Chapter Thirteen: Ratted Out

Peter gasped and looked around wildly; his watery, rat like eyes darted to the door and then back to the group.

'Well, hello, Peter,' Remus said; his voice was pleasant and calm - as if rats exploded into old school friends around him every day - and it bore none of the tremble, the suppressed hope and the fear of disappointment that Sirius had heard when Remus first greeted him that evening. 'Long time no see.'

'S-Sirius … R-Remus…My friends …my old friends.' His eyes darted to the door again. Sirius shifted slightly, so he was blocking the escape route. Fear flickered in Peter's eyes, when he looked at the grim expression on Sirius's face, and Sirius felt a stab of satisfaction. He lifted Snape's wand - ready to blast Peter into a thousand pieces, as he should have done all those years ago.

But Remus reached out and stayed his arm, and gave him only the briefest look - but it spoke a hundred words. It was not time yet. Sirius was owed: answers, an apology - and fun. And it was Remus who spoke first - his voice still keeping that pleasant, friendly tone, as if nothing at all untoward was happening. He really was a marvel at masking his emotions, when he wanted to be. It was no wonder Sirius had thought … well, it was all done now and reminiscing would change nothing.

'We've been having a little chat Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed-'

Sirius fought down a grin. No one could master cutting contempt hidden behind a courteous tone quite like Remus could. If you didn't know him - didn't know how wicked he was - you might not even hear it.

Peter heard it, though. Sirius could tell by the way he flinched. And beads of sweat dribbled down his forehead. 'Remus,' he gasped, sweating and shaking and sounding ever so injured, 'you don't believe him, do you? He tried to kill me, Remus…'

'So we've heard.' And his voice was colder now, as if Peter trying to defend himself - and at Sirius's expense as well - had irritated him, had put Peter beneath his contempt and he was done pretending everything was still friendly. 'I'd like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you'd be so -'

'He tried to kill me!' Peter shrieked. He pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at Sirius - only it was his middle finger he pointed, as he had severed his index when he had faked his own death. The fat, little idiot showed his own guilt even as he tried to denounce Sirius as guilty, for an innocent man would not cut his own finger off and live as a rat.

Sirius felt a surge of contempt. Perhaps, since his discovery - all those months ago - of how Peter had played him, he had started to expect to see something more about him, when they finally came face to face. To find something else; more dastardly, more cunning. Perhaps, deep down, he had expected to discover that the craven, snivelling cowardice, the wobbling jelly of flesh as he shook from head to toe at the merest hint of danger, the rat-like squeaks of terror, were all a facade. That, underneath, there was an iron will, a spine of steel - a death eater, a traitor, the mastermind who had out thought them all - that the cowardly, little Peter he remembered from school would be replaced with something rather more impressive; a man with the courage of his own convictions - even if those convictions were repellent. And that - now the mask was off - his true face, his true abilities would finally be revealed.

But if any part of him had expected that, then he was to be disappointed. Because here was Peter as he had always been: weeping and cringing and blaming everyone but himself for his own shortcomings. It reminded Sirius of their time in first year, when Sirius and James had almost been expelled by Big Macca for messing around with the Whomping Willow. Sirius had thought Remus had told on them, had turned his back on him for an entire week (and, though it still hurt Sirius to remember it, all the while Mrs. Lupin was dying) only to find out the truth when it was too late, and too much harm - harm he could never take back - had been caused. It had been Peter who had ratted him out. Peter who had almost let him get expelled, And Peter who had let him blame Remus when he knew himself to be the guilty party.

Sirius had nearly killed him for that. And Peter had fled to their dorm and barricaded the door, and when Sirius had blasted it down, he had wailed and cringed and wept and pleaded.

'I - I - you weren't talking to him. You were so angry - I didn't want you to blame me! I was afraid!'

'His mum was dying - you foul git. His mum was dying and I was treating him like dirt - and you were letting me! I'll give you something to be afraid of!'

'McGonagall said that anyone who knew and didn't tell would get expelled as well. I couldn't get expelled. I didn't want to get into trouble for something I wasn't a part of… My family isn't rich and important like both of yours. I can't afford to be expelled. Don't you see? I had to tell!'

