**Ministry of Magic - Amelia Bones's Office**
**October 17th, 1985 - 9:15 AM**
Amelia Bones had interviewed hundreds of prisoners over her career. Death Eaters, dark wizards, common criminals—she'd seen it all. She'd developed a sense for guilt and innocence, for truth and lies, for the particular kind of broken that came from Azkaban.
Sirius Black was broken in ways she hadn't expected.
He sat across from her now, still too thin, his once-handsome face gaunt and scarred. His hair, which had been fashionably long according to old photographs, hung lank and matted to his shoulders. His grey eyes—the trademark Black family eyes—were haunted but alert.
"Mr. Black," Amelia said formally. "Thank you for agreeing to this interview."
"Thank you for finally caring," Sirius replied. His voice was hoarse but carried an edge of bitter humor. "Only took five years."
"For what it's worth," Amelia said, "I would have pushed for a trial immediately if I'd been in charge then. But Crouch had emergency powers. He used them... extensively."
"Crouch was a right bastard," Sirius said flatly. "But I suppose desperate times and all that. When you're fighting Voldemort, niceties like trials seem less important."
"They're always important," Amelia corrected. "That's what separates us from the Death Eaters. We follow the law. Even when it's inconvenient."
"Tell that to the Dementors," Sirius said. Then he leaned forward, and his grey eyes were intense. "But I don't care about Crouch or the Dementors or the bloody Ministry. I care about one thing: Harry. Is he alright? Really alright?"
"He will be," Amelia said honestly. "He's been through hell. The Dursleys abused him systematically for five years. But he's with his grandparents now. He's safe. He's getting proper care and proper love."
Sirius closed his eyes, breathing hard. "Abused," he repeated. "How bad?"
"Bad enough," Amelia said. "I'm not going to give you details—those are Harry's to share if he chooses. But it was serious. Criminal. The Dursleys will be facing charges."
"Good," Sirius said viciously. "I hope they rot. I hope—" He stopped himself with visible effort. "Sorry. I just... I was supposed to be there. I was his godfather. And instead—"
"Instead you were chasing Peter Pettigrew," Amelia finished. "Who, according to witnesses, died in that explosion. Except his body was never found. Just a finger."
"Just a finger," Sirius agreed. "Convenient, that."
"Walk me through that night," Amelia said. "October 31st, 1981. After you found the Potters dead. Tell me everything."
Sirius was silent for a long moment, his hands clenched on the table.
"I was late," he said finally. "That's the first thing you need to understand. I should have been there earlier. Should have checked on them. But I was..." He swallowed hard. "I was buying Harry a present. A toy broomstick. Stupid thing to do when they were in hiding, but I wanted... I wanted him to have something from his godfather. Something that said I cared."
"So you arrived at Godric's Hollow when?"
"Around eleven PM. The house was destroyed. The wards were down. I knew immediately something was wrong." His voice went flat, emotionless. "I found James first. In the entrance hall. He was dead. No wand—he'd left it on the couch like an idiot. He tried to hold off Voldemort wandless. Tried to buy Lily and Harry time. It didn't work."
"And Lily?"
"Upstairs. In Harry's nursery. She'd put herself between Voldemort and Harry. She was..." Sirius's voice cracked. "She was dead. But Harry was alive. Crying in his crib with a cut on his forehead but alive."
"What did you do?"
"I picked him up," Sirius said. "Held him. Told him it would be alright even though I was lying. Even though nothing would ever be alright again." He laughed bitterly. "He stopped crying when I held him. Like he recognized me. Like he knew I was safe."
"Then Hagrid arrived," Amelia prompted.
"Then Hagrid arrived," Sirius confirmed. "Said Dumbledore sent him to collect Harry. That he had orders. I tried to argue—I was Harry's godfather, I had the right—but Hagrid said Dumbledore's orders were absolute. That Harry needed to go somewhere safe while everything got sorted out."
"So you let him take Harry."
"I did," Sirius said, and there was infinite regret in those two words. "I thought... I thought it would be temporary. Thought I'd get Harry back in a day or two once things calmed down. I offered Hagrid my motorcycle—I wouldn't need it for what I had to do next."
"Which was?"
"Find Peter," Sirius said flatly. "Because Peter was the Secret Keeper. Peter was the only one who knew where James and Lily were hiding. Peter was the only one who could have betrayed them."
"According to your testimony, you were supposed to be the Secret Keeper," Amelia said, consulting her notes. "But you switched to Pettigrew at the last minute. Why?"
"Because I was the obvious choice," Sirius explained. "Every Death Eater would assume James would make me Secret Keeper—his best friend, practically his brother. So we figured if we switched to Peter, no one would suspect. Peter was..." He paused, searching for words. "Peter was always the weak link in the Marauders. The one who followed rather than led. The one everyone underestimated. We thought that made him perfect. Who would suspect boring, unremarkable Peter Pettigrew?"
