Read my new story (ilham20)
Hogwarts : Black family bloodline...
Hogwarts, my partner is Tom…
Hogwarts : He Starts by Deconstructing Avada Kedavra...
The snow was coming down in thick, knee-deep flakes when Snape summoned a gust of wind that whipped around them. Sirius went rigid, fresh blood seeping from his wounds and dripping onto the pristine white ground.
He looked up and accidentally met Snape's eyes. Snape didn't bother asking any more questions. The focused, sharpening look in his eyes told Sirius the Veritaserum was wearing off.
Sirius's mind was blank. As reason slowly returned, the memories of the interrogation flooded back. Suddenly he felt bone-deep exhaustion—too tired even to muster the energy to throw out an insult or a taunt.
Snape flicked his wand. A soft green healing light washed over the wounds, closing them quickly. "Come on. We're going to the Shrieking Shack, through the passage back to the castle, then we'll wander the underground corridors a bit. Hopefully your old friend will notice you're here."
There were still plenty of details Snape hadn't worked out, but they didn't matter anymore.
"You want to use me as bait to draw Peter out… You'll probably be disappointed. He's a cowardly little rat. He won't take any risks."
"After everything he's done—after the lesson he should have learned—why do you still look down on him?" Snape turned his head, watching the snow drift down, pulling his collar up to hide his face. "He fooled everyone, won their trust, faked his own death, and left you to rot in Azkaban for thirteen years. He's cleverer than you. And more ruthless."
Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but a wave of dizziness hit him—blood loss and the aftereffects of Veritaserum crashing together.
Snape's eyes stayed cold and flat. A Levitation Charm lifted the ragged robes of the escaped convict, carrying him through the snow toward the Shrieking Shack.
On the way back, some stretches of path were already buried under ice and snow. Snape towed the unconscious prisoner effortlessly.
Far off, you could just make out people moving along the streets of Hogsmeade, but the Shrieking Shack sat off by itself, surrounded by nothing but empty fields. It was built on slightly higher ground than the rest of the village, windows boarded up, garden overgrown and buried under snow.
Every entrance had been sealed. Snape circled the place once before spotting a gap in the fence that had been clawed open by a dog. He slipped inside sideways.
The room was thick with dust and clutter, though there were a few fresh signs of life around the sofa.
A tramp's hideout—not exactly luxurious.
There were still faint claw marks on the sofa, the curtains, and the walls—scars left by a werewolf chained up during the full moon, thrashing in agony. Remus had made them back in school. After more than a decade, they'd faded to ghostly outlines.
Those marks were the reason the place had a reputation for being haunted.
Snape moved through the room slowly. No other residents. The footprints in the dust on the floor led straight to a hole in the corner—the entrance to the tunnel.
It was a narrow, twisting passage. Snape had stumbled into it once as a student. If James Potter hadn't warned him off, he might have met a transformed Remus on a full-moon night—back before there was Wolfsbane Potion.
Dumbledore had once said Snape owed a blood debt. That debt was part of why Snape protected Harry.
The tunnel was so tight you had to crawl. For someone awake, it was awkward; for an unconscious prisoner, it was effortless—floating along under the Levitation Charm.
Thump.
Sirius's head banged against the wall.
Snape pressed his lips together. The tunnel was dark; he couldn't see well. The charm had slipped.
They emerged from under the roots of the Whomping Willow. The wind howled again. Snape dragged the unconscious prisoner along the path across the grounds, his footprints deep in the snow—only to be filled in by fresh flakes a moment later.
"Peter's hiding somewhere in the castle right now, watching, waiting for a chance to get rid of Black with my wand and bury the truth forever. But the second he realizes Black is still alive, the Ministry might actually look into what really happened. He won't just sit still for that."
Snape's gaze swept the shadowy corners of the Entrance Hall—any place a rodent might hide. "Even rats bare their teeth when cornered."
Sirius floated in midair, eyes closed, face slack.
Unconscious and unaware, he was guided by Snape through every level of the castle—from the underground corridors all the way up to the open balcony on the Astronomy Tower, where he was finally dropped beneath a row of telescopes.
…
"Astronomy Tower!"
Wormtail crouched silently at the lookout window.
Not far away, the Potions Master stood with his wand drawn, snake-like eyes scanning back and forth, ready to strike any wizard who appeared—though he seemed to pay little attention to the unconscious fugitive lying on the floor, slowly freezing.
