Late at night, Crookshanks snuck out of the Castle.
He stepped on the snow, walking step by step towards the Whomping Willow.
Under the moonlight, the Whomping Willow's branches swayed in the wind, as if ready to attack any approaching creature at any moment.
Crookshanks stopped under the tree, his amber eyes fixed on the waving branches.
The next second, he darted forward.
Whack!
A thick branch came crashing down, striking at Crookshanks.
Crookshanks twisted his body, deftly dodging it, and another branch swept across; he ducked his head, slipping underneath the branch.
The Whomping Willow became increasingly agitated, its branches wildly lashing the ground, sending snow flying.
Crookshanks weaved and leaped between the branches, like he was dancing.
Finally, he made a sudden leap, landing on the tree trunk, his front paws precisely pressing on a small knot.
The Whomping Willow instantly quieted down.
All its branches stopped mid-air, motionless.
Crookshanks shook the snow off his body and Drill into a small hole at the base of the tree.
The entrance was narrow, barely allowing an adult man to squeeze through. But after a few steps inside, the space suddenly widened, becoming a spacious underground passage.
The passage was dark, with only a faint moonlight filtering in from the entrance.
Crookshanks walked for a while, and a Black shadow appeared ahead.
A big black dog lay on the ground, raising its head at the sound.
Crookshanks went forward, meowed, and rubbed his head against the big black dog's front leg.
The big black dog lowered its head and licked his ear.
The next second, the Black dog's form began to distort, its fur disappearing, its limbs lengthening. In the blink of an eye, a gaunt, haggard man appeared in the passage.
His hair was long and messy, as if it hadn't been cared for in a long time.
His cheeks were sunken, his cheekbones prominent, and his eyes deeply set. His Black robes were tattered and stained.
Sirius Black, the fugitive from Azkaban.
Black crouched down, picked up Crookshanks, and placed him on his lap.
His fingers gently stroked the cat's back, his movements very light.
"Did you catch him?" Black's voice was hoarse.
"Meow." Crookshanks meowed, his tail drooping.
Black sighed.
He grabbed Crookshanks' front paws and squeezed his paw pads.
"It's alright, you did your best."
Crookshanks tilted his head to look at him, his amber eyes glowing in the darkness.
"Next time, I'll come myself."
Black released his hand, and Crookshanks jumped to the ground, circling at his feet.
Black leaned against the wall, looking up towards the outside of the tree hollow. Moonlight streamed in diagonally from the opening, casting a small white patch of light on the ground.
That was the light he yearned for but couldn't have in Azkaban.
Twelve years, he had spent a full twelve years in that hellish place.
Dementors roamed outside his cell every day, sucking away all happy memories.
He watched other prisoners go mad one by one, screaming in their cells, banging their heads against walls, and finally dying.
The only reason he managed to endure was the hatred in his heart.
Hatred for Peter, hatred for himself.
He hated Peter for betraying James, for delivering their family to Lord Voldemort.
He hated himself even more for that foolish suggestion he made—to make Peter the Secret-Keeper.
He thought he was being clever, believing no one would think of that.
Black closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Cold air filled his lungs, making him cough.
He had seen the newspaper in Azkaban.
In that photo, Peter, transformed into a rat, was perched on Ron Weasley's shoulder.
At that moment, he almost thought he had gone mad.
Peter wasn't dead.
The traitor was alive and well, hiding in Hogwarts.
That very night, he transformed into a dog and squeezed out through the bars of his cell. Dementors couldn't sense animal emotions, so he escaped from Azkaban just like that.
He swam across the strait and ran all the way to Hogwarts.
He had to kill Peter, to avenge James.
Black opened his eyes, staring at that patch of moonlight.
As long as he could kill Peter, he was willing to live in darkness forever... The next morning, Charlie and his companions boarded the train for the Christmas holiday.
The atmosphere in the compartment was somewhat subdued.
Harry's face was grim. The person who betrayed his parents turned out to be his godfather, which disgusted him greatly and filled him with immense hatred.
Ron's face was also grim, and he was muttering to himself.
"I even fed him, and let him sleep by my pillow... Oh my God, I even touched his..."
Whenever he thought of the scenes of him sleeping, eating, and bathing with Scabbers, he couldn't help but gag.
Hermione's face was also grim. Because Crookshanks had gone somewhere to fool around last night, and his body was covered in Black smudges.
Oh my, even if Snape rubbed his hair all over Crookshanks, he wouldn't be this dirty.
Seeing the three of them, Charlie couldn't help but tap on the table.
"Can the three of you cheer up a bit?"
"I finally managed to convince Dumbledore to let Harry come home with me, just to teach you the Patronus Charm. Is this your state?"
"When did you become so kind?" Hermione looked at Charlie warily.
"I just feel like something's not right."
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