"Turns out, you should have," Amelia said.
"Turns out," Sirius agreed bitterly. "So I went looking for him. Found him the next day on a Muggle street. He was crying, wailing about how I'd betrayed James. Playing the victim. I..." He stopped, his face twisting. "I lost it. Started laughing. Because it was so absurd. Peter—*Peter*—pretending to be the wronged party. Peter, who'd sold out his best friend for Voldemort's favor."
"What did he do?"
"Shouted that I'd betrayed James loud enough for every Muggle on the street to hear. Then he blew up the street with a Blasting Curse. Killed twelve people. Twelve innocent Muggles, dead because I wasn't fast enough. Wasn't smart enough. Wasn't—" His voice broke. "Wasn't good enough to stop him."
"And his body?"
"Gone," Sirius said flatly. "Just a finger left behind. One finger, blown off in the explosion. Aurors arrived, found me standing in the rubble still laughing—because I'd lost everything, you understand? James was dead. Lily was dead. Harry was gone. And Peter had escaped. It was so perfectly awful that I couldn't do anything but laugh."
"So they arrested you."
"They arrested me," Sirius confirmed. "Crouch had me in Azkaban that same day. No trial. No questioning. No Veritaserum. Just straight to the Dementors. And I..." He laughed again, that mad sound. "I let them. Because I'd failed. Failed James. Failed Lily. Failed Harry. What did I care if I rotted in Azkaban? I deserved it."
"Did you betray James and Lily Potter to Lord Voldemort?" Amelia asked formally.
"No," Sirius said, meeting her eyes directly. "Never. I would have died for them. Would have done anything to protect them. They were my family—more than my blood family ever was. I loved them. I loved Harry. I would never—*never*—have betrayed them."
"Are you willing to testify to that under Veritaserum?"
"Yes," Sirius said immediately. "Give me the potion right now. Let me prove it. Let me finally—after five years—tell the truth and have people believe me."
Amelia pulled a small vial from her desk drawer. "Three drops on the tongue. You'll feel compelled to answer any question truthfully. It won't hurt, but it's not pleasant. Ready?"
"Ready," Sirius confirmed.
She administered the potion, watching as Sirius's eyes went slightly unfocused, his expression smoothing out.
"What is your full name?" she asked.
"Sirius Orion Black."
"Did you betray James and Lily Potter to Lord Voldemort?"
"No."
"Who was the Secret Keeper for the Potter's Fidelius Charm?"
"Peter Pettigrew."
"Did you kill twelve Muggles on November 1st, 1981?"
"No. Peter Pettigrew killed them with a Blasting Curse before escaping."
"Is Peter Pettigrew dead?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. I think he faked his death and escaped."
"Where is Peter Pettigrew now?"
"I don't know."
Amelia asked a dozen more questions, each one receiving an immediate, truthful answer. By the time the Veritaserum wore off, she had everything she needed.
"Well," she said, sitting back, "that's fairly conclusive."
Sirius blinked, clarity returning to his eyes. "Believe me now?"
"I believe you didn't betray the Potters," Amelia said carefully. "I believe you didn't kill those Muggles. I believe Peter Pettigrew is likely alive and in hiding. Whether the Wizengamot will believe it based on Veritaserum testimony alone..." She trailed off meaningfully.
"They won't," Sirius said flatly. "Because everyone wants me to be guilty. It's easier. It's neat. The Black family traitor who sold out his best friend. It fits the narrative."
"Perhaps," Amelia agreed. "But narratives can be changed. Especially when we find Peter Pettigrew. And we will find him, Mr. Black. I promise you that."
"How?" Sirius asked. "If he's been hiding for five years as a rat—and he must be, that's the only explanation—he could be anywhere. Could be with any family. Could be living in the sewers eating rubbish."
"Could be," Amelia agreed. "But I don't think so. Peter Pettigrew was a coward, yes, but he was also obsessed with being close to power. With being part of something important. He wouldn't hide in sewers when he could hide in plain sight, close to information and influence."
"You have a lead," Sirius said, reading her expression.
"We have a theory," Amelia corrected. "One we're investigating carefully. If it pans out, you'll be the first to know. But for now, you need to focus on your trial. On proving your innocence. On clearing your name so you can finally meet your godson properly."
"Harry," Sirius whispered. "Is he... would he even want to meet me? After everything? After I abandoned him?"
"You didn't abandon him," Amelia said firmly. "You were wrongfully imprisoned. There's a difference. And from what I understand, Harry is desperate for family. For people who knew his parents. For someone who can tell him stories about James and Lily."
"I have so many stories," Sirius said, his voice rough with emotion. "So many things I want to tell him. About his dad. About their friendship. About..." He stopped. "About how much they loved him. How wanted he was. How they died protecting him."
"Then tell him," Amelia said. "After your trial. After we prove your innocence. Tell him everything. Give him the family connection he deserves."