Wormtail stared at his old friend sprawled there.
The unconscious wizard had a gaunt face, cheeks and chin covered in tangled beard, looking weak, disheveled, and somehow aged. Azkaban had left its mark on a man who'd grown up with every privilege.
Wormtail let out a silent sigh. His feelings were complicated, murky, hard to name.
But he knew exactly what he wanted: to kill Sirius Black and eliminate the threat once and for all.
He fixed his gaze on the Potions Master, trying to read something—anything—from his posture or expression, but Snape's face was a blank mask, impossible to read.
How had he caught Sirius? Why bring him here instead of handing him over to the Dementors?
Most importantly—did Snape already know the truth from back then?
The questions swirled in his mind, growing more and more unbearable. Wormtail couldn't wait any longer. He slithered along the outer wall's cracks toward the telescopes, an unremarkable rat creeping through the blind spots.
Killing an unconscious wizard was simple: one bite with sharp little teeth and it was done.
As he approached from the side, Wormtail wondered whether to tear open the carotid artery in Sirius's neck or bite out an eye, burrow into the skull, and churn the brain to mush with his tail.
He made his choice quickly. Silent as a shadow, he slid down the telescope mount and stood right in front of the unconscious Sirius. The thin, ragged body and tattered robes blocked Snape's line of sight while still letting Wormtail peek through the folds.
His tiny, razor-sharp fangs itched with anticipation.
Then Snape lifted his head. A faint smile curled his lips.
To a Slytherin-born Potions Master, that smile always carried a hint of dark cruelty. Wormtail's heart skipped. He shrank back behind the robes.
"As Secret-Keeper, did you give up the Potters' address because Voldemort threatened you and you had no choice—or did you betray them willingly for your own gain?" Snape's voice carried clearly across the open platform.
Had he been spotted?
Wormtail didn't know who the question was meant for—Sirius or himself?
At that moment, footsteps echoed from behind. In the open space, everyone could hear them. Snape frowned slightly and turned toward the doorway to the balcony.
Three students and one professor—four wizards—stepped into view.
Snape's gaze swept over Harry, Ron, and Hermione, then settled on the pale-faced professor. A flicker of surprise crossed his features.
"Remus Lupin?"
…
The snow had stopped. Night was falling.
Snow blanketed the stone boars on the castle gates, leaving only their wings poking out. Mr. Filch locked the doors with a sharp clank, sending icicles tumbling to the ground.
He glared coldly at the young witch. "Students staying over are not allowed to leave the grounds without permission!"
Hermione glanced down the snowy path outside, took a deep breath, and started back toward the castle.
She walked slowly along the path, eyes on the Entrance Hall. The anxious knot in her chest gradually loosened.
She'd spent the entire afternoon at the gates, lighting a few bluebell flames to keep warm. Staring out at the endless white snow had helped her step back from the chaos and sort her thoughts from a clearer perspective.
She'd tried to piece together the professors' behavior—McGonagall, Dumbledore, especially Snape. Several times she'd felt like she was on the verge of understanding, but the final clue always slipped away. The truth remained hidden behind a veil of mist.
Inside the Entrance Hall, the warmth from the fireplaces kept the cold at bay.
The Great Hall blazed with light. The Christmas feast was already underway, though not all the guests had arrived.
Someone tapped her shoulder. She turned to see Professor Lewent.
"Filch reported you trying to sneak off campus. You spent the whole afternoon at the gates—did you find a chance to leave? What were you planning?"
Melvin held a navy-blue hat that had come out of a Christmas cracker. His eyes were curious rather than scolding.
Hermione pressed her lips together. This young professor always seemed so reasonable. As long as a student had a good reason, he never punished them for bending rules.
After a moment's hesitation, she decided to trust him. "I was following Professor Snape."
"Oh?" Melvin looked intrigued. He guided her to sit at the Gryffindor table.
"Remember how I was looking for Harry and Ron this afternoon? You gave me a hint, and I checked the Potions office. Harry told me they'd been put in detention, but the whole thing felt off—Snape was being deliberately strange. So I used the Time-Turner to go back to the moment he left the castle."
Hermione took a deep breath and told him everything. "I saw Snape transform into Harry using Polyjuice Potion. He took the Firebolt and left the school!"