And here in the present - as a grown man - he was doing much the same thing, and it was just as pathetic to watch. He writhed and pleaded and told brazen lies to try and get Remus to side with him. 'He killed Lily and James and now he's going to kill me!' he squeaked, trembling from head to foot, and the look in his eyes was wild and desperate.

Sirius just stared at him, unable to believe that someone who had caused so much damage - who had beaten them all in the end - could be so utterly worthless. It was disappointing - embarrassing even - to have been brought down so completely by a wizard of such little talent and even less courage. It left him speechless - unable to think what to say to a creature so wretched.

Remus, on the other hand, appeared to be keen to continue the conversation, although the bite was still plainly audible in his voice for anyone who knew him well enough. 'No one's going to try and kill you until we've sorted a few things out,' he said in what sounded - to the untrained ear - like a perfectly pleasant voice.

Peter must have heard the bite, though - heard the threat - because he squeaked in fear. 'Sorted things out?' He was sweating more than ever now, shining beads of it dripping off his pasty skin. His little eyes kept darting around the room, looking at the boarded up windows and Sirius standing in front of the door, as if he was still desperately seeking out an escape route.

But there was none. He should know that well enough. This place had been built to keep in a fully grown werewolf; it was more than enough to keep little Peter trapped. His eyes continued to search but, from the way his shoulders sagged, it was clear he knew it was futile, and he continued to gibber in fear; hoping to talk his way out of the situation if he couldn't run from it. 'I knew he'd come after me! I knew he'd be back for me! I've been waiting for this for twelve years!'

Remus furrowed his brow as if he was politely puzzled. If you didn't know Moony, then you would never recognise just how angry he was - or how much venom was hidden behind his seemingly mild tones. 'You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban? When nobody has ever done it before?'

So polite. Yet so sarcastic. And so perfectly Moony. Sirius knew he had missed Remus, all these years, it had been a constant ache … but he had not realised just how much he was missing Moony; how much fun he was when he got like this. Merlin, Sirius had missed Remus being like this.

Clearly Peter hadn't missed it, though. He blanched at his words, turning - if it was at all possible - even paler, so he was now the colour of curdled milk (and the beads of sweat then gave his whole complexion the rather bumpy consistency of cottage cheese). 'He's got dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!' He shouted - and his voice was shrill and panicked. 'How else did he get out of there? I suppose He Who Must Not Be Named must have taught him a few tricks!'

And - at that - Sirius found his voice again. He began to laugh, though it was not funny. Not really. Any humour was dark and bitter and buried under twelve lonely years of staring and counting and sinking into grey. 'Voldemort teach me tricks?'

Peter flinched, and Sirius felt his surge of contempt grow stronger. 'What? Scared to hear your old master's name?' he jeered, and he bit back another mirthless laugh. 'I don't blame you, Peter, his lot aren't very happy with you, are they?'

'Don't - don't know what you mean, Sirius,' Peter wheezed. He was clutching at his chest as if he was struggling to breathe and the sweat was pouring off him. The sight of his utter patheticness only served to make Sirius even angrier.

'You haven't been hiding from me for twelve years. You've been hiding from Voldemort's old supporters. I heard things in Azkaban, Peter…' Rodolphus Lestrange used to scream for eighteen seconds, twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening … but at night … he screamed a whole lot more at night. 'They all think you're dead, or you'd have to answer to them… I've heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potters' on your information… and Voldemort met his downfall there. And not all Voldemort's supporters ended up in Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they've seen the error of their ways… If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter…'

Peter was trembling, and shaking his head. He had flinched every time Sirius had used Voldemort's name (so had Spattergroit Boy and BushyHair BigTeeth but - curiously - Harry had not reacted at all but … then … He was having trouble keeping up with everything going on after all these years alone, having trouble keeping things straight - but hadn't Harry used Voldemort's name earlier? When he was shouting accusations?… Sirius had thought nothing of it, at the time, but now - watching everyone else flinch and quiver at a word - he started to get an inkling that maybe his godson was remarkable in more ways than one).