"What if the trial goes badly?" Sirius asked. "What if they don't believe the Veritaserum? What if I go back to Azkaban?"
"Then we appeal," Amelia said. "And we keep fighting until justice is served. But I don't think it will come to that. The evidence is on your side, Mr. Black. The truth is on your side. And now, finally, you'll get the chance to prove it."
Sirius nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said. "For believing me. For caring. For—" His voice broke. "For giving me hope. I haven't had that in five years."
"You're welcome," Amelia said gently. "Now, your solicitor will be here this afternoon to begin preparing your defense. Arcturus Black has retained someone excellent—one of the best in the country. They'll go over your testimony, prepare you for the Wizengamot, make sure everything is perfect."
"Arcturus," Sirius repeated. "My grandfather. The one who—" He stopped. "The one I ran away from. The one whose family I rejected."
"The one who's fighting for you anyway," Amelia corrected. "Because that's what family does, apparently. Even when you don't deserve it."
"I don't deserve it," Sirius agreed. "But I'm grateful anyway."
"Good," Amelia said, standing. "Now, is there anything you need? Books? Parchment? Clean clothes?"
"All of the above," Sirius said with a ghost of his old smile. "And maybe... maybe a picture? Of Harry? I know I don't have the right to ask, but I'd like to see what he looks like now. Five years old. He must look so different from when I last saw him."
"I'll see what I can do," Amelia promised. "The Potters might have photographs they're willing to share."
"Thank you," Sirius said again. "For everything."
As Amelia left the holding cell, she reflected on the strange turns life took. Two days ago, Sirius Black had been a forgotten prisoner, abandoned by the system. Now he was potentially innocent, possibly the key to Harry Potter's healing, and definitely about to become the center of a very public trial.
The press would have a field day.
Dumbledore would be furious.
And the Black Dragon Legion would be vindicated.
All in all, Amelia thought, a good day's work.
Now they just had to find Peter Pettigrew before he realized they were looking.
Before he ran again.
Before he disappeared for good, taking the truth with him.
But that, Amelia decided, was a problem for tomorrow.
Today, they'd given Sirius Black hope.
And sometimes, that was enough.
—
# The Burrow - Kitchen
**October 17th, 1985 - 2:47 PM**
Molly Weasley was having what she charitably called "one of those days."
The twins—seven-year-old menaces that they were—had decided that Percy's rat was the perfect test subject for their latest "invention," which appeared to involve levitating the poor creature using a combination of stolen wand movements and what Molly suspected was accidental magic.
"FRED! GEORGE! PUT THAT RAT DOWN THIS INSTANT!"
"But Mum," Fred protested—or was it George? Even she got confused sometimes.
"We're conducting an experiment," George finished—or possibly Fred.
"On whether rats can fly," they said in unison.
"Scabbers can't fly!" Percy wailed, his voice reaching a pitch that made Molly's teeth ache. "You're going to hurt him! MUM, THEY'RE GOING TO KILL SCABBERS!"
The rat in question was indeed floating in mid-air, whiskers twitching frantically, looking profoundly unhappy about the situation.
"Down. Now," Molly said, in the voice that meant business.
The twins, recognizing imminent maternal wrath, released whatever magic they'd been using. Scabbers dropped like a stone, landing with a thump on the kitchen table. He scrambled immediately into Percy's outstretched hands, chittering indignantly.
"Poor Scabbers," Percy crooned, cuddling the rat to his chest. "Poor brave Scabbers. Those horrible twins tried to hurt you. But Percy will keep you safe."
"He's a *rat*, Perce," Fred said.
"A rat that's been in our family for five years," George added.
"That's ancient for a rat," they said together, exchanging looks. "Probably."
"Scabbers is special," Percy said defensively. His pompous nine-year-old voice carried absolute conviction. "Scabbers is extraordinary. Scabbers is—"
"A rat," the twins repeated.
Before World War Three could break out in her kitchen, there was a knock at the door.
Molly frowned. They weren't expecting anyone. Arthur was at work. Ron was napping upstairs with baby Ginny. Bill and Charlie were at Hogwarts. It was just her and the three middle children, who were apparently determined to drive her to an early grave.
"Stay here," she told the boys. "And NO MORE EXPERIMENTS."
She opened the door to find three wizards standing on her doorstep, all wearing official-looking robes.
The first was a grizzled older man with a magical eye that swirled in its socket. The second was younger, elegant, with sharp features and sharper eyes. The third was tall and dark-skinned, with the bearing of someone important.
"Mrs. Weasley?" the elegant one said politely. "My name is Benjy Fenwick. These are my colleagues, Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt. We're with the DMLE—Department of Magical Law Enforcement. May we come in?"
Molly's heart sank. DMLE at her door could only mean trouble.
"Is Arthur alright?" she asked immediately. "Has something happened?"
"Your husband is fine," Kingsley assured her. His voice was deep, calming. "This isn't about him. We just need to ask you a few questions. May we?"
