October rolled in, and Wood doubled the number of Quidditch practices in preparation for their first match against Slytherin. The team would come back knackered but buzzing with excitement, convinced they’d wipe the floor with them. Meanwhile, I was just counting down the days until the year was over, so I could finally try out for the team myself. I wasn’t Quidditch-mad like Harry, but I enjoyed it well enough. And come March, I’d be turning fourteen—prime time to start making a name for myself at Hogwarts. Not that I had any illusions of outshining my brothers, but at least I could try and even the score a bit. It wasn’t that important to me, obviously… but still, it wouldn’t hurt my ego.
At the end of the month, they pinned up the notice for Hogsmeade weekends, and we all handed in our permission slips to McGonagall. Well, almost all of us—Harry got outright banned from leaving the castle.
By Friday evening, he came storming back into the common room from McGonagall’s office, looking like he was about to bite someone’s head off.
“She won’t let me go with you,” he fumed. “Says it’s too dangerous while Black is still out there. So now I get to sit here like an idiot on my own.”
“Well, she’s got a point, Harry,” Hermione said hesitantly. “It is dangerous. The Daily Prophet said just yesterday that Black was spotted in Hogsmeade—not far from the castle. It’s not worth risking your life over a bag of sweets.”
“Oh yeah, of course,” Harry muttered, scowling. “Much better to rot here alone…”
“I can stay with you, if you want?” Hermione offered, giving him a guilty look and reaching for his hand.
“No, don’t bother,” Harry snapped, yanking his hand back. “Whatever. I get it. Just… it’s always something, isn’t it? First Quirrell, now Black. When am I actually gonna get to live my own life?”
“Oh, like you don’t know?” I scoffed, tossing a stack of magazines onto the table beside him. “Come on, mate, don’t be such a wet blanket. The Dementors’ll catch him soon enough, and then we can all go together. For now, just mark what you want in the catalogues, and I’ll pick it up for you.”
“Fine,” Harry grumbled, rifling through the pages.
The next morning after breakfast, he walked us down to the gates, looking thoroughly miserable.
Hermione and I spent the day wandering through the shops, stopping for a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. It was nice enough, but Hermione stayed tense the whole time, constantly glancing at the castle like she was expecting it to explode. She was clearly worrying about Harry.
Turns out, she needn’t have bothered.
He met us back at the entrance to the common room looking way too lively for someone who was supposed to be sulking. Without so much as a hello, he dragged us both into an empty classroom.
“Well, you don’t look like you’ve been moping,” I noted as he practically vibrated with excitement.
“How was it, Harry?” Hermione asked, perching on a desk. “Was it awful being stuck here alone?”
“Didn’t have time to be,” Harry said, waving her off. He was practically bouncing on his feet.
“And what exactly did you do?” I asked, dropping his purchases onto the desk.
“Had tea with Lupin. Oh, and I passed my Boggart test.”
“Nice one,” Hermione beamed. “It took me three tries. Mine turned into McGonagall telling me I’d failed all my exams and was being expelled…”
“Please tell me you didn’t put her in men’s clothes,” Harry snorted, biting off a frog’s leg from his chocolate.
“Of course not!” Hermione huffed. “Professor Lupin said Riddikulus only works on childish fears. For more serious ones—like mine—there’s a Vanishing Charm. It’s basically Evanesco. They don’t teach it ‘til fifth year.”
“I know,” Harry nodded. “Lupin taught me too. It’s just that for kids’ fears, you don’t really need it—Riddikulus does the trick. But for proper nightmares, you can’t just joke them away. The charm disperses them entirely. My Boggart was like yours, Ron. Only Lupin barely stopped himself from hexing it when Voldemort stepped out of the wardrobe, looking just like he did on Quirrell’s head. Smirked at me and said, ‘I warned you, Harry.’ Then all the dead bodies appeared. Took me three goes to get rid of it. Oh, and Lupin’s Boggart? The moon.”
“Merlin,” Hermione whispered, covering her mouth.
