Disclaimed
Author's note: Reviews are good.
The Basement
By Marz
Chapter 12: The Proof
I skipped breakfast and went straight to the headmaster's office. I brought a copy of the will with me, but I left the rest of the portfolio in my dorm room. I had a strange feeling that Dumbledore might feel compelled to confiscate my evidence. I didn't have a chance to rethink my course of actions while fumbling for the password to get by the gargoyle that guards the door to the headmaster's office. Professor Sprout was leaving just as I arrived.
"Are you feeling alright son? You look a bit under the weather," she said.
"I'm fine, thanks. I just need to talk to Professor Dumbledore."
She nodded and let me pass. I took the stairs two at a time but when I got to the door I didn't want to go in. I mean, what if I asked him and he still wouldn't tell me? I could ask Lupin, but I didn't know him that well, and I didn't want to have to ask anyone else. Dumbledore knows everything, just about, but he keeps it all to himself. I started thinking then about Tom Riddle.
Last year I had to fight the ghost of Tom Riddle, the heir of Slytherin. The ghost possessed my friend Ron's little sister, and let a basilisk loose in the school. Dumbledore was forced to leave the school and my friend Ron and I, with the involuntary help of last year's DADA professor, had to go into the creature's lair on our own. If Dumbledore had just told everyone that Tom Riddle was really the younger version of Lord Voldemort none of that would have happened. Ron sister would never have messed around with that ghost and we'd have all been spared a lot of grief. I was about to turn around and rethink this whole confrontation thing when a voice called out through the door.
"Come in Harry."
No going back then. I pushed open the door and went in. Dumbledore's office is filled with junk, all sorts of strange boxes with wires sticking out every which way and random antennae. Of course that's not nearly as strange as the Headmaster himself. I suppose he was still in his pajamas, but with him one can never be entirely sure. He wore a neon pink bath robe with powder blue chickens embroidered all over it. He was drinking tea and signing forms.
"What's troubling you this morning?" he asked. The light was shining oddly off his glasses and I couldn't see his eyes. I walked to his desk and set my copy of the will down in front of him.
He barely glanced at it before asking, "Where did you get this?"
"One of the Aurors lent it to me."
"Mr. Shacklebolt was it?"
I nodded.
"Harry, there are some things that you would be indescribably happier not knowing."
"I'd rather be alive and depressed then happily dead, Sir."
Dumbledore sighed. "What do you want to know?"
"I want to know what Black did. Shacklebolt gave me some other papers as well, and they all talk about the explosion and Pettigrew and the dead muggles, but there was something else that no one's written down. There are hints that he was working for Voldemort, but what did he do? I can tell Shacklebolt has something personal against Black, and so does Professor Lupin. I want you to tell me what Black did."
"Harry, sit down."
Ever get the feeling that you should pound some nails into a bat and go on a smashing spree? As I walked out of the Headmasters office, I did. He was calling something after me, but I didn't understand what. I didn't really hear anything until I was on the roof of the astronomy tower, and I don't quiet remember how I got there. I stood looking down at the school grounds trying to sort out the haze floating through my brain.
My father's best friend at Hogwarts was a boy named Sirius Black. They went every where together and raised all kinds of hell. They had two other friends named Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin. The four of them were inseparable and after they graduated school, all four joined the fight against Voldemort. When Voldemort came looking for my mom and dad they hid. Only Black new where, and he gave them away. He ran into Peter Pettigrew on a muggle street, and killed him, and everyone within thirty feet of him.
Black was mad when they caught him, laughing and incoherent. He was sentenced to life in Azkaban, the island home of the dementors, and was the first wizard ever to escape from it. Black said he needed to protect me. Black said he promised. He said he was sorry. How could I even consider believing him?
I punched the nearest stone parapet as hard as I could.
Why can't this stuff be simple? Why couldn't Black just say, 'I killed your parents and now I'm after you'? Why did he apologize? Why didn't he smack me around when he had the chance? Maybe betraying my parents really did push over the edge. Maybe he really was sorry. Maybe I'm an idiot for not killing him when I had the chance. I still wasn't sure if I wanted him dead or not, but I knew I had to talk to him again. I had to know.
The biggest problem with boarding school is there isn't any privacy. If I want to sit on roof and brood then I think its only fair that I'm allowed to. I knew I'd get a truck load of detentions when I finally went back to class, but I'd pay that bill when it arrived. I really didn't need my jumbled thoughts interrupted by the Weasley twins.
"Top of the mornin' to you!" shouted Fred Weasley, less then three inches from my ear.
I nearly toppled off the roof.
"You know I think its afternoon now," said George.
"So it is. You know I do believe we're missing herbology."
"I thought we were missing charms."
"Well we do know one thing for certain. Harry, you've missed potions."
"Hermione was quite upset." George added. "She sent us looking for you."
"Its not as if we wouldn't also skived off potions, but Snape took quiet a lot of points from Gryffindor."
"We were simply wondering at your…motivation."
The twins paused to stare at me expectantly.
"Here's the thing," I said. "Do you ever get the feeling that the second you turn your back, someone's going to stab you, and then start thinking that maybe there is no point in trying to trust anyone, because how can you really understand what they're thinking and then you realize that the world is built on a shaking tower of interconnected lies in which everyone participates, and the only chance you have at justice depends on the whims of compassionless, omnipotent fate?"
"No," said Fred.
"One time," said George. "But then we put glue on all the toilet seats in the Prefect's bathroom. Solved that crisis, spot on."
"You know what you need Harry?" asked Fred.
