The Book Of Jude

Chapter Twenty-Two: Black Rumors

'You love this town

Even if that doesn't ring true

You've been all over

And it's been all over you'

U2, 'Beautiful Day'

London was already beginning to bustle with energetic life, even this early in the morning. Grocers and shopkeepers were opening tidy stores on the streets and commuters hurried through the hustle to make it to work on time. The golden light of the morning only served to make the smog a more sickly shade of gray.

As she picked her way through the sea of humanity, heading in the general direction of DiagonAlley, she was struck with a thought that almost made her smile. It was like old times--this was always the best time to relieve the London population of the burden of their wallets. These people, oblivious to her as she waded through the pushing and shoving crowd, would be such easy targets if she were still in the business. But she was not, and like everyone else, she had somewhere to be.

A man in a dark suit and designer sunglasses failed to see her as he hurried from a newsstand and knocked her sideways into the racks of magazines as he passed, stopping long enough only to mutter an annoyed apology. Jude would have been grossly offended if her nose hadn't been smashed into the morning paper.

There, in the top corner of the Muggle daily news, was his face. Sure, it wasn't big billing for a dark wizard of his caliber, but she couldn't blame the paper. Not being able to obtain any credible facts on the ragged man, the paper probably couldn't make a more sufficient story out of this beyond a wanted poster. Still, Jude snapped up the paper, leaving shillings and pence behind her.

"Congratulations, Mister Black." Jude looked over the miniscule type that accompanied the terrifying photo--black and white newsprint of a Muggle snapshot. He'd made quite a fuss--enough to end up as a wanted man by the Mugglepolice as well--the Ministry was covering all its bases. But if she wanted to know why there was such a big to do, she would have to consult the Prophet.

Stepping from the sunlight into the dark and smoky pub tucked away on Charing Cross Road, Jude blinked the exhaustion out of her eyes. At the bar stood a beefy, older man with shirtsleeves rolled up over his massive forearms. He was polishing a row of glasses and conversing with the few patrons that occupied the tall stools that early in the morning. With the Muggle London newspaper tucked securely under one arm, she made her way silently to the opposite--vacant--side of the bar. Pretending not to be interested in anything around her, she listened intently to the conversation between guests and host. They were bent over a copy of the Daily Prophet.

A thin man with a scarecrow-like appearance tapped the paper with his knuckles. "Killed thirteen people with one curse, dinn'ey Tom?"

The barkeeper, Tom, gave a judicious look to the thin man, still polishing the glass. "Well, that maybe so, but I still say he was a fine chap. Never caused no trouble 'round here."

"Yeah, but everybody knows Black was a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo." A porky, little man next to the scarecrow slammed his fist down on the bar, causing the glasses of liquor to jump a little. Everyone around him nodded in agreement.

Jude furrowed her brow at this. Sirius Black--why wasn't the name ringing a bell? The face, angry and scowling, on the paper in front of her looked slightly familiar. But if he were, in fact, one of Voldemort's supporters, she would recognize the name. And she never forgot a name. She strained her memory looking for the time and the place she'd seen this man before, but she was tired and it simply wouldn't come.

"An' when it was all over, when You-Know-'Oo was defeated, they was trackin' down all 'o his supporters." An elderly gentleman was now adding his recollections to the conversation. "Most of 'em came quietly, but not Black--he went mad. They cornered 'im in the middle of a street full of Muggles an' Black took out 'is wand and 'e blasted 'alf the street apart." The audience was captive and listened while the old man spoke in whispers, voice rising and falling at the right places as if he were a practiced storyteller. "One wizard got it, and a dozen Muggles died what got in the way. 'Orible, eh?" the man finished, casting around for an answer. The crowd remained silent, however, waiting for the end of the tale. "'E laughed," the man said, nodding his head as if confirming his own story. "Jus' stood there an' laughed. An' when reinforcements from the Ministry got there, 'e went with 'em quiet as anything, still laughing. Laughing the 'ole time, 'e was."

"Coz 'esmad, inee?" the scarecrow man questioned the older patron.

"If 'e wasn't before 'e went to Azkaban, 'e will be now," said Tom as he continued to polish the same sparkling glass.

Jude involuntarily shuddered. One word from Fudge and she could have been in that place, right alongside Black. Did anyone deserve that, even if the charge was murder thirteen times over?

