Hermione scowled. Ron was bragging up a storm. He had through the entire feast that afternoon, and he continued well into the evening in the Gryffindor common room, much to her annoyance. And with each telling, his story gradually changed from him and Neville luring the Troll into the bathroom, to him and Neville hurling all kinds of spells at it until Harry could finish it off. At least Neville had the decency to look thoroughly embarrassed by Ron's exaggerations.

Harry looked up from his book and caught the expression on Hermione's face. He raised his eyebrows, giving her a puzzled little half-smile.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"It's just… Ron! I can't believe him!" she fumed. "It's one thing to help support you with the Press—and I thought it was kind of you to suggest that he and Neville could claim to have lured the Troll into a trap—but now he's making it sound like he and Neville did most of the work, and that you only came in at the end to finish it off. … It's ridiculous!"

Harry grinned. "Well, if it's any consolation, I doubt most people will believe him, and besides, he obviously needs the attention more than I do."

"I know, but still, it doesn't seem right to me. He's taking nearly all of the credit for actually bashing the Troll."

"Well, to be fair, he is sharing the credit with Neville."

"That's something, I suppose," said Hermione grudgingly. "I just don't know why he has to make up a load of rubbish when the almost-truth is good enough."

"I guess some people are just like that," Harry sighed. "Honestly, I'm not that fussed about it. I think it's kind of funny, really, but if you're upset, why don't we take a walk to take your mind off it—go outside, or look for more secret passages and rooms in the castle. I bet there are loads we haven't found. We've got another hour till curfew."

Hermione wasn't exactly sure why because she wasn't one to give up easily, but like she had since she met Harry on the train, she thought better of continuing to argue. She supposed it was because he was the first person to really want to be her friend without any expectations or conditions.

It was she who had offered to help Neville find his toad, in large part—she admitted to herself—because she was hoping that might lead to a friendship. But Harry had actually invited her to sit with him. She blushed and gave him a shy little smile.

"That's really sweet of you, Harry, but I think I'm all right now. We can still go exploring if you'd like to, but not just to cheer me up—just being with you is enough for that."

The instant she said that Hermione wished she could take it back. Her blush turned from pink to scarlet. Harry's face reddened as well, and they both averted their eyes with embarrassment.

"Erm…" said Harry, his eyes now glued to the science fiction book about robots that he had been reading, but he couldn't help the fluttery feeling in his stomach. "...Me too," he mumbled.

~o0o~

Several days later, Defence Against the Dark Arts resumed with a new Professor. Dumbledore had introduced Professor Lockhart the night before at the beginning of dinner, and the entire school was abuzz with excitement. Apparently, Gilderoy Lockhart was a Big Deal in the Wizard World.

Hermione had to admit, the new teacher was swoon-worthy handsome with a winning smile and a glorious head of hair. Not to mention, he was a real author who had written loads of books, and according to all of the stories she heard, one of the most amazing wizards in the world next to Dumbledore. She was as eager as any of the other students—especially loads of the girls—to meet the award-winning author.

Nonetheless, it didn't take long for Hermione to sour on the new professor. By the end of the first lesson, she was thoroughly aggravated. Things had started off well enough before her hopes were eventually flushed down the toilet.

Professor Lockhart entered the classroom from his office with a spring in his step, his wavy golden locks bouncing and his deep purple robes billowing dramatically. Though to be fair, his dramatic robe-billowing was less Count Dracula (which was Snape's thing) and more Liberace (one of Hermione's grandmother's favourite pianists).

"Hello, students!" he said, flashing a dazzling white smile and a wink at them. "No doubt introductions are unnecessary, but not because Dumbledore introduced me last night…" he paused for a moment as if waiting for a laugh, and he did get a few giggles from enraptured girls and a couple of half-hearted chuckles from the boys.

"However, on the off-chance that none of you have read my books, one of the school board's governors has made a magnificently generous donation for my publisher to provide each and every one of you my entire set of books."

Hermione was hooked.

Then Professor Lockhart spotted Harry, and that really ought to have set off Hermione's alarm bells from the start. But… books!

"Harry Potter!" he beamed. "How fortunate I am to have the opportunity to mould the mind of the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. I am sure that you and I—celebrities we are both—shall soon be fast friends. The things I can teach you..."

Harry groaned and rubbed at the scar on his forehead, then he spotted Hermione's eager features and forced his face into a smile.

