JohnnyZ
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[Castling the Long Way] Chapter 49
🕑 Added 2025-02-03 21:10:37 +0000 UTCOn Christmas morning, I was jolted awake by an excited, almost giddy Harry.
"Ron! Ron, wake up!" He shook my shoulder enthusiastically. "Look what I got!"
I groggily turned over and immediately sat up straight. On his bed, unwrapped and gleaming, lay a brand-new broomstick.
The Firebolt was a masterpiece—built purely for speed.
"Harry, if you don’t want them to take it apart twig by twig, tell everyone you bought it yourself," I advised, running a hand over the sleek bristles in genuine admiration.
"Why?" Harry frowned, still stroking the stirrups like they were the most precious thing in the world.
"Because it was Sirius Black who sent it to you," I said, throwing up a silencing charm so certain creatures wouldn’t overhear.
Harry’s face twisted in a mix of disbelief and disappointment. He really didn’t want to give up the broom, but accepting a gift from an alleged mass murderer? That was another thing entirely.
"How do you know?" he asked cautiously.
"Same way I always do," I said meaningfully. "My vision was a bit unclear, but I saw you living in his house, getting on like a dream. He definitely didn’t betray your parents. You wouldn’t be living with him if he had."
Harry hesitated, clearly mulling it over. I was half-expecting him to dig his heels in, but before he could say anything, Hermione burst into the room, probably coming to wake us up.
"Oh, wow, Harry! Where did you get that broom?" she gasped, flicking her wand to dispel my silencing charm.
"Erm… bought it," Harry blurted out hastily. "Ordered it from a catalogue—couldn’t resist. I’ve been drooling over it since the end of summer."
"But that must have cost a fortune!" Hermione frowned at him disapprovingly. "That’s hardly responsible spending, Harry. You’ve still got years of school ahead of you!"
"I’ve got plenty of money, Hermione," Harry shot back smoothly. "My parents made sure I was provided for. Yeah, the broom’s expensive, but I spent years at the Dursleys’, wearing Dudley’s hand-me-downs and never getting a single present. Not for Christmas, not for birthdays, nothing."
Hermione immediately deflated, her cheeks going pink with guilt. "Sorry, Harry," she murmured. "I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in. Of course, you deserve whatever gifts you want. And—thank you again. Both of you. For Stella."
She was still a bit self-conscious about the birthday present we’d given her, but she’d had no choice but to accept it.
At breakfast, of course, Harry’s new broom became the hot topic. Thankfully, most students were still away for the holidays, but even McGonagall asked where he’d got it. He fed her the same story he’d given Hermione.
Hopefully, Dumbledore wouldn’t start poking around, verifying things with Gringotts. Not that he’d technically have the authority to do that. At worst, he’d probably just scold Harry for spending so much.
The rest of the day was brilliant. We took turns flying the Firebolt until we were completely knackered.
At dinner, Dumbledore was in rare form. He passed out Christmas crackers to everyone. Snape, after pulling his with extreme reluctance, found himself suddenly wearing a woman’s hat—complete with a stuffed vulture on top. He grimaced, yanked it off, and shoved it at Dumbledore, who plopped it onto his own head and wore it for the entire feast like it was part of his usual ensemble.
Later, Trelawney joined in, exchanged snide remarks with McGonagall, and, in completely expected fashion, predicted that Lupin wouldn’t be staying at Hogwarts much longer.
And just like that, the holidays were over. The students returned to the castle.
Wood nearly keeled over in ecstasy when he saw the Firebolt. He was even more thrilled when he found out that Harry had lent his old broom to Angelina—not permanently, just for flying practice. Alicia got her hands on a brand-new Cleansweep, courtesy of Ginny and her lot, who had pooled their money to buy their first broom. That pretty much made them heroes in Gryffindor’s eyes.
All in all, life was good—like a brief moment of peace before the next round of chaos.
Hagrid’s lessons had become surprisingly fun—thanks to Hermione keeping him in check. He set up massive bonfires in the clearing and let us toss in fire salamanders, which danced through the flames. We spent the lessons warming our hands and chucking in sticks while the salamanders scampered about.
Lupin, meanwhile, looked worse than ever after his latest disappearance.
"I wonder what’s wrong with him?" Harry mused as we walked to Hagrid’s class. "He looks awful. Maybe Madam Pomfrey’s treatment isn’t doing much."
Hermione let out a very pointed snort.
