Magic Intervenes

by ForeverTheValentine

Magic flows differently on Samhain night, and when the Potters are murdered, the Potter Family Magic steps in to protect its heir. Helen Skerritt, a muggleborn witch pursuing a mastery in Runes, is unwittingly swept up in the chaos. If she'd known all the trouble a simple magical communion would have wrought, she wouldn't have done it. (Okay, maybe if she'd researched a bit first)

3. Chapter 3: A Traitor Tells All

Summary: Helen and company question Pettigrew, there's an abundance of really unpleasant implications, and Helen's mental Not-Thinking-About-It List grows almost as quickly as her Save-For-Later list.

(Future Helen is going to hate her for this.)

A/N: Would you believe I actually really wanted to have this out since the end of January? I kept getting mini writer's blocks and then some unexpected irl news that threw me off. But I eventually got here! I really didn't expect this chapter to be this long, but Pettigrew kept spewing more and more relevant info, and then the characters kept hijacking things to be heard. (Also, the world-building and headcanons that kept popping up to me. That was a lot of fun, but 90% of the time, it was for stuff in later chapters and not actually useful for this one *tears*). Hopefully it doesn't seem too meandering because I couldn't find a nice midway point in-between to split it at.

In less pleasant news (at least for those who've been really enjoying this fic), real life is unfortunately reasserting itself, so this fic is gonna be on hiatus for a while. It's not abandoned, but I have to prioritise real life over my leisure time activities, so it's gonna be a hot minute before I can update again.

So I hope this will tide you over until then! Otherwise, you can check out the one-shot I've written on Petunia's afterlife for a bit of vindictive satisfaction if that's to your liking #shamelessplug

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Eigyr had to release the protective wards to the basement before they could make their way down. It was originally intended to keep her children from getting into the workshop when she and her family visited the cottage, but it would also serve as a very effective method of making sure that Pettigrew couldn't get out.

There was a brief debate on what should be done with Harry. Before the realisation that she'd apparently been selected to be the Holder of the Potter Family Magic, Helen would have opted to remain upstairs with the baby to keep him away from any last-ditch plots from his parents' betrayer. However, now that the Family Magic had revealed itself, she actually had to be present in case it wanted to step in somehow. And anyway, there was no question of whether Black would be going - if nothing else, he needed the closure - and he also wasn't willing to let Harry out of his sight. Eigyr had to draw, activate, and monitor the arrays she'd just drawn up (as well as make sure that neither Black nor her brother actually gutted the little worm. She'd make sure they stuck to maiming). The barely contained miasma of emotions in Professor Flitwick made him a non-starter. No one in their right mind was going to try to tell the half-kobelyn he had to stay out of the confrontation with his adopted daughter's betrayer. Pepper may have been able to stay behind, but again, Black didn't know her. And too, she'd apparently developed a grudge against the dumpy little man over the course of the last day (Helen mentally sighed and resolved to ask about it later - with her luck, it was some other heretofore unknown-to-her Magic Thing™️), and brooked no arguments about her intentions to be present.

The eventual agreement was that Pepper would sit with Harry in her 'safe area' of the workshop. It was a space she'd claimed for when she wanted to just sit in the workshop while Helen and Eigyr were working. Sometimes she participated in whatever they were working on, but most often, she just wanted the company while she worked on her crocheting or any of the other little projects she tended to do. It was neat and tidy, and most importantly, well-warded to be out of the blast-zone of the more... volatile experiments. Of course, when they got to the room, Black, Professor Flitwick, Mistress Eigyr, and Pepper all found something or other to add to the spot to further protect Harry and hide the space - Helen's magical exhaustion meant she couldn't add anything of her own. By the time they were done, Helen reckoned it was more secure than Alcatraz, Azkaban, and Buckingham Palace combined. The last thing added, courtesy of Professor Flitwick, was a beautifully complicated set of charm work and enchanting that she recognized as being rather similar in effect to the anti-cheating seating they'd used in Hogwarts during exams to control what persons could see and hear past it.

The basement workshop itself was a rather large space spanning the entirety of the floor space of the cottage above it - magically expanded spaces and rune-work were a recipe for disaster, so it was actually the size it looked - subdivided for different types of work. There was of course, Pepper's space, where no actual rune-work or experimenting ever occurred, which always amused Helen when she thought about it. Eigyr would grumble 'til kingdom come about Helen and Pepper being young and ridiculous and generally bothersome interruptions to her precious rune-work time, but never once had she ever complained about giving up some of her precious work space for Pepper's use. Even in their early days when they were still learning each other, she'd never threatened to rescind the privilege of it either.

Helen didn't take in the worktables, the in-progress and half-assembled projects, the permanently scorched areas of the wall from years of mishaps. On entering the room, her eyes immediately zeroed in on the bound, gagged, and unconscious form currently trussed up behind a shimmering barrier. She immediately recognized it as their "magical vacuum", where they tossed malfunctioning or volatile projects. It was warded in such a way that once it was activated, it would siphon any active magic being thrown off of the object and funnel it into strengthening the ward against explosions. Its secondary function was to prevent the item from pulling in any ambient magic to fuel whatever it was doing. She couldn't count how many times she'd thrown some little gizmo or doodad she'd been tinkering with into it when it started going wrong.

It was honestly the perfect place to hold Pettigrew for questioning. Even if he somehow managed to wake up from what she was sure was the strongest sleeping charm Professor Flitwick could cast, and escape from what had to be an auror-grade apprehension spell - whatever it was, it was way more secure than any incarcerus charm she'd ever seen - he'd never be able to get out of the ward itself. Besides the fact that any magic he tried to throw at it or use while inside of it would only be used to reinforce it (not that she thought for a moment they'd left him with his wand), it was a solid barrier, meant to prevent the projects from getting out if they happened to start rolling or vibrating while they malfunctioned.

The Flitwicks moved to a clear area of the ground to begin drawing the runes for whatever it was Eigyr had dreamed up - they couldn't simply draw it around the magical vacuum because the two arrays would likely interfere with each other.

Helen hadn't even realised that she and Black had planted themselves between Harry and Pettigrew until she made to look back at Pepper's space and caught Black doing the same thing next to her. Realistically, her magic was exhausted. Even if something happened, she wouldn't be able to do anything except maybe for one last burst of adrenaline-fuelled casting before she made herself pass out. But her magic - the Family Magic really; she liked to think her own magic was a lot more pragmatic - itched at the idea of not being a barrier between Harry and the man who'd already proven himself a danger.

Instead of commenting on their actions, especially since they were both so tightly wound, Helen turned her focus to studying Pettigrew's insensate form. He'd been stripped down to his undershirt and drawers (honestly, there were some things she thought the wizarding world ought to leave in the past and the medieval underwear were high on the list), and she was shocked to see the fresh stump after his elbow where his right forearm should have been, looking freshly - barely - healed (probably just to keep him from bleeding everywhere and dying before they'd gotten what they wanted out of him).

The shock was quickly replaced with a seething anger that she realised both she and the Family Magic shared when she saw the dark mark glaring at her from his left arm. Her blood boiled and, for a brief moment, Helen honestly wondered how she hadn't spontaneously combusted with the way her entire being had actually flushed hot with her astonished fury.

Until that point, there'd still been, in the back of her mind, the possibility that Pettigrew had been tortured or coerced or something else of the sort to have given up one of his oldest friends and his young family to be murdered. But that mark. That mark. She'd seen it in the papers - even the Prophet, load of tripe that it usually was, had mentioned it at some point - and she knew, everyone knew, that it was only ever found on purists. Some of the ones who'd been caught around when the war had truly begun to ramp up had been very proud about their 'proof of their belief in a purer Wizarding Britain'.

(The parallels to Nazis had made Helen shudder.)

Bellatrix Black was known to have one and to be very proud of the fact.

There was no refuting it. Somehow, some way, for some unfathomable reason, Pettigrew had chosen to join the people who wanted most if not all of his friends dead. Lily was a muggleborn, and Potter, Black, and Lupin were considered 'blood-traitors' for daring to care about her and see her as a proper witch instead of an interloper or 'magic thief'.

(Really, how on earth did anyone truly believe that muggleborns were 'stealing magic from purebloods' when, by virtue of spending their entire lives in the muggle world, they didn't even know magic existed until they were told? Were muggle parents somehow performing high dark magic in their sleep now?

Idiots.)

She'd known him in school. They'd shared classes and the odd group study/cram session. He'd been part of the Marauders, who'd stood up to the purists when the muggleborns and half-bloods couldn't. One of his best friends had married a muggleborn and had a half-blood child. Another of his closest friends had quite literally run as far away as he could from his fanatical blood-purist family. Peter Pettigrew should have been the absolute last person to join the other side of this war.

He looked absolutely pathetic - his skin was smudged with dirt; his mousy brown hair poked out strangely at odd intervals, complete with dust and filth (and were those twigs? Had they left non-magical London before he was caught?); and there were bruises blossoming black peppered all over his torso (and she wouldn't put it past Black or Professor Flitwick to have dragged him along behind them after they captured him rather than using a levitation charm - she wouldn't hold it against them either). It was pretty evident that somebody (and she honestly wasn't sure who it was between Black and Professor Flitwick) had had a go at roughing him up. He'd never been conventionally handsome - not in the way the other marauders had all been - but the swollen eyes and crooked nose from what had to be a really painful break weren't doing him any favours.

There was nothing really drastic about his looks, but compared to his staple group of friends, his everyday plainness became more distinctly unattractive. She remembered very clearly that Pettigrew was sometimes picked on for not being as handsome as the other three, which was shallow and childish, but Hogwarts was a school full of children with more power than sense. Honestly, he was a bit short and pudgy compared to his friends, and had small, beady eyes set just a bit too close to a rather prominent nose, but there were worse crimes of appearance among wix than mildly disproportionate facial features (the Goyle boy from Slytherin came to mind). Black, Lupin, and Potter had always been very quick to defend him - the Marauders were a package deal and if you messed with one, you messed with them all. Black and Potter were handsome in that charming, roguish way that girls - whether magical or muggle - seemed to be universally weak to, but Lupin's self-contained manner and the fringe that was perpetually in his eyes so he was constantly brushing it out of the way endeared him to a number of young witches on his own merit. It didn't hurt that they'd all been perfect gentlemen, even with the mischief that seemed to cling to them like a second skin. Next to their charm, his 'ordinary' became a bit less than it really was.

Looking at his current condition, Helen figured Black's temper had probably gotten the better of him, not that she could blame him. She felt so much pain emanating from the Family Magic - there was the over-arching fury at what he'd done, but there was also an underlying, bone-deep heartache at the betrayal. It seemed that the Family Magic had loved him as well, and to have this be the repayment of years of friendship and love was gutting.