"In fact, Harry, I would be delighted if you would assist me in passing the books around to the class. They are already signed by me, of course, but I will be available after classes for a more personal signing for any who so desire it."

Lavender was among the many thrilled girls who were oohing and aahing with starry eyes, but Parvati was rolling hers. That really should have been Hermione's second big fat clue that Lockhart might not be entirely what he seemed. But… books!

Harry seemed to be doing his best to not join in with Parvati's eye-rolling, and he gave Hermione a real grin when he passed her a stack of Lockhart's books.

"Here you go, Hermione. This should keep you busy for a few hours."

"Prat!" she said with her nose in the air and a smile to show she was just teasing him back. "That'll keep me busy for a few days at most."

Harry laughed and continued passing around piles of books to everyone. Ron and Neville both groaned when the stacks of books were plonked on their desks. Harry grinned at them too.

"Come on, guys! They can't be that bad."

"You don't know him," Ron moaned. "He's the biggest show-off there is. I bet he makes up half the rubbish he says he did."

Neville raised his eyebrows at Ron. Ron's ears reddened and he shut up.

"I think I know the sort," said Harry, who was highly amused.

That was the first inkling Hermione had that something might be amiss with Lockhart.

Then came the exam.

"Well, I know that a few of you are new to the Wizard World, so I can't assume those who are know everything about me yet." He chuckled at his own little joke.

Except it didn't seem like so much of a joke when Hermione peered at the questions. Puzzled, she flipped through the parchments. Indeed, all the questions were about Lockhart's own experiences. She had hoped for proper questions like "How do you avoid a Basilisk's Stare?"—which she knew the answer to.

For the first time in her life, Hermione was going to fail an exam, and she had no idea how to cope with that.

"Now, due to the fact that some of you might be worried about not knowing the answers," Lockhart continued, "I should point out that this exam won't be marked. It is only to give me an idea of how much you know about my exploits."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She was still disappointed that it wasn't a real exam with real questions, but at least it wasn't going to reflect on her academic knowledge. At this point, she was really beginning to suspect that Ron was right. It takes one to know one, she mused.

By the third lesson, a few days later, she was thoroughly convinced that Lockhart was a pompous charlatan. She and Harry were left to deal with Cornish Pixies that Lockhart had released into the classroom.

"What an idiot!" she fumed after she and Harry had finally managed to temporarily paralyse all of the pixies with the Immobulus spell.

"You don't have to tell me twice," said Harry, sounding just as aggravated as her. 'I don't know why Dumbledore hired that puffed-up buffoon. You'd think he'd be able to find someone more competent..."

Several more days later, neither Harry nor Hermione were looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts in the least, and had both written off Lockhart altogether. They decided that they were just going to pay attention to the books for the time being. Unfortunately, they both knew that Harry wasn't going to get off that easy.

And to make matters worse, now there was a mass-murdering maniac on the loose.

"Blimey!" said Neville, as he scanned the headlines at breakfast, "Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban."

"Sirius Black? Who's he?" asked Harry.

"One of You-Know-Who's minions," Neville said miserably. "At least the Lestranges didn't escape too. That's something, I suppose."

~o0o~

It was after dark when the coach finally pulled into Leeds; the journey had been about ten hours including an hour stopover in Edinburgh and a number of shorter stops in smaller towns. The only good thing about the long trip was that Sirius had been able to get more rest, and have several solid meals, rebuilding his strength. Give it another day feeding himself up, and Sirius reckoned he should be able to apparate safely.

Sirius made his way around the lightly populated bus terminal and found the map and the schedules showcasing the local bus routes. He soon discovered the reason that the bus station wasn't very crowded at this time of day; to his great annoyance, most of the routes servicing the smaller towns and villages near Leeds were already done for the day, including the village where he hoped Lupin was still residing.

He glanced around the station wondering whether he should try stealing a bicycle when he spotted a taxicab parked in a cab zone on the other side of the terminal, no doubt waiting for stragglers who had missed the last buses of the day.

"Excellent!" Sirius muttered under his breath.

Slinging his backpack over one shoulder, Sirius dashed across the station before any other stragglers could snag the taxi. He opened the back door of the cab and flung in his backpack and grocery bag before taking a seat and shutting the door.

"Where y'headed, mate?" the cabbie asked without batting an eye.

"Bramhope," said Sirius. "I'll give you the address when we get a bit closer," he added, regretting that he'd have to use his wand yet again to impose on the unwitting kindness of strangers when the cab ride was finished.

