Peter stepped into the headmaster’s office, scanning the room in wonder. The chamber was a large hollow sphere, decorated with paintings and portraits of all the previous headmasters of Hogwarts. In the center stood the Headmaster’s desk, behind which a tall window overlooked the lake, shimmering under moonlight and starlight, with the magnificent silhouette of Hogwarts rising from its edge.
On the desk lay his round spectacles, a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and a letter marked with the seal of Azkaban.
Peter glanced around to check if anyone else was present. Seeing no one, he leaned forward, trying to peek at the letter.
Dear Professor Alexander Flamel,
I, Steven Rick, the Guardian of Azkaban, am writing to inform you that a grave danger has set its sights on the halls of Hogwarts. It pains me to report that Edward Black has escaped from Azkaban.
This morning, when we discovered his cell empty, panic spread through the fortress. The only trace he left was a single line carved into the wall: “I am coming for the Headmaster.”
We still have no understanding of how he managed to escape. Some prisoners claim that Edward had been planning this for months, speaking to himself at night.
If you notice any irregularities at Hogwarts, please contact us immediately. I have arranged for the Dementors to guard the school gates. Rest assured, they will not—and when I say this, I mean it—interfere with your students’ education.
Your well-wisher,
Steven Rick, Head Guardian of Azkaban
“It’s unwise to read materials that do not belong to you, Mr. Harrow.”
Peter spun around to find the headmaster standing in the doorway. He had clearly been there for some time.
“But,” the headmaster continued gently, “I suppose a curious mind like yours could not resist looking at such troubling news.”
“I—I’m sorry, sir,” Peter stammered. “I didn’t mean to. But this is… alarming. Why didn’t you tell anyone at school? The newspapers haven’t mentioned anything either. And who is Edward Black? Why is he after you?”
The headmaster smiled faintly, taking his seat. “Well, those are the questions I expected you to ask. To answer them: the teachers have known about this since the beginning of the term. I didn’t inform the students because I didn’t want them burdened with matters that do not concern them directly.
“As for Edward Black—yes, he was once a student here. Brilliant, but troubled. He became a ruthless monster who deserved Azkaban. His escape is a sensitive issue for both the public and the Muggles. That is why the Ministry asked the media to stay silent. Now, why is he after me? Because I played a role in sending him there.”
“Ah! So this is the man you discussed with Professor Lincoln that night at Hogsmeade… which means Black may already be here?”
“We cannot be certain,” Flamel replied. “Which is why I asked Azkaban to send Dementors. They are stationed in the Forbidden Forest, far from the school grounds. And before you ask—they will not harm any student. You are safe, all of you. But enough of that for now, Mr. Harrow. Why are you here in my office tonight?”
Peter sighed. “Because I fought with Smith.”
“No,” the headmaster corrected softly. “Because you were the one who did not hide your wand when I stepped in. Smith concealed his, but you stepped forward and took responsibility.”
“I’m sorry, Professor. I should have been in my dormitory. It won’t happen again.”
“Be sorry for breaking curfew, yes,” Flamel said. “But don’t be sorry for taking responsibility. That is nothing to regret.”
Peter hesitated. “I just thought… I was being accused because…”
“Because what?”
“Because I’m a Slytherin.”
The headmaster leaned forward, his expression warm. “Being a Slytherin does not decide who you are, Peter. It is not our nature that defines us, but our choices. And you made a brave, selfless choice tonight. That tells me far more about you than your House ever could.”
Peter smiled, his perspective shifting. “Thank you, sir.”
“It’s late,” Flamel said kindly. “Return to your dormitory and get some sleep.”
“Good night, Professor.”
But before Peter could open the door, the headmaster spoke again.
“Edward Black… is the reason you all suffered.”
Peter turned back.
“I think you have the right to know what happened,” Flamel said quietly. “Fifteen years ago, Edward Black—the son of Regulus Black and a widow from the Gaunt village—came to Hogwarts. His father deserted him at birth, so few in the Black family even knew he existed. His mother hoped Hogwarts would make him a better wizard. Edward was quiet, solitary, always studying. One of the brightest students we’d seen.
“Until, in his fifth year… everything changed.”
The headmaster stopped, emotion tightening his features. He stood and opened a tall wardrobe, retrieving a Pensieve.
“This is a Pensieve, Peter. I need you to see the rest. I… cannot bring myself to say it.”
He drew a thin, glowing strand of memory from his temple and dropped it into the basin. With a nod, he signaled Peter to lean in.
Inside the Pensieve
Peter found himself in a tall hall with midnight-blue walls. A platform stood in the center, surrounded by chairs holding Ministry officials. On the platform sat a handsome Slytherin boy—Edward Black—his hands bound.
Professor Flamel was seated in the corner, looking as if he had been crying for days.
A short wizard with a high-pitched voice began the trial.
“Trial number 55/356: Edward Regulus Black. Do you confess to involvement in the murder of Grace Flamel?”
The words struck Peter like lightning. Professor Flamel’s fists clenched; his face grew red.
Edward looked at the headmaster, then back at the officials. “I take full responsibility for the murder.”
Flamel broke down in tears.
Guards seized Edward, escorting him away. As he left, he gave Flamel a chilling look—cold, triumphant—before smirking.
The memory dissolved.
Back in the Present
Peter surfaced from the Pensieve to find Headmaster Flamel weeping at his desk.
“He murdered my daughter, that beast…” Flamel sobbed. The portraits whispered among themselves, watching solemnly.