Peter was sweating so much now that he had to wipe his face on the sleeve of his robe. 'Don't know … what you're talking about…' he gasped out, his voice strangled and shrill. He looked at Remus, as if hoping to find some sympathy there. 'You don't believe this - this madness, Remus-'

'I must admit, Peter, I have difficulty understanding why an innocent man would spend twelve years as a rat,' Remus said evenly. He sounded like he was discussing the weather, or the Chudley Cannons' current position in the Quidditch league; there was nothing like the fury and the bitter accusations Sirius had fired at Peter… And yet his words were clearly not what Peter had hoped to hear, and the rat shivered and shook more than ever.

'Innocent but scared!' he protested. 'If Voldemort's supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban - the spy, Sirius Black!'

Sirius saw red. It was like at Halloween, where everything clouded over for a moment and he was aware of nothing but rage … and then he had woken up to find his knife embedded in a portrait. 'How dare you?' he growled - and his urge to spring forward and, forgetting all about magic, tear Peter limb from limb with his bare hands came back stronger than it had been when the rat had first transformed. 'I, a spy for Voldemort?' (even in his terrible anger, he could not help but notice he had inadvertently said "I spy" and he was now having to ignore the little part of his mind, that was still trapped in Azkaban - would be forever trapped in Azkaban, which was now trying to have a game with itself … something beginning with "R" … but he didn't have time right now.)

He shook his head, trying to concentrate on the rat in front of him, and his own fury, and to not lose his train of thought, no matter how hard it was to keep things straight after thirteen years all alone and then all these people at once … this was too important. 'When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter - I'll never understand why I didn't see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who'd look after you, didn't you? It used to be us … me and Remus … and James.' (Though it was, admittedly, a bit of a push to describe James as "big" - he was, much like Harry, small and scrawny and speccy … He had been powerful though. Great power, it seemed, could come in the most surprising and scruffiest of packages.)

Peter used his sleeve to wipe his face once again. 'Me, a spy…' he gasped, panting as if he had just run a marathon and was struggling to catch his breath. 'Must be out of your mind … never …don't know how you can say such a …'

'Lily and James only made you secret keeper because I suggested it,' his voice came out as a hiss, leaking venom … though really some of that poison was aimed at himself. That he could be that stupid, cause that much harm … that everything Peter did, he did because Sirius made it possible; the gullible fool who walked straight into the rat's trap. But as much as the truth hurt him, he wanted it to hurt Peter too. Standing there, watching the fat little git blubber and moan and deny all responsibility, he suddenly wanted to make sure Peter knew all the cruel truths that Sirius would never have dreamed of saying out loud back when they were supposed to be friends.

And something of that must have cut through - because Peter actually took a step back from him, backing away from the door - from escape - and into the corner, to try and get away from the truth.

'I thought it was the perfect plan… a bluff … Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they'd use a weak, talentless thing like you… it must have been the finest moment of your miserable life telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.'

Peter gibbered some more, his eyes darted around the room again and he muttered words like 'far fetched' and 'lunacy' - but the signs of his desperation, the sweating and the panting and the fidgeting, all showed that he knew the room was against him; that it was Sirius people were listening to (even if he was struggling to concentrate, and part of his mind was already on its third guess as to what the something beginning with "R" was … for it was neither "Ron" nor "rat").

And then BushyHair BigTeeth joined the conversation again. She sounded timid and nervous, but she had questions to ask - and was going to ask them. Namely why - in the three years they had shared a dorm - Peter had never tried to hurt Harry before now, if he truly was working for Voldemort (though she called him "You Know Who").

Peter seized on this immediately. 'There! Thank you. You see, Remus? I have never hurt a hair on Harry's head. Why should I?'

That made Sirius laugh again, his bitter, mirthless laugh that came from twelve years alone in Azkaban with nothing but regrets to think about. 'I'll tell you why. Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see what was in it for you. Voldemort's been in hiding for twelve years, they say he's half dead. You weren't about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore's nose for a wreck of a wizard who'd lost all his power, were you? You'd want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in the playground before you went back to him, wouldn't you? Why else did you find a wizard family to take you in? Just in case your old protector regained strength and it was safe to rejoin him…'

Peter opened his mouth, as if to protest. But no sound came out, and so he just stood there, gaping and gasping, like a stranded goldfish…

'Er - Mr. Black - Sirius?'

