Sirius never could resist a quidditch match, let alone one starring his long-lost godson. He's had good days and bad days on the run, but watching Harry fly means today is definitely a good day, even if the weather is atrocious.
The game begins and Sirius is mesmerized. Harry looks just like James in the air: shoulders hunched with determination, messy black hair catching the wind, utter grace and confidence on a broom. For a moment Sirius feels like he could look over and see Moony and Wormy (don't think about Wormtail don't think about Wormtail) right there next to him in the stands, hollering slightly suggestive encouragement at Prongs. Sirius can never think too long about Prongs, either, though, because even Padfoot's doggy emotional buffer is working with human memories, after all. Sirius concentrates instead on the well of pride, just pride, not guilt or resentment or melancholy that it has been so long since he last saw Harry fly, no, stop, just joy, and pride, I mean, the kid has always been a natural but, just look at him go!
And then the joy and whatever bittersweet sentiments he has been trying to shove down are all drained away, and Padfoot is whining before Sirius can even process the dreadful creep of cold and despair dragging its nails along his spine-
Dementors.
And Sirius wants to run, Padfoot needs to run, but he can't because Harry is out here, he's not safe, he has to protect him, but he can't protect anybody, couldn't protect Lily and James, couldn't care for Harry, couldn't catch Peter, and Lily and James are dead, and Peter is in Hogwarts with Harry, and he's cold, so cold, Padfoot is shivering with his tail between his legs and Sirius is just about ready to give up when-
Another Padfoot comes barreling towards him, or rather, towards the dementors approaching the pitch from behind him. This Padfoot is silver and ethereal and unafraid. It charges away the dementors and Sirius only manages to wrench his eyes away from it when he hears a girl scream, "Harry!" and his gaze darts back to the players to see Harry plummeting, unconscious, no, not Harry, not Harry!
Another spell shoots out from the stands and Harry's body slows, it slows but stays limp, limp like James' body, eyes open but glassy, unseeing, no, don't think about James, don't think about James, the dementors are gone, Padfoot charged them off, focus.
Padfoot charged them off. Padfoot was a Patronus. How…? He follows the path of Dumbledore's arresto momentum to see another man standing beside him, patting the silvery white dog. Even from across the pitch Padfoot's keen doggy eyes can see several emotions warring across his face but the rain is falling too hard to read them properly. Then the bright Padfoot is gone but Remus is still there, Remus, in the professors' stands- can it really be? And suddenly the smell of Moony that's been trailing all over the grounds doesn't feel like Sirius' own memories tormenting him after all, because he's here, it really is him, isn't it?
But of course it's him. The Defense post must still be cursed and didn't Lily (not Lily, don't think about Lily) always say that Remus would make a wonderful professor some day? And of course with Sirius broken out of Azkaban, Dumbledore would want to keep a close eye on Remus, would want Remus' help anticipating his moves.
But then again, Sirius has seen his photo plastered on every free wall in every even-slightly-wizarding establishment but not a single mention of Padfoot, which means that somehow, despite it all, Remus hasn't told anyone he's an animagus. Remus thinks he's a traitor but he has kept Padfoot's secret, has even kept Padfoot's own form as his Patronus, even after all this time.
Maybe Sirius doesn't have to go it all alone, after all.
Something like hope swells within his chest, buoyed by the lingering warmth of Moony's Padfoot Patronus.
Sirius waits just long enough to see Harry safely floated onto a stretcher and escorted off the pitch by Madame Pomfrey- bless her, surely he's in good hands now- and then he is off. Padfoot bounds toward the waves of students filtering back into the castle, sniffing pockets as surreptitiously as possible. Luckily, between the pouring rain and the hubbub of a dementor attack and Harry Potter falling off his broom and not catching the snitch for the first time ever- Padfoot's heart swells: James would be so proud (don't think about James)- and several heated debates over the need for a dementor-less rematch, no one seems to notice the hulking black dog in their midst. He eventually manages to doggy-pickpocket a sickle, a spare bit of parchment, and a quill that smells too strongly of ink to not be one of those newfangled self-inking varieties.
Then Padfoot is bounding back towards the forest, towards his cave, drenched in rain and still shivering from the after-effects of the dementors but happier than he's felt for a long time.
