They'd done it. Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup.
Harry didn't think he'd ever stop grinning, the joy bubbling in his chest and threatening to burst out at any moment. He felt a little bad for the smallest moment when he'd seen how heartbroken Draco looked when the Slytherin team landed, but the blond had caught his eye for a second, just long enough to flash half a smile in congratulations. No hard feelings.
Lying in bed now, the celebration party finally dispersed, Harry could feel the bruises on his ribs and shoulders from the Slytherins' more underhanded tactics. Draco had played a fairly clean game, but the rest of his team hadn't been quite so courteous. Harry didn't care. Bruises would fade. They were champions. Even the knowledge that he'd be getting his exam timetable in the morning couldn't dampen his spirits. They'd won the cup, and he would get through his exams, and the school year would be over — maybe if Sirius Black was still loose, he'd be able to stay in Diagon Alley again, if being at the Dursleys' was dangerous. They couldn't exactly station dementors in Little Whinging.
A dreamy smile crossed his face at the thought. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd get his wish.
.-.-.
Trying to get out of his quidditch-induced euphoria and focus on his upcoming exams was a bit of a stretch, but Harry managed it. He was a little concerned about Hermione, though; every time he saw her she was buried in parchment and books, the dark circles under her eyes getting bigger every day, muttering runes and charms and potions under her breath. He was starting to wonder if she'd crack before exams could even happen. Not to mention her timetable — how could she take two exams at the same time? Even Hermione wasn't that good! She snapped at him every time he asked, though, so Harry left her to it and focused on his own books. Ron made a solid attempt at studying, but his attention span was that of a flobberworm. Harry definitely didn't miss the days where his was the same. For the first time since starting Hogwarts, he felt like himself when he was studying. He felt confident in his knowledge. He could focus.
At least, he could until the note about Buckbeak's appeal came through. "I can't believe they're bringing an executioner," Ron muttered, scowling at his Potions textbook. "It's like they've already made up their minds!"
"With Malfoy's dad paying them, I'm sure they have," Harry muttered derisively. He might be friends with Draco, but he still hated Lucius Malfoy with a passion. "I'll be back in a minute, I need to go to the library." He'd somehow lost his notes on Cheering charms, and the section in the standard textbook wasn't nearly helpful enough for Harry's liking. To his surprise, Neville fell into stride with him on the way out of the common room.
"Did you say you're going to the library, Harry?" he asked casually. Harry shot him an odd look.
"Yes… why?"
"Would you mind coming with me for a minute? It's important." Neville wouldn't meet his eye, a curiously determined look on his face. Harry was intrigued.
"Yeah, sure." Wondering what he was about to get himself into, he let Neville lead him past the library and behind a tapestry, into a room Harry had never seen before. To his surprise, they weren't alone.
Susan Bones was there, and Hannah Abbott; but so were Ernie Macmillan and both the Patil twins; Anthony Goldstein; Sullivan Fawley in the year below; and even, to his utter shock, a trio of Slytherins in the corner. Cassius Warrington, looking somewhat uncomfortable. Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini. All of them had their palms open, and all of them bowed their heads when Harry and Neville entered. Murmurs of 'well met' echoed through the room, and Neville ducked his head formally.
"Well met," he greeted. When he straightened up, it was with square shoulders and a confident stance that was entirely at odds with the shy, fumbling Neville Longbottom that Harry knew.
"Well met," Harry followed, keeping his palms out as he was supposed to. "What am I doing here?"
"We thought we'd all introduce ourselves properly," Ernie Macmillan drawled. "Before the school year's over and we all leave for the summer. There's been all this talk about the Potter heir finally stepping into society, we thought it'd be nice to welcome you in."
Harry froze in alarm. "What talk?" he asked sharply. "You can't be talking. Dumbledore can't know I know about my inheritance." He winced as soon as he said it — giving away way too many of his cards at once there — but no one in the group looked all that surprised.
"Relax, Potter," Greengrass called across the room. "We keep our talk safe within the right circles. Dumbledore doesn't know a thing." She folded her arms across her chest, eyeing him coolly. "Am I to assume that he wouldn't take well to the news?"
"That's… an understatement," Harry sighed.
"Professor Dumbledore has taken some pretty strong measures to keep Harry away from us. From this," Neville said, studying the gathered teens.
