fantasy novels Chapter 303 The Truth Revealed
Chapter 303 The Truth Revealed
Chapter 303 The Truth Revealed (5K) (1/2)
"Ugh—!" Sirius let out a painful groan, feeling that his entire right arm had lost all feeling, and a burning pain came from his shoulder, which must have broken the bone.
Worse still, the moment he was knocked away, the wand he had been holding tightly flew out of his hand, leaving a faint trail before disappearing into the thick fog a few steps away.
not good!
Sirius's heart sank.
He struggled to get up and fumble for his wand, but the sharp pain in his right shoulder made it almost impossible for him to exert any strength. The old wound in his chest where Peter had hit him was also aggravated by the violent fall, causing him to feel dizzy and his vision to go black.
From within the thick fog came faint but hurried footsteps, rapidly approaching him—it was Peter!
That persistent traitor has caught up!
Despair surged into my heart like an icy tide.
Am I going to collapse here?
To fall so close to the finish line?
Do not!
no way!
A strong will to survive and a thirst for revenge sustained him. He suddenly raised his head, his gray-blue eyes bloodshot, yet burning with an inextinguishable flame.
He can't give up here!
We haven't reached the final stage yet!
He hadn't chosen to transform before, partly because he needed to constantly look down to confirm the direction of the crucial arrow on his wrist, which he couldn't effectively identify in animal form; and partly because Animagus transformation itself wasn't without its costs, especially when the body was severely injured, forcibly transforming could worsen the injury or even lead to loss of control.
But now, with his wand lost and a powerful enemy closing in, he has no choice!
Just as Peter's figure was about to break through the mist and appear before him, Sirius stopped trying to find the wand and stopped trying to tough it out with his injured body. He took one last look at the arrow pointing on his arm, then gathered all his willpower and summoned his deepest instincts—
His body began to shrink and deform rapidly, black fur replaced his tattered clothes, his muzzle protruded forward, and he landed on all fours—in the blink of an eye, what lay on the ground was no longer the tall, scarred wizard, but a huge, lean, yet still imposing black dog.
Peter, disguised as a rat, darted silently through the thick fog, his pink nose twitching wildly as he locked onto the scent ahead—a mixture of blood and Blake's distinctive aura, along with the heavy, staggering footsteps.
He circled in a small arc, approaching his prey from the side and rear.
He could sense that Blake was badly injured and moving slowly, which presented him with a perfect opportunity!
He hid behind a frost-covered rock, the little mouse's body trembling slightly with excitement. Then, its body rapidly swelled and deformed—
Peter Pettigrew, dressed in rags and with messy hair, reappeared, raising his wand almost as soon as he took shape.
He couldn't see Blake's exact figure in the thick fog, but he didn't need to!
Using the location and sound he had locked onto in his rat form, he raised his wand in that direction, a cruel and impatient grin on his face, and whispered, "Crush to pieces!"
A blinding red light pierced through the thick fog.
The next second, Peter clearly heard the muffled sound of the spell hitting flesh, and Blake's uncontrollable groan of pain, followed by the sound of a heavy object hitting the ground!
Peter was overwhelmed with ecstasy!
It worked!
He hit it!
Blake was completely powerless to resist!
He was so excited he almost screamed, eager to rush forward, watch his enemy die, and perhaps even deliver the final blow, to savor the thrill of utter victory!
He strode forward, parting the thick fog, towards where Blake had fallen, his mind already conjuring images of his heroic return, receiving praise and reward.
However, when he broke through the last fog and his gaze fell on the place where the dying wizard should have been lying, he did not see the prey he had expected to be at his mercy.
It was completely empty!
There were only trampled weeds and a few fresh bloodstains.
Immediately afterward, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a huge, black figure flashing like a ghost at the edge of the thick fog to his side. It was clearly Black Animagus in his form, the black dog named "Bigfoot"! He only had time to see the lithe rear half of its body and the tip of its swaying black tail before the figure completely disappeared into the endless milky white fog.
Peter's ecstasy was like being doused with ice water, freezing instantly, then shattering into countless sharp fragments that pierced his heart with excruciating pain!
Why?!
Why can't you just obediently die?!
An uncontrollable, insane rage erupted from the depths of his heart, burning away all his reason and calculations!
That Blake!
That arrogant bastard who always puts himself above him!
Why is it always like this!
Why, of all times, could he escape with such severe injuries?!
Why can't they just disappear quietly and completely, thus fulfilling Peter's wishes?!
"Ah—!" He let out a sharp, piercing roar that was completely inhuman, an outburst of extreme anger and frustration.
He didn't have time to think about how Blake could transform despite being seriously injured, nor did he care that it might be a trap. All that remained in his mind was a crazy, stubborn thought: to chase after him!
Bite him to death!
Tear him to pieces!
