Ron had tried to kick her cat. Hermione could admit – to herself, and not out loud – that he'd had some cause, that he'd been trying to protect Scabbers, but he'd been like this from the very beginning. Crookshanks was a dear with the smaller cats in the dormitory, with the toads, with the owls that sometimes visited through the windows, and every time Crookshanks took a peaceful nap curled around Eloise's toad, Hermione was convinced that Crooks only needed a little more time to get to know Scabbers.

At certain moments — like right then, sitting at Christmas dinner in the Great Hall and absolutely stewing — she half convinced herself that Crooks only kept going after Scabbers because Ron was so beastly to him.

But of the reasons why she was stewing, that was the smaller one.

Harry had gotten a Firebolt for Christmas, and he and Ron thought nothing of it.

She wasn't sure she believed that they really hadn't thought anything of it. The dreadful suspicion was so frightfully obvious that it hardly seemed possible that they could've avoided it. After all, it had been perfectly clear all year that they weren't taking Sirius Black seriously. So, as soon as they were done chatting away and not saying a word to her, she should pull them aside and explain her suspicions to them.

Except, what then? Harry had refused to turn in the map or tell anyone about the Secret Passageway, merely because he wanted to visit a sweets shop. Or perhaps more than that. Not to go psychoanalyzing him, but Hermione guessed that he wanted to feel normal, to be included in what everyone else was doing. Only how could he feel normal and included doing it under an invisibility cloak, knowing that a deadly dangerous dark wizard known to be after his life might be hiding, lying in wait against the(apparently) unlikely eventuality that Harry Potter would go out for Hogsmeade weekend? Regardless, she was quite sure his desire to play Quidditch and not let the side down was greater than his desire to visit Hogsmeade.

So yes, Harry would refuse to tell anyone about the broom. She could see it all in her mind. She heard Ron's furious defence of base idiocy, saw Harry's closed off expression and that single, cutting remark that ended the conversation for good.

Perhaps it would be better to take the decision out of Harry's hands, as if not coming to him first were just an oversight. He and Ron might be upset initially, but she was sure that would blow over in a few days. The Professors would send the broom out to an expert to have it looked over, which she imagined as a speedy process, taking a week at the utmost and likely less. Whoever examined it would either discover nothing was wrong with the broom, in which case Harry would get it back, no harm done, and he would have to stop being angry even if he was still angry then. Or (and Hermione thought this much more likely) they would discover it had been dangerously jinxed. Harry would be grateful, Ron would be sheepish, and they would both start listening to her more.

Harry and Ron got up from the table, and Hermione saw the perfect chance to make her move.

"Coming?" said Harry.

"No, I want a quick word with Professor McGonagall."

Ron made some crack about how she probably wanted to take extra classes, but she was just glad he was producing an excuse for her. As soon as they were out the doors, she looked to Professor McGonagall, but before she could catch the woman's attention, she was pinned by a pair of bright blue eyes.

"I've been meaning to say, Miss Granger, what a relief it is that the three of you are so very close. It takes a great weight off my mind."

"Really sir?"

"Of course," said Professor Dumbledore. "The three of you have already accomplished extraordinary feats, and I believe you're aware that this year as much as any other, Harry is under extraordinary pressures. But at so young an age, such trust as I see between you three is rare and precious. It sets my heart at ease."

The great man smiled, eyes twinkling. "A fine antidote to the heartburn this lovely pie is like to give me," he said, taking another large piece.

Damn it all to hell.

Eyes prickling, Hermione got to her feet and followed slowly after Ron and Harry, convincing herself that they would listen after all.

They both liked solving mysteries. Trying to figure out what Fluffy was guarding had started off as a lark, a nice hobby for after class. The mystery of how Harry got a Firebolt ought to qualify as well. Have Professor McGonagall check it out might not appeal to them as a strategy, but they'd see sense eventually. Harry had to be tired of being attacked during Quidditch matches.

