Disclaimer: I really don't think anyone reads these, do you? Oh, well. Have to appease the lawyers; ergo I don't own HP&Co.
A/N: This story never ceases to amaze me with how popular it is. You guys all rock! If I could send cookies over the internet, I would. So go have a cookie and tell yourself it's from me. :-)
Chapter Ten: Repercussions
The rat-cum-human stood and twitched nervously, looking for an exit. "Peter?" The man jumped and whirled around at the word, whispered in tones of disbelief.
"Indeed, Remus, this does change everything." Peter's eyes darted to the headmaster. He took a step backwards, hoping to flee.
"I don't think so, Pettigrew. I still owe you for that incident with the pink hair." Severus snarled.
Peter had heard enough. Somehow, he'd been found out. Panic rose, an acrid taste in the back of his throat. Time to go… He melted back into his rat form and attempted to scurry away.
Ron was livid. Though he could appreciate a practical joke as much as the next guy – and having the twins as older brothers, he liked to think his tolerance of being the victim of a joke or prank to be a bit above the national average – this went far beyond the line of acceptability. The rat had not only fooled him, but his entire family as well. Ron saw the rat try to escape, and had his wand out in a flash. Faster, even, than Snape, or the headmaster. "Stupefy!" Ron flung the stunning spell with everything he had in him. Poor Peter Pettigrew didn't have a chance. His rodent form slumped to the floor.
All four adults in the room not masquerading as a rodent were forcibly reminded of Molly Weasley as they bore witness to her youngest son's temper. Ron's face was pale white – even the freckles seemed drained of color – except for two bright red splotches across his cheekbones that bled over onto the tips of his ears. His jaw was clenched so tightly that they could hear his teeth grinding together. He was glaring at the rat, and even someone not skilled at legilimency could almost see the visions of murderous rage flitting through his mind. His magic, though, wasn't flaring at all; rare for an adult suffering a bout of temper, and all but unheard of in a hormonal teenager. Rather than a physical manifestation of his magic, Weasley seemed to be seeping pure intimidation from his pores. Even Snape was a little taken aback at the display the often-oafish teen was showing. And we see a glimpse of the man he will someday become…
"Unless you want a dead rat, Professors, I suggest you get it away from me." Ron spat the sentence from between clenched teeth. Minerva hastened to place the animagus in a conjured cage until he could be dealt with. Once the rat that wronged his family was out of sight, Ron's anger bled away as if it had never been. He shook his head and the murderous glint left his eyes. He met the gaze of his head-of-house and the headmaster in turn. "Was there anything else you needed, Professors?"
Albus shook his head, "No, Ronald. I do apologize for any undue stress this may have caused you. You can expect Hogwarts to replace your 'pet' in the near future. I assume you will not want another rat?"
Ron shook his head. "No, sir. I think one rat per lifetime is enough."
"When you decide what sort of animal you would prefer, within reason, of course, let Professor McGonagall know."
"Yes, sir." Ron turned to leave.
"Weasley?" Snape called after the Gryffindor.
"Sir?"
"It would be best not to discuss this until such time as it becomes public knowledge."
"Yes, sir." Ron left the office to go watch the sunset from the Astronomy Tower.
"That could have gone worse," Minerva observed.
"What do we do with him now?" Remus asked.
The headmaster stroked his beard. "I believe it's time for veritaserum to be brought into the Black investigation, don't you? I know Pettigrew never had a talent for occlumency before he disappeared. I highly doubt he was able to develop that talent in the intervening years."
Snape reached into a hidden pocket of his robe and withdrew a tiny crystal vial. Remus cocked his head towards Severus. "Do you always carry truth serum with you?"
"Of course. Don't you?"
In a cruel, cruel twist of fate, Sirius Black was better known to the human guards of Azkaban as Prisoner No. 24601. The irony of this particular number was lost on Sirius, however. It was nearing his sixteenth anniversary in the dreary wizarding prison. Only one other inmate in history had lived as long within the stone walls and alongside the dementors' chill, and that had been nearly three hundred years earlier. That particular inmate had been completely insane before going to the wizarding prison, so he hardly counted.
