It was nearly curfew when the screaming began.

Hermione had just begun packing her bag in the Gryffindor common room when the Fat Lady's wail echoed down the corridor like a shattering spell. Books fell from tables. First years froze. Neville dropped his ink bottle.

By the time Harry reached the portrait hole, a crowd had gathered. The Fat Lady's canvas was in ruins—slashes ripped through the painted fabric, her figure nowhere to be seen. Only the empty frame remained, edges trembling with residual magic.

"She refused to let him in," said Sir Cadogan solemnly from a nearby portrait, his helmet tilted askew. "So he tried to force his way."

"Who?" McGonagall snapped as she pushed through the cluster of students.

Sir Cadogan's expression was unusually grim. "The one they're hunting. Sirius Black."

A collective gasp rolled through the corridor.

Within ten minutes, every Gryffindor student had been herded down to the Entrance Hall. The house tables had been banished to the sides of the Great Hall, replaced by conjured cots and floating candles.

McGonagall stood stiffly at the head of the hall, conferring with Professors Flitwick and Sprout. Hagrid had been summoned, standing guard at the main doors with Fang at his side, looking grim.

Harry, Hermione, and Neville found cots near the centre of the room. Ron joined them a few minutes later, red-eared and out of sorts. The talk around them was a quiet storm of rumour and fear.

"Did he really get inside?"

"What if he had a knife—what if someone had opened the door?"

"He's supposed to be after Harry!"

Hermione kept glancing toward the staff gathering. McGonagall's voice was sharp, but low enough that only the most attentive ears caught snatches.

"We should alert the DMLE," she said. "We have children here. This is no longer theoretical."

Dumbledore stood calm, his hands clasped behind his back. "There is no need for escalation, Minerva. Black didn't enter the tower. He was repelled. The wards held. To involve the DMLE now would cause unnecessary panic."

"With respect, Headmaster, he attacked a painting to gain access to the Gryffindor common room. The children were moments from harm."

"We will triple patrols," Dumbledore replied. "Filius can reinforce the portrait wards. The Aurors are not needed. We mustn't make Hogwarts feel like a prison."

McGonagall's lips thinned, but she did not press further.

Professor Lupin moved quietly among the staff, exchanging tense, low words. He didn't speak to the students, but his gaze paused on Harry more than once.

Harry, Hermione, and Neville shared glances. They had heard enough.

"He tried to get into our tower," Ron muttered. "He was after you."

Harry nodded. But his voice, when he spoke, was quiet and cold. "But he didn't get in."

The night stretched on.

And though the Great Hall was warm and filled with light, everyone could feel the chill that had slipped through the castle's heart.

Safety, once assumed, now felt like a story from another time.

By morning, the Great Hall was still hushed. Students stirred restlessly as cots were banished and breakfast appeared with little fanfare. A few staff members looked pale, sleep clearly having eluded them.

Then the doors opened.

Four figures stepped inside with deliberate calm: Augusta Longbottom in full formal robes, her vulture hat pinned with a silver wardstone; Lucius Malfoy, sharp-eyed and silver-tipped cane in hand; Tavian Forewyn, Marquess of Ashbourne, flanked by a quiet DMLE escort in grey robes; and Clarisse Vale, parchment folder tucked under her arm.

A low murmur rippled through the student body.

Professor McGonagall straightened at the sight, casting a sharp look toward Dumbledore, who remained seated at the staff table, unmoved.

Madam Bones of the DMLE stepped forward, her tone firm and even. "The Board of Governors and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement are here to assess the incident and determine the appropriate response."

McGonagall turned to Tavian. "I trust the urgency of the situation was clear?"

"It was," he said quietly. "We received a sealed message during the night."

No one said who had sent it. But several sets of eyes turned briefly toward the Slytherin table—where Draco Malfoy sat, pale and composed, eyes locked forward.

Lucius did not look at his son. But he gave a shallow nod of approval before stepping into conversation with Madam Bones and Augusta.

Tavian offered Harry and Hermione a reassuring glance across the Hall. Clarisse met Professor McGonagall at the base of the staff dais with a quiet exchange of documents.

For the first time in hours, the school did not feel abandoned. Adults with power had arrived—and they were watching.

Dumbledore rose slowly from his seat, eyes scanning the newcomers with benign calm.

"Welcome," he said. "Though I fear your presence may cause undue alarm."

Lucius's smile was tight. "The alarm was caused when a convicted mass murderer attempted to enter a children's dormitory."

No one laughed.

Tavian's tone was measured. "Let's discuss this further. Privately. Before assumptions become headlines."

McGonagall turned back toward the students. "Classes are postponed until midday. Prefects, please escort your houses back to their dormitories. Quietly."

As the students filed out, Harry caught Draco watching him—not with malice, but with something else. Something unreadable.

Hermione stepped closer to Harry. "Whatever happens next... they know now. It won't be ignored again."

He nodded.

But somewhere in his chest, the chill still hadn't left.

The door to the small staff conference room clicked shut behind the last of the governors and ministry delegates. A warming charm flared over the hearth as Minerva McGonagall took her place beside Amelia Bones and Tavian Forewyn.

Dumbledore stood at the far end, framed by arched windows and late-morning sun. His expression remained calm, serene even. Severus Snape hovered just behind him, arms folded, lips pressed into a permanent frown.

Lucius Malfoy leaned against the long table, his cane resting on the polished surface like a threat in disguise.

Clarisse Vale and Professor Lupin stood off to one side—observers, invited but unvoiced. Clarisse watched with sharp, unreadable eyes. Lupin's arms were loosely folded, gaze flicking between Harry's mentors and the Board.

Tavian was first to speak. "Let's begin with the obvious. Last night, a mass murderer breached the castle's outer perimeter and attempted to access a student dormitory. That alone warrants full DMLE jurisdiction."