"I can't say I'm surprised," Goldstein muttered.
"Regardless, welcome," Hannah Abbott said with a smile, gesturing to a couple of empty chairs. Harry and Neville both sat down. "Harry, this is all the heirs currently at Hogwarts — well, most of us. There's a few more — Slytherins we don't trust, and the Carrow twins are due to start next year, but for now, this is us."
"Isn't Malfoy an heir?" Harry asked, glancing at the other Slytherins. How could they be trusted, but not Draco?
"He is. So are Crabbe and Goyle, and Theo, Pansy, and Millicent," Zabini confirmed. His voice was deep; he'd hit puberty at the end of first year, and even the fifth and sixth year girls were paying attention to him by now. Harry didn't know much about him, except that he kept to himself, stayed out of fights, and was incredibly good-looking. "Draco's situation is complicated."
Harry snorted; he'd bet he knew about as much about Draco's situation as Zabini did, by now. "So what's the point of this little meeting, other than introductions? Is there some sort of induction ritual, or a test I need to pass? How do you know you can trust me?"
"You're Harry Potter," Susan said flatly, rolling her eyes. "Also, Neville vouched for you. That's good enough for us."
"No ritual, no test. Just a bit of conversation," Padma Patil piped up, smiling prettily.
Harry looked between the sisters, brow furrowing in confusion. "How can you both be heirs? If you don't mind me asking. I mean, surely one of you is older."
"I am," Padma confirmed. "But our family magic will decide which one of us is fit to be heir once we come of age, so for now we both train for the position. Lots of families work that way with twins — it hardly seems fair to decide just because of a few minutes of extra life."
"Different family magics have different conditions for inheritance," Greengrass explained, her tone surprisingly free of condescension. "Some go for boys over girls, some have magical strength take precedence, some have bizarre and obscure inheritance laws. Not every family makes their public."
"So how do I know I meet those conditions?" Harry asked, wondering if it had all been some big mistake.
"If the Gringotts Line Test says you're an heir, you're an heir," Warrington told him. "Otherwise it would just say you're a potential heir. I have an older brother, but the family magic passed him over due to an… incident when we were kids." His lips twisted in a sour expression, and Harry didn't dare ask for details.
He looked around the room, studying faces carefully. "So this is what the Wizengamot is going to look like in ten years, hmm?"
"Maybe not ten," Hannah said, shrugging. "Some of us still have parents or guardians happy to keep their seats for another fifteen years or so, if all goes well. But eventually, yes."
"This isn't even half of the Wizengamot seats, though. What about the rest?"
"Just because most purebloods try and have children at the same time, doesn't mean it worked out for everybody. Accidents happen," Susan said with a cheeky wink. "The rest are either too young for Hogwarts or already graduated."
"There's twenty-one of us at the moment that we know of," Warrington cut in. "But there could be more; not everyone makes their heir's identity public knowledge."
"And of course, there's all the vacant and proxy seats. And some people hold two seats. Like Nott," Susan continued.
"Theo holds the Nott seat, and the Avery seat on his mother's side," Zabini explained.
"Is it unusual for someone to hold two seats?" Harry asked nervously, thinking of the four he had waiting for him when he came of age. Zabini shrugged.
"It's rare, but not unheard of. Family lines inter-mix fairly well, but most pureblood lines try not to merge too many heirs into one family, or if they do they'll spread the seats out amongst siblings, like the Weasleys. The mix of family magics can be a little… volatile."
Great. Even in the pureblood world, he was a freak.
"I read that some of the seats have been vacant for decades," Harry said. Like the Slytherin seat, and the Peverell seat. Harry didn't understand why his father hadn't been Lord Peverell, only the proxy to it — surely it didn't come through his mother's line?
"Sometimes lines die out," Neville informed him. "If the family magics can't find a suitable heir, they'll sit in proxy until one steps into the Wizengamot hall. There are probably a few heirs to the older lines who don't even realise it, but without a Line Test they'll never know, and that's not exactly common these days. If a line has truly died, once confirmed by Gringott's, then the seat stays empty. Some lines are just waiting for a valid heir to come of age, and those seats are held in proxy to whichever family was allied the closest to them when the last heir was in session. Except the Founders' seats; those always belong to whoever's head of Hogwarts."