Molly stepped aside, letting them enter. In the kitchen, the boys had gone suspiciously quiet—probably listening.
"Boys," she called, "upstairs. Now."
"But Mum—"
"NOW."
Fred and George fled immediately, dragging a reluctant Percy behind them. Molly heard their footsteps thundering up the stairs, then the suspiciously quiet sound of them definitely eavesdropping from the landing.
She'd deal with that later.
"Please, sit," she said, gesturing to the kitchen table. "Can I offer you tea?"
"That would be lovely," Benjy said.
Molly busied herself with the kettle, grateful for something to do with her hands. "What's this about?"
"We're investigating a cold case," Kingsley explained. "The death—or possible survival—of Peter Pettigrew."
Molly's hand froze on the teapot.
"Peter Pettigrew," she repeated slowly. "But he's dead. He died five years ago. Sirius Black killed him."
"That's the official story," Moody growled. His magical eye was spinning, scanning the room, the stairs, probably checking for threats. "We're not so sure anymore."
"I don't understand," Molly said, setting out teacups. "Sirius Black was arrested. He's in Azkaban. He killed Peter and twelve Muggles. Everyone knows that."
"Everyone *thinks* they know that," Benjy corrected gently. "But Black never had a trial. No evidence was formally presented. No Veritaserum was administered. We're... revisiting the case."
"Why now?" Molly asked. "After five years?"
"New evidence," Kingsley said vaguely. "And some inconsistencies in the original investigation that need to be addressed. Mrs. Weasley, did you know Peter Pettigrew?"
"A little," Molly admitted. "He was in the Order. Not closely—he was always more James Potter's friend than ours. But I met him several times. Quiet boy. Unremarkable. A bit nervous."
"When was the last time you saw him?"
Molly thought back. "Before he died? Maybe October 1981. There was an Order meeting. Peter was there, though he didn't say much. He never did. Just sort of... faded into the background."
"Did he seem different? Worried? Scared?"
"Everyone was scared then," Molly said. "It was the height of the war. People were dying every week. We were all terrified." She paused. "Though Peter was always scared. That was just his nature."
Moody's magical eye stopped spinning, fixed on something behind her.
"Mrs. Weasley," he said slowly, "is that your son's rat?"
Molly turned. Percy had crept back downstairs—naturally, the boy had never been good at following instructions—and Scabbers was perched on his shoulder.
"Yes," she said. "That's Scabbers. Percy's had him for... oh, five years now? We got him as a hand-me-down from—" She stopped.
Stopped completely.
Because Moody's magical eye was fixed on Scabbers with an intensity that made her stomach drop.
"Five years," Moody repeated. "You got a rat. Five years ago. Right around the time Peter Pettigrew supposedly died."
"It's just a rat," Molly said, but her voice was uncertain now.
"Percy," Benjy said gently, "may I see your rat? Just for a moment?"
"No," Percy said immediately, clutching Scabbers tighter. "He's mine. He doesn't like strangers."
"Son," Kingsley said, his voice calm and authoritative, "we're not going to hurt him. We just need to check something. It's very important."
"What could you possibly need to check about a rat?" Molly demanded, moving protectively toward Percy.
Moody stood, drawing his wand. Molly's hand immediately went to her own wand, maternal instinct overriding everything else.
"Easy," Moody said, raising his other hand in a placating gesture. "I'm just going to cast a spell. Harmless. *Revelio Animagus*."
The words left his wand in a pulse of silver light that washed over Scabbers.
The rat glowed.
Glowed *bright blue*, the color of human transfiguration, the color of someone hiding in plain sight.
"Oh gods," Molly whispered.
Percy stared at his rat in horror. "Scabbers?"
The rat—or whatever it was—suddenly struggled violently in Percy's grip, squeaking in panic.
"Hold him!" Moody barked.
But Percy, shocked and scared, loosened his hold. Scabbers leaped from his shoulder, hit the floor running, and made for the door.
He didn't make it.
Kingsley's wand was already moving. "*Petrificus Totalus!*"
The rat froze mid-leap, suspended in mid-air, glowing blue.
"*Finite Incantatem*," Moody said, his wand trained on the frozen rat. "*Reverso Forma*."
The transformation was grotesque.
The rat's body began to grow, stretch, shift. Limbs extended. Fur receded. Features morphed from rodent to human. Within seconds, a man lay frozen on the Weasleys' kitchen floor.
A man with thinning hair, watery blue eyes, and a missing finger on his right hand.
"Peter Pettigrew," Benjy said softly. "Well. This is interesting."
Molly stared at the man on her floor. At the person who'd been living in her home as a rat for five years. Who'd been around her children. Who'd listened to every conversation, every private family moment.
Who'd been presumed dead while the man accused of killing him rotted in Azkaban.
"Oh gods," she said again. Then she turned to Percy, pulled him close. "It's alright, sweetheart. You didn't know. None of us knew."