She couldn't focus on it too long or she'd wind up crying. They'd never seen any of it coming, and it made the fact that they'd chosen to put their trust in her - essentially an unknown - all the more shocking and highlighted the desperation they must have been experiencing to get Harry to safety. And to think, if it had all happened on any night other than Samhain, if she had decided not to do the magical communion after all - because she could have changed her mind at the last minute - if any one thing had gone differently...

Would Black have caught Pettigrew, or would the traitor have escaped? A rat animagus could essentially disappear because of how small and inconspicuous rats were. What would have happened then, considering Potter had said something about Black being a decoy? What would have happened to Harry? Would anyone have known to go collect him from Lily's apparently awful sister? Given the blood ward Dumbledore had put on him, it was highly unlikely the old man was planning to retrieve the baby any time soon. What would have happened with that terrible magic that was in his head wound? She still hadn't found out what it was, but anything that could evoke that sort of reaction out of Taana, a veteran curse-breaker, should never be anywhere near a baby.

There were too many questions, and she suspected none of them had favourable answers. And they all somehow stemmed from the actions of this one pathetic-looking man in front of her.

While Helen had been reflecting, Eigyr was making the last brush strokes of her rune circle. It wasn't necessarily elaborate - she likely had kept it comparatively simple because of the short time frame she'd had to create it - but it definitely wasn't elementary either. There were multiple sections that would each act as very strong compulsion charms to force Pettigrew to tell them the truth, and they were all linked to each other in some shape or form to make them even stronger. They were essentially the runic version of veritaserum, but a heck of a lot stronger and more effective because while veritaserum was a potion that people could possibly build up a tolerance to, there were no such weaknesses for runes, which were external. It also had the added bonus of not sending the victim participant into that odd fugue state, so they were completely aware of every detail they gave away. She likened it to a much more rudimentary version of what the Wixen World Court of Justice had done to the chairs they use to question people on trial since they'd stopped accepting veritaserum confessions.

And that reminded her - if they were going to be questioning Pettigrew, her trusty dicta-quill would be very useful. The problem was that no one else could be spared to go for them and Helen herself was already so fatigued from getting down the stairs that she already knew she'd spend the entire confrontation seated on the chair someone had dragged over for her. She didn't actually like asking Pepper to do things she could do herself, although her friend never seemed to mind, but in this instance, she had to concede defeat. Beyond her own hang-ups, the Potter Family Magic (and she was starting to be able to differentiate between it and her own magic now) had been uneasy at the idea of calling Pepper away from guarding Harry for even the few seconds it took for the exchange. It wasn't a major thing in the grand scheme of things, and it was all over very quickly, but it still left her inwardly disgruntled.

Another thing Helen noticed was the sections that were meant to funnel Pettigrew's own magic to empower and strengthen the array. It meant that it would wear him down so that even if he tried to fight it, eventually, plain old tiredness would cause him to let even more things slip.

(That part really wasn't necessary because the nature of the runic array meant that he actually couldn't fight it at all, and too, the array could have been done in such a way that it didn't need a constant power source to function. But the spiteful part of her approved of inconveniencing him however they could.)

(All of that together probably meant the legality of them creating and using this rune circle was dubious at best since they weren't law enforcement and shouldn't actually be questioning anyone, but she couldn't really bring herself to care.)

Besides the compulsions for truthfulness, there were containment and magical funneling segments similar to the magical vacuum, and Eigyr had apparently added incentives to prevent attempts to lie in the form of what amounted to an electrical shock, or a jolt of cruciatus-like pain.

(The kableyin may have been feeling just a bit vindictive and spiteful on her brother's behalf.

Eigyr herself could not forget the way Filius would light up when he spoke about his little apprentice. He still hadn't settled down to start his own family - his magic had never connected with anyone in the way that kobelyni used to discern eligible life mates - but from the way he'd gone on and on about this one little witch, there couldn't be a more perfect daughter for him if Lady Magic had shaped the girl Herself. Eigyr would always remember the exact moment that Lily Potter née Evans died because of the way that Filius had stumbled to his knees, clutching at his chest and letting out the most heart-wrenching cry she'd ever heard from him - and they'd been inseparable as children, so she'd heard it all. The little waste of magic in front of her deserved every single bit of her ire for his part in her little brother's devastation.)

This array wouldn't be practical for the same sort of repetitive use that the WWCJ would need out of their chairs - the fact that it drew on the person being questioned would probably violate some humanitarian law or other. But they weren't a court of law. They were a group of people who'd been wronged and they were getting their own back.

And if they maimed his magic somehow with their untested, cobbled-together runic array? Well, accidents happen and he had it coming anyway.

Eigyr finally nodded to herself after her last check of the array and shot a raised eyebrow to Helen in inquiry as she stood and dusted her hands. The young witch nodded back because she hadn't found any issues either. She may still be a year away from the completion of her mastery, but it didn't in any way mean she was still a novice. Taana had been using her as a second set of eyes for the last few months, and the times when unfamiliar things were used as teaching moments were becoming rarer and rarer.

With that, Eigyr deactivated the magical vacuum and Black wasted no time in transferring the still unconscious Pettigrew from it to the new, experimental runic array.

In quick succession, like they'd practiced it, Black released Pettigrew, Professor Flitwick shot off the counter-charm to wake him up (one that Helen only recognized as being different to the typical Rennervate), and Eigyr activated the array.

There was no gradual awakening. Pettigrew woke up all at once, his entire body immediately tensing, and then fell over as he tried reach for his stump with his left arm that had been hooked somehow to his bound feet.

He fumbled a bit in his disorientation, but it seemed that the fall had knocked him into the present and he finally really looked around to take in where he was. She saw the flash of true fear in his eyes when they landed on Black's murderous visage before they flickered off to look at the no less terrifying image of the Flitwicks' bared fangs.

When his increasingly fearful gaze landed on her, she wondered what kind of image she presented next to her fellow interrogators, as she suddenly remembered that she was still dressed in her pyjamas with what was surely a nightmare of a bad hair day atop her head, and on top of all that, she was seated while everyone else stood.

The fear (terror, actually, if the way he'd paled was any indication) had abruptly switched to confusion when he finally looked in her direction, which was probably fair. She was basically an unknown. There was no guarantee he'd remember a single muggleborn Ravenclaw he'd barely interacted with in seven years of boarding school, and beyond that, as far as he knew, she had absolutely no connection to or stake in their current issues.

(Honestly, she was still half-expecting to wake up to find this had all been an elaborate fever-dream.)

Still, the part of her that was very proud of her skill with runework (and, really, any magic she properly set her mind to learning - she had a war to survive), was a bit insulted that she didn't seem to warrant any fear on her own. Knowing she was being ridiculous, but unable to help it, she comforted herself with the knowledge that her skill with runes did in fact make her a decent threat.

(And if she couldn't use her runes, there were a fair few volatile experiments lying about that she could toss at him.

Purely for research purposes, of course.)

And right now, with the ire of generations of Potters thrumming through her, it wouldn't take much to push her to do it. She almost wished he'd give her a reason.

(Well, even more reason.

As the ideas flashed through her mind, she could actually feel the Potter Magic's approval. Considering how bloodthirsty it currently was, she decided that maybe she shouldn't let her imagination run away with her until she'd gotten this 'magic holder' business sorted out.)

Black stepped forward, his wand grasped tightly in his right hand. His expression was stony, and the odd, almost luminescent colour of his eyes made them appear as two cold chips of diamond in his face.

The pale wood wand was leveled at Pettigrew's remaining hand (and consequently both his feet, which were bound to it) as he threatened in a low, dangerous voice: "You have five seconds to start spilling your guts before I take your other hand."

Neither his glare nor the threat were even directed at her, but Helen felt ice slide down her spine anyway at the dark promise in his words. Even with the wand extended, he was completely still - and despite his obvious fury, it was not a tense stillness. It put her more in mind of the big cats and other ambush predators she'd read about in a muggle encyclopaedia in a library - just watching and waiting for Pettigrew to make that one move that left him perfectly open to being pounced on and ripped apart.

Pettigrew hesitated, but only for a moment as Professor Flitwick levelled his wand between the traitor's eyes and growled only a single word: "Why?"

"Because it had to happen!" The words almost seemed to have exploded out of him.

Immediately after saying it, those beady eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, naked shock painted across his face.

That would be the compulsions kicking in, Helen thought viciously, but she couldn't do much else. The disgust that tore through her was an almost visceral thing, and it rooted her to the spot because what the actual hell did he mean? It had to happen? Under what bizarre set of circumstances was the murder of his friends, the last surviving members of an Ancient and Noble family, necessary?

Black apparently didn't labour under the same momentary paralysis because, with a slash that wouldn't have been out of place in a fencing tournament and a shout of Praetrunco, Pettigrew's left hand had been cleanly severed at the wrist. The sudden lack of tension on the limb caused him to overbalance and fall over onto his right side. He let out an agonised scream when his weight fell on the stump of his right arm, but Helen's mind was occupied with the sight of parts of human anatomy she was never meant to see. A distant part of her mind noted in a rather detached manner that the spell had cauterised the limb even as it made the cut, so at least there wasn't blood spraying everywhere. But she had in fact seen a piece or two of bone fall along with the limb. She couldn't tell whether they had fractured off of the larger bones in the forearm, or if they were some of the smaller bones that made up the wrist. There was a period during her childhood when she'd thought about being a doctor, before she knew anything about magic, and had gone looking into all sorts of books in the local libraries. She'd rather quickly discovered she didn't have the stomach for it, and so it was a very short period in her life. The image of the muscle and tissue surrounding Pettigrew's severed bone, as well as a living-colour (literally so!) cross-section of the pulp and marrow inside it, was stamped across her mind and seemed to refresh itself each time she blinked.

Her stomach churned and she suddenly felt light-headed. It was only stubbornness and pride that kept her from tipping over, because even if she already looked like the weak link, she didn't want to prove it.

Pettigrew shouted something about the fact that he had answered like Black had demanded.

Helen's eyes tracked over to the man in question, mostly so she'd stop staring at the severed hand lying on the ground in her Taana's workshop. Black's still outstretched wand was trembling now, and there was murder in his eyes as he stared at his fr - former friend.

"I said," he began lowly, "'before I take your other hand'."

And Helen once again resolved to never get on the man's bad side. As a matter of fact, she hoped no one ever got on Harry's bad side either, because Black would definitely show up to deal with the problem and anyone who happens to be in his way while he does it.