"The Founders' lines are different, though," Goldstein said. Harry eyed him questioningly. "There's been plenty of legal heirs to the Hogwarts founders in the last few centuries, but their family magics are fussy. If you don't fit the bill, you can't claim the seat. And they don't necessarily make that decision when you come of age. Usually it happens when there's great conflict in the wizarding world, and the heirs are needed to bring guidance. Also, they're interlinked — you either get all four, or none at all. So of course, it's really rare circumstances for the Founders' seats to be occupied by actual heirs. Hasn't happened since 1783. Most of the time, even if you're a legal heir, the family magic just kind-of… sits there."
Harry's shoulders relaxed a fraction. That was one less thing to worry about.
"So between us in this room, we hold almost a third of the seats of the Wizengamot. Or we will, once we all take our seats. That's why it's important to play nice in these early stages, so we can make fair and just decisions for the good of wizard-kind." Hannah's words were accompanied by a sweet smile and a pointed look in the direction of some of the Slytherins.
"Don't expect us to be nice to you, Potter," Greengrass said plainly. "We all have roles to play. But good heirs don't hold grudges. The Dark Lord almost won because his followers had too many Wizengamot seats, and we're worse off for it, regardless of what our elders say. I refuse to let that happen again." She held her head up proudly, daring someone to comment, but everyone was nodding in agreement. Harry wondered how many of them had parents who had followed Voldemort, who had given him their Wizengamot seat.
He was starting to think he'd judged the Slytherins too harshly all these years, then remembered that Dumbledore's compulsion spell was supposed to make him do exactly that. He scowled internally; how many of these people could have been his friends if he'd been allowed to be his natural self? His first two years at Hogwarts, he'd been so caught up with Ron and Hermione, refusing to let anyone else get close. He hadn't even truly befriended Neville until this year. Was that part of Dumbledore's plan? Keep him isolated from the rest of his peers, so he never found out what he was missing?
"Can we wrap this up? I've got an Arithmancy OWL in twelve hours and I am not nearly as prepared as I'd like to be," Warrington said, a furrow forming on his forehead. That seemed to be the cue for everyone to break apart, claiming other places to be, and Harry figured he should probably get back to the common room as well. Ron and Hermione would be wondering where he was. If Hermione hadn't passed out from exhaustion yet.
Neville walked with him to the library to get the Charms book he'd originally left for, and the two of them made their way back up to Gryffindor Tower. "Thanks, Neville," he murmured softly, before they reached the portrait. "It's nice to know I have allies."
"The Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom will always be your ally, Harry," Neville assured him. The words were heavy with magic, like an oath, and Harry's eyes widened. Neville spoke the password before Harry could vow anything in return.
"There you are!" Ron called, looking up with desperate eyes. "I was starting to think you'd never come back. Help me, Harry, she's gone mental!"
Harry looked at Hermione, who seemed to have abandoned her own work in favour of taking a vicious correcting quill to one of Ron's Transfiguration essays. He laughed, shaking his head. "You're on your own with that one, mate."
.-.-.-.
Harry kept his head down as he ticked off his exams one by one, determined to do better than last year — not his best, or Dumbledore would get suspicious, but better. It was a relief to get to his Defence Against the Dark Arts exam; the one subject he was truly allowed to try his hardest in.
"Excellent, Harry!" Lupin enthused when Harry climbed out of the trunk after vanquishing his boggart. "Full marks!" He leaned in close, grinning conspiratorially. "Well done, cub!"
His good mood continued all the way to the steps of the castle, where the sight of a familiar bowler hat had him deflating like a balloon. He tried not to outwardly scowl as the Minister acted like he felt bad about Buckbeak in any way, like he hadn't already decided to kill an innocent creature. It was all he could do to help Hermione drag Ron away before he could do something foolish.
He was desperate for the day to be over by the time he walked into his Divination exam, the incense in Trelawney's classroom already making him sleepy. He almost thought he'd dozed off and imagined it when she went rigid in her chair, speaking to him in a raspy voice.
Had he just witnessed a real prophecy?
He climbed down the ladder, unsure whether to tell Ron and Hermione — Hermione would laugh for sure, and Ron probably wouldn't believe him either. He wasn't even sure if he believed it. But all thoughts of prophecies, real or not, flew from his head when Ron showed him the note from Hagrid.