“Nice to know my best mates are off learning new spells without me,” I grumbled. “I thought we agreed to share anything new we picked up?”
“Sorry, Ron!” Hermione said, looking properly guilty. “So much was happening—I completely forgot! I’ll teach you tonight.”
“I only learned a couple of hours ago myself,” Harry muttered, finishing his chocolate frog. “Don’t get stroppy.”
“Oh, and I nearly forgot—while we were talking, Snape showed up,” he added, wrinkling his nose. “Brought Lupin some potion and watched him drink the whole thing, every last drop. You should’ve seen Lupin’s face—he looked like he was swallowing poison. I tried to warn him, told him Snape’s obsessed with Dark Magic, but he didn’t take me seriously.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re still on about Snape trying to kill people? If the man lost a hair every time you accused him of something, he’d be balder than Filch by now.”
Hermione cut in before Harry could argue. “Let’s drop it for now—if we don’t get moving, we’ll miss the feast.”
Honestly, I’d thought this Halloween would be uneventful for once. Scabbers was locked in his cage, Crookshanks seemed to have finally lost interest, even if he did insist on shedding all over my bed. The lads were having a good laugh about my ‘seasonal molting,’ but I ignored them, or just laughed along. Black had disappeared. People spotted him near Hogwarts every now and then, but he wasn’t making any moves toward the castle.
Turns out, I was dead wrong.
After dinner, I met up with Luna and gave her some sweets from Honeydukes. We chatted for a bit before I walked her up to the fifth floor. That’s where the Prefects found us and escorted us to the Great Hall.
Because, apparently, Sirius Black had attacked the Fat Lady’s portrait.
Slashed it to pieces when she refused to let him in. She managed to escape, bolting up to the fifth floor and abandoning what was left of her ruined painting.
As soon as Dumbledore arrived, he ordered all of us back to the Great Hall. Twenty minutes later, the rest of the students were herded in, looking completely bewildered. They split us into boys and girls, conjured up sleeping bags, and told us to settle in for the night—no chance to wash up or even change.
I’m not exactly the camping type, so I spent ages tossing and turning. The floor was freezing, the sleeping bag was lumpy, and trying to get comfortable was pointless. We weren’t even allowed to whisper about what had just happened—every time we started, a prefect would appear out of nowhere, hovering like a hawk. So we just exchanged silent glances in the dark while the professors combed through the castle.
In the morning, we were told there’d be no lessons that day and were sent back to our dorms, strictly forbidden from leaving the castle. Dementors had been pulled in even closer to Hogwarts, and it looked like the professors were searching the grounds. The only thing anyone could talk about was Black and his attack.
Our common room now had a new guardian portrait—Sir Cadogan, sitting proudly atop a grey pony. He reminded me of that miserable knight from that old animated Alice Through the Looking Glass (1) film. Embarrassing to admit, but I still watched cartoons now and then, even as a teenager. Not exactly manly, maybe, but whatever.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
On top of all that, McGonagall called Harry into her office and told him outright that Black was hunting him. He just managed to talk her into letting him keep up with evening Quidditch practice, though now one of the professors had to be present at every session.
The day before the match, we walked into Defence Against the Dark Arts to find Snape looking more sour than usual. Harry nearly got himself detention for demanding to know where Lupin was. And after class, he actually ran to the Hospital Wing to check that Snape hadn’t poisoned him. Madam Pomfrey didn’t let him in, though. That got me wondering—if Lupin was holed up in the shack, then where was Black hiding these days?
So, in Snape’s lesson, we found ourselves furiously scribbling down notes on the differences between a werewolf and a regular wolf.
“I think Professor Snape really hates Professor Lupin,” Hermione observed, oddly insightful for once, as we made our way to lunch.
“No kidding,” Harry snorted. “He spent the whole lesson tearing him apart.”
“Oh, drop it about Snape already,” I cut in, irritated. “We’ve got bigger problems—had another dream. It’s gonna pour tomorrow, and the Dementors are going to get really close to the pitch. Harry, you need to use the Patronus the second you feel them. Got it? Don’t wait until they drag out your worst memories, or you’ll be out like a light.”