...
Remus is still ruminating over Harry's particular susceptibility to dementors the morning after the match when the post owls arrive. He is surprised to see one headed his way at the staff table; he hasn't received post yet all year. The utterly ordinary brown barn owl drops an envelope on his plate without even stopping for water; Remus is halfway to musing that it must have been from a local owl post office when he turns over the envelope to see it addressed to Moony in handwriting that is instantly familiar. He chokes on his mouthful of tea and only barely manages to avoid spitting it out all over his plate in full view of most of the Hogwarts student body. Luckily he manages to keep all the tea inside his mouth, even as he feels like all the air has left his lungs.
Remus' hands shake so much the envelope starts shaking too, and if he doesn't get himself together soon, someone will see, and with his luck it will be Severus, so before he can turn over the optics of this reaction he is fleeing from the Great Hall and into one of the staff-only chambers at the back. He collapses into a chair, any chair, still trying to find his breath again, but tears into the envelope as if it contains the very oxygen he is lacking.
Remus has spent much longer than he would ever care to admit wondering how Sirius would apologize, if he ever did; how Sirius would try to explain himself, if he ever could; and how Remus himself would react, if any of the former ever occurred. Nonetheless, he is completely unprepared for what he finds.
Moony,
Peter was the Secret Keeper. I said we should switch knowing that the Death Eaters would be after me anyway. I should have told you about it; I'm so sorry I ever doubted you. Peter let everyone believe it was me who betrayed them and then faked his own death. Please help me find him; if not for me then to get the dementors away from Harry. Just ask the Weasley boy about his rat.
The note is signed with a paw print, and Remus really has to focus, because his brain is already spiralling over the lack of proper signature. Would he have signed it 'Love, Padfoot,' otherwise? A simple 'From?' Maybe, 'Your old friend, ex-lover, and escaped but innocent, I swear, convict, Sirius Black?'
Focus, Remus-
Also in the envelope is a newspaper clipping. It is worn ragged, and unlike the other sheet that the letter is written on, which is clearly the nicest bit torn from a dampened-and-then-re-dried parchment, this newspaper bit is soft around the edges from being touched and held too much; it is also quite wrinkled, as if it has been crumpled in several fists and then smoothed back out. Remus smooths it again, running his hands over this strange article that Sirius' own hands must have been touching recently. Did Sirius caress this piece of parchment, knowing it would be held in Remus' hands soon? Did he think of- Christ sake, Remus, focus-
It's a relatively short article about the Weasley family's recent windfall and trip to Egypt. The majority of the space is taken up by a photo of the family; it's rather large in order to fit in the whole clan and the pyramids besides. Remus finally feels air in his lungs again as he stares at it, trying to figure out why on earth Arthur Weasley's raffle winnings meant so much to Sirius. But then the oxygen finally makes it back to his brain and he looks at the note again, and then the picture, and he squints at a beaming and sunburned Ron Weasley, waving at the camera with a rat on his shoulder.
Remus may not have spent as much time conscious around Wormtail as the rest of the Marauders, seeing as his nights as Moony stayed with him only as fragmented memories, but he would still recognize Wormtail anywhere. The angle at which his velvety ears droop over; the shape of his nose; the unique, slightly-too-upright posture of a rat who is accustomed to being a biped; this rat is identical to Wormtail... except- he squints harder at the photo- is that… a toe missing on his front paw?
Remus spent much of the weeks, okay, months (okay, maybe, probably, years), after the end of the war drinking and drugging himself into a stupor so that he didn't need to feel, didn't need to think, didn't (please don't make me) remember, but even so, the cruelest of the details managed to stick in his inebriated hippocampus anyway. He remembered, for instance, that Sirius laughed after he blew Peter up. He remembered that Hagrid flew Harry to his aunt and uncle's house on the motorbike, because, sure, who would ever expect Sirius Black to act in a logically consistent manner even when he was betraying and murdering his friends and twelve muggles? And he remembered, cruelly, that Peter's mother had been presented with his postmortem Order of Merlin and his finger in a little box, the only part of his body that they found large enough to bury.
