Black was sprawled at the bottom of the wall. His thin chest rose and fell rapidly as he watched Harry walking slowly nearer, his wand pointing straight at Black’s heart.

“Going to kill me, Harry?” he whispered.

Harry stopped right above him, his wand still pointing at Black’s chest, looking down at him. A livid bruise was rising around Black’s left eye and his nose was bleeding.

“You killed my parents,” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly, but his wand hand quite steady.

Black stared up at him out of those sunken eyes.

“I don’t deny it,” he said very quietly. “But if you knew the whole story.”

“The whole story?” Harry repeated, a furious pounding in his ears. “You sold them to Voldemort. That’s all I need to know.”

“You’ve got to listen to me,” Black said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice now. “You’ll regret it if you don’t . . . You don’t understand . . . ”

“I understand a lot better than you think,” said Harry, and his voice shook more than ever. “You never heard her, did you? My mum . . . trying to stop Voldemort killing me . . . and you did that . . . you did it . . . ”

Before either of them could say another word, something ginger streaked past Harry; Crookshanks leapt onto Black’s chest and settled himself there, right over Black’s heart. Black blinked and looked down at the cat.

“Get off,” he murmured, trying to push Crookshanks off him.

But Crookshanks sank his claws into Black’s robes and wouldn’t shift. He turned his ugly, squashed face to Harry and looked up at him with those great yellow eyes. To his right, Hermione gave a dry sob.

Harry stared down at Black and Crookshanks, his grip tightening on the wand. So what if he had to kill the cat too? It was in league with Black . . . If it was prepared to die, trying to protect Black, that wasn’t Harry’s business . . . If Black wanted to save it, that only proved he cared more for Crookshanks than for Harry’s parents . . .

Harry raised the wand. Now was the moment to do it. Now was the moment to avenge his mother and father. He was going to kill Black. He had to kill Black. This was his chance . . .

The seconds lengthened. And still Harry stood frozen there, wand poised, Black staring up at him, Crookshanks on his chest. Ron’s ragged breathing came from near the bed; Hermione was quite silent.

And then came a new sound—

Muffled footsteps were echoing up through the floor—someone was moving downstairs.

“WE’RE UP HERE!” Hermione screamed suddenly. “WE’RE UP HERE—SIRIUS BLACK—QUICK!”

Black made a startled movement that almost dislodged Crookshanks; Harry gripped his wand convulsively—Do it now! said a voice in his head—but the footsteps were thundering up the stairs and Harry still hadn’t done it.