Harry Potter: Westeros’s Plant Life
0215 The Truth

After a moment of pensive silence, Mr. Weasley's voice took on a melancholy tone as he gazed into the flickering flames of the small fireplace. "I never thought Black would turn out this way,"

He said with a deep, weary sigh. "When we were all younger, fighting in the war... things were so different then."

"Stop talking about this right now, dear," Mrs. Weasley said with sharp displeasure, her maternal instincts flaring to life as she shot her husband a warning look. "Harry's still here with us—don't put any more psychological pressure on him than he's already carrying. The poor boy has enough to worry about."

"It's alright, really," Harry shook his head. "I'd rather know the truth than be kept in the dark about something that concerns me."

Mr. Weasley leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped together as he looked at Harry with the utmost seriousness.

"I feel I should warn you about something else that's important, Harry. No matter how much you hate Black, if you ever encounter him face to face, you must run away immediately. Don't even think about trying to fight him or confront him. He's an extremely dangerous wizard with nothing left to lose."

"I understand, Mr. Weasley," Harry nodded solemnly, meeting his concerned gaze. "I know I'm no match for him. I'm not foolish enough to think I could defeat a fully trained adult wizard, let alone a vicious criminal with years of experience."

He certainly wouldn't be stupid enough to think he could take on someone who had escaped from the supposedly inescapable Azkaban prison. However, something in Mr. Weasley's wording puzzled him—he couldn't understand why Mr. Weasley seemed to assume he already hated Black.

What reason would he have to hate someone he'd never met?

"I'm genuinely glad you think that way," Mr. Weasley said, breathing a sigh of relief as his tense shoulders relaxed slightly. "I was afraid you might be blinded by hatred and do something dangerously reckless, but fortunately you're much calmer and more rational than I had imagined you might be."

'Hatred?' Harry thought to himself, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

Logically speaking, it should be Black who hated him—but what possible deep grudge could he have against someone he'd never even met?

The only thing he could think of was that perhaps he should hate Black for joining Voldemort's side and contributing to his reign of terror.

But there had been plenty of people who followed Voldemort in their evil deeds during the war—Death Eaters, sympathizers, and collaborators. He couldn't possibly hate them all individually, and most of them he didn't even know by name.

'Wait a moment!' Harry's eyes sharpened as a thought struck him like lightning. There must be some crucial details he didn't know about, some connection that would explain Mr. Weasley's assumption about his feelings toward Black.

To find out the truth without revealing his ignorance, Harry decided not to immediately say about his confusion. Instead, he would try to gather more information through careful questioning.

"Could you tell me some more information about Black?" Harry asked the two adults as nonchalantly as he could manage, though his heart was racing with anticipation. "You both seem to know him quite well, and I'd like to understand what kind of person I'm dealing with."

"We don't know as much as you might think," Mr. Weasley replied, looking at Harry with some surprise at the question. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he asked cautiously, "About Black—do you know that he used to be your father's friend?"

Harry felt his heart jump violently in his chest, as if someone had struck him with a punch. The water glass in his hands trembled slightly, and he had to concentrate to keep from dropping it.

This actually involved his father—his dead father whom he barely knew except through stories and photographs. This was something he absolutely hadn't expected.

He forced himself to remain externally calm. Shaking his head slightly, he managed to keep his voice steady as he said, "I've never heard anything about that connection. In fact, I only learned one thing from Professor Westeros—that Black most likely escaped from Azkaban prison specifically for me."

"That's absolutely terrible," Mr. Weasley was stunned for a moment, his face going pale as he processed this information. Then he said with a bitter smile, "I don't think now is the best time to discuss the details of this situation. Perhaps we should wait until—"

At that moment, Mrs. Weasley's face changed intensely, her complexion shifting from concern to alarm. "Stop talking right now, Arthur," She ordered sharply. "This is not appropriate."

However, words once spoken cannot be taken back, and the damage was already done. Harry already knew that Black had some significant connection to his father, and his mind was racing with possibilities and questions that demanded answers.

"Please tell me what happened, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, trying desperately to maintain a calm expression despite the storm of emotions building inside him. "I can't just rely on my imagination to understand what kind of person Black is or why he might want to harm me. Did Black do something terrible to my father?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry noticed that the expressions of both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley instantly froze.

It seemed his guess was pretty close to the truth, and the confirmation was written clearly across their faces.

Finally, after few seconds of tense silence, Mr. Weasley sighed deeply.

"Alright, Harry," He said slowly, "Your guess isn't wrong, and you'll have to know the truth eventually. Someone should tell you the real story, and it might as well be us."

He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Black and your father were once very good friends and trusted colleagues. They worked together on certain highly secret activities, fighting against Voldemort and his followers. You can be proud that your father was a true hero who risked everything for the cause of good."

Mr. Weasley's voice grew heavier as he continued. "Later, Black betrayed us all. He betrayed your father by secretly joining Voldemort's side. It was his act of betrayal that ultimately caused what happened to your parents that terrible night."

"After that, when Voldemort fell due to his failure to kill you, Black was also sent to Azkaban for blowing up a street full of innocent Muggles and for his betrayal against the wizarding world."

