Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Truth Comes Out

Harry was never so tired that you could get close enough for an attack. The moment his bed curtains began to slide aside, he was beginning to sit up, his eyes snapping open with alarming speed. He was reaching for the wand he kept in a protective case under his pillow when he realised just who had disturbed his rest, and relaxed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and stretching, as if nothing had happened.

"You do realise that it's the middle of the night, right?" he asked, cocking his head, already wide-awake and scrutinising the scene. He kept his voice down, out of courtesy to those still sleeping.

"I believe that you might consider this more important than sleep," Thor began, with greater confidence than he felt. But Harry had said that he believed Black to be innocent—and he might well be right. On that note, "Sirius Black infiltrated the Tower. He wishes to speak with you."

Whatever Harry had been expecting, this must not have even occurred to him. He blinked, twice, and then glanced around the Tower. "Ah, I see. That's how he eluded the dementors. He learnt how to turn invisible."

There was that same, careful levity to his sarcastic tone, that Thor had just heard from Black. He frowned, concerned. Had he misunderstood?

"Ah…no," he said, deciding that it was probably best to answer the unspoken question rather than to try to decipher the inner workings of his brother's mind. Attempts had never availed him, before. "There is a secret room on the seventh floor. I told him that I would return with you and Scabbers."

This statement, as Thor well knew, was very odd, taken out of context. But Harry just paused, and said, "I see."

He pulled a folded up piece of parchment out of his pocket, reached under his pillow for his wand, and tapped it, muttering, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. If you took the time to put on proper clothes, then you can afford me the same dignity," he continued, as the Marauder's Map began to fill with inky lines. His tone was much the same, disinterested drawl, only louder, as when he had addressed the Map. Before Thor could think of what was happening, the curtains had closed back around Harry's bed.

A few moments later, the curtains drew aside, again, as Harry reached into his other pocket to withdraw the invisibility cloak.

"I think there's room for the three of us," he said, with a small smile. "Even if you mean to keep Scabbers in his cage."

That last statement was almost a question, especially with Harry's head cocked at an inquisitive angle. Well, do you? it silently asked.

"That seems a worthy decision to me," Thor said.

Indeed, he was planning to keep Scabbers in that cage for good reason: Harry had been quite thorough when accounting for likely problems, back when they had first bought the cage. He'd wanted one that could withstand even whatever latent magic Scabbers might have—and thus, it couldn't be locked or unlocked save for with the key—not even from within. At the time, this was just to ensure that Scabbers could not simply magic himself into unwitting danger. Now, however, it served a better purpose.

Harry raised an eyebrow as if he wished to ask why Ron Weasley had now decided that the pet whose freedom he had so often advocated needed now to be kept under lock and key, and perhaps what relevance he had to the situation at all, but his only other action was to spread the invisibility cloak around the two of them, and to lead the way back down the stairs.

"I suppose Hermione will miss this entirely. Even if I had figured out a way to enter the girls dormitory, I think she needs her sleep."

This was not a pointed comment about Thor interrupting Harry's much-needed sleep, but such comparisons were inevitable.

Despite a decreased need for caution, now the invisibility cloak was hiding them from sight, they nevertheless made their way, in an infuriatingly silent, careful manner, through the empty halls of Hogwarts.

They were halfway to the seventh floor room before Thor realised that Harry was still leading.

"Harry—" he began, only for Harry to silence him with that familiar reproving expression. It was very difficult to keep talking with that expression leveled at him, and he sighed, hoping that, somehow, Harry knew precisely what he was doing.

Harry lifted up the Marauder's Map, staring back and forth between it, and the blank stretch of wall. The room surrounded by thick black lines had to be here, somewhere. Behind the tapestry of the unfortunate wizard who tried to teach trolls ballet seemed an improbable choice—it was set too high in the wall for someone to climb into it, thus. And something about how thick those lines were…it gave Harry the suspicion (justified or not) that the room was capable of changing its size. Truly, one of Hogwarts's greater mysteries. And Ron had found out about it before he had!

Ron, who at last understood the difficulty.

"All you need do is walk this stretch of floor three times, thinking as you do of what you require. As I have seen the room, perhaps you would allow me."

The corridor was empty. Harry glanced back and forth along it—but it was quite far out of the way—and then lifted up the invisibility cloak, pulling it off all three of them.

