Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 493 494: The Weight of Injustice

"Until your name is cleared, wizard, you are forbidden from doing anything so

reckless."

Will did not budge. He stood firm, his small, sharp jaw set in a line of

stubborn determination.

"Cleared?" Sirius whispered the word as if it were a foreign language he had

long forgotten.

"You know better than anyone that the truth is far different from what the world

believes," Will said, tilting his angular, green-tinted face upward with a touch

of pride. "My Master is among the few who always hold the truth in the palm of

his hand."

"What exactly... do you know?" Sirius pressed his ear back against the wall, his

gaze fixated on the small Pukwudgie butler.

"Everything you know, and everything you don't—that is what my Master knows,"

Will said slowly, savoring the mystery.

Sirius fell silent, his mind a whirlpool of shock and suspicion. From the moment

he'd been intercepted, he had sensed that Sean Green was extraordinary, but now

his vague suspicions were solidifying into a terrifying certainty.

He had been in his Animagus form when he was found. Who could have known his

secret? Of his surviving friends and enemies, who could have possibly leaked

that information?

And now, his deepest secret—the truth behind the tragedy that had destroyed his

life—had been laid bare. When Will used the word "injustice," Sirius felt as

though he were standing naked in a storm. A sudden, overwhelming sense of

vulnerability washed over him.

"How is it possible... how could you know...?" Sirius's voice was like grinding

gravel.

"Wizard, the magical power my Master wields is beyond your comprehension," Will

said.

"Impossible!" Sirius hissed, the sound torn from his throat. "It's impossible.

That rat would never tell you! And besides him, everyone else who knew is..."

"Dead," Will finished solemnly.

"Then how—" Sirius looked completely lost.

"Read the papers, wizard." Will ignored the man's confusion and shoved a

newspaper into his trembling hands. Then, Will turned his attention back to a

book whose cover seemed to be perpetually wreathed in mist: Dream Stories.

It took Sirius a few seconds to regain his composure. He looked at the shy,

young face pictured in the paper, then at the glittering headline: Dreams and

Deities. A realization struck him—a theory he had just formed, but hadn't known

how to articulate, began to take shape from an angle he never could have

imagined.

"Can I see your Master?" Sirius asked hoarsely. "Please, Mr. Pukwudgie?"

Will seemed to consider this for a moment. "You're a bold one, wizard. I shall

pass on the request."

Room 10 fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the frantic rustling of paper

as Sirius tore through the articles and books.

Meanwhile, in Room 11, Sean was standing up to leave.

"Sean, what you said..." Harry followed him toward the door.

"It's true, Harry. He won't hurt you. But you must still be careful," Sean said

firmly before closing the door.

The Leaky Cauldron was quiet. Somewhere in the common room below, a dozing

patron let out a low, rumbling snore. Sean's footsteps were muffled by the soft

carpet as he watched the door to Room 10 swing open on its own. With a soft

sigh, he stepped inside.

"Mr. Black," Sean said.

"Mr... Green." Sirius hadn't spoken to anyone in a civilized manner for a very

long time. His tone was awkward, his voice cracking with disuse.

"Are you an Animagus as well?" Sirius hid the newspapers behind his back, but

his trembling hands betrayed his state of mind.

Under Sirius's unblinking stare, Sean gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"Ah... an unregistered Animagus..." Sirius looked away, a flicker of nostalgia

crossing his gaunt face. Then, as if remembering a bitter taste, his features

twisted with a brief flash of hatred before settling into a look of deep respect

for the boy before him.

"You would do well to keep that secret, wizard," Will warned sharply.

"A secret?" Sirius let out a dry laugh. "What secrets are left in the wizarding

world for a man like your Master? Unless people stop dreaming, or stop dying..."

Suddenly, Sirius lunged forward, stopping just inches from Sean.

"You... you. We read that book once. We thought it was just theory—magic that

only existed in legends. But if it's true... no, it has to be true. Tell me...

do they hate me? I ruined everything. It was me—I destroyed it all. I am a

sinner. I should be in Azkaban; it's what I deserve. But tell me... do they hate

me?"

Sean remained silent for a long moment. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he

flicked a finger, and a teapot nearby levitated, pouring three steaming cups of

pumpkin juice.

Sirius, realizing how agitated he had become, slumped back into his chair. His

skeletal frame seemed to disappear into the upholstery.

"Do those who love us ever truly leave us?" Sean asked, his voice soft and

rhythmic. "Or is it that, when we face our darkest hours, we simply remember

them more clearly? Do those who loved us, and those we loved, truly hold hate in

their hearts? Or is it that they live on within us, becoming a part of our

souls, and we simply mistake our own self-loathing for theirs?"

Sirius stared at Sean in a daze as a cup of pumpkin juice drifted into his hand.

As the warmth of the juice hit his throat, a flood of memories—vivid and

unstoppable—crashed into his mind.

Outside, the lights of Diagon Alley dimmed. Only the windows of the Leaky

Cauldron continued to cast a warm, amber glow onto the cobblestones. Sirius sat

motionless for a long time, even as his drink grew cold, even as the first crow

of a rooster signaled the coming dawn.

Sean had left early that morning, but he didn't return to Hogwarts immediately.

His plan was working perfectly. He had secured Sirius's trust. After assisting

him with a few minor tasks, Sean knew he would have no trouble gaining access to

the Black ancestral home at Grimmauld Place.

However, he realized he might not even need to wait.

Sean glanced at a box he had kept at a distance. Inside lay perhaps the most

malevolent magical object in existence—a Horcrux created by Lord Voldemort:

Slytherin's Locket.

Will had been thorough. During his first scouting trip to the Black house, the

Pukwudgie's keen senses had sniffed out the dark artifact, and he had quietly

retrieved it.

During the next few days in Diagon Alley, while Sean continued his research into

Reconstructing Magic, he would often see a shadowy, gaunt figure standing on the

balcony of the Leaky Cauldron. Sirius would stand there for hours, watching

Harry sit in the bright sunlight outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.

The shop's owner, Florean Fortescue, would often chat with Harry about medieval

witch-burnings while handing him a free sundae every half hour.

Whenever Harry laughed at a story, the man on the balcony would grip the railing

so hard his knuckles turned white, his eyes never leaving the boy. And every

time, Will would be standing right behind him, watching Sirius like a hawk to

make sure he didn't jump.

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