle.
"All of you, clear off," Harold said coldly when they opened their mouths to greet him. "I need to speak with Draco."
They were quick to obey, clearing off faster than one could say 'Dracula.'
"Hello, Harold, had a good summer?" Draco asked with a smile as Harold lifted his trunk up on the luggage rack, followed by Hermione's. "And you, Hermione?"
"Oh, it was good," Hermione said, patting a basket that held a fluffy, orange cat. "I bought Crookshanks here."
"We need to talk," Harold said, ignoring Draco's question and sitting down across from him, staring into his eyes. Draco straightened up, no doubt seeing just how serious Harold was. "Who is Sirius Black?"
"My Father told me he was the Dark Lord's closest follower," Draco said immediately. "But I sensed some kind of lie coming from him when he told me this. He told me Sirius Black was the one who revealed the location of your parents to the Dark Lord. He was said to have been your father's best friend."
Harold's eyes widened.
"What?" he growled out, and Draco nodded.
"Yes. But like I said, I sensed a lie when my Father told me about it, so I don't know if it was entirely true."
"I see," Harold muttered. "So, there is a chance he either didn't give my parents' location to Voldemort, or he wasn't my father's best friend?"
"Or he simply wasn't the Dark Lord's closest follower," Hermione chipped in, fumbling with the straps on Crookshanks' basket. The cat leapt lightly from the basket, stretched, yawned, and sprang onto Harold's lap. Harold petted the cat idly as he stared out the window.
The Hogwarts Express moved steadily north and the scenery outside the window became wilder and darker while the clouds overhead thickened. People were chasing backward and forward past the door of their compartment. Then, someone opened it, revealing themselves to be Ginny.
"Hi, guys," she said shyly. "Um, Harold, can I sit in here? I tried sitting with my brothers, but they don't know how to be civil..."
"I'm surprised you didn't come to us first," Harold said, in a somewhat cold tone. "Mean we so little to you, compared to your brothers?"
"N-No! Not at all!" Ginny said immediately, before blushing. "I mean, no... But Mum wanted me to try to make peace with them, but it seems they don't want to..."
"He means, come on in," Draco said, patting the empty seat next to him. "Sit down. Harold and I will help you with your trunk, right, Harold?"
Harold grunted as he picked the trunk up himself, before Draco had even started to rise out of his seat, and put it up on the luggage rack.
It started to rain, and the rain thickened as the train sped yet farther north. The windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered into life all along the corridors and over the luggage racks.
"We must be nearly there," Draco said, looking out the now completely black window.
The words had hardly left him when the train started to slow down.
"Perfect timing," Draco said brightly, but Hermione looked concerned, checking her watch.
"We can't be there yet..."
"Then the question is, why are we stopping?" Harold asked.
The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.
Harold got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments.
The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out, and they were plunged into total darkness.
"What's going on?" Draco asked, and Harold could see, with his vampire eyes, that Draco's heart had started beating faster, his blood pumping much faster through his body.
"Do you think we've broken down?" Hermione whispered. Her heart, too, had started pumping faster, as had Ginny's. If Harold wasn't so focused on moving back to his seat and looking out the window, he would have gotten hungry.
"Quiet," Harold ordered, and he took out his handkerchief, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out.
"What do you see?"
"Dementors," Harold said, seeing the hooded figures making their way onto the train.
"D-Dementors?" Draco stuttered. "Here? No, they can't be unsupervised around schoolchildren!"
"Obviously, they can..." Harold said, sitting down again. "Hermione, some light, please."
There was a clinking sound, and then the compartment was lit up by some bluebell flames inside a glass jar that Hermione was holding. Just then, the door slowly slid open.
Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Hermione's hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling, its face completely hidden beneath its hood.
And then, the dementor drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.
An intense cold swept over them all, and Harold shot to his feet, glaring at the dementor.
