stjorthotic Chapter 267 Werewolf and Black Dog
Chapter 267 Werewolf and Black Dog
Chapter 267 Werewolf and Black Dog (5.2K) (1/2)
They finally arrived at the crooked, dilapidated entrance to the Screaming Shack.
The wind whistled through the cracks in the rotting planks, adding to the eeriness of the already infamous building. A deathly silence reigned, save for the distant lights of Hogwarts Castle, like distant stars, reminding them they weren't entirely isolated.
Upon entering the shed, a dark space filled with dust and cobwebs, Sirius couldn't wait to break free from Reggie's leash.
With a series of subtle sounds of bones contracting and fur disappearing, the huge black dog's body rapidly expanded and straightened, transforming back into the gaunt but sharp-eyed wizard.
The first thing he did was to rip off the leather collar still hanging around his neck, as if freeing himself from some disgusting restraint, and throw it with revulsion onto the pile of junk at his feet.
"Finally—" he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse with urgency.
He didn't even glance at Reggie beside him, relying on the memory etched into his bones, and walked straight into a black hole in the room that was half-hidden by old furniture and appeared to be formed by rotting floorboards.
He skillfully felt around the edge and found the hidden mechanism. With a soft "click," a seemingly heavy floorboard silently slid open, revealing a dark, downward-pointing hole from which cold, damp air rushed out.
"Go and come back quickly." Reggie's hoarse voice rang out in the dim light. He stood still without approaching, but his gaze was like that of the most composed guard, locked on Sirius's every move. "Remember the time."
"
Sirius Black, with half his body already inside the cave entrance, paused for a moment upon hearing this, then replied without turning his head, "Understood."
He understood that Reggie's presence here was less of a backup plan and more of a safety net, preventing him, this "dangerous collaborator," from slipping out of his control.
A surge of anger, a feeling of being looked down upon and doubted, instantly welled up inside him—they actually thought that he, Sirius Black, a man of his word, would break his promise?
This distrust is itself an insult to his pride.
He has always disregarded rules, but he will never break a promise he makes, especially one concerning revenge and clearing one's name.
This pride, stemming from the bloodline of an ancient family and his own character, is far more powerful than any external constraints.
Without arguing with Reggie any further, Sirius Black took a deep breath of the cold air in the tunnel, which smelled of dirt and mold, and crouched down to crawl inside, his figure quickly swallowed by the darkness below.
The movable floor panel closed silently behind him, returning to its original state as if nothing had happened.
After Sirius's figure completely disappeared into the dark tunnel entrance, Reggie did not linger.
He moved silently to a corner of the room shrouded in deeper shadow, leaning against the cold, damp wooden wall. He raised his wand, gently tapped it against his chest, and whispered an incantation.
The magical glow instantly enveloped his entire body like flowing water, blurring and distorting his outline, and his colors rapidly assimilated with the shadows behind him and the mottled walls.
A few seconds later, he completely disappeared from sight, as if he had merged into the decay of the Screaming Shack itself. Only the most acute senses might be able to detect a trace of unnatural magical fluctuations and faint breathing sounds there.
Meanwhile, inside the tunnel.
The narrow, steep earthen slope stretched downwards into complete darkness, with only a faint, distant breath hinting at the existence of the other side.
Sirius Black groped his way forward in the dark almost entirely on instinct, his fingertips tracing the cold, damp earthen walls, bringing down fine bits of mud and sand.
A familiar, faintly fishy smell, mixed with the scent of soil, roots, and some underground creature, filled my nostrils, instantly unlocking the floodgates of memory.
Countless nights, the four of them—James, Remus, Peter, and him—had laughed and played in this secret passage, planning their next prank, or perhaps to keep Remus company on the night of the full moon.
James's triumphant and energetic voice still seemed to echo in my ears, and the outline of the antlers seemed to sway in the darkness ahead—those vivid, passionate scenes of youth and friendship clashed violently with the cold reality of things changing and people separated by life and death.
His breathing became heavy, and it felt as if something was gripping his chest tightly.
Anger, sorrow, and the searing regret, like the cold air in a tunnel, seeped into him relentlessly. He clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening into a hard line, forcing himself to suppress these surging emotions.
Now is not the time to dwell on the past; he has things he must accomplish.
He quickened his pace, almost gliding up the steep slope, his palms aching from occasionally bracing against the rough earthen walls, but he didn't care.
The will to retaliate burned like a dark fire in his gray eyes, dispelling some of the chill and temporarily suppressing the raging storm in his heart.
The slope ahead began to ease, and the air seemed to flow a little more smoothly.
He could sense that the exit was getting closer.
When he finally crawled to the end of the tunnel, his fingers touching the familiar, rough, and twisted tree root structure, he paused for a moment. He looked up, and although it was still dark, he knew that if he pushed aside that particular knot, he would be outside the Hogwarts grounds, in the shadow of the Willow of the Beast, right there—so close to that traitor.
He took a deep, silent breath, locking all his turbulent thoughts deep inside his chest.