“Relax, Ron,” Harry said, far too casually. “I managed fine on the train, didn’t I? I’ll be alright. Anyway, Lupin told me I overreacted back then—the Dementors were just doing a Ministry-approved sweep. They weren’t actually trying to attack anyone, just checking compartments for Black. But still… they’re vile things.”
Turned out, my ‘dream’ was dead on.
The weather was awful. Heavy storm clouds blanketed the sky, making it feel like twilight in the middle of the day. Rain hammered down in sheets, and the wind was so brutal it nearly knocked people off the stands. You could barely see a thing in the sky. Honestly, why couldn’t they just reschedule?
At least it didn’t last long. Ten minutes in, Wood called for a time-out. The game resumed soon after.
About five minutes later, everything dropped—the temperature, the atmosphere. Something was wrong.
Then a flash of lightning revealed them—hooded figures floating high above the pitch. And there were loads of them.
Then, suddenly, the sky exploded with silver light. Harry’s stag galloped across the sky, cutting through the darkness. A moment later, Dumbledore’s phoenix swooped in, circling the stands, sending the Dementors scattering.
And then—Harry caught the Snitch.
No one realised it at first. Dumbledore had to use magic to announce the match was over—Gryffindor had won. It went down in history—not just because of the victory, but because Harry Potter had fought off a swarm of Dementors in the middle of the game. At dinner, the Headmaster personally thanked him. Harry looked over the moon, practically glowing with pride. And, miraculously, neither he nor his broom had come to any harm.
After that, everyone wanted to learn the Patronus Charm. Every day, for an hour, we holed up in an empty classroom, practising.
Skipping ahead a bit, most of us got the basics down, even if not everyone’s took on a solid form. Some people just managed a protective shield or mist. But Lavender summoned a fluffy cat, Kellah got a panther, Dean had a doberman, and Seamus, of all things, produced a fox. So yeah, I’d call it a success.
Next Defence lesson, Lupin was back—but he looked like death warmed up. As for me, after Black’s attack, I liked him even less than before. Harry, on the other hand, started hanging around him more—chatting, venting about Snape, all that.
Meanwhile, my detention with Snape led to a very interesting conversation.
"Mr. Weasley, you remember our talk in your first year?" Snape asked as I scrubbed out cauldrons. "Watch over Potter. Make sure he doesn’t leave the castle. And keep him away from Lupin."
I looked up. "Because he’s a werewolf?"
Snape tilted his head slightly. "Ah. So, you do know how to put two and two together, Mr. Weasley. A rare trait in your family."
"Your clues were blatantly obvious, sir," I shot back. "Same ‘illness’ every full moon, every single month."
Snape sneered. "And yet, to my great disappointment, not everyone is so observant."
"I reckon Hermione’s figured it out too," I muttered, moving to the next cauldron, feeling his eyes boring into my back.
There was a pause before Snape spoke again. "I’d prefer it if, should the worst come to pass, students were at least prepared to defend themselves."
Then, out of nowhere, he changed the subject.
"Tell me, Mr. Weasley—what do you think of Lupin?"
I didn’t hesitate. "I can’t stand him, sir," I said, turning to face him. "And not because of his… condition."
Snape’s eyebrows twitched upward, just slightly.
"Oh?" he said smoothly. "Then why?"
"I have my reasons, sir," I replied evenly. "But I'd rather not say. I won’t lie to you, but I’m not telling you the truth either."
Snape let out a dry chuckle and drummed his fingers against the armrest, his expression unreadable. "Is that so?" He paused for a moment, then said, "You’re dismissed, Weasley. And don’t forget my request."
"Of course, sir," I agreed easily. For once, we were on the same page.
Two weeks before the Christmas holidays, the twins handed over the Marauder’s Map to Harry before heading home.
