Why was Sirius there?
The question had barely formed in Harry's mind before Sirius let out another scream of agony.
That sight swept away his confusion, leaving only worry.
Sirius's face was streaked with blood, twisted and contorted from pain, yet in his eyes burned an unyielding defiance.
"Not unless you kill me," he said, refusing to back down, meeting Harry's gaze head-on.
"Oh, I will—eventually," the cold, emotionless voice replied. "But first, you're going to take it down, Black. Did you think this was the limit? We have all the time in the world. No one's coming."
"No—Sirius!"
Harry's scream tore from his throat as he fell to the cold stone floor. He woke with a start.
But the image still made him cry out, the lightning scar on his forehead burning like fire. All around the Great Hall, heads turned toward him.
He saw the worry and shock on Hermione and Ron's faces just before Madam Marchbanks gasped, "Good heavens!" and hurried over, pulling the struggling Harry to his feet.
"What's going on today? One after another, something's wrong with all of you." Madam Marchbanks was elderly, and Harry didn't dare resist too much.
She helped him out of the hall into the entranceway, but his mind was still replaying the scene of Sirius being tortured.
"I'm fine, Professor, I just—just fell asleep and had a nightmare," Harry muttered hastily.
With a look of genuine concern, Madam Marchbanks said, "Everyone feels the pressure of exams, and with what happened to John Wick… perhaps you should take a moment to calm yourself outside before going back in."
"No need, Professor, I've answered everything I could."
Right now, Harry only wanted to find someone—anyone—who could help save Sirius. He was more mature now, after all; he knew to seek help from others.
"That's good, very good," Madam Marchbanks said gently. "I'll collect your exam paper, but I suggest you lie down and rest for a while."
"I will," Harry said, nodding vigorously, his eyes darting toward the staircase. "Thank you very much, Professor."
As Madam Marchbanks slowly walked back into the Great Hall, Harry bolted up the marble staircase.
He ran as fast as he could, heading straight for Professor McGonagall's office.
When he reached the door, he knocked hard, but there was no reply.
He had no idea where Professor McGonagall could be at a time like this. He felt like an ant on a hot pan, searching frantically.
Dumbledore was away from the school, Hagrid had vanished, and Harry had thought McGonagall might be the one to turn to.
But now she was nowhere to be found either—so who could he go to?
"Harry!"
Ron's voice rang out. He came running, breathless.
Harry looked up, but Hermione was nowhere in sight.
"What happened? Are you sick? Are you all right?" Ron gasped between rapid-fire questions.
Harry hurriedly said, "Come with me, I have something to tell you. Where's Hermione?"
He led Ron toward another empty classroom.
"She went to the hospital wing right after the exam," Ron said. "John's there."
"You saw it—John's condition," Ron added, still shaken.
It was the kind of thing that would probably haunt his nightmares.
"We need to find Hermione and tell her what's going on," Harry said impatiently.
"What's going on?" Ron asked, confused.
"Voldemort's captured Sirius—he's torturing him," Harry said.
The two of them ran toward the hospital wing.
But it was crowded with people. Harry had hoped to find Professor McGonagall there, but she was nowhere in sight.
Snape strode quickly out of the hospital wing, not even sparing Harry a glance.
Harry spotted Hermione in the crowd and went over, pulling her toward an empty classroom.
"What happened to you just now, Harry?" Hermione asked, the worry in her eyes still evident. "John's sick."
"I know—but Sirius has been captured by Voldemort," Harry said urgently. "He's being tortured—he's about to die."
"What? How do you know?"
"I saw it—fell asleep during the exam and saw it."
Hermione's face went pale, her eyes darting toward the hospital wing. "But… but where? How was he captured?"
"I don't know," Harry said. "But I know where he is—in one of the rooms in the Department of Mysteries. It's full of shelves, lined with tiny glass spheres. He's at the end of the ninety-seventh row."
Harry's voice trembled. "He's using Sirius to get something he wants from there. He's torturing him—and said he'd kill him in the end."
Right now, he felt utterly helpless. Everyone he could rely on was gone.
"How do we get there?" Harry asked his friends.
"G–Get where?" Ron stammered.
"To the Department of Mysteries, of course!" Harry said loudly. "We have to go there to save Sirius!"
"Harry," Hermione took a deep breath, fear in her voice, "how could Voldemort possibly let Black into the Ministry and be torturing him without being noticed?"
"How should I know?" Harry snapped, completely losing his composure. "The question is—how do we get there?"
Hermione tried to make him understand that the place was full of Ministry staff and, in theory, getting in would be impossible.
"I don't know—maybe the Invisibility Cloak, or something else," Harry said loudly. "Anyway, the Department of Mysteries is always deserted!"