"What’s that supposed to mean?" Harry shot her an irritated look. "I’m seriously worried about him, Hermione! And you’re sitting there snorting?"
"Oh, come on, Harry," she huffed, practically radiating smugness.
"Lupin’s a werewolf," I cut in before they could start properly arguing, and was instantly rewarded with Harry’s look of utter shock and Hermione’s indignant glare.
"You knew?" she snapped.
"You thought you were the only one who figured it out?" I smirked.
"And why didn’t I know?" Harry demanded.
"You do now," I said, shrugging.
"So that’s why you don’t like him," Harry said slowly as we made our way back up the castle. "Because he’s a werewolf?"
"That’s one reason," I replied.
"Ron, how could you?" Hermione bristled. "Professor Lupin isn’t to blame for being turned! It’s an illness! He’s not a monster! You’re such a bigot! I knew you had an intolerant streak—"
"Right, well," I cut her off coldly, "you’re entitled to your opinion, Hermione, and I’m entitled to mine. I don’t force mine on you, so don’t force yours on me. Yeah, I think Lupin’s a dark creature, and all your self-righteous lectures aren’t going to change that."
"You—!" Hermione gasped, beyond outraged.
"Blimey, Ron," Harry interjected before she could explode. "You could’ve at least said it a bit nicer. Lupin’s a good bloke, you know. He knew my dad. And he’s a brilliant teacher. You don’t have to call him a dark creature like he’s some kind of monster."
"Harry, do you know what separates a human from an animal?" I asked, ignoring Hermione’s furious expression. When he nodded, I carried on.
"Animals are controlled by instincts. They don’t have the choice to resist them. Ever seen a cat during mating season? Or dogs that don’t care who they mate with? Packs of strays attacking children or the elderly—just because they can? Humans have instincts too, but we control them. Whether it’s for moral reasons, religious reasons, or just because the law says so. And the ones who don’t control themselves? Those are the ones we call monsters—murderers, rapists, serial killers."
"Why the hell are we talking about this?" Hermione nearly shrieked, her face turning bright red.
"Once a month, Lupin loses control. Completely. He could tear apart anyone—his wife, a friend, his own child or someone else's. He can’t fight his instincts. He becomes a beast. And he knows it. That’s why he’s a dark creature, and there’s no changing that."
"But it’s not his fault," Hermione shot back heatedly, though with less fire than before.
"Of course, it’s not," I agreed. "But that doesn’t make him less dangerous, does it? Personally, I think letting a werewolf teach in a school is outright reckless."
"But—"
"But what, Hermione?" I snapped. "You think you’re the only one who figured it out? Good for you. But what about everyone else? Why weren’t they given a choice? Or do you reckon the other students don’t deserve to know there’s something dangerous lurking around their kids?"
"Let’s not fight about this," Harry cut in. "Look, you’re both entitled to your own opinions. I don’t see the problem with Lupin teaching when he can teach, as long as he’s locked up properly on full moons. Hermione’s got a right to her views, just like you do, Ron. You’re just overly cautious and dead responsible. And you, Hermione, well… you’re a bit reckless with your whole ‘must protect everyone’ mindset. Now, can we please get moving before we freeze to death out here?"
We didn’t bring the subject up again after that. Well, Hermione tried, but I shut her down straight away—told her she could believe whatever she wanted, but she wasn’t going to force it on me. After that, she finally backed off.
February arrived, and the team was training non-stop for the upcoming match against Ravenclaw.
"You have to catch the Snitch, Harry," Percy pleaded, practically vibrating with anxiety. "I made a bet with Penelope, and I don’t have ten Galleons to spare. I’m counting on you."
"You must catch that Snitch," Wood echoed dramatically. "I need to leave this school with the Cup, Harry."
Even though Cho was batting her lashes at him throughout the match, Harry still managed to snag the Snitch—seven minutes in.
And that same night, all hell broke loose in Gryffindor Tower.
We woke up to shouts and wailing alarms—the ones we’d set up around our dorms just in case Black decided to pay us a visit.
We all scrambled out of bed and rushed downstairs, only to find out that—surprise, surprise—Sirius Black had tried to break in.
McGonagall turned up soon after. We explained the charms, and she questioned the portrait. Funny how the professors hadn’t thought to set up something similar.
"Sir Cadogan, did you let anyone into the tower after curfew?" she asked sternly.
"But of course, dear lady!" the knight declared proudly. "A gentleman!"
"You let someone in?" McGonagall’s voice shot up. "And the password?!"