"Ministry had a hell of a time coverin' that one up, they did." The fat man was gesturing with a half a glass of dark brown liquid, and the others around him nodded, grumbling their assent.

Shaking her head, Jude stared at the paper in front of her. What didn't the Ministry try to cover up? They should be experts by now. She couldn't imagine that it had been too hard of a task for them.

Tom, losing interest in the tale, and noting a new customer, slowly walked over to the bar in front of Jude, still rubbing the glass with the grimy towel.

"Wad'ya havin,' Miss?"

"Gin and Tonic." Jude didn't look up from the Mugglepaper she was reading.

Tom looked Jude over--Muggle clothes, Muggle paper, even ordering drinks preferred by Muggles. "Blimey, Miss. I don't know how you managed to find your way in here, but..."

Jude looked up from her paper, resting tired eyes on the exasperated barkeeper. "Not a Muggle, Tom. Don't get 'yer knickers in a twist."

"Bloody hell, if it isn't little Judy." He beamed at her, quickly pouring her drink. "Been a while, ain't it? How long exactly?"

"Eight years," she said, not smiling. Even though Tom was a nice enough guy, she had things on her mind and didn't need the hold up of rehashing old acquaintances.

"Eight years, cor, that's a long time." He set her drink down in front of her. She drained it quickly, setting the glass back down on the scrubbed, wooden bar.

"Tom," she interrupted his amused stare, bringing him back from whatever thoughts he was now exploring. "Do you have a paper around?"

"Yeah, got one right here." He strode over to the group huddled around the Prophet and ripped it from under their elbows. "Don' mind if I borrow this, boys?" He brought the paper back and tossed it on the bar in front of Jude.

"Mind if I keep this, Tom?" But she didn't wait for an answer. She gathered the papers, tossed the barkeep a coin and headed for the back alley and the entrance to the wizard's marketplace.

***

"Black still at large." Jude read the headline of the imposing article that dominated the first page of the Daily Prophet as she sat under a shady awning of a little shop--she didn't bother to note the name of the place; she was too eager to get the scoop on the man she was supposed to be hunting.

"Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today." She read on, '"We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm."'

"Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis." Jude rolled her eyes. For all of the stupid things Fudge has been responsible for, it was typical of the Federation to kick up a fuss at the one intelligent thing he's done in his entire career. The government was seriously flawed, that was the only certainty in all of this mess.

She continued to read. Another not very glowing quote from Fudge furthered the article. '"Well, really, I had to, don't you know,' said an irritable Fudge. 'Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it--who'd believe him if he did?'" Wow, he really needed a descent PR man.

"While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun," Jude read on, rolling her eyes at the childishly naïve description the professional reporter used to describe the Muggleweapon. "The magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse."

Jude flipped through the paper impatiently looking for a follow up to the article. But there was none. Frustrated, she tossed the paper on the table in front of her and glared across the sunny street. It was about ten o'clock in the morning, she guessed. If she wanted to know more about this man and his crime, she wasn't going to find it in that paper. She needed to research.

Getting up from the table and folding her papers neatly under her arm, she walked out into the ever-crowding street. Turning her steps to the Daily Prophet, her eyes raked the passing people for the familiar mop of unruly, dark hair of the young man she was to keep an eye on. It wasn't necessary that she found him now--he would be safe here, especially in the daylight. But as she hurried passed 'Quality Quidditch Supply,' her eyes were drawn to the very figure she expected not to find. He was staring at a racing broom, oblivious to her presence. That was good--she didn't want him knowing that she was nearby. He looked fine, blissfully ignorant of the situation he was in.

She turned away and walked toward the Daily Prophet headquarters.

***

It wasn't a difficult task for a practiced liar like Jude to talk her way into the archives of the most prestigious wizard paper in Great Britain. Contrary to popular belief, those with imagination make the poorest of liars. It was precisely Jude's lack of imagination that gave her lies such wide-eyed and believable conviction. The receptionist directed her to the basement with minimal hassle.

Poking through the files of ages past, she finally found the year of her interest. 1981.

"The supposed massacre had to have happened after Halloween--and the defeat of Voldemort," she mused aloud as she ran a finger down the files. "Bingo." She finally found the article she was looking for. Nimble fingers extracted the paper from the stack eagerly. She opened the pages, fanning them quickly until a picture caught her eye. It was the same man, Black, but twelve years younger than the man on the front page of today's paper, and clean cut--almost handsome.