We absolutely cannot let him live any longer!
Peter, like a puppet out of control, waved his wand and chased after the black dog frantically in the direction it had disappeared, ignoring everything else.
The huge black dog staggered forward in the thick fog, its steps becoming increasingly erratic due to the excruciating pain in its chest and the tear in its shoulder.
The dizziness from blood loss kept coming, and it breathed heavily, the white breath exhaled from its mouth and nose quickly merging into the surrounding milky white mist.
It knew it was about to give up; the frantic, persistent footsteps of Peter behind it were like a leech, growing ever closer.
Finally, its hind legs buckled, and its massive body could no longer support it. It fell sideways to the ground, crushing a patch of withered yellow shrubs.
It tried to struggle, its front paws scratching shallow marks on the cold ground, but it couldn't stand up again.
A low, painful whimper escaped the beast's throat, and its once sharp eyes were now clouded with weariness and despair.
The thick fog was suddenly parted, and Peter's figure appeared.
He was also panting heavily and covered in sweat, but his small eyes gleamed with extreme excitement as he stared intently at the black dog lying on the ground, unable to resist.
"Run! You damned beast!" Peter screamed, his voice ripped apart by excitement and running. "Go ahead and run! Look at yourself now? A real lame dog!"
He held up his wand and cautiously approached, his face a mixture of wariness and the cruel pleasure of an impending kill.
Just then, the black dog lying on the ground began to tremble and contract violently, its black fur disappeared, and its bones made a teeth-grinding clattering sound.
The process seemed unusually difficult and slow, as if each transformation was tearing open a wound. Peter instinctively took a half step back, gripping his wand even tighter.
A few seconds later, Sirius reappeared there, ragged and covered in blood.
He almost collapsed to the ground, his back against a cold rock, his chest heaving violently, his face as pale as paper.
He seemed to lack even the strength to lift his arm, but stared intently at Peter with his bloodshot, yet still indomitable, grey-blue eyes.
Peter was taken aback when he saw him transform back into human form, then let out a piercing laugh: "Ha ha—what? You don't even have the strength to be a dog anymore, Sirius? Finally resigned to your fate?"
The moment Sirius Black's "Misty Clouds" spell took effect and a thick fog suddenly spread, Harry's heart skipped a beat.
Although he couldn't see exactly what was happening, the light of the spell and the sudden rise of the mist clearly told him that Sirius Black was going to run away!
Harry instinctively wanted to rush in the direction where he last saw Black fall; he couldn't just watch his enemy escape.
But at that moment, Professor Lu Ping firmly pressed him to the spot.
Harry looked up in confusion, only to see Professor Lupin's solemn expression through the mist. He shook his head almost imperceptibly and with a very small gesture.
Then he raised his voice and shouted towards the direction Peter had come from in the thick fog, "Peter! Come back! Don't chase after him! It's too dangerous! Come back now!"
However, Harry was surprised to find that although Professor Lupin was saying words of concern, his weathered face showed no worry, and his gray eyes were completely calm, as if he were just following a set procedure.
This subtle contradiction momentarily stunned Harry, and the words that were about to come out caught in his throat.
Lupin's shouts echoed through the thick fog, but received no response.
So he stopped shouting, but held Harry's arm tightly and stood still, as if listening intently to something.
All that remained was the howling of the cold wind cutting through the mist, and faint, indistinct noises coming from afar.
After waiting for about ten seconds and confirming that there were no more clear, approaching footsteps or incantations around him, Lupin lowered his head and quickly rolled up the sleeve of his left arm.
Harry glanced at it curiously and saw an inconspicuous, ink-stained arrow-shaped mark on Professor Lupin's slightly pale wrist.
He didn't know the specific meaning of the mark, but Professor Lupin was looking at it intently at the moment, and it was clearly playing some kind of guiding role.
"Come with me, and keep quiet." Lupin's voice was extremely low and left no room for argument.
He offered no further explanation, but instead gripped Harry's arm tightly and began to move quickly and quietly through the dense fog with extremely low visibility, following the direction indicated by the arrow.
Harry was filled with doubt, but the unwavering decisiveness emanating from Professor Lupin compelled him to obey. He could only sense that the path beneath his feet seemed to rise and fall, and the surrounding scenery was blurred in the thick fog.
I don't know how much time passed, maybe only a few minutes, but it felt exceptionally long in the tense atmosphere.
Lupin slowed his pace and finally stopped beside a low wall made of rough stones.
Harry recognized the wall—it was a low wall of a building somewhere on the edge of Hogsmeade!
They somehow made their way back to Hogsmeade through the thick fog!
Before Harry could figure out how Professor Lupin had done it, or why they had stopped there, a high-pitched, familiar voice, panting and with an unsettling smugness, came clearly from the other side of the low wall: "—Finally resigned, Black?"
