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"Sirius Black?"
Harry read the name on the wanted poster.
It wasn't the first time he'd come across the name. Among the students two years below him, there was a Sirius Black, the son of Headmaster Phineas Black.
Headmaster Black had five children: Sirius II, Phineas II, Cygnus, Belvina, and Arcturus.
Sirius, meaning "the Dog Star," was a common name in the Black family. As far as Harry knew, before his younger schoolmate Sirius, another Black family member had borne the name—likely a brother of Headmaster Black who had passed away long ago.
By that reckoning, his schoolmate must be Sirius II.
Harry knew a bit about the Black family. They typically named their children after stars, constellations, or galaxies. But the man on the wanted poster didn't look like an old man at all.
Could it be that someone else had named their child Sirius later on?
The man in the portrait was roaring, and Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen him somewhere before…
From a nearby parlor, two angry voices broke his thoughts—Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, arguing.
No, not arguing. Quarreling.
Harry hesitated. He wasn't one to pry into others' private matters, so after a moment's thought, he decided to head upstairs.
But then he heard his own name, and his curiosity drew him closer to the voices.
"…There's no point in keeping it from him," Mr. Weasley was saying heatedly. "Harry has a right to know. I tried to tell Fudge, but he insists on treating Harry like a child. Harry's thirteen now, and—"
And what? Harry wondered.
"Arthur, the truth will terrify him!" Mrs. Weasley shot back, unyielding. "Do you really want Harry carrying that kind of burden back to school? For heaven's sake, he's happier not knowing!"
"I'm not trying to make him miserable; I want him to be cautious!" Mr. Weasley retorted. "We all know Black is dangerous, Molly. They say Sirius Black's gone mad—maybe he has, but he's clever enough to escape Azkaban, something no ordinary person could do."
At this, Mr. Weasley's tone carried a hint of frustration—not directed at Mrs. Weasley, but at the Ministry of Magic.
"It's been three weeks, and no one's seen so much as a hair of Black," he continued. "I don't care what Fudge keeps telling The Daily Prophet. We're no closer to catching Black than we are to inventing a wand that casts spells on its own. The only thing we know for certain is what Black is after—"
Mr. Weasley turned his head and locked eyes with a rather embarrassed Harry.
"Harry," Mr. Weasley said, nodding. Mrs. Weasley greeted him as well.
"Uncle Arthur, Aunt Molly," Harry replied, still a bit awkward. After all, he'd just been caught eavesdropping.
Mr. Weasley walked over and clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Come with me for a moment, will you, Harry?"
Harry followed, and they stopped by the fireplace, standing near a pillar that shielded them from view.
Mr. Weasley placed both hands on Harry's shoulders and said gravely, "Harry, some people at the Ministry—even your Aunt Molly—would strongly object to me telling you this. But I believe you deserve the truth. You're in great danger. Very great danger."
"Great danger?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"Yes, great danger," Mr. Weasley repeated, glancing at the wanted poster of Black.
Harry caught his meaning. "Is this about the Black who's wanted?"
Mr. Weasley looked around to ensure no one was nearby before continuing. "How much do you know about Black?"
"I know he's a descendant of Headmaster Phineas Black, and he escaped from Azkaban," Harry said lightly.
"Do you know why?" Mr. Weasley pressed.
"Because the food in Azkaban isn't exactly gourmet?" Harry ventured hesitantly. He'd been to Azkaban; the place wasn't pleasant, to put it mildly. Even rats wouldn't linger there.
Besides, did someone need a reason to escape?
"Because thirteen years ago, you stopped You-Know-Who," Mr. Weasley said. "And Black was his loyal follower. We believe he broke out of Azkaban to come after you—to kill you. Do you understand, Harry?"
"I understand, Uncle Arthur," Harry said, nodding.
"So I need you to promise me you won't go looking for him," Mr. Weasley said, gripping Harry's shoulder. "Under no circumstances are you to seek him out."
Harry froze, confused. "Why would I go looking for him? For someone who wants to kill me?"
"Just…" Mr. Weasley changed the subject. "I'm a Gryffindor too, you know. I understand Gryffindors are the bravest, but I don't want you getting into trouble over some reckless act of courage. Alright, Harry?"
"I understand, Uncle Arthur," Harry nodded. "I won't go looking for him—Sirius Black, right?"
"Good lad," Mr. Weasley said, patting Harry's shoulder. "I knew you were a sensible boy, Harry."
After their conversation, Harry turned to find Fred and George crouched in the shadowy corner of the staircase landing, doubled over with laughter.
