Disclaimer; Nothing in this fic belongs to me, They belong to J.K Rowling.

A/N; The most of the text in this chapter comes directly from chapter ten of the third Harry Potter book(The Marauder's map), so what I have written myself is to a limit and that is why I update so soon. Enjoy.

And I also want to thanks all of those who reviewed and put this up as a alert, thanks so much. I hope that you enjoy and review this chapter as well.

Chapter One; Finding out

Six months earlier... December 18th 1993

Hogsmeade looked like a Christmas card; the little thatched cottages and shops were all covered in a layer of crisp snow; there were holly wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in the trees.

Harry shivered; unlike the other two, he didn't have his cloak. He, Hermione and Ron headed up the street, heads bowed against the wind, Ron and Hermione shouting through their scarves.

"That's the post office —"

"Zonko's is up there —"

"We could go up to the Shrieking Shack —"

"Tell you what," Ron, said his teeth chattering, "Shall we go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?"

Harry was more than willing; the wind was fierce and his hands were freezing, so they crossed the road, and in a few minutes were entering the tiny inn.

It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

"That's Madam Rosmerta," Ron said. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he added, going slightly red.

Harry and Hermione made their way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.

"Merry Christmas!" he said happily, raising his tankard.

Harry drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted and seemed to heat every bit of him from the inside.

A sudden breeze ruffled his hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again. Harry looked over the rim of his tankard and choked.

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak — Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

In an instant, Ron and Hermione had both placed hands on the top of Harry's head and forced him off his stool and under the table. Dripping with butterbeer and crouching out of sight, Harry clutched his empty tankard and watched the teachers' and Fudge's feet move toward the bar, pause, then turn and walk right toward him.

Somewhere above him, Hermione whispered, "Mobiliarbus!"

The Christmas tree beside their table rose a few inches off the ground, drifted sideways, and landed with a soft thump right in front of their table, hiding them from view. Staring through the dense lower branches, Harry saw four sets of chair legs move back from the table right beside theirs, and then heard the grunts and sighs of the teachers and minister as they sat down.

Next he saw another pair of feet, wearing sparkly turquoise high heels, and heard a woman's voice.

"A small gillywater —"

"Mine," Professor McGonagall's voice said.

"Four pints of mulled mead —"

"Ta, Rosmerta," Hagrid said.

"A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella —"

"Mmm!" Professor Flitwick said, smacking his lips.

"So you'll be the red currant rum, Minister."

"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," Fudge's voice said. "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us…"

"Well, thank you very much, Minister."

Harry watched the glittering heels march away and back again. His heart was pounding uncomfortably in his throat. Why hadn't it occurred to him that this was the last weekend of term for the teachers too? And how long were they going to sit there? He needed time to sneak back into Honeydukes if he wanted to return to school tonight… Hermione's leg gave a nervous twitch next to him.

"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?" Madam Rosmerta's voice came.

Harry saw the lower part of Fudge's thick body twist in his chair as though he were checking for eavesdroppers. Then he said in a quiet voice, "What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?"

"I did hear a rumor," Madam Rosmerta admitted.

"Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" Professor McGonagall said exasperatedly.

"Do you think Black's still in the area, Minister?" Madam Rosmerta whispered.

"I'm sure of it," Fudge said shortly.

"You know that the Dementors have searched the whole village twice?" Madam Rosmerta said with a slight edge to her voice. "Scared all my customers away… It's very bad for business, Minister."

"Rosmerta, dear, I don't like them any more than you do," Fudge said uncomfortably. "Necessary precaution… unfortunate, but there you are… I've just met some of them. They're in a fury against Dumbledore — he won't let them inside the castle grounds."

"I should think not," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?"

"Hear, hear!" tiny Professor Flitwick squeaked, whose feet were dangling a foot from the ground.

"All the same," Fudge demurred, "they are here to protect you all from something much worse… We all know what Black's capable of…"

"Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," Madam Rosmerta said thoughtfully. "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought… I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd have said you'd had too much mead."

"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," Fudge said gruffly. "The worst he did isn't widely known."

"The worst?" Madam Rosmerta said, her voice alive with curiosity. "Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?"

"I certainly do," Fudge said.

"I can't believe that. What could possibly be worse?"

"You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta," Professor McGonagall murmured. "Do you remember who his best friend was?"

"Naturally," Madam Rosmerta said, with a small laugh. "Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here — ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"

Harry dropped his tankard with a loud clunk. Ron kicked him.

"Precisely," Professor McGonagall said. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course — exceptionally bright, in fact — but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers —"

"I dunno," Hagrid chuckled. "Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer their money."

"Yes, sure they would, but Potter did have his own twin after all." Professor McGonagall continued. "Maybe they would be exactly like the Weasley twins if Jessica had been a boy."

"Oh yes," Madam Rosmerta said, her voice sounded like she had a smile on her face. "How could anyone forget Jessica, it's so sad about what happened to her though."

"The poor girl is sadly still in St Mungos." Fudge said.

"What exactly happened to her, I never really understood." Madam Rosmerta said.

"It's seems to be like she's in a sort of a coma." Fudge continued.

"But how did she end up there?" Madam Rosmerta pushed on.

