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HRHL# CHAPTER 255
🕑 Added 2025-07-29 16:52:10 +0000 UTCAt Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, Dumbledore treated Harry to a generous scoop of nut-crusted ice cream, while he himself indulged in one as well. The two sat contentedly on a bench outside the shop, savoring their treats.
“I believe an ice cream like this is just the right sort of indulgence for you,” Dumbledore said with a cheerful chuckle. “The Wizengamot trials can be dreadfully tedious, as I’m sure you’ve come to realize.”
Harry glanced up at Dumbledore, then down at the headmaster’s nearly finished ice cream, comparing it to his own barely touched portion. I suspect you’re the one who really wanted ice cream, Professor Dumbledore, he thought.
But being the tactful young man he was, Harry didn’t call Dumbledore out. Instead, he played along, diving into his ice cream with gusto.
“Oh…”
After finishing his own, Dumbledore’s gaze drifted to a child nearby, who was holding an enormous deluxe ice cream. It was piled high with raspberry and blackcurrant sauces, sprinkled with colorful fruit bits, looking utterly irresistible.
Harry polished off his ice cream in a few quick bites. Noticing the longing in Dumbledore’s eyes, he stood up, headed back into the shop, and returned with two more ice creams—matching the boy’s extravagant treat.
“I think you’re quite right, Headmaster,” Harry said, handing one to Dumbledore. “A bit of ice cream does wonders to shake off the gloom of the courtroom.”
Dumbledore blinked in surprise, then accepted the ice cream with a delighted smile.
The two lingered on the bench outside the shop, enjoying their second round of ice creams, before finally returning to Hogwarts.
Back at the school, Dumbledore gathered the professors in his office to announce the Wizengamot’s final verdict. When it was revealed that Sirius Black had at last been cleared of all charges, Lupin sank into a chair, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white.
As one of Sirius Black’s closest friends, Lupin was overjoyed that his friend’s name had been cleared.
As for Peter…
There was pain, of course, but Lupin felt far more satisfaction. A traitor like that—a rat who’d betrayed his friends—belonged in Azkaban, where he could rot.
Snape, however, was visibly displeased. He stood apart, glaring coldly at the celebrating professors, with no intention of joining in. He cared little for Black’s fate—in fact, he’d have preferred Sirius to remain wrongfully imprisoned, his soul sucked dry by Dementors.
In Snape’s eyes, aside from James Potter, no one was more loathsome than Sirius Black. Even Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew combined couldn’t rival Black’s place on his list of despised enemies.
Harry noticed Snape’s displeasure but chose not to comment. The tangled grudges of the previous generation were too complicated to unravel. What could he say? Silence was the wisest choice.
“The pressing matter now,” Dumbledore addressed the professors, “is to find Sirius Black. He’s currently wandering the outskirts of Hogwarts, which is dangerous for him. The Forbidden Forest is home to many perilous magical creatures, and the beasts tended by Professor Scamander are hardly docile. It would be unfortunate if Sirius were to encounter them.”
“I reckon he already has,” Snape interjected, his lips curling into a sneer. “Think about it, Dumbledore—how has Black been surviving out there all this time? I wouldn’t be surprised if his savage nature has already wreaked havoc on the forest’s creatures.”
As he spoke, Snape’s mouth twisted into a predatory grin, as if he could already picture Black suffering some grim fate.
“A keen intuition, Severus,” Lupin said, his mood surprisingly buoyant, even playful enough to jab at Snape. “It seems your sharp instincts have gone awry once again.”
“Oh, so you admit you’ve been aiding Black all this time?” Snape shot back, his voice dripping with cold sarcasm. “What can I say? The two of you are inseparable, like an old married couple. And that big-headed Potter was always the third wheel, wasn’t he?”
“Hey!” Harry protested, bristling at Snape’s insult to his father. To speak so rudely about James in front of his son was beyond mere discourtesy.
If not for the weight of their generation’s feuds, Harry might’ve already flung a harmless jinx Snape’s way.
“I’ve told you before, Dumbledore,” Snape continued, his tone icy, “there’s a traitor in our midst. And it seems the traitor’s finally revealed himself. Lupin’s the one, isn’t he?”
“Severus!” Dumbledore’s voice was firm, cutting off Snape’s venomous insinuations. “Remus is our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, not some traitor.”
“Oh, very well,” Snape replied airily, though inwardly he congratulated himself on his persistence. Brewing Lupin’s Wolfsbane Potion with an indescribably foul taste was one of his proudest achievements. Another was nearly disfiguring “big-headed Potter” with Sectumsempra—though, to avoid expulsion, he’d reluctantly cast the countercurse.
With the next task set—finding Sirius—Harry left the headmaster’s office.
He returned to the Great Hall and took a seat beside Cassandra.
“Oh, you’re back?” Cassandra said, pushing a plate of chips toward him. “How was the Wizengamot? Fun?”
“It was a trial, Cassandra,” Harry replied wearily. “You know I was there to deal with the real traitor who betrayed my parents, not for a sightseeing trip.”