"We have to go," Harry said immediately. "We can't let Hagrid face that by himself."
"But Harry, the teachers will never let us out at sunset! Especially not you," Hermione pointed out.
"I've got the cloak. We'll go after dinner." He'd taken to keeping the cloak in his Twilfitt bag at all times, just in case he might need it. He wanted to always be prepared.
"Okay," Hermione agreed, not even putting up a token protest about Sirius Black and school rules. Hagrid was far too important for that.
Trelawney's words rolled around Harry's mind as they joined the crowd of students heading down for dinner, worry gnawing at his stomach. What sort of chaos was he about to get into now?
.-.-.
He could hardly remember the last time he'd spent actual social time with both Ron and Hermione — not that this really felt like socialising, hurrying down to Hagrid's hut under the invisibility cloak. The half-giant didn't let them stay long, worried they might get caught, but it was enough for Hagrid to get some small comfort from their support.
And, unfortunately, enough for Ron and Hermione to start bickering again.
"I'm just saying, I can sympathise," Ron hissed as they walked away from the hut, careful to avoid the sight of the Minister and Dumbledore heading down to Hagrid's. Why on Earth was the Minister himself involved in a matter as simple as a dangerous creature execution? It baffled Harry, but he shook the matter from his head; what Fudge got up to was none of his business, not right now.
"After all, I know what it's like to have your pet killed," Ron finished, and Hermione let out an offended noise. Harry sighed to himself, wondering if he could cover himself with the cloak and just slip away, if they would even notice once they truly got arguing.
"What happened to Scabbers was an accident, Ronald!" Hermione retorted indignantly. "How dare you suggest I can't feel bad for Hagrid just because my cat did what cats do!"
Harry was about to turn away and leave them to it — and then, in the fading light of the sunset, he saw a blur of orange running towards them.
Crookshanks. Of course. But what was he after?
He heard twin gasps as his two companions noticed the incoming, and then Hermione's hand flew to her mouth as she spotted the same thing Harry did. "Scabbers!"
Sure enough, Crookshanks was chasing a small brown blur across the grass — a blur that, when it stopped to turn sharply, had the distinct patchy fur of Ron's pet rat. "He's alive!" Hermione exclaimed, lurching forward to try and grab the rat. Scabbers kept on straight past her, the bandy-legged cat hot on his tail.
"Not for much longer by the looks of it," Ron growled, already sprinting off in hot pursuit. Hermione hared after them, and Harry sighed, hurrying to catch up. He couldn't leave them out there, not if they were going to make such a racket while Dumbledore and the Minister were still lurking about.
They drew closer to the tree-line of the Forbidden Forest, Hermione faster than Ron as they followed the frantically zig-zagging rat. Harry sucked in a sharp breath as the bushy-haired girl dove, letting out a cry of triumph as her hands closed around Scabbers' wriggling form. "Got him!" she declared, then let out a quiet yelp.
Harry and Ron skidded to a halt, unable to do anything but watch as an enormous black dog leapt from the shadows, clamped its jaw around Hermione's wrist, and began to drag her away.
Right towards the Whomping Willow.
.-.-.
Everything had unraveled so quickly.
The boys had chased after Hermione and the dog, but the Whomping Willow stopped them from getting too close — at least until Crookshanks somehow did something at the base of the tree, freezing it in place. By that point, Hermione had already disappeared through a hole at its roots. Harry and Ron had no choice but to follow.
From there, things had only gone downhill.
Now, Harry found himself inside what seemed to be the Shrieking Shack, staring at Hermione on a broken old four-poster bed with Scabbers still wriggling in one hand while her other arm was cradled gingerly in her lap. And stood in front of her, brandishing Hermione's wand, was none other than Sirius Black.
"Harry, Ron, run!" Hermione urged, but they both shook their heads — there was no way they were leaving her with the man who had betrayed Harry's parents.
Black disarmed them both, awe in his eyes as he stared at Harry, whispering his name reverently. Harry stepped back, wishing he had something else to defend himself with. Wishing he was capable of some kind of useful wandless magic. Valiantly, Ron stood between Black and Harry, declaring the Azkaban escapee would need to go through him to get to his godson. But far from striking him down in an instant like one might expect, Black shook his head wildly, insisting that only one life need end that night.