But she had a decision to make. A glance past Black showed her that Professor Flitwick's magic was actually sparking on his clothes and in the air around him. Mistress Eigyr looked furious, but it was that dangerously calm sort of furious, like a snake waiting in the grass to strike. Black was the obvious danger of a kettle about to boil over, and Professor Flitwick was a wildcard, but Taana's ire was silent. And Helen knew from having been shadowing the woman for the last three years that her silence was indicative of plotting, and Taana's plotting was never good for whoever was on the receiving end. That one kobelyn who'd had Things To Say about her apprenticing a wix never crossed her again after she was done with him.

If Helen let things continue this way, with the other three this incensed, there wouldn't be enough left of Pettigrew to fill an ashtray before the night was done.

She took her life into her hands and reached out to tug gently on Black's shirt, noting distantly that it was a regular cotton t-shirt (something which was still fairly controversial among muggles, and absolutely unheard of among wix) to get his attention away from the traitor snivelling in front of them. His head snapped around to her, expression thunderous, but he thankfully didn't cast anything at her.

She gave a small shake of her head and shot him a pleading look, hoping he'd let her step in.

(...figuratively speaking...)

He pressed his lips together and let out a short huff that still managed to adequately convey all his discontent, but still gave the barest nod for her to continue.

"What do you mean?" she asked carefully, but not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer. There was no response he could give that would make this any better. "Why did it have to happen?"

He was still sobbing in pain, but Taana's runework did its job, and he was forced to answer through his blubbering, even if he hadn't yet looked up to notice her. "They were wrong," he responded, the words almost unintelligible.

Helen couldn't help the way her expression fell flat because, that didn't actually answer the question. She raised an eyebrow at him, but he missed it, struggling as he was to bring both mutilated arms together, but not having any hands between them to even be able to cradle them the way he obviously reflexively want to.

There was a part of her - the human, empathetic part - that felt sorry for him the same way she was always sympathetic whenever she saw someone struggling. It was intrinsic to her and couldn't be shut off (and she didn't actually want it to be, because that would be the beginning of the end of her humanity).

However, there was a larger part that surged to the fore that was really just impatient with him because he'd brought this all on himself (and it had all been unceremoniously dumped in her lap, so really, she had reason to be annoyed). When he didn't look to be settling anytime soon, Helen found herself rolling her eyes before she came to a decision. Black and Professor Flitwick might want to torture him as much as possible, but she had no stomach for such things, and she needed a full night's sleep besides. Magical exhaustion was called 'exhaustion' for a reason, and if she didn't send herself to sleep at a decent time, her body would eventually take the decision out of her hands, just like if she'd pulled one too many all-nighters in a row. Slaking their (justified) bloodlust was not worth the dressing down she'd get from Pepper, or the indignity of being put to bed like a recalcitrant toddler.

Helen rolled her eyes in impatience - which she would have otherwise considered very crass, given the circumstances - and made an impatient gesture at the other people with her.

"This will take forever at this rate and I'd rather not spend any more time in his presence than necessary-"

Pettigrew chose that moment to let out a particularly pathetic sound and she raised her eyebrows as if to say 'case in point'.

"-So someone please numb him so we can actually accomplish something before sunrise," she finished.

Professor Flitwick looked mutinous for a few moments, his lips pressed together and his mouth moving furiously, like he couldn't settle on how exactly he wanted to screw it up to best display his upset. She watched as he took a deep breath before casting the most grudging Torpens charm in the history of ever. Pettigrew's body immediately sagged to the ground in relief, feet still bound, but his arms (or what was left of them, and she's really not going to think about that any further, thankyouverymuch) falling to either side of him.

She didn't give him time to properly get comfortable, and there was no telling how strong the charm had been or how long it would hold (best to assume the answer to all of the above was 'not very').

Helen cleared her throat pointedly and folded her arms, her expression settling into one she'd learned from her mother - head tilted warningly, one eyebrow raised, mouth set, and the most judgmental glare she could muster. That Look had forced many a confession out of Helen and her siblings when they were younger and knew better than to do or hide whatever they'd done or hidden. There may or may not be some trauma attached to the memory of that Look.

Pettigrew's eyes whipped over to her and he clumsily scrambled to sit up, unbalanced as he was with no hands to help him and two arms that were suddenly different lengths - one ending at the wrist and the other at the elbow.

"Let's try this again," she began. "I'm going to ask you anything I think is important, and you're going to answer me without any dissembling. Firstly because that little rune circle you're in will force your compliance, and secondly because I'm apparently the only thing keeping those two from turning you into an unsightly smear on the ground."

The traitor paled and glanced from Helen to Black and Professor Flitwick. Whatever he saw in their faces made him go positively ashen, and Helen figured her point had been quite neatly made as his eyes darted around and found no escape routes.

(Although how he could have expected to get past two half-kobelyni and a Sirius Black with a vendetta when he was newly handicapped - and wow, that was an absolutely terrible pun she hadn't meant to make - and had no wand, she had no idea. Even when they were in school, Professor Flitwick had shown he was nothing to trifle with when he stood in for conspicuously-missing Defense teachers. Pettigrew was deluding himself if he thought he'd be able out-maneouvre the Duellist.)

She gave him a moment to come to terms with his situation, and suddenly had a flash of inspiration. Helen's birthday was in March, so she'd had a few months after turning eleven and before being escorted to Diagon Alley by a professor to go absolutely bonkers looking up any mentions of magic she could get her hands on (that all came from muggle libraries, so ninety-eight percent of it was absolutely useless, but she hadn't known it at the time). But one of the things that had really stood out was the prevalence of genies and djinns and oracles in many of the fantasy stories she'd found. They were always experts at twisting words to get whatever meaning they wanted out of the protagonist's inquiries or demands, and, at the time, little Helen had decided that if she ever met one, she was going to be the best wordsmith ever so that they wouldn't be able to con her.

Pettigrew obviously wasn't a djinn, but the principle was apparently the same. Although Taana was in fact an acclaimed Master of her craft, she'd still only had one day to come up with the array they were using. It was good, especially on such short notice, but it wasn't foolproof. She'd have to be very careful to get the answers she wanted, and not to let him distract them with misleading half-answers. That was, without fail, one of the major obstacles to the characters who'd faced djinns and oracles in groups. They'd get a half-answer that implied something unfavourable, and at least one person would fly off the handle and derail everything.

Considering how upset everyone in the room already was, they were already a powder-keg just waiting for a spark. If she wasn't careful with her questions, Pettigrew would be able to take advantage.

Mind racing with this new information, Helen let the silence stretch as she thought. It was easier now that Pettigrew had come down to sniffles rather than wailing.

Finally, she began. "What were your reasons for having James and Lily Potter murdered?"

He flinched at the last word, and Helen resolved to keep hammering it home. He may not have cast the curses that killed them, but he was completely responsible for what had happened. They'd depended on him for their safety and he had run to the big bad himself so that the man out for their blood could have a free shot at murdering them. She wouldn't let him avoid the fact that he was the one who'd gotten them killed, and her dicta-quill was there to capture his undoubtedly terrible reasons in lovely black ink.

The traitor seemed to try to keep his mouth shut, but jolted with a yelp and fell over when the array zapped him for the resistance.

He didn't appear to be in pain, courtesy of Professor Flitwick's numbing spell (darn), but it seemed as though his muscles had all locked up for a moment with the stimulation. At least it was still inconveniencing him somehow.

And it seemed that the yelp freed him up to speak. "They were sullying the Potters' legacy," he started, still sounding reluctant to talk at all, but unable to help it.

Helen didn't physically move, but it still felt like she'd internally reeled back at that statement. The implications of it crawled like ants along her skin and made her very wary of just how badly the night would go if this is how it was starting out.

Professor Flitwick's voice, tight with fury, came from Black's other side before she could speak, and she leaned around Black to see him. "The Potters have historically been hardworking, upstanding citizens and contributors to British Wixen society. They have always stood by their principles and been a voice for those who needed it," he told Pettigrew. Rather than looking directly at the traitor, he appeared to be examining his wand, turning it this way and that the same way she imagined a soldier would inspect his favourite rifle. "Taking into consideration that James and Lily were among the top students in their year, and that they were actively against a war that would disenfranchise and murder the majority of the British magical society if you idiots got what you think you want," and here, he finally fixed his piercing gaze on Pettigrew and held his wand in what she recognised as one of the 'Ready' positions he'd taught some of the muggleborns at school in a clandestine self-defense class. "How, exactly, do you, in all your infinite ignorance and abundant arrogance, claim that they were 'sullying' their legacy?"

The brunet gulped and studiously avoided Black's gaze where it was boring into the side of his face, but was still forced to answer, though it came out waveringly. "The muggleborns are trying to turn magical Britain into the muggle world, with all their strange creations and ideas. Li-"

"Don't," Professor Flitwick cut him off, wand raised warningly, "say her name."

Pettigrew nodded and continued, gaining more steam as he went, like this was something he'd been biting his tongue on for a long time. Given the circumstances, he probably had. "They don't know anything about how things work here and they don't try to understand. They're always trying to take up positions that would better serve purebloods." His gaze sharpened on Professor Flitwick, and there was accusation there. "Everyone knows how accomplished you are with Charms but you've never taken on an apprentice. And after decades and generations of talented purebloods, the first person you choose is a muggleborn." He spat the word like he'd wanted to say something else, but had enough common sense and self-preservation left to know it was... ill-advised... at the very least. "How many purebloods had to sit in your classes every day and watch you pay more attention to someone who hadn't even known what magic was until she was eleven? And then, to be passed over completely for an apprenticeship despite our grades?"

He went on and on, about how muggleborns - and the halfbloods, because you can't forget them either - were always complaining about the way things were, like they hadn't been that way for hundreds of years. Always wanting positions that traditionally went to purebloods, increasingly trying to marry into pureblood legacies and then change generations of tradition to suit themselves, trying to replace their important magical holidays with muggle ones (Christmas for Yule, breaking school for Easter, but not for Ostara or Beltane, and replacing the rich and somber celebration of Samhain with their ridiculous Hallowe'en).

By the time he'd gotten around to the utter crime that was muggleborns 'seducing' proper pureblood wizards and witches away from other respectable purebloods and creating 'tarnished halfblood children', the top of Helen's head actually felt hot with her fury and disgust. She didn't know when her hands had started shaking, but she barely had a good grip of her wand because of it, useless as the thing currently was to her in her magical exhaustion. She hadn't known she could feel this much disgust and fury towards a single person, and it was compounded by the absolute maelstrom of emotions the Potter Magic was experiencing. Taken altogether, it was making rational thought very difficult to come by.

