44. Cat, Rat and Dog
The four of them stood frozen beneath the Invisibility Cloak, horror etched on each of their faces. The last streaks of sunset cast a deep, bloody light across the long, shadowed grounds. Then, behind them, a wild howl pierced the silence.
“I can’t believe it,” Hope choked out, her hand trembling over her mouth.
“Hagrid…” Harry murmured, his voice barely audible. He instinctively started to turn back—but Ron, Hope, and Hermione grabbed at his arms, stopping him.
“We can’t,” Ron said quickly, his face ghost-pale. “He’ll be in even worse trouble if they find out we were with him…”
Hermione’s breath hitched, shallow and uneven. “How–could–they?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “How could they?”
“Come on,” Ron urged, his teeth chattering. They moved back toward the castle, slow and careful under the Cloak, trying not to make a sound.
The light was fading fast. By the time they reached open ground, night had fallen like a curtain around them.
“Scabbers, keep still,” Ron hissed, gripping the front of his robes. The rat was squirming violently against his chest. Ron stopped short, trying to shove Scabbers deeper into his pocket. “What’s the matter with you, you stupid rat? Stay still—OUCH! He bit me!”
“Ron, shhh!” Hermione whispered. “Fudge could come out any second—”
“He won’t—stay—put—!”
Scabbers was completely frantic now, writhing and twisting, desperate to escape Ron’s grip.
“What’s gotten into him?” Hope asked, eyes narrowing.
But then she saw it—slinking toward them through the dark, low to the ground, wide yellow eyes gleaming.
“Crookshanks,” Harry breathed.
Hermione let out a desperate whimper. “No, no, go away, Crookshanks! Shoo!”
The cat was unfazed, padding closer.
“Scabbers—NO!”
Too late. The rat slipped from Ron’s fingers, hit the ground, and bolted. In a flash, Crookshanks launched after him.
Without thinking, Ron flung off the Cloak and dashed after them.
“Ron!” Hope shouted, tearing the Cloak off herself as she sprinted behind him.
“Hope!” Hermione called out, panicked.
She and Harry exchanged a look, then flung the Cloak aside and tore after their friends, the fabric trailing behind like a silver flag. They could hear Ron’s footsteps pounding ahead and his yells echoing in the dark.
“Ron!” Hope shouted again, breathless.
“Get away from him—Scabbers, come here—!” Ron’s voice rang out. There was a loud thud.
Hope reached them just in time to see Ron clutch Scabbers to his chest. Crookshanks lunged, but she grabbed the cat mid-air, holding him back.
“Gotcha!”
Harry and Hermione skidded to a stop, nearly tripping over Ron and Hope. Ron was sprawled across the grass, cradling Scabbers. Hope was kneeling beside him, arms wrapped tightly around a struggling Crookshanks.
“Ron, Hope—back under the Cloak,” Hermione panted. “Dumbledore, the Minister—they’ll be back any second—”
But before anyone could move, a low growl rumbled through the air. Soft, heavy footsteps thudded toward them.
Hope furrowed her brows confused, she knew that silhouette. The same dog she’d seen by the Black Lake.
Harry reached for his wand—but it was too late.
With a powerful leap, the giant black dog slammed into him. He hit the ground hard, air knocked from his lungs, a flash of fur and teeth filling his vision.
The dog rolled off from the momentum, growling as it turned to strike again. Harry tried to scramble up, dazed and gasping.
Hope and Ron shot to their feet. The dog lunged again—Ron shoved Harry aside, but its jaws caught Ron’s outstretched arm.
“NO!” Hope screamed, reaching out as Harry grabbed the dog’s fur.
It was no use. The creature dragged Ron like he weighed nothing, hauling him across the ground toward the Whomping Willow.
Hope ducked low, trying to weave between the branches as they whipped and cracked around her like angry whips. She was almost through when—crack—a thick branch slammed hard against the side of her head.
The impact sent her crashing to the ground.
For a second, she couldn’t move. The world tilted and spun, her vision pulsing in and out of focus. Everything sounded muffled, like her ears had been stuffed with cotton. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what just happened.