Suddenly, Remus is sure that he's breathing in too much oxygen, because he is overcome with lightheadedness between one breath and the next. But no, not exactly; he's overcome with a thousand emotions all at once and his brain doesn't know where to start. Betrayal, all over again; then guilt, then anger; but growing every second is the overwhelming relief that Sirius might be telling the truth, that he might be innocent. Relief, relief, relief, that he can finally give up trying to make it make sense; relief that he can stop fearing the night Sirius inevitably shows up to finish the job; relief that he can maybe, just maybe, be able to love him again without hating himself.
He stands up with a jolt and then stops just as fervently, as black spots pop in front of his eyes. This really is too much exertion too soon after the Full, but, fuck it. Then he is gulping in great breaths of air; one breath- has air always tasted this sweet?- two breaths- has it always felt this invigorating?- and then he is sprinting back into the great hall.
...
Minerva is also ruminating on the distasteful and disgraceful problem of dementors in a school, honestly, when her breakfast is interrupted. Remus comes flying out of the chamber off the Great Hall and practically throws himself at her, gasping, "Minerva, come with me, it's Peter, I'll explain, I just, I need another witness." His eyes are bright and unflinching even as he bends over, panting, at her side, so she finds herself halfway to standing before she has even fully processed the string of nonsense coming out of his mouth.
"What-?" She tries, but Remus is already grasping her arm and tugging her toward the Gryffindor table, insisting she will see soon enough but he just needs another witness.
His eyes feverishly scan the students at the table, down and back and then down and back again. "Weasleys!" He hollers. Minerva can't remember the last time she heard this much excitement in his voice.
Four ginger heads swivel his way, and, quite frankly, half of the Gryffindor table has turned to stare at their Defense teacher, who has never looked so animated. Their intrigue only seems to be piqued by Minerva's obvious confusion by his side.
"Where is Ron?" he asks.
"What's he done this time?" asks one of the twins; Fred, possibly, if only because he tends, more often than not, to be the instigator of the two.
"Getting into trouble again?" says (presumably) George.
"Because if he tried to blow up a toilet-"
"Let us remind you that we did it first-"
"And with much more style-"
"Than whatever Ron has managed to do."
"Allegedly," Fred adds.
"Allegedly," confirms George.
Minerva glares at them both but all they do is wink- simultaneously- back at her. How do they manage to perfectly time their cheeky winks? They must have practiced it; she wouldn't put it past them.
Percy gives a disdainful sniff and turns back to his breakfast. By now the entirety of Gryffindor table is staring at them curiously, and half of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and, of course, Severus is looking on from the staff table with a quite unbecoming combination of suspicion and derision. But Remus is not self-aware enough to be self-conscious; he is staring at the Weasley children as if his whole life depends on it.
"He's not in trouble. I just need to see his rat," says Remus, not a single hint of mirth in his reply.
The twins' eyes widen and they open their mouths with jeers ready on their tongues, but thank Merlin their sister responds before they can.
"He's probably in the hospital wing," says Ginny. "With Harry."
"Of course. Thank you." Remus nods gravely and then he is pulling Minerva along again, out the Great Hall and up the stairs out of the Entrance Hall. Minerva generally takes pride in maintaining some measure of sprightliness at her age, but she finds herself struggling to keep pace with her old student as he practically bounds up the stairs.
"Remus," she huffs, "Would you mind explaining why we're-"
"Not quite yet," he interrupts. "But soon."
In record time, they are at the entrance to the hospital wing. Remus practically bursts through the doors, startling Poppy and the trio of third years centered around a nearby bed.
"Ron," Remus declares. "I need to see your rat."
"Remus!" exclaims Poppy. "I would appreciate you not disturbing my patients. Young Mr. Potter is supposed to be resting-"
"So sorry Poppy, truly, but this is quite an urgent matter for me. Ron?"
"You need to see Scabbers?" Weasley asks, though it comes out rather squeaky.
Remus, to his credit, doesn't even blink. "Yes, Scabbers," he says, "I need to see him."
"He's probably in the dormitory, Professor; that is, if Crookshanks hasn't gotten to him already-"
Granger whirls toward him and opens her mouth to argue but Remus is too eager. "Let's go, then. We'll see if he's there."
Weasley must see the strange mania in Remus' eyes because he gives up his explanations, drops a half-unwrapped chocolate frog on the table next to Potter's bed, and stands.