Bill had promised to stop by the Burrow for Christmas—he was in England on work business, something about transferring between the Egyptian branch and Gringotts’ main office. Ginny and the twins were going home to celebrate with Mum and Dad, but Percy and I were staying at Hogwarts. Which suited me just fine—I had my own reasons for wanting to keep an eye on Black.
So there we were, me and Hermione, sitting in The Three Broomsticks, when something yanked on my leg. Nearly screamed, but then I heard Harry’s voice.
The git had snuck out under his invisibility cloak and was now hiding on the other side of the table, right by the big Christmas tree. Hermione spent the next ten minutes whispering furiously into her mug, scolding him for being so reckless, while I just ordered him a butterbeer and some nuts.
We sat there chatting in hushed voices, thinking about heading back soon, but the blizzard outside didn’t seem to be letting up. So we waited a bit longer.
That’s when the door burst open and in stumbled several figures, covered in snow from head to toe.
McGonagall and Flitwick were among them, followed by Hagrid and none other than Cornelius Fudge. The four of them were deep in conversation, shaking snow from their cloaks as they took a seat—right at the table behind ours. Only the Christmas tree separated us.
Madam Rosmerta joined them, immediately launching into a complaint about the Dementors. And that’s how we overheard a rather fascinating conversation about Black and poor old Peter.
What really rattled me, though, was learning that Dumbledore had always known there was a traitor among the Potters’ friends. He had even offered to be their Secret Keeper. That bit left me with an uneasy feeling.
The walk back to Hogwarts was silent. Tense. Harry looked frozen—not from the cold, but in that Snape-like way, all blank-faced and unreadable. Swear to Merlin, if Black had appeared in front of him right then, he’d have killed him on the spot. Personally, I’d have preferred it if he was at least yelling about it.
Dinner was a miserable affair. Harry barely touched his food, just listlessly prodded at his plate. Watching him put me off my appetite too.
Once we got back to our dorm—completely empty now, since most people had gone home for the holidays—Harry finally snapped.
"I’M GOING TO KILL HIM!" he roared, smashing his fists into his pillow. "I’ll find him and kill him! Black betrayed my parents—he gave them to Voldemort!"
"You don’t actually mean that, do you?" Hermione’s voice wobbled as she spoke. She looked like she didn’t know whether to comfort him or start panicking.
"Why go looking for someone who wants you dead, Harry?" I said calmly. "Just wait. He’ll come to you eventually. But I don’t think he’s guilty."
Harry looked like he was about to explode, but I kept going. "Think about it—if he really wanted you dead, he could’ve killed Hagrid and taken you all those years ago. Just offed him right there and then. Why take you on a motorbike, just to drop you into the sea, when a Killing Curse would’ve been quicker and easier? And why sit in Azkaban for years, doing nothing, if he could break out this easily? What was he waiting for all this time? Nah, something about this whole thing stinks."
"You really believe that, Ron?" Hermione asked hesitantly, before Harry could argue.
"You’re wrong, Ron," Harry cut in anyway, voice tight. "Everyone knows he’s a murderer. You heard what they said."
I let out a low chuckle. "Oh, yeah? And everyone also knows that you, as a baby, defeated Voldemort. Are we meant to believe that’s the whole truth too? Every witch and wizard in Britain will tell you they know exactly what happened that night—down to the finest detail. As if there were hundreds of witnesses just standing around. People believe all sorts of nonsense, Harry. If I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to trust every rumour about Black."
Harry’s jaw clenched, and he stood stiffly. "But you’re not me, Ron," he said coldly before storming out, slamming the door behind him.
Later, of course, we made up. Harry apologised for snapping, and he spent the rest of the holidays obsessively watching the map, hoping to find Black. He never did. Eventually, he gave up on it altogether.
I asked if I could borrow the map, and he agreed.
Days passed, nothing happened, and soon enough, Harry seemed to forget about Black entirely.
(1) Alice in the Land in the Other Side of the Mirror (orig. Алиса в Зазеркалье) is the official title of a 1982 Soviet cartoon based on Lewis Caroll’s book.