"Cease!" he ordered, and at once, the cold disappeared as the dementor flinched. "Cease you search at once! Leave this train!"
The dementor drew another rattling breath as it slowly drifted out of the compartment and floated down the corridor.
"I'll never get over how intimidating you can be..." Draco muttered. He was paler than usual, and was sweating, his eyes wide. "We're lucky you were here."
Soon enough, the lights came back on, and the train slowly started moving again.
–
"Welcome!" Dumbledore said in the Great Hall, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast..."
Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business.
"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore continued after a brief pause, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises, or even Invisibility Cloaks. It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors," he said.
Dumbledore paused again. He looked very seriously around the hall, and nobody moved or made a sound.
"On a happier note," he continued, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year.
"First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause. Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes.
"Look at Snape," Draco whispered to Harold, who was balancing his fork on his finger. Harold looked and was surprised at what he saw.
Snape was staring along the staff table at Lupin. It was common knowledge that Snape wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, but Harold was surprised at the expression twisting his thin, sallow face. It was beyond anger: it was loathing.
"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Lupin died away. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."
None of the Slytherins clapped, because Harold didn't clap. But they didn't need to. The Gryffindor clapped hard enough for all four tables.
"Well, I think that's everything of importance," Dumbledore said once the clapping died down. "Let the feast begin!"
The golden plates and goblets before them filled suddenly with food and drink.
"Oh, what I wouldn't give for some human blood right now..." Harold muttered as he helped himself to a steak. Meat just didn't taste the same as blood.
"Cheer up," Draco said, helping himself to a little bit of everything. "It could be worse. You could have nothing at all to eat."
"But look at them," Harold said, looking around at the students. "All of them filled to the brim with blood, and I'm not even allowed to sample..."
Harold idly noticed how Draco was staring at him strangely as Harold gazed around at the people around them.
"Harold, are you alright? You're scaring me..."
"I'm fine. Just hungry," Harold said and looked down at his steak, slowly cutting it up and eating it.
–
Harold was tapping his foot impatiently as he sat in the common room, watching a pair of first-years passing him. His eyes glazed over as he heard they hearts beating, pumping blood through their veins...
"What's wrong with you lately?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. He was looking at Harold strangely. "You seem... edgy..."
"I'm hungry," Harold said. "Verona has told me that as I grow stronger, so will my thirst. I'm used to being able to leave the castle and feast whenever I wanted, but now, with Dumbledore watching..."
"You think he doesn't trust you?"
"Only a fool would," Harold admitted, still tapping his foot.
"Um, Harold?" came a shy voice, and Harold looked to the side to see Pansy sitting down next to him on the couch he was sitting on. "If... If you're hungry..." she muttered as she rolled up her sleeve. "...you can drink some of my blood... I mean, if you want..."
Harold blinked, then looked down at Pansy's exposed wrist, his eyes glazing over again.
"Are you sure, Pansy?" Harold asked, feeling the need to do so. Pansy nodded.
"Well, it won't turn me into a vampire, right?"
"No."
"Then feel free."
Harold slowly took Pansy's arm, then brought it up to his mouth as his canines grew into long fangs, and he bit down on her wrist, making her gasp in pain.
Her blood flowed into his mouth, and Harold's eyes snapped open as he greedily drank it. He drank and drank, Draco watching in fascination, and Pansy panting. Then, he pulled away, licking at the two puncture marks and watching as they healed.
"Thank you, Pansy," he breathed. Pansy was swaying a bit, looking a little woozy, but she still managed to smile at Harold.
"It was my pleasure, Harold," she said a bit dreamily as she got to her feet. She stumbled a bit, but somehow made it to the girls' dorms alright.
"Have you read the Prophet?" Draco asked finally, still looking a bit fascinated by Harold's diet. "They reckon Black's been spotted."
"Yes, I know," Harold said, clenching his fists. "I have half a mind to go track him down..."