Granger jumps up too, saying, "If you're going to try to blame anything on Crookshanks, I'm coming with you."
Then Potter tries to rise as well, never one to let Weasley and Granger to go off on an adventure without him.
"You lay back down, Mr. Potter!" Poppy orders. Potter ignores her, swinging his legs off the bed and dodging Poppy as she tries to physically restrain him.
Remus sighs, then gestures at them impatiently, "You might as well come too, Harry, if this Scabbers is who I think he is. I'm sorry, Poppy, I'll bring him right back."
Poppy is clearly furious but Potter leaps at Remus' cryptic acquiescence and is following Remus and his friends out of the infirmary with a grin before the matron can talk him out of it.
They're walking quickly again and Minerva spares half a second to worry for Potter's health, but he's keeping up much more easily than Minerva herself, who is doing her best not to trail too far behind the rest of them. When they reach the staircases again, Weasley hurries to catch up to Remus, who is leading the little group. "Professor, sorry but, why are you so interested in Scabbers?"
Minerva is reluctant to admit to sharing some level of ignorance with her students, but she is silently seconding Mr. Weasley's inquiry.
"How long have you had Scabbers as a pet, Ron?" Remus asks, not unkindly.
"Well I've only had him for three years; he was Percy's rat before Mum and Dad got him an owl for becoming prefect. That's when Percy gave Scabbers to me; and before that I think he was Bill's. He's been in my family for over a decade or something."
"And where did Bill get him from?"
"I dunno, exactly; I always thought he just found him somewhere and decided to keep him."
Remus looks at Minerva, who is still wondering why the history of the Weasley Family Menagerie requires 'another witness.'
"What do you know about rats, Minerva? Say, the average lifespan of your everyday garden rat?"
Minerva purses her lips. "I can't say that's a topic I've reviewed recently."
Granger, no surprise, pipes up. "An ordinary common or garden rat can't be expected to live longer than three years or so, professor."
Potter and Weasley, walking in front of Minerva, glance at each other and grin.
"I'll take your word for it, Hermione," Remus says. "I can't say I knew the answer for sure myself."
"That's what the witch at the Magical Menagerie said when Ron bought him rat tonic last summer," Granger replies. "Because Scabbers hadn't been doing well ever since they got back from Egypt, which, might I add, was well before I got Crookshanks!" By the time she finishes the last sentence, Granger is glaring daggers at Weasley, but she is somewhat distracted from her ire when Remus snorts.
"More like since Sirius Black escaped. But we'll get back to that. Strange then, that Ron's rat has lived for so long, isn't it?"
"That's also what the witch at the Magical Menagerie said," muses Granger. "Professor, what does it mean that Scabbers is so old?"
Remus sighs, seems to ponder his answer for several long moments, then says, "He's no ordinary rat."
The children exchange looks behind Remus' back, and Weasley mouths "Sirius Black?" at Potter, who just shrugs, but no one says anything else until they reach the portrait entrance to Gryffindor tower.
Remus finally slows his frantic pace, stops, and turns to face the others. He seems to steel himself, then speaks. "When I was very young, I… struggled with… a condition. A condition that caused me a lot of pain and several quite serious injuries."
He falls silent again, though he opens his mouth several more times as if trying to speak.
"You mean your lycanthropy, Professor?" Granger says kindly. All heads swivel to hers in shock.
Remus is the first to recover, emitting a laugh that is, in Minerva's opinion, much too joyful for someone just outed as a werewolf to his own students. "You really are the brightest witch of your age," he remarks with pride. Granger beams. "How did you figure it out?"
"When you were out on Friday, Professor Snape set us an essay on ways to recognize and kill werewolves. I was working on it last night and realized Thursday was the full moon..."
Remus snorts. "I imagine that was just his intention. Severus will be quite pleased to hear that it worked. Well. Better let him have something to gloat over, honestly, if Sirius really is…" He cuts himself off and sighs again. After a beat, Remus picks up his story.
"My friends at school figured it out too, eventually, when I kept disappearing around the full moons. I had three best friends, you see, and as a child werewolf who never had any friends before, I was quite devoted to them. Their names," he sighs, "were James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew." Weasley and Granger look alarmed at the mention of Sirius Black; Potter, on the other hand, is now staring at Remus like he is the portal to meeting his own parents- which, Minerva supposes, he almost is. Minerva, already well aware of who Remus' best friends were in school, is instead puzzling over why he said Pettigrew's name with the poorly-concealed ire he should have been feeling for Black.
