( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓 ) — what happens in hogsmeade

Hogsmeade looked like a Christmas card. The little thatched cottages and shops were all covered in a layer of crisp, swirling snow; there were holly wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in the trees.

Evangeline shivered despite the luxurious fur coat thrown over her velveteen robes. Per his request, it was only her and Cassius heading up the street, heads bowed against the wind.

''Shall we go for a Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?'' Cassius asked, his teeth chattering. ''I expect the weather to only worsen from this point.''

Evangeline was more than willing; the wind was fierce and her hands were freezing, so they crossed the road, and in a few minutes were entering the tiny inn.

Inside, it was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy woman with a pretty face — Madam Rosmerta — was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

''I'll get the drinks, shall I?'' Cassius offered, taking Evangeline's coat.

''Yes, I will go and find us a table.''

She made her way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table between a frosty window and a handsome Christmas tree which stood next to the fireplace. Cassius came back five minutes later, carrying two foaming tankards of steaming Butterbeer.

''Merry Christmas, Evangeline,'' he wished, happily raising his tankard.

''Merry Christmas,'' she returned, giggling, ''but we will see each other at the Sacred Twenty-Eight Christmas Ball anyway, so may I now ask what has brought on this trip, just the two of us?''

''There is something I have been meaning to talk to you about,'' he admitted, ''and I was advised to do it in a . . . special way.''

''Proceed, I'm all ears.''

''You see, Evangeline—''

A powerful breeze ruffled her brunette locks. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened, welcoming Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick in a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak; Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic. 

The quartet of adults approached the table right beside theirs, grunting and sighing as they sat down. Madam Rosmerta was there almost instantly, their orders floating alongside her.

''A small Gillywater—''

''Mine,'' Professor McGonagall said.

''Four pints of mulled mead—''

''Ta, Rosmerta,'' Hagrid thanked.

''A cherry syrup and soda with ice and an umbrella—''

''Mm!'' Professor Flitwick exclaimed, smacking his lips.

''So you'll be the redcurrant rum, Minister.''

''Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear,'' Fudge beamed, ''lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us . . . ''

''Well, thank you very much, Minister.''

Madam Rosmerta marched away and back again in her sparkly turquoise high heels. Evangeline turned back to Cassius with an apologetic smile, embarrassed at the distraction.

''I apologise, Cassius. You were saying?''

''Never mind now,'' he sighed, glancing at the full table beside them. ''It must wait until Christmas, as you said.''

''If you are sure.''

''If I am being honest, Evangeline,'' he began, twisting the family ring on her middle finger, ''the matter you will be sure to find out soon is most likely the most confident decision I have made in my life so far.''

''I am glad to hear that,'' she smiled, ''whatever it is, I doubt I will be unsatisfied.''

''One can only hope.''

''So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?'' Madam Rosmerta's voice boomed.

Fudge's body twisted in his chair, as though he was looking for eavesdroppers. He nodded politely as he met eyes eyes with the two Slytherin pure-bloods sat a couple meters away. The Minister resorted to a quiet voice, but not quiet enough.

''What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?''

''I did hear a rumour,'' Madam Rosmerta whispered. ''Do you think Black's still in the area, Minister?''

''I'm sure of it.''

''You know that the Dementors have searched my pub twice?'' She informed, a slight edge to her voice. ''Scared all my customers away . . . it's very bad for business, Minister.''

''Rosmerta, m'dear, I don't like them any more than you do,'' Fudge said uncomfortably. ''Necessary precaution . . . unfortunate, but there you are . . . I've just met some of them. They're in a fury against Dumbledore — he won't let them inside the castle grounds.''

''I should think not,'' Professor McGonagall spoke sharply. ''How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?''

''Hear, hear!'' Professor Flitwick squeaked.

''All the same,'' Fudge demurred, ''they are here to protect you all from something much worse . . . we all know what Black's capable of . . . ''

''Do you know, I still have trouble believing it,'' Madam Rosmerta said thoughtfully. ''Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought . . . I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd have said you'd had too much mead.''