"What?"
"Senseless mayhem, and lots of it," said George.
"I think we can help him out with that," said Fred.
"You mean…? But no, how can we part with it? It's become a part of us, as dear as a toenail!"
"It's for a greater good."
"I suppose you're right."
They both paused their bantering to watch me. I played along.
"What are you two going on about?"
Fred took an old bit of parchment from his pocket and tapped it with his wand.
"I solemnly swear I am up to no good!" he declared, and handed the parchment to me.
And thusly I came into possession of the Marauder's Map, a detailed diagram of the entire school and grounds. Every hall way, bathroom stall and broom closet was neatly labeled, and a myriad of secret passages appeared as well.. The most interesting thing about the map though, was the people. Every person within the map's range was represented by a tiny named dot. I found Fred, George and my self easily. It was harder to pick out people in crowded areas like the Great Hall and the Library, but if you tapped the dot with your wand, you could zoom in on the area of interest.
"How did you do this?" I asked.
"Sadly we can't take credit…"
"…but really, the map seemed meant for us,"
"We recommend a little preemptive revenge against Snape."
"Go luck Harry and…"
"…make sure you stay out of trouble."
"The getting caught kind."
With that last comment Fred and George walked away. I stood watching the little dots roam the surface of the Marauder's Map. Snape was in his office. The library was crowded with first and second years. I traced the course of one of the secret passages with my finger. It cut under the court yard and the Great Hall, turning a bit beneath the dungeons. I stopped as the tunnel passed beneath a room labeled kitchens. The label drifted slowly around the drawn confines of the room, trying not to cover any of the dots, with names like Blinky, Buttons, and Sotsy.
The room was packed wall to wall with names. I held the map a few inches from my face trying to decipher them all. I couldn't figure out how all those people would fit in that room, or why they would bother to stay in such uncomfortably crowded conditions. Then the kitchen label slid to one side, revealing a dot labeled Peter Pettigrew.
I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. For a minute my brain froze, and I laughed a bit, though I'm still not sure if it was relief or crazy terror behind it. Somebody some where had just been proved right. I ran for the kitchens, they were not too far away.
I arrived in less then three minutes, but there was no door, just a painting of a bowl of fruit. I attempted several passwords, but they had no effect on the painting. Nothing happened. I checked the map again. Peter Pettigrew could be no more then ten feet away from me. I drew my wand in my right hand and felt along the painting with my left, trying to find a catch or hidden switch. As my hand slid across a pear the painting emitted an unnerving giggling sound and the pear turned into a door handle. I pulled it and the painting swung forward on a hinge. I stepped around it and peered into the room. An uncountable number of wide green eyes stared out at me.
"…er…Hello," I said.
Tiny green hands caught my sleeves and dragged me inside.
It's not as if I have something against house elves, it's just that they're strange in the head. Kreacher and Dobby were the only elves I'd met before, but this new lot didn't give me much hope for the species. I started to ask if any of them had seen a rat in the kitchen when a spoon full of treacle pudding was shoved in my mouth.
"What does you think Sir? Does it need more sugar?"
"Does Sir wish to try some cookies?"
"Does sir need a snack?"
"Does sir wish us to wash his shoes?"
I tried to extricate my self from the circle of elves but every place I tired to step was already occupied. I checked the map again. The dot labeled Peter Pettigrew was moving quickly toward the opposite side of the room. I stuffed the map in my pocket and hopped over the heads of the nearest elves, onto a miniscule area of clear counter space. There were multiple gasps at the filthy state of my shoes. I had to doge a barrage of cleaning charms as I ran along the counter, hopping over bowls of dough and half plucked chickens.
I saw the rat then. I sat directly before a jagged hole in the baseboards of the back most cabinets, staring at me with beady black eyes. I paused and we stared at each other. Should I risk firing a stunner at him, or try to lure him in closer? I was charged to the point that my hands were shaking, and that made the decision for me. I couldn't trust my aim.
"Come here Scabbers. Good rat." I climbed slowly down from the counter and held out my hand, making little summoning motions with my fingers. The elves backed away, giving me room.
"Ron's been looking all over for you." I took a step closer. "Hermione's even promised to get rid of her cat."
The rat was no more then three feet away. I noticed then that the rat was staring at my right hand. I followed its gaze and noticed I still had my wand out. If I could grab a hold of it I could bring the rat straight to Dumbledore. If I did the spell with him watching no one would argue. I just couldn't let the rat figure it out yet. I put the wand in my pocket.
I leaned toward Scabbers. The rat inched towards me and I was certain I had him fooled. Its whiskers brushed against my fingers, as it sniffed at me. I darted forward and my hands closed around the rat's squirming body. It squeaked desperately.
I'll pause here to point out to the general public that despite the small size of the common rat it is capable of delivering a rather large and powerful bite.
As I cursed, waved my hand about, and splattered the surrounding house elves with blood, the rat ran for the crack in the baseboards. I dove after it. I wasn't fast enough. I did manage to get a quarter million splinters in my already injured hand and squash a house elf though. I crawled back to my feet and helped up the elf I had fallen on.
"Sorry about that," I said, trying to dust the stunned creature off. "I was trying to catch the rat you see."
The elves by that point had decided I was insane and they backed away, giving me a clear path to the door.
"Well it was nice meeting you," I said backing out. "The food's great, keep up the good work." After an eternity of backing away I finally made it out the door. It slammed shut behind me.
I took the Marauder's Map out again, but the dot labeled Peter Pettigrew was no where to be seen.