About twenty minutes later, he stood outside the painted white door of a little cottage on the outskirts of the village while the cabbie waited—just in case. Taking a deep breath, Sirius rapped the brass door-knocker loudly, hoping that Remus wouldn't just murder him on sight. His heart fell when a portly, balding, middle-aged man in periwinkle blue robes opened the door.

Sirius swallowed nervously when the man, obviously a wizard, eyed him suspiciously, and he suddenly realised that he should have disguised himself a bit with some transfigurations.

"Evenin'... Can I help you, mate?" the wizard asked, sounding mildly annoyed.

"Er... Sorry to bother you this late," said Sirius. "I'm looking for an old friend of mine—R. J. Lupin. This is the last address I had for him."

"Missed 'im by about five years," the balding wizard snorted. "Dunno where 'e went either, so don' even bother askin'. But if y'do find that bleedin' werewolf, tell 'im he can sod off for not telling me about all the wood rot. I 'ad to fork out nearly five hundred galleons to get this place fixed up."

"I shall be sure to inform him," said Sirius politely through gritted teeth. "Thank you ever so much for your hospitality."

"Yeah, sure!" the balding wizard grunted before shutting the door.

"Bugger! Fuck!" Sirius swore under his breath as he traipsed back down the gravelly driveway to the road.

"No good, mate?" said the cabbie.

"Unfortunately," Sirius sighed. "Looks like my friend sold the place a few years ago without leaving a forwarding address."

"Gah, that's bollocksed that is! ... Right then, where to now?"

"Back to Leeds—a decent hotel, not too expensive."

"Got it, I know just the place."

Sirius sighed again as the cabbie turned the vehicle around and began driving back the way they had just come. Now he was going to have to do a search, and he'd have to be more careful to keep his identity hidden. That meant hitting up a few pubs around Britain that catered to werewolves and others who lived on the fringes of wizard society. At least he knew where most of them were, he and James having accompanied Remus to the pubs on more than one occasion.

~o0o~

When the cabbie had dropped Sirius off outside the hotel the previous evening, he had taken the precaution of casting a few transfiguration spells to disguise himself before checking in. His escape was sure to have been discovered by now, and his face would no doubt be plastered across the front page of the evening edition of the Daily Prophet if not that morning.

Cornelius would likely be obliged to inform the muggle Prime Minister. By tomorrow there was a good chance that Sirius's face would be all over the muggle press too.

Having checked out of the hotel that morning, Sirius decided to try apparating, hoping that he wouldn't splinch himself. He looked for and found an unoccupied alleyway not too far away with nothing but a cat and a few metal dustbins near the back door of a cafe. He glanced around one more time to make sure he truly was alone, and then he vanished with a loud crack.

Sirius reappeared in a small wooded area on the outskirts of a picturesque little village near Liverpool. He took off his backpack, set it and his grocery bag on the grassy ground, then patted himself all over.

"All body parts in place—check," he said to himself, grinning. Then he rummaged in his backpack to find the little hand mirror and peered into it, reassuring himself that his disguise was still in place.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulders again, Sirius traipsed into town to find The Stoat and Badger—a tiny little wizard pub that werewolves were known to frequent.

~o0o~

The next few days passed with little success. Sirius had hit up nearly all of the wizarding pubs which catered to werewolves up and down Britain and tracked down a number of leads which had turned out to be dead ends.

Now, late Friday morning, he was in a hole-in-the-wall pub in a run-down area of Cardiff: The Red Dragon's Nest. It was a dingy dimly lit place with cracked lamp shades and stained, peeling paint; the smell of stale tobacco lingered in the air. Sirius could only remember visiting it once with James and Remus—Peter had said he was too afraid to go with them.

Looking back on things, it seemed as if Peter had avoided being seen with them in public almost ever since the day they had left Hogwarts, making Sirius wonder just how long Peter had been Voldemort's spy. Had he switched sides from the very beginning? Or had he only just started questioning his loyalties at the time?

Whatever! Sirius had long ago decided that if it came down to avenging James and Lily or getting answers, then he could live without knowing every detail of Peter's betrayal.

Putting aside such long pondered questions, Sirius peered into the shadowy corners of the pub. There were very few patrons and he considered having a pint now, despite the early hour, so as not to raise suspicions, and then come back again in the evening when there were sure to be more customers.

As he approached the bar, there was one figure whose face he couldn't make out; a wizard in a dark corner booth nearly slumped on the table, his glass mug nearly empty.

