The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

"We can help you," Julien said, looking at Sirius.

"No, no. There's danger." Sirius quickly shook his head, snapping out of his daze. "That rat, though despicable and shameless, is still an adult wizard and a former member of the 'Raiders.' You're probably no match for him."

"We have our own methods," Julien said with a calm smile. "We won't confront him directly; we'll leave him to you. Don't worry."

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. "By the way, Schilling," he called him by his family name, characteristic of the Black family, "I dreamt of you when I was in Azkaban, and I could sense it was you, a descendant of the Blacks. Could it be that you...?"

"That's right, I am the 'Guardian'." With that, Julien extended his right wrist.

Upon seeing this, Sirius also extended his right wrist.

Both of their wrists emitted a pale blue light. However, perhaps due to years of torment, the light on Sirius's right wrist was much dimmer.

"What about Azkaban...?"

"We'll take care of it," Julien said calmly.

"What! No, absolutely not. You don't know what it's like there, you don't know how terrifying the Dementors are." Sirius quickly tried to dissuade him, "The only reason I was able to hold on was because I'm an Animagus. When I transform into a large dog, I'm immune to the Dementors' detection."

"Like I said, we have our own way." Julien then recounted the whole story to Sirius, including how he became Grindelwald's apprentice.

Sirius was dumbfounded. He thought he and James had been outrageous enough when they were young, but he never expected his nephew to be even more outrageous, having already hooked up with the first Dark Lord.

"Then you might not be able to find Azkaban. The coordinates there are hidden by the Ministry of Magic. Ordinary people simply can't find it."

Julien and the others laughed. "Uncle, do you know what a hippogriff is?"

……

At midnight, the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room was reduced to a dark red ember, like the slow, rising and falling breaths of a sleeping giant.

Harry Potter huddled in the shadows of his armchair, unable to sleep at night because of the news he'd heard at the Three Broomsticks pub during the day.

It turns out that Sirius Black, the escaped murderer, was actually his parents' best friend and even his godfather.

It was this "Godfather" who betrayed Voldemort, leading to the tragic deaths of his parents. He even murdered another close friend, Peter Pettigrew.

Unable to fall asleep, he went to the empty lounge to drown his sorrows in butterbeer, even though it contained no alcohol.

The parchment he held out in his hand gleamed with an aged yellow hue in the firelight—it was the "treasure" the Weasley twins had given him that morning, and now, as he lightly touched it with the tip of his cane, dark green lines and writing appeared.

"I solemnly swear that I will not do any good deeds."

Harry muttered the spell under his breath, watching the familiar corridors and moving name tags appear on the paper. Albus Dumbledore was still lingering in the Headmaster's office; Filch was still patrolling the library at night.

But as Harry's gaze swept across the corridor near the Potions classroom, his fingers suddenly froze.

There was a name there, a name that shouldn't exist, a name he had just been thinking about.

Peter Pettigrew

Harry's breath caught in his throat. The name lingered in the corridor next to the trophy room, the ink-written letters trembling slightly, as if they might dissipate into the fibers of the parchment at any moment.

Peter—the one who was "killed" by Sirius Black, his parents' best friend, the one who died twelve years ago.

"Ghosts?" Harry muttered to himself, but then dismissed the idea. The Marauder's Map didn't show ghosts.

Harry abruptly folded up the map. He didn't have time to think; his body had made the decision before his reason—he had to go and see, to confirm if the name was real.

The corridor was deserted and eerily quiet. Harry's footsteps were swallowed by the Invisibility Cloak, leaving only the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

He turned the corner according to his memory of the map. The door to the trophy display room was ajar, and moonlight slanted in through the high windows, casting long, thin shadows of the gold and silver trophies like ghostly claws.

Harry pulled out the map to check again; the parchment glowed faintly in the darkness. The name was still there, Peter Pettigrew, but the location had changed; it was walking directly towards him, almost as if it were about to collide with him.

However, nothing happened.

"What's going on..." he muttered to himself, his fingers unconsciously reaching for his wand.

"Potter!"

As a burst of light exploded, a familiar voice was like a bucket of ice water poured over one's head.

Harry whirled around, and in the shadows of the corridor, Severus Snape slowly emerged like a frozen night, his black robes rippling silently.

"I knew it," Snape's voice was as smooth as a snake's shed skin, "There are always some night owls in Gryffindor who break curfew. And you, of all times, at this particular time this year..."

The light from the tip of Snape's wand illuminated Harry's pale face. He suddenly noticed the map in Harry's hand, his withered fingers spreading open. "What are you holding? Hand it over. Now."

"Professor, I was just—"

Before he could say anything, Snape snatched the Marauder's Map from Harry's hand. All he saw was a blank piece of parchment.

"What is this, Potter! Is it some kind of dark magic item?"

Seeing that the map wasn't showing up, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "It's just a piece of parchment, sir."

"Lying will do you no good, Potter!" Snape took a step closer, his thin lips beneath his aquiline nose forming a cold, straight line. "Don't tell me you sleepwalk around at night with a blank piece of paper in your hand!"

Just then, hurried footsteps came from the other end of the corridor.

"Severus?" another voice rang out in the darkness, weary yet gently surprised. "And...Harry?"

Professor Remus Lupin emerged from the shadows, wearing his old, greyish-brown robe. He carried no wand, but his posture suggested he was ready to face anything at any moment.

When he saw half of Harry's face behind Snape, his brow furrowed slightly.

"Lupin," Snape's voice immediately turned sharp, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, "this is none of your business."

“In fact, it does concern me,” Lupin said calmly, stepping between the two men. “Today is my patrol day, and I just heard the commotion.”

"Hmph, I seriously suspect that Mr. Potter is up to something bad with illegal items in his hand," Snape said, holding up the parchment in his hand.

Lupin's eyes narrowed as he looked at the parchment, then he sighed softly. "Severus, give it to me. It's just a prank paper; I'll handle it. As the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, it's my responsibility."

Snape stared at Lupin for a long time, a complex, almost hostile assessment flashing in his dark eyes. But in the end, he handed the parchment to Lupin.

"Tomorrow afternoon, Potter," Snape said in a low voice, "come to my office. We're going to talk about... the consequences of breaking school rules. With Professor McGonagall, of course."

He then turned and left, his black robe leaving behind a lingering, bitter scent of potion in the air.

Only after the footsteps completely disappeared did Lupin turn to Harry, his grey-brown eyes filled with reproach, but also with something deeper—worry.