"Knock it off, Jude, this man's a psycho," she mentally berated herself.

But that picture, it nagged at a memory--even more so than the other deranged post-Azkaban picture. She'd definitely seen this man somewhere before. The thought tickled at the back of her mind and it was frustrating, grating on her last nerve.

This paper turned out to be the jackpot--the answer to her every question. The one wizard among the many Muggles killed in Black's massacre was Peter Pettigrew. Jude was astounded. Pettigrew was the exact description heaped upon Black back at the Leaky Cauldron. He was a staunch supporter--or sniveling servant, it was all the same--of Voldemort. But he was killed that day by Black, and lauded as a hero. So no one would ever know Peter's true loyalties? Did anyone ever suspect Peter of being the rat Jude knew and hated? Not much of the body was left to condemn him--how convenient, Jude thought. A finger was sent home to his mother. Gruesome and totally suspicious; no wonder the media had a field day with this stuff.

But here was the kicker. As she read further on, the article revealed even crazier facts. Black and Pettigrew knew each other--not mere acquaintances, either, but close friends at Hogwarts. Jude shook her head in disbelief and turned the yellowed newsprint. And there, staring back at her was the wedding photo Jude had seen earlier that day in the paper. She dropped the paper on her lap in startled disbelief. She knew where she'd seen him before.

That night--the very one she saw over and over in her dreams--he was there. He was the dark-haired man that had questioned her and demanded to see Harry. The article went on to say that both had been friends with the recently murdered James Potter. This made no sense. There was something she was missing here.

She reviewed the facts in her head. Pettigrew's loyalties were certain--she had firsthand knowledge of that fact. Black's were questionable, but because Jude had never heard his name mentioned in connection with Voldemort, she guessed he was not on the same side as Peter in any case. The two had once been close with James. On the night that James had been murdered, Black showed up. He could have been a possible source of information for Peter and Voldemort regarding the Potters, but that was only a guess at this point. Finally, Black killed Pettigrew in the middle of a crowded street.

Jude pulled herself up off of the cold, damp floor. She began to slip the paper back into its slot in the file then paused. It could be useful to keep this. She folded the paper and added it to her collection tucked under her arm before heading to the door.

***

The days marched on at a slow pace. There was plenty of time to commit the articles from the papers to memory, but the true story still eluded her. Something didn't add up but she couldn't put her finger on exactly what was bothering her. She'd listened intently to every rumor she stumbled upon in the crowded wizard market, but after a while, they became unoriginal and lacking in new details. There was, surprisingly, even less rumor flying about on the infamous street dealing in Dark Arts paraphernalia--KnockturnAlley. This confirmed her suspicion that Black was not affiliated with that kind. And Black had not been sighted as of yet.

Harry was becoming as boring as those stale rumors. His routine varied little--gaping at the racing broom in the shop window, and talking to kids he recognized from school as they made their yearly pilgrimage to buy supplies before the start of term. As far as she could tell, he'd not noticed her presence at all. But that was no failure on his part--she was very good at not being seen if she wished.

On the last day before the train left King's Cross Station for Hogwarts, Jude followed Harry through the streets as usual. Then she heard a familiar voice call his name from across the street. Her eyes raked the shops in that direction, picking out the red head of Harry's friend, Ron, with little difficulty. Watching as he hurried over to where he sat with their mutual friend, the bushy-haired and studious girl, Jude followed after a pause. She didn't want to eaves drop, but she was reluctant to let Harry be too far away from her careful watch.

From several feet away, Jude could hear Ron's exasperated voice above the din of the crowd. "What are you doing Muggle Studies for?" he screeched at his friend as she tutted and folded her arms, ignoring him. He reminded Jude a lot of Charlie. "You're Muggle-born! Your mum and dad are Muggles! You already know all about Muggles!"

"But it'll be fascinating to study them from the wizardingpoint of view," the girl said earnestly, pulling her books protectively toward her.

"Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?" Harry asked while Ron sniggered. But Hermione ignored them. Jude admired the girl for her ambition--and the fact that she didn't reach across the table and smack the two boys' heads together, cartoon-style.

"I've still got ten Galleons," the girl said, looking into her purse. "It's my birthday in September, and Mum and Dad gave me some money to get myself an early birthday present."