"Not even noon and he looks like he's pissed already," said Sirius to the middle-aged barkeeper with a grizzled handlebar moustache. "He must've got an early start."

"Nah, mate." The barkeeper shook his head and raised his eyebrows. "That's his first one. He's just a mopey sod, he is. Usually comes in about this time, drinks till he's sloshed, then it's back home to sleep it off."

"So what's his story?"

"Dunno really," the barkeeper replied with a shrug. "Keeps to 'imself mostly."

"Looks like the poor bastard could use another then. What's he drinking? I'm buying."

"Black Witch Ale," said the barkeeper. "What'll you have?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows in surprise, his moustache twitching mirthfully. James Potter and Lupin always used to tease him about the name of the brand. Could it be...?

"I'll have the same, thank you."

When the barkeeper returned with two frothy mugs of ale Sirius carried them both to the gloomy corner booth and set one in front of the morose figure, his chest filling with hope. The man stirred and lifted his head, his shaggy salt and pepper hair falling away from his face.

"Er... Thank you!" said the puzzled-looking man, "Do I know you?"

Sirius's heart almost leapt for joy, and it was all he could do not to embrace the man right then and there. He sat down opposite the glum wizard and set his own ale on the scuffed and stained mahogany table carefully before he dropped it.

"Hello, Moony!"

The melancholy wizard's eyes widened.

"Wh-where did you hear that name?" he asked hoarsely.

"I first heard it many years ago, in Hogwarts. If I recall correctly, it was Prongs who coined that one for you."

"N-no, it can't be! ... You don't look anything like him!"

"Of course I don't. You don't think I'd come in here looking like myself, do you?"

"But... No! That's impossible—he's supposed to be in Azkaban!"

"You don't read the papers much, do you?" Sirius sighed. "My real face has been on the front page of the Daily Prophet for the last three days—not to mention The Guardian and The Telegraph."

Shock registered on Moony's face as it finally started to sink in that Sirius was who he had indicated himself to be. Moony's features twisted with anger and his hand darted toward his shabby overcoat for his wand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Sirius, whose own wand was already in his hand. "I really don't want to stun you, Moony."

"Why?" asked Moony, his eyes glistening with tears of grief and rage. "How could you? They were our friends! ... How could you?"

Sirius swallowed, nostrils flaring with emotion, his own eyes filling with tears.

"It wasn't me, Remus! I swear it!" he croaked. "I promise it wasn't me—and I can prove it! Just hear me out... please!"

Remus hesitated, his lips quivering. Then he nodded his head jerkily.

Sirius reached into his grocery bag where he had been keeping the magically repaired newspaper handy just in case he ran into Remus like this. He paused momentarily, his eyes flickering back to Remus.

"Er...When was the last time you read a Daily Prophet?"

"Not sure," Remus muttered, "Ages! ... Why? What does it matter?"

Sirius sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

"Right! Okay... look, this is going to be a bit of a shock if you don't already know. But it's the reason I broke out of Azkaban—I'm going to need your help if I'm going to save him. Though, he seems to be looking after himself quite well for the most part, but still... I'm sorry, I know this isn't making much sense—I just want you to be prepared..."

"Just get on with it and show me, Sirius!"

Sirius glanced around nervously. "Not so loud. Just stick to Padfoot, okay!"

"Fine, Padfoot then!" Remus snapped."Now show me!"

Now that he was here, it was apparent to Sirius that Remus didn't have a clue, and despite being desperate to show Remus the proof of his innocence, he was reluctant to actually let him see the Daily Prophet. Remus clearly had lost track of time. Hesitantly, Sirius reached into his grocery bag again and drew out the newspaper, passing it to Remus.

As he perused the front page of the Prophet, Remus's face turned white; his jaw dropped.

"Has it really been that long?"

"Ten bloody years! Yes, Remus! I've been counting the days because there really isn't much else to do in Azkaban." He thought for a moment and then added, "Well, except for reading the newspapers whenever Fudge remembers to bring them for me during his inspections. That's how I got that Daily Prophet."

Remus rubbed his forehead with both hands, then he looked Sirius right in the eye, his expression anguished, almost pleading.

"Ten years! Harry is finally at Hogwarts. I can't believe I've been out of it for that long."

"That's not your fault," Sirius sighed. Even at the best of times, Remus had struggled with depression. "But now that you know Harry is at Hogwarts, that is not the most important issue. The important issue is who is there with him, hidden in plain sight.