"At that time, the Wolfsbane potion hadn't been invented, and my transformations were quite damaging. You see, I was locked up for the full moon and the wolf, finding himself alone without a pack, often turned on itself and injured me in the process. My friends were determined to do something to help, and so they-" He stops again and tears his gaze, which had been rather intently fixed on Potter, up to Minerva. He looks equal parts fond and guilty. For someone who was once so good at spinning credible cover-ups on the spot in his youth, Remus is painfully indecisive about how much he wants to admit now.
Minerva glares at him. Whatever wild plans those three made to comfort a transformed werewolf, she's not sure she wants to hear them.
Remus must reach a similar conclusion, because he says, "Well, they did something rather dangerous, and illegal, and incredibly brave, and they did it for me, so… Well, the thing is, it worked. The full moons were much less painful for the wolf, which meant I stopped waking up with broken bones and gaping wounds from slashing and biting myself all night. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say I think they saved my life, several times over, which means," his gaze grows decidedly more guilty, locked on Minerva's, "I couldn't just tell people what they'd done, when it was all for my benefit, even though-"
He sighs, flicks one last reproachful look at Potter, and then says, "Well, you'll see for yourselves soon enough if we find Wo- Scabbers. Come on then. Minerva, what's this week's password?"
Minerva is too busy putting the clues together in her mind to respond to his question, so Granger steps forward and gives the password. Remus gestures to everyone else to remain in the common room as Weasley walks upstairs to his dorm to find Scabbers. Minerva is just mentally rewriting her understanding of Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban when Weasley marches apprehensively back into the common room with his pet rat in his hands.
He reaches out to transfer the rat to Remus, who is advancing with an outstretched palm and manic glint in his eye, when the rat jumps out of Weasley's hands and makes a break for the portrait hole.
...
Ron is honestly still reeling from the revelation that his favorite Defense professor is a werewolf- and that of course Hermione figured it out, but didn't tell anyone; honestly, sometimes she's too bloody brilliant to have room in her head for common sense alongside all that cleverness- to really think about what's about to happen with Scabbers. He's had quite enough shocking revelations for one day but of course luck has never been on his side for matters such as these. He's been telling himself he'll be glad to hand Scabbers over and get whatever the hell this is over with, but in the second between when he holds out his hand and when Scabbers jumps out of it, he sees Professor Lupin's face cycle through recognition, a flicker of shock, then hurt, and finally settle on rage. Suddenly Ron feels uncharacteristically protective of his pet rat, his trusty old familiar; he did bite Goyle that one time on the train, after all.
Scabbers leaps for freedom and he's scampering away too quickly for Ron to do much of anything even if he wanted to, but not too quickly for Professor Lupin, which, he guesses, makes sense, seeing as he'd have extra-quick werewolf (werewolf!) reflexes or something like that. Lupin shoots a stupefy at Scabbers, misses, tries again, just barely misses, and then finally manages to stun him right at the portrait hole threshold.
The whole escape attempt took maybe three seconds, and Ron is still reeling from it when Lupin casts another spell and then suddenly Scabbers' little unconscious body is replaced by that of a full-grown man. Ron is trying to put words together to react to this horrifying turn of events- especially in light of the pang of protectiveness he had been harboring for his rat who is actually, apparently, a man, a second ago- when Professor Lupin binds the man-Scabbers with an incarcerous and then another spell that sounds like prohibus animae seems to settle over his entire body, briefly, in a light gray dust, before sinking into his skin. Ron has just about managed to muster a "bloody hell" by the time Lupin levitates the man's body to an empty armchair in the common room and returns him to consciousness.
With a quick glance at his companions, Ron confirms that Harry is as completely confused as he is and that Hermione is surveying the scene with that air of triumph that only comes when she's figured out a great mystery. McGonagall, on the other hand, is staring at the man like he's returned from the dead. Professor Lupin is standing over man-Scabbers with that same terrifying rage in his eyes that scares Ron much more than any werewolf alone could, but when Lupin speaks his voice is almost too calm.
