Chapter 237

Chapter 237

It was a good question. On the surface, Black had asked whether Suer wanted the reward or the fame. In truth, he was probing the boy’s family background.

Spending too long in an Animagus form really did appear to affect one’s thinking. Moments ago, Black had been barking as though his life depended upon it. The instant he became human again, his intelligence returned.

“Heh.” Suer gave a quiet laugh.

“I have no intention of handing you over to the Aurors.”

Under Black’s puzzled gaze, Suer took a crystal orb from his pocket and set it to one side. He drew his wand and cancelled most of the spells restraining Black, though his arms and legs remained firmly bound.

Suer had no desire to be caught unawares if Black suddenly became a dog and bit him. Rabies was not exactly easy to cure.

Nor could he assume that Black knew no wandless magic or would never seize Suer’s wand. Professor Snape deserved the credit for teaching him such caution.

During several training sessions, Snape had not even needed his wand to leave Suer with a wealth of painful experience.

“Let’s have a little talk, Mr Padfoot.”

Suer conjured a chair and sat down.

Freed from most of the ropes, Black shifted with a grimace until he found a more comfortable position. His bound hands and feet still refused to move.

“Could you… perhaps…” He gave a bitter smile and glanced at the ropes.

“No,” Suer refused without hesitation.

Black struggled several more times without success, then gave up.

After a moment, he asked hoarsely, “How did you know I was here?”

“The Marauder’s Map. Surely Mr Padfoot, who travelled here directly from Hogwarts, remembers it?”

Understanding dawned on Black. No wonder Suer had kept calling him Padfoot. That name belonged only to their old circle of friends.

The charm merely concealed Suer’s features; it had not truly removed them. He could therefore read every change in Black’s expression without difficulty.

Black’s face shifted between fury and painful nostalgia. After a long while, he asked in a rasping voice, “How do you know me? If you didn’t come here to turn me over to the Aurors, then…”

“Another good question, Mr Padfoot.” Suer snapped his fingers. “Professor Dumbledore sent me.”

Without the slightest pang of guilt, Suer pushed the responsibility onto Dumbledore. Black could hardly go and ask him.

“Dumbledore?” Black murmured, his face darkening. “He probably wants to send me back to Azkaban.”

“Quite the opposite, Mr Padfoot.” Suer chuckled. “Surely you don’t imagine Pettigrew’s ridiculous trick fooled everyone?”

“At the Halloween feast, do you believe you could have left Hogwarts unless Dumbledore allowed it? The Room of Requirement is no secret to Professor Dumbledore.”

Black raised his head sharply. Colour returned to his face, and his eyes came alive.

“You mean… Professor Dumbledore…” He swallowed with difficulty. “He knows I was framed?”

“No, Mr Padfoot.” Suer shook his head. “Until Peter Pettigrew is caught, you will never be an innocent man.”

“I know where he is. I know! He’s–” Black immediately struggled to raise his head, his voice becoming shrill.

“Shh. Quiet, Mr Padfoot. If I could find you, naturally I have also found Mr Pettigrew.” Suer remained perfectly calm as he continued borrowing Dumbledore’s authority.

“Dumbledore has prepared everything.”

“Thank heavens…” Black relaxed at once, believing every word. “If Dumbledore himself… himself… then James Potter and Lily Potter…”

Tears ran from the corners of his eyes.

“I had no intention of coming to see you at all,” Suer said with a cold snort. He had no desire to watch a middle-aged man weep in front of him.
Black’s voice faltered in confusion.

“You haven’t forgotten who you are, have you? A fugitive from Azkaban. Hogwarts has Dementors everywhere, and you know how sensitive they are to criminals.”

“Ah…” Black lowered his head in shame and moved his lips uncertainly. “I know. I know…”

“You know nothing!” Suer suddenly roared, leaving Black stunned.

“A Dementor nearly gave Harry its Kiss. If Dumbledore hadn’t intervened in time, you might have found nothing but a soulless body.”

“Harry? Is he all right? I only wanted to see him from a distance…” Black asked urgently.

Suer sneered. Ignoring the shame covering Black’s face, he continued.

“Harry? Is Harry the only person you care about?”

“More than a hundred Dementors invaded the Quidditch pitch. Many other pupils were nearly hurt because of you.”

Black remained dazed for a moment, then lowered his head again.

“I’m… sorry.”

“Sorry is not enough.” Suer’s voice abruptly became calm. The hoarse tones altered by magic carried a peculiar implication.

“What… what can I do? Anything… anything…”

“Oh, I’m pleased to hear that you still possess some capacity for shame.”

Suer rose. Every word until now had been preparation for this moment. Harry had Dumbledore watching over him and smoothing his path. What need did he have of Suer’s help?

Suer was here only to vent a little anger on behalf of his teacher and the girl he loved.

Black looked up in puzzlement. Then fear entered his eyes. The strange wizard had transfigured a wooden stick — no, more than a dozen of them.

In the silent Shrieking Shack, Suer’s hoarse voice made him sound exactly like the villain in an heroic tale.

He waved his wand, directing the wooden rods towards Black, who lay helpless upon the floor.

“Don’t worry, it won’t hurt very much, Mr Padfoot. I only want to…”

“Give you a beating.”

A storm of cracks and thumps filled the Shrieking Shack, accompanied by the occasional groan.

It was only a beating. After enduring so many at Snape’s hands, Suer naturally understood how much force to use.

Once one had been hit often enough, one learnt exactly how to inflict pain without causing serious injury.

Black ended up bruised and swollen, but his injuries were superficial. With a wizard’s constitution, he would recover in two or three days.

He lay on the floor with his eyes closed, apparently hovering between life and death.

Suer bent down, picked up the crystal orb and inspected it closely.

Oh, perfect. It had recorded every detail of the little wooden rods thrashing Black.

Satisfied, Suer put the recording orb in his shoulder bag and nudged Black with the toe of his shoe.

“That’s enough. Stop pretending.”

Black opened one eye. He had seen Suer retrieve the orb. Drawing a sharp breath through his teeth, he smiled bitterly.

“You certainly don’t hold back.”

“Do you admit defeat, Mr Padfoot?”

Black offered another bitter smile but said nothing.

Having vented his anger, Suer felt refreshed from head to toe. He gave a soft huff and took a bag of bread, appropriated from the common room, out of his shoulder bag.

With a casual spell, he conjured a cup of water.

He placed both beside Black.

“This is all the food I have. Please remain quietly here for the time being, Mr Padfoot. You know what will happen if you approach the castle again.”

“Harry was merely fortunate this time. Next time, matters may not end so easily.”

“You want to see what ultimately becomes of Mr Pettigrew, don’t you? Stay alive, Mr Padfoot.”

With that, Suer turned and retraced his route.

Just as he was about to disappear from the sitting room, Black called after him.

“Wait…”

Suer stopped.

“Thank you.”