Ron, after a moment's pause, handed over Scabbers's cage, which perhaps made sense—who knew what thoughts might run through the mind of a rat as to what it required? Harry watched with narrowed eyes as Ron, to all appearances, just paced back and forth before a blank stretch of wall.

Then, he stared, momentarily stunned, as an ordinary-looking wooden door materialised there. His seventh sense hummed, trying to catch his attention. He ignored it.

And how much faith will I place in my dreams? Harry asked himself. Ought I to believe that Sirius Black is innocent—or has he cursed Ron?

He had read, some, about curses that confused or manipulated the memories of their victim. It was a possibility, but slight, to Harry's mind. And he'd known, one way or another, that the ordeal—the annual threat—would inevitably force him to confront Sirius Black.

Ron retrieved Scabbers's cage, first, and then opened the door, pausing to glance back at Harry, still standing there. Harry shook his head roughly, as Ron held open the door, that he might enter first. He had to remind himself that he trusted Ron. Ron would not send him into certain danger.

Across the room, a figure in tattered black robes leapt to his feet, crying, "Harry!" in a voice filled with desperation, and something else, something Harry couldn't identify. Harry drew the holly-and-phoenix-feather wand, in an instant, and was pointing right between the man's eyes. Despite some inner turmoil, his aim was level and steady.

He stepped forward to allow Ron to enter, barely aware that he had, as he stared, unblinking as if the man were a hippogriff, at Sirius Black.

"You are going to answer my questions," Harry announced, "and you are going to answer them honestly."

Black glanced over to behind Harry, at Ron. "I thought you said that he thought that I was innocent?" he asked, voice high-pitched in incredulity. It broke, in the middle.

It took all of Harry's self-control not to whirl around to face Ron, at this. "You told him that?" he demanded, hand beginning to shake. He frowned at the offending appendage, and concentrated on stilling his hand.

"I thought that you did," said Ron, clearly at a loss as to what was going on. "Have I said something wrong?"

The worst thing was that he knew it was utterly unjust of him to fault Ron for this, and, while he was no hufflepuff, he liked to think he at least dealt reliably with his friends. He sighed, instead of answering.

"Never mind that, Ron," he said, continuing to move forwards, towards Black.

"Will you answer my questions?" he asked Black, wand clenched tight, but aim steady. "Or must I assume that you are, in fact, guilty?"

"Fire away," Black said, his voice a hoarse croak, as he fell back onto the sofa behind him. "Just not literally, please. I have no weapon with which to defend myself, you know. You might go easy on me."

With a thrill of foreboding, Harry realised that he couldn't tell whether or not Black was telling the truth. It would come down to the evidence.

"Please, sit down," Black said, as if welcoming them to his house. He spread his hands in welcome, and gestured to the seats situated around a coffee table, reminding Harry of Mother's living room, despite himself. Black seemed unaware of the weapon trained on him. Harry and Ron slowly sat down on the sofa, Harry never taking his eyes off of Black.

"I see that you brought the rat," Black continued, glancing at Ron. "That will make things much easier. Thank you." The corners of his mouth stretched into what was almost a smile.

Harry couldn't help casting a puzzled glance at Ron, but it was gone before he returned his gaze back to Black. Ron set the cage on the table, and as Black's gaze flicked to it, he drew his own wand, pointing it at Black.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt either of you," Black said, crossing his arms with a huff. Then he smirked. "I think the door has been there long enough."

Harry whirled around in time to see the door through which he'd entered dematerialise. Instantly, he was alert and wary once more, head whipping back around to face Black.

"You—" he began, and Black waved one arm in a careless, dismissive gesture.

"Just to make sure no one interrupts," he said. "And to prevent certain animals from escaping."

His glance at the cage before him was sufficient explanation as to whom he meant by "animals". Black leant forward, peering intently through the bars of the cage, but Harry barely noticed, feeling trapped, in a room with his best friend, sure, but also a man whose intentions remained unknown.

"I'm unarmed, you know," Black said, glancing up at him. "There's no need to threaten me."

"I will be the judge of that," Harry snapped, in return. "Where is the door?"

Black cocked his head, considering that question, and shrugged. "I dunno. I guess wherever anything that's part of this room goes whenever it isn't required. This is the 'Room of Requirement', after all. But if it bothers you, just think about it, and it'll appear. You're not trapped here."