---

Sirius' expression was a concerning mix of disgust, horror, and soul-deep anger. He couldn't wrap his mind around hearing one of his oldest friends, someone who'd known how much he detested his relatives' bigotry, spout the exact. Same. Tripe. The worst part was that Peter - Pettigrew - really believed it. Professor Flitwick's sister, Mistress Eigyr as he'd been told to call her - and that was still a surprise because he'd never considered his professors' lives outside the classroom - had told them she would work on something for them to use to question him.

Sirius had wanted to tear the traitor apart for what he'd done, and Professor Flitwick admittedly wasn't very far from it, but after he'd stopped sobbing over his sleeping godson - his son now in all truth, and that thought threatened to undo him all over again - she'd stepped in and told them that they would do this right and she'd have no arguments. As out of sorts as he was, he'd still known a losing battle when he saw it and hadn't contested her assertion. She'd had the elf return Harry to the witch's - Helen's - room despite his protests. He hadn't wanted to let Harry out of his sight, but she very bluntly told him that there was no point in keeping Harry with him when he was this unstable, lest he accidentally wake him with his pacing and agitation. Even if he managed to follow her instructions and get any sleep, there was the chance that it would be hounded by his grief, which would disturb Harry and that wouldn't help anything at all.

The no-nonsense way she'd told the almost buzzing elf to keep a teacup in his room full and warm, and then bustled him off to a room that was apparently usually her son's had reminded him painfully of the way Mum-Dorea had shepherded him and James about during the holidays when they got really disheartened by the things they'd seen at school. Before she'd mentioned getting cleaned up, he hadn't noticed the stiffness on the knees of his trousers. When he'd looked down, Sirius had stared blankly at the large, dark spots until he remembered kneeling next to James James' body when he'd found him it, and the blood that had stained his brother's clothes.

The next thing he'd been aware of was the solid wall at his back and the short half-kobelyn - and there was a different word for the women, wasn't there? Dad had explained it to him once sometime after they'd taken him in, but it was so long ago and he'd locked away the painful memories of those happier times - standing over him, feet planted on either side of his outstretched legs, and a firm but gentle hold on his face that was at odds with the sternness in her voice as she spoke him back to the moment. His heart had ached at the distant memory it brought up of Mum helping him through that first summer after he'd run away.

Professor Flitwick had been a step behind her, Sirius' wand held securely in his hand with his own, and concern and heartbreak swirling in his eyes.

At the very least, he'd accepted that Harry probably shouldn't be with him for that first night.

But he knew how competent Professor Flitwick was, and curse-breakers trained by Gringotts, like he'd been told Mistress Eigyr was, were absolutely nothing to sneeze at. His world had been tossed into disarray, but those facts remained constant. Whatever she'd said that rune circle would do, it would do. He wasn't a master, but he'd still been among the top students in his runes class, and the tiny, scattered bits that he could recognise from the complicated-looking array were in line with what she'd claimed.

So he knew Pettigrew was speaking the truth as he knew it. He just couldn't believe that this was what that truth was. He was hearing it - the words were bouncing around his head like one of those muggle bouncy balls Lily had shown them. They just wouldn't sink in.

His stomach roiled with his disgust, even as his pulse pounded with his anger and his heart broke from the betrayal of it all.

How had he not seen this? How long had Pettigrew felt this way? He'd thought he'd escaped the House of Black and all its vitriol, first when he'd gotten to Hogwarts, and then when he'd run to the Potters. How had he missed the same ugliness festering in someone he'd called 'friend'? Someone he'd trusted with the safety of the only three people he considered family?

Who else had he misjudged? Who could he trust now? Professor Flitwick and this odd assortment seemed to want to help, but how long would he be able to trust them? Could he even rely on his own character assessments? Even outside of his personal life and Harry's safety - MerlinsBALLShowwashesupposedtoprotecthim?! - he was an auror. People's lives often depended on his ability to make accurate character assessments.

Pettigrew's betrayal hadn't just upended his life - it had also shaken his belief in his own abilities. That belief was the only thing that had kept him going when he was a child and his only plan had been to make it to Hogwarts and then try to escape Orion and Walburga when he graduated. That bone-deep belief was the only thing that had allowed him to drag himself up and out of Grimmauld place when Walburga had nearly destroyed him physically and mentally during an 'occlumency lesson' for some 'offense' he couldn't remember (she'd been almost apoplectic with rage and his only regret was that it hadn't been enough to stop her heart and make her drop dead). It had been what let him somehow sneak past Kreacher after Walburga had left him to 'consider his place as the Heir of their Great and Noble House' (noble - after nearly torturing her sixteen-year-old son to death. Of course), and get himself, almost completely delirious with pain, through the floo in Orion's office to the Potters, where he'd just known he'd be safe. Magic alone knew how he'd managed to actually get to the place with the state he'd been in, but had he not been so sure he'd find sanctuary there, he'd have never been able to push himself to escape. It had saved his life.

But somehow, his ability to sniff out murderers, thieves, and con artists on the job, and the bigots that had filled his early childhood - it hadn't even twinged at Pettigrew, who he'd practically finished growing up with.

And as much as he was mad at and would never forgive himself for his failure, he hated Pettigrew for revealing his inadequacy in such a way.

Sirius had tried - Merlin knew he'd tried - his utmost best not to be his parents' son from the time he'd been able to start wiggling out from under their thumbs at Hogwarts. But he'd spent his childhood under their dubious 'care and guidance', and despite his soul-deep revulsion at the things they'd forcefully imparted on him, he couldn't actually help learning them, even if he'd promised himself to never use them.

Pettigrew made him want to break that promise.

And if it weren't for the Flitwicks and this very odd witch, he'd have done quite a number of things James and Lily would have given him disappointed looks for.

But the night was still young and Pettigrew obviously still had a lot left to say. Sirius may yet get to break his promise, and he'd enjoy it.

---

Filius was mostly sure he'd transcended 'furious' and found a new emotion altogether. He'd had quite a lot of practice over his lifetime biting his tongue and hiding the scope of his anger and discontent (and the occasional homicidal daydream - everyone had them once in a blue moon, and if they said they didn't, they were dirty little liars). Wixen Britain wasn't kind to 'half-breeds', which he was considered to be, with his kableyin mother and wizard father. Poor Hagrid had it even worse with his giantess mother and wizard father, and his ridiculous expulsion from Hogwarts that Filius didn't believe for a second was actually his fault. Hagrid had always been been a bit naive, but he was also the kindest, gentlest soul on the planet - the very embodiment of 'peace to the dead' - and even if he had kept a dangerous animal as a secret pet on school grounds, the way that poor girl had died was not at all in keeping with an acromantula attack, and any half-decent auror who was actually looking for the true cause would have figured that out within the first few minutes of a proper investigation.

But that had no bearing on the current situation.

He remembered Peter Pettigrew as a student - Filius remembered all of his students, even the quiet ones who tried to fade into the background. Pettigrew, like the other Marauders, had been a capable student. Potter and Black were cheeky and naturally garnered attention from the mischief that seemed to cling to them like a second skin. Lupin, probably trying so hard to compensate for what he thought was his deficiency, had often tried to be the responsible one in class and reign them in, even if the gleam in his eyes said he desperately wished he could let himself be just another boy getting into the usual childish naughtiness. Pettigrew, however, had happily kept up with Black and Potter's shenanigans, and regularly had something smart to say. Despite their collective hell-raising, all four boys had always maintained at least an E in every class. After all, they had to know their spells and potions and the like to be able to pull off the - admittedly elaborate - pranks they dreamt up.

But Pettigrew had been one of the top students in Charms. Yes, Lily had dominated the class - and even without his bias, she truly was leaps and bounds ahead her classmates - but that didn't mean that there weren't other students who were performing well for their level. As a rule, Filius required that students who did well partner with students who weren't as strong in the class in the hopes that maybe peers could help each other in ways a professor couldn't. It also helped to keep the Marauders from pairing up with each other and being disruptive (because Magic knew they didn't always mean to be, but friends working together in class was always a headache for the teacher). Pettigrew was often a sought-after partner when Filius assigned groupwork or partner projects, and he could remember the way the boy used to preen when some of the other students sometimes squabbled over who would reach him first to ask to work together. (Ironically, Lily's apparent innate grasp of Charms made her intimidating to seek for help.)

He was, for the most part, a pleasant student, but Filius could recall a handful of instances scattered throughout his schooling, when he'd made a slightly off-brand comment or insinuation or facial expression either to or about Filius himself. They were never anything major enough to make an issue of, and certainly nowhere near some of the things that had been hurled at him throughout his life, but they'd been enough for the half-kobelyn to have an inkling of some of the milder prejudices that he had figured the child hadn't even realised he had. Admittedly, that wasn't much different from many of his students - even the muggleborns, as they joined the magical world and absorbed some of the prejudices they met there.

From what he'd just said, Filius gathered that the boy apparently had liked Charms enough to want to pursue an apprenticeship. But for his part, he hadn't known that at all. And even so, there were in fact other Charms Masters in Britain under whom he could have apprenticed - some of whom Filius had actually taught when they were at Hogwarts - and he would have happily written him a recommendation for any of them, even despite those hiccups.

But having been subjected to that ridiculous rant, Filius couldn't believe the sheer audacity of him to think himself entitled to Filius' time and personal tutelage just because of his circumstances of birth. In all honesty, despite the acclaim he'd earned as a duellist, and the respect he'd garnered in academic circles for his Charms work, both locally and abroad, most British purebloods would still not choose him as their first option for an apprenticeship because of his circumstances of birth. And with those prejudices Pettigrew was hiding, he was definitely one of them. It was quite likely that this was only a sore spot because it padded his foolish argument, rather than any real desire Pettigrew had to spend the sort of extended time under Filius' instruction that would be required for an apprenticeship with him. Filius had never once, in almost eighty years of teaching at Hogwarts - been approached by a pureblood with a request for an apprenticeship. A few muggleborns and fewer halfbloods had over the years, but he'd always referred them to wixen Charms Masters he approved of, explaining to them that they'd have an easier time having their mastery acknowledged if it came from someone with a less...colourful background.

And for Pettigrew to claim he was somehow at a disadvantage when it came to getting work or apprenticeships because muggleborns and halfbloods were being given everything? The absolute, unmitigated gall!

Filius knew for a fact that, for Pettigrew specifically, that was all hogwash. As the close friend of James Potter, scion of House Potter, and Sirius Black, controversial heir of House Black, Pettigrew would have had his pick of people falling all over themselves to offer him work or apprenticeships. And Charlus and Dorea Potter, before they'd died, would have done all in their power to help put something in place for him.

