The vast, rotting room of the Shrieking Shack fell into a silence so deep it seemed to press against their ears.
Peter Pettigrew lay huddled on the warped floorboards, whimpering, his watery eyes flicking between the wands leveled at his face.
Harry stood over him, his own wand still raised—but it was his voice that made the air go cold.
His words fell like a stone into a still pond.
Hermione gasped. "Harry—!"
Ron's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked even paler than Pettigrew.
Sirius' gaunt face twitched, almost in disbelief. His hollow eyes met Harry's, searching for something. Then, slowly, a smile spread over his cracked lips—fierce and hungry.
Lupin's gaze snapped to Harry, shock plain on his usually mild features. "Harry… you don't mean that."
Harry didn't look at him. His eyes were fixed on Pettigrew, who had begun to shake uncontrollably.
Sirius took a step forward, wand aimed at the cowering man's chest.
"You hear that, Peter?" he whispered, voice raw. "Even James' son thinks you deserve it."
"No—no, please—please—" Pettigrew whimpered, hands raised. "Remus—Sirius—you were my friends—"
Then he scrambled forward on hands and knees, scuttling like the rat he had been.
He went to Ron first.
"Ron—please!" he sobbed, voice cracking. "I was a good pet, wasn't I? Thirteen years—I never bit you, never scratched you—please, don't let them kill me—"
Ron shrank back, pressing himself flat to the wall. "G-get away from me," he stammered, voice hoarse. "Get away—"
Pettigrew turned, tears streaming down his pointed face, and crawled toward Harry.
"Harry—Harry, your father—James—he wouldn't want—"
The moment his filthy hand reached out and brushed Harry's robes, something inside Harry snapped.
He didn't think.
He commanded.
His hand shot out and closed around empty air.
Pettigrew froze.
A strangled choking sound rattled out of his throat as invisible fingers clamped tight around his windpipe. His watery eyes bulged, scrabbling hands clawing at nothing.
Hermione screamed.
"Harry—stop it!"
But Harry's face was carved from stone. His hand closed tighter. Pettigrew's feet lifted off the floor, his body rising slowly into the air, convulsing, mouth opening in a silent plea.
Sirius stared, transfixed. He looked both horrified and deeply impressed.
Lupin's wand wavered. "Harry—what are you doing?"
Harry's voice came out low and cold.
"He sold them. He murdered them."
Pettigrew let out a rasping wheeze, his fingers flailing.
Hermione took a step forward, tears in her eyes.
"You can't—listen to me, Harry—you can't kill him!"
Harry didn't move.
"If he dies," Hermione cried, her voice breaking, "you can't prove Sirius is innocent! You can't—"
Pettigrew's eyes rolled back. His face turned an ugly shade of purple.
"—you don't want your father's best friend to spend the rest of his life on the run!"
For a moment, the Force roared in Harry's ears. It would have been so easy. Just one thought, and the rat who betrayed his parents would never draw another breath.
But he saw Sirius.
Saw the faint glimmer of hope in the man's ravaged face.
Saw the way Lupin's hand trembled.
And slowly, Harry opened his fingers.
Pettigrew collapsed onto the floor with a thud, gagging and wheezing.
The room rang with silence.
Sirius exhaled shakily. Then, to Harry's astonishment, he let out a huff of broken laughter.
"You are… remarkable," he rasped, voice hoarse with old grief and something like wonder.
Hermione wiped her eyes, her voice shaking. "Thank you," she whispered to Harry.
But Harry didn't answer.
His gaze stayed fixed on Pettigrew, who lay gasping on the floorboards—alive, but only just.
And he felt nothing but the cold certainty that someday, one way or another, Peter Pettigrew would pay in full.
For one suspended moment, the only sound in the Shrieking Shack was Peter Pettigrew's ragged, rattling breaths.
Then—
BOOM!
The sealed door exploded inward in a burst of shattered wood and whipping cold air. Shards of splinters sprayed across the floor as a tall, black-cloaked figure strode through the debris as though it had been nothing but paper.
Severus Snape emerged, wand extended, his black eyes glittering with fury. His robes billowed behind him like a storm cloud.