Harry listened to every word in complete silence, his face expressionless that gave no hint of the emotional hurricane raging within him. Even after Mr. Weasley finished speaking, he didn't respond immediately. The information was too overwhelming to process all at once.

"This is far too heavy a burden for any child to bear, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said softly, placing her warm hand on Harry's shoulder. Her face was filled with complex emotions—sympathy, regret, and deep maternal concern.

"No, it's... it's nothing I can't handle," Harry said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos in his mind. "Thank you for telling me this instead of hiding it from me like everyone else seems to want to do. I'm fine, really."

He wasn't fine—he was anything but fine—but he needed time to process this privately, away from their concerned gazes.

"Are you really alright, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice filled with skepticism and worry. Her motherly instincts were screaming that something was wrong, even if she couldn't put her finger on exactly what.

"It's okay," Harry repeated, then stood up from the sofa. "I think I should go back to my room now. Thank you for everything, and goodnight."

"Oh, wait just a moment," Mrs. Weasley said hurriedly, grabbing Harry's arm gently before he could leave. She pressed a small, cool bottle into his hand. "Calming draught, Harry. Remember to drink it before you go to bed—it'll help you sleep peacefully and keep the nightmares away."

Back in his small room, Harry collapsed onto his bed, and he stared up at the ceiling with sightless eyes.

Although he had appeared calm and composed in front of the Weasleys, his heart certainly wasn't calm. He felt like his heart was about to leap out of his chest.

'Sirius Black...' He thought. 'So that's how it was... So that's the truth of it all! Shameful, despicable traitor!'

Harry immediately felt a surge of anger rising in his chest like a tide of molten lava.

No wonder everyone said Black's target was him—it turned out Black and his father had such a tragic past.

Now there was naturally only one choice before him: revenge!

Of course, not now. Not yet.

Although Harry was consumed with anger, he hadn't completely lost his reason or his survival instincts. With his current level of magical skill and experience, dealing with an ordinary adult wizard probably wouldn't be an insurmountable problem, but someone like Black, a fully trained criminal wizard with years of experience and nothing left to lose—he wasn't confident about facing such an opponent.

He had to become stronger!

For the first time in his life, Harry felt such an urgent, desperate desire to improve his magical abilities.

"Breathe..." he told himself, taking a deep, shuddering breath and murmuring the words aloud to the empty room. "Calm down... now is not the time for rash actions. Think clearly."

To stabilize his chaotic emotions and hopefully find some peace, Harry uncorked the small bottle Mrs. Weasley had given him and drank the calming draught in one gulp.

The liquid was slightly bitter but not unpleasant, and slid down his throat like liquid moonlight.

The magical draught was remarkably effective. Within moments, Harry felt a strange, artificial calm spreading through his body like warm honey, starting from his stomach and radiating through his limbs. His racing heart began to slow, and the thoughts of anger and betrayal lifted slightly from his chest.

The sound of rain outside became distant and soothing rather than ominous, and the outlines of objects in the room began to blur and soften around the edges. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and finally he fell into the darkness of dreamless sleep.

Early the next morning, Harry opened his eyes to pale sunlight coming through the window of his room.

He rubbed his forehead carefully—despite the calming draught, he hadn't slept as well as he'd hoped and he felt a dull ache behind his eyes.

"Harry?" A familiar voice called from outside his door, accompanied by a gentle knock. "Time to get up, dear. We need to leave soon."

"Coming," Harry called back, his voice still rough with sleep. He quickly scrambled out of bed and hurriedly began putting on his clothes.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to find Mrs. Weasley standing in the narrow corridor rather than one of her sons.

"I was afraid you'd spend the whole night thinking about Black and what we told you," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice soft with worry. "You're alright, aren't you? You look a bit pale."

"Oh, I'm fine, really," Harry said, forcing what he hoped was a convincing smile. "The calming draught helped a lot. Thank you for that."

Over the next half hour, Harry began hurriedly packing his luggage. His trunk was already mostly organized from the previous evening, but he needed to add his new purchases from Diagon Alley and make sure he hadn't forgotten anything important.

In exactly thirty minutes, they would be leaving for King's Cross Station and the journey back to Hogwarts.

Mr. Weasley had prepared two Ministry cars for the trip—he would drive one himself, while the driver of the other car was someone Harry didn't recognize.

During the drive through London's busy streets, Harry was sitting between Fred and George in the back seat of the first car. The twins were in typically high spirits, chattering away about their plans for the new school year and speculating about which professors they could successfully prank without getting expelled.

Despite everything weighing on his mind, Harry couldn't help but relax slightly as he listened to their familiar banter. Their irreverent humor and infectious enthusiasm provided a distraction from the dark thoughts that filled his mind.

Yes, thinking about Black constantly was useless and counterproductive. He hadn't even actually seen the man yet, and dwelling on revenge fantasies would only make him more anxious and less prepared for whatever was to come.

But even as he tried to focus on the twins' jokes and stories, Harry couldn't entirely push away the nagging thought that when he did eventually encounter Black, he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't immediately whip out his wand and cast the most destructive spell he could think of, regardless of the consequences.

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