"It's so cute!"
Astoria hesitated slightly as she looked back at the cage behind her. Inside was a black and white eagle owl, clearly the one she had just chosen. But Hermione, who had walked in with her, came out empty-handed.
"So cute."
"..."
Looking at Crookshanks, whose appearance had nothing to do with the word 'cute', William fell silent for a moment—well, he still didn't understand the aesthetics of these young girls.
But Hermione clearly understood. Her eyes lit up as she petted Crookshanks' fluffy back fur, which was as fluffy as her hair. After a brief consideration, she immediately decided to take the big cat, much to the delight of the witch beside them—
Of course, anyone would be happy to sell a long-unsold product.
Astoria no longer hesitated either. Watching as the owl was released from its cage and fluttered to roost on William's head, she handed the prepared Galleons to the witch, "I think I'll call her Cabbage, how about it?" she said excitedly, taking back a few Sickles the witch returned.
"Not bad—"
William nodded, acknowledging the girl's naming skills, which were "on par" with his own.
"Really difficult—um, not bad."
Daphne, who had been silent, was about to voice her opinion, but after hearing William's approval, her attitude turned 180 degrees.
"Hey, William—"
Just then, a voice called from outside. William turned to see Lupin—a gray-haired man standing outside the store, wearing a brand new black wizard robe. He had replaced his old, almost faded clothes with a fresh set, as he was to start teaching the next day.
Moreover, he no longer seemed as destitute as before.
"Oh... I have to go." William removed the owl from his head and handed it back to the girl beside him, bidding farewell to the group, "See you at school."
...
"...Lee, he wants Harry's life. I say, he thinks killing Harry will bring You-Know-Who back. The night Harry stopped You-Know-Who, Blake lost everything and spent twelve years alone in Azkaban, undoubtedly brooding over this..."
Listening to the low conversation inside, Harry felt a chill spreading in the pit of his stomach.
Everything matched up; he realized that after he used a spell to send Aunt Marge flying into the wall, Fudge, upon arriving at the scene, did not expel him on the spot, nor did he show any sign of anger, and upon reflection, Harry felt there was even a hint of relief in Fudge's tone.
Even those "punishments" Fudge mentioned were because there were so many wizards around.
So, Sirius Black's target is me.
Harry understood this truth, but strangely, he wasn't particularly afraid. In fact, he felt a bizarre sense of relief. Why? Perhaps because he finally understood the "Death Omen" he had seen the previous night. After all, Sirius Black had once killed thirteen people with a single spell. Being targeted by a fugitive of this caliber, he even wondered if the omens around him were too few?
"It's late, Molly, we should head upstairs..."
Mr. Weasley's closing words sounded, followed by the sound of chairs being moved. Harry quickly ducked behind the counter to avoid being caught eavesdropping. He also remembered his late-night mission—Ron couldn't find his rat tonic.
After locating the little red vial and returning it to Ron, Harry tiptoed back to room 11, lying down on the soft bed. Hedwig was already asleep in her cage, his luggage packed in the afternoon and neatly placed by the bed, ensuring he wouldn't be too late even if he overslept a bit.
Listening to the dull noises next door—Fred and George had stolen Percy's Head Boy badge, and Ron was busy flipping the room upside down with Percy. Harry lay there, wide-eyed, without a hint of sleepiness, peering through the glass at the blurry moon in the sky, his thoughts drifting slightly—
He believed that the "Azkaban Guard" mentioned by Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley could protect him. The most troublesome matter, however, was that he seemed unlikely to visit Hogsmeade. His hopes dashed, he guessed that until Blake was captured, no one would let him leave the safety of the castle. In fact, Harry suspected he would be closely monitored until the danger had passed—
Couldn't he take care of himself?
How could that be? He had escaped Voldemort's clutches three times, though in his second year, with the help of William Richard, he also "absorbed" Voldemort's soul. Perhaps that wretched remnant of a soul would never revive... right?
Troubled, Harry rubbed his head, recalling the voice in his mind that night—
He was certain it was Voldemort's voice. He had heard it behind Quirrell's head, unmistakably sinister and evil, a voice he would never forget... Perhaps he could seek William for help—the guy clearly wasn't one to abide by school rules, maybe he could lend a hand?
Just thinking about William's room full of magical creatures, even with a basilisk, made Harry feel the world was a bit surreal.
"I won't be killed."
For some reason, Harry suddenly felt like saying this aloud, and he did.
"Of course not, but you should sleep now, dear."
His mirror drowsily replied.
...
The next morning, nothing unexpected happened on the way from the Leaky Cauldron to Platform 9 3/4. Held by Mr. Weasley as they passed through the wall, Harry saw the Hogwarts Express steaming ahead—
A bright red steam locomotive billowing smoke, the platform crowded with wizards and witches seeing their children off.
"...Harry, promise me that you absolutely won't go after Black."
Before boarding, Mr. Weasley pulled Harry aside, his tone unusually stern. Harry had never seen him so serious.
"Why would I go after someone who might kill me?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"You must swear, no matter what you hear—"
"Hurry—"
Molly Weasley's voice rang out as a plume of steam rose from the train's chimney, forcing Harry to board.
"We need to talk—"
Leaving a disgruntled Ginny behind, Harry led Ron and Hermione towards the back of the train, hoping to find an empty compartment. Up until the second-to-last one, most were nearly full, "Hope the last one's empty—"
Harry wished to himself, but as is often the case, life defied his wishes. They slid open the door to find the last compartment occupied by a neatly dressed middle-aged wizard reading a newspaper. The man, with a serious expression, was intently reading the front-page news, and Harry could see Sirius glaring up at him from the paper.
It was the umpteenth time he had seen that newspaper over the past days.
"Oh, hello?"
Noticing the movement at the door, the wizard put down his paper, removed his glasses, and greeted the three warmly.