"Then neither is Scabbers," Harry pointed out, waving his left hand at the rat, who was squeaking madly, pushing against the bars of the cage. Black sighed.

"Only those who summoned the room can summon the door. He didn't have any part in summoning it, so—"

"Neither did I!" Harry snapped. He was half-inclined to say, "I'm leaving, and coming back through the door, myself!", but that felt a bit…silly. Ron had called the door this time. He trusted Ron. He trusted Ron.

Didn't he? Of course, he did.

"Oh," Black said. "Well, your friend has control of it, then. I suppose that makes sense. It doesn't matter, though, because the only one who's going to try to leave this room in a hurry is…what did you call him? Scabbers. You can go ahead and keep that wand leveled at me, but your arm might get a bit tired."

Harry glanced at Ron, and then at Scabbers, and finally at Black. How much did he trust his dreams? he asked himself, for what he did not realise was the last time.

Well, when he thought about it, they'd been his sole reason for believing Snape's innocence, in first year, and that had turned out to be true. He slowly lowered the wand, but kept it in his hand, ready to move at a moment's notice. He felt Ron's gaze land on him, and saw the other wand lower, out of the corner of his eye.

"What do you want with Scabbers?" asked Harry, subdued, feeling rather silly and childish. And if Sirius Black weren't the bad guy, and cared about him…had he ruined it? He thought he had overreacted, but a room without a door was a prison, and prisons naturally sent his mind scattering into dangerous depths. "Why bring us all here? Did you betray my parents, or are you innocent?"

He gave voice to his disconnected thoughts with a weary apathy. There was no threat to sharpen his mind, to make import of what he thought and did. His mind still wasn't fully recovered—or that was his excuse. He didn't know, anymore.

"Well," said Black, gaze still fixed on the cage, "the answers to those questions all lie in a rather long true story. I brought you here to explain…in the hopes that I might earn your forgiveness. I didn't sell your mum and dad to Voldemort…but it's my fault that they died."

He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and the skin of his sunken face seemed to draw tight. Harry relaxed, slightly, hearing Black utter the name "Voldemort". Only Lupin and Dumbledore did that, as far as he knew. It was an act of defiance, of disrespect. It gave him some assurance, a measure of trust, in Black.

"How do you mean?" asked Harry, considering raising the wand again, after that confession. He felt torn.

"I as good as betrayed them…I convinced them to change Secret Keepers at the last second. I thought I was so smart—everyone always told me I was. I suppose that's just the peril of being considered smart—you're more likely to do incredibly stupid things, because you're so used to being right that you don't notice the flaws in your plans as well. I thought it was the perfect plan—a ruse! Voldemort was sure to go after me, would never dream they'd use a weak, talentless thing like—

"But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning. When I first came to Hogwarts, I was sorted into gryffindor, and made three good friends: James, your father; Remus, your teacher; and…Peter Pettigrew. To help Remus deal with…his ailment—"

"I know Professor Lupin's big secret," Harry interrupted, with a shrug. Black glanced over at him again, finally, considering his words.

"How? How did you figure it out?" asked Black, seeming puzzled. "You're not as close to him as we were, and it took us a while—"

Harry shrugged again, as if it were no big deal. "Professor Snape assigned us an essay on how to recognise and kill werewolves. He treated Lupin with such vitriol that it didn't even take studying a lunar chart to note the regularity of his absences. And then, his boggart…." He shrugged, for a third time.

"Wait. Professor Lupin is a werewolf?" asked Ron, in a rather unreadable tone. Harry gave him time to digest the news, and didn't look at him. Black didn't seem to have heard, which was impossible; Ron had made no special effort to be quiet, and he was naturally rather loud.

"You're a very bright child, aren't you? Like your father," a fond, reminiscent smile crept across his face, softening the gaunt, haggard features. "Surely, quicker on the uptake than other kids your age."

Harry looked at the floor, but he didn't even notice what colour it was. "I've been told I'm precocious," he agreed, and then started, as he realised that it wasn't he who had been told that. Was he humouring his intuition too much?

Unaware of his inner turmoil, Black dragged the topic back to relevant matters.

"Very well, then. To help Remus with his lycanthropy, the remaining three of us decided to become animagi. By the end of our fifth year, we managed it. Your dad could turn into a stag; I could turn into a dog; and Peter could turn into a rat."

