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They had invited Snivellus.
And not him.
Sirius was extremely unhappy.
He had little interest in a Dursley family gathering, but he wanted to be with Harry.
So he turned to Harry.
"Harry, I..."
"Sorry, Mr. Black. It is a family gathering."
Harry's answer was merciless. His displeasure was almost overflowing.
When Sirius had pointed his wand at Vernon, Harry's favorable impression of him had dropped to the lowest point.
As for this man who had not appeared for more than ten years and had suddenly popped up, Harry had no reason to give him a friendly face.
His parents' chosen godfather?
His parents were gone. Was that not whatever Sirius claimed?
Clearing Sirius's name had not been because Harry wanted to help him. It was because he wanted Peter to receive the punishment he deserved.
Sirius looked as if he had been struck hard.
'Why can Snivellus go, but I cannot?'
Snape felt indescribably pleased. Even his voice held a hint of satisfaction.
"Mr. Black, freshly released from prison, I believe we should be leaving. If you have no other urgent business, do not interfere with our family gathering."
He emphasized the words family gathering.
Sirius's anger shot up.
"Snivellus, do you want a fight?"
He provoked Snape openly. "I will hang you upside down, just like back then, with the spell you invented!"
"There is no second Lily here to help you now!"
The moment Snape heard Sirius, especially the words hang, back then, and Lily, his face darkened.
That incident was one of the memories he least wanted to recall.
From his wide sleeve, he drew his wand.
Thirteen and a half inches.
Birch.
Dragon heartstring.
"Mr. Dursley, give me two minutes. I need to deal with some rubbish."
His tone was slow and measured, but anyone could hear the anger pressed beneath it.
Seeing Snape move, Sirius became delighted. He twirled his wand.
He would make Snape regret this.
"All right," Vernon replied, watching the two with curiosity.
He had never seen wizards fight before.
Honestly, he hoped Snape would win. Black was truly unpleasant.
The answer came quickly.
A short while later, Sirius, who had just been boasting, was hanging upside down over King's Cross, frozen stiff, his eyes wide with disbelief.
What a brainless gentleman.
His memory of Snape was still stuck in the past.
He thought Snape was at roughly the same level as him and that if he pushed hard, he might even win.
Unfortunately, Sirius had wasted twelve years in Azkaban without practicing even half a spell. Snape had not wasted those twelve years.
He had become a famous Potions master in the wizarding world, and his spellwork was at an elite level. He had not even used potions to deal with Sirius.
The difference between them was like a professor thrashing a student.
There was no suspense.
Vernon looked disdainfully at Sirius, who was hanging upside down.
He had thought the man might be dangerous.
In the end, he was just a small-time thug.
He probably could not beat Dudley.
No, he probably could not beat Harry.
That thought flashed through Vernon's mind.
At Harry's current level, Sirius really might not be able to defeat him.
Although Snape had hung Sirius up and given him a beating, recalling certain memories left his face icy. Unhappiness was written all over it.
Still radiating unhappiness, Snape followed Dudley and the others into Mr. Dursley's new car.
Yes, another new car.
This one was much larger than the previous ones and could seat eight people.
Because he was in a bad mood, Snape sat in the last row. As a half-blood wizard, he did not actually reject Muggle transportation.
Poor Sirius was still hanging upside down when Dudley and the others left.
By then, King's Cross was closing after the day's train services ended.
As the doors slowly shut and the lights went out, the entire station sank into darkness.
Sirius spent an unforgettable night that way.
Back at Hogwarts.
With the holiday's arrival, almost all teachers and students had gone home. Looking across the school, only a few people who treated Hogwarts as home remained: Dumbledore, McGonagall, Trelawney, Madam Pince, and Filch. Hagrid lived in his hut.
The enormous castle, without its usual liveliness, had become completely quiet. Even the ghosts were unwilling to wander through the empty corridors.
Filch did not need to patrol until midnight, nor did he need to worry about students sneaking out.
He could hold Mrs. Norris beside the fire and enjoy the rare peace.
But beneath that peace, there was a trace of loneliness, like an old man with no family coming to visit.
Professor McGonagall had gone to rest early. Partly because she was older and did not have as much energy as before, and partly because she would visit Hogsmeade early the next morning to pay respects to her late husband.
In the library, Madam Pince carefully wiped every book and placed them back on the shelves by category.
In the teachers' quarters, Trelawney stared obsessively at a crystal ball, trying to see the future within it. She seemed to fail, so she poured herself tea and stirred the leaves with her finger, trying to discover secrets in the messy residue.
She seemed to fail again.
'I am the descendant of the great seer Cassandra Trelawney. I can do it. I can see the future. I...'
"I see death!"
Trelawney said it with delight, as if she had truly seen something.
In truth, the crystal ball in her hands looked no different than before. It reflected only her own face.
Dumbledore was also holding a crystal ball.
At that moment, he was staring at it with unfocused eyes. Unlike Trelawney, his gaze carried a trace of memory and longing.
After a long while, he sighed softly and put the crystal ball away.
This was no ordinary crystal ball.
It was a glass prophecy sphere.
Inside it was a prophecy.
Prophecy.
The most mysterious thing in the wizarding world.
It had been for a prophecy that Voldemort had struck down the Potters, only to die under that same prophecy himself.
But this prophecy sphere had nothing to do with that one.
Dumbledore had received it three years ago, the day before Harry and the others entered Hogwarts.
It had been sent by an old friend with seer blood.
The letter had come from...
Nurmengard.
Once the base of a certain organization, now a prison as infamous as Azkaban.
For decades, it had held only one wizard.
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