"Why d'you suddenly care about casualties?" Harry retorted quietly. "Didn't bother you when you blew up Pettigrew and all those muggles, did it? He was your friend! My father was your friend!"
"You don't understand, Harry," Black insisted. "If you only knew the full story… it's my fault, I won't deny that… but you've got to listen to me… you don't understand."
"I understand more than you know," Harry spat. "They trusted you, and you betrayed them. You were their friend! You were their secret keeper!"
Black howled in anguish, reeling back. "No, no, you've got it all wrong," he moaned. "The truth, you need to hear the truth!" Black squeezed his eyes shut as if pained, and Harry took his chance, diving for his wand. Crookshanks dove as well, his claws digging into Harry's forearm. Hermione screamed. The cat seemed determined to keep Harry from his wand, and Harry growled, shoving the ball of ginger fur aside and reaching — his wand rolled towards him, just enough for him to grasp it. Crookshanks' claws sliced him through from wrist to elbow as he rolled to his feet, but Harry barely registered the pain, pointing his wand squarely at Black's chest.
"Going to kill me?" Black asked with hollow eyes. Crookshanks hopped up onto the man's chest, planting himself firmly and staring Harry dead in the eye.
What the hell was wrong with Hermione's cat??
Suddenly, they could hear muffled footsteps from somewhere else in the shack. Harry's heart leapt into his throat, and Ron called out. Black jumped up, but it was too late; the footsteps were thundering towards them, and the door burst open to reveal Professor Lupin, wide-eyed and wand raised.
"Expelliarmus!" The wand Black held flew out of his grasp — but so did the wand in Harry's hand. Lupin caught both of them, staring across the room at Black. "Where is he?"
Harry narrowed his eyes in confusion. Who? Black pointed across the room at Hermione, who stared back incredulously, still on the bed. "Me? What?"
"But then, why… unless—" Lupin's eyes were darting from Hermione to Black like he was watching a tennis match. "Unless you switched without telling me? To him?"
"I'm sorry, Moony," Black wailed. "We should've trusted you. We should've told you! Peter convinced us you were the traitor!"
"Professor Lupin," Harry asked hesitantly. "Remus. What's going on?"
"Harry," Lupin's voice was calm. "Cub. I think we've made a very big mistake."
And then he lowered his wand and crossed the room, and embraced Black like a long-lost brother.
Harry felt his pulse echo in his ears. Professor Lupin, the man he'd trusted more than anything, was holding the man who wanted to murder him like he never wanted to let go. "Padfoot, old friend," he breathed, choking on a sob.
Hermione let out a wordless screech at the sight, her face ashen with pain and shock. "WE TRUSTED YOU!" she spat, glaring at the tawny-haired professor. "I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt — I thought, if Dumbledore knows, you must be on our side — but you were working with him all along!"
"Not all this time, let me explain—"
"He's a werewolf!" Hermione declared, turning to look Harry in the eye. "That's why he's always sick. Don't trust him, Harry!"
Harry thought back over the school year; the regular absences, the silvery orb his boggart became, the strange potion Snape made for him regularly. Even the nickname, Moony. Calling Harry 'Cub'. "Oh," he said faintly. "That makes sense."
Lupin snorted. "I haven't been helping him, Harry, but I won't deny I'm a werewolf." He looked Harry in the eye, his expression earnest. "Please, cub. Will you trust me? Just for a few minutes?"
Harry folded his arms over his chest. Professor Lupin had been good to him this year. He hadn't seemed like he was plotting to kill Harry — he'd certainly had plenty of opportunities to try. "Talk," he said eventually.
"Harry, what are you doing? He's a werewolf!" Ron exclaimed, grabbing Harry by the shoulder. Harry ignored him, shaking off the hand and stepping closer to Lupin and Black. He needed answers.
"I was watching the map tonight," Lupin started, "I thought you three might go down to support Hagrid, and I wanted to keep an eye out. I watched you head across the grounds to Hagrid's hut. And twenty minutes later, I saw you leave. And get joined by a fourth name, moving very quickly."
"Yeah, his," Harry said with a dark look at Black. "He was following us."