The couple had taken in the runaway Black heir, had allowed and encouraged their son's friendship with a werewolf (because if the boys had figured it out, which Filius knew they had, there was absolutely no way that the shrewd Dorea Potter née Black hadn't), and had wholeheartedly endorsed their son's choice of muggleborn wife before they died. Filius also knew that they had quietly paid Pettigrew's OWL and NEWT registration fees with the boy none the wiser.

The Hogwarts charter stipulated that tuition, attendance, books and uniforms were to be at no cost to the student, expressly because the founders had wanted all young witches and wizards to be able to get an education (whether or not today's purebloods wanted to recognise what that really meant, it didn't change the facts). However, OWLs and NEWTS were the Ministry's creation and thus, they could enact fees for them. Pettigrew's mother was sickly and their family struggled to cover her healthcare costs and his school expenses. He remembered very clearly sitting with Minerva in her personal study one evening as she confided in him that the Potters and Mrs. Pettigrew had spoken to her regarding the upcoming deadline for the payment of OWL fees. With how ill Odelia Pettigrew was, there no guarantee she'd be around when Peter got to taking his NEWTS. The Potters had offered to take that concern off her hands and the woman had swallowed her pride and accepted, so they were there to let Minerva know that Peter's school costs would be covered by the Potters, and so that the school wouldn't ask the children if there'd been thoughts of mischief with money. They'd both found it touching and a gesture of goodwill in keeping with the two people they knew - Minerva had been a student in Gryffindor House a year or two below Charlus, and Filius had taught all three of them when they were students.

And for the ungrateful little sod to repay their kindness by murdering their son and daughter-in-law, and endangering their grandson? Filius was deeply tempted, for the first time in his one hundred and thirty-six years, to become the epitome of every single stereotype and prejudice wix had ever tried to force on him.

It would probably have him sent to Azkaban for the rest of his life, or Kissed outright, but it would be so very worth it to deal with this lazy, entitled little wretch.

It was an effort to remind himself that Harry would need him alive to hear all the stories of his mother's mishaps with her Charms experiments as a student.

But the thought of that satisfaction was still there.

---

Listening to this nonsense only gave Eigyr a deeper appreciation for the fact that she spent most of her time among the Horde. Make no mistake - for every kobelyn qualification she'd earned, she'd made sure to get the equivalent certification that British wix would have to recognise and acknowledge. She didn't really want them for use, but she was the daughter of a wizard and she would take everything that such a thing earned her in this society that would scorn her for it. It was a large part of why she'd gotten this cottage - according to one of the treaties, kobelyni weren't allowed above-ground dwellings on British soil. But Eigyr wasn't just a kableyin - she was also half-human. She was therefore entitled to certain things wix tried to keep from the kobelyni with their treaties, and she meant that she'd take everything that ought to be hers. It was no more greedy than any other wix who went about their lives doing whatever they wanted that was within the law.

But this lazy, entitled, pathetic excuse for a wizard had decided that he shouldn't have to work for his living - obviously hadn't even tried - and had chosen to blame people who had nothing to do with it for his problems. If he was determined enough to become an animagus, and smart enough to have earned the sort of grades he was claiming he had while being such a noteworthy prankster in school, and was close friends with the Potter and Black heirs, the world was basically his oyster, whether he was upper crust or not. The only reason he could have for not having achieved anything at this point was utter laziness, plain and simple.

Eigyr knew that Lily was supposed to start an apprenticeship with Filius at some point, probably after her children had grown a bit. She had no idea what the Potter boy had been planning to do, but if he was anything like his family had been known to be, he'd have had something in the works.

It's been three years since Pettigrew's batch had graduated, and all he had to show for it, with all of the advantages he had going for him, was 'muggleborns and halfbloods are stealing it all'?

The fact that this elitist bigot actually believed it was so ludicrous, she was tempted to check that the sky was still blue and the grass was still green - just in case she'd somehow fallen into a different reality. Just because she chose to spend most of her time with the Horde, it didn't mean that she was ignorant to current events among wix. In major wixen business centres like Diagon Alley in London and Daobeth in Wales, muggleborns and halfbloods still caught hell just to be able to rent a space for a small business. Some of the stores still refused to hire muggleborns, but might take on a halfblood depending on their connections and whether the owner could withstand whatever backlash came of doing so. With the war, it had gotten even worse.

The Ministry of Magic only ever hired them into entry-level, dead-end positions, or relegated them menial work. There had yet to be someone in charge of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office who actually knew how any of the muggle things worked. Eigyr clearly remembered Helen telling her about a muggleborn who'd been fined heavily for using a muggle device as it was intended to be used in a wizarding park somewhere with friends.

At this point, Eigyr wondered if she shouldn't have spent her day dreaming up a rune circle for imparting torture. She had an amazing repertoire of curses to choose from - you had to know how curses worked before you could diffuse or neutralise them, especially as on-the-fly as was required for curse-breaking. Was that legal?

No.

Did she care?

That question was probably better left unanswered. For plausible deniability.

But she hadn't made it this far as a curse-breaker without learning some self-control. She'd wait to get every last useful bit of information out him before she let loose with any of the growing list of curses piling up in her mind. Even if the little waste of space had betrayed Dumbledore's people, he still had to have something more useful to offer. She had no doubt that You-Know-Who would have still killed him on the spot if he hadn't had some actual use. Eigyr wanted to know what it was.

---

Helen shook herself off first. It was jarring to discover one of the Marauders apparently agreed with the bigots perpetuating this war, but nothing he'd said was really anything she hadn't heard before. The real difficulty was separating the Potter Magic's feelings from her own, but she was nothing if not stubborn. As the folks in her muggle neighbourhood would say, she was 'intent, purpose, and hellbent' on getting her answers, and getting too upset was a perfect way to miss out on those answers.

Pettigrew was still speaking, but really, it was more of the same and she didn't care to hear that portion. So she cut him off.

"Right, well we've now properly established that you're a closeted bigot and stupid to boot," she said brickly. "Frankly, I don't care to know whether you were one while we were students because it won't change much of anything in the grand scheme of things, would it?"

By the surprise painted across his face, he hadn't expected anyone, least of all her, to interrupt him. And while her question was rhetorical, it was still a question, and the rune circle still forced him to answer. The simple 'no' that came out of his mouth only seemed to startle him further, and if the situation were different, it might have been funny.

As it was, she let the corner of her mouth tip up smugly and answered, "Precisely."

Helen shifted on her chair to get more comfortable, ignoring the incredulous stare Black was now directing at her, and let him go once she realised she was still holding onto his shirt. Her dicta-quill had been diligently collecting everything, even without her express attention, but she looked at it anyway as she said, "So to summarise all that drivel, you're an entitled pureblood bigot who betrayed his friends because he doesn't want to earn his own way in life and they were convenient scapegoats."

He opened his mouth to no doubt refute that claim, but she raised a hand in his direction to silence him without ever taking her eyes off the quill and roll of parchment.

When it was done, she turned back to him. "Considering you're the one who just got two good people murdered for imaginary slights against your person, your opinion on the matter is skewed and therefore invalid. Moving on." She levelled a piercing look at him and asked, "Who else have you had murdered, whether by your own hand directly, or by some indirect action or inaction?"

His mouth immediately clamped shut even as the others' gazes swivelled to her with varying levels of surprise.

"If he obviously had no problem setting up an ambush on one of his oldest friends and his young family," she said reasonably, "it stands to reason he'll have had even fewer problems doing it to other persons whose lives he may have theoretically had less stake in."

Her own gaze switched back to Pettigrew, who was stiff as a board with whatever electrocution/cruciatus Taana had built into the circle that he couldn't currently feel because he'd been numbed. But even with all his muscles locked up and him having fallen over again, he was still almost biting his lip bloody to stay silent.

She made a little sound with her tongue and teeth at his stubbornness. "Oh come on now. You had no problem spewing all the rest of your vitriol, and we both know there's no way you're getting out of this without answering all of my questions. So tell me: who else, and how?"

He shook his head in denial, and Professor Flitwick wordlessly conjured a decent-sized rock. It was heavy enough that it forced the air out of Pettigrew's lungs when he allowed it to drop on him.

The traitor of course didn't feel the pain, but it didn't stop him wheezing as he tried to get the air back when the half-kobelyn cancelled the conjuration. But it did the job and his mouth was now open to let his answers spill forth.

"The Prewitts," he gasped and Black went still. "I let them think I went for reinforcements and hid instead. For my initiation, I beheaded that muggleborn witch who'd been working at the Three Broomsticks who always skimped on my butterbeer because she was trying to flirt with Sirius. I used my animagus form to follow Marlene home and then told the other Death Eaters how to get past the protections. They just happened to catch her on a night when her whole family was home. I lured Benjy out to be caught because Barty Crouch Jr. wanted to off him for his initiation. And a few wix whose names I don't know in some of the skirmishes. I deliberately let some of my curses go wide so it would look like an accident."

It was Helen's turn to be shocked speechless. She'd expected a name or two, but this was an actual list. And then the horror set in because she recognised some of those names. Benjy Fenwick had been a Ravenclaw prefect a year ahead of them in school. He'd also been a truly terrific quidditch beater, from what she could remember of the game days during school, and had always looked out for the younger years, especially being sure to check up for any girls who were straggling as it got closer to curfew each night. Truth be told, Helen had had a bit of a crush on him for a little while, not that she'd ever acted on it (but then again, a lot of the Ravenclaw girls had nursed a little flame for him at some time or another because he'd been such a gentleman - it was something of a rite of passage).

nd Pettigrew had lured him to his death so Crouch - whose father was the Head of the DMLE - could join the terrorist group?

For one very satisfying split-second, Helen imagined taking her father's machete (or her grandfather's - she wasn't picky) and ending Pettigrew in a very fittingly muggle manner. Her parents and grandparents had used them back in Trinidad and Jamaica to work on overgrown vegetation and to harvest sugarcane. However, when they immigrated to Britain and no longer had that sort of work to do, their trusty machetes remained sharp and became very effective tools for home security (not that they'd ever really needed them, but better safe than sorry). She'd never been allowed to swing any of the ones they had at home, but she wagered Pettigrew would make a good practice target, and she figured it would be a poetic end for someone who obviously believed that muggles and muggleborns were savages.

But then she blinked and the moment was over. Helen took a deep - very deep - breath and, with some effort, tucked the anger away for later. At the very least, she wanted to kick him where it would really hurt once the numbing charm wore off.

"You've been picking us off," Black said quietly, his face pale with horrified shock. His voice was distant and he stared at Pettigrew the way one might look at rabid dog that had just mauled a puppy. "We trusted you, relied on you, and all along, you've been feeding us to slaughter. Lily was devastated when she heard about Marlene - she was originally Harry's godmother and Alice stepped up when Marlene was murdered. The Prewitts - they were the most creative with their offensive magic. Gideon had just gotten engaged - their mother died of the shock when she found out, you utter bastard!" The last three words were shouted, and Pettigrew had shrunk away and inched back to the opposite end of the rune circle (not that he had very far to go).

