novelraw Chapter 230: What Did You Do to Tom!
Chapter 230: What Did You Do to Tom!
Saturday.
The weather was particularly nice—clear skies, cool air, and a gentle breeze—perfect for the long-awaited Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.
By now, the news that Harry Potter was flying on a Firebolt had spread throughout Hogwarts. Nearly everyone was excited, and to grab a good spot, many students arrived at the Quidditch pitch early that morning.
"We should get going too," Ron said after finishing breakfast in the Great Hall. "Otherwise all the good spots will be taken!"
"You guys go ahead," Harold said. "I have something else to do. I need to stop by the kitchens."
"You're still hungry?" Seamus asked.
"No, it's something else." With that, Harold left the Great Hall and headed toward the staircases.
Ron, Seamus, Neville, and the others made their way out of the castle toward the Quidditch pitch.
…
"I told you we should've come earlier!"
About ten minutes later, Ron arrived at the pitch only to find the front rows completely packed. He couldn't help grumbling.
"It's your fault for insisting on bringing that rat," Seamus muttered. Ron immediately fell silent.
Just as they were about to leave earlier, Ron suddenly remembered Scabbers was still in the dorm—and with Hermione's cat missing lately, he refused to leave without the rat. That back-and-forth had delayed them, making them among the last students to arrive.
"Should've just left you behind," Seamus mumbled under his breath.
"It's fine! Watching from the back is the same," Neville quickly said. "Besides, this match will be over fast, right?"
"True," both Seamus and Ron nodded. After all, this was the Firebolt's debut. Ravenclaw's Seeker was riding… a Comet? Or a Cleansweep?
In their eyes, the match would be over the moment Harry spotted the Golden Snitch.
"Still, we should get as close as we can," Ron said seriously. "If we're too far back, Harry might not even hear us cheering."
The group nodded in agreement and began pushing their way forward. Eventually, just as the match was about to start, they managed to secure a spot near the middle.
At that moment, Harold finally arrived, slowly climbing the stands. Ron turned and spotted him.
"Sorry, Harold!" he shouted. "We couldn't save you a seat!"
"No worries. This spot's fine," Harold said, settling in at the outermost edge of the stands.
Though it was the farthest from the field, it was also the highest point in the audience, offering a full view of the pitch and everything around it.
Madam Hooch's whistle echoed across the field.
"And the game begins! Today's biggest excitement—Harry Potter flying on a Firebolt, representing Gryffindor!" Lee Jordan's voice rang out, more thrilled than ever.
Especially when talking about the Firebolt, he launched into a never-ending stream of praise.
Even Professor McGonagall couldn't take it anymore and had to step in.
"Jordan, could you tell us something about the actual match?"
"Of course, Professor! Just providing a little background. And speaking of the Firebolt—"
"Jordan!"
"Right, Professor, right…"
…
Harold paid no attention to the game. From the moment it began, his eyes had been scanning the area beyond the pitch.
Finally, just as Lee Jordan announced the score—30 to 0—Harold spotted a shadowy figure near the southern mountain range.
"There… do you see that?" Harold suddenly said, pointing. Several nearby students jumped in surprise, not understanding who he was talking to.
Harold didn't explain. He turned and bolted.
The distance was a bit far, but Harold had his own transportation.
Mounting his broom, he flew quickly toward the place where he'd spotted Sirius.
When he arrived, Sirius—still in his black dog form—was pinned to the ground by a house-elf.
Upon seeing Harold, the elf looked up proudly and declared, "Master, Gulu caught it!"
"Well done, Gulu," Harold said, clapping. "You're the best house-elf I've ever seen."
"Thank you, sir! It is Gulu's honor!" The tennis-ball-sized eyes of the elf sparkled with delight as it jumped up and down with excitement.
"Anything else you need, sir?"
"No, that's all. I'll take it from here."
"At your service anytime, sir." The elf snapped its fingers and vanished.
Harold turned to Sirius with a smile.
"I knew you'd come to watch Harry's match. I was right."
"If it weren't for that house-elf appearing out of nowhere, you wouldn't have caught me," Sirius grumbled.
"Hardly 'out of nowhere.' That was a helper I arranged," Harold replied. "I told the elves I lost a pet—they were more than happy to help. You were avoiding me, so I had to get creative."
…
"I'm sorry."
After a moment of silence, Sirius suddenly spoke.
"What?"
"I don't know what you're planning… but I have to kill Peter," Sirius said. "I promised not to act before the holidays, and I kept my word. But I can't keep turning a blind eye."
His fists clenched tight, knuckles turning white. "He's like a Dementor—devouring my soul every second."
"Oh, don't worry about that," Harold said, waving his hand. "If you want to kill him, go ahead. I never said you couldn't."
"Huh?" Sirius blinked. "But… didn't you say you had some kind of plan?"
"That was before," Harold shrugged. "I've changed my mind."
He had once considered using Peter to locate Voldemort—especially while the Dark Lord was still weak.
But now, Harold had found something far more important. He no longer cared about Horcruxes or Voldemort's fragmented soul.
Along with that, Peter's life or death no longer mattered.
Even if Sirius didn't want revenge anymore, Harold would have hunted Peter down himself.
"Then why go through all this trouble to catch me?" Sirius asked, confused.
"Because of Tom," Harold replied. "What exactly did you do to him?"
…
(End of Chapter)