“That’s a shame,” Cassandra said, undeterred. “So, that rat Animagus—did they sentence him to death?”
“They don’t do death sentences much these days,” Harry said. “Even the likes of the Lestranges and other Death Eaters only got life in Azkaban.”
Harry felt a pang of disappointment, but it was expected.
“So…” Cassandra sliced a piece of steak with elegant precision, chewed thoughtfully, and dabbed her lips with a napkin. “What’s your plan?”
“I’m satisfied with the verdict,” Harry said formally. “I respect the decisions of the Wizengamot and the Minister.”
“Oh, that’s dreadfully boring,” Cassandra said with a cold laugh. “I know you, you sneaky boy. You’ve got some clever little plan, don’t you?”
“No plans here,” Harry said, dipping a chip in ketchup and offering it to her.
“I’m not your owl, Potter,” Cassandra said, giving him a frosty look.
Harry shrugged and ate the chip himself.
It wasn’t that Harry had suddenly become bold. A century ago, Cassandra had occasionally demanded he feed her snacks like chips—things that might dirty her hands.
Cassandra glanced behind Harry but didn’t see Veratia. “So, where’s your little shadow of a girlfriend?” she asked, her fingers idly tapping the table.
“Veratia’s not my girlfriend,” Harry said defensively. “Can you stop assuming things about people’s relationships?”
“Oh, heh.” Cassandra’s laugh was cool, but she seemed pleased with his response.
Harry was tempted to ask about Veratia’s whereabouts, but his instincts warned him that a direct question would rile Cassandra. So, ever the strategist, he decided to take a subtler approach.
“Besides,” he said, his eyes glinting, “I was the one who went to the Ministry with Dumbledore for Pettigrew’s trial. Just me and the professor. If you want to know where Veratia is, shouldn’t you know more than I do?”
“Her movements are always a mystery,” Cassandra said with a dismissive wave. “Maybe she’s off in the Muggle world, attending one of her quirky little classes.”
Since even Veratia’s roommate didn’t know her whereabouts, Harry assumed she was indeed back in the Muggle world for lessons. He went to bed with a heavy heart, resolving to ask Professor Trelawney, with her Seer bloodline, for help the next day.
As it turned out, divination was indeed useful for finding people. He’d struggled to locate Cassandra before, only succeeding thanks to Gellert’s prophecy—or rather, a hint from a Sunflower Parrot.
With his plan set, Harry decided to consult Trelawney about Sirius the next day.
The following day, the third years had Divination with Professor Trelawney. Ever since she’d predicted Harry’s “grim omen,” most students dreaded her classes. Professor McGonagall had even declared Trelawney a fraud who loved predicting doom.
But a chosen course had to be completed, so they trudged up the stairs to the dim, stuffy tower classroom. Every small table held a glowing crystal ball filled with pearly white mist.
Harry glanced around but didn’t see Trelawney. Before he could search further, Ron pulled him to a seat.
“Guess what, Harry?” Ron whispered excitedly. “Mum’s letting me get a cat and an owl. Blimey, she’s… she’s just the best, I’ve got to admit.”
Hermione, sitting nearby, turned away, barely suppressing a retort about Mrs. Weasley wanting pets to “chase off the rat stench” around Ron.
“That’s great,” Harry said with a grin. “At least you won’t have to worry about rats anymore.”
“Merlin, don’t remind me,” Ron groaned, his face paling. “Everyone’s been teasing me, saying I kept a fugitive as a pet. But at least I’m not the most embarrassing—Percy, that big-headed prefect, is ahead of me.”
“Yeah, when the roof caves in, the tall ones take the hit,” Hermione quipped.
“But crystal balls…” Ron cautiously scanned for Trelawney, a habit honed from badmouthing Snape. “I thought we weren’t starting those until next term. Seems she just teaches whatever she fancies.”
“Come on, it’s better than tea leaves, isn’t it?” Harry countered. “We don’t need to drink another cup and have her tell us, ‘Oh, dear, there’s a big black dog—you’re doomed!’”
As he spoke, Harry mimicked Trelawney’s dramatic, terrified expression, leaning back for effect.
His impression was spot-on, and the nearby students burst into laughter.
“Hello, everyone!” Trelawney’s familiar, misty voice rang out as she emerged from the shadows, as was her custom.
She walked straight to Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Well done, dear—you’ve learned to mimic quite convincingly.”
The class erupted in even louder laughter.
“I’ve decided,” Trelawney continued, sitting down with her back to the fireplace, “that we should begin crystal ball lessons earlier than planned, so I’ve adjusted my schedule.”
She scanned the room as if searching for omens of death, a habit most students—including the usually respectful Hermione—found absurd.
“Fate has informed me,” she declared, “that your June exams will involve orbs, so I’m eager to give you ample practice.”
Hermione snorted derisively.
“Fate informed her,” she muttered to Harry. “As if she’s on a first-name basis with destiny. Is the Goddess of Fate her cousin or something?”
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