Sirius flinched and stared at BushyHair BigTeeth … no one had called him "Mr. Black" in a very long time (and then it had mostly been Big Macca - and she had had that touch of asperity in her voice and was most likely putting him in detention). No one had felt the need to be polite to him since James had died. In any Ministry inspection he had always been just "Black" … and that was the best of what they called him. Traitor… Monster … Murderer… Spy… He had forgotten what it was like to be spoken to like he was a man, and not a caged animal… And he decided that from now on, as she had been so polite, he would make an effort to not call her BushyHair BigTeeth - which was a rather cruel name for the cat to have given her, after all (but then maybe it was payback for "Crookshanks" - which was also a rather personal and critical name, truth be told).

'If you don't mind me asking, how - how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn't use Dark Magic?'

He stared at her and frowned, trying to remember her real name… he was sure Remus had said it…

In the background, Peter began to gibber again. 'Thank you! Precisely what I-' but Sirius ignored him and Remus silenced him with a look.

'I don't know how I did it…' Sirius said slowly. And, with his mind still on the mystery of BushyHair BigTeeth's real name (not to mention the part of it still playing I Spy - for it was not 'room' or 'rug' either - if he didn't get his something beginning with R correct on his next guess it would be the longest game of I Spy he had ever played with himself) he began to explain to them about the past twelve years, how he had survived and how seeing Peter alive had galvanised him in a way he had not thought possible.

It was painful to talk about, and even worse to think about - and he was grateful that different parts of his brain were able to keep on concentrating on different things … for he could not bear it if he had to dwell on his twelve years in grey isolation with his full consciousness. He did not want to return to those thick, stone walls and count those paces (twelve by seven) or listen to Rodolphus Lestrange scream (eighteen seconds) even if only in his memory.

He did not want to think of the suffocating misery of the dementors, of the way they stole the breath from his body, and of the things he could hear when they got too close. He did not want to think about living as a dog, of his fur being his only protection from the freezing North Sea winds, of being cold every day for twelve years.

He did not want to think about 4285 marks scraped into a wall with bleeding fingernails, and counted back every day - and how the pain and grief and shame, the need to be punished - which burned so brightly in his chest when he was arrested, faded slowly to unceasing numbness … and the constant monotony of his mantra: I am innocent I am innocent I am innocent.

He did not want to think about the boredom, and the restlessness and the loneliness - and how he had no longer been able to remember James' and Remus's faces, or hear their voices … how he had been alone, and lost and waiting to die … until one day he borrowed a newspaper and his grey world turned upside down.

But the girl had asked, and he had to explain it all, if Harry was to believe him. He had to relive it all if the truth was finally to be revealed … he was just grateful that he could hide behind the protection of his game of I Spy and trying to remember the girl's name, and he allowed himself to ramble on mechanically, hiding from the pain in his words.

'So, one night, when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog,' he started to explain the night of his escape. Though there were no words for how it felt to be in the world beyond his own four walls, how dizzying and impossible it was, how the ground had spun beneath his paws … how terrified he was … how many dementors he had had to pass to break out … or what the outside felt like after twelve years in the dark, the sight of the stars, the sound of the birds, and the sunrise - all those glorious colours after a decade of shades of grey.

And he could not really describe what it was like to travel by paw the length of the country, hunted and in hiding - with the sky so high, and the air so fresh and so much colour and noise that he was overwhelmed and ready to give up before he had even started out, or how it had taken him months to acclimatise, for him to stop being afraid of freedom.

'I journeyed north and slipped into the Hogwarts grounds as a dog,' he said rather lamely; over three weeks of travelling - the train rides, the sore paws, seeing Harry, discovering his mother was dead, almost getting caught in Dunkeld and the sudden and inexplicable feeling of security from the patronus on the Hogwarts Express - reduced to one, simple sentence. 'I've been living in the forest ever since… except when I came to watch the Quidditch of course …you fly as well as your father did, Harry…'

He looked at Harry - willing him to believe him. Because that was all that mattered really - and it was only for Harry that he would have relived his time in prison, when he was not yet ready to talk about it. He had just opened up wounds that were nowhere near healed, just to prove his innocence to three children with no power to clear his name … he needed Harry to believe him.