''You don't know the half of it,'' said Fudge gruffly, ''the worst he did isn't widely known.''

''The worst? Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?''

''I certainly do.''

''I can't believe that. What could possibly be worse?''

''You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta,'' Professor McGonagall murmured, ''do you remember who his best friend was?''

''Naturally,'' she replied, with a small laugh. ''Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here — ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!''

''Precisely, Black and Potter, ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course — exceptionally bright, in fact — but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers.''

''I dunno,'' Hagrid chuckled, ''Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer their money.''

''You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers! Inseparable!'' Professor Flitwick chimed in.

''Of course they were,'' Fudge uttered, ''Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends, nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then, they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course — you can imagine how the idea would torment him.''

''Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?''

''Worse even then that, m'dear,'' Fudge rumbled, dropping his voice even lower. ''Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who isn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm.''

''How does it work?''

''An immensely complex spell,'' Professor Flitwick informed, ''it involves the magical concealment of a secret inside a single living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find — unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting-room window!''

''So Black was the Potter's Secret-Keeper?''

''James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself . . . and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potter's Secret-Keeper himself.''

''He suspected Black?'' Madam Rosmerta gasped.

''He was sure that somebody close to the family had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements. Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who.''

''But James Potter insisted on using Black?''

''He did. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potter's deaths. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled, and this left Black in a very nasty position. His Master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colours as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it — ''

''Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!'' Hagrid shouted loudly, silencing half the bar.

''Shh!''

''I met him!'' Hagrid growled. ''I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an' James' house after they was killed! Jus' got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an' his parents dead . . . an' Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin' motorbike he used ter rude. Never occured ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily an James' Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR!''

''Hagrid, please! Keep your voice down!''

''How was I ter know he wasn' upset abou' Lily an' James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou'! An' then he says, ❛Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him—❜ Ha! But I'd had me orders from Dumbledore, an' I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunts an' uncle's. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. ❛I won't need it anymore❜, he says. I shoulda known there was somethin' fishy goin' on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin' it ter me for? Why wouldn' he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace, Dumbledore knew he'd bin the Potter's Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin' ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was after him. But what if I'd given Harry to him, eh? I bet he'd've pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes' friend's son! But when a wizard goes over ter the dark side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to 'em anymore . . . ''

A long silence followed Hagrid's story, until Madam Rosmerta spoke with a sort of satisfaction.

''But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him the next day!''

''Alas, if only we had,'' said Fudge bitterly. ''It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew — another of the Potter's friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself.''

''Pettigrew . . . that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?''

''Hero-worshipped Black and Potter,'' Professor McGonagall informed. ''Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I — how I regret that now . . . ''

''There, now, Minerva,'' Fudge consoled, ''Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eye-witnesses — Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later — told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, ❛Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?!❜, and then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens . . . ''

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and spoke thickly. ''Stupid boy . . . foolish boy . . . he was always hopeless at duelling . . . should have left it to the Ministry . . . ''

''I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't've messed around with wands — I'd've ripped him limb from limb.'' Hagrid growled.

''You don't know what your talking about, Hagrid,'' Fudge chastised. ''Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I — I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him . . . a heap of blood-stained robes and a few — a few fragments—''

Fudge stopped speaking abruptly, followed by the sound of five noses being blown.

''Well, there you have it, Rosmerta. Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black's been in Azkaban ever since.''

''Is it true he's mad, Minister?''

''I wish I could say that he was. I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man — cruel . . . pointless. Yet, I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark, there's no sense in them . . . but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me, it was unnerving. You'd have thought he was merely bored — asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the Dementors seemed to be having on him — and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door, day and night.''

''But what do you think he's broken out to do? Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?''

''I daresay that is his — er — eventual plan,'' Fudge responded evasively. ''But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing . . . but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again . . . ''

''You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the Headmaster, we'd better head back up to the castle,'' Professor McGonagall pointed out.''

One by one, the adults got to their feet. The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the four disappeared.

''Perhaps this conversation should stay between us, Cassius?''

''Most agreed. What happens in Hogsmeade, stays in Hogsmeade.''