Jude twisted her stiff neck as she tried not to listen to the kids while still keeping her eye on Harry. It wasn't working. And the conversation was very boring.

"How about a nice book?" Ron scoffed.

"No. I don't think so," Hermione said composedly. "I really want an owl. I mean, Harry's got Hedwig and you've got Errol..."

"I haven't," said Ron. "Errol's a family owl. All I've got is Scabbers." Ron pulled a rat out of his pocket and placed it on the table in front of him. Jude narrowed her eyes. You're cracking up, she thought. It looked like Peter. But so did every other rat she'd seen. No, it couldn't be him--he was killed twelve years ago, the articles said so.

"And I want to get him checked over. I don't think Egyptagreed with him." He poked at the rat that did indeed look sickly to Jude's eyes.

"There's a magical creature shop just over there," said Harry. "You could see if they've got anything for Scabbers, and Hermione can get her owl."

Jude stood, leaning against the wall of the shop where the kids sat, frowning in deep thought as they paid for their ice cream. A plan had begun to form in her mind. A plan that might be just what she was looking for.She'd thought for days of a way that she could look after Harry without being noticed by anyone. She hurried in the direction of the magical creatures shop Harry had pointed out, wanting to reach it before they did.

Entering the store, she felt caged in--there wasn't much room inside with animals in pens lining every wall of the tiny shop. She immediately approached the shopkeeper, a witch who was fiddling with a pair of purple toads on the counter.

"Excuse me, I don't want to bother you, but I need your help." Jude thought quickly of a story to feed the lady, but settled instead on telling her the truth. I mean, what was more compelling than helping to aid in the capture of the infamous Sirius Black?

"A girl with bushy brown hair will be coming through this door at any moment with two friends, intending to buy an owl from you." The woman was looking at Jude as if indulging the ravings of a lunatic. "I need you to sell her a cat instead."

"A cat?" the woman asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes, but not just any cat. And you can't push this on her, let her think this is her decision alone--she's quite smart." The woman shook her head in confusion. "I need you to do this for me because..." Here goes nothing, Jude thought. "I am on the trail of Sirius Black, the escaped convict, and I must follow up a lead. I believe, with your help, we may have him back in custody very soon."

"Really?" The woman was wide-eyed and staring at Jude with astonishment. "This is serious, then."

"Quite," Jude replied impatiently, looking over her shoulder at the door. The three were nowhere in sight. Yet.

"And where is the cat I am supposed to sell this young lady?" the woman questioned Jude, becoming skeptical.

Jude sighed and bent down to unlace her worn trainers. The lady at the counter was frowning in confusion as Jude took off her shoes and socks, tossing them, along with her collection of newspapers, into the waste bin at the counter's edge. Shoes always got in the way when she transformed. And even though those were her favorite trainers, she was giving them up for a good cause.

"I hope this all works," she muttered before pouncing onto the counter, now a large, orange cat. The chances of this plan going wrong began to mount in Jude's head. She tried to shake them, tried to force confidence in herself, but she always came back to the thought that if the Ministry found out about her hidden ability to transform at will, she could easily be Black's next cellmate.

The old woman clapped a hand to her chest, startled. Collecting herself, she finally consented to the scheme, breathing astonishment. "Alright, if it'll help put that madman back in Azkaban, although this is quite an unorthodox procedure, even for the Ministry..."

Jude leapt nimbly onto the stacks of cages lining the wall just as the door opened, admitting the three friends. Jude watched as Ron questioned the witch about his pet rat, plopping the rodent onto the counter. Jude would have liked another look at the rat, just to be on the safe side, but Ron was blocking her view. Anyway, her large, gray cat-eyes were following Hermione as she inspected the various pets for sale.

Jude had been roughly eight years old when she'd attempted the complex and dangerous magic that gave her this form. The spell was performed under the eye of her mentor, Lord Voldemort. As his most trusted spy, an Animagus form was invaluable to her. After the success of the experiment, she'd quickly become his top informant, which he'd lost no time in putting to work as a spy. Her job, however, was not to watch those outside, but inside the ranks. She was kind of Internal Affairs agent for Voldemort--his only inside agent. This led to her rapid unpopularity within the circle of his followers as well as without. She'd never mentioned this ability to anyone after Voldemort'sdefeat and had never used it since that time.