Amelia Bones nodded. "We have Aurors on standby. We've already confirmed the portrait magic was forcibly torn. The attack was not random."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Black did not enter the tower. No students were harmed. Hogwarts' protections, though imperfect, held."

McGonagall's voice was clipped. "But only just. Had a student returned early—"

"Minerva," Dumbledore said gently, "you know as well as I do that the wards are layered. This was not a failure, merely a... warning."

Lucius scoffed. "A warning? Albus, your detachment borders on criminal negligence. If a creature from Azkaban walks through your gates and the Department of Law Enforcement has to hear of it from a child's letter—"

"I did not invite the Ministry," Dumbledore replied. "And I will not have Hogwarts turned into a fortress of paranoia."

Tavian leaned forward, fingers steepled. "No one is suggesting Azkaban's methods. We're here because your response last night was woefully insufficient. You minimized the threat to preserve your control."

Snape stepped forward, his voice cutting. "The Headmaster's discretion has preserved peace in this school through two wars. Would you have us sound the alarm every time a shadow shifts?"

"You'll forgive me, Severus," Augusta Longbottom said dryly, "if I care more about the students than your fondness for obfuscation."

Lucius turned to Tavian with a sly smile. "Perhaps we should consider a vote of temporary oversight. If the Headmaster is unable to maintain adequate safety protocols—"

"I won't tolerate a coup disguised as concern," Dumbledore said, more sharply than before. "This school has weathered far worse under my guidance."

"And yet," Amelia said coolly, "we are not speaking of weather. We are speaking of children. And dead ones, should the next breach go unnoticed."

The room fell into a tense silence.

Clarisse finally spoke, her voice like water over stone. "The children—Harry, Hermione, others—they don't feel safe. That is the truth. And truth should guide our actions."

Tavian added, "We are not here to remove you, Headmaster. Not today. But this is your opportunity to collaborate with the Board and DMLE. Or refuse—and trigger oversight."

Dumbledore said nothing.

But his eyes flicked—briefly, sharply—to Lupin.

The Defence Professor returned the gaze with steady calm. Then spoke softly. "Last night, I watched a school full of children sleep in fear. They deserve more than protection. They deserve reassurance."

Dumbledore finally nodded, slow and precise.

"Very well. The DMLE may establish a discreet presence. A single Auror team. But Hogwarts remains under my authority."

"For now," Lucius murmured.

McGonagall's voice was steel. "Let us hope that is not your last mistake."

The wind moved low across the grounds, dragging fallen leaves like whispers through the roots of the Whomping Willow. Far beneath its gnarled limbs, where light had long since learned not to follow, something waited.

A black dog, motionless in the dirt.

Ribs like iron bars beneath a matted coat. Breath misting in slow, shallow clouds. Eyes too human to belong to a beast.

Sirius Black did not move.

He had been watching the castle for hours. Watching until the candlelight dimmed and the last echoes of laughter gave way to uneasy silence.

He had seen him.

Harry.

Older now, taller—but not too tall. Still narrow-shouldered, still young enough to run. But the way he held himself—shoulders squared like James when he was about to break the rules, jaw set like Lily when she refused to be dismissed—it had nearly undone Sirius on the spot.

It was like a ghost had walked out of his memories and into the corridor.

But it wasn't a ghost. It was him.

His godson.

His boy.

Not a title taken out of obligation—but a promise made the day Harry was born, sworn with breath and blood. Sirius had held him before James had. Rocked him until his cries quieted, sang off-key lullabies Lily had pretended not to cry over. Taught him how to high-five before he could walk. He'd been family in everything but name—and he'd have died before breaking that vow.

But he hadn't died.

No, he'd been caged.

Azkaban hadn't broken his body—it had devoured something quieter. Sanity by degrees. Hope in flakes and fragments. A laugh gone hoarse. A thought gone rotten. The only thing that kept the dark from swallowing him whole was Harry.

The thought of that tiny hand curled around his thumb. The gurgled giggles. The way Lily had once whispered, "He adores you already, Pads. He knows who you are."

And now… he'd seen him. Alive. Whole. And being hunted.

By the same rat that had stolen everything.

Wormtail.

Peter.

Living like a parasite on the shoulder of a schoolboy while Sirius had been rotting behind bars. Twelve years of silence and betrayal, and that smug coward had dared to sleep safe while Harry walked the world unprotected.

Sirius growled low in his throat—a sound that scraped the walls of man and beast.

He had crept close to Gryffindor Tower last night, closer than he should have, hidden behind teeth and shadow. He hadn't expected the portrait to scream—hadn't expected how it would tear open something fragile in him, seeing the tower again.

He hadn't meant to scare them.

He'd only wanted to see Harry. Just once. Just long enough to be sure.

But now the wards would tighten. The search would escalate. He'd made a mistake.

Still… he had waited twelve years.

He could wait longer.

The shrieking shack was still there. The passage beneath the willow still passable—he knew its rhythm, its roots, its weak points. Hogwarts had been home once, and its bones hadn't forgotten him.

Above, the branches creaked and hissed in the wind. Sirius closed his eyes and let the cold sink in. It wrapped around his limbs like an old friend, familiar and cruel.

He would bide his time.

The school was beginning to stir—his brief presence had shaken the gameboard. And for once, he wasn't the only piece in motion. He'd heard the whispers, even among the portraits. Dumbledore's grip was fraying. The children weren't as isolated as he'd feared. Someone was protecting them.

Good.

Because what Sirius Black was going to do wouldn't be gentle. It wouldn't be quiet.

But it would be just.

And it would be done.

He let the dog take over again, breath coming slower. Bones aching. Eyes open to the dark.

It wouldn't be long now.