Hermione had nearly talked herself into believing they'd listen when she walked through the portraithole into the Gryffindor Dorms. She found them by the fire, again admiring the suspicious Firebolt. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Don't you think you'd better tell Professor McGonagall about that broom, Harry?"

"What're you on about?" said Ron.

"Well, don't you see? I think it's very likely the broom was sent by Sirius Black. I'm sure it's jinxed somehow."

The boy looked in disbelief from her to the broom and back.

Ron said, "With what money? And Black can't just waltz into Quality Quidditch Supplies, now can he?"

"Maybe he stole it. He's obviously resourceful. He broke out of Azkaban, and into Hogwarts."

"So he ought to try to do it again, not send Harry Christmas gifts. Besides, we've been handling it a lot and it hasn't done anything."

"Doesn't mean it won't. You haven't even ridden it yet."

"So now Harry can't ride his own broom?"

"That's not what I'm saying!" Nothing was coming out right. She'd had a coherent and cogent argument planned in her head, but it had fallen immediately into pieces and she was only looking at Harry beseechingly, Harry who had, as usual, just been listening, and had his deciding face on.

Harry said, "If Black could kill me through the post, I reckon he could manage something a lot more dangerous than a broom." His eyes were clear and sure, and his tone left no room for discussion.

Much sooner than she should've, Hermione played her trump card.

"If you won't tell Professor McGonagall, I will."

"Like hell," said Ron.

"You wouldn't," said Harry.

"Just watch me," said Hermione. "I've had more than enough watching you almost die in Quidditch matches. I'd rather you were angry at me than dead."

Hermione whipped around. Stomping out the portrait hole, she heard Ron say, "She won't really do it."

#
#

It was for Harry's benefit that Ron said she wouldn't. Privately, he was afraid she would, because after all, Hermione didn't get it, never had. She was always sure they could trust the Professors no matter how many times they proved they'd only make things worse.

And she didn't get Harry either. Not like Ron did. Maybe it was because they were both boys, or because they'd made friends with her later, but Hermione had no idea what it was like for Harry. Ron might not know exactly what went on at the Dursleys, but he knew it wasn't good, knew that Harry had no one to depend on but him and Hermione. If she actually went tattling to the Professors over Harry's business when Harry had just told her not to, it would be a betrayal of friendship so deep that Ron didn't think he or Harry could ever forgive her for it.

So he preferred to believe she would come to her senses before she found Professor McGonagall.

He was just thinking that it was taking too long and she was probably in a loo having a good cry when the portraithole opened, admitting Hermione and Professor McGonagall.

Harry's jaw fell open, and he put the broom behind his back. Ron clenched his fists, and his vision filled with red fog. This was the absolute worst. She'd asked, been told no, and had gone and snitched anyway.

"I'd better have a look at this Firebolt, Mr Potter."

Harry handed it over, saying nothing but glaring at daggers at Hermione, who looked primly out the window. Professor McGonagall hemmed and hawed but the upshot was she was going to take it away to examine it, and that might take days or even weeks.

Ron said, "Her cat's a menace."

"Pardon, Mr Weasley?" said Professor McGonagall.

"I haven't been saying anything about it, but her cat is vicious and has been attacking other people's pets, and she hasn't done a thing about it!" There. Turn about was fair play. See how she liked it.

"That's not true! Crooks is a perfect dear with all the other pets."

McGonagall said, "All the other? I need to hear the problem in a bit more detail, Mr Weasley."

Glaring victoriously at Hermione, Ron told McGonagall everything about it, from that very first day at the pet shop.

"If you could bring this Scabbers down, Mr Weasley."

Ron ran down the stairs with Scabbers clutched tightly in both hands, alert for any sign of Crookshanks. Scabbers wriggled a little on seeing Professor McGonagall, but calmed down when Ron whispered to him.

"No cage, Mr Weasley?"

"Scabbers hates cages. He goes mad if you try and put him in one."