Her hand flew to the back of her head, and when she pulled it back, her fingers were sticky—dark red in the fading light. Her stomach turned.
The ringing in her ears grew louder. Her heart was pounding too fast, her breath shallow and uneven. She could barely hear her name being shouted—maybe Harry, maybe Hermione—but the words sounded far away, like they were coming from underwater.
She forced herself to sit up, fighting the dizziness. Everything felt unsteady—her limbs shaky, her head pounding like a drum. Her vision blurred again as she looked up, realizing she was now just a few feet from the Whomping Willow’s massive trunk.
And Ron—he was slipping out of sight, his leg the only thing visible, hooked desperately around a root.
Then came a sharp, awful crack.
Hope flinched. That had to be his leg.
She didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.
Wincing, her hand still pressed to her bleeding head, she pushed herself to her feet, stumbled once, then lunged forward—diving headfirst into the dark hollow beneath the tree.
Hope slid down a steep, earthy tunnel, bumping against roots and rock. At the bottom, her knees hit hard-packed dirt. Gritting her teeth, she pulled her wand from her pocket.
“Lumos,” she whispered, her wand lighting up the dark.
She knew this passage. It was the one from the Marauder’s Map—the one that led to Hogsmeade.
With her head still pounding and her body aching, she pushed forward, crouched low, breathing hard. Each step was agony. But her mind stayed locked on Ron. On that dog. On the confusion swirling in her head—why? That dog hadn’t been like this before. He had seemed kind. Gentle, even.
What had changed?
Hope staggered on. The tunnel began to slope upward. It twisted—and there, through a small break in the wall, she saw it: light.
She crept toward it. A room lay just ahead.
The place looked abandoned. Paper peeled from the walls. The floor was stained and cracked, as if someone had torn it apart. Every bit of furniture lay broken or overturned. Boards covered the windows.
Hope’s stomach churned. Whether it was from her head or fear, she wasn’t sure. She climbed through the opening, blinking in the dim light.
The room was silent. But to the right, a door hung open, leading into shadows.
She hesitated. Then noticed a wooden chair near her, one leg ripped clean off. Huge bite marks gouged the frame.
She stepped into the hallway as quietly as she could, her footsteps soft on the dusty wood. At the top of the crumbling stairs, a clean trail shone across the grime—something had been dragged.
At the landing, she whispered, “Nox,” and her wandlight vanished.
Only one door was open.
Holding her breath, she crept forward, wand tight in her grip—then burst through the door.
“Ron!” she cried.
He was on the floor beside a tattered four-poster bed, clutching his leg. It stuck out at an awful angle.
“Oh, your leg—” Hope gasped, rushing to him.
“Your head,” Ron said, eyes widening. He stared at the blood-soaked patch of hair behind her ear.
“I’m fine,” she lied. Her skull throbbed relentlessly. “Where’s the dog?”
Ron pointed with a shaking hand.
Hope followed his gaze—and froze.
The dog was there. But it didn’t stay a dog.
Hope’s stomach twisted as the massive, shaggy creature began to change. Bones shifted, limbs reshaped. In its place stood a man.
Filthy, gaunt, with matted hair down to his elbows. His eyes burned from deep hollows. His skin was stretched taut across sharp cheekbones—like a walking corpse.
Sirius Black.
“You followed,” he said, voice rough, amused. “Figured you would. Had to help your friend.”
“I figured you'd follow,” Sirius said, his voice hoarse from disuse but carrying a strange steadiness. “Come to help your friend.”
Ron recoiled, dragging himself backwards with one arm. But Sirius was already moving. In two swift strides, he crossed the room and snatched Ron’s wand from his grip.
“Give that back!” Ron shouted, lunging clumsily, his broken leg buckling beneath him.
Hope’s hand flew to her own wand, eyes narrowing. “Don’t come any closer,” she warned, her voice trembling just slightly.
But Sirius didn’t stop. He raised Ron’s wand and flicked it with a practiced motion. “Expelliarmus!”
Hope’s wand shot from her hand before she could even brace herself, clattering to the floor near the door.