Even Harry, standing over Pettigrew's trembling form, felt a spark of reluctant admiration.
Dramatic entrance, he thought, his heart still racing.
Snape's gaze swept the room, taking in the wands, the faces, the stunned silence. He fixed on Sirius Black—and bared his teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Well, well," Snape said, his voice soft as a blade sliding free of a sheath. "Black. I see Azkaban hasn't improved your manners."
Sirius didn't move his wand an inch. "Snivellus."
"Harry," Sirius rasped suddenly, not taking his eyes off Snape, "what is he doing here?"
It was Hermione who answered.
"He's the Potions Master," she said shakily, her wand trembling.
Sirius threw back his head and barked out a laugh that was all edges.
"Did you hear that, Remus?" he said, his voice raw with rage and sorrow. "A Death Eater has been teaching at Hogwarts for twelve years—while an innocent man was locked in a cell."
Across the room, Remus Lupin's wand lifted a fraction higher. He stepped closer to Sirius, his posture tense.
"Severus," Lupin said carefully, "this isn't what you think."
Snape's lip curled. "Oh, I doubt that." He flicked his gaze to Lupin. "I might have known you'd help your old friend escape. Tell me, Lupin—are you back in the Dark Lord's service too?"
Lupin's face hardened. "I have never served Voldemort."
"Of course," Snape sneered. "And yet here you are—standing at the side of the man who betrayed the Potters."
Sirius let out a bark of harsh laughter. His eyes were fever-bright. "You haven't changed, have you? Still slithering around, thinking you know everything."
Snape's wand didn't so much as tremble. "I know enough to see where your loyalties lie, Black."
Black's voice was low and sharp. "Tell me something, Snape—how is it that a known Death Eater is allowed to teach at Hogwarts?"
For the first time, Snape's eyes narrowed in anger. "What are you babbling about?"
Sirius tilted his head, an ugly grin spreading over his hollow face. "Oh, come on, Harry—he was always Voldemort's little pet. Didn't you know?"
But Harry shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes off Snape.
Harry's stomach twisted. He looked at Snape, really looked at him—and saw something he couldn't quite name in the older man's black eyes.
But all he could remember was every time Snape had sneered at him, belittled him, tried to break him down in front of everyone.
And he was a Death Eater, Harry thought coldly.
For a moment, the Force seemed to pulse around him in silent agreement, hungry to be unleashed. He could have blasted Snape across the room if he wanted—just a flick of will.
But he didn't.
He let his wand hang at his side.
And he would see exactly how far this twisted, hidden story went before he decided what came next.
" He changed sides," Remus said softly. " Did you ever know that he was a death eater?"
He jerked his chin at the crumpled figure on the floor.
Snape blinked, the sneer faltering for the first time. His eyes darted to Pettigrew—who was trying desperately to push himself backward with his heels, his eyes bulging with terror.
"…Pettigrew?" Snape said, his voice low and disbelieving.
Hermione's voice quavered. "Yes. That's Peter Pettigrew."
Snape's brows drew together. "But… he's dead."
"No," Lupin said grimly. "He's been hiding as a rat for twelve years."
Sirius laughed—a sound with no humor in it at all. "While I rotted in Azkaban without trial."
Snape's jaw worked. For a moment, he looked almost uncertain. But then he snapped his gaze back to Sirius.
"And what is this supposed to prove? That you didn't betray them?"
Hermione's voice broke as she whispered, "It proves he was the Secret Keeper, Professor."
Snape looked at her sharply.
It took a long time to convince Severus Snape.
Long enough that the moon had shifted across the broken windows, and the wind had begun to bite through the rotting beams.
Snape stood rigid, wand unwavering, his black gaze moving between Sirius Black's hollow face, Lupin's grim conviction, and the pitiful creature bound at their feet.
"Listen to me," Lupin said quietly, voice frayed with exhaustion. "You hate him. I understand. So did I. But you know Peter Pettigrew is supposed to be dead. And here he is—alive."
Snape's jaw clenched.
"I will not be taken in by this performance," he sneered. "He could have been hiding—he could have been hiding because he knew you would protect him. You always did."