"I see," said Professor McGonagall, tired but firm. "Mr Weasley, if you recall, the approved pets at this school are owls, cats, and toads."

Ron's blood ran cold.

"We may sometimes turn a blind eye to other pets, so long as they're not problematic, but you've just told me that you have a rat which is a source of significant conflict with an approved pet and can't be properly safeguarded. I'm afraid you leave me no choice." She reached for Scabbers.

Ron leapt back, clutching Scabbers to his chest. "What are you trying to do with him?"

"I'll floo him to your mother."

"You can't do that! Mum doesn't like him, she won't take care of him properly, and he might not survive the floo anyway. He's sick!"

Professor McGonagall said, "Not infectious, I hope."

"No, he's just old. He's over 10."

"If he's a magical rat, he'll do just fine with the floo."

"He's not magical," said Ron.

"He is if he's over 10."

Harry said, "Scabbers isn't ever any trouble."

"Right," said Hermione. "I can keep them separated more."

McGonagall's expression softened ever so fractionally as she said, "I'm afraid there is no choice in this matter. But I'll run a few diagnostics before I take him, if that will set your mind at ease." She drew her wand and spoke sharply until Ron proffered Scabbers.

Biting Ron's finger, Scabber leapt from his hands. But before the rat could even touch the ground, McGonagall had conjured a cage around him. Scabbers squeaked, running from one side to the other, biting at the bars, and Professor McGonagall began casting spells.

"Don't hurt him," cried Ron.

"These are just simple diagnostic spells, Mr Weasley. There's no call to worry." But the more she cast, the more she frowned. She pocketed her wand and said, "I find a cat's nose can often detect what even sensitive Charm use misses. Don't be alarmed."

And a tabby cat was standing just where McGonagall had been, and began to prowl about the bars, nostrils flaring.

For a mad moment, Ron began to pull back his leg to kick the cat away, but the better part of his mind knew this was Professor McGonagall, so he stopped.

After only a little time, McGonagall became herself again. Her mouth was half open in surprise, and her eyes didn't leave Scabbers for an instant. She waved her wand, and new bars were conjured into existence even as the cage grew larger, big enough that Ron would've fit inside.

McGonagall flicked her wand, and with a crack, Scabbers turned into a balding, rotund man.

"What did you go and do that for?" said Ron, face white. Turning a person into an animal was good fun, but transfiguring an animal into a person was serious dark magic and he couldn't believe he'd just seen it.

"Peter Pettigrew?" McGonagall whispered, white as milk.

#
#

Albus Dumbledore put it together almost the moment Minnie and Filius levitated Peter Pettigrew into his office.

He had begun to suspect Sirius Black might not have been a Death Eater after all. It was the obvious explanation for the reactions of Lucius Malfoy and his ilk, all so desperate to see Sirius kissed. Seeing Pettigrew, everything came together. Peter had been the real secret keeper, the real traitor, and had framed Sirius.

Perhaps. He couldn't be sure, not until Severus reached his office with the veritaserum, but Albus was already planning.

A part of him was tempted to bury it. Sirius Black, freed and exonerated, might want guardianship of Harry Potter, and that was unacceptable. But sending an innocent man to Azkaban was something Albus would consider seriously only in the greatest of need, and not only was he confident that he could manage the man, he was well aware that an exonerated Sirius Black, armed with wealth and political position, would be of great aid to him.

Severus arrived with the veritaserum, coming to a complete halt the moment he caught sight of Peter. But he shook himself and quickly administered the three drops.

When Peter's eyes had glazed over, Dumbledore said, "Did you help Black get in the castle?"

"No."

"Then what's your relationship to him now?"

"He wants to kill me," Pettigrew said, "He broke out of Azkaban to do it."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because I betrayed Lily and James to Voldemort."

Albus sighed. The following silence was thick and oppressive, and even then, no one else seemed to understand what this implied, except perhaps young Miss Granger. Severus even went so far as to propose that this was a trick put on by Sirius.