"It couldn't be helped," Pettigrew tried to plead. "It's the only way to fix-"

"You honestly think murdering the people who have been trying to save lives would fix anything at all in this Merlin-damned country?" Black demanded, and he'd have been looming over Pettigrew if the limits of the rune circle allowed for it.

Black likely hadn't expected an answer, but Pettigrew was urged to give one again anyway. "Not everything, but we were already losing! What else was I supposed to do?!" he demanded.

"Die," Black spat, the word loaded with venom. "We'd have all been better off if you had."

The silence after Black's statement was loud and ringing, but Helen couldn't find it in her to disagree. She certainly wouldn't be in this mess if Pettigrew had given up instead of sold out. The traitor's eyes widened in shock, but Helen honestly didn't know how he could have expected a better answer. He'd double-crossed people who had obviously trusted him implicitly. Was he expecting some sort of sympathy when he'd shown absolutely none? And his excuse was that the other side was winning?

So much for 'where dwell the brave at heart'.

Helen pursed her lips as she stared at Pettigrew's aghast face, because now that she thought about it, "What sort of Gryffindor are you that you just gave up because the going got tough?"

"The sort that ought to have gone to Slytherin," Pettigrew answered sourly, and Helen did a double-take. "That stupid Hat said I was clever enough to have made Salazar Slytherin proud, but Mum was so hoping I'd be a Gryffindor like Dad had been, so I begged it to put me there."

Black's expression twisted in disdain. "Well of course you'd fit in with my relatives better than I had," he muttered, his silver glare almost willing the the other wizard to spontaneously combust.

Helen figured she should continue her questioning before Black decided that glaring was taking too long and used his wand to do the job instead.

"I guess that fits better," she commented, and when Professor turned to stare at her incredulously, she defended herself. "He was obviously clever enough to maintain the ruse long enough to do some major damage. That's more than can be said for most of the actual Slytherins who only talked about how clever and cunning they allegedly were and still couldn't pass arithmancy." When he only raised a sardonic eyebrow, she continued. "And yeah, sure the loudest ones on the other side of this dumb war were in Slytherin House, but it doesn't mean only Slytherins could be bigoted. Crouch was a Ravenclaw, and there were a few scattered Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs spouting the same things, even if no one wants to acknowledge it. The Slytherins were expected to be the way they were so they could be open about it. No one talks about how Greengrass, for all his stuck-up attitude, never once had his name involved in anything, and never complained when he was partnered with muggleborns or halfbloods during school unless they were actually lazy students. I was paired with him for that big Transfiguration project in sixth year and my main issue was that he refused to meet with me anywhere we might have run into the more problematic Slytherins, which meant the more normal places like the library were off-limits."

All three men looked at her like this was news to them, and she inwardly despaired over their powers of observation. Mistress Eigyr hadn't taken her eyes off of Pettigrew throughout the entire interrogation so far, and the considering look on her face didn't bode well. Helen decided not to worry about it because no matter what the woman was plotting, Helen wouldn't be able to dissuade her anyway, so it wasn't worth getting worked up over. Picking her battles and all that.

"Alright, so your very concerning selective observations can be a 'Later' discussion," she told them. When her gaze landed on Pettigrew, she amended it. "Well, for you two," she said, pointing between Black and Professor Flitwick. "I'm not entirely sure what'll happen with you," she finished, waving a negligent hand in their prisoner's direction and ignoring the way he paled.

She took a moment to think of what her next question would be, but Professor Flitwick asked something before she'd fully thought of anything.

"Why was You-Know-Who after Lily that night?" he asked quietly. He was staring at Pettigrew intently, wand clutched tightly in one hand, but not in a ready position.

(Although, to be fair, in the hands of someone as capable as Professor Flitwick's, any position could be a 'ready' one, so that wasn't saying much.)

"Because she was a muggleborn who married the heir of a prestigious family-" he tried to answer, and was cut off when his entire body spasmed and unbalanced him enough to wobble briefly, but not tip over.

"Half-answers won't get you anywhere," Mistress Eigyr spoke up, still eying him. "Either you answer him in full, or I cancel that numbing charm and encourage you personally." She bared her teeth in something that no one would actually call a grin. Pettigrew stared at her for a moment, eyes zeroing in on the very dangerous teeth her mixed heritage had gifted her, and nearly gave himself a crick in the neck with how quickly he turned back to Professor Flitwick and started talking.

"Something about a prophecy Dumbledore heard," he blurted out.

Black stiffened next to her and she almost felt him growl out a very flat "What."

"Apparently, Dumbledore got a prophecy about someone who could allegedly pose some sort of threat to the Dark Lord and his cause, and he'd narrowed it all down to either Harry or Alice's boy - I don't even know why he'd believe that because they're just brats in nappies, but he was obsessed with it," he rambled in a rush. "He didn't actually tell anyone why he was after them, but I heard it once when I sneaking around as Wormtail. Everyone else was happy enough to go after more blood traitors. We were there last night because I was supposed to let him at Jam-"

An actual growl from Black cut him off and he rephrased it.

"-the Potters," he said emphatically, head bobbing rather obsequiously. "He wanted to deal with them first and then go after the Longbottoms since Crouch had figured out where they were holed up - something about sneaking a letter from his father's office or something, but he was so smug about it, like he'd actually done anything-"

"We don't care," Helen cut in.

Pettigrew blinked in surprise and then opened his mouth to continue where he'd been before he'd derailed about Crouch, but Black interrupted him. "What did the prophecy say?" he demanded, glare fixed firmly in place.

"I don't know," Pettigrew denied immediately, raising the stumps of his arms in a universal claim of innocence (which was ironic, considering the circumstances).

(Helen did her very best to not look at either raw appendage.)

"Then how did he find out about it if you didn't tell him?" Black demanded. "James and Lily almost didn't tell me that that was what had Dumbledore so worked up, and he still didn't even tell them what it said! You had to have heard it while you were busy betraying us and run to carry it off to your Dark Git master." He levelled his wand at Pettigrew and the other man shrank away as far as he could. "What. Did. It. Say."

"I swear I don't know!" Pettigrew cried desperately, eyes focused on the tip of Black's wand where it was aimed squarely at his heart. "I didn't tell him about it! I think Snape somehow heard about it because I overheard Malfoy complaining about how insufferable he'd been since he'd brought some sort of urgent news to the Dark Lord."

Black went unnaturally still, and then his magic crackled in the air around them.

"That greasy, slimy, ungrateful bastard!" Black exploded, and Helen flinched when something on a nearby table shattered. Hopefully, it wasn't too important.

He turned and paced angrily away, wringing his hands like he wished Snape's neck was between them. "I knew James shouldn't have saved him that night!" he fumed. He was furious, the frustration at not being able to do anything right that moment plastered across his face.

Helen filed away Black's outburst for later because there was definitely a story there. The Marauders' feud with Snape had just been another fact of life. As far as anyone knew, they'd hated each other from the word 'go'. She hadn't known why, and although some of the more romantically inclined students liked to claim it was to do with Lily, Helen was among those who remembered just how strongly Lily had defended her (very questionable - for such a smart girl, that had been a horrendous decision on her part) choice in friends whenever the boys butted heads before that really awful day towards the end of their fifth year.

"So Dumbledore got a prophecy and you think Snape overheard it and ran to your slave master with it," Helen summarised.

Pettigrew shot her an indignant look. "He is not-"

"Oh that is exactly what he is," Eigyr cut him. "People brand things that they believe belong to them." When Pettigrew puffed up to retort, she continued. "I took a look at it earlier. Although it's in Parseltongue, I could still see enough to know it's a nasty piece of work. You probably just think it's an elaborate tattoo, but that thing is even more of a brand than if he'd taken a hot iron to your skin. Make no mistake - you signed yourself up to be his possession, and you don't even know it."

Pettigrew looked conflicted at her pronouncement. Helen could almost see the arguments circling in his mind. One side claiming that Taana was lying and that wasn't the case at all. The other (probably the smaller, sensible side of Pettigrew), knowing that it was the truth. It wasn't a stretch to imagine that You-Know-Who would have done something like that, with what people already knew of the man from this war.

The confounding part of the whole thing was imagining that the purebloods who'd started this war, mainly arguing that they refused to allow filthy muggleborns and halfbloods to take over the magical world, would also be proudly bragging about a slavery brand. Taana may possibly be the only person who'd even properly tried examining one - Helen certainly wouldn't know if anyone else had tried and lived to tell about it. Granted, she had also believed it was just an ugly tattoo before Mistress Eigyr had spoken just now (it looked like a snake contorted into the shape of an upended violin with a skull instead of a proper chin rest. A whole war against muggleborns and this was their symbol? Ridiculous). But if Taana had examined it and actually found something worth commenting on, there had to be some serious curses or enchantments tied up in it. Why would there be curses and enchantments in what was essentially a club badge? Something for her to discuss later with Mistress Eigyr.

The only explanation she could see was that the purebloods didn't know what it was. Which...was morbidly hilarious. They were so intent on declaring their superiority over the rest of the magical world's population that they'd blindly made themselves subservient to someone else. She might have been able to pity them their ignorant stupidity if they hadn't been murdering hundreds of people. After something like that, they'd better suffer - greatly - with whatever came their way.

Black's voice brought her out of her musings and she looked over to see some sort of sadistic joy writ across his face.

"You know," Black began almost conversationally, something vicious in his smile. "I've heard about how he treats your lot. No matter what Orion or Walburga or any of the rest of the 'proper Blacks' did to me - and they did a lot -" He leaned in close and Pettigrew shrank down at whatever he saw in Black's face. "There were a few lines they'd never cross because Grandfather would've had their hides for it. Your great 'dark lord' answers to no one."

He paused for a moment to let that sink in, watching with vindictive glee as true fear bled into Pettigrew's face as he finally began to acknowledge some truths that Helen suspected he'd probably been in major denial about for a long time.

"Bellatrix always looked up to Walburga, but she almost worships You-Know-Who. That should have told you everything you needed to know about him, but you still chose him over us. Walburga almost killed me that summer, you know - I'd had a whole month of recovery before Mum-Dorea let you and Remus visit."

It was an effort for Helen not to snap her head around to look at him. She knew that the Blacks recycled celestial names, but she was fairly certain that 'Walburga' was the name of the current de facto Lady Black, which would have to mean she was also his mother. What did he mean she'd almost killed him? And it didn't sound like the usual childish exaggeration of some sort of punishment; it sounded like he actually meant that his own mother had tried to murder him.