–
"Homework, a foot-long essay on Shrinking Solutions and its effects," Snape said to his class at the end of one Potions class. "And Slytherins, come up to me and hand in your Hogsmeade permission forms."
As the Gryffindors left the classroom, Hermione waving to Harold and Draco, who waved back, the Slytherins walked up to Snape's desk, Harold and Draco in the lead.
"Dracula, what is this?" Snape asked as Harold handed over his permission form. "Five signatures?"
"Well, Professor, I am emancipated, but I didn't know if my signature was enough," Harold explained. "So, I had all four of my guardians sign it, just in case."
"I see..." Snape said slowly, scrutinizing the permission form, as if looking for any sign of a forgery.
"Is there a problem, Professor?" Harold asked politely, and finally Snape tore his eyes away from the form, shaking his head.
"No, Dracula. Now, off you go."
"Yes, Professor."
With a bow of his head, Harold walked away, followed by Draco, who handed in his own permission form.
"But then again, Hogsmeade is nothing new to us, is it?" Draco said with a smirk as they made their way toward the common room. "Not with the secret passageway you found into Hogsmeade."
"But now we can be out in the open, and not have to worry about getting caught," Harold said, also smirking.
October the thirty-first arrived, and Harold and Draco could be seen heading down toward Hogsmeade with a large group of Slytherins.
"Get me some bloodpops. I'll be at the Three Broomsticks," Harold told Crabbe, who nodded and rushed off toward Honeydukes. It felt good, having these servants around to do his bidding. They now obeyed him without question, whereas during the first few years there would be some loyalty issues, which were quickly rectified.
As they headed for the Three Broomsticks, however, Harold stopped rather suddenly and sniffed the air once. He looked to his right, to see a large, shabby, black dog strutting through Hogsmeade, an old newspaper in its mouth. Harold narrowed his eyes at the dog. He felt no connection to that animal... Just like with Weasley's rat...
"What's wrong, Harold?" Pansy asked in concern from behind him. Harold shook his head.
"Nothing... It's nothing. Let's go."
With that, he started toward the Three Broomsticks again.
They returned to school late in the evening and made their way to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast. It had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats, many of which started circling Harold, and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes.
The food was delicious, as always. The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding.
As they made their way toward the dungeons after the feast, Harold stopped and sniffed the air once more, his brow furrowing in confusion. It was the same smell as that dog from earlier. But, surely, that dog couldn't have made it into Hogwarts... right?
"What's wrong now?" Draco asked. Harold slowly shook his head.
"I don't know, but I don't like it. Something seems-"
"There you are," came the voice of Snape as he made his way over to the Slytherins. "All students are to gather in the Great Hall once more. March, off you go!"
And so they found themselves once more in the Great Hall, accompanied by the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors, who all looked extremely confused, except for the Gryffindors.
"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Dumbledore told them as McGonagall and Flitwick closed all doors into the hall. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately," he added to Percy Weasley, who was looking immensely proud and important. "Send word with one of the ghosts."
Dumbledore paused, about to leave the hall, and said, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing..."
One casual wave of his wand, and the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls. Another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.
"Sleep well," Dumbledore said, closing the door behind him.
As the hall immediately began to buzz excitedly, Harold and Draco grabbed a sleeping bag each and dragged them into a corner, soon joined by Hermione.
"What happened?" Harold asked immediately as soon as they had laid down.
"The Fat Lady, the portrait guarding the Gryffindor common room, was attacked by Sirius Black," Hermione whispered, looking thoroughly confused. "But I have no idea what he could possibly want in there..."
"I have an idea..." Harold muttered, then he got down as low as he could, making sure no one was looking at him. "Make sure no one takes my sleeping bag."
"What-" Draco started, but just then, Harold slowly dissolved into black mist, which dispersed into the air.
The mist made its way to the grand doors of the Great Hall, moved through the entrance hall, and out the door, toward the Whomping Willow.