Black’s eyes flicked to her, his eyes studying her carefully. He looked at her differently. Not with malice—something else.
“That looks like a nasty blow,” he said, motioning to her head. There was something almost… concerned in his voice.
Ron threw his arm out in front of her. “Stay away!” he shouted, though it came out as more of a rasp. He gritted his teeth, trying to stand, shielding her.
“Don’t put weight on that leg,” Sirius said oddly softly. He didn’t move any closer. Instead, he gave a tired sigh and stepped back toward the doorway.
“I expect the other two will be along any second.”
Hope’s stomach turned. She prayed Harry and Hermione would go get help—but she knew them better than that.
They’d be here soon. Probably any second.
She glanced at Ron. He looked as scared as she felt. Were they going to die? Would Sirius kill them, like he did those Muggles? Finish off Hermione and Harry next?
She straightened, trying to look brave. Though her voice trembled. “You’re never going to get away with this.”
Sirius blinked. Then smiled—wide, yellowed teeth flashing. “Courageous, I see,” he said, a low chuckle in his throat. “I’d expect nothing less from you. Your mother had that same protective bite.”
Hope’s face crumpled.
“Don’t talk about my mother,” she hissed.
The grin faded. “I was sorry to hear what happened,” he said quietly.
“I said don’t talk about her!” she snapped again.
Just then, the sound of quick paws echoed in the hall. Crookshanks bounded into the room, leaping onto the dusty four-poster bed.
Hope’s chest tightened.
Harry and Hermione would be right behind him.
And they were.
And then the door burst open. Harry stormed in, wand raised. Hermione followed close behind, eyes wide with fear.
Harry and Hermione dashed across the room.
“Ron—are you okay?” Harry asked breathlessly.
“Oh, Hope—your head,” Hermione gasped when she caught sight of her, eyes widening at the blood matted in her hair.
“Get out—now. You both need to go,” Hope said quickly, her voice tight with panic. The pounding in her skull felt like she was being hit with a sledge hammer, but she forced herself to stay focused. They had to get out before it was too late.
“Where’s the dog?” Harry asked, frowning.
“Not a dog,” Ron groaned, teeth clenched in pain. “Harry, it’s a trap—”
“What—?” Harry began, confused.
“He’s the dog… he’s an Animagus…” Ron’s voice trailed off as he looked past Harry’s shoulder.
There was a sharp snap as—Sirius Black—shut the door behind them.
“Expelliarmus!” he rasped, aiming Ron’s wand.
Harry and Hermione’s wands flew from their hands. Black caught them effortlessly. His eyes, hollow and wild, locked onto Harry as he stepped closer.
“I thought you’d come help your friend,” he said hoarsely, his voice rough from disuse. “Your father would’ve done the same for me. Brave of you—not to run for a teacher. I’m grateful… it'll make everything much easier…”
Harry looked like he’d been slapped. The mention of his father hit him like a curse. Hope saw it, the rage rising in him—raw, violent, uncontained. His face twisted, and for the first time, Hope saw what Harry looked like when hatred overpowered fear.
He surged forward, fists clenched.
“No, Harry!” Hermione gasped, grabbing him from one side.
“Harry, don’t!” Hope cried, clutching his other arm.
Ron limped into place in front of Harry, jaw tight with pain. “If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too,” he said fiercely. His voice trembled, and he swayed, but the fire in his eyes didn’t dim.
Black’s expression shifted. Just for a second, something flickered behind those hollow eyes.
“You really should lie down,” he said to Ron, oddly soft. “You’ll damage that leg even more.”
“Did you hear me?” Ron repeated, clinging to Harry to stay upright. “You’ll have to kill all four of us!”
“There’ll only be one murder here tonight,” Black said, and his thin lips stretched into a grin.
“Why’s that?” Harry snarled, trying again to push past them. “Didn’t care last time, did you? Didn’t mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew... what’s the matter? Gone soft in Azkaban?”
“Harry!” Hermione whimpered.
“HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!” Harry roared—and broke free from them.
Hope reached for him too late.
