Time was behaving strangely for Sirius. It shuffled, it plodded, it occasionally rushed past in great, breathless lumps. As he dragged the semiconscious form of Ron Weasley through the tunnel beneath the Hogwarts grounds, he felt at once as though the journey took seconds, and as if he had spent all his life trying to reach the end of it. The horrors of his past fell away, as did any thoughts of the future. All that mattered was the present, and what would happen next.
He burst through the trapdoor into the dusty downstairs room of the Shrieking Shack, dragging Ron behind him. Impatiently knocking aside broken furniture from the disorder in his path, he dragged the boy ungently up the uneven wooden staircase.
He did not pause to think why the confrontation must take place in the upstairs room. If he had, he might have rationalised that the farther Peter was from the only way in or out of the house, the easier it would be to prevent his escape. But that was not it at all. It must be here, in this safe and sacred place, surrounded by memories of love, friendship, devotion, passion - all the things which Peter had taken from him - all the things which he meant to take back tonight.
The light inside the house was very dim. It filtered through the cracks between the boards covering the windows from the summer night outside. At this time of year, even at midnight, a twilight glow suffused the world, and even this windowless room would never be fully dark.
Still, thought Sirius, it would be nice to have a little light to see by.
He deposited Ron's limp form next to the bed and began nosing about hopefully, searching for a wand. He could smell rodent fear, strong in his nostrils, but the rat had clearly burrowed deep into the boy's clothing. In the darkness, with Peter in his present form, it would be nearly impossible to locate and extract him.
At last he found what he was looking for in Ron's back pocket. He silently shifted forms and drew out the slender wooden rod, whispering his first spell in almost thirteen years.
"Lumos."
The boy on the floor flinched as the light struck his closed eyes, and turned his head away.
"Where are you?" Sirius's eyes swept hungrily over Ron's body, searching for signs of the rat's hiding place.
At the sound of his voice, Ron's eyes flew open, and then went wide with horror. He scrambled backward, pressing against the bed, heedless of an obviously broken leg, away from the filthy, wild-eyed man bending over him.
"Y - you get the hell away from me!" he cried, his voice cracking and squeaking with fear.
His eyes cast wildly about the room for something - anything - he might use as a weapon, but his wand was in Sirius's hand, and there was nothing here that would be of any use against that.
"The rat," Sirius croaked eagerly. "Where's the rat?"
"You'd better let me go!" Ron shouted, clearly hoping that sheer volume would make him sound braver. "My friends will be along in a minute, and -"
"Do you really think so?" Sirius asked curiously.
He hoped that they would, but it would take a special kind of courage for the two young wizards to pursue their friend to the Shrieking Shack in the darkness, not knowing what lay at the end of the tunnel.
"Would they really do that for you? You think they'll get past the Whomping Willow and crawl through a dark tunnel after a large, vicious dog?"
"Yes!" Ron declared loudly. "They're my friends. And they've faced worse than you before. They - they'll kill you if you kill me! Just you see if they don't."
"I'm not going to kill you, boy," Sirius said impatiently. "I just want the rat."
Ron goggled at him, uncomprehending, and in that moment of silence came the creak of a floorboard somewhere downstairs. Man and boy froze. Then Ron opened his mouth wide and drew a deep breath.
"Hush!" Sirius hissed before he could call out.
He pointed the wand straight at Ron's chest, and Ron seemed to reconsider his plan of action.
Sirius moved quietly to the door, and peered out through the crack. He could hear soft footsteps in the room below, but could see nothing in the darkness. Then two wandlights appeared at the foot of the stairs, illuminating two pale, frightened faces and two sets of wide, fearful eyes. Harry and Hermione. Sirius felt his heart squeeze with pride at their bravery. He flattened himself against the wall and waited, eyes fixed on Ron in a look of warning.
Sirius held his breath as an almost tangible silence descended over the room. Then the door burst open, and Harry and Hermione flew to Ron's side, their hands reaching out to him, their voices filled with concern. Ron's eyes never left Sirius.
"He's the dog -" he muttered through teeth gritted in pain. "He's an Animagus -"
As Sirius reached to shut the door, Harry spun toward him, eyes wild, wand in his fist. But Sirius was ready.
"Expelliarmus!"
Harry and Hermione's wands arced gracefully through the air toward him, dropping neatly into the palm of his hand.
The magic came back to Sirius naturally, despite years of disuse. Things were finally going right for him. He had finally found Peter. Harry was here, and would have to listen to him - have to believe at last. He felt as if a fire had been lit inside him, driving back all fear and despair. Now they would know. Now they would have to.
"I thought you'd come and help your friend," he said approvingly. "Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I'm grateful - it will make everything much easier -"
Something moved in Harry's eyes. A flash of cold fury that made Sirius take a step backward and brought Ron and Hermione to their friend's side, holding him back.
Ron was pale and sweating, but the arrival of his friends had strengthened his resolve. "If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us, too!"
Sirius felt a hand clench around his heart to see the level of devotion Harry inspired in his friends, just as James had. But to see such hatred directed at himself from a face that so resembled James was almost more than he could bear.