Harry did not look away, and Sirius took this as a good sign. 'Believe me,' he said - his voice hoarse, from emotion as well as how much he had talked after thirteen years of silence. 'Believe me. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them.'

And - finally - Harry nodded.

'No!' Peter fell to his knees. 'Sirius - it's me… it's Peter… your friend… you wouldn't…'

Sirius had been trembling, not sure if he was able to support himself or if his legs were about to buckle after the exertion of speaking about Azkaban … but as Peter shuffled towards him, on his knees, arms outstretched, the wave of fury washed over him once again and gave him new strength. He kicked out and Peter recoiled. 'There's enough filth on my robes without you touching them.'

Peter didn't lose a second and - abandoning Sirius as a lost cause - turned to Remus, his little ratty mind clearly already thinking up ways to stir up division and drive a wedge between them that he could exploit. 'Remus! You don't believe this … wouldn't Sirius have told you if they'd changed the plan?'

'Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter.'

Sirius felt sick - once again he felt as if had missed a step in the dark and was now in freefall. Because this was the source of all Sirius's crimes - his one, real betrayal … and he had spent twelve years in prison composing letters to Remus in his head, explaining and apologising … but he had really believed there would be a moment where Remus would actually discover the truth … And now he was afraid to look at his friend and see the hurt and realisation on his face.

But Remus's voice never changed from its pleasant, even tones. 'I assume that's why you didn't tell me, Sirius?' He said, as if it were no matter at all.

'Forgive me, Remus.'

'Not at all, Padfoot, old friend,' he started to roll his sleeves up, as if meaning to get down to business. 'And will you, in turn, forgive me for believing you were the spy?'

Sirius stared … Not even Remus - who had always been too good and had always forgiven far too much far too easily - could surely try and pretend that their betrayals were equal? That he, Remus, did not have excellent evidence on which to presume Sirius was guilty? That there was any comparison between Remus believing Sirius was the spy once James was dead and Sirius was standing in the middle of a streetful of slaughtered muggles laughing like a madman, and Sirius - before anything had gone wrong - hearing that there was a spy in their ranks and turning on one of his oldest friends based on nothing but distance and a couple of skirmishes between the werewolves and the Order, where Remus had been forced to fight on the wrong side to keep his cover?

But Remus seemed to be genuine, and was standing there - with concern in his eyes - begging forgiveness, as if Sirius had any right to hold a grudge. That was just … so Moony . It was, infact, so perfectly Moony, that - despite the situation - despite everything that was going on - he, Sirius, could not prevent a grin - a real, genuine smile - from flitting across his face. 'Of course,' he said, and his heart hammered in his chest - not quite daring to believe that the worst of his crimes had been revealed and he had got away with it; he was forgiven.

He began to roll up his one sleeves. 'Shall we kill him together?' His voice shook a little as he said that. He was testing the strength of this forgiveness, testing that they truly were friends, and was worried it would not hold.

But it did. 'Yes, I think so,' Remus said to him.

Down on the ground, Peter wailed, 'you wouldn't … you won't…' and, having failed to find any sympathy from his old friends, he scrambled around trying to gain some from the children.

'Ron… haven't I been a good friend … a good pet? You won't let them kill me, Ron, will you … you're on my side, aren't you?'

But Spattergroit Boy, it seemed, was a wrong call too. He looked utterly repulsed by the man quivering in front of him. 'I let you sleep in my bed,' he spat.

'Kind boy… kind master…' he crawled towards Ron. 'You won't let them do it…I was your rat… I was a good pet…'

Sirius and Remus exchanged a disbelieving look. It must surely be better to die - with some dignity - than to utterly humiliate yourself like this. Only Peter…

'If you made a better rat than human, it's not much to boast about, Peter,' Sirius said.