He lunged. In his fury, he forgot about spells, forgot he was just thirteen. All he knew was the burning need to make Black pay.
Hope’s heart was in her throat.
Everything erupted at once—Hermione screamed, Ron shouted, Hope yelled out without knowing what she even said. There was a flash as the wand in Black’s hand went off, sparks missing Harry’s face by inches. Harry held on, fists flying, striking again and again, punching anywhere he could reach.
Black's free hand wrapped around Harry’s throat.
“No,” he hissed. “I’ve waited too long—”
Harry choked. His glasses were askew. Hope could barely breathe herself. Hermione’s foot swung out of nowhere and cracked against Black’s side. He let go with a grunt of pain.
Ron flung himself at Black’s wand hand.
Hope didn’t think—she dove toward them, grabbing for Black’s wrist, using all her weight to yank it back. Her head screamed in protest, vision spinning, but she didn’t stop. Not while Harry was still in danger.
A clatter—the wand hit the ground.
Harry broke free of the pile and scrambled toward it—
“Argh!”
Crookshanks launched himself at Harry, claws digging into his arm.
“GET OFF!” Harry shouted, throwing the cat off. But Crookshanks darted toward the wand.
“NO YOU DON’T!” Harry bellowed, kicking Crookshanks aside and snatching up his wand. He spun, wand raised.
“Get out of the way!” he shouted.
Hermione was already moving, breathless and lip bleeding. She scooped up the other wands from the floor. Ron crawled to the bed and collapsed, pale green and shaking.
Hope stumbled beside Hermione, barely keeping herself upright. The pain in her head was unbearable, like someone was driving a nail through her skull. Her vision blurred, but she kept her eyes on Black.
He was sprawled against the wall, chest heaving. His bruised face tilted upward, watching Harry advance, wand aimed directly at his heart.
“Going to kill me, Harry?” he whispered.
Harry stood over him, wand unwavering.
“You killed my parents,” Harry said, voice trembling.
Black didn’t look away.
“I don’t deny it,” he said quietly. “But if you knew the whole story—”
“The whole story?” Harry repeated, his voice sharp and furious. “You sold them to Voldemort. That’s all I need to know.”
“You’ve got to listen to me,” Black urged, desperation cracking through his voice. “You’ll regret it if you don’t… you don’t understand—”
“I understand plenty,” Harry growled. “You never heard her, did you? My mum, begging him not to kill me… and you did that… you did it—”
Then a blur of ginger fur flew past.
Crookshanks leapt onto Black’s chest and curled up over his heart, protective and still.
“Get off,” Black muttered, trying to push him off.
Crookshanks hissed and dug in deeper. He turned his yellow eyes up at Harry. Hermione let out a dry sob behind Hope.
Harry raised his wand higher.
Hope froze. Her breath caught as Harry’s wand twitched.
Was he really going to do it? Kill him?
Harry’s grip tightened. The whole room was still. Even the air felt too heavy.
Then—footsteps. Thudding, fast, growing louder.
Someone was running upstairs.
“WE’RE UP HERE!” Hermione screamed. “SIRIUS BLACK—QUICK!”
Black jerked in surprise, nearly knocking Crookshanks off. Harry’s hand clenched tighter.
The door burst open, sparks flying.
Professor Lupin barreled into the room, his wand raised, face ghost-white.
Hope gasped—a broken, shaky sound. Relief washed through her so fast it made her dizzy. Her dad was here. It was going to be okay.
His eyes swept the room. Ron bleeding on the bed. Hermione clutching wands by the wall. Hope, trembling, head bleeding, barely upright. Harry with his wand fixed on Black. And then Black himself—bruised, bleeding, still.
“Expelliarmus!” Lupin shouted.
Harry’s wand flew from his hand. Hermione’s, Ron’s, and Hope’s followed. Lupin caught them all, then strode to the center of the room, eyes locked on Black—who still had Crookshanks curled over him like a shield.
“Are you alright?” Lupin asked, his eyes trained on Hope, his brows furrowinf in concern at her head.
Hope nodded rapidly her head spinning at the movement.