Instead, he looked at Ron. "Lie down," he said. "You will damage that leg even more."
But the red-haired boy stubbornly kept his feet, leaning heavily on Harry for support. "Did you hear me?" he challenged, jaw set in defiance. "You'll have to kill all three of us!"
"There'll only be one murder here tonight." Sirius smiled in grim anticipation.
Peter would be revealed. The truth would be told. Sirius would at last be able to clear his name and present Harry with the body of the one on whose head lay the deaths of James and Lily Potter.
"Why's that?" said Harry angrily, stepping forward. Ron and Hermione were barely able to restrain him. "Didn't care last time, did you? Didn't mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew - What's the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?"
Sirius winced. Hermione was begging Harry to be quiet. Ron was simply hanging on like grim death, face white beneath his freckles, lips pressed together in pain. But Harry was having none of it.
"HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!" he yelled.
Sirius had no time to raise a hand in his own defence as Harry wrenched away from his friends and threw himself at his godfather. He was dimly surprised at the strength Harry possessed for his age and size, before a hard-knuckled fist rocked his head sideways and he fell, bashing his head against the wall. He could not break Harry's grip on the wrist of his wand hand, but threw up his free hand, trying vainly to fend off the pummeling blows. This was not right. It was not supposed to go like this.
"No," he muttered. "I've waited too long -"
At last, his flailing hand closed around something. Harry's throat. His fingers tightened as he made a move to push Harry off of him, and he saw the boy's eyes bulge slightly an instant before Hermione's foot connected with his ribs. He gasped and let go of Harry. Then something - Ron - landed heavily on his wand hand. His fingers sprang open with the shock of the impact, and the three wands skittered across the floor into the shadows.
For a moment, all was darkness and confusion, grunts of effort and cries of pain. Then, suddenly, it was over. The struggling teenagers let go and backed away from him. Sirius lay gasping on the floor, eyes slightly unfocussed. A small light floated into his field of vision, and he stared at it, trying to puzzle it out. At last the tip of a wand came into focus, illuminating the flushed face of vengeance beyond it.
"Going to kill me, Harry?" he whispered hopelessly.
He saw no way to stop the boy, and if he died, the truth would die with him, and he would be condemned as a traitor until the end of time.
"You killed my parents." Harry's voice shook with cold fury.
Sirius could not look away from that face as sadness bloomed inside him, sending shoots and tendrils out to the extremities of his body. He remembered James's face, lit with excitement and laughter as they explained the Secret-Keeper switch to Peter. He remembered Lily's eyes, so trusting, and her smile, so brave. And he remembered them lying cold and still amid the wreckage of their home in Godric's Hollow that Halloween night so many years ago. In a way, it had all been his fault.
"I don't deny it," he said at last, softly, then rallied himself. "But if you knew the whole story -"
"The whole story?" Harry's voice was incredulous. "You sold them to Voldemort. That's all I need to know!"
I'm dead, he thought bleakly. He's really going to do it.
"You've got to listen to me," he pleaded with James's vengeful ghost. "You'll regret it if you don't - you don't understand -"
"I understand a lot better than you think," Harry gritted at him between clenched teeth. "You never heard her, did you? My mum - trying to stop Voldemort killing me - and you did that - you did it -"
Something hit Sirius in the chest. For a split second, he thought Harry had cursed him. But then he saw the outline of the fluffy, ginger cat, dark against the wand's light. Crookshanks sat smugly and defiantly in the middle of his chest, as if daring Harry to do something about it. He could not bear the thought of this noble beast being harmed for his sake, after all the help Crookshanks had provided him. Sirius tried to push the cat away, but he would not go.
Harry stood over him, hesitating, clearly not wanting to harm the animal, and unsure how to proceed. But not for long. Sirius saw the resolve steal back over the boy's pale face, saw the wand raise slightly. But still nothing happened. Utter stillness hung in the air as the man and boy stared into one another's eyes.
A sound. Footsteps on the floorboards below. Hermione gasped. Harry's eyes flickered toward the closed door. Sirius felt his heart skip a beat.
Could it be -?
He raised his long, sensitive nose and delicately sniffed the air. But his canine senses were not as strong in his human form as they were for Remus. There was no way to be sure. The scent of frightened teenagers, cat, rat, and dog were strong in the room. No chance of picking up a scent from downstairs on the other side of a closed door. And yet, who else knew the way into the Whomping Willow? Who else might guess where they were?
Hermione's shriek broke the stillness in the room. "WE'RE UP HERE! WE'RE UP HERE - SIRIUS BLACK - QUICK!"
Forgetting all about the vengeance-maddened boy holding him at wand point, Sirius moved convulsively toward the door, just as it burst open in a shower of red sparks, followed by the agitated figure of Remus Lupin.
Remus, golden eyes flashing around the room, searching, seeking, finding Sirius. Their eyes met. Stillness.
"Expelliarmus!" Remus cried.
Every wand in the room leapt to his hand as he stepped through the door, but his eyes never once left Sirius's face. His expression was unreadable.