"A most impressive one, if so. I think it much more likely that we must now all reorganize our thoughts. Peter, how did you come to betray Lily and James Potter?"

And Peter explained everything, just as Dumbledore had guessed it. One day, Death Eaters had broken into Peter's home, pressed him against a wall, and given him an offer: pass on secrets about Dumbledore's vigilante group and get a hundred galleons, or refuse and watch his mother die. He'd pocketed the galleons, and soon, he'd been in deep.

When the news had come that Voldemort was after the Potters, he'd begun to nag Sirius about how he'd best be very careful on becoming their Secret Keeper, that everyone would be sure to guess it was him and it was very important for him to stay in his own hideout, no matter how many weeks or months things went in for. Eventually, Black had come to the obvious conclusion: he and Pettigrew would switch. Lily herself had transferred the Secret.

"Why did she think that was a good idea?" Severus asked unsteadily.

"Lily never liked Sirius. She thought he was a bad influence on James, but James and Sirius didn't trust Moony anymore, so of course it was me."

"Moony?" said Harry quickly. "Who's that?"

"Remus Lupin."

The boy blinked, which was a demonstrative action by his standards. Albus took it to mean that he wished his defence professor had told him that himself.

Under more questioning, Pettigrew explained his confrontation with Sirius, how he'd faked his death and murdered those muggles. How he'd been as afraid of the Death Eaters who'd stayed free as of the Ministry and had spent years in the form of a rat with the Weasleys, settling into comfortable ferality until he'd heard the news that Sirius had escaped.

"The cat was a problem too," Pettigrew said. "It knew what I was. It kept trying to make me transform in front of everyone."

"I believe that's enough for now. Minerva, please contact Madam Bones directly. Use my floo. The kiss on sight order against Black must be rescinded immediately. And I believe the three of you," said Albus, gesturing to Granger, Weasley and the boy, "have had quite enough excitement for one evening."

But even as they were ushered forcefully out, Harry had one last question for Peter.

"Did you ever care for my parents at all?"

"So very much," Peter answered with the calm glaze of veritaserum. "I begged the Dark Lord to spare them. He said he'd try."

Albus cast Severus a curious eye as the man collapsed against a wall.

#
#

For 12 years, tragedy had been the shield of Severus Snape. None of his idiotic students, most as cruel and thoughtless as those who had tormented him, and even none of his colleagues, understood what he had lost, the purity of his grief, the faithfulness of his love.

But Peter Pettigrew had turned spy to the side Snape had first chosen, taken the dark mark, and asked Voldemort to spare those he'd cared for. He was an incompetent dunderhead whose greatest intellectual gift was understanding just how to suck up to those more powerful than himself, but even that was like some twisted mirror of Severus.

It was the the first week after Christmas break, and Severus wandered the aisle of his third-year Slytherin and Gryffindor classes, feeling very far away even as he nodded at potions, telling students where they'd gone wrong and how to put it right, speaking mechanically without any sense of what he was saying until he reached Longbottom.

"You neglected to add the bicorn," he said, sniffing at Longbottom's slate grey potion.

"I-" Longbottom began, reaching for the bicorn.

"Don't add it now. It'll explode."

Longbottom stared at the floor and gulped repeatedly, clearly bracing for the tongue lashing to come, but holding out a desperate hope that Snape would just move on.

Snape tilted his head for a better look at him. The boy's parents had been tortured to insanity by the Lestranges, and Longbottom almost certainly knew that Severus was a Death Eater. That would be the source of much of his fear. That was hardly a new thought, and Severus had always held it against Longbottom that he would presume to compare him to those monsters. Every tremble of Longbottom's lips and wobble of his voice was a reminder to Severus of the worst mistake he'd ever made.

"Longbottom," Snape said in a near whisper, "I don't know what you've heard, but I wasn't there. Even if I had been, I did not do such things. Fear me, if you like, as a demanding, strict, and occasionally sarcastic teacher, but I'm not actually going to hurt you or your toad."