"Not Sirius," Lupin corrected. "Peter Pettigrew."
"What?" Harry gaped. Pettigrew? Their other friend, the one who Sirius had killed?
Lupin turned back to Harry with imploring eyes. "Think, Harry. Wormtail."
Harry sucked in a sharp breath, looking at the rat currently playing dead in Hermione's lap. At Black, who had taken the shape of a dog. Padfoot. "Animagi," he realised. "You're all animagi. Which means… Scabbers."
Black barked out a laugh. "That's the name he's been going by, is it? How cute." He lunged towards Hermione on the bed, but Lupin held him back.
"Sirius, no! They won't understand, you need to explain."
"We're running out of time, Moony!" Black argued. "I can explain after he's dead, now give me that rat!"
"Harry deserves an explanation," Lupin insisted firmly. "After everything, he deserves that."
"What the bloody hell are you saying about my rat?" Ron cut in loudly, glaring at the pair. Through lack of a wand, his fists were raised defensively. He edged closer to Hermione, and Black snarled.
"Don't touch him!" His eyes were wild, Lupin's hand on his shoulder holding him back. "You can't take him, not now I finally have him in reach!
"Pettigrew's dead," Harry said, confused. "You killed him. Everyone knows that."
"Everyone thinks they know," Black breathed, grinning madly. He lunged forward again, and Ron yelped — then the redhead grabbed Scabbers and held him close to his chest, turning to the door.
"This is ridiculous," he declared. "You're all nutters. I'm getting Dumbledore, or the aurors, or—" "No!" The cry came unbidden from Harry's lips, but he wasn't the only one — Black and Lupin both shouted too, Lupin raising his wand to send ropes at Ron's ankles to stop him from leaving. But at the same time, Harry flung an arm out, a burst of magic slipping instinctively from his fingers. He wasn't even sure what he'd been trying to do, but whatever it was interfered poorly with Lupin's spell — Ron stumbled as the magic hit him, then there was a truly disturbing popping noise, and all of a sudden the redhead blanched, falling unconscious, his right leg splaying out at a horrifying angle. Harry's stomach lurched.
"Oh, shit," he murmured, eyes wide.
"The rat!" Black cried, as Scabbers tried to make a run for it. With a wave of Lupin's wand, a metal cage appeared around the creature, which squeaked and thrashed violently in the new confines. "Just kill him, Remus!" Black wailed, but Lupin shook his head.
"Harry needs proof, Sirius," he replied calmly. He turned to Harry, his amber eyes imploring. "Everyone thought Sirius killed him. Even I believed it until tonight. But the map doesn't lie. I would know."
"He's just a rat!" Hermione sobbed. "He's been in Ron's family for ages!"
"Yes, quite a few years, I'd imagine," Black agreed grimly. "Far longer than a regular rat could be expected to live." Harry sucked in a sharp breath.
"I— I don't know if Ron ever said how long. He was Percy's before Ron got him."
"Harry, you can't be serious!" Hermione protested. "Don't tell me you believe this?"
It sounded mad, Harry knew. But the desperation in Lupin's eyes… that couldn't be faked.
There was a loud creak as the door swung open on its hinges, knocking against Ron's shoulder, and for a second nobody moved. But nothing happened.
"No one ever knew there were three unregistered animagi running around Hogwarts in our school days," Lupin said, gaze flicking between Harry and Hermione. "They always said they'd register after the war, but— well."
"Hurry up Remus," Black muttered impatiently. "I've waited twelve years for this, I don't want to wait any longer!"
"They need the truth, Sirius. We need to do this properly." Lupin squeezed his friend's shoulder. He turned back to Harry. "They learned to keep me company, you see. The potion Severus makes for me is a fairly recent invention. When I was in school, it didn't exist, and my transformations were… awful. Having them around in their animal forms, I didn't want to hurt them like I did humans. They could stop me from hurting myself." He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. "All year, I've been debating whether to tell someone about Sirius' form. When he got into the castle, I knew he had to be transforming to stay hidden. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't betray James' memory like that. So I stayed quiet, because he was pack, and even after twelve years I couldn't believe he would truly hurt Harry."