"What are you two up to?" Harry asked, approaching them, curious about what mischief the twins had cooked up this time.
As for Mr. Weasley's warning, Harry had only half-listened. He'd promised not to seek out Black, but that was because he had no time. He was too busy collecting mallow leaves to bother with some fugitive.
Even if someone told him Phineas Black himself had risen from the grave… well, Harry would probably go just to watch the chaos, to see his old classmates hurling Stupefy at Phineas's face.
He was sure even Dumbledore would sneak in a spell or two, despite both being Hogwarts headmasters.
Hearing Harry's question, Fred gasped between laughs. "Percy's throwing a fit. He can't find his Head Boy badge, but George and I thought it needed a little… improvement."
"The badge now says 'Big Head Boy,'" George added. "Because, you know, his head's massive, don't you think?"
Harry pictured Percy wearing a "Big Head Boy" badge and burst out laughing.
"So," Fred said, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders, "we hear you're being hunted. What's the deal? We only caught bits and pieces."
"It's just some guy named Sirius Black," Harry explained. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."
Harry avoided saying "Voldemort." He wasn't afraid of the name, but he knew others might flinch, and he didn't need to prove his bravery by making people uncomfortable.
"Now he's escaped Azkaban, and Uncle Arthur's worried he's coming after me. That's it."
"That's it?" Fred and George said in unison. "Well, that's pretty cool—but since you're being hunted, we thought we'd give you something fun."
"What kind of fun?" Harry asked, intrigued.
"Consider it an early Christmas present," Fred said with a grin, looking like a shady vendor as he glanced around and pulled a folded piece of parchment from his pocket.
"We don't need it anymore," George added, "but we didn't want our old friend to go to waste."
They led Harry to an empty room, carefully shutting the door behind them.
"Giving this up stings a bit," Fred said wistfully, patting the parchment with a look of heartbreak, as if parting with a lover.
"But just now, we decided you need it more than we do, Harry," George said.
"Is this some kind of magical item?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued. "I trust your taste—you two are the best pranksters I know. Did you get this from Zonko's?"
"Zonko's?" Fred gasped, feigning offense and pulling a face as if Harry had insulted him. "Explain, George."
"Well, Harry, back in our first year," George began, "we were young, carefree, and innocent—"
Harry snorted. He seriously doubted Fred and George had ever been innocent.
He remembered how, when Ron was little, they'd turned his teddy bear into a giant spider with a prank, giving Ron a lifelong fear of arachnids.
And then there was the time they'd burned a hole through Ron's tongue with another prank.
There couldn't be worse brothers out there.
Noticing Harry's skepticism, Fred backtracked. "Well, let's say we were more innocent then. We had a bit of trouble with Filch."
"We set off a Dungbomb in the corridor," George said. "For some reason, it upset him."
"Upset? Why?" Harry asked, curious.
"Because it hit his cat, that red-eyed thing," the twins said in unison. "So he dragged us to his office and started with his usual routine—you know, he's obsessed with that cat."
"He threatened to lock us up and make us scrub decks with our entrails…" Fred said dramatically.
"Come on, Fred, that's not Filch's line," George corrected sternly. "He just wanted to string our guts up to dry in the sun. He's not a pirate!"
Fred raised his hands in mock surrender, saluting. "Fine. Anyway, we couldn't help noticing a drawer in his filing cabinet labeled 'Confiscated Items, Highly Dangerous.'"
"You mean this?" Harry said, pointing to the parchment. "So you stole it? Right under Filch's nose?"
"George threw another Dungbomb to distract him," Fred said with a grin. "I yanked open the drawer and grabbed—this."
Fred patted the parchment proudly.
"It's not as bad as it sounds," George added. "We don't think Filch ever figured out how to use it, but he probably had an idea what it was, or he wouldn't have confiscated it."
"Do you know how to use it?" Harry asked, growing more curious.
"Oh, yeah," Fred said, grinning like a maniac. "This little beauty taught us more than all the teachers at Hogwarts combined."
"Let me see," Harry said.
The twins drew their wands and tapped the parchment in unison, saying, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Instantly, thin ink lines, like a spider's web, spread from where their wands had touched. The lines connected, crossed, and stretched to every corner of the parchment. Then, at the top, words appeared in large, curling green letters: Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present—The Marauder's Map.
Padfoot and Prongs?
Harry felt a strange familiarity with those names…
Wait.
Prongs?
A memory flickered—something he'd seen in his mother's memories through the Pensieve…
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