Ron, looking pale and sickly, wrenched his broken leg away from Peter's grasping hands - and the rat turned to find support elsewhere. He seized the hem of the girl's robes. 'Sweet girl - clever girl… you - you won't let them… Help me…'

But the girl, too, wanted nothing to do with him. Looking horrified, she tugged her robes free and backed away into the corner of the room.

By now, Peter was trembling uncontrollably, his body was wracked with the gasping sobs he was trying to choke down… and with no where else left to turn, no one else left to appeal to … he finally looked at Harry, and spoke to him.

'Harry … Harry … you look just like your father… just like him…'

The red mist came down once again. 'HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY? HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?'

'Harry,' Peter whispered, ignoring Sirius's rage and shuffling towards Harry on his knees. 'Harry, James wouldn't have wanted me killed… James would have understood, Harry… he would have shown me mercy…'

'Pete's sorry. He's learned his lesson - haven't you, Peter? And we weren't expelled … so no harm done.'

Yes - James had always been quick - too quick - to forgive Peter. Had always taken pity on him, no matter what boneheaded thing he had done, had always stood in the way of Sirius's bad temper and stopped him from attacking him. Peter was not wrong that James was always the one who showed mercy… But this betrayal was surely too big to forgive, even for James. And, without a moment's hesitation, Sirius stepped forward - Remus at his side - they each grabbed one of Peter's shoulders and threw him down on to the floor, where he lay on his back, twitching and staring up at them fearfully.

'You sold Lily and James to Voldemort,' Sirius said, and he could not stop himself from shaking as he said it. 'Do you deny it?'

Peter burst into tears - as if he had not debased and degraded himself enough already - he now lay on the floor and wailed like a baby. It made Sirius feel sick to watch.

'Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord … you have no idea…he has weapons you can't imagine … I was scared, Sirius. I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen … He Who Must Not Be Named forced me…'

'DON'T LIE. YOU'D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!'

It had been 9 months before James had died, when Dumbledore had called a select few of them together and told them his suspicions that there was a spy in their ranks, and that there had been for some time … Remus had not been at the meeting … he was off spying on the werewolves.

And it was in those nine months that Sirius had started to notice the increased number of werewolf attacks, the wrong calls that Remus would make, or the near misses; the times he did not get information back to the Order in time for them to act … and he had started to wonder about Remus's absence from the meeting, that maybe there was more to it than he was just too busy, that maybe Dumbledore suspected… But it wasn't until after the death of Benjy Fenwick - they only ever found parts of him, and the parts they did find were shredded - that Sirius had reached his heartbreaking conclusion; finally admitting to himself what he had been refusing to believe for months… And all that time it had been Peter all along.

'You should have seen him when I confronted him: weeping and cringing and wringing his hands… cowardly little git. When I saw it … it was so obvious. I can't believe I ever thought it was you, I can't believe I blamed you over Peter, when it was staring me in the face what a worthless, faithless, little slime he is. Still - now I know - and I'll never make the same mistake again…'

But he had. Peter had pulled the wool over his eyes once again. And even now he was still lying about it.

'He - he was taking over everywhere,' Peter gasped, snapping Sirius out of his reverie. 'Wh - what was there to be gained by refusing him?'

'What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who ever existed? Only innocent lives, Peter.'

'You don't understand! He would have killed me, Sirius!'

'THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED! DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!'

He felt Remus stir at his shoulder, and raise his wand. 'You should have realised,' he said - quiet, where Sirius was shouting; calm, where Sirius was raging; steady, where Sirius was trembling - 'If Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Goodbye, Peter.'

Sirius felt the room go silent and still again - the same breathlessness he had felt when Remus had appeared in the doorway - the pressure drop and deathly calm of being in the eye of the storm. This was it. The moment that had been a whole year - and twelve before that - in the making. He had Remus back, he had his forgiveness and they were moving as one, friends once more; James was about to be avenged, Sirius was about to be vindicated … and then he would be free. This was it - this was the moment… and then…

'NO!' Harry had suddenly thrown himself between Peter and the two wands, and was facing down the pair of them. They drew up short - and glanced at each other - not sure what was happening, if maybe Harry did not believe them after all.

'You can't kill him,' he said rather breathlessly. 'You can't.'