It's Peter's voice!
They were actually on the other side of the wall!
Harry gasped, his grey-green eyes filled with utter shock.
Just as he was about to open his mouth, Professor Lupin's hand gripped his upper arm like an iron clamp, the force so great that Harry felt pain.
Lupin gave him an extremely stern, almost fierce look, and silently mouthed again, "Quiet. Listen."
Sirius did not respond to Peter's mockery.
He swallowed with difficulty, his throat dry and painful, and then, with his last bit of strength, spat out a mouthful of bloody froth with a strong rusty taste.
His gaze swept past Peter, as if looking at some distant, nonexistent place. His voice was hoarse, like a broken bellows: "Enough talk—do it, Peter." He forced a hideous smile, a mixture of pain and mockery. "Let me—go see James sooner. At least I—can go to Detan. It's just a pity—I ultimately couldn't—kill you, this treacherous maggot, with my own hands."
"Maggots?!" This word was like a sharp knife, piercing Peter's most sensitive and insecure nerve.
The smugness on his face froze instantly, then twisted into an extreme rage.
"You called me a maggot?! What right do you, a piece of trash who's about to die, have to call me a maggot?!" He took a step forward, the tip of his wand glowing, and roared, spittle flying, "James! He only has eyes for you!"
Only you, Sirius Black! He trusted you! He entrusted his life to you! And what did he get in return? He died! Because of your foolish, self-righteous plan! Because you suggested he temporarily change his liaison! You killed him!
"He died because you betrayed us!" Sirius roared.
"No!" Peter retorted loudly.
He passionately defended himself, saying, "It's you! You're the ones who drove me to this! Beside you, I'll always be just a lackey! An insignificant shadow! When the Dark Lord rose to power, what could I do?! I could only choose to stand with the victor! I just wanted to survive! What did I do wrong?! It was the last resort, a choice I had no other choice!"
"A choice forced upon you—?" Sirius's voice lowered, his eyes fixed on Peter. There was no hatred in them, only a deep, bone-chilling sorrow and realization born from the complete shattering of trust. "Peter—even now—are you still deceiving yourself with lies?"
He took a deep breath, as if gathering his last strength, each word like a heavy stone striking down: "We've known for a long time that there's a traitor within the Order of the Phoenix! Those leaked plans, those inexplicably failed raids... We've suspected many people, and even felt a little uneasy because of Remus's identity. But we've never, ever suspected you, Peter! Not even once!"
These words were like the sharpest dagger, precisely piercing the corner of Peter's heart that even he himself did not want to face.
It was as if an invisible hand was gripping his throat; his mouth was open, but he couldn't utter a complete sound, only managing to squeeze out a few broken syllables from his throat: "You—you shut up—".
Sirius continued, his voice trembling with pain, yet unusually clear: "Until his death—James believed you were one of his most loyal friends—he entrusted his and Lily's lives—to you and me! We trusted you, our brother, just as we trusted each other!"
"You're talking nonsense!" Peter screamed, his shame at being seen through and his long-suppressed resentment exploding.
"Whether I'm lying or not, you know best in your heart." Sirius's voice was chillingly cold. "Your so-called wise choice is nothing but cowardice and despicable behavior. You were never forced—you've always been a traitor."
This final judgment shattered all of Peter's pretense.
He waved his wand hysterically, roaring wildly, "Yes! I am a traitor! So what?! I've always been a supporting character to you all! But with the Dark Lord, I was valued! I proved my worth! I survived! And you so-called heroes, you're all dead! Dead!"
He grew increasingly agitated, a morbid fanaticism spreading across his face: "I knelt at the Dark Lord's feet and personally told him where the Potters were hiding! I demonstrated my worth before him! And it was I who, when you, Black, this madman, came after me, used the Explosion Charm to kill all the Muggles on that street! I cut off my own finger! A perfect escape! I even fooled Dumbledore! The Ministry of Magic awarded me the Order of Merlin! For twelve whole years, I lived in the sunlight, while you, you could only struggle like a rat in Azkaban and the gutter! Tell me, Black! Who is the real winner?! Who is the truly intelligent one?!"
He was breathing heavily, his small eyes bloodshot, as if he were both venting and trying to convince himself with the loudest voice he could.
After he finished yelling, his chest heaved violently, his small eyes filled with frantic bloodshot veins, staring intently at Sirius, waiting to see his reaction of collapse and despair.
Sirius slowly opened his eyes. Surprisingly, there was no collapse or despair in them, only a bottomless, cold calm, and—an indescribable sorrow.
He looked at Peter, who seemed to have gone mad, as if he were looking at a completely hopeless and pathetic wretch.
He said in a barely audible voice, as if sighing, "Did you hear that—James—we...we were all wrong."
'
These words, though seemingly light, struck the frozen air like the gavel of final judgment.