"Look at the photo again—it's staring right at you. The proof! ... Peter—he's alive! He's the one who betrayed James and Lily, and then he framed me. He's the one who betrayed us all!"

"What?" Remus gasped. "But how? ... How do you know?"

"The Prophet, look at it again."

"What am I looking for?" he asked.

"The boy who looks like a Weasley—the one standing next to Harry."

"The redhead with freckles?"

"Well it's certainly not Harry's bushy-haired girlfriend," said Sirius wryly. "Keep an eye on the Weasley boy's pocket."

"Okay, I see a rat's head poking out of his pocket," said Remus sceptically, "but you don't really think..."

"I'd recognise that Rodent's head anywhere, but keep watching—wait for the image to cycle through again. Watch for when he sticks his little paws out to pull himself up for a better look at what's going on."

Moments later, Remus's jaw dropped. His demeanour shifted from one of scepticism and anger to one of shock and anger. Good! Sirius knew he had him on his side now, but he still needed Remus's anger. He needed it directed at the real traitor.

"I think I see it," said Remus, scowling. "Yes, he's missing one of his fingers, and all they ever found of Peter was..."

"...one of his fingers!" Sirius forcefully tapped the tabletop with his forefinger several times to drive home the point. "See? It's him! It's him, Remus, and..."

"...and we're going to finish the job you got sent to Azkaban for," Remus growled. "You and me, together."

"So, you're really on board with this?"

"Of course—of course I'm with you!" Remus nodded, straightening up, looking more and more animated with every word.

Sirius was thrilled beyond measure to see Remus come back to life now that he had a sense of purpose again. He couldn't imagine how awful Remus must have felt for so many years having lost everyone he loved, how betrayed he must have felt. On top of Remus's self-loathing and depression in regards to being a werewolf, the weight of it all had clearly been soul-crushing.

"I could kiss you right now!" said Sirius, grinning.

"Yes, well, maybe now isn't the best time." Remus's moustache twitched, indicating some measure of mirth.

The wry smile that lit up Remus's face filled Sirius with a joy he hadn't felt in over ten years.

"Drink up," said Remus. "We're going back to my place, and we'll draw up a plan..."

Sirius raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"...and maybe if you behave, we'll even make up a bit for lost time," Remus concluded, his smile widening.

Sirius grinned. "I'll be as meek as a lamb," he promised impishly.

"Now where would the fun be in that?" Remus retorted; then he downed his ale in two gulps and wiped the foam from his moustache with a napkin.

~o0o~

The first raindrops struck dry asphalt, falling from the slate grey skies above when the pair of wizards came to the end of a row of warehouses. A flock of seagulls took flight as they approached, leaving only lazy pigeons to pick through rubbish bins looking for scraps of food left by the warehouse workers and lorry drivers.

Remus directed his companion's attention to what looked like it had once been a detached depot office.

"So this is it?" Sirius raised his eyebrows at the sight of the derelict red brick building.

"It was the safest place I could find," Remus explained as he reached into his pocket for his keys. "A flat wouldn't have done anyone much good. Here, there is no one around to harm at nights should I manage to escape the confines I have set up for myself—a room which I have fortified and warded in which to transform on the nights of the full moon."

"Fair enough," said Sirius, nodding, "But once we're certain that Harry and his girlfriend—well, all of his friends really—are safe, you will come and live with me—with us—won't you? We can clean up Number Twelve, make it habitable—fit for decent wizards—and fix up a basement to contain you."

Remus paused for a moment, a pensive expression on his face, his keys in hand. Then he nodded, looking slightly tearful.

"Yes, I'd like that very much," he said softly, unlocking the door.

Sirius followed Remus through the entryway. What had once been the outer office for the secretary of a shipping clerk was now a homey looking little living room with a slightly threadbare pale blue sofa, a pine coffee table, and a television. All it was missing was a fireplace.

"Love what you've done with the place," said Sirius half-jokingly as Remus locked the door behind them.

Suddenly Sirius had an armful of Remus, joined with him in an ardent embrace. They held each other, both finding comfort in the warmth of real human contact for the first time in over ten years.

After the hug, they ended up in Remus's little kitchen. Another fifteen minutes later they were sipping tea and wolfing down a pile of corned beef sandwiches, pork pies, and bags of salt and vinegar crisps.

Feeling full and satisfied in more ways than one, Sirius and Remus both began making suggestions as they worked out a plan to make certain that Peter would never have a chance to betray anyone again.