Harry’s face fell. The fury in him seemed to drain out, leaving only disbelief. He hadn’t done it.
He’d failed.
And then Lupin’s voice—quiet, but shaking.
“Where is he, Sirius?”
Hope’s brow creased. What? Who was he talking about?
Black didn’t move for a long second. Then slowly, he raised one thin arm and pointed… at Ron.
Harry looked at Ron. Ron blinked in confusion.
Hope stared, her heart pounding faster. Why was he pointing at Ron? What was going on?
Lupin stared, brow furrowed. “But then... why hasn’t he shown himself? Unless... unless you switched... without telling me?”
Black nodded, slowly, never breaking eye contact with Lupin.
“Dad?” Hope stepped forward, heart thundering. “What’s going on?”
But her voice died.
Lupin was helping Black up. He hugged him. He embraced him like a brother.
Harry blinked. His face shifted—shock, confusion, then rage.
Hope’s heart cracked. Her whole body felt like it was folding in on itself. This had to be a trap. It had to be a trick. Her dad—he’d never… he wouldn’t...
“I don’t… What… you… I…” she stammered, the words crumbling in her dry throat. Her knees almost gave out.
“I DON’T BELIEVE IT!” Hermione screamed.
Lupin turned to her.
“You—you—” she stuttered, pointing at him, wild-eyed.
“Hermione—”
“—you and him!”
“Calm down—”
“I didn’t tell anyone!” Hermione shouted. “I’ve been covering for you!”
Hope turned slowly to Hermione. Covering for what? Surely she couldn't mean…
“Hermione, listen to me, please!” Lupin shouted.
Harry’s voice rose, choked with fury.
“How could you?” Harry shouted. “How could you do this to Hope? To me? I trusted you! And all this time you’ve been his friend?”
“You’re wrong,” Lupin said softly. “I haven’t been Sirius’s friend for twelve years. But I am now… let me explain…”
“What do you mean…” Hope whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. Her world felt like it was unraveling.
“NO!” Hermione shouted. “Harry, don’t trust him—he’s been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too—he’s a werewolf!”
Hope froze.
Her stomach dropped. The room tilted. Her breath caught, and she couldn’t exhale. Her ears buzzed.
Ron and Harry both turned to stare at her.
“No way,” Ron said weakly. “Hope would have told us.”
“Hope?” Harry looked at her, confused… hurt.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Tears streamed freely now, hot and stinging.
Everyone was staring at her.
Everyone.
Lupin, pale but calm, stepped forward.
“Not up to your usual standard, Hermione,” he said gently. “One out of three, I’m afraid. I have not been helping Sirius into the castle, and I certainly don’t want Harry dead…”
He paused. Something flickered across his face.
“But I won’t deny that I am a werewolf.”
Ron made a shaky attempt to push himself up again but collapsed with a cry of pain. Lupin stepped forward quickly, concern written all over his face.
“Get away from me, werewolf!” Ron gasped.
Hope froze.
Her heart stopped, breath caught mid-inhale. The words echoed in her ears like a slap. That was it. Her greatest fear, finally spoken aloud. Her chest tightened so fast she thought she might crack open. They knew. They’d hate her. Be disgusted by her. Because she was the daughter of a werewolf.
Lupin stopped mid-step, as if Ron’s words had physically struck him. His face didn't change much, but Hope could see the hurt flash across his eyes before he turned to Hermione.
“How long have you known?” His voice was calm, but there was something under it—something tight, strained.
Hermione hesitated. Her eyes flicked quickly to Hope before returning to Lupin.
“Ages,” she whispered. “Since I did Professor Snape’s essay…”
Lupin gave a faint, hollow laugh. “He’ll be thrilled,” he said dryly. “He set that assignment hoping someone would connect the dots. Did you figure it out from the lunar chart? Or was it the Boggart turning into the moon?”
“Both,” Hermione said softly.
He let out a heavier breath and looked at her with something like reluctant admiration. “You’re the cleverest witch of your age I’ve ever met.”
Hermione looked down. “I’m not,” she murmured. “If I’d been cleverer, I would’ve told someone.”