Once there, the mist made its way into a hole at the roots of the tree, where Harold rematerialized in a small tunnel, which he had used many times before, a long tunnel that led straight into the Shrieking Shack. The smell of the dog was all over the place, just as he suspected...
He made his way down the tunnel, his vampire vision easily seeing through the darkness. He pulled himself out of the hole into the very disordered, very dusty room of the Shrieking Shack. Paper was peeling from the walls, there were stains all over the floor, every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it, and the windows were all boarded up.
The room was deserted, but Harold noticed something that was very off about the room. The door to the right that Harold had closed the last time he was there stood open.
Harold heard a creak overhead and slowly crept out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. He reached the dark landing and made his way toward the only open door there.
Inside the room, on a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hanging, lay Crookshanks, and seated next to him was a man with filthy, matted hair that hung to his elbows, eyes that were deep inside their sockets, and waxy skin stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull.
The man looked up at Harold, and for a moment, they just stared into each other's eyes. Then, the man shot to his feet, reaching into his robes and pulling out a wand, but Harold had already crossed the distance between them, knocked the wand out of the man's hand, and closed his hand around his throat, lifting him into the air with one arm.
"Sirius Black, I presume?" he asked, his eyes cold and deadly. "Do you, perchance, have any last words before I snap your neck like a twig?"
Sirius Black coughed as Harold squeezed his throat.
"I don't mind if you kill me, Harry..." he wheezed out, a hint of a grin on his face, showing off his yellowish teeth. "But I have a job to do first..."
"And what, pray tell, is that?" Harold asked, glaring at him. "And my name is Harold Dracula."
"V-Very well... Harold... My job is to get a hold of Peter Pettigrew... He's in the castle right now... He's the one who really betrayed your parents..."
"I had heard that you were the one who betrayed them."
"And who could blame you?" Black said as Harold slowly lowered him to the ground, letting go of him. He rubbed his sore throat. "Sit down, and I'll tell you the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Then it's up to you whether you believe me or not. I promise I won't run."
"Alright, talk," Harold said, not sitting down. Black sank onto the bed, sighing.
"Thirteen years ago, your parents found out that Voldemort was after them," he croaked, and Harold saw his eyes held a certain sadness to them. "They went into hiding, and Dumbledore cast the Fidelius Charm, a charm that involves the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is impossible to find, unless the Secret-Keeper divulges it."
"And you were that Secret-Keeper," Harold hissed, his fists clenching.
"I wish, Harold. Oh, how I wish I was. Your parents would still be alive. No, we convinced everyone that I was the Secret-Keeper, as Voldemort would surely go after me. We made Peter Pettigrew the Secret-Keeper instead. We thought it was the perfect ruse... We never expected him to run off to Voldemort with the information..." Black muttered. "I as good as betrayed your parents when I made the choice of handing over the title of Secret-Keeper to Pettigrew. After Voldemort murdered your parents, I tracked Pettigrew down and cornered him. He yelled for the whole street to hear that I had betrayed Lily and James, then blew up the street, transformed, and sped into the sewers to join the other rats."
"How did you know Pettigrew was here?"
Black put one of his clawlike hands inside his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he smoothed flat and held out to show Harold.
It was a photograph of the Weasley family that had appeared in the Daily Prophet that summer, and there, on Weasley's shoulder, was Scabbers.
"I recognized him at once," Black growled out. "I saw the rat's paw, saw that it was missing a finger, just like Peter did, because he cut his own finger off, leaving a shred of evidence behind when he faked his own death."
"I see..." Harold said slowly. "I believe you, Sirius Black. I sense no lies coming from you. Therefore, I will not kill you."
Black breathed a sigh of relief, and Harold smirked.
"Unless you want me to, of course," he added, which got him a strange look from Black. "I can offer you an eternity as a vampire, a creature of the night..."
"No thanks," Black said, shaking his head. "I prefer being human."