"Why, he told it to me!" Sir Cadogan announced, puffing out his chest.
Absolute chaos broke out. They locked us in the tower and searched the castle all night, but—once again—Black managed to slip through their fingers.
Lessons were cancelled the next day, and while the others caught up on sleep after breakfast, I pulled Crookshanks aside in the empty common room.
"Crookshanks, you know Black, don’t you?" I asked slowly, staring straight into the cat’s eyes, hoping he’d pick up on my thoughts if he didn’t fully understand the words. "Tell him to set a time and place—I’ll bring the rat. Take him this feather and parchment." I handed over a small bundle, tied neatly with string.
To my surprise, the furball actually understood me. He snatched up the package and bolted out of the common room. Now, all I could do was wait.
Strange thing was, I never saw Black on the Map. I checked it constantly, hoping to catch him and set up a meeting, but nothing. Leaving a note in the Shrieking Shack wasn’t an option—Lupin lurked around there too often.
"Harry, don’t you think we should hand the Map over to the teachers?" Hermione suggested one day. "It’d make tracking down Black so much easier. Not to mention, it shows all the secret passages into the castle! What if the professors don’t know all of them?"
"I’d really rather not," Harry admitted. "If I give it to them, I’ll never get it back. They’d use it to keep tabs on me. Do you fancy living under constant surveillance?"
"But Harry! Ron, say something!" Hermione turned to me for support.
I didn’t back her up.
"They’ll catch him soon enough, Hermione," Harry said confidently.
And that was the end of that argument.
That evening, on his way back from practice, Harry ran into Trelawney. She very dramatically predicted that the Dark Lord’s servant would soon return to his master.
And here I thought I was actually changing things.
I needed to move fast before that prophecy came true.
Harry, of course, laughed it off completely. Hermione rolled her eyes and called Trelawney a fraud. Business as usual.
Two days later, Black sent me a note via Crookshanks.
"Meet me on Saturday at three o’clock."
The scrawled writing was jagged and uneven.
I had to be creative to sneak away from Hermione in Hogsmeade—fortunately, she got lost in a bookshop.
Harry was off having tea with Lupin, not too fussed about missing the trip, but just to be safe, I took the Map with me so no one would spot me and Black together.
Crookshanks led me past the lake, to a hidden cave on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.
Inside, a massive black dog was waiting.
The poor thing was so scrawny that any decent animal rights activist would’ve had a full-on meltdown.
The beast bared its yellowed teeth. The stench coming off it was vile—made my eyes water.
"Mister Black?" I asked cautiously.
The dog transformed—into a filthy, half-starved man dressed in nothing but tattered rags.
"Where’s the rat?" he croaked, voice rasping like he hadn’t spoken in years.
"Not so fast, Mister Black," I said evenly, keeping my wand raised. He might not have betrayed the Potters, but he looked utterly unhinged—his eyes gleamed with madness, his movements were erratic. "It’s locked in an enchanted cage in my dorm. And I’m the only one who can get it out."
Black let out a hoarse, bitter chuckle that sounded halfway between laughter and a cough.
"And what do you want?" he rasped.
"I want an oath that no one will ever find out about this deal. That you’ll stick to the version of events I tell you. And I want guarantees—I need to know the rat is definitely going to die."
"Why do you care?" Black asked seriously. He swayed slightly, like he was drunk or couldn't stay still—like he was either restless or being eaten alive by fleas.
"Trelawney made a prophecy," I said flatly. "She said the Dark Lord’s servant would return to his master. And I’d really rather that not happen."
"Fine, but we’ll need a third for an Unbreakable Vow," Black sneered.
"Don’t need an Unbreakable Vow," I smirked. "A magical oath will do just fine."
"Alright," he agreed, pulling up his ragged sleeve and revealing his arm. Nothing there but filth and skin stretched over bone.
"I swear on the blood in my veins," Black muttered after I’d read out the terms. "May it boil and turn to sand if I ever break our bargain. I won’t betray what’s been said—not by deed, not by word, not even by thought. Now, enough of this—when are you bringing me the rat?"
"Next Sunday, when I go to Hogsmeade again," I promised. "But you better stay quiet—keep out of the castle until we lose Hogsmeade privileges or Hogwarts goes on lockdown."
"Alright," he grumbled. "But tell me, kid—how’d you figure out about the rat?"