"...We could go in through the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack," said Sirius. "Then sneak into Gryffindor Tower and hopefully stomp on Wormtail before he manages to change back into Peter."

Remus rolled his eyes.

"That would be a bit counter-productive to proving your innocence, don't you think? … We need to capture Peter, and…" Remus paused, suddenly realising what that meant. "...and turn him over to Dumbledore. That means we're going to have to 'fess up about you and James and Peter becoming Animagi and letting me out of the Shack."

Sirius groaned. "Bloody hell! I hadn't even thought of that. You're right, of course."

"Anyway," said Remus, "before we go on, I've been meaning to ask, since you've mentioned it a dozen times now. How do you know the bushy-haired girl is Harry's girlfriend? They're only First Years after all."

This time it was Sirius doing the eye-rolling.

"Oh please! Look at the girl's arm around Harry's waist and that radiant smile on her face. There are two other girls in the picture to the left of her and Harry. Those two are just friends—it's so obvious, how do you not see it?"

"I suppose," said Remus, still looking sceptical.

"And she's a muggle-born to boot," said Sirius, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. "It says so in the paper. It was completely unnecessary for the paper to mention it, and potentially puts her in danger, of course, but it's The Daily Prophet, so there's that."

Remus sighed. "Indeed! Well, I'll grant you that if anyone would fall for a muggle-born witch, it would probably be James and Lily's son. ... Back to business then?"

"By all means," said Sirius, chuckling. "where did we leave off? … Oh, right. It's a good thing you reminded me that we're trying to exonerate me."

"No doubt! I confess, my first impulse was the same as yours—track Peter down and do him in. But we really have to think carefully about how to approach this. … It would be nice if we could just go straight to Dumbledore, but without any evidence, that puts him in a bad spot if he doesn't turn you in."

"So? We just have to capture Peter first then."

"Yes! But like I said, we can't just waltz into Hogwarts and kidnap Peter from Gryffindor Tower. We'll have to wait until the Weasley boy is outside on the grounds, but by the same token, we don't want to scare the poor kid to death. … And then there are sure to be Dementors lurking around Hogwarts by now, just in case you show up there."

"But not likely on the grounds themselves," said Sirius. "If I know Dumbledore, he won't allow them onto school grounds."

"Very true," said Remus. "But Dementors aren't necessarily going to obey Dumbledore, and the Ministry has a hard time controlling them as it is, if they even wanted to…"

"Which they don't," Sirius agreed. "So that's a fair point. And I know Dementors even better than you when it comes right down to it. If they know I'm on the grounds, they won't think twice about invading Hogwarts to get to me.

"Still, things might not be quite as bad with the Ministry as it might seem at first glance. Fudge seems a bit wishy-washy, but every time he visits, I almost feel like he suspects something was off about my case."

"Hmm! Interesting," said Remus thoughtfully. "Well, he wasn't Minister at the time of your arrest, and the current Chief of the DMLE isn't Barty Crouch. Fudge has to know that you never got a proper trial—admittedly, everyone thought it was an open-and-shut case, even me, I'm sorry to say. That's why it hurt so much."

"Yes, well, I probably didn't help matters being caught at the scene of the crime laughing hysterically and screaming 'I killed the Potters'—and I might as well have done. I signed James and Lily's death warrants the day I convinced James to make Peter his Secret Keeper," Sirius said glumly.

"That wasn't your fault. Nobody thought Peter had it in him to switch sides, nor the talent to murder a dozen muggles with a single blast."

"You're just being kind. The fact is, it's my fault that Peter was ever in a position to betray James and Lily, and I doubt I'll ever get over it—anyway, about Fudge..."

"Yes," Remus mused aloud, "No doubt he feels guilty about you never getting a trial, but if he's as wishy-washy as you say he is, he probably won't want to upset the political apple-cart. That's really neither here nor there at the moment. It's Dumbledore we have to convince, and when we do, with Peter in captivity and Dumbledore on our side, the Ministry won't have any choice but to exonerate you."

"Good point," Sirius agreed. "Well, if Dementors are actually on the school grounds, then our best bet is through the tunnel from Hogsmeade. We can get right into the castle."

"Except that's not where we want to be," sighed Remus.

"Oh—right! I keep bloody forgetting that."


Author's note: If I missed responding to anyone's reviews on the last chapter, my apologies. ... At least I managed to get another chapter out. Lol!