Lupin continued, "Even though I didn't get to be your godfather…"
"…if you don't mind, you could call me 'Uncle.'"
He hesitated, unsure if he should hug Harry. It seemed appropriate but also too forward, leaving him awkwardly frozen in place.
"I already have a brainless godfather to deal with," Harry said, his tone cool and distant.
Lupin gritted his teeth. "Hey, I said I just couldn't keep up with your logic!"
There was a faint tinge of disappointment in his voice as he trailed off.
Lupin was no longer the impulsive young Gryffindor who spoke his mind without restraint. He understood the underlying rejection in Harry's words, even if cloaked as a joke.
And, well…
What normal young wizard would willingly call a werewolf "Uncle"?
"Don't let Dumbledore know about Peter," Harry said gravely. "I'll come up with some excuse to keep him in the dark."
Lupin nodded and waved him off. "Go get some rest. And if you see Sirius on the map, let me know."
The two parted ways.
After walking a dozen steps, Harry suddenly turned back. "Oh, one more thing."
Lupin stopped, looking puzzled.
"Good night, and sweet dreams, Uncle Lupin," Harry said softly, his tone warm and kind.
Lupin froze in place. By the time he recovered, Harry had already vanished around the corner.
A disgruntled mutter came from one of the nearby portraits, snapping Lupin out of his daze. His nose tingled, and his eyes began to glisten.
That brat…
He really had his father's knack for being infuriating.
Still, there was no denying it—Harry also had James's mischievous streak. How could a Potter not be skilled in pulling someone's leg?
In the Gryffindor common room, Hermione had just finished her essay. She was struggling to start the second one, her eyes repeatedly darting toward the entrance.
Every time someone entered, she perked up with excitement, only to quickly deflate when it wasn't Harry.
By the thirty-seventh person, she silently counted.
Finally, Harry walked in.
She let out a relieved sigh and lowered her voice when he sat beside her. "Harry, you look... happy?"
Harry showed no reaction.
Ron, however, was baffled. He gawked at Hermione and then at Harry, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if his eyeballs might pop out of his head.
"Hermione, how can you even tell?"
He paused. "I don't mean anything by it, but Harry's expression hasn't changed at all. He looks the same as when he left earlier."
Hermione shook her head. "It's just a feeling."
"Lately, I've felt like Harry's been a bit tense, weighed down by something heavy."
"But now, it's like... he seems lighter?"
Her tone grew uncertain by the end.
"You're right; there was some good news," Harry admitted, nodding. He turned to Ron. "Have you decided on a new pet? I owe you one."
Ron opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione's eyes widened.
"Wait! Black—I mean, Sirius—is innocent?"
Harry nodded.
"But how? Thirteen years, and he never defended himself?" Hermione frowned. "Peter is still alive? But just knowing he's alive doesn't prove—"
"He confessed," Harry interrupted.
Hermione blinked.
"He just admitted it?" Ron asked, incredulous.
"It was through an Axii Sign," Hermione explained, tapping the table. "A Witcher technique. Of course, that's how he got the truth."
Ron's face twisted as he processed this, his features contorting in ways that seemed physically impossible.
"So... Scabbers is really an old man?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, and quite ugly."
Ron's face scrunched further.
"And filthy," Harry added with a deadpan expression.
Ron clutched his face, groaning in horror.
"He also claimed to be Ronnikins' most loyal companion," Harry said, clutching his chest dramatically.
Even Hermione nearly gagged at that.
"Stop, Harry, please," Ron pleaded. "I can't take it anymore!"
"Have you decided on a pet?" Harry asked again, dropping the theatrics.
Ron hesitated.
"Don't worry about my funds," Harry assured him. "Before term started, the Malfoys paid off their debts to me. Want to guess how much?"
"A thousand Galleons?" Ron guessed hesitantly.
Before Harry could answer, Hermione interjected, "Considering how popular those hair potions are—nearly every wizard uses them—I'd guess at least ten thousand Galleons."
She paused before cautiously adding, "Maybe even more?"
"Thirteen thousand Galleons," Harry confirmed with a nod.
"And that's just the Malfoy family. Dumbledore's list has the names of seven or eight other families."
Ron gave up trying to calculate and sighed. "That's... so much money."
"So go ahead, ask for what you want," Harry said, patting his shoulder encouragingly.
Ron nervously held up one finger. "A gray owl—just a normal one."
"I'll send Hedwig to the pet shop tomorrow," Harry promised. Then, with a pause, he added, "But for now, don't tell anyone about Scabbers."
Ron mimed zipping his lips, nodding solemnly.
Hermione, however, still looked puzzled. "Harry, I still don't understand. If Sirius is innocent, why would he stay in Azkaban for thirteen years?"
Harry's face remained stoic. "I confirmed it with Uncle Lupin—he's probably just stupid."
Hermione froze, clearly not expecting that explanation.
"That kind of stupidity isn't ordinary," Harry continued. "Maybe we can't fully comprehend it. Lupin was his classmate, so he'd know, but no sane person could describe that level of idiocy."
Hermione sighed, though her gaze flickered with curiosity. Harry had just casually called Lupin "Uncle" twice in a row.
Was that why Harry seemed a bit happier tonight?
After writing for a while longer, Hermione stretched, a yawn escaping her. "I'm heading to bed early tonight," she announced, bidding Harry a quiet goodnight before leaving with her books.
Ron stared at the common room clock, then back at Hermione's retreating figure. "That's Hermione? Really?"
"It's only ten-thirty!"
"She usually stays up past eleven—even in second year!"
Ron wasn't the only one surprised. Other Gryffindor students, including those in the upper years, were equally stunned.
Hermione Granger—Gryffindor's self-proclaimed nanny and the school's hardest worker—calling it a night so early?
What was the world coming to?
Harry shrugged. "Maybe she's just tired. She does have more classes than us, after all."
Ron nodded thoughtfully.
"I'm off to bed too. Don't stay up too late," Harry said, rising.
Ron gawked at his friend's retreating back.
What was going on today?
Had the sun risen in the west? Even Harry was going to bed early?
Ron hesitated briefly before turning back to his books. He wasn't tired yet, and rather than waste time, he figured he'd tweak his essay. Maybe he could revise some of his other assignments too.
The younger Gryffindors were even more bewildered.
Ron, who was usually the least studious of the trio, was now the only one staying up late to work?
What was happening to the Golden Trio?
As it turned out, that night was an exception.
The next morning, Ron was once again the last to get up. Hermione woke earlier but missed Harry, who had already returned from his morning training.
During the day, Harry continued exploring the Forbidden Forest.
Ron didn't insist on tagging along. Yesterday had satisfied his curiosity, and earning thirteen Galleons was more than enough for him.
There was no need to hold Harry back further—yesterday's progress had been slow enough with them in tow.
The trials of Gryffindor were far more important than any playful exploration.
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Powerstones?
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