"Worked it out myself," I shrugged. "We overheard Fudge in the Three Broomsticks—he said you bolted after reading The Prophet. But there was nothing in that issue about Harry, only about my family. Didn’t seem like anything that’d interest you. Then, when the twins gave Harry the Map, I saw Peter Pettigrew on it—right next to my bed, like we were sitting together. Only thing there at the time was my rat, in his cage. And since you were supposed to have killed him ages ago… well, it all added up. If it wasn’t you, then it had to be Peter."
"Right. I’ll be waiting," Black muttered.
The days flew by. Gryffindor smashed Slytherin, and now the House Cup was basically ours. Wood nearly cried from joy. Some scout from Puddlemere United came to watch, and apparently, Wood might be getting into their reserve team. Nothing confirmed yet, but still.
Sunday morning, I dosed Wormtail with a sleeping potion. Then I hit him with a Stunning Spell—just to be extra sure.
To be honest, I almost felt sorry for him. What kind of life had he even had? First, the Marauders bullied him. Then he spent half his life hiding as a rat, shaking with fear. And after he ended up with me, he was stuck in a cage, never seeing the outside world—basically a prison cell. At least I fed him well. At least he got to visit Egypt—probably the first and last time he’d ever see anywhere interesting. Would’ve been smarter for him to run away, hide somewhere warm—live as a man during the day, steal food and gold as a rat at night. Find some abandoned house, settle in. Safe, warm, well-fed. But no—wizards are weird.
After dinner, I snuck out of the castle with the rat in tow and made my way to the Shrieking Shack through the passage under the Whomping Willow.
Black was already waiting, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.
"You got it? Hand it over," he growled, stretching out a trembling hand.
"Not so fast," I said sharply. "I need to make sure it’s actually a person first."
"I know it’s him," Black snapped.
"Well, I don’t," I shot back coldly. "And we haven’t learned the spell to force Animagi back into their human form yet."
Black gritted his teeth but relented.
"Fine. Hold out your wand hand."
Before I knew what was happening, he yanked my arm, twisting my wrist in his iron grip while muttering an incantation.
The sleeping rat on the table shuddered—and morphed into a scrawny, sickly-looking man. His sagging skin clung to his bones like an old, grey rag. His robes were just as tattered as Black’s, and peeking through a torn sleeve was a faded Dark Mark.
Black’s grip on my wrist tightened painfully.
"Convinced?" he rasped, his foul breath hitting my face.
And just as suddenly, he twisted my wrist again—and Pettigrew was a rat once more.
"That’s it. He’s mine," Black murmured, licking his lips like a starving wolf, before lunging at the table.
I thought he’d just use a Killing Curse, maybe throw in a Cruciatus for good measure. I was already worrying about how that might mess with my wand.
But no.
Black shifted mid-leap, his gaunt human form twisting into the hulking black dog, and he—he bit off the rat’s head.
A sickening crunch filled the air.
Then, pinning the lifeless body under his paw, he tore off another few chunks and swallowed them whole.
I watched, frozen in horror, as he slurped up the long, naked tail like a strand of spaghetti.
I nearly threw up.
"I’ll tell Harry the truth—that you didn’t betray his parents, Mr. Black," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "But you need a home if you want him to live with you in the summer. And stop skulking around the castle—you’ll get caught and executed."
I didn’t wait for an answer.
I turned and left.
I barely made it past the Whomping Willow before I spotted them—Harry and Hermione, sprinting towards me like I’d just come back from the dead. Behind them, charging across the field, was Lupin.
"Ron!" Hermione gasped. "You’re alive!"
"Mate, are you alright?" Harry asked, hands gripping my shoulders like he was checking for broken bones.
"Yeah, I’m fine," I grumbled. "What’s all this about?"
"We thought—" Hermione started, but then—
"Where’s Black, Weasley?" Lupin cut in sharply, almost shaking me.
I blinked up at him, face blank.
"Black, sir?" I repeated, playing dumb. "Hermione’s cat—Crookshanks—scared my rat when I took him outside for a bit of fresh air. The little sod bolted straight for the Whomping Willow, and I had to chase after him. Ended up in some weird tunnel under the tree, and at the end of it—there was this room. And inside was this huge black dog, gnawing on my rat. I panicked, hit it with a Stinging Hex, and legged it before it could go for me too—what if it was rabid? Anyway, there was nothing I could do for Scabbers. He was old and sick, and—well, that’s that."
Lupin didn’t stick around to listen.
He bolted straight for the passage.
"What the bloody hell is going on?" I asked, playing dumb.