Percy was crying, staring at the frozen man who'd been his pet. "Scabbers was... he was always Scabbers. How could Scabbers be a person?"
"Animagus," Kingsley explained gently. "A wizard who can transform into an animal. Very advanced magic. Very rare."
"And illegal when you don't register," Moody added grimly. He pulled out a small mirror, spoke into it. "Bones. We found him. The Burrow. Bring backup."
Molly's mind was racing. Five years. Peter Pettigrew had been in her home for five years. Around her children. Listening to everything.
"What did he do?" she asked, her voice shaking. "What did Peter Pettigrew do that you're looking for him?"
"We believe," Benjy said carefully, "that he was the Secret Keeper for the Potters. That he betrayed them to Voldemort. That he killed those twelve Muggles and framed Sirius Black for it. That he's been in hiding ever since, waiting to see which way the war would go."
Molly felt sick.
She'd harbored a Death Eater. Had let him around her children. Had protected him, fed him scraps from dinner, let Percy carry him everywhere.
"I'm going to be sick," she whispered.
"Sit down," Kingsley said gently, guiding her to a chair. "You didn't know. There's no way you could have known."
"Five years," Molly repeated. "He's been here for five years."
"Which means," Moody said with grim satisfaction, "that he's heard everything. Every conversation about the war. About Dumbledore. About the Order. About—" His magical eye swiveled to Percy. "About your family."
"He was always around," Percy said in a small voice. "I took him everywhere. I told him things. Secrets. About my brothers. About school. About..." He looked horrified. "About everything."
"Not your fault," Benjy said firmly. "You thought he was a pet. You couldn't have known."
The front door burst open. Amelia Bones strode in, flanked by four more Aurors, all with wands drawn.
"Pettigrew?" she demanded.
Moody pointed to the frozen man on the floor.
Amelia stared at him for a long moment. Then she knelt, looking directly into his terrified eyes.
"Peter Pettigrew," she said formally, "you are under arrest for suspected treason, murder, and conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism. You have the right to remain silent, though I assure you, we will be using Veritaserum. You have the right to legal representation, though good luck finding someone willing to defend you. Do you understand these rights?"
Pettigrew, still frozen, could only move his eyes. They were wide with terror.
"I'll take that as a yes," Amelia said. She stood, nodding to the Aurors. "Get him to Ministry Holding. Maximum security. Guard him personally. If he escapes, you'll answer to me personally."
Two Aurors levitated the frozen Pettigrew, carrying him from the Burrow like a particularly ugly piece of furniture.
Amelia turned to Molly. "Mrs. Weasley, I'm sorry. I know this is distressing. But we'll need statements from you and your son. About how you came to have Pettigrew. How long he was here. What he might have observed."
"He observed everything," Molly said hollowly. "Five years. He observed five years of our lives."
"Did he ever act strangely?" Kingsley asked. "Try to escape? Show unusual intelligence?"
Molly thought back, trying to remember. "He was always trying to hide," she said slowly. "Whenever visitors came. He'd disappear into Percy's room or under furniture. We thought he was just shy. But now..."
"Now it makes sense," Benjy finished. "He was hiding from anyone who might recognize him. Anyone from the Order."
"Why did you come here?" Molly asked suddenly. "Why did you think to look here?"
"Process of elimination," Moody said. "We figured Pettigrew wouldn't hide in the Muggle world—too dangerous, too isolated. He'd want to stay close to the wizarding community. Close to information. A family with children would be perfect—kids adopt stray animals without question. A family connected to the Order would provide access to news about the war."
"The Weasleys fit the profile," Kingsley continued. "Good people who wouldn't suspect. Large family with multiple children. Arthur works at the Ministry, hears gossip. Active in the Order during the war. It was logical."
"Logical," Molly repeated. "You suspected us?"
"We suspected Pettigrew would target someone like you," Benjy clarified. "Not that you were involved. There's a difference."
"I need to tell Arthur," Molly said suddenly. "He needs to know. The children need to know—properly, not just Percy. This is..." She laughed, slightly hysterical. "This is insane."
"It's definitely unusual," Amelia agreed. "Mrs. Weasley, we'll need those statements. And we may need to interview your other children, depending on what Pettigrew reveals under Veritaserum."
"Of course," Molly said automatically. "Whatever you need. Just—" She looked at Percy, who was still crying silently. "Just give us a moment. Please."
"Take your time," Amelia said gently. "We'll be outside when you're ready."
The Aurors filed out, leaving Molly alone with Percy and the knowledge that their family's pet rat had been a murderer all along.
"Mum?" Percy's voice was small. "Did I do something wrong? By keeping him?"
"No, sweetheart," Molly said, pulling him close. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing. This isn't your fault. It's not anyone's fault except Peter Pettigrew's."
"But I liked him," Percy whispered. "I talked to him. I told him things. I thought he was my friend."
