Chapter Seventeen

Reg Cattermole, of the Department of Magical Maintenance, scrubbed himself down in the staff showers - until the steam billowed around him in stinging clouds and his skin was bright pink.

...

He had been clearing out the fireplaces down on the main concourse - all those wizards flooing in an out, to and fro, day by day ... one of the grates had got jammed, some nasty blockage stuck right up there … and Reg had been attempting to clear it with one of his brooms.

It was a nasty job, but they had been getting complaints from important Ministry officials who used that grate - their robes getting covered in a slimy residue every time they travelled that way - and he had been dispatched to sort it.

Missed all the excitement with the two prisoners being brought in and everything, he had - while he spent the morning playing at being a bloomin' chimney sweep.

...

After an hour or so poking and prodding with the end of his broom handle he had finally managed to dislodge something. A bit more poking and prodding and eventually a very dusty, high heeled purple boot with large buckles (which would be silver except for the dust) had fallen free along with a small amount of soot. He had picked up the boot, shaking his head. Someone must have lost it while using the floo network, it had jammed in the chimney causing a build up of floo powder and - over the months - the floo powder would have degraded into slime … hence the slimy residue on Ministry officials' robes.

Classic.

You saw it all the time, in this line of work.

...

A sudden rumbling noise above him had made him glance up - and he had just had time to widen his eyes and open his mouth in horror when a sudden deluge of chimney soot and slime crashed down on him, submerging him in stinking greenish black ooze - pouring straight into his open eyes and mouth. Typical.

...

So, he had squelched from the fireplace, up to the staff showers - grabbed himself a fresh set of maintenance robes, hung them on the peg near the shower block, stripped off and got under the water - scrubbing at his skin and shampooing his hair until he was no longer covered in slime.

...

Then, clean once more and feeling cheerful enough to whistle, he switched the water off and went out to get dressed, pulling on his vest and underpants. Then he reached for his fresh robes.

And that was when he discovered the peg was empty. The robes were missing.

Some blighter had stolen his clothes.


Remus felt better now he had some clothes on. Not better better. This was still the worst day of his life. He was frightened and miserable - and everything about Sirius, from their separation, to Sirius' betrayal of him, to his wanting to forgive him and not having a chance to, all made his chest hurt so badly he could barely breathe.

But he still felt better now he was dressed.

He was less afraid. Not not afraid - not by a long shot. He knew the trial would be … well, he didn't know exactly. He feared he had no experience of anything bad enough to forewarn him how the trial would be ... And he knew what his sentence at the end would be - and that made it hard for him to breathe too. But he was still less afraid.

He was far less afraid of facing the wizengamot now he would not have to do so so shamefully exposed; now he had just that little bit of protection that the fabric offered him. His body hidden, his scars hidden - behind this protective layer of cotton. He felt more human - less animal - now he was dressed. More like a man in prison and less like a beast in a cage … And maybe it would be enough to fool them too; maybe they would treat him ever so slightly more human than they would have done if he appeared before them almost naked.

...

Whatever Kingsley had been thinking or feeling when he had got these robes, whatever he thought of Remus now, Remus would be grateful to him until the day he died… Unfortunately he did not think that day would be very far in the future.


Almost blinded with sheer panic, Peter had run from the Ministry and started to hurry along the London streets - his mind whirling around as he tried to work out what to do next. He needed to run. He needed to hide. He needed to flee the country, change his name, grow a moustache … if he was capable of growing a moustache - conjure himself a moustache and live a new life underground.

He would need to go home to pack, just grab his things and -

'Mr. Pettigrew!'

His frantic thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice - and when his eyes focused, he found himself being stared at by none other than Rita Skeeter - she was sucking on her quickquotes quill and watching him carefully through her rhinestone studded spectacles.

'Rita!' he squeaked. He coughed and tried to sound more natural. 'Rita.'

'You seem to be going somewhere in rather a hurry, Mr. Pettigrew.'

'No - No - I just - um…' he ran out of excuses and just smiled at her rather queasily.

'I assume you've heard the news?'

'News?' his voice was a high pitched squeak again.

'Old friends arrested? Brought here to the Ministry to stand trial? Rumour has it…' she smiled salaciously, 'rumour has it that the pair of them were found with barely any clothes on, wrapped in each other's arms… What do you make of that, Mr. Pettigrew?'