"If she and Bellatrix treat him like he's Merlin reawakened," he continued, voice deceptively smooth and conversational. "I wonder what he'll do to you when he realises it was your fault he was in that house to fall for James and Lily's trap; your fault that he was in a position to be bested by a blood traitor and a muggleborn; and that in spite of it all, their halfblood baby who he'd wanted to kill had survived."

As Black had spoken, Pettigrew had progressively gotten paler and paler. By the time Black was done, the traitor was almost translucent and there was a green tint to his skin that Helen hoped he'd get under control. It wouldn't be any hassle at all to clean up his sick with magic, but they wouldn't be able to do it while the rune circle he was in was still active - which it would be for as long as they had him in their custody.

Black put a hand to his chin as he wondered out loud, "I wonder if dear old Bella knew you were supposed to be with him last night?" His eyes lit with unholy glee when Pettigrew's own eyes widened. "She did, didn't she?" Paradoxically, the laugh he let out at that realisation was the most actually happy sound Helen had heard from him since this entire SNAFU had started. "I'd hate to be you when she finds out you got him blown up by a 'filthy muggleborn' and a blood traitor."

Pettigrew was shaking, his eyes wide and staring past them, as though he was already envisioning whatever Bellatrix Black would cook up for him (Helen had never personally met the other witch, but her reputation preceded her). In all fairness, Helen couldn't imagine anyone having a different reaction to the knowledge that that witch would be specifically out for their blood. He'd be better off staying in their custody than trying his luck with an escape.

"I'll be sure to let her know next time I see her," he said, and Helen could see the vicious satisfaction he took in the way Pettigrew flinched and turned to him in horror. "I'd consider my options if I were you because no matter what we or the DMLE come up with, it will never come close to what she'll do to you."

(Helen pretended she didn't feel the same emotion zing through her from the Potter Magic, or the sense of 'Serves you right' that was her and her alone. She didn't want to examine either too closely. He'd made his bed and had to lie in it, but she didn't want to consider herself someone who enjoyed another's misfortune, no matter how well-deserved.)

"You woul-" Pettigrew tried to plead, but he was cut off when his body jerked and sent him wobbling as he tried to stay upright. Even Helen knew at this point that Black definitely would. "She'll kill me!" he cried when he'd regained his balance. And in a truly desperate and ill-thought-out last bid for leniency, he pleaded, "They wouldn't want you to do what a Black would do!"

And to Helen's ears, it sounded like an old caution, like something that had probably been used often in the past to talk Black down from terrible decisions.

Black's face hardened again as he answered, "Well thanks to you, they're not here to want anything at all, are they?"

"And besides that," came Eigyr's voice, and Helen looked over to see the woman with her arms crossed in front of her chest and a wry look on her face. "This is the same couple who blew up the man who came to kill them, whose child you tried to get murdered." She raised one jewel-toned brow. "I'm more incline to believe that anything Bellatrix did to you would pale in comparison to a couple of parents like that."

Pettigrew looked suitably overwhelmed by the enormity of the mess he'd made for himself, especially since he'd apparently misjudged the people he was betraying. Until Taana had mentioned it, Helen hadn't really registered that James and Lily had killed a man. He was evil and hunting them and probably insane, but they'd still created some sort of ritual that killed him. There was a level of ruthlessness required for such a thing that she'd never have ascribed to either of the two. But they were trapped and being hunted, and had a young child besides all that. Everyone knew trapped animals were the most dangerous. Pettigrew had miscalculated and he'd have to deal with the consequences of it.

"So," Professor Flitwick said almost conversationally, not giving him much time to process. "Now that you're aware of just how badly you've screwed up, what trump cards are you still keeping to yourself?"

And really, how Pettigrew still managed to be shocked or surprised at their more pointed questions, Helen couldn't fathom. He was being interrogated by four very intelligent people with a common vendetta against him. Did he really still think he was going to be leaving with any of his secrets intact?

He put up his biggest struggle yet against answering this question, but of course, Taana's runework held true.

His entire body seized long enough that Helen began to wonder whether he was able to breathe through it and what would happen if he passed out. He'd pressed his lips together so tightly that they'd almost completely disappeared into his rapidly reddening face - it was actually red enough by this point that his sandy brown hair looked ever so slightly just a bit off with his skin tone. With his eyes squeezed shut and his face all scrunched, he looked rather like a constipated baby.

Despite herself, Helen leaned forward to stare in fascination to see just how red he'd get. Her maternal grandmother was really the only one in their family fair enough to actually go red when she was upset, and for obvious reasons, Helen couldn't prod at her to see it happen (well, she could have - it was just very ill-advised). Even though she'd seen it often in the white muggles outside of her mainly West Indian immigrant community, it was still always interesting for her to see the changes paler complexions could undergo.

Eventually though, the rune circle outlasted him and he answered.

"Snape was Dumbledore's "source" about what the Dark Lord was doing and has been since he heard the Dark Lord wanted to off Lily," he blurted. "I subtly played up Sirius being the decoy so that even some of the purebloods believe he's secretly working with us because only a handful of people know who all the Death Eaters are. Most of them don't know I've switched sides, so no one would believe Sirius was innocent and he'd get sent to Azkaban instead of me because even the ones that knew would support it anyway because they can't stand him. I've been subtly encouraging Sirius and Remus to not trust each other so they wouldn't vouch for each other when everything happened. Rudolphus Lestrange goes to muggle brothels and either obliviates or murders the women afterwards because Bellatrix won't let him near her. Crouch Senior has been sending wix he doesn't like to Azkaban if he thinks he can get away with it by claiming they're working for the Dark Lord. I was planning to stay hidden until he could catch Sirius for James and Lily's murders, and then I'd be in the clear, because everyone knows he hates the Blacks. I'm pretty sure Dumbledore somehow knew I was a traitor, even though he hasn't done anything about it, but I don't know why."

Helen sat back in her chair and blinked in surprise at that torrent of information, because wow. There was a lot to unpack there, but having the dicta-quill record it all would make it easier to do later because she was definitely not going to touch that at all tonight. Just the thought of it made her eyes want to close, and she suddenly realised just how tired she was becoming again, despite having been seated all this time.

Even Mistress Eigyr looked taken aback and, if Helen wasn't wrong, grudgingly impressed at the lengths he'd gone to for his deception.

Black stared at his former friend in something akin to flabbergasted horror, and Helen didn't want to imagine how he must probably be feeling at hearing how Pettigrew had been preparing him like a lamb for the slaughter, or at realising that he'd probably been becoming more and more (wrongly) suspicious of a true friend.

But whatever Professor Flitwick thought about the accumulated blackmail material, he kept to himself. Instead, he gave a thoughtful nod and tapped his wand against his thigh.

"Lovely," he said, in a tone that stated quite clearly it was anything but. "Is that all, or are there any other relevant deep, dark secrets you don't want us to know about?" He pursed his lips, and the expression was so reminiscent of one he used to wear in class - when he'd caught someone slacking or cheating and they were trying to bluff their way out of it, but he'd already seen right through them - that Helen half-expected to hear Pettigrew say that no, his crup hadn't actually eaten one of his missing homework assignments.

Pettigrew's responding "Yes" was so miserable that it was immediately obvious which part of the question he was answering.

"Well, what are they?" he asked impatiently. "We've wasted enough of my night on you as it is."

The first one came flying out, the first confession he'd made all night that he hadn't fought, like it was a relief to finally admit to it. "I've never been okay with Remus' condition - it's unnatural and a disgrace to magic and he ought to be locked up to keep the rest of us safe!"

Helen suspected she knew what he meant - Snape wasn't, after all, nearly as subtle as he'd thought himself in their fifth and sixth years, and he hadn't really tried too hard to keep his suspicions completely to himself. It was probably supposed to be some sort of clever saying-it-without-saying-it-to-plant-the-idea-in-everyone's-minds plot, but for all that he was a Slytherin, he'd still been just a teenager in a school full of busybody portraits and gossipy students who weren't as dim as their grades sometimes implied.

But she'd address it at another time.

Black seemed to take great offense to Pettigrew's claim, and his expression grew thunderous as his knuckles went white around his wand.

For the second time that night, Helen tentatively reached out and laid a hand on the arm nearest to her with the hope it might do something to caution him against doing anything rash.

(Yes, she was aware it was probably the vainest hope to have ever been hoped, but it seemed to help the first time and she couldn't do much else in her state anyway.)

His arm was tense, but he didn't jump to cut off another extremity, so Helen counted it as a win. She kept her hold as Pettigrew continued, spewing even more vitriol and long-hidden venom, and a few scattered admissions of guilt to what she assumed were old accidents or slights from when they were all roommates in the Gryffindor dorms. She listened dumbfounded as he disparaged Black for running away from the family the mand had just said had almost killed him, because the Blacks had money and power and respect and a centuries-long legacy, and he'd have been "safe" when the Dark Lord won. He admitted to sometimes resenting or being jealous of Black and Potter because of their wealth, and especially of the comfortable home they both had with Charlus and Dorea Potter, where they never had to worry about bills or their school expenses or their mother's health.

There was quite a bit of unpleasantness buried in him - opinions he'd never shared about muggleborns and 'half-breeds', the crimes he'd committed as a Death Eater, hurtful secrets and prejudices, the works. But by far the worst, in Helen's opinion, was hearing him say that he'd tried at first to get over what Lupin was, but he couldn't. And he wished James had been just a bit later to save Snape that night because then Lupin would have probably killed Snape. Then maybe they'd have seen how dangerous Lupin really was and the Ministry would finally put him out of his misery. Lupin was a nice guy, he'd said. Would have been a great person to have as a friend, but he was a dangerous, and Potter and Black were insane for risking their lives every month the way they did and dragging him along. He'd gone along with it, he'd said, because becoming an animagus was the best protection he could get, so of course he took it. Yes, it was sad that Remus would have died, but it was better for everyone else in the long run, and Remus himself was miserable over it and was always disgusted with himself the week afterwards.

And well, she was pretty sure by now that they were talking in circles around Lupin being a werewolf, which she'd sort of suspected, but still couldn't wrap her head around. Wix always portrayed werewolves as slavering beasts, but Lupin had always been one of the most reasonable, pleasant, and unassuming boys in their classes. The two mental images just would not mesh together.

But even if he was a werewolf, she couldn't believe that one of his closest friends actually wished him dead. Sure, Pettigrew seemed to think it would have been a regrettable loss, but he also found it a necessary and acceptable one. That was a level of horrifying she'd never experienced before.