"I know," Molly said. "I know, darling. And I'm so sorry. But he wasn't really Scabbers. He was pretending. And now he's been caught, and he'll face justice for what he did."
Upstairs, Molly heard the thunder of feet as the twins came racing down. They burst into the kitchen, eyes wide.
"Mum!" Fred gasped. "That man—"
"—was Percy's rat!" George finished.
"We saw the whole thing!"
"Was he really—"
"—a Death Eater?"
"Not now, boys," Molly said tiredly. "Just... not now."
But the twins were already looking at Percy with something approaching awe.
"You had a Death Eater as a pet," Fred breathed.
"That's actually kind of brilliant," George added.
"In a horrible, terrifying way," they said together.
"BOYS."
They subsided, but Molly could see the wheels turning in their heads. This would become a story. The time Percy's rat turned out to be a murderer. It would be told and retold, probably embellished, certainly traumatizing.
She was never getting through this day without developing new gray hairs.
"Right," she said, standing with determination. "Percy, upstairs. Wash your face. The Aurors will want to talk to you, and you'll need to be brave. Can you do that?"
Percy nodded, wiping his eyes. "I can be brave."
"Good boy," Molly said. "Fred, George—you'll give statements too. Just tell them what you saw. The truth, nothing embellished."
"Us? Embellish?" The twins looked affronted.
"Never," they said in unison.
Molly pointed upstairs. They went, still chattering to each other in that private twin language she'd never quite understood.
Alone in her kitchen, Molly Weasley looked at the spot where Peter Pettigrew had lain, and she thought about the strange turns life took.
Five years ago, she'd adopted a rat for her son.
Today, she'd helped capture a Death Eater.
Tomorrow, she'd probably read about it in the Prophet.
And somewhere in Azkaban, Sirius Black—wrongly imprisoned, wrongly accused—would finally be vindicated.
It was, Molly decided, definitely one of those days.
But at least it was almost over.
She hoped.
---
**Ministry Holding - Interrogation Room Three**
**October 17th, 1985 - 4:52 PM**
Peter Pettigrew was having the worst day of his life.
Worse than the day Voldemort had recruited him. Worse than the day he'd betrayed James and Lily. Worse even than the day he'd faked his death and committed to spending the rest of his existence as a rat.
Because he'd been caught.
After five years of careful hiding, of living as vermin, of listening and waiting and staying safe—he'd been caught.
He sat now in a Ministry interrogation room, bound with magical restraints that prevented transformation, escape, or any hope of survival. Across from him sat Amelia Bones, and her expression suggested she'd like nothing better than to skip the trial and proceed directly to execution.
"Peter Pettigrew," she said, her voice cold as winter. "Do you know why you're here?"
"I didn't do anything," Peter said immediately. His voice came out whiny, pleading. "I'm innocent. I've been hiding because I was afraid—afraid Sirius would find me, afraid he'd finish what he started—"
"Save it," Amelia interrupted. "We know you're guilty. We know you were the Secret Keeper. We know you betrayed the Potters. We know you killed those twelve Muggles and framed Sirius Black. We know everything, Pettigrew. The only question is whether you cooperate now or make this harder on yourself."
"You can't prove any of that," Peter said, but his voice wavered.
"Can't we?" Amelia pulled out a vial of clear liquid. "Veritaserum. Three drops, and you'll tell us everything. Every sordid detail. Every choice. Every betrayal. Or..." She set the vial down. "You can tell us yourself. Voluntarily. With full cooperation. Which might—*might*—earn you a slightly less horrific sentence."
"I want a lawyer," Peter said desperately.
"You'll get one," Amelia confirmed. "After you've answered my questions. Those are the rules, Pettigrew. You don't get to hide anymore."
She administered the Veritaserum before he could protest further. Three drops on the tongue, and Peter felt his mind go fuzzy, his resistance crumbling.
"What is your name?" Amelia asked.
"Peter Pettigrew."
"Were you the Secret Keeper for James and Lily Potter's Fidelius Charm?"
"Yes."
"Did you betray their location to Lord Voldemort?"
Peter tried to resist. Tried to lie. But the potion wouldn't let him.
"Yes."
The admission hung in the air like a curse.
"Why?" Amelia asked, and there was genuine curiosity in her voice now. "Why betray your friends? People who trusted you?"
"Because Voldemort was going to win," Peter said, and his voice was small and broken. "Everyone could see it. He was too powerful. Too strong. The Order was losing. People were dying every day. It was only a matter of time before he won completely."
"So you joined the winning side."
"I joined the surviving side," Peter corrected. "I'm not brave like James was. I'm not powerful like Sirius. I'm not clever like Remus. I'm just... me. Peter. Average Peter. Peter who always needed protecting, who always followed, who was never good enough on his own."
"So you betrayed them," Amelia said.
"I protected myself," Peter said. "Voldemort offered me a place. Protection. Power. Things I'd never had. All I had to do was tell him where the Potters were hiding. Such a small thing. Such an easy thing."