"Peter," he says. "Fancy seeing you here."
"R-Remus," the man exclaims, but his voice comes out all scratchy and high-pitched, which, Ron figures, is about what he probably should have expected given he's been a rat for the last twelve years.
Professor Lupin doesn't bother with further greetings. "I am going to give you two minutes to explain why I thought you've been dead for twelve years before I bring Padfoot in here to explain for you," he says. Ron doesn't understand what a Padfoot is but a quick glance at the common room couch, where Harry, Hermione, and McGonagall are seated, suggests that their other Professor, at least, has heard the word before.
Man-Scabbers- okay, Peter, apparently- flinches and starts whimpering. "H-he tried to k-kill me, Remus! I've been in hiding because he tried to k-kill me and now he's escaped to f-finish the job!"
Professor Lupin's voice is, impossibly, even calmer than before. "Why would he want to kill you, Peter?"
"He's mad, Remus! He b-betrayed James and Lily-" Ron gasps in concert with Harry and Hermione at the mention of Harry's parents, although Harry and Hermione look less surprised at their mention than Ron certainly feels. "And then he tried to k-kill me too! I was scared, Remus, what else must he be c-capable of-"
Lupin strides closer to Peter and raises his wand, which has been hanging a little too casually at his side during their mystifying conversation. Now Lupin has it pointed at Peter's neck and he leans in, and growls, literally growls, "Were you James and Lily's secret keeper?"
Peter winces and doesn't say anything, but he's sweating quite noticeably, and his fingers are twitching constantly where his hands are bound by his sides, and his eyes keep flicking towards the door now. Lupin shoves his wand into the pudgy flesh of Peter's neck and repeats his question. "Were. you. James and Lily's. secret. keeper?"
Before Peter can respond, Professor Lupin drops his wand to Peter's arm and murmurs, "diffindo." Peter's sleeve splits open to reveal a blurry charcoal-grey tattoo. Ron can't get a good look at it but frankly he doesn't bloody well need to. Lupin stares at it for long seconds.
Peter positively wails. "I was scared, Remus, you have to understand, the Dark Lord was so powerful, what would you have done?"
Professor Lupin raises his free hand into a fist and starts absolutely clobbering Peter. "I would rather have died!" He roars. "They were- you all were- I would never-" His voice keeps breaking before he can choke out a sentence but he keeps punching this Peter guy, who Ron is starting to suspect is Peter Pettigrew, in the face. Lupin's got quite an arm on him, which Ron guesses is also a werewolf thing, and Peter's head thunks into the back of the chair repeatedly and his nose is gushing blood. He's making some strange sound that is a rather rat-like cross between a groan and a yell but Ron is distracted after a moment by the incongruous sounds of Hermione murmuring softly. Ron looks over to see her arm around Harry, who is surreptitiously wiping at his cheeks.
Finally Lupin stops punching and points his wand, instead, straight at Peter's bloody face. He doesn't say or ask anything else; just stands there looking like he would love nothing more than to commit murder. Professor McGonagall must take note of his expression, too, because she takes him by the arm and drags him over to the couch next to Harry.
"I understand this has been a trying discovery for you, Remus, but I believe Mr. Potter could benefit from a better explanation. I have absolutely no desire to learn who else may or may not have become an illegal animagus as a child, for Merlin's sake, Remus, so I am going to step away and summon the headmaster." McGonagall then walks to the other side of the common room, far enough to be out of earshot but not too far that she would lose sight of Peter, and then conjures a shining silver cat several times over, murmuring to each new cat before sending it off through the wall.
Ron pulls a squashy armchair over towards the couch and sits down to listen to Professor Lupin's tale. Honestly, it should sound bloody mental, all of it, except that Ron quite clearly saw with his own two eyes Scabbers turning into that man, who as good as confessed to betraying Harry's parents. And, well, Ron did break into the Chamber of Secrets last year, and Fluffy's chamber the year before that, and also fought off a troll as a first year, so honestly if this is the most bloody mental thing to happen this year then surely that has to be a new record for them, right? And good for Harry, Ron supposes, that his godfather isn't actually a homicidal maniac (just the only man to ever break out of Azkaban, but that's much cooler when you know he's not out to kill you) because Harry really could use a good father figure in his life.