Eventually, Mistress Eigyr cut him off when she'd heard enough. By that point, the things he'd been saying didn't really hold any merit regarding Harry, the Potters, or the war. Instead, Helen gathered that they were only really relevant to Black and the friendship the four young men had shared for the last decade.

When Pettigrew stopped talking, his voice croaking around his parched throat, everything was completely silent for a handful of heartbeats and no one offered him any water.

Black was looking at Pettigrew like he'd never seen him before - and maybe he never truly had if this was who the other man had been all this time and he hadn't known. She'd never understood it when she read stories and they said it was like a wall had gone up behind someone's eyes, but that's exactly what had happened with Black during Pettigrew's last confessional. There was an air about him that reminded her of her maternal grandmother when she'd first been told that Helen's grandfather had died from the heart attack he'd suffered. There was the same fragile strength, like a glass figurine on a desk - it was perfectly fine as long as it wasn't touched, but if the desk was jostled every so slightly, that figurine would fall and shatter into a million tiny little shards. Her grandmother had held it together all the way home that night, and locked them all out at her front door to be alone. Before they'd made it all the way down the walkway to the street in front of the house, they'd heard her bawling - great heaving sobs and choking gasps interspersed with her grandfather's name. It had broken Helen's heart, but her other grandmother (her father's mother) had grabbed her firmly by the arm when she'd made to run back and force her way inside with an unlocking spell.

Black looked the same, like he'd just watched a loved one die. And she guessed, in a way, he had. There would never be any coming back from this. Pettigrew had killed the friendship and brotherhood they'd shared and it seemed Black was the only one of the two of them who was really going to mourn it.

She was a bit gobsmacked at everything she'd learned tonight, and she knew the enormity of it hadn't yet all sunk in. The next time she saw her family, she'd hug them all tight just for being hers - they had their quirks and differences, but what family didn't? She couldn't imagine what Black was going through, but she figured she'd get an idea of it since they'd have to be in close quarters from here on out to do a decent job at raising and caring for Harry.

(And no, she wasn't going to think about that tonight either.)

The silence when he finished was heavy, and Pettigrew remained in the hunched over position he'd gradually adopted during this last unloading. Helen had nothing to say to break it, and Black would probably go berserk if he tried.

It was Professor Flitwick who finally spoke, his voice low and dangerous in a way that she'd have never believed him capable of before the last two days.

"The only reason we're still going to turn you over to the DMLE is to clear Black's name," he said, and Pettigrew made the mistake of looking up at him and then couldn't break the eye contact. The kobelyn's voice was a quiet threat, yet perfectly audible in the silence. "But make no mistake, if I find their methods too lenient, I'll deal with you myself. Should you somehow 'escape' them, I will be the one to catch you, and I won't return you to their custody. I promise you that there is nowhere on this planet that you can go where I will not find you. No ward, no enchantment, no spell, no hidden rooms or safehouses, no blackmail, no amount of self-transfiguration - nothing will hide you from me. You killed my daughter - her, and her husband, and their unborn child - and you made her son an orphan. I will see you dead one way or the other for what you've done to me and mine."

Throughout the entire interrogation session, if it could be properly called such, the short professor had been very careful to never actually get near to their prisoner. But now, he stepped forward, as close to the rune circle as he could get without it repelling him.

He'd always been excitable, like each class was a new and exciting opportunity to play with magic (and to be fair, with the way he taught charms, it usually was, even after almost 80 years as a professor), but she'd never really have described him as prone to dramatics. Whenever she looked back on this moment in the future she would never be quite sure if he hadn't cast a subtle glamour to make himself still appear the very same, yet somehow much more menacing.

He bared his teeth in a snarl, not even pretending to try for a grin like Eigyr had earlier when she'd threatened to torture Pettigrew herself. Those fangs wouldn't have been out of place on a wolf, and he looked in that moment like he was even more capable of using them.

"You called me a half-creature," he sneered. "But I want you to know that I am fully capable of all the same monstrosities as any wizard." Pettigrew gulped, leaning away from where the older wizard was somehow managing to loom over him.

Helen jolted as she remembered hearing something to that effect in his spilling of dark secrets. It all sort of jumbled together really - just a long string of bile. And he looked to be greatly regretting any of those thoughts ever crossing his mind.

Eigyr shifted her weight where she was standing, drawing Helen's attention in time to see her make a tiny, sharp motion with one of her hands where Pettigrew couldn't see it. "I do believe we're done here. Thanks for the information."

Pettigrew looked like he was about to say something - probably plead for lenience he didn't deserve - but almost too quickly for Helen to process it, Eigyr had deactivated the rune circle and Professor Flitwick had immediately cast a wordless spell at Pettigrew. Instantly, he started to slump over, and a beat or two later, Black fired off a capture spell with a forceful "Capistro!", leaving Pettigrew bound up just like when they'd first entered.

It took her a few stunned seconds to realise Pettigrew was merely asleep and she privately resolved to pretend that the momentary lapse had never happened.

Professor Flitwick let out a deep breath, visibly recentering himself as Eigyr reactivated the rune circle around Pettigrew's insensate form. He cast one last disgusted look at the traitor before he turned to walk away, and that seemed to be the cue everyone needed to leave.

She got up and hobbled her way over to Pepper's space, more by memory than anything else because they'd hidden it so well. Some strange new instinct had her pushing a little magic along that new bond she now shared with Harry as she went. His magic felt calm and relaxed, so she hoped that meant he hadn't been upset throughout the interrogation.

Pepper appeared before her, looking tense as a bowstring until she looked around and saw that Pettigrew was once again safely contained. Only then did they start deconstructing all the protections around Harry.

He was fast asleep curled up under one of Pepper's crocheted blankets, and the elf let them know he'd tired himself out chasing after her as she popped around.

Helen quickly realised she couldn't make it up the stairs on her own, so Professor Flitwick cast a levitation charm and floated her up. The experience wasn't as undignified as one might have thought, but she was still mightily annoyed by the realisation that she and her brother had never thought to try levitating each other before. Their sister would have loved it when they were younger if they'd been able to make her fly. So many missed opportunities.

They'd made it back to the living room and Black had just stated his intention to keep Harry with him that night. Mistress Eigyr looked like she was gearing up to argue the point because it wasn't like tonight had been much less traumatic for him than the night before, but before they could really get going, a large spectral beaver came trundling through the wall.

Helen, now once again seated on the couch, shot it a flat look.

What now? she groused to herself. It better not be bringing me another baby. It's not even a stork!

It wasn't a nice thought, but she'd had enough of ghosts and ghost-adjacent things in the last day to last a lifetime.

Black clearly recognised it because he stopped mid-word to give it his full attention when it opened its mouth.

(Because of course the animal could talk, she mentally sighed, too exasperated to be properly shocked anymore.)

"Sirius, I need backup at the DMLE, and any proof you have would be helpful."

Black went rigid, his expression worried, but quickly firming into something determined.

"That was Frank. Something's gone wrong."

Helen's only thought was a very uncharitable and irritable, This is becoming a theme.

---

A/N: 'Praetrunco' means 'cut off' and 'Capistro' means 'bind' in Latin, according to the WordHippo site. I love languages, but I don't know Latin. So I'm finessing with these translations and hoping they're at least accurate *enough*. So if anyone actually knows Latin, please feel free to (nicely) let me know the correct forms of whatever words I'm trying to use in the comments (and maybe a more reliable translator).

Also, I did not at all intend for the Taken rip-off, and I didn't notice the similarities until after I'd written it. But extra brownies and fudge to the folks who caught the completely accidental budget bootleg Shakespeare reference, which was again, not actually planned.

Culture Corner!

The English-speaking Caribbean has long been known and referred to as the 'West Indies' (sometimes shortened to 'Windies'). It goes all the way back to the fact that Columbus thought he'd figured out a way to sail west to India, so when he wound up down here, he actually thought he'd been in Western India. I can't speak for Spanish-, French-, or Dutch-speaking Caribbean countries, but that remains an accurate, acceptable, and sometimes preferred way to refer to people from the English-speaking Caribbean. A prime example being that no one I know who was born and raised here calls us 'Caribbeans' (first and second gen West Indians who live abroad and adapt so as not be harassed about their own cultural identity notwithstanding). That was a term I'd only met in the US (and it made my brain stall out the first few times because it was THAT strange) that I figure came from folks translating 'Caribeños', which is used by Caribbean Spanish-speakers. It may be a correct term in Spanish, but it is not at all used among any English-speakers I've met (and considering I've spent my whole life in the English-speaking Caribbean, I think I might know a thing or two). It's either that, or the fact that 'Asians', 'Africans', 'Europeans', 'South Americans' are all correct ways to refer to people from those regions, so why not this region as well? But it's just not the done thing. It didn't develop in our vernacular or our self-identification. For example, a group of Trinidadians might be called either Trinidadians (or Trinis) or West Indians, but never Caribbeans. Also, if you look up our regional sports teams, you'll notice they tend to include 'West Indies' or 'West Indian' where you might expect to hear Caribbean. E.g. the West Indies Cricket Team is the name of the cricket team that represents the Caribbean in international tournaments and competitions, the West Indies National Football team and so on.

It has nothing at all to do with being (or wanting to be) Indian or having (or wanting to have) Indian ancestry, and is instead a reclaiming and owning of sorts of that initial inaccurate identifier. You will hear natives of all races and appearances (Black, White, Indian, Asian, Amerindian), proudly call themselves West Indians, but make no claim at all to Indian culture or history (unless they're actually of Indian descent). Also, please bear in mind that the Caribbean is an *actual* melting pot of cultures due to our ... interesting and colourful history, which may be a bit more than you want to hear me rant about here. You will find elements from many different cultures all co-existing in one country - from Indian spices used in African-inspired dishes, to words and phrases that faintly echo a long-lost-to-us African mother-tongue or an even longer-lost Amerindian language. This still varies from island to island, and neighbouring island-countries may share more similarities, but should you ever visit, please remember that we are not all a single country and therefore rightfully all developed in slightly different ways.

You'll also win brownie points among locals as someone who knows *something* about the place if you remember to call us 'West Indians' (or, just our actual national identity if you want to be more specific) instead of 'Caribbeans' (because it's still just flat out strange - for many of us - to hear).

Fun Fact from my planning: I originally intended for Helen to be African (as in, her parents immigrated from *one of the many* African countries), but a bit of research told me that the majority of Black immigration into Britain at that point in time (circa 1940's or 1950's) was mainly from the West Indies. Considering the sociopolitical state of things at that point in recent history, I guess it isn't altogether that surprising. You can look up 'the Windrush Generation' if you're interested in finding out more. I think it still all worked out fine because now I get to share random Caribbean cultural factoids as you go through this fic with me!