'I don't…' he felt himself blush furiously. 'I don't know what you mean.'

She smiled wickedly. 'Oh well - I'm sure I'll find someone who knows. Anyway, Mr. Pettigrew, I was hoping you would give me an exclusive comment. How do you feel now that Black and Lupin, your oldest school chums, are about to stand trial?'

'Well I - uh - ' he blustered, glancing around himself - desperately seeking an escape.

'Happy? Relieved? Angry at their treachery? How will you feel when they chop the wolf's head off?'

'I… I need to go. I'll talk to you later, Rita - an exclusive. I promise.' And feeling very much like a cornered rat - he gripped his wand tightly and apparated back to his home.


The lights were dim in the courtroom - there was a rustling of robes and a low murmuring of voices as the wizengamot settled into place.

Dumbledore took his place on the bench beside Bartemius Crouch. 'Evening, Barty.'

'Evening, Dumbledore. This is a dark day - a dark day indeed.'

Dumbledore nodded - Crouch was the first person to have said that. Everyone else kept declaring it a good day, a happy day - the day the two traitors would face justice … But looking into Crouch's tired, drawn face, Dumbledore realised that there was someone else here, at least, who recognised the tragedy and the waste for what it was.

...

This war had taken so much … so many were killed, so many families would never be whole again - but there was also the tragedy of those like Black and Lupin: young men who had their whole lives ahead of them, thrown away because they had let themselves be seduced by Voldemort. This was a dark day. But a necessary one.

...

'How are your family, Barty, your wife, your son?' he asked - trying to think of something less gloomy while he still had the opportunity.

'Oh fine, fine. Barty left school in the summer, you know, 5 NEWTS.' There was a distinct hint of pride in his voice.

'Yes - we were all very impressed with him.'

'I barely see anything of him now.'

'Because of work?'

'Yes and no. He has some new friends … spends all hours with them. I'm trying to convince him to come to work here at the Ministry but … I fear he looks at my long hours, the paperwork … and doesn't see a future for himself in government.'

'Well - no doubt he will find his own path.'

'No doubt - but you know, it's trials like these - boys barely older than my son - when I can't help feel that the whole world has lost its innocence. Sentencing young men to a life in Azkaban - men not long since out of school, out of childhood…' He shook his head sadly, his expression was weary. 'What we must do to keep our little world safe, eh?'

'The Dark Lord took more from us than even he realised,' Dumbledore agreed. He sighed. 'So who is it trying the case, today - if you're not taking lead?'

'Madam Umbridge,' Crouch told him. 'Dolores was … most anxious to be the one to prosecute the case. Though I've heard the Minister herself may sit in on the trial.'

'There's a lot of interest in this one.'

'Yes - a Death Eater and a werewolf stealing a child - the very child who brought down He Who Must Not Be Named … I imagine this trial will make it into the history books.'

...

Dumbledore nodded his head in agreement, and wondered if the history books would ever be able to capture just how dark and desperate these days had been; the loss, the grief, the waste. Whether they could ever make it plain how all of them had, as Barty Crouch had said, lost their innocence in fighting this war. No matter which side they fought on.

Somehow … he doubted it.


Outside the courtroom, in the stone corridor, the members of the press, the public and witnesses for the prosecution were gathering. There was an excited hum in the air - as if they were all expecting a great big treat.

Severus stood to one side, hidden in the shadows, watching them all - the baying masses, out for a jaunt - here for the spectacle … and not caring at all what was lost.

Lily …

...

He was pleased he had helped bring her murderers to justice, positively delighted that Black and the werewolf had turned out to be as rotten as he always knew them to be. Blood would out - in the case of Black. And as for Lupin … What had Dumbledore been thinking? Letting one of his kind go to a school full of ordinary children, allowing one of his kind into The Order. What did the old man truly expect - a tame werewolf ? The very thought was preposterous.

Yes - he was very glad they now faced justice - that their futures were bleak at best, terminal at worst. And he would always be satisfied that he was the one who had brought them in; hunted them down when no one else could and taken them as they clung to each other's arms and believed themselves to be safe.

But none of this would bring back Lily. And he would swap the joy of Black facing eternity in prison for just one more day with her … and yet that could never be. No amount of wishing could make it so. All he had left was the justice to try and fill the void where she had been.