Sirius and Remus exchanged another look … it seemed like James' unerring nobility had lived on in Harry, and reared its head just at the wrong moment.

'Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents,' Sirius told him. This was no time to be noble. James deserved vengeance - even if he would have, himself, been too noble to seek it. Harry should recognise that - should want vengeance of his own. 'This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die too without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin meant more to him than your whole family.'

'I know,' Harry was panting like he had just run a race, and he looked more than a little unnerved to be staring down the barrel of two wand tips, but he stood his ground. 'We'll take him up to the castle, we'll hand him over to the dementors. He can go to Azkaban … just don't kill him.'

'Harry!' Peter threw his arms around Harry's knees, 'You - thank you - it's more than I deserve - thank you!'

'Get off me,' he threw Peter's hands off himself in disgust. 'I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it because I don't reckon my dad would've wanted his best friends to become killers - just for you.'

The room went still again. Sirius and Remus exchanged another glance, a thousand silent communications passing between them in a matter of seconds.

Just like James.

Yes, he is rather - too decent for his own good.

Peter doesn't deserve his mercy.

No - but James would give it as well. You know he would, Padfoot.

Bloody Potters… so - do we do what he says?

I think we have to.

As one, they lowered their wands and then broke eye contact. Sirius turned to Harry. 'You're the only person who has the right to decide, Harry. But think … think what he did.'

'He can go to Azkaban,' Harry repeated rather stubbornly. 'If anyone deserves it, he does.'

Sirius opened his mouth to argue some more, but he felt Remus put a hand on his arm - unseen by the others - and give the merest shake of his head. 'Very well,' he said, speaking before Sirius could. 'Stand aside, Harry.'

Harry paused - looking reluctant, like he didn't quite trust Remus's intentions - but Remus only smiled. 'I'm going to tie him up. That's all, I swear.'

Harry nodded and stepped out of the way, and Remus took charge of the whole situation. Ropes shot out of his wand and tied Peter up, binding him and gagging him. Sirius loomed over and peered down at him. 'But if you try to escape, Peter, we will kill you. You agree, Harry?' he asked, and Harry nodded.

Remus was now assessing Ron's leg and, deciding it was a job for Madam Pomfrey, he muttered ' Ferula' and strapped it to a splint.

'What about Professor Snape?' the girl asked.

They all turned to look at where Snivellus still lay, crumpled and unconscious on the floor and completely forgotten about until this moment. Sirius and Remus shared a swift smile of amusement. 'There's nothing seriously wrong with him,' Remus told the girl. He bent down to check Snape's pulse and nodded - his assessment had been correct - he was fine. 'You were just a little over-enthusiastic. Still out cold. Er - perhaps it would be best if we don't revive him until we're safely back in the castle. We can take him like this…' He waved his wand and muttered ' Mobilicorpus ' and Snivellus's unconscious form rose into the air and hung there, like a marionette without strings.

His feet dangled limply a few inches above the ground, and Sirius had to fight the urge to kick his shins while he was dangling and helpless. Behind him, Remus picked up James' old invisibility cloak and tucked it away in his pocket.

Tearing his eyes away from Snape, Sirius glanced back at the other dark wizard in the room. 'And two of us should be chained to this,' he said, nudging Peter with his toe - getting a sly dig in at the rat's ribs, 'just to be sure.'

Remus said he would do it, and so did Ron - and Sirius conjured heavy manacles and chained his best friend and Spattergroit Boy to the traitor who had ruined his life. They made an odd looking trio - Remus on one end, covering Peter with his wand, Peter in the middle, bound and gagged and practically fainting in fright - only held upright by his manacles, and then Ron - pale and sick looking with pain, his leg strapped up and leaving their whole six legged race unbalanced.

Once they were secure, and Sirius had double checked there was no chance of escape, the cat jumped off the bed and led the way out of the room - the three of them followed on, then Sirius flicked his wand at Snape and the unconscious man floated out of the room. Sirius went behind him, using Snape's own wand to guide him down the stairs, and Harry and the girl brought up the rear. And - together - this bizarre group of nine left the shack (for the final time for real this time) and entered the tunnel, headed for the castle.

Freedom - true freedom - was now only moments away.