Eventually, Professor Dumbledore arrives, taking in the scene- and the man who was supposed to be dead but who was actually bound and beaten up but still quite alive on a Gryffindor common room armchair- with a distressing amount of calm. Dumbledore is trailed by two wizards in Auror red robes who are at least visibly shocked by Peter's presence, though they take him in for questioning with aplomb.
The Aurors want to talk to Professor Lupin, too, but McGonagall convinces them to give him a half-hour to recover from the shock. She promises the Aurors she will escort him to the Ministry herself just as soon as he's had a cup of tea and a biscuit, which Ron figures is a good idea because he is looking rather ill, now that the excitement has wound down.
As soon as McGonagall is gone, the rest of Gryffindor house is suddenly pouring into the common room, eager to know who the tied-up bloke was and why the Aurors were here and what the bloody hell happened. Ron gestures to Hermione to steal Harry away someplace quiet- Professor Lupin did promise Pomfrey that Harry would return to the hospital wing- while Ron creates a diversion. In no time at all, Ron is regaling a crowd of rapt Gryffindors with a play-by-play, relishing in the attention and his older brothers' impressed faces. By nightfall the whole castle has heard the tale of Scabbers-who-is-actually-Peter-Pettigrew-who-is-not-dead-but-framed-Sirius-Black.
...
Sirius, waiting nervously in his cave hideout, decided hours ago that pacing as Padfoot isn't nearly as satisfying as human pacing is, but it's been several hours now since Remus should have gotten his letter and his nerves are feeling a little too raw in human form- as are the blisters on his human feet. He's just about ready to transform back into Padfoot when the Patronus comes. If he thought he was overjoyed to see his dog-self in Patronus form yesterday, he is even happier to see it come for him today.
"Padfoot," Moony's voice says, and Sirius could cry, is crying, to hear Moony's voice again, let alone Moony's voice addressing him. "The Aurors have taken Peter. Meet me in the Shack. I'll sneak out as soon as I can." Sirius feels like his blood is too big for his skin so he throws himself to the ground and is a dog by the time his front paws meet the earth. Padfoot doesn't get overwhelmed by emotions- okay, so maybe, maaaaybe, he sometimes pees a little when he gets really excited, but that hasn't happened since the day Padfoot met baby Harry, so once every thirteen years can be excused, alright, Merlin- so Padfoot doesn't let himself collapse into tears, but his tail is wagging hard enough to break branches off the bushes he runs by.
In mere minutes Padfoot can smell the Shack, can smell Moony, but the old stale scent of Moony from years past. Padfoot wriggles through the hole he dug in the rotting boards of the Shack (the only upside to being so deathly skeleton-skinny is that he can fit through spaces that Moony could not) and settles down to wait. He is absolutely buzzing with excitement and his tail is now stirring up great clouds of dust off the floor, such that he sneezes, five times in a row, then barks and starts snapping at motes of dust as they catch the sparse sunlight filtering in through the slats of the window shutters.
It feels like hours later but also no time at all when Padfoot hears the distant echoes of footsteps in the tunnel. He zooms in tight circles, trying to outrun his anticipation, certain he would be quite promptly overwhelmed by a human nervous system if he changed back. So instead he crouches at the very edge of the trapdoor, tail beating side to side at a mile a minute, and listens to Moony's footsteps thump louder, smells Moony's scent grow stronger, and then, a muffled scrabbling, a soft grunt, and the edge of the trapdoor creaks up.
Before Moony can even think of climbing up into the Shack, Padfoot is diving down, landing squarely on Moony's head, and then as soon as he has purchase to leverage himself to the right angle, he is licking Moony's face and his neck and his hands, drinking in the tastes and smells and sensations that make up Moony, Moony, Moony; he is snuffling in his ear, and rolling, rubbing himself all over Moony's body, so that even his Padfoot smell will also smell like Moony. He is ecstatic, dog and human in perfect harmony, overjoyed to be reunited at last with their Moony. Moony is squirming and laughing beneath his body and muttering "stupid mutt," and "mangy fleabag," and softly, so softly, barely a gentle hum in his chest, just a whistle of wind, but bright and clear to Padfoot's doggy ears, "I missed you."