"You've never been there, Harry," Hermione corrected him. To her, it was nothing more than a dream.
But Harry didn't see it that way. He'd once saved Mr. Weasley because of a dream—how could this possibly be just a dream?
Even Ron thought that made sense.
Hermione's eyes were still fixed on the hospital wing until Harry stepped in to block her view. "Sirius is about to die, Hermione!"
He was clearly displeased with her distracted attitude, and Hermione knew it.
But… but the person over there was her friend too.
"I'm not criticizing you, Harry! But you really are a bit—well, don't you think you're overreacting?" she said irritably.
This wasn't the first time Harry had been like this—always thinking he alone could save someone.
In third year, when he thought Sirius was the one who murdered his parents, he'd gone charging off to seek revenge.
"You're not listening," Harry shouted at her. "I didn't have a nightmare—I wasn't even dreaming! Why do you think I've been learning Occlumency? Why do you think Dumbledore doesn't want me seeing these things anymore?"
"It's because they're real, Hermione. Sirius has walked right into a trap—I saw it!"
"No one else knows, which means we're the only ones who can save him!"
"If you don't want to go, then stay here with John. But I'm going—because he's my godfather. Got it?"
"If I remember correctly, when I pulled you out by the lake, you had no problem with me being reckless then!" Harry shouted.
Hermione caught sight of a stir at the entrance to the hospital wing—it was John. He was coughing up black blood again.
Her heart clenched. Hearing Harry's words, she snapped, "And what about John? How many times has he saved you?"
"Dumbledore wanted you to learn Occlumency so things like this wouldn't get in—if you'd mastered it, you wouldn't be seeing any of this at all!"
"When will you ever be like John, and not act on impulse?"
Hermione's tone was so sharp that even Ron felt a jolt of alarm.
"Hermione, please—not John right now."
"John is lying there right now!" Hermione screamed. "He's not someone you dreamed about being hurt—he's right in front of us, spitting blood!"
Ron, having been shouted at, was instantly struck dumb.
Compared to Harry's dream, John was actually lying there.
The air grew tense. Harry turned his head away, saying nothing, angry that Hermione still thought it was only a dream.
And Hermione—her close friend was in critical condition in the hospital bed. She wasn't about to leave just because of Harry's dream.
Besides, Dumbledore had told Harry to master Occlumency, yet he'd made no progress at all.
At that moment, the door to the empty classroom swung open.
It was Ginny and Luna who walked in.
They had gone to visit John after hearing he was ill.
Hearing voices, they had come over to check.
"Hi," Ginny said hesitantly. "We heard Harry's voice—what are you all shouting about?"
"None of your business!" Harry snapped, already in a foul mood.
Ginny's expression instantly cooled. "No need to talk to me like that. I was only wondering if I could help."
"You can't," Harry shot back at once.
"That's a rather rude attitude," Luna said evenly.
Harry didn't bother answering—she was just a mad girl in his eyes.
"Luna, how's John?" Hermione still hadn't stopped worrying about him.
Luna had just come from there. With a dreamy look, she said, "Everything's fine. He said he's okay—and even winked at me."
"See? John's just sick," Harry said irritably.
Hermione finally let out a breath of relief, though Ginny looked like she had more to say.
She wanted to add that maybe John had only been putting on a brave face for Luna.
She noticed Madam Pomfrey's reddened eyes, and Snape, looking irritable, had driven all the students out.
Hermione also realised that, out of worry, she had been a bit sharp with her 'son'. After softening her tone, she said, "Harry, we need to verify whether the dream is real. What if it's a trick from Voldemort?"
Harry was about to snap back again, but one sharp glare from Hermione made him calm down a little. "How do we verify it?"
"By using the Floo. Umbridge is also in the hospital wing now—no one will be around to check on us."
Luna's airy, sing-song voice chimed in, "We could use Umbridge's. Her office is the closest."
They acted at once, heading straight for Umbridge's office.
The door wasn't even locked, so they went right in.
They tossed Floo powder into the fireplace and connected to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Harry, full of anticipation, called out loudly for Sirius.
Instead, Kreacher, the house-elf, appeared.
Kreacher told him Sirius was not at home.
The colour drained from Harry's face.
It felt as though everything was sliding back toward the path fate had laid out.
Just then, Umbridge appeared.
Her eyes blazed with fury as she glared at the five of them in her office, her expression twisted and cruel. "Where's Rubeus Hagrid?" she demanded.
None of them had expected that Madam Pomfrey had found a leftover vial of the potion used to cure petrification from last time.
Once Umbridge was freed, the very first thing she wanted was to settle scores with that dog—and that oaf of a giant.
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