"I see. Very well. Now, let's go capture a rat," Harold said and held out his hand for Black to shake. Black looked at his hand for a few seconds, then extended his own hand, shaking Harold's.
–
"Scabbers?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide. She was currently sitting in the Shrieking Shack with Harold, Draco, and Sirius. Sirius had been a little cautious around Draco, but Harold's word seemed to be enough for him to trust the boy. "But... Crookshanks killed him."
"Crookshanks hasn't killed any rats yet, especially not that rat," Sirius said, sitting on the bed with Crookshanks again, petting the purring cat. "The sneaky little bastard probably faked his own death. Wouldn't be the first time."
"So, we're back to square one, then?" Draco asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I mean, if a great black dog can hide for so long, imagine where a rat can hide?"
"Not from me, Draco," Harold said coldly. "There is no place in the world where he can hide from me. I shall send word to the rats... I shall have them search everywhere for the treacherous sneak."
"How can you do that?" Sirius croaked, and Harold smirked.
"I have always had a connection with the creatures of the night, rodents, canines, etcetera."
Draco looked at his watch. "Come on, we'd better get to class, or Snape'll have our heads."
"Snape?" Sirius asked suddenly. "What's Snape got to do with anything?"
"He's a teacher here, teaches Potions," Harold explained, and Sirius gritted his teeth.
"Not a very unbiased teacher, I'd expect?"
"He's only good if you're a Slytherin, like Draco and I, but to Hermione... Well, it's best not to talk about it."
With that, they left the Shrieking Shack, and headed to their Potions class.
Meanwhile, while Harold was sitting in his Potions class, Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his office, pondering about that very boy. Despite what Dumbledore had believed, Harold had been Sorted into Slytherin. Well, given who he was raised with, that wasn't such a big surprise, especially considering he had made an acquaintance with the young Mr. Malfoy.
But what worried Dumbledore was the similarities between Harold and Tom Riddle.
He was a handsome boy, quiet in class, and seemed to have the admiration of both younger and older students in Slytherin, making him something like the uncrowned king of Slytherin. He was eager to learn, and learn he did. He was brilliant when it came to magic, and he had a certain charm that earned him the favor of the teachers around him.
He was so much like Tom Riddle, it truly scared Dumbledore.
But there were differences. For example, Harold saved Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, and battle Tom Riddle and his basilisk, showing that he had no interest in following in Tom's footsteps. But there were still so many Dark paths he could take...
–
Harold stood in the corner of his dormitory, his cloak wrapped around himself, hiding his body from view. His eyes were closed as he stood in the shadows, almost completely hidden from view. Then, he slowly lowered himself to the floor, his eyes snapping open to see five rats come scurrying out of the shadows, running up to him.
"Talk to me," he whispered, closing his eyes again as the squeaks of the rats reached his ears. The Forbidden Forest was clear, there was no Pettigrew in there... Neither was he anywhere in the castle, but there was a single rat in the gamekeeper Hagrid's hut, who had strange commanding power over the other rats, who had told them to steer clear of that place.
A smirk slowly made its way onto Harold's face.
"Now I have him..." he whispered as he rose to his full height, the rats once more scurrying out of view.
Harold left his dormitory and strode right through the common room, telling Draco, who had just been about to rise from his chair, to stay, before leaving. He marched through the dungeons and up into the entrance hall, where he promptly exploded into mist, seeping through the cracks in the large doors leading out of the castle.
The mist slowly seeped into the hut belonging to Rubeus Hagrid, and just as slowly it rematerialized into Harold, who took a look around. Hagrid was lying on a large bed, snoring loudly with his back to Harold.
Harold felt strangely small, moving around the large furniture as he looked around. Then he closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. The massive pulse of Hagrid reached his ears, followed by another pulse, this one smaller, faster, more panicked...
Harold moved over to the counter on the other side of the hut and started following the sound, looking through teapots and jugs.