And none of the other people in this corridor cared two jots for any of that. They were just here to see the show … and he despised them all for it.

...

He became aware of someone standing at his elbow and turned to look. A woman with a square jaw and rhinestone spectacles was watching him closely, sucking on a quill.

He made to walk away, but she reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him. 'Severus Snape? I'm Rita Skeeter, with the Daily Prophet,' she said.

'I know who you are,' he said coldly.

'Of course you do - but what my readers want to know is all about you . Who is the man who caught The Dark Lord's right hand man? What drove him to seek such justice? What lengths did he take? How did he come to find them? What makes him tick? You're the new hero of the hour, Mr. Snape - I've heard rumours of the Order of Merlin First Class being bandied around. And this is your first chance to meet your adoring public. What do you have to say?'

He merely looked down at where her hand rested on his arm. 'Let go of me.' When she didn't move, he shook her off - and turned away again.

'Is it true you found them … in flagrante delicto?' She called after him.

He froze.

Her heels tapped on the ground, and she came back into his view, circling him - sucking that quill - her smirk was curious and knowing. 'I see it is,' she said.

'I said no such thing.'

'Oh you didn't have to … but for the readers - a comment? They had no clothes on, I hear? The wolf was taken that way?'

'I have no wish for my name to appear in your paper - I make no comment.'

...

But her quickquotes quill had taken on a life of its own - and despite his refusal to speak- was scribbling down words at a rate of knots;

His young face blushes as he remembers the indiscreet manner in which the two Dark wizards were found. Naked. Their arms clasped around each other… blissfully oblivious to the rage and fury bearing down on them, the jaws of justice reaching out to swallow them whole...

He glanced at what was written. 'I am not blushing,' he said - and then stalked away.

'Thank you for your time, Mr. Snape, I'm sure I'll find someone else to speak on the matter! Send me an owl if you change your mind about making a statement,' her voice followed him down the hallway.


Peter's home was in disarray. He had dashed about like a mad thing, throwing robes into suitcases and books into boxes … trying to cram the last of his tasty home baked treats into his little travel case ...

The wizengamot gathered at seven. The trial would begin shortly after … and then Moony and Padfoot would testify - and what would they testify? That he, Wormtail, was the real secret keeper. That's what. Oh there would be no loyalty there - they would sell him out to the Ministry to save themselves, as sure as dragon eggs were eggs. Forgotten would be the years of friendship, the adventures at the full moon, their working together to bring down the Dark Lord…

None of that would mean anything. They would say whatever it took to keep themselves out of Azkaban … to stop Remus being executed as a Dangerous Beast. It was really very selfish of them - but he knew not to expect anything better. Not from them.

That was how they had always been.

...

And so he was making his preparations to run - he was sweaty and breathless and the panic in his chest made him feel like he was about to be sick. But he'd almost crammed the last Madeira cake into his case … and then he'd be ready to go.

...

A light tapping at his window made him shriek out in terror - and he whirled around, clutching at his heart with one hand, and his wand with the other … But it was only an owl, knocking to be let in, and bearing the evening edition of the Prophet.

Shaking head to toe, he let the owl in - took the paper, paid the delivery charge … and then sank down into his armchair, still quivering with fright.

After a few long minutes he finally worked up the nerve to look at the paper:

On Trial For Their Lives!

The headline blared, and then - just beneath - the lede said:

Death Eater, Sirius Black, and Werewolf, Remus Lupin, will be sent to Azkaban tonight for crimes against the wizarding community, serving You Know Who and kidnapping little Harry Potter - the boy who lived!

...

Still gasping and quaking, he read the rest of the story … from the look of it, it didn't appear like they were going to be getting much of a trial at all. It sounded like the outcome was a foregone conclusion and the two supposed traitors would barely be given a chance to speak. And even if they did … who would believe anything they had to say?

His heart rate began to slow, though his trembling did not. It seemed like they would be going to prison - no matter what. And, if Peter ran now … what would that look like?

It would look like he was afraid of what they had to say. It would look like he was guilty …

...

And that was... nobody wanted that to be true. He was Peter Pettigrew - the hero of their times, the personification of one nation's grief and loss. No one wanted to know he had been a Death Eater all along, that he had been the secret keeper … it did no one any good to find that out, or even suspect it. Why, it would break all their hearts, if they knew. He owed it to the people to stay innocent and beloved in their eyes.

