the black conspiracy
"You're nothing more than a meddling old fool if you think I'm going to let Harry go to that venomous pack of Muggles!"
Sirius Black had never been this angry—not even when he had stormed out of his ancestral home yelling that he would no longer be a part of the Noble and Most Evil House of Black. Two of his best friends in the world were dead, and Dumbledore wanted to send their son to Lily's sister—the same sister who had hurt Lily with her jealous hatred. He was most assuredly not going to let that happen, not while he had a say in anything. And he did have a say; as Harry's godfather and, now, guardian, he had a very big say in what happened to the child.
Dumbledore sat across the desk from him, long fingers steepled, eyes devoid of their usual twinkle. His face was drawn and haggard, but in that moment Sirius had no pity for the old man. "As I have explained to you, Sirius, family is the only thing that can protect him."
"Family! Primrose and that fat husband of hers are no more family to him than my parents or Bellatrix are family to me. Blood doesn't matter—love does—I would've thought you, of all people, would understand that!"
"Unfortunately, the old magic will understand only blood—and his only adult blood relative left is Petunia."
"Dumbledore, you said it was Lily's love that's going to protect him. What good will it do him to grow up hated?" Sirius slammed his fists down on Dumbledore's desk and stood up to pace.
"Lily's love, yes; but the protection lives on in family—blood family, not just nearly-adopted uncles," Dumbledore said gently, unfazed by Sirius's rage. "It is the best way to protect him. I don't think Voldemort is entirely gone, and I want Harry to be given as much protection as it is in my power to give."
Sirius stood still in the center of the office, head bowed, pondering. Finally, with a pained look on his face, he growled, "Fine. Send him to the Dursleys—on one condition. I want him to visit me, at least once a month. The Dursleys' place will still be home, officially. I just want to see him."
"Very well," Dumbledore murmured.
Peter Pettigrew waited nervously for Black. He knew he was bound to come along this street sometime very soon; he wouldn't miss picking his godson up for his first visit. And then, the plan would be set in motion.
Peter knew his life was bound to end one way or another in the near future if he did not do something to stop that happening. His new master had furnished him with the perfect plan to escape the wrath of both the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix. Very soon, he would be a free man. Or rat, as it were.
Presently, Peter spotted a familiar head of black hair, the engaging smile that had captivated so many girls during their school days. Trembling, Peter drew both wands and held his arms close to his sides, letting the folds of his coat hide them. It seemed Black was about to pass by, oblivious, but then he saw Peter. His face darkened and he stepped menacingly towards Peter. Peter fought the urge to run; Black was terrifying when he was angry, as he was now. Black reached him and merely stood for a moment, his height adding to his intimidating presence.
Finally, he spat, "Traitor." His hand twitched towards his wand, but for once Peter was faster: he pressed the tip of the fake wand to Black's throat. Black wore a very ugly expression indeed. "Finally found where your bravery was hiding, Peter? Feeling like a big boy now that James is gone?" Black drew his own wand in a swift motion and sent the fake wand flying with a nonverbal Expelliarmus. While Black watched it go, Peter steeled himself.
Sirius turned back to the rat, satisfied. This time, Sirius pressed his wand against Peter's throat. The grief and rage inside him had risen to a fever pitch, and Sirius fought desperately against the urge to kill Peter then and there. In the middle of a Muggle street was not the best place to do anything rash with a wand. While their duel had as yet gone mostly unnoticed, Sirius knew that any more showy magic than a simple Disarming spell would attract far too much attention. Besides, there was always the matter of the law.
As Black considered what to do with the traitor, Peter gripped his wand—his real wand—tightly. Closing his eyes, he severed his finger magically. Black laughed. He obviously thought the whimper was caused by fear; he had always known Peter was a coward. Well, Peter was taking the coward's way out, but at least he would take the evidence of his duplicity with him. Peter closed his eyes and cast the nonverbal spell that would cause the street to explode, and a moment later, he scampered away, looking for all the world like a common sewer rat.
Before Sirius could process what had happened, even before he could stop laughing, the street erupted in flames.
The next thing Sirius knew, he was in Azkaban, imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit.
Peter paced nervously in the secluded clearing, waiting for his new master to meet him. So tightly wound were his nerves that the loud pop of Apparition made him jump nearly out of his skin, for all that he expected it.
"Well done, Peter. Well done, indeed." The well-known voice spoke these words heavily. "It had to be done. For the greater good. But it is a terrible thing to have happened, all the same. Still, Harry is safe; he will never have cause to leave the Dursleys' home…it was for the greater good."
"Yes," murmured Peter, thinking more of his own good, as he turned to face Albus Dumbledore.