Sirius didn't immediately emerge. Instead, he first stretched out an arm and, relying on his memory, felt his way upwards, finding the specific knot on the rough bark surface. He then firmly pressed his palm down.
After ensuring the pressure was effective, he used his arm to continue pulling his entire body out of the narrow hole, back outdoors, into the huge, quiet shadow of the Beating Willow.
The moment his foot touched the solid ground, the deformation began.
Its body rapidly contracted and transformed beside the arm pressing on the joint scar, reverting back to the lean and strong black dog, while the hand pressing on the joint scar simultaneously transformed into a dog paw performing the same pressing motion. The whole process was smooth and precise.
The gray dog's eyes quickly scanned its surroundings in the darkness—a vast, silent expanse.
Without further delay, he abruptly released his grip on the scar, and with a burst of power from his hind legs, his black figure shot out like an arrow, swiftly darting out of the area covered by the willow branches, silently disappearing into the deeper darkness at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, stealthily making its way towards the brightly lit Hogwarts Castle.
Behind him, the 'Hit-and-Hit Willow,' now free from its pressure, seemed to awaken from its slumber. Its quietly drooping branches twitched slightly, but finding no target to attack, it stopped, and its canopy naturally unfurled in the night breeze.
Meanwhile, the atmosphere inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office at Hogwarts Castle was completely different from the clamor in the Great Hall.
The doors and windows were tightly shut, and heavy curtains shut out the outside world. The only light source was the flickering flame in the fireplace, which cast swaying shadows on the bookshelves on the walls. A suffocating silence permeated the office, with only the crackling of burning wood and a heavy, painful breathing sound clearly audible.
If a powerful wizard were present, he would clearly sense that the entire room was enveloped by a powerful and hidden magical force—a protective spell personally set up by Headmaster Dumbledore to restrain the interior and ensure that any "accidents" that might occur on the night of the full moon would be absolutely confined within this space.
On the floor near the fireplace, Professor Lupin was going through his monthly ordeal.
He was clearly prepared; his usual worn but neat wizard's robe was carefully folded and placed on a chair some distance away.
At this moment, his werewolf-like body lay prone on the ground, covered with rough gray fur, his limbs twisted and swollen, presenting a terrifying hybrid of wolf and human, with his mouth and nose protruding and his sharp claws unconsciously scraping the floor.
However, unlike a truly berserk werewolf, although his eyes were filled with physical pain and struggle, the edges of his yellow beastly pupils shone with a clear and rational light belonging to humans.
The coldness of the floor seeped into my bones through my skin, but compared to the searing pain within me that was almost tearing my soul apart, this chill was insignificant.
Remus Lupin, within his werewolf-like body, experiences this torment with unprecedented clarity.
Snape—he caught the thought amidst his churning agony, his consciousness burning like a candle flame in a storm, stubbornly burning brightly.
Snape's potion was different.
Its effectiveness is terrifying.
In the past, the wolfsbane potion he drank on the night of the full moon was like a thin mist, barely separating him from his pure beastly nature. He could still maintain basic mobility during his transformation, but it required immense willpower to suppress his restlessness.
But at this moment, the potion Snape had brewed was like a heavy, red-hot iron band, locking every inch of his muscles and every nerve.
The wolf's form and the wolf's power surged in his blood, but this stronger drug force forcibly suppressed and distorted them, bringing double the pain, almost like being slowly sliced to death.
He couldn't even feel his claws; moving a finger felt like shaking a mountain.
However, in this boundless abyss of suffering, a sliver of almost cruel clarity emerged:
That suits me perfectly.
Never before had he felt a twisted sense of "security" despite enduring hellish torment.
Being unable to move means that one is absolutely unable to harm anyone.
He, Remus Lupin, this dangerous being who would turn into a monster every month, was pinned to the floor by Snape's bitter medicine—perhaps unintentionally, perhaps intentionally—isolated from everything outside.
He no longer had to struggle fearfully on the edge of reason and primal instinct, as he had in the past, worrying that he would lose control, hurt innocent students, and betray Dumbledore's trust.
The price of this "safety" was extreme pain, but he was willing to pay it.
With his remaining sanity, he clung tightly to the thought, using it as the final anchor against the roaring beast within him. He lay there, like a stone statue sculpted by pain, only the violent rise and fall of his chest and the low, painful sobs that could not be completely suppressed in his throat testifying to the coexistence of life and torment.
He waited, trapped in a cage built by the torture of Snape's enhanced potion and Dumbledore's protective magic, waiting for the moon to set and the sun to rise, waiting for the next brief respite from being a monster back to a "normal person".
The cold floor and the burning pain inside his body seemed to form an eternal purgatory, pinning Lupin firmly to the spot.
In an attempt to combat this endless torment, his consciousness began to drift involuntarily, trying to grasp at anything that could distract him.
Fragments of memory surged in like a tide, uncontrollable.
He saw his own wandering figure over the years, his worn-out suitcase, those wary and distant strangers, and the deep-seated fear and loneliness he felt around every full moon.
