Chapter 235

Chapter 235

The Dementors that had drifted above the castle were gone.

In his fury, Headmaster Dumbledore had driven every last one from the grounds, so Suer reached the Whomping Willow without difficulty.

It gently stretched its branches, twitching now and then like a lion lazily licking its paws after a hunt.

As Suer approached, the tree sensed an unfamiliar presence and sprang into violent motion. Its branches whipped through the air, warning the stranger away.

“Oh.”

Suer stepped back. A branch cracked down upon the muddy ground just ahead of him with a sharp rush of displaced air.

The earth, still wet from the recent rain, exploded in every direction.

A warning lash.

An ordinary pupil would have retreated. The Whomping Willow certainly looked intimidating enough.

But Suer was different. He knew precisely where its weakness lay: a knot in the trunk hidden behind its branches.

Reaching that knot without being struck required a little technique.

Fortunately, Transfiguration made it simple.

Suer had no desire to be hoisted into the air and thrashed by the Whomping Willow. If magic could solve the problem, why not use it?

There were plenty of objects nearby that he could transform. Soon, two cats made from stones bounded into the tree’s reach.

The larger one was responsible for drawing its attention. It sprang and darted between the flailing branches. A tree, after all, was still a tree; it could hardly outwit a clever young wizard.

The smaller cat slipped deeper inside and reached the tree’s weakness. It successfully pressed one pink paw against the knot.

The Whomping Willow shuddered and froze like a cat seized by the scruff of its neck.

Suer sauntered into range without the slightest obstruction and climbed through the opening beneath its roots.

The Transfiguration spells faded. The Whomping Willow sent the unfamiliar stones flying and thrashed its branches in impotent rage.

“That is what we call a diversion.” Suer spun his wand stylishly and slipped it back into his robes.

The tunnel was dark. The packed earth on either side was far firmer than in the passage behind the humpbacked witch statue. This tunnel was also much newer and more solid.

It had plainly been built or thoroughly renovated at a later date.

Suer closed his eyes and reached with his magic for the other self within his mind — his Animagus form. When he opened them again, the darkness had become as clear as daylight.

A small badger bounded lightly along the long, deep tunnel. It occasionally leapt over pits in the floor and landed without a sound.

After an uncertain length of time travelling through the rising and falling passage, the space ahead widened. The Shrieking Shack could not be far now.

Suer lifted his head and sniffed. Several distinct scents mingled here, and he easily identified one as Professor Lupin’s.

There was also the smell of water from the Black Lake.

Hmm… a section of the tunnel must have passed beneath the lake. That made sense. Most of the Black Lake lay between Hogsmeade and the Whomping Willow.

One other odour defied polite description. It was the sour stink of spoiled, rotting food.

It seemed Mr Padfoot had indeed been here.
Suer continued onwards. The tunnel began to slope upwards, and its end came into view: a wooden door.

Perhaps Padfoot was confident that no one would come here, or perhaps he never intended to hide for long. Whatever the reason, the door stood ajar, which suited Suer’s small body perfectly.

Oh, the sour stench was becoming stronger.

Suer stretched his forepaws and flexed them. Claws gleaming coldly slid from his pads. Yes, they were as sharp as ever.

Padfoot was definitely here.

Suer had abandoned the food in the Great Hall and travelled all this way for him. Nothing less than a thorough beating would satisfy his anger.

Unable to contain his anticipation, Suer squeezed through the gap with ease.

Beyond the door lay a gloomy room, though the darkness did not hinder his sight. Thick boards had been nailed across the windows, allowing only narrow slivers of daylight through. Tattered cobwebs and a heavy layer of dust filled the corners.

The only piece of furniture was a stool missing half a leg and half its back. More disturbing to any badger were the criss-crossing claw marks carved several inches deep into the walls.

The wooden floor was riddled with holes, exposing patches of grey stone beneath it.

Suer knew exactly for whom this room had been prepared. Dear Professor Lupin had probably undergone his werewolf transformations here.

Judging by the age of the claw marks, Professor Lupin had remained completely in control during his latest transformation. Professor Snape’s potion worked very well indeed.

Suer examined every shadowed corner. To his surprise, no person or animal was hiding there.

In that case…

His gaze shifted to the closed door opposite. This was troublesome. A building as large as the Shrieking Shack could not consist of a single room, which meant Padfoot was somewhere beyond that door.

Given the room’s age and the rust covering the handle, opening it would inevitably make a noise.

Padfoot would be alerted at once.

Suer had hoped to slip inside without firing a shot. It seemed he would have to confront his target openly.

Then his eyes brightened. He remembered two charms from a book he had idly read in the library while accompanying Hermione as she worked.

If he could not put a sack over Padfoot’s head, he could at least put one over his own.

All that mattered was preventing Black from recognising him.

Reading widely truly was useful. Knowledge was power, as Merlin was his witness.

Suer resumed his human form, pointed his wand at himself and cast the Facial Concealment Charm.

Ah, and his voice.

He followed it with the Voice-Muffling Charm.

Perfect.

Finally, Suer transformed a broken board into a mirror and inspected himself. There was only one possible verdict: perfect.

No living person or ghost could possibly recognise him now.

There was no need to test his voice. Suer could feel as though something had lodged in his throat.

His preparations were complete. It was time to find dear Mr Padfoot.

Unless something unexpected had happened — and Suer had heard no sounds of escape — Black should be waiting beyond that door.

As a fugitive, he had to possess at least that much vigilance. Otherwise, the Dementors and Aurors hunting him would have dragged him back long ago.

Suer took a deep breath, tightened his right hand around his wand and raised his left towards the handle.