Hope shrank in on herself, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso as though she could hold herself together with sheer force. The tears that had been falling moments ago had stopped, but her face still felt damp, her heart sore. She stared at the floor, blinking hard. She couldn’t bear to look at anyone. Her mind kept flashing back to the looks on their faces. The horror. The disbelief. She imagined George’s face, what it would look like when he found out. That thought hurt the worst.
“They already know,” Lupin said quietly. “At least, the staff do.”
Ron gawked at him. “Dumbledore hired you knowing you were a werewolf? Is he mental?”
“Some of the staff thought so,” Lupin admitted. “He had to work very hard to convince certain teachers that I’m trustworthy—”
“AND HE WAS WRONG!” Harry shouted, his face flushed with rage. “YOU’VE BEEN HELPING HIM!”
He pointed straight at Sirius, who had sunk onto the edge of the bed, one hand over his face, shoulders shaking. Crookshanks jumped into his lap and purred like none of this chaos mattered. Ron pulled back, dragging his injured leg away from them.
Ron edged away, dragging his injured leg.
“I have not been helping Sirius,” Lupin said firmly. “If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll explain. Look—”
He pulled apart the four wands and tossed each one back to its owner. Hope’s wand rolled to the floor at her feet. She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her arms were still locked around her middle as she stared down, trying to make sense of anything—everything.
“There,” Lupin said, tucking his wand back into his belt. “You’re armed, we’re not. Now will you listen?”
“If you haven’t been helping him,” Harry snapped, glancing furiously at Sirius, “then how did you know he was here?”
“The map,” Lupin said. “The Marauder’s Map. I was in my office looking at it—”
“You know how to work it?” Harry cut in, suspicious.
“Of course I do,” Lupin said, brushing off the question. “I helped write it. I’m Moony—that’s what my friends used to call me.”
“You wrote it?” Harry asked, stunned.
“The important part,” Lupin continued, not missing a beat, “is that I was watching the map tonight because I had a feeling you four might sneak out to see Hagrid before Buckbeak’s execution. And I was right, wasn’t I?”
He started to pace, slow and deliberate, stirring little clouds of dust with his boots.
“You might’ve been wearing your dad’s Cloak, Harry—”
“How do you know about the Cloak?” Harry interrupted.
“I saw James use it more times than I can count,” Lupin said, waving a hand like it didn’t matter. “But even if you’re under an Invisibility Cloak, you still show up on the map. I watched you walk to Hagrid’s. And then I saw something strange.”
He stopped for a second, eyes on Harry.
“You were joined by someone else.”
“What?” Harry frowned. “No, we weren’t.”
“I thought the map was broken,” Lupin said, shaking his head. “I didn’t understand it. How could he be with you?”
“No one was with us,” Harry insisted.
“But then I saw another dot—Sirius Black—moving fast toward you. I watched him collide with your group, and then I saw him drag two of you into the Whomping Willow—”
“One of us!” Ron barked.
“No, Ron.” Lupin’s voice softened. “Two.”
He stopped pacing again and looked directly at Ron.
Hope blinked. Her brain mind was reeling, and she had lost all sense of what was happening.
“Do you think I could see the rat?” Lupin asked, his tone level.
Ron squinted. “What’s Scabbers got to do with anything?”
“Everything,” Lupin said. “Please.”
Ron hesitated, clearly unsure, then reached into his robes. Scabbers came out struggling violently, his claws scrabbling against Ron’s skin. Ron grabbed his tail to stop him from escaping. On the bed, Crookshanks hissed softly.
Lupin stepped closer. His whole body was tense, his eyes locked onto the rat like he’d finally cornered a ghost.
“What?” Ron asked again, holding Scabbers protectively. “What does my rat have to do with anything?”
“That’s not a rat,” Sirius said hoarsely.
“What’re you talking about?” Ron shot back. “Of course he’s a rat—”
“No, he’s not,” Lupin said, low and steady. “He’s a wizard.”
“An Animagus,” Sirius added. “By the name of Peter Pettigrew.”