"Easy," Amelia repeated, her voice hollow with disgust.
"And it was only them," Peter continued, the Veritaserum pulling every ugly truth from him. "Just James and Lily. Not the whole Order. Not everyone. Just two people. Two lives for my survival. It seemed... reasonable."
"Did you know about Harry? That he would be there?"
"Yes," Peter said. "But Voldemort said he'd spare the boy. Said he only wanted James—for old grudges, for revenge. Said Lily and Harry could live if she stepped aside."
"But she didn't step aside."
"She didn't step aside," Peter confirmed. "She died protecting Harry. And Voldemort tried to kill Harry anyway, and the curse rebounded, and everything went wrong."
"So you ran."
"I ran," Peter agreed. "Because I knew—everyone would think Sirius did it. Sirius was the obvious Secret Keeper. Sirius was the one everyone would suspect. I just had to sell the story."
"By killing twelve Muggles."
"By making sure," Peter said. "By making it look like Sirius had gone mad, had attacked me, had killed everyone in rage. By cutting off my finger and leaving it behind as proof. By transforming and escaping while Sirius stood there laughing like the madman everyone thought he was."
"You let an innocent man go to Azkaban."
"Better him than me," Peter said simply.
The honesty of it—the utter lack of remorse—made Amelia's stomach turn.
"Did you know the Weasleys?" she asked.
"No. Not personally. But I knew of them. Good family. Order members. Arthur worked at the Ministry. Perfect place to hide. Perfect place to hear news, to learn what was happening, to know if it was safe to return."
"And was it? Safe to return?"
"No," Peter said. "Voldemort was gone but his followers weren't. The Ministry was hunting Death Eaters. I couldn't reveal myself without being caught. So I stayed. Stayed as a rat. Stayed safe."
"For five years."
"For as long as necessary," Peter confirmed.
Amelia leaned back, studying the pathetic man across from her. "You understand what you've done? The lives you've destroyed? James and Lily Potter, dead. Harry Potter, orphaned and abused. Sirius Black, wrongfully imprisoned. Twelve innocent Muggles, murdered. The Weasley family, traumatized. All because you were a coward."
"Yes," Peter said. Because the Veritaserum wouldn't let him deny it.
"Do you regret it?"
Peter was silent for a long moment. Then: "I regret getting caught."
And that, Amelia realized, was the truest thing he'd said.
He didn't regret the betrayal. Didn't regret the deaths. Didn't regret the suffering.
He regretted that he hadn't gotten away with it.
"Right," she said, standing. "I've heard enough. Pettigrew, you're going to be tried for treason, murder, conspiracy to commit terrorism, unlawful Animagus transformation, fraud, and about fifteen other charges. You'll be found guilty. You'll be sentenced to life in Azkaban. And you'll rot there, knowing that you failed. That Voldemort lost. That Harry Potter survived. That every sacrifice you made, every betrayal you committed, was for nothing."
"Please," Peter whispered, and now there was fear in his voice. "Please, I'll tell you anything. I'll testify. I'll cooperate. Just don't send me to Azkaban. Please."
"You should have thought of that," Amelia said coldly, "before you betrayed your friends."
She left him there, sobbing and begging, and felt absolutely no sympathy.
In the hallway, Moody was waiting.
"Get everything?" he asked.
"Everything," Amelia confirmed. "Full confession under Veritaserum. It's all recorded. Sirius Black will be exonerated. Pettigrew will be convicted. Justice, finally, after five years."
"About bloody time," Moody growled. "Poor bastard's been in Azkaban for something he didn't do while the real traitor lived as a rat."
"Not anymore," Amelia said. "Not anymore."
She walked back to her office, feeling the weight of the day settling on her shoulders. They'd found Pettigrew. Proven Sirius's innocence. Solved a five-year-old mystery.
Tomorrow, she'd inform Sirius. Would give him the news he'd been waiting for. Would watch him finally—finally—understand that people believed him.
Tomorrow, they'd schedule a trial. Would expose Pettigrew's crimes publicly. Would let the wizarding world know the truth.
Tomorrow, Harry Potter would learn that his godfather was innocent. That he had family after all. That not everything about his parents' death was as it seemed.
But that was tomorrow.
Today, she'd done her job.
Today, justice had been served.
And sometimes, that had to be enough.
---
**Black Manor - The Study**
**October 17th, 1985 - 6:34 PM**
The emergency summons had brought them all back to Black Manor—every available member of the Black Dragon Legion, plus Amelia Bones, who'd arrived with news so significant it couldn't wait for morning.
Arcturus sat at the head of the table, Dorea and Charlus flanking him. Moody, Benjy, Kingsley, and the others occupied the remaining chairs. Only Melania was absent—she was upstairs with Harry, keeping the boy occupied while the adults talked.
"We found him," Amelia said without preamble. "Peter Pettigrew. Alive. Living as a rat with the Weasley family for the past five years."