"Nobody really knows." Professor McGonagall said, not seeming to be willing to continue on the topic. "Anyways, we were talking about Potter and Black at school."

"Right," Fudge claimed in. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him."

"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" Madam Rosmerta whispered.

"Worse even than that, m'dear…" Fudge dropped his voice and proceeded in a sort of low rumble. "Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm."

"How does that work?" Madam Rosmerta said, breathless with interest. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.

"An immensely complex spell," he said squeakily, "involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find — unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window!"

"So Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper?" Madam Rosmerta whispered.

"Naturally," Professor McGonagall said. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself… and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself."

"He suspected Black?" Madam Rosmerta gasped.

"He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements," Professor McGonagall said darkly. "Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who."

"But James Potter insisted on using Black?"

"He did," Fudge said heavily. "And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed —"

"Black betrayed them?" Madam Rosmerta breathed.

"He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colours as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it —"

"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet.

"Shh!" Professor McGonagall said.

"I met him!" Hagrid growled. "I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an' James's house after they was killed! Jus' got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an' his parents dead… an' Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin' motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily an' James's Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR!" Hagrid roared.

"Hagrid, please!" Professor McGonagall said. "Keep your voice down!"

"How was I ter know he wasn' upset abou' Lily an' James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou'! An' then he says, 'Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him —' Ha! But I'd had me orders from Dumbledore, an' I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. 'I won't need it anymore,' he says.

"I shoulda known there was somethin' fishy goin' on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin' it ter me for? Why wouldn' he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he'd bin the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin' ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was after him.

"But what if I'd given Harry to him, eh? I bet he'd've pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes' friends' son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to em anymore…"

A long silence followed Hagrid's story. Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction, "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!"

"Alas, if only we had," Fudge bitterly said. "It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew — another of the Potters' friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself."

"Pettigrew… that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" Madam Rosmerta said.

"Hero — worshipped Black and Potter," Professor McGonagall said. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I — how I regret that now…" She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold.

"There, now, Minerva," Fudge kindly said, "Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eyewitnesses — Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later — told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?' And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens…"

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, "Stupid boy… foolish boy… he was always hopeless at duelling… should have left it to the Ministry…"

"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't've messed around with wands — I'd 've ripped him limb — from — limb," Hagrid growled.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," Fudge said sharply. "Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I — I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him… a heap of bloodstained robes and a few — a few fragments —"

Fudge's voice stopped abruptly. There was the sound of five noses being blown.

"Well, there you have it, Rosmerta," Fudge said thickly. "Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black's been in Azkaban ever since."

Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh.

"I wonder if this would ever have happened if Jessica never went into this... coma." She suddenly said.

"Well, we'll never find out will we?" Fudge responded.

"I mean... Both Black and Potter changed so much." Madam Rosmerta continued. "Maybe Black changed into the wrong direction?"

"Well, Black and Jessica actually was an item the few months before it happened." McGonagall explained.

"They were?" Madam Rosmerta asked, sounding chocked by the fact.

"Yes, found them necking each other in a classroom one afternoon," McGonagall said. "Gave them both detentions of course."

Madam Rosmerta gasped. "Do you think Potter knew?"

"No," Professor McGonagall said. "Potter would never have forgiven Black for that. He thought the world of his sister. Don't you know what happened to Rollins, I think that was his name, Jessica's first boyfriend, right after they had broken up?"

"The poor boy never looked the same again." Hagrid said with a chuckle.

"Always kept peering over his shoulder." Professor Flitwick continued with a small laugh.

"So maybe things would have turned out different." Fudge said.

"I remember quite clearly how Black was toward her," Madam Rosmerta remembered. "To difference from other girls he looked at her with respect. But I always thought that he thought of her like a sister, not like a... Girl."

"Yes, so maybe he wouldn't have turned if she was still in his life." Professor McGonagall said.

"So now is Jessica laying there in St Mungos, with Black being in a criminal, almost all of her family being dead, she's all alone." Madam Rosmerta said with sadness. "With no one visiting her."

"That's where you are wrong," Fudge said. "She still has one visitor, someone who drops in every now and then."

"Who?" Madam Rosmerta asked; her voice so full of excitement.

"Remus Lupin." Fudge finally said.

"Oh yes, now I remember," Madam Rosmerta said. "The fourth member of Potter and Black's little gang."

"He was the one who kept Black and Potter from getting into too much trouble." Professor Flitwick said.

"An' now he's teachin' at Hogwarts." Hagrid said.

"And why Dumbledore ever hired him to teach there we will probably never know." Fudge said, and by the tone of his voice he didn't seem to like the fact that Remus Lupin were teaching at the school.

"Well, maybe Dumbledore gave him a reason to be close to Harry without interfering with his life." Professor McGonagall suggested. "He was a best friend with his father after all."

"But I still don't like it." Fudge said in a determinate voice.

There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their glass.

"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the headmaster, we'd better head back up to the castle," Professor McGonagall said.

One by one, the pairs of feet in front of Harry took the weight of their owners once more; hems of cloaks swung into sight, and Madam Rosmerta's glittering heels disappeared behind the bar. The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the teachers had disappeared.

"Harry?"

Ron's and Hermione's faces appeared under the table. They were both staring at him, lost for words.

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