Longbottom risked a quick, startled peek at Snape, but he did not look less frightened. Snape turned away.

"Granger," he called out, "If you can salvage Longbottom's potion, and if he can explain what you did and why, you will each earn one point for Gryffindor. If only one of those requirements is met, no points will be earned by either of you."

The class was dead silent, every member of both houses staring at him, then at Granger as she put out the fire under her own simmering cauldron and hurried to Longbottom's side, and Severus turned back to his pacing of the aisles.

In that dead silence, Severus heard a splash, an oath, and a muffled giggle.

Severus turned his head in time to see one face white with anger, and an ill-disguised chortle on another.

"Malfoy, Potter is quite dangerous enough without your assistance. Any more of it and I will have no choice but to take points and give a detention."

He swept away from Malfoy's stunned face.

He would be better than Pettigrew, at least.

#
#

Whatever the exact opposite of being punched in the sternum was, that was what Sirius was feeling. Fudge had been so eager to get the embarrassment of the whole affair done with and out of the papers that it had been taken care of with blinding speed.

On December 24th, Sirius had been living as a mongrel dog, cold and hungry, hoping he managed to kill Pettigrew before the dementors kissed him.

On December 25th, Pettigrew had been caught.

On December 28th, Sirius had seen word of it in the papers.

On January 1st, he'd given himself up to the Aurors.

On January 6th, the Wizengamot had officially exonerated him, his freedom symbolized by the return of his wand.

On January 7th, he'd gone to Gringotts, taken possession of the Black family assets, and moved into his Uncle Alpharad's old house in Wales. It was in decent shape, and he had the money to pay for it to be fixed up, but Sirius had decided to do all the work himself.

On January 12th, he'd finally admitted to himself that his old wand wasn't working so well for him anymore and had gone to Ollivander's for a new one.

On January 25th, he'd given into Moony's nagging and made an appointment with a Counselor. After, he'd told Moony it was rubbish and he was never going back, but the truth was he'd gone back three times. This was less about him being impressed by the mindhealer than it was the idea that if he wanted to become Harry's guardian, he might need to be able to say he's done the minimum.

Now it was the night of the first of April, a loud clicking tick the only sound in the big house, and Harry was coming for easter break the very next day. They'd exchanged a few letters, but it would be their first time meeting. Sirius figured Harry was probably scared about it. He was probably only coming because Moony had talked him into it. And Sirius wasn't ready, not nearly. He'd thought he was until this very moment. But tomorrow he would have a boy to look after, and Sirius was a mess. Screws loose, anger unmanaged, screaming nightmares every night, and he was supposed to take care of Harry? Guide him and help him and give wise advice and pretend he had any of his own shit together? He'd be faking it every step of the way, and in the midst of thinking that, he'd gone to a shop for firewhiskey.

Which was stupid, idiotic. He'd got pissed any number of times since his exoneration, but usually in company. Sirius had grown up with too lage and unhappy of an extended family to fail to understand that if he started getting drunk on his own in the evenings, it would soon be every evening, and then every afternoon. Before long, he'd having beer for breakfast, and then he'd be a sopping drunkard, fit for nothing. Of all the nights he could get drunk on his own, this night would be the worst so far.

Yet he was going to do it anyway.

Sirius reached for the bottle of firewhiskey, but another hand beat him to it.

"Just one shot?" said Remus, and Sirius let out a sigh of relief. Dumbledore had loosened the restrictions on Remus's floo, and the man had been here almost every night.

They ended up taking two shots each, and Remus took the bottle with him back through the floo, leaving Sirius with a vial of Dreamless Sleep.

&& Author's Note:

Whoo. I've finished the third year for this fic. It has an emotional resolution but very much does not tie off loose ends. I had planned to do the whole rest of the story, but eventually thought I might prefer a less idyllic version where Pettigrew is caught at the end of the year and Harry spends the summer in Grimmauld Place with a trying but frequently drunk Sirius.

Updates to come.