And after all, Moony and Padfoot made such better villains of the piece. What with Remus' affliction and the fact that half of Sirius' family were known Death Eaters … No one wanted to know that small, sensitive Peter was a spy for You Know Who when they had two tall, powerful and seemingly dark wizards to pin the blame on instead.

...

He dropped the paper to the floor and put his head in his hands. He wasn't sure what to do for the best. If they did talk - if they did tell - then aurors could be around here within moments of the end of the trial. He could be in Azkaban by the end of the night!

But if they didn't - and he ran anyway, then not only would he lose his job and his home and the chance of any more Angel Food cakes appearing in the post, but it would pretty much amount to him announcing his guilt to the entire wizarding world.

He needed a third way. He needed a way to find out what had happened at the trial - which would mean waiting for the morning edition of the paper … But he couldn't risk being found and arrested by the aurors if it all went horribly wrong.

...

An idea began to dawn in his mind - really he was so silly to have taken this long to think of it … especially when it was Moony and Padfoot that were the cause of all his current woes.

With a flick of his wand he bewitched his luggage so that it was feather light, meaning if the worst came to the worst he could apparate out of here in one go come the morning. He opened the window again, wide enough for a delivery owl to fly through and left a knut on the table. And then he transformed into Wormtail, and - in rat form - lurked under the armchair.

He would stay this way all night. So, if the aurors came looking, they wouldn't find him. If there was no news before the paper arrived, then he would scuttle up the table leg and read the headlines and, if he was in the clear, he would go into work and pretend nothing had happened. If he had been named as a Death Eater, he would grab his bewitched luggage and head for Outer Mongolia.

Perfect.

...

He snuggled down under the chair, closed his beady little rat eyes and settled down to sleep. This was the most ingenious plan; better even than pretending to be a faithful and loyal friend and then selling James to Voldemort for untold riches.

And it was only possible because of Remus' furry little problem and Sirius doing everything he could to help Peter with the spell to become an animagus in the first place… Thanks Moony, thanks Padfoot, old friends!


Down in the dark, Sirius heard the doors open and then the sounds of footsteps - lots of them - headed closer and closer. His stomach lurched. This was it. This must be it. Time.

He knew Remus would have heard it too - and he put his hand against the wall again and shouted through: 'It will be OK, Moony, I swear.'

And then the hinges creaked - and the door swung open. Orange light seemed to pour into the cell, though it was just the flames of the torches - casting further inside the dungeon now the door was open. Though, dim as it was, it was still enough to make Sirius blink after all these hours in the dark.

And then the light was blocked and four aurors came into his cell. He was handcuffed and bundled out between them.

Just ahead of himself he could see Remus getting the same treatment. 'Remus!' he yelled.

...

Trapped between his own guards, Remus turned his head and - for a moment - Sirius saw the fear in his eyes. Without even thinking, and with his hands still cuffed in front of him, he raised his right elbow and jabbed an auror right in the eye - as hard as he could. Then he used his left to do the same to one on his other side. He wrestled free of his guards and ran for the other group. 'Remus, I'm sorry - I'm so sorry. It will be OK - we'll get out of this … I love you.'

And then he was slammed to the ground - as all four of his guards dove on top of him all at once. From beneath the scrum, he looked up and saw Remus being dragged away. He fought and struggled a bit more - and then he heard Kingsley's voice hiss in his ear: 'you're not helping yourself - and you're certainly not helping him.'

Sirius went limp, and allowed himself to be taken to court.


The members of the public had been allowed inside the courtroom now. Rita Skeeter had taken her place on the press bench. Severus sat uncomfortably beside Alastor Moody on the witness benches.

There were a lot of mumblings and murmurings - so that, even though everyone was speaking quietly, the cumulative noise was almost deafening - made worse by the way it echoed all around the room.

The door opened - and the sound of high heels tapped across the floor - and then a squat, toad-like witch took her place in the judge's seat. She banged a little gavel and waited for quiet…

She looked around the room, as bench by bench, the onlookers fell silent. Severus couldn't help but notice the gloat in her smile. She was all puffed up - just like a real toad - and her skin was flushed with excitement.

'Hem hem,' she gave a little cough, when the courtroom was finally quiet, and then she banged her gavel once more. 'Bring in the prisoners!'