Then, the scene abruptly shifts, jumping back to a more distant, warm-toned past—the corridors of Hogwarts filled with laughter, James's slightly smug smile, Peter's adoring yet timid gaze—
And then there was him, Sirius Black, handsome, flamboyant, with the arrogance and untamed spirit characteristic of the Black family. They would sneak out of the castle at night, arm in arm, the air still seeming to carry the distinctive scent of that time: old parchment, Honeydukes' icing sugar, and—and Sirius, who often carried with him, a touch of the crisp, post-rain air and something unique, something akin to—something similar to—
The smell of a dog.
This thought struck like a lightning bolt, cleaving through the lingering memories.
No, the scent is too vivid, too "present," carrying the coolness of night dew, far from the warmth of a long-forgotten memory!
Lupin's werewolf-like body stiffened abruptly, and his yellow beastly eyes, which had been half-closed in pain, snapped open, their pupils contracting in the darkness.
Not a memory!
Now!
At this very moment, outside this heavily guarded office, the air was extremely faint, almost masked by the smoke from the fireplace and the dust from the room itself, but there was no mistaking it—it was Sirius in his Animagus form, a unique, indescribable scent, a mixture of Forbidden Forest soil, night wind, and some kind of wildness!
he came!
He's at Hogwarts!
Right outside this office!
This traitor!
This depraved man who killed James and Lily!
An emotion far more intense and scorching than the pain brought by the wolfsbane potion—pure anger and hatred—instantly swept over Lupin's entire body.
A suppressed, twisted growl erupted from his throat, no longer a painful groan, but filled with murderous intent.
He desperately tried to lift his heavy head, wanting to turn towards the direction the smell was coming from. His muscles tensed and trembled wildly under the influence of the drug, and his claws scraped the floor with a piercing sound. He wanted to stand up, wanted to rush out, wanted to tear his former friend, now his enemy, to shreds with his teeth and claws!
However, all efforts were in vain.
Snape's highly effective wolfsbane potion had become his most secure prison.
That invisible, heavy force pressed him firmly to the ground, making it impossible for him to even lift a finger, let alone break through Dumbledore's protective magic.
He was like an insect nailed to a specimen board, no matter how much he roared and struggled inside, his body could only limp helplessly, enduring the double torment of anger and pain.
He could only stare wide-eyed at the office door, his bloodshot and furious yellow eyes bulging, letting out a wheezing, unwilling gasp, like a wild beast trapped in a snare, watching its enemy pass by helplessly.
Outside the door, a huge black dog stood quietly.
Just now, as Sirius was going up the stairs, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.
His moist, black nose twitched almost imperceptibly a few times—a familiar yet distant scent, mixed with the wildness unique to werewolves, and deeper still—the scent that belonged to Remus Lupin himself, was being carried by the evening breeze from the other side of the corridor.
Moon face.
Without even thinking, his body instinctively veered off the route he was originally taking straight to the Gryffindor Tower and silently arrived at the door.
He stood silently, like a black sculpture, with only the slight undulations of his ribs indicating signs of life.
Inside the door, suppressed, low breathing and sobbing, filled with painful struggle, could be faintly heard.
His keen, canine ears caught the sound and clearly discerned that it contained not just pure animalistic pain, but hatred—a hatred so intense it seemed to pierce through the wooden door.
His gaze shifted to the narrow window high up on the corridor wall, where the cool moonlight poured in like mercury, casting icy spots of light on the floor.
In an instant, he understood what day it was and who that hatred was directed at—who else could it be but him, the "traitor who killed James and Lily"?
He didn't know why Remus was there, but a complex emotion surged within him.
He once thought that clearing his name was secondary, or even unnecessary.
He was willing to pay any price to tear Peter apart with his own hands, even if it meant dying forever stigmatized as a traitor and murderer.
He didn't care what the world thought of him; he only cared about making the real traitor pay the price.
But now, standing here, feeling the deep-seated hatred from his former best friend and the last remaining members of the raiders, an unprecedented loneliness and coldness enveloped him.
If even Remus is convinced that he hates him, then who else will know the truth?
Where's Harry?
If Harry also always believed that he was the enemy who killed his parents—
Even if Harry accepts him, can a godfather who is constantly hunted and hated really protect Harry?
An identity that cannot be officially recognized will bring Harry endless trouble and danger.
For some reason, Lynch's words echoed in his mind: "—Make an appearance, apply pressure——Harry's safety is paramount——Let things settle down—"
Simply killing Peter is not enough.
The thought exploded like a thunderclap.
He needs the truth to come out.
He needs to let everyone, especially Harry and Remus, know that he is not a traitor!
What he needs to reclaim is not only his life and freedom, but also his name and honor!
This was no longer just for himself, but also so that he could stand upright before Harry, and so that—possibly in the future—he could make up for some of the things he had failed to do for James and Lily.
He made no sound, but took one last, deep look at the closed door, as if he could see through the wooden planks and into the room his old friend, struggling between curses and rage.
Then he turned around, his steps heavier than when he came, his black figure once again disappearing into the shadows of the corridor as he continued his silent advance toward the Gryffindor Tower.