Melvin thought for a few seconds, quickly piecing it together.
So Wormtail's move had worked. Snape had traced the Firebolt back to Sirius and was pretending to be Harry to draw him out.
The analysis they'd done in Lupin's office had helped too—Snape had noticed that Sirius never tried to hurt Harry. Both attacks had been aimed at Ron, and both times Sirius had entered the castle without causing any real harm.
"Professor Snape looks evil, but he's actually pretty dependable," Melvin said with a small smile. He suddenly felt eager—he couldn't wait to hear how this ended.
"He flew off on the Firebolt. I couldn't keep up, so I waited at the gates. He still hasn't come back, and Harry and Ron are still locked in the underground office."
Melvin gave her an odd look. "But they're already here at the feast."
Hermione blinked. "They are?"
"Look over there."
She followed his pointing finger. Three figures entered the Great Hall one after another.
Harry and Ron were still in their daytime clothes. Snape had changed into deep-green robes and strode in with his usual blank expression. When Professor Flitwick greeted him, he gave a slight nod.
Dumbledore called out warmly to Severus, inviting him to sit beside him. He'd received some joke books from an old friend and had a few new ones he wanted to share.
Flitwick and Sprout immediately slid farther down the table—afraid the bad jokes would spoil their appetite—and pulled Hagrid over to chat.
But Hagrid was already drunk, cheeks flushed, booming that he'd heard some hilarious jokes himself from a Greek fellow at the Hog's Head. He insisted on trading them with Dumbledore.
With Melvin egging them on from the end of the table, the professors finally huddled together to listen. Glasses clinked in cheerful Christmas toasts.
Bang!
Crackers exploded all over the hall.
George and Fred pulled one after another. Blue smoke billowed out, and a handful of tiny white mice went scampering away, chased by Mrs. Norris.
Laughter filled the air. Hermione looked up at the enchanted ceiling, sparkling with festive lights, and felt a strange sense of unreality—as though everything that had happened that afternoon belonged to a different timeline.
Sitting side by side at the Gryffindor table, Ron was shoveling food in like he hadn't eaten in weeks, trying to cram an entire roast turkey down his throat.
Then Harry suddenly asked, "Hermione, where were you this afternoon? After Snape let us out, we went back to the common room and couldn't find you. You weren't in the library either."
"Let you out?" Hermione whispered. "When?"
"Not long after you left—maybe half an hour. Snape came back."
Hermione mentally lined up the timeline. At that moment she'd been standing at the gates, just lighting her third bluebell flame.
…
These past few days had been rough for Lupin—not just because of the nearly full moon, but because of Snape's constant probing questions. The Potions Master kept dropping vague hints about Animagi, as if he already knew, but never came right out and said it.
Christmas arrived in the middle of this uneasy stretch. Dumbledore had invited him to the feast, and he'd wanted to come, but he was terrified he might sprout claws at any moment.
Hagrid's drunken voice boomed so loudly you could hear it from outside the hall. Dumbledore led the students in off-key Christmas carols.
Lupin stepped out of the Entrance Hall. He heard Melvin telling a Muggle joke inside, and the laughter nearly lifted the roof.
Hearing all that merriment—none of it meant for him—brought on a quiet wave of loneliness.
Instead of leaving the grounds, Lupin followed the path across the lawns until he reached the Whomping Willow.
He touched the knot just in time to keep the branches from attacking. They froze instantly, like marble statues. The tunnel to the outside world was narrow and low, twisting and smelling strange.
Lupin bent double and moved forward with practiced ease, moving like a nimble wolf through underbrush.
So many years later, walking the tunnel again felt strangely nostalgic—like being cut off from the world, free from worry.
He climbed out of the tunnel into the dim Shrieking Shack, took a deep breath, and let the memories wash over him.
He'd been to many places over the years, spent many full moons in far more comfortable spots, but this shack always appeared in his dreams. He'd wake up remembering nights when he was still a student, transformed and locked inside.
In a way, it was his den. On countless full moons he'd howled and clawed here. The pain that had once felt unbearable now carried a secret sense of freedom—no one to judge him.
"Lumos."
Lupin lit his wand. Just as he was about to lose himself in the past, his eyes sharpened.
The silver light illuminated the filthy shack. Dust covered the floor—except for a fresh trail of footprints.