Then, he found it. Inside a milk jug was a very thin rat, which had bald patches all over its body. Like with Scabbers, he felt no connection to this rat, so it was obvious who it was.
"Hello, Pettigrew," Harold whispered, reaching into the milk jug. He grabbed the rat by the tail and then walked over to the window, opening it and climbing through it.
Harold made his way over to the Whomping Willow and waved his wand. A rock shot over to it and pressed against one of the roots, and the tree immediately went slack, as Harold climbed into the hole at the base of the tree.
He headed down the long tunnel and emerged inside the Shrieking Shack, where he immediately headed upstairs and found Sirius sleeping in the magnificent four-poster.
"Sirius," Harold said, making the man jerk awake, pulling out a wand and pointing it at Harold. Then, he recognized him, and slowly lowered the wand, before spotting the rat in Harold's hand.
"Is there any way to turn him back?" Harold asked, and Sirius nodded.
"Yes. Hold him out for me."
Harold nodded and held out the rat. Sirius waved his wand, and a blue light hit the rat. For a moment, Pettigrew was frozen in midair, his small gray form twisting madly. The rat fell and hit the floor. There was a blinding flash of light, and then...
It was like watching a speeded-up film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upward from the ground, limbs were sprouting, and a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands.
He was a very short man, shorter than Harold. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who had lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost like Scabbers's fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes. He looked around at them both, his breathing fast and shallow. Harold saw his eyes dart to the door and back again.
"Hello, Peter," Sirius growled.
"S-Sirius..." Even Pettigrew's voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted toward the door. "My friend... my old friend..."
Sirius's wand arm rose, but a warning look from Harold stopped him. Harold looked to Pettigrew.
"You have been running from justice for quite some time, Peter Pettigrew..." he whispered coldly, his red eyes narrowing dangerously. "It's about time you got what is coming to you."
"A-Are you going to k-kill me?" Pettigrew whispered frightfully, but Harold shook his head.
"No. You will go to the dementors."
"Y-You can't believe him?" Pettigrew squeaked. "He's-"
"Spare me your words, Pettigrew," Harold hissed dangerously. "I care not for the crooked words of a witless worm..."
"Well said, Harold," Sirius said as he walked over to Pettigrew, waving his wand. A thick chain materialized around Pettigrew's wrist, chaining him to Sirius. "Now, we're going to take a little walk, Peter."
Pettigrew whimpered as Harold led the way down the stairs and to the tunnel leading back to Hogwarts.
"But one wrong move, Wormtail, and you're dead, understand?" Sirius whispered to Pettigrew, who shivered like crazy.
They made their way out of the tunnel and silently tramped through the grounds, the castle lights growing slowly larger.
Then, everything went cold. Harold's eyes widened, as did Sirius and Pettigrew's. Dementors, hundreds of them, were gliding in a black mass across the lawns toward them. They were surrounded by dementors.
Sirius dropped down on all fours, his hands over his head.
"Nooo," he moaned. "Noooo... please..."
"Cease this!" Harold ordered at once, but the dementors kept drifting closer. "Cease your activities at once!"
But it was useless. One of the dementors reached him, and with a force Harold didn't know a dementor had, it pushed Harold out of the way, sending him flying a good ten feet. Then, they swarmed on Sirius and Pettigrew, the latter of which who screamed as his head was grabbed by one of the dementors.
"NO!" Harold roared as he shot to his feet, watching as one of the dementors lowered itself over Sirius, lowering its hood.
Where there should have been eyes, there was only thin, gray scabbed skin, stretched blankly over empty sockets. But there was a mouth... a gaping, shapeless hole, sucking the air with the sound of a death rattle...
It lowered itself down on Sirius, and clamped its mouth down over his. Harold's eyes widened, and immediately, a rage started filling him.