"Where is he, Sirius?" Remus's voice shook.
With an inaudible click like the turning of a key, Sirius's world tumbled back into place, and everything went out of focus except for Remus. Remus was real. Remus was here. And Remus knew.
It took Sirius a moment to regain enough self control to raise a hand and point in the direction of Ron and his treacherous cargo.
"But then -"
Sirius stared at Remus's bloodless lips as they murmured fragments of thoughts, putting together the truth at long last, golden eyes going wide with understanding.
Harry was speaking, but neither Sirius nor Remus was listening, and the boy's question died in his throat as Remus strode across the room and pulled Sirius to his feet and embraced him without reservation.
The rest of reality slid away, as if it were no more substantial than a morning mist. Remus was here. Remus - awake - sober - present - touching and touching him again, looking into his eyes. Surely the children would notice. How could they not notice?
I don't bloody care if they do.
Remus was here and understood and now, together, they would draw Peter out and kill him. Sirius did not have to think any longer - did not have to plan or defend or explain. Remus would take care of things, like he always had. Nothing else mattered besides that.
Remus, talking - explaining. How he loved the sound of the man's voice. Soft, powerful, compelling, humorous - but now with a ragged edge and a trace of bitterness which Sirius sorrowed to hear. And how he moved his hands, gesturing as he spoke. Sirius loved that, too. Graceful movements, eloquent and nuanced. Expressive hands made for speaking, for magic, for love.
The children, disbelieving. Their voices a confused babble, out of which Sirius could pick only the occasional word. Sirius's gaze fastened upon the squirming lump of terrified rodent. Himself, impatient - Do it now! - Remus's arms around him, soothing, gentling him with a touch as he strove toward the boy holding the rat.
Remus's gentle words telling that wonderful story - the tale of the Marauders' years of friendship. His spirit quieted to listen to the soft rise and fall of Remus's voice, his eyes still fixed on the rat.
Remus speaking of the Prank - the one that had sent Severus Snape into the Whomping Willow - speaking of it as coolly and evenly as of everything else, betraying no hint of the horror, the anger, the passion that had followed in its disastrous wake.
Snape. What was he doing here? Where had he come from? He had no place here - no right. Snape - threatening - sneering - threatening Remus.
Not on!
A wand, black and menacing in his face. He would do it, Sirius knew, given the slightest provocation, and then who would save Remus?
The children - speaking - arguing. Arguing with Snape.
That's good, isn't it?
Snape arguing back - Stupid git - threatening a kiss. Dementors. He wouldn't. But he would.
The children, defending Remus. Angry words. Wands pointing. Snape sneering. Snape on the floor - bleeding - unconscious. The children's stunned faces. Remus - Remus choking - struggling against ugly, black cords. His own hands, moving over Remus's flesh, loosening, helping, soothing.
The children, suspicious, maybe - maybe - beginning to believe at last. Remus explaining, explaining, compelling belief, fighting on the battlefield of logic as on the battlefield of love, his mouth and hands his only weapons. Those eloquent hands - that beautiful mouth -
And when the memories threatened to overwhelm Sirius, drowning him in tears, Remus was there to protect him. Remus knew when enough was enough and it was time to take action. Bring the enemy out in the open. Yes. And then destroy him.
"Together?"
"I think so."
A flash of light. Peter standing before them, sniveling, pathetic, disgusting, terrified. Remus, toying with him -
Toying with him?
A look. Remus, flushed but in control. Sirius relaxed.
It's all right.
Peter, accusing - cajoling - convincing no one. The children, looking disgusted.
I am free. A look at Remus. We are free. Together? I think so.
The feelings washing over him in a rush. Waves of anger, hatred, relief, fear, calm, lust, rage, gratitude, contempt, righteous anger. Overwhelming completion as belief finally dawned in Harry's eyes.
Peter, begging - pleading - to each of them in turn. Finding no quarter. Reaping what he had sown.
"Shall we kill him together?"
"Yes, I think so."
Peter, confessing. Confessing before witnesses - before Remus and Harry and his friends. His living presence was proof enough of Sirius's innocence, but the confession was sweet to hear, although the facts of the crimes choked him with rage.
A touch. Remus's arm against his own. Conviction and execution. Triumph and closure. And Harry - Harry standing in the way.
Harry begging mercy - no; justice - for the creature who had showed none for James and Lily. But it was his right. Harry's right to say, as much as his or Remus's. More, perhaps, for what he had lost had been taken from him before he had known what it was.
All right.
Peter, bound and shackled to Ron and Remus. Snape, floating comically - grotesquely - head lolling.
Cool, night air in the tunnel, filling him, exhilarating him. His freedom. Remus's trust. Harry's smile. Rewards enough for a lifetime. James and Lily's child, to come gladly into his home and be his son. And Remus's, too. Remus's, too.
The open air of the Hogwarts grounds, lifting him - buoying him up on the summer night. Shifting light, flowing silver across the grounds, illuminating. Chilling. Catching Sirius's breath in his throat.
No -!
"Run," Sirius whispered to the children. "Run! Now!"