Peter Pettigrew kept up his strained, ingratiating smile, spreading his hands like a stage performer as he edged toward Harry. "Sorry—though I hate to admit it, I was just terrified, you see. After all, I'd sent their most dangerous man to Azkaban. Voldemort's followers would have been hunting me everywhere..."
But Percy saw right through him and barked, "You'd better stay right where you are!"
Sweat was prickling in Hermione's palm as she gripped her wand. Channeling her inner Professor McGonagall, she demanded, "Peter Pettigrew, that excuse just doesn't hold up. If it was you who got Black thrown into Azkaban, why would you still be afraid of the others? Wasn't he supposed to be Voldemort's most trusted lieutenant?"
She pressed on, "And you were awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class by the Ministry of Magic. Why fake your death and vanish, leaving only a finger behind? Didn't you trust the Ministry?"
Percy cleared his throat, voice ringing with righteous indignation, "Even if you doubted the Ministry's protection right after the war, things have flourished under Minister Fudge. And we have the formidable Director Scrimgeour leading the Auror Office. I find it hard to believe you didn't know that."
[In the Headmaster's office, a few faces wore satisfied smiles.]
Hearing their coordinated attack, Peter's expression twisted with unconcealed disdain for the Ministry.
Harry pressed on, "As far as I know, my father was far closer to Black than to you—otherwise he wouldn't have made him my godfather. Why would Black betray my father? Was it just because he's a werewolf?"
Peter rubbed his head, feigning confusion—he hadn't heard any rumors about Black being a werewolf, but he played along for credibility. "Sirius came from the infamous Black family—born dark wizards, every one of them. His own brother was a Death Eater."
He shook his head. "I don't know where you heard that Black was a werewolf—he certainly wasn't, at least not back then."
He lowered his voice, as if confiding a secret. "The werewolf among your father's friends was someone else—Remus Lupin. I haven't heard from him in years. Maybe he caught Black and turned him into a werewolf? I'm sure he could vouch for me... What's wrong?"
He suddenly realized the students around him were all gasping, exchanging shocked glances—including Harry's group.
"Professor Lupin is a werewolf?"
"I remember, the first full moon, Professor Lupin disappeared for a whole week. But the second full moon was Halloween, and he was only gone for one night—and he didn't look any different the next day..."
"He wouldn't be lying about this, would he?"
—
Headmaster's Office
The moment Peter revealed Lupin's secret, the Aurors snapped their wands up, all trained on Lupin.
Fudge rounded on Dumbledore, voice tight with outrage, "Albus, I demand an explanation! Not only is Hogwarts harboring an illegal Animagus, but you've made a werewolf a professor? Do you have any idea what you're doing? If the parents find out—!"
Though Snape couldn't speak, his face contorted in a wild, barely controlled grin.
Lupin managed only a bitter smile, his hand clamped down on Sirius's dog head to keep him still.
Douglas Holmes stepped up beside Lupin and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. They'd discussed this possibility from the start—Peter would likely out him as a werewolf. But Lupin had never minded; the main reason he'd accepted Dumbledore's invitation was to protect Harry from Sirius.
Ironically, Sirius had been at Harry's side from the beginning, and Peter had been outmaneuvered at every turn. Lupin had already decided he'd soon return to his wandering life.
Dumbledore placed his hands on his desk, his tone gentle, "Remus is our best morning exercise, study hall, and detention professor, and the students adore him. Thanks to the new Wolfsbane Potion, he's only missed one full moon since he started. In fact, Remus, you haven't had a single day off. Clearly, I need to give you a raise."
Lupin replied gratefully, "I'm more than satisfied with my job, Professor. You know—no one else would ever hire a werewolf..."
The other professors quickly stepped forward, all eager to testify that Lupin had never harmed a soul, not in school nor since.
—
Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Peter suddenly felt his thoughts spinning out of control. He glanced around, then blurted, "So this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is Remus? Brilliant! Bring him here—he'll vouch for me. He's a good man... Remus, Remus, my old friend!"
But inside, panic gnawed at him. In his nightmares, Lupin had discovered his betrayal and killed him—sometimes even transforming into a werewolf and tearing him apart.
"Silence!" Hermione called for order, then pressed on, "The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is still Professor Holmes. Since you've been at Ron's side, you should know who he is."
Her tone sharpened, "But what we've learned is that the true Secret-Keeper wasn't Black, but you. Because everyone would expect it to be him, the safest choice was actually you."
She fixed Peter with a piercing stare. It was a bluff, a theory she, Harry, and Ron had pieced together from Lupin's hints.
For Peter, her words hit like a thunderclap. The Defence Against the Dark Arts post was still held by Holmes? How was that possible? Did it mean Voldemort was truly dead?
He distinctly remembered Harry facing Voldemort just last year—how could he be gone so suddenly?
"No, no, that's impossible... Could he really be dead?"
Hermione watched his unraveling nerves, tightening her grip on her wand.
But Peter quickly pulled himself together. He needed to escape—now. For some reason, just thinking of Holmes sent a chill down his spine.
He looked up at Hermione, baffled at how she could know so much. Only the Potters, Black, and himself had known about the switch—neither Dumbledore nor Lupin had been told.
His beady eyes darted about, searching every corner. He even began to suspect they'd already made contact with Black.
"Don't listen to that traitor's lies! He was the Secret-Keeper—James trusted him most. He killed Lily and James, and now he's come to kill me—!"
Harry jumped in, "Wait, you're saying Black came to kill you—not to find the werewolf in the Forbidden Forest, or to kill me?"
Peter screeched in frustration, "Yes, yes! I knew he'd come for me, I knew he'd be back—I've waited twelve years!"
Hermione saw her chance and pressed, "So you think we suspect you're the Secret-Keeper because Black told us? You've known for years that he'd escape Azkaban?"
Peter's eyes were bloodshot. If Holmes was still teaching, Voldemort must have met some disaster—otherwise, how could the curse on the post be gone?
He was convinced Black was hiding somewhere in the classroom, and he kept darting glances at every student.
"He's got Dark magic you couldn't even dream of—how else could he have escaped? It must be..."
From behind, Percy's voice rang out, "Answer her question. Why do you think Black told us you were the Secret-Keeper?"
Peter opened his mouth, but for a moment, no words came.
Hermione arched an eyebrow, eyes locked on him, "Because you know—only the two of you knew about the switch."
Standing nearby, Harry was baffled—weren't these just their guesses? How could Hermione sound so certain?
Peter broke eye contact, shrieking, "I don't know what you're talking about! Black was the Secret-Keeper, he was the traitor! You've all been fooled by him!"
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