The silence that fell was profound.
Then Dorea laughed—sharp and bitter. "A rat. He's been hiding as a literal rat. The metaphor is almost too perfect."
"Did he confess?" Charlus asked urgently.
"Under Veritaserum," Amelia confirmed. "Full confession. He was the Secret Keeper. He betrayed the Potters to Voldemort. He killed those twelve Muggles and framed Sirius. Everything. It's all recorded, all documented. Sirius Black is innocent."
Arcturus closed his eyes, and for a moment, he looked every one of his eighty-seven years.
"Thank Merlin," he whispered. "Thank Merlin. Sirius is innocent."
"We'll schedule an emergency Wizengamot session," Amelia continued. "Probably within the week. We'll present Pettigrew's confession, exonerate Sirius, and formally charge Pettigrew with treason and murder. It's going to be the trial of the century."
"Dumbledore will be there," Benjy pointed out. "He won't be happy. This makes him look bad—very bad. He supported Sirius's imprisonment. Never questioned it."
"Let him be unhappy," Dorea said coldly. "Let him squirm. He's cost us five years with Sirius. Cost Harry his godfather. Cost an innocent man his freedom. He deserves every bit of discomfort coming his way."
"We'll need to tell Sirius," Moody said. "Soon. Man deserves to know he's being cleared."
"I'll tell him," Arcturus said. "Tonight. He should hear it from family."
"What about Harry?" Charlus asked quietly. "When do we tell him?"
"After the trial," Dorea decided. "After Sirius is officially exonerated and free. Harry's been through enough upheaval. Let's give him certainty before we introduce another major change."
"Agreed," Charlus said. "Though I think he'll be happy. He said he hoped Sirius was innocent. That he'd like to have a godfather."
"He'll have more than a godfather," Arcturus said. "He'll have Sirius. And Sirius will have him. They'll help each other heal."
"Assuming Sirius can heal," Moody said grimly. "Five years in Azkaban does things to people. Bad things. He might not be the same man who went in."
"Then we help him," Dorea said simply. "That's what family does. We don't abandon people because they're broken. We help them heal."
"Speaking of healing," Amelia said, "we need to discuss the custody hearing. It's still scheduled for November 6th. Even with Sirius being exonerated, Dumbledore's still going to contest your guardianship of Harry."
"Let him try," Charlus said. "We have Pettigrew's confession. We have evidence of abuse at the Dursleys. We have Sirius's innocence proving Dumbledore's judgment was catastrophically flawed. What argument can he possibly make?"
"That you're too dangerous," Amelia said bluntly. "That you'll train Harry in Dark magic. That you'll turn him into a weapon. That—"
"That we'll treat him like family instead of a martyr," Dorea interrupted. "That we'll teach him to be strong instead of submissive. That we'll give him choices instead of manipulating him toward predetermined ends."
"Yes," Amelia agreed. "That's exactly what Dumbledore fears. And he'll make that argument publicly. He'll paint you as Dark. As dangerous. As unfit."
"Then we paint him as negligent," Arcturus said. "As someone who abandoned Harry to abusers. As someone whose poor judgment cost Sirius five years of freedom. As someone who shouldn't be trusted with anyone's welfare, let alone a child's."
"It's going to be ugly," Benjy warned. "Both sides slinging accusations. The Prophet will have a field day. Public opinion will be divided."
"Then we make sure our side wins," Charlus said firmly. "We present the truth clearly and let people decide. Most reasonable people will side with the family who rescued an abused child over the guardian who left him in a cupboard."
"Most reasonable people," Moody muttered. "Always the sticking point, that. How many reasonable people are there really?"
"Enough," Dorea said. "There have to be enough. Because the alternative—a world where Dumbledore's negligence is rewarded, where Pettigrew's betrayal is forgotten, where Sirius's innocence doesn't matter—that's not a world I want to live in."
"Nor I," Arcturus agreed. "We fight. We win. And we make sure nothing like this ever happens again."
"To new beginnings then," Kingsley said, raising his tea cup in a toast. "To justice. To truth. To the Black Dragon Legion."
"To the Legion," the others echoed.
"And to Harry," Dorea added softly. "May we give him the life his parents wanted. The life he deserves."
"To Harry," they repeated.
Upstairs, in his room, Harry Potter was having a different kind of meeting—with Kreth, who was teaching him about house elf magic and showing him photographs of his parents at Hogwarts.
He didn't know yet that his godfather was innocent. Didn't know that the man accused of betraying his parents was actually a hero who'd been wrongly imprisoned.
Didn't know that tomorrow, everything would change again.
But he knew—with absolute certainty—that he was loved. That he was safe. That he had family who would fight for him.
And sometimes, that was enough.
Sometimes, that was everything.
Outside the manor, stars glittered in the October sky, and somewhere in Ministry Holding, Sirius Black was about to get the news that would change his life.
The dragon had awakened.
And nothing would ever be the same.
---
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