Despite the proximity of the dementors, Sirius was still sane. This alone caused the human guards food for thought and food was the human guards' primary concern. That was really all they were there for; to make sure that each living inmate received their daily rations of food and water. Their secondary purpose was a bit more sinister, but no less necessary; they removed the bodies of those inmates that died whilst within the prison walls. Had the human guards visited Black's cell more often than the once per day it took to deliver the rations and make sure he still breathed, they would have seen Sirius' secret to successfully remaining sane. Instead of a battered, half-starved scarecrow of a man wearing tatters and rags, they would have seen a battered, half-starved scarecrow of a dog whose coat was tangled and matted and falling out in places. While in his animagus form, the chill of the dementors pressing upon his soul was not near so harsh; the purely physical chill and perpetual damp made marginally bearable by thick fur; the nightmares toned down to simple primary emotions and colors.
Yes, Sirius' escape from the prison drear was primarily due to his ability to shift his form at will. He did have one other reason, though; a reason that kept the dementors from sweeping in during those rare moments when he wasn't in dog form for whatever reason. He knew he was innocent of the crimes he was imprisoned for. Not a happy thought, really, but one that gave him purpose. A reason to keep living when so many others in similar circumstances would have given up and let the dementors or the damp take them and end their suffering.
So, you can imagine his shock when, about three hours after a guard deposited his rations in his windowless cell, Sirius' enhanced canine hearing picked up the sound of footsteps and voices heading his way. Though not completely unheard of, visitors to the prison were rare enough that it was likely a complete head-count would occur after the visitor left. With a doggy sigh, Sirius shifted back into his human form and immediately wished he hadn't. The late October cold of the remote island seemed to attack his hands and feet as though trying to win a battle. He shivered and curled into a tighter ball, as close to the inner wall as possible. The outer wall would be colder by nearly twenty degrees.
He didn't even notice when the footfalls stopped just outside his cell, at least, not until a gruff voice snapped his attention to the corridor just beyond the bars. "Prisoner Number 24601, sir. Black – comma – Sirius. Date of arrest, November 1, 1981. Date of incarceration, November 2, 1981. No trial date given. Signed by then-Minister Bagnold – comma – Millicent. Don't know what sort of shape he's in, sir, but rumors say he's sane as you or me."
Sirius swallowed a mouthful of the brackish water from the bucket near the bars. "Rumor would be right." His voice sounded like a rusty motor, filled with sand and gravel. It had literally been years since Sirius had said anything. Sirius almost laughed at the look on the guard's face when he spoke. The man looked like someone had just poured a vial of freezing potion into his shorts.
"That is most fortuitous news, indeed, Mr. Black."
Sirius' eyes darted to his visitor. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Perhaps I'm not as sane as I assumed. I could swear I'm looking at Albus Dumbledore."
"No doubt to the accuracy of your first statement, Sirius, I find one a rather inaccurate assessor of one's own mental state. However, unless I'm much mistaken, I am Albus Dumbledore, and I come bearing glad tidings."
Sirius scoffed. "What tidings? There's no such thing as good news, and hasn't been for the better part of two decades now." Some of the rustiness of his voice was fading with use. He took another drink of water.
Albus smiled sadly at the man in the cell. "You've been freed, Sirius. Peter was captured a mere three nights ago. He had been posing as a family's pet rat. You're a free man, Mr. Black. I hold here a full pardon, signed by the whole of the Wizengamot, as well as a bank draft for wrongful imprisonment for well over a million galleons per year you were imprisoned. All you need to do is walk out of here with me."
For the first time in sixteen long years, Sirius finally felt something that had been missing from his life. He felt hope.
A/N2: That's all I really feel should be included in this chapter. I wrote it and feel drained; I reread it to correct punctuation and formatting, and feel even more drained. Much more in the way of emotion in this chapter would have cheapened it. Do remember what I said before about short chapters, though. There's a better-than-average chance another chapter of a similar length will be up tomorrow. If I get lucky with the muse running this tale, it may even be a pleasantly long chapter.
In the meantime, remember to lemme know what you think.