The transformation, although very good for a person of her age, was not perfect. The cat's face was squashed, legs bowed...and it was the wrong sex. Jude had been mortified by the many flaws, but quickly found that it was inconsequential. There was also another glitch--she hated cats. She'd never been fond of them as a young girl, but the animosity shared between Pettigrew and herself almost from the first meeting, cemented her loathing for rats. So it only followed that the form her subconscious chose was a rat's natural enemy--a cat.

Jude paced atop the cages, watching the scene below. The witch was questioning Ron about the rat. One question in particular caused Jude to perk her ears to hear more intently.

"How old is this rat?"

"Dunno," was Ron's answer. Jude was being paranoid, but she couldn't help it. She had a phobia of letting things slip her notice ever since she'd given Quirrell the benefit of the doubt. If she was paranoid, it was for good reason.

"What powers does he have?"

"Er..." Ron stammered. Jude looked closer, begging Ron silently to move. She could jump down there, but she wanted to make a favorable impression, right? And scaring the wits out of the kids was not a good idea.

"He's been through the mill, this one."

"He was like that when Percy gave him to me," said Ron defensively.

"An ordinary common or garden rat like this can't be expected to live longer than three years or so," said the witch. Jude thought that was curious--the rat looked much older as she could see now that Ron had budged over. Jude continued to stare at the rat on the counter as the sales witch tried to sell the boy a new rat. Finally, she simply handed him a bottle of red liquid and gave a few instructions. Jude racked her brain for the fact from the newspaper that was niggling at the back of her mind. Then, suddenly, as if lightning hit her, it came.

She leapt from her perch on the highest cage, aiming for the rat and landing, instead, ungracefully, on Ron's head.

"Ouch!" He bellowed, but Jude paid no heed. She was furiously scrambling for the rat--which was missing a finger.

She didn't know what to do. Wanting desperately to claw the life out of the miserable rodent, but holding back because he could lead her to Black, she was conflicted. He was the key to unraveling this whole mystery--there, within her grasp. Peter was alive. The plot had thickened.

"No! Crookshanks, no!" The saleswoman yelled at her.

Through her rage, Jude recoiled at the name. It was hideous--who would ever name a pet that? This woman was going to bungle the whole deal--if she hadn't already done that herself by landing on Ron's head and trying to eat his pet alive. The witch was clutching the rat in an attempt to protect it, but it wiggled from her fingers and raced for the door. Ron and Harry raced after it. Peter was gone.

She debated whether she should transform this minute and go after him, but thought better of it. If all else failed, she would take that route. This may still work and if it didn't, she knew where to find the rat--she only hoped he didn't recognize her as she'd recognized him.

To Jude's satisfaction, the shopkeeper made her sale--Hermione was enraptured with the cat. The girl had odd tastes, Jude thought, trying to allay some of the guilt she felt from duping the poor girl. She tricked a twelve-year old, who thought she was buying a loving pet for her birthday, into buying a twenty-two-year old witch who was using her for a cover. Well, there goes another jewel on my crown, Jude thought as Hermione hugged her close and exited the store.

"You bought that monster?" said Ron, as he caught sight of his friend with the large, ginger cat folded in her arms.

"He's gorgeous, isn't he?" said Hermione, glowing. Jude was almost flattered. Harry looked distastefully at the cat.

"Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!" said Ron. Jude felt a little embarrassed at that--it had been quite a long time since she'd been a cat and it was like learning all over again.

"He didn't mean to, did you, Crookshanks?" said Hermione.

"And what about Scabbers?" said Ron, pointing at the lump in his chest pocket.

"Just give me time," Jude thought.

"He needs rest and relaxation! How's he going to get it with that thing around?" Ron continued shouting his protests.

"That reminds me, you forgot your rat tonic," said Hermione, slapping the small red bottle into Ron's hand. "And stop worrying, Crookshankswill be sleeping in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours, what's the problem? Poor Crookshanks, that witch said he'd been in there for ages; no one wanted him."

"I wonder why," said Ron sarcastically as the group set off toward the Leaky Cauldron.

Jude breathed heavily, fighting the girl's vice grip around her middle. She hated being a cat, but she'd suck it up for this--as long as the girl didn't try to dress her up or anything weird like that. Things seemed to be going fine--hell, things were better than she'd planned. And that usually never happened. She'd have this big damn puzzle figured out in record time.