"You swore to me." The new voice startled all of them, when Snape whipped off Harry's invisibility cloak and revealed himself in the corner of the room, wand held aloft at Lupin's face. "You swore on Lily's memory that you weren't helping him." He glared at Black, who looked from Snape to Lupin and then let out a loud groan.
"Really, Moony? Snivellus? Again?"
"Shut up, Sirius!" Lupin bit out. "Severus, please, allow us to explain."
"I think I've heard enough," Snape said icily. "You left the map open on your desk, Lupin. I came to bring you your potion, and to my surprise, whose name did I see running across the lawn? I should've known you were helping him all along. After all you said…"
"Severus," Lupin took a step towards the man, ignoring the wand in his face, voice raw with pain. "You don't understand. I never helped him, but we got it all wrong. Please, just listen, for me."
"Please, Professor Snape," Harry added. He'd never been so polite to Snape in his life, but if it made him hold off for just five more minutes. "Trust him. There's something going on here."
"Oh, there's something going on alright," Snape muttered, his eyes lingering on Lupin's hand curled around Black's shoulder. He stared at Lupin for a long time, then… he lowered his wand. "If you betray me again, I will kill you, wolf," he said to Lupin, who sobbed in relief.
"You say the sweetest things," he murmured in reply. Black snorted.
Hermione stared at Professor Snape in astonishment, still cradling her clearly broken arm. "Professor," she breathed in horror. "No, please — you have to get the headmaster! Ron is—" She broke off with a whimper as Snape glared at her, nudging the unconscious Weasley with his foot.
"He is alive," he dismissed, and turned back to Lupin. "Talk."
"I thought Peter was dead," the werewolf said hoarsely. "I thought — I didn't know what Sirius wanted with Harry, but I thought Peter was long gone. Until I saw him on the map tonight, and then saw Sirius' name." He turned to Black, brow furrowing. "How? How did you find him, Sirius?"
"He was in the paper," Black said, reaching into his robe and pulling out a battered piece of paper. It was the Daily Prophet, from the issue talking about the lottery Mr Weasley won. The picture of all the Weasleys in Egypt, Scabbers perched on Ron's shoulder. "I saw it, when the Minister came to inspect. On the front page. I knew him at once… how many times have I seen him transform? I knew I had to leave as soon as I read the boy was a Hogwarts student. I couldn't let him— Harry," Black broke off in another moan, wrapping one arm around his stomach as his shoulders shuddered. Lupin squeezed him assuringly.
"He's alright, Padfoot. Harry's fine." He looked from the photo, to Scabbers, and back again. "Good Merlin," he said slowly. "His front paw."
"What about it?" Harry asked quickly, craning his neck to look at the picture.
"All that was left of Pettigrew was a finger," Snape murmured, comprehension dawning in his dark eyes.
Harry whipped around to look at Scabbers, who had frozen in fear in his cage. His front paw was, as it had always been, missing a toe.
"I didn't think he had the brains for it," Snape said, meeting Black's gaze for the first time. "What did he do, cut it off and run?"
Black nodded. "Screamed all about how I betrayed Lily and James, then blew the street up with his wand behind his back, lopped off his finger and transformed."
"So simple," Lupin whispered. "Yet brilliant."
"A first for old Pete," Black agreed with a dark chuckle. "So what, he faked his death and hid from you because he knew you betrayed my parents?" Harry retorted angrily, wondering where the whole story was going.
"I'd never betray Lily and James," Black declared fiercely, snarling like his animal counterpart. "But it was my fault. I convinced them I was the obvious choice, I told them to make Pete the Secret Keeper instead. We didn't trust Moony 'cause of his boyfriend — sorry, Moons, but you can't blame us — and when I went to check on Peter's hiding place, it was empty, no sign of a struggle. It didn't feel right, so I went to the house, and… it was too late."
"Enough," Lupin growled. "There's one way to prove it all." With a jerk of his wand, the cage vanished, and Scabbers was suspended in mid air, squealing and struggling. "Severus, you know the spell?"
Snape nodded curtly, and in an instant there was a blinding flash of light — then suddenly the rat began to grow and stretch, squeaks turning into human howls of fear.
In seconds, there was a full grown man stood in the middle of the room. Harry recognised his face, though it had changed quite dramatically from the round-faced boy in the yearbook picture.
Peter Pettigrew, alive and well.