Peter stepped forward and sat beside him, offering his handkerchief.
“She was just a little girl,” the headmaster said, voice trembling. “Always talking about her friends, always smiling… I never imagined such a fate for her.”
“The Dementors will catch him, sir,” Peter said quietly. “I’m sure of it.”
“I hope so,” Flamel whispered. “Because if they don’t… I will. After her death, the headmaster before me banned the entire Slytherin House. They believed the house had produced too many dark wizards. But I refused to accept that. My Grace saw good in everyone. And boys like you remind me that she was right. Promise me you will never let me down, Peter.”
“I promise, Professor,” Peter replied firmly.
Flamel pulled him into a weary, grateful embrace, then gently sent him back to his dormitory.
*******************************************
Peter told everything to Stewart and Alison in the Great Hall during breakfast.
“Really? That guy killed Flamel’s daughter? And he still allowed Slytherin to be restarted?” Alison exclaimed, stunned.
“Yeah,” Peter replied. “His daughter was a kind girl. He wanted to honor her principles.”
“Alright, alright—I don’t want to talk about this sad stuff,” Stewart said quickly. “Tell me what happened with Smith! Did he puke?”
Peter snorted. “He tried to hit me with some flying objects. Can you imagine? Fighting that with actual duelling curses?”
The trio burst into loud laughter.
When breakfast ended, it was time for Defence Against the Dark Arts. As usual, Slytherin had the class alone. Peter was practically buzzing—he loved outsmarting Professor Lincon.
“Alright, quiet everyone!” Professor Lincon called as he entered. The chatter died instantly.
“You may remember, on our very first day, I made you face a Boggart that turned into a Dementor for all of you. Today, I believe you are ready to face that fear again. I will teach you a spell that can not only repel Dementors, but control them, dominate them—defeat them.”
“The Patronus spell, Professor?” Harper White asked.
“No,” Lincon replied. “A Patronus is only as strong as the witch or wizard casting it. But all of you—every single one of you—are Slytherins, and you share a common Patronus. One that rules above all others. One that many fear. Its eyes alone can send you to heaven. Can you guess who that is?”
“A Basilisk, Professor!” Stewart answered proudly.
“Excellent! Ten points to Slytherin.” Lincon grinned. “But we will not be summoning it with the Patronus charm. No, there is another spell—a secret spell I’ve known for years. Powerful. Dangerous. Difficult to master. But I believe each of you can.”
Something twisted uneasily in Peter’s stomach. He sensed something wrong—something familiar.
“I won’t tell you the spell,” Lincon said. “I’ll show you.”
The classroom fell absolutely silent.
He stepped back from the Boggart’s wardrobe, raised his wand, and the doors burst open. A hooded figure drifted out—a Dementor. At once, every light in the room snuffed out. A cold, crushing dread filled the classroom; several students gasped in terror.
Professor Lincon strode forward fearlessly. He pointed his wand directly at the Dementor and shouted:
“Basilisko!”
The word struck Peter like lightning. He had heard it before—somewhere important.
A massive serpent of brilliant green light burst from Lincon’s wand. It was enormous, beautiful, terrifying. The Basilisk Patronus lunged at the Dementor. The creature shrieked and tried to resist, but it was no match. It fled back into the wardrobe on its own—slamming the doors shut behind it.
The Basilisk dissolved into sparks, and the room’s lights flickered back to life.
The class erupted in awe and excitement—everyone except Peter, whose pulse was pounding. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
As soon as class ended, Peter sprinted to his dormitory. He tore through his stack of books until he found the diary. Sitting on his bed, he flipped through the pages frantically.
And then he saw it—glowing in his mind like fire.
“Basilisko.”
A chill crept down his spine. Facts tumbled into place:
Edward Black was the brightest student of his year.
Edward Black was back at Hogwarts.
He had been spotted in Hogsmeade—the very same day he sat with Professor Lincon for tea.
Lincon wandered the corridors late at night—searching for something.
Searching for… a diary?
The portraits had seen a grim man in the Room of Requirement.
Edward’s father abandoned him.
Lincon’s father abandoned him.
Edward was from the Gaunt village.
Lincon was from the Gaunt village.
It couldn’t be.
Could Professor Lincon be Edward Black?
There was only one way to know.
Peter carried the diary everywhere that day. Before his last class, he peeked into the staff room and watched Lincon leave for his lecture. Peter slipped inside silently, placed the diary on Lincon’s table, and sneaked out.
His mind was so distracted during Potions that he barely heard a word. The moment class ended, he rushed out before Stewart or Alison could ask a thing.
He arrived near the staff room just in time to see Lincon enter. Peter pressed himself against the wall next to the window, peeking inside.
Lincon sat down. His eyes immediately fell on the diary. Peter watched the professor freeze—then rise slowly, excitement spreading across his face. He picked up the diary reverently, looked around, and hurriedly stuffed it into his coat. He had barely sat down again when the other teachers entered.
Peter’s heart hammered in his chest.
That evening, Stewart and Alison finally found him in the Great Hall during dinner.
“Where were you?” Alison demanded. “Why did you rush off after Potions?”
Peter stared blankly at his plate, still in shock.
“Peter?” Stewart pressed.
Peter finally spoke, voice low and trembling. “I found the owner of the diary. And I need both of you to stay absolutely quiet.”
Stewart and Alison exchanged a confused look.
Peter swallowed hard.
“Professor Lincon is Edward Black,” he whispered. “And the diary… was his.”
Comments
Post a Comment