Harry's gaze shot up at the mention of the stag, eyes wide. Oh. Oh. Oh. Then, that was the reason for Lupin's reaction to his patronus. He almost missed the casual mention of Black's animagus form in the middle, but then the pieces fell into place for him. The dog in the stands at the quidditch match. The dog walking the grounds of Hogwarts after hours, with Crookshanks. Crookshanks, who must have let him into the Tower. He didn't know that animals could do that, but then…Ron had a point. Crookshanks was…unique.

And then his mind hit on the last phrase: Pettigrew was a rat. He followed Black's gaze as it returned to Scabbers, squeaking madly in the cage.

"You can't mean to tell me that—"

"The biggest piece of Pettigrew that they found, it's said, was his finger. But in truth, that was the only piece of Pettigrew they found—that, and his undamaged robes. He shouted to the whole street that I'd betrayed your parents, cut off his finger, blasted apart everyone near enough to see the truth, and turned himself into his animagus form.

"He escaped, and then sought for a wizarding family—ideally purebloods, the only sort the Death Eaters respect—to keep an ear out for news of Voldemort's front gaining strength again. He was always a coward. He wasn't about to risk people finding out he wasn't dead until he had his master's protection again. After all—if he'd lived, what else might they have gotten wrong about that night?"

Black threw back his head and laughed, long and loud. It was not a happy sound, and it had Scabbers running in circles in his cage.

"There's a spell to turn an animagus back into his human form, you know. But it won't work in that cage, or I'm sure he'd have tried it by now. He doesn't want to be anywhere near me. He knows that I'm going to kill him, for what he did."

The only person Harry had ever heard speak that casually of murder was him, himself.

Black's gaze shot to Harry's, again. "Your mum and dad were my best friends in the world. And Remus…I should have trusted Remus, but rumours of a traitor were running rampant through the Order—that's Dumbledore's top-secret group who fought Voldemort during the war. He'd been acting…different. Withdrawn, I suppose. When I look back on it, life can't have been easy for him, during the war. Dumbledore must have chosen him for some very difficult missions, and of course he couldn't talk about them. I regret it, now."

He folded his arms, rubbing his elbows through the tattered sleeves of his robes, as if to ward off a chill.

"They sent me to Azkaban. Straight to Azkaban. Dumbledore himself gave testimony that I was your parents' Secret Keeper, so they felt there was no need for a trial."

A bitter grin crept across his face. "I felt that I deserved it. All of it, right down to Pettigrew outwitting me—Pettigrew, the slowest of us, physically and intellectually, the last to grasp a difficult concept, outdrawing, and outwitting, me! It was hilarious, in a completely unfunny way. I went quietly, trusting in the Ministry to see justice carried out. Trusting in Dumbledore. I shouldn't have. Because of that trust, you were put in danger. Pettigrew was left unchecked. Only I knew that he was still alive. Only I could recognise him by his missing toe when I saw him in the paper. Remus didn't know. He came here, to Hogwarts, thinking that he would need to protect you from me."

He turned away from the cage again, to look Harry in the eyes. Harry found that he couldn't look away. "Believe me, Harry. I didn't betray your parents. I would have rather died than betray them."

As ambient white noise, there was the frantic squealing of Scabbers in the cage. Black was one of those rare people whose truths and lies he couldn't read. But he could see the picture painted for him, how everything connected. It made more sense than the picture he'd had before. His hand relaxed on the wand, and he slipped it into the holster he kept in his sleeve.

"I believe you," he said, gaze landing on the cage. "But how did you escape from Azkaban? The dementors should have driven you mad in months; Professor Lupin said so."

Sirius shot him a bitter, crooked smile, that reminded Harry, with the force of a blow, of himself. He remembered that Lupin had drawn similarities between the two, all but told Harry that he thought them very similar, similar enough for confusion. But Sirius's matted, elbow-length tangle of black hair and his starved, sunken face made it difficult to even see him as human. He looked something out of a nightmare, all haunted and hollow and pale.

"I think the only reason I didn't go mad is that I knew that I was innocent. The knowledge…it wasn't a positive thing, like happiness, that dementors could suck out of me—it isn't a happy thought, to be innocent of your charges, and have everyone believe that you committed those crimes. But it was a thought that grounded me, kept me sane and knowing who I was. It became something almost of a mantra—I don't know if you've heard of those."