The dementors flinched suddenly as the wind started picking up. Harold's body grew a good five inches, his hair grew to reach his shoulders, and his eyes were wide and filled with rage. The starlit night was shrouded by storm clouds as thunder rumbled, and Harold strode over to the hoodless dementor, who looked up at him just in time for Harold to grab it by the jaw, pulling it closer. His skin was now chalk white, and the dementor's rattling breath caught in its throat as Harold squeezed.
"Spit it out..." Harold hissed to the dementor, which squirmed to get out of his grasp. "SPIT. IT. OUT."
The other dementors scattered, and the remaining dementor slowly glided back over to Sirius and clamped its mouth down on his when Harold let it go. Sirius gave a jerk, and the dementor immediately glided away as Sirius shot up into a sitting position, his eyes wide.
"H-Harold..." he stuttered as Harold watched the dementors glide away. The storm clouds dispersed, Pettigrew was huddling on the ground, whimpering, and Harold's wide, rage-filled eyes slowly closed. Then, he passed out.
–
"Don't know what happened... The dementors refuse to enter the grounds..."
"Well, we are lucky, are we not? An innocent man has been freed."
"Yes... terrible mistake, Dumbledore... Mr. Black, you will, of course, be compensated..."
Harold groaned when the voices reached his ears.
"Harold!" came Sirius's voice, and Harold slowly opened his eyes to find himself in the hospital wing, with Sirius, shaved and with a haircut, Dumbledore, and a man in a bottle-green suit, a limegreen bowler hat, and a pinstriped cloak standing at the foot of his bed.
"Sirius?" Harold asked, blinking. "What happened?"
"Sirius here has just been freed, my boy," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "He brought you and Peter Pettigrew up to the castle just a few hours ago."
"Hello, Harold. I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic," the man in the bottle-green suit said, fiddling with his bowler hat. "Terrible ordeal, this... I never expected... I mean, the dementors had been ordered not to enter the grounds..."
"It trust they will be sent back to Azkaban?" Harold asked, and Fudge nodded.
"Along with Peter Pettigrew, yes," he said.
"Good... Good..."
"Well, I must take my leave. Mr. Black, if you would, please, follow me, and we'll get the paperwork for your release done."
"Of course, Minister," Sirius said, winking at Harold, before following Fudge out of the hospital wing, leaving Harold and Dumbledore alone.
"Well, you seem to have had quite a night, Harold," Dumbledore said, smiling down at Harold. "And you seem to have grown a couple of inches."
"Yes," Harold said thoughtfully as he ran a hand through his hair. "I have no idea how that happened."
"No idea?" Dumbledore inquired, his twinkling eyes locking with Harold's, who immediately put up his impressive Occlumency shields.
"None."
"I see. Well, my boy, I must be off. I have to inform the staff of the night's developments," Dumbledore said, and with a bow, he left the hospital wing.
The following day, Harold, very hungry all of a sudden, was aching to be released from the hospital wing, but to his surprise, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let him go.
"Not until you've had something to eat," she said sternly, and then, even more to his surprise, she handed him a blood bag.
"You...?"
"Oh, please... Red eyes, pale skin, the name Dracula, and your sudden growth spurt," Madam Pomfrey said, scoffing as Harold slowly took the blood bag. "It is no big stretch to assume what you are. But not to worry, I won't tell anyone."
"Thank you," Harold said, nodding as he bit off the corner of the blood bag and started drinking.
An hour later found Harold sitting in the common room, leaning back in the couch with a woozy Pansy sitting next to him, rubbing her wrist. In a nearby chair sat Draco, watching him.
"Well, I have to say, you don't look worse," he admitted, nodding. "You look much better, in fact."
"I agree," Pansy said, gesturing for Harold's ponytail. "I especially like your hair."
Harold just hummed as he stared up at the ceiling. Then, he looked to Draco.
"Any plans for the summer?"
"Christmas hasn't even arrived yet," Draco said, shaking his head. "I don't plan that far ahead, but I do know Father and I are going to the Quidditch World Cup Finals next summer."
–
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