Chapter 265. A Letter from Black
Mid-March. Early spring had already arrived at Hogwarts, though the weather still carried a thread of winter chill.
The Gryffindor common room was as warm as ever. Harry had cozily claimed the best armchair, rocking slightly as he shut his eyes.
The just-finished Quidditch practice had nearly drained every bit of his strength.
He was more or less used to it by now, but five practices a week absolutely counted as squeezing them dry; and he couldn't complain about Wood—he'd won against Ravenclaw afterwards, but losing to Hufflepuff was still a fact. He needed to put in more effort; there was nothing for it.
At that moment, footsteps sounded behind him.
Harry looked back. Hermione, walking with tired steps, reached the armchair beside him and collapsed into it as well.
"How was Muggle Studies?" Harry asked offhandedly.
"Brilliant," Hermione's voice sounded soft and drowsy. "Professor Burbage told us lots about Muggles—though I already knew—he told us....."
Hermione's voice grew smaller and smaller, until it turned into the even rhythm of breathing.
"Hermione?"
Harry turned his head in puzzlement and saw she had tilted over in the armchair and fallen asleep.
Ron squeezed in through the portrait hole just in time to see this scene.
He was clutching a handful of Fizzing Whizzbees and, lowering his voice, asked, "What's up with her?"
"Asleep," Harry whispered. "You know she picked loads of classes. She's probably knackered."
Ron stuffed some of the sweets into Harry's hand, sat down opposite him, and hesitated.
Lately, he'd been pondering a strange question that didn't make much sense—could a person be in two places at the same time.
The idea had started bothering him after he'd seen Hermione hurrying off to the next class several times. Of course, in most cases,
it didn't even count as a question.
Suddenly, a "tap tap" sounded from the window, cutting off Ron's train of thought.
A snowy owl was lightly tapping the glass with her beak, reminding the wizards in the room.
"It's Hedwig!"
Harry hurried to open the window. Cold wind mixed with fine rain poured in, making him shiver.
Hedwig shook the water from her feathers and handed Harry a very large envelope.
"Good girl, go have a rest." Harry gave a light tap with his wand; the warm current of a drying charm made Hedwig half-close her eyes in contentment. She nuzzled Harry's fingers affectionately, then flew off.
Ron leaned in, still chewing his Fizzing Whizzbees. "Who's it from?"
Harry already had a hunch and tore the envelope open at once.
First came a letter, the handwriting rather scrawled but just about legible.
When he saw the signature at the end, he couldn't help taking a deep breath—it was from Sirius Black.
Just last week, he had tried writing to Black. He hadn't expected a reply so quickly.
Harry spread the letter in impatient hands.
[
Dear Harry:
I didn't expect you to be the first to write to me. To be honest, I was worried you might have some misgivings about me because of certain rumours.
I have to tell you something formally, though you may already know it: I am your godfather. (Twelve years ago, when your parents decided to entrust you to me, I was so excited I spilled an entire bottle of Firewhisky all over my newly bought dragon-hide boots.) You may find it ridiculous, but that's the truth, though I don't have any proof to show for it.
As for the rest, I think we should talk in detail next time we meet. That's not something an ordinary sheet of parchment can hold.
Also, you should already have received what I sent over—a map. I stole it from two red-haired students. You can keep it for yourself or give it back to them, as you like, because I am one of the makers of that map.
Sirius Black
]
Harry set the letter down. His fingers trembled slightly. His chest rose and fell, almost to the point of being unable to catch his breath, as if he had just finished an intense Quidditch practice.
"What's wrong?" Ron noticed his friend's odd look and asked anxiously. "Bad news?"
Harry numbly turned to Ron. "I never knew I had a godfather."
"Godfather?" Ron jumped. "Who? Professor Adrian Wesson? I reckon that'd be good—he's always looked out for you."
Harry gave a bitter shake of the head—that way, he might not have been so shocked.
Or rather, that would have been best.
He handed the letter to Ron and lay back in the armchair himself.
Ron took the parchment; his eyes raced across the messy scrawl. When he saw the signature, he sucked in a sharp breath and yelped, "Sirius Black?!"
The shout startled Hermione awake.
She sprang up from the armchair; her bushy brown hair puffed out like a dandelion gone to seed.
"What is it?" She stared blankly at Ron.
Ron didn't say anything more and passed the letter to Hermione.
After a few glances, Hermione reacted exactly the same way as Ron: "Sirius Black?!"
"Yeah," Harry said wearily. "He says he's my godfather, but I've never even met him. I don't know what sort of person he is at all."
Hermione gave Harry a look and said hesitantly, "Black isn't a fugitive anymore."
"I know," Harry sighed. "But isn't it strange? Someone you've never known suddenly tells you he's your godfather."
"But that could be good," Ron reminded him. "He could be your guardian. At least he'd be better than the Dursleys."
"Anyone would be miles better than the Dursleys," Harry replied.
Hermione carefully folded the letter and handed it back to Harry, weighing her words. "Whatever the case, you should meet Black. For all we know, he may be a good person."
Harry nodded. He might need to do a bit of mental preparation.
Besides, he very much wanted to know the specific details of what had happened back then.
At midday, the Weasley twins came back to the Gryffindor common room.
Harry brought the Marauder's Map to them.
He knew the map held magic, but Black hadn't told him how to use it, and a whole morning clearly wasn't enough to work it out.
Fred and George were currently pelting each other with miniature Filibuster Fireworks; sparks flew all over the common room.
A few first-years hid behind the sofa in fright.
But when they noticed the yellowing parchment in Harry's hands, the twins froze mid-throw.
"Oi!" Fred whistled. "Where did you get that?"
"Black sent it. He took it from you two," Harry explained. "He says he's one of the map's makers."
This time it was George and Fred's turn to be shocked; it was the first they'd heard of it.
George took the Marauder's Map and showed Harry how to use it.
When Harry saw George tap the parchment with his wand and speak the words "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," his eyes widened.
In an instant, ink lines spread across the parchment like a spider's web; countless tiny dots labelled with names moved along corridors and in classrooms.
Such a marvellous map—this was the first time he had ever seen anything like it.
To make this map would absolutely require a very high level of magical skill.
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