A chill stole up Harry's spine. He felt the weight of Ron's gaze, and turned to face him, and then had to turn away, before he could see just what Ron's reaction was. This was getting creepy.

"I—I've heard of them," Harry managed. He had to admit that he was shaken. Sirius's face softened into a look of concern.

"Are you alright, Harry? Dementors seem to affect you badly, too; I shouldn't have—"

"I asked," Harry said, emphatic. "Please, continue."

He closed his eyes, breathing slowly in and out, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart. The only way—

Shut up! he told that corrupted corner of his mind. Ron was here, and Sirius…he could become an ally, an anchor. If Harry could trust him.

He broke out of prison. He broke into Hogwarts. He did two things considered impossible—just to protect me.

Sirius looked at him, as if unsure whether or not to continue, and then he sighed.

"It wasn't a happy thought, but it grounded me. Kept me sane and knowing who I was, so that when it all became…too much—" he swallowed, looking away, running a hand through his hair and then rubbing at his forehead. "—I could transform. The dementors can't see anything, you know. They rely on some sort of sixth sense to know where people are. They can sense emotions, but they could tell that my emotions were less human…different…when I was a dog, but of course, they thought I was losing my mind, same as everyone else. But, when I saw that article in the Daily Prophet that Fudge gave me—the one with the picture of your friend, and his pet—" the last word spat, naturally, "—I knew I had to do something. I was the only one who knew that he was still alive….

"I starved myself until I could fit through the bars, and swam as a dog back to the mainland. I couldn't resist checking up on you before I left for Hogwarts, although I think the sight of me might have alarmed you, somewhat."

A crooked smile. Harry gave him a small smile in return. "Perhaps a bit."

"And then I came to Hogwarts. I snuck onto the grounds as a dog, and have been hiding in the Forest ever since…although I did come onto the grounds once or twice, to make an attempt to break into Gryffindor Tower, and…and to watch you play quidditch. You're as amazing a flier as your father, Harry."

His voice was thin and crumbling with suppressed emotion. Tears glittered in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I convinced your parents to use Pettigrew as Secret Keeper instead of me. It never occurred to me that someone with so little to offer would join Voldemort. I thought I was being clever. And because of my foolishness—"

"We all make mistakes," Harry said, glancing back down at the cage.

"I came here to kill him. Now that you know the truth, it shouldn't be that hard. If I could just borrow one of your wands—"

"No," said Harry, in his firmest, flattest, most no-nonsense voice. "Absolutely not."

Black blinked, staring at him as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard. As if stricken.

"But Harry, this piece of filth is the reason your family died."

"I know," Harry said, still so calm he rather frightened himself. "But death is nothing but the next great adventure. He doesn't deserve such… mercy." Somehow, he forced out the dread word. "Personally, I'd rather see him suffer. And there's no way to clear your name if yet another dead rat disappears from the Hogwarts grounds. But if we speak with Dumbledore on your behalf, and hand Pettigrew over to the dementors…."

"I could be free," whispered Black, eyes widening, as hopes he'd forgotten could exist rekindled in his heart. Dreams he'd thought lost beyond recall.

"And then, perhaps…if you wouldn't mind…you could tell me what you knew. About my parents."

Sirius's face tried to decide whether to smile or twist into an expression of purest sorrow and grief. The result was rather more grotesque than usual.

"I-I know it's early, and you barely know me, but…I just had the thought—if you wanted to, you could come live with me!"

Harry bowed his head, and looked away. "…I want to, but I can't. But that's a story for later, and we have to deal with the now. Stay here. Ron and I will alert Dumbledore. He'll listen to you. I'll see to it."

"Harry—" Sirius began, but Harry silenced him with a look.

"But first—"

Before Harry could finish his sentence, there was a flash of light, and the cage containing Scabbers disintegrated. Sirius Black had no weapons, but he reached into the wreckage, anyway, to grab hold of the rat. Before he could reach him, the form buckled and distorted, expanding rapidly, until a man stood in the place of the rat.

He hadn't been able to unlock the cage, or to transform while it was intact, but he had been able to destroy the cage. And his first act was to lunge for Ron.

It appeared that they'd be having their end-of-year brawl a bit early.