"I changed the Secret Keeper; even Headmaster Dumbledore doesn't know."
Black looked away from Dumbledore's face. "After James and Lily hid, I didn't tell anyone. I dared not tell anyone."
"I thought that as long as I was alive, the You-Know-Who would keep chasing me, and no one would bother to find them."
His Adam's apple bobbed, as if he were swallowing something back.
No one moved in the open space.
The Auror behind Scrimgeour still had their wands pointing in Black's direction.
But the expressions on those people's faces had changed from initial tension to subtle bewilderment, as if they weren't sure whether the person they were pointing at was a fugitive or something else.
Professor McGonagall stood beside Harry, his friends, and Black, her eyes behind her glasses fixed on Black.
Snape leaned against the trunk of an old oak tree at the far end of the line, his dark eyes fixed on Black's direction, the sneer on his face seemingly frozen.
"You all know what happened after that night."
Black's voice rang out again.
"I went to James's house, but it had collapsed when I got there. James was lying in the Entrance Hall, Lily was upstairs, and Harry was still alive."
"I was still standing there when Hagrid arrived. I gave him the flying motorcycle so he could take Harry, while I went to find Peter. I know Peter's address very well."
He raised one hand and rubbed the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
"When I found Peter, he was hiding on that Muggle street, the one that was later bombed into ruins."
"When I cornered him, he was heading into the alley. When he saw me, he started yelling, ' Sirius Black is a traitor! He betrayed James and Lily!'"
"At that moment, I only had one thought in my mind: I had to tear this thing apart, but then the street exploded."
" Peter probably planned this all along. He blew up half the street, killing more than a dozen Muggle instantly. I was knocked to the ground by the blast wave, and when I got up again, Peter was gone."
"There's only one finger left on the ground; he staged it himself," Black sneered.
"I was standing on that bombed-out street when I suddenly burst out laughing. I didn't know why I was laughing; maybe it was because I suddenly realized how utterly absurd this whole thing was."
" James and Lily are dead, Peter ran away, Muggle on the street is dead, and I, the one who replaced the Secret Keeper, am still standing here, without a scratch on my skin."
"Then the Auror arrived, Crouch's men pinned me to the ground, and I was dragged away before I could even finish a complete sentence."
Fudge shifted slightly at that moment. The hand gripping his top hat tightened unconsciously on the brim, as if he wanted to interject with something, but couldn't find a suitable opening.
" The Ministry of Magic convicted me that very night," Black continued, listing off his crimes with great familiarity, "Traitor, murder of Peter Pettigrew, bombing twelve Muggle, and defecting to You-Know-Who."
" Crouch signed the order, and I was put on the ship the next morning."
He paused, his gray eyes lifting to sweep across Fudge's face, then back to Scrimgeour's.
Has anyone asked me this?
Fudge's Adam's apple bobbed, and he gripped his hat tighter.
"No." Black answered his own question, his tone barely betraying any resentment, only a weariness from having dragged things out for too long.
"Nobody asked me. Because everyone felt it was already clear, all too clear."
" Peter is dead. Only one of his fingers remains at the scene. I'm standing beside the ruins, laughing. What else is there to ask?"
"If a murderer stands at the scene of his crime and laughs, does the case even need a trial?"
"But why didn't you say so then?" Scrimgeour's voice suddenly rang out, his thick, brown eyebrows furrowed tightly, and his shoulders beneath his Dragon Hide coat hunched forward.
"When you're arrested, when you're being taken away, you'll always have a chance to speak."
"If you had just shouted ' Peter is alive,' at least someone would have remembered it. Why didn't you say anything?"
Black looked at him, a self-deprecating glint in his gray eyes.
"If I told you, would anyone believe me?"
He asked the question so softly, as if he already knew the answer.
"At that time, the entire Wizarding World knew that Peter Pettigrew was dead."
"He was a hero. He chased after Black to avenge the Potters, but Black blew him up, leaving him with only one finger."
"If I shouted ' Peter is alive! Peter betrayed James and Lily!' at that moment, what would I be in everyone's eyes?"
"A madman who killed someone and then tried to pin the blame on the dead?"
" Peter already 'dead,' and dead men don't speak up. Whatever I say is just throwing mud at someone who can't speak. No one will believe a murderer caught red-handed saying, 'The real murderer escaped.'"