Sirius' eyes flashed with rage. "Protect him? That sniveling coward betrayed James and Lily—he sold them to Voldemort!"
Pettigrew let out a high, broken sob. "No—I—I was frightened—He—he would have killed me—"
"And so you let him kill them instead," Sirius spat, his voice cracking.
Hermione swallowed hard, her face pale. "Professor Snape… please. Just think about it. Why would Peter Pettigrew hide for twelve years if he wasn't guilty?"
Snape's mouth twitched. His wand tip didn't lower, but his eyes darted again to the shaking man on the floor, whose yellowed front teeth protruded grotesquely from his trembling lip.
"And you expect me," Snape said, voice brittle, "to simply let Black walk away, when every Dementor in Britain is searching for him?"
Sirius lifted his chin, his expression something between a snarl and a plea. "I expect you to see the truth."
Harry watched all of it with a cold, measured calm. He could feel the swirl of conflicting emotions: Sirius' grief and fury, Lupin's quiet desperation, Hermione's fear. Even Snape, for all his sneering, was fighting something like confusion.
But Harry didn't feel confused.
For the first time in his life, he felt… sure.
He took a step forward, standing beside Sirius. "You don't have to like him," he said to Snape, his voice low. "But you know he didn't have a trial. You know something isn't right."
Snape's lip curled, but the words hit home.
Lupin spoke softly. "Severus. If you won't trust him… trust me."
For a moment, Snape looked as though he might refuse. But at last, he exhaled, nostrils flaring.
"Very well," he spat. "We will take Pettigrew to Dumbledore. He will decide what is to be done."
He flicked his wand in a precise movement. "Incarcerous."
Thick ropes erupted from the wand tip, coiling around Pettigrew's arms and chest, winding so tight he let out a strangled gasp. They lifted him clear off the floor, so he dangled, bound like a grotesque puppet.
Sirius watched with dark satisfaction.
"If he tries to transform, I will kill him," Sirius said flatly.
Hermione's eyes flicked to him. "Could he turned into rat and escape?"
"No," Sirius said. "Peter's a weak wizard. He needs a wand. He can't transform without it."
Pettigrew wheezed, sagging in the ropes.
Harry felt the Force stir around him, restless. He ignored it. He'd already come close to ending a life tonight. That was enough.
"Let's go," Lupin murmured.
They moved carefully through the wrecked shack, the boards groaning under their steps. Ron limped behind them, his face pinched and pale, every step jarring his injured leg from the Whomping Willow.
When they reached the tunnel, Snape used a flick of his wand to guide the bound Pettigrew ahead of them, floating like a grotesque balloon. Sirius and Lupin followed, wands never wavering from Pettigrew's throat.
They climbed down the ladder one by one.
When they reached the passage under the Whomping Willow, the cold air rushed over them. Harry turned back just in time to see Sirius step up to the gnarled knot at the base of the trunk.
With a grimace, Sirius pressed it.
Click.
The massive branches of the Willow froze in place—suspended in mid-sway, every leaf and limb petrified by the ancient mechanism.
"Move quickly," Sirius said.
They slipped out into the grass, one by one, Pettigrew still floating in his magical bonds.
The night had grown clear. The clouds above them drifted away on the wind. And in that moment, the full moon burst from behind the last wisp of cloud—flooding the grounds in cold, silver light.
Sirius stiffened. His eyes went to Lupin in dread.
"Moony—"
Lupin swayed, a shudder running through him from head to foot.
"Remus?" Hermione whispered.
Lupin lifted his head. His pupils were already shrinking, his face whitening, lips curling back from his teeth.
"No—" Sirius hissed, stepping forward.
Lupin fell to his knees, hands clawing at the grass.
Harry felt it—the power radiating off Lupin, an ancient, savage magic surging up through his bones.
"Get back," Sirius snarled, thrusting an arm in front of Harry and Hermione.
Lupin's body convulsed. His voice came out as a strangled growl.
"Run."
Bones cracked. Clothes split. A long, keening howl rose into the night.
The werewolf lifted its head—and turned yellow eyes on them all.