Scrimgeour's lips moved, but he didn't utter a rebuttal.
"And at that time I had no idea Peter was still alive." Black said this slowly, as if he were talking to himself.
"I genuinely thought he died in that explosion; it was the same thing I kept thinking about during my first few years in Azkaban."
"The idea of Secret Keeper was mine; I was the one who persuaded James to bet on Peter; I was the one who personally pushed them into this situation."
"If I had been blown up by Peter on that street, things would have been simple, but I didn't die. I'm imprisoned in Azkaban, and the first thing I do every morning when I wake up is start having all sorts of wild thoughts."
He raised his hand and wiped his face.
"You want me to defend myself at a time like that? I can't even get past my own conscience. What am I supposed to say in defense?"
"I say, 'It's not my fault, it's Peter's fault,' and then everyone will tell me that Peter is dead, that Peter died to avenge James and Lily, and that Peter chased you down that street."
"I couldn't even refute it, because I myself thought Peter was dead, so I could only hate myself for believing Peter back then... knowing full well that he was the weakest."
The clearing was so quiet that only the occasional calls of night birds could be heard from the Forbidden Forest.
"And then what?" Scrimgeour asked, his voice lower than before, but still carrying the caution characteristic of an Head of the Auror Office.
"You've been in Azkaban for twelve years. In those twelve years, you've always had a chance to figure things out, a chance to speak up when the Ministry of Magic comes to inspect."
" Minister Fudge has been going to Azkaban every year for the past few years, why didn't you tell him?"
When Fudge heard his name called, he tightened his grip on his hat and his gaze swept quickly across Black's face.
"Because for the first few years I didn't want to talk at all," Black replied bluntly. "All I thought about during my first few years in Azkaban was how to die."
" Dementor lurk at the door every day, slowly stealing away your happiness until I can't even remember why I'm alive anymore."
"My mind is filled with images of James lying in the Entrance Hall, Lily on the stairs, and Harry's scar on his head."
"I feel like I caused all of this. I don't even have the strength to live anymore. Who am I supposed to argue with?"
His voice lowered for a moment, then rose again.
"Later, as I gradually calmed down, I thought about many, many things. Was Peter really dead? The finger he left behind seemed to confirm that he was dead."
"But what if? What if he blew up that street and ran away? What if he cut off a finger and pretended to be dead? Once this thought popped into my head, I couldn't suppress it."
"I thought about this every day during my years in Azkaban, and the more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed."
" Peter, don't let his clumsy appearance fool you, when it comes to survival, he's more resourceful than anyone else."
"Back in his Hogwarts days, he could turn into a mouse and scurry around; if he wanted to run, no one could catch him."
"And then you saw the newspaper?" Dumbledore's voice broke in at this moment, unhurried, yet drawing everyone's attention back.
Black turned and glanced at him, then nodded.
"This summer, when Fudge came to Azkaban for an inspection, he threw me a copy of the Daily Prophet."
"He probably thought that after twelve years of imprisonment, I was completely ruined, and giving me a newspaper to pass the time wasn't a big deal."
"He threw down the newspaper and left. I flipped through it and came across a picture of the Weasley family trip to Egypt. That's how I found him."
Black appeared unusually calm.
A few very faint gasps were heard from the open space.
Harry heard Ron's breathing suddenly stop beside him. He turned to look at him and saw that Ron's face was as white as paper in the moonlight, his lips slightly parted and unable to close for a long time.
"So you ran away from Azkaban," Scrimgeour said, his tone unreadable, "To chase after Peter."
"To pursue Peter," Black repeated.
"You just said you caught him in the Forbidden Forest." Scrimgeour twirled his wand in his hand, his gaze sharpening again. "You caught him, and then what?"
Black gave a wry smile.
"I caught him, but the Dementor came."
Peter took advantage of the chaos, transformed into a mouse, and scurried under the tree roots to escape. When I tried to chase after him, the Dementor had already surrounded me. If it weren't for that—
He paused for a moment, as if considering how to address the person wearing the fox mask.
"If it weren't for that man in the trench coat intervening, I'd probably be kissed by the Dementor by now."
After he finished speaking, an eerie silence fell over the open space.