Albus Dumbledore sighed, feeling his years far more keenly than usual as he watched the sun rise over the Hogwarts grounds from his office chair. The previous months had been one catastrophe after another, what with the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, the near-deaths of several of his students, his temporary removal from Hogwarts, Black's extraordinary escape from Azkaban, the Minister's fool-hardy plans to place dementors at the school, and, just last week, the blowing up of Harry's almost-aunt.
The last had quickly been resolved, fortunately. The Ministry had taken care of the matter, and, given that Harry had already stayed at his relatives' home long enough to satisfy Lily's blood magic, the Headmaster had felt no need to interfere with the Minister's decisions. Harry was safe enough at the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, as Black would hardly venture so close to such a dense population of witches and wizards.
He was pulled from his thoughts when an owl blocked his view of the sun as it neared his open window. It gracefully landed on the perch designated for post and stuck out its leg for Albus's perusal. Recognizing the seal of the Royal Mail's Wizarding Post Interception Office, he grabbed seven Knuts from his change bowl and dropped them into the pouch on the owl's leg. It was not unusual for his students' Muggle parents to try to contact the school through their postal service, and the WPIO handled all such correspondence.
After he'd retrieved the letter and the owl had flown away, Albus carefully slit the envelope with the tip of his wand. Inside was another envelope with a barely legible scrawl across its face.
Albus Dumbledore
Hogwarts
There were three stamps, which Dumbledore knew to be a bit excessive, and no return address, which was strange for Muggle post. The contents of the envelope also seemed a bit thicker and stiffer than most Muggle letters, more like parchment than paper. Curious, he slit the second envelope and pulled out the letter.
He found a piece of Muggle notebook paper affixed to a piece of parchment by a bent wire (Albus thought they may be called "paper clips"). On the paper, in the same haphazard writing as on the envelope, were three words:
Ask Remus.
Sirius
The old man's heart started racing as though in anticipation of a duel, and he reflexively reached for his wand again, subconsciously expecting Black to materialize in his office. After a moment of adrenaline-fueled hyperawareness, he cursed himself for his lack of vigilance (Alastor would be so ashamed). He'd neglected his usual diagnostics, deeming the letter safe since it reached him through Muggle post, never having imagined that Black would use such a tactic. Sometimes he, like everyone else, forgot that the man had been Lily's friend as well as James's, and that he had learned much about the Muggle world from her. He hoped that the Muggles from whom Black had clearly stolen the mail supplies were still alive.
Well, better late than never, he thought grimly as he ran the diagnostics. Once he was satisfied that nothing magically sinister was attached to the letter, he carefully lifted the paper to reveal, to his befuddlement, a clipping from a weeks-old Daily Prophet issue. It was the story of the Weasleys' good fortune and their trip to Egypt, a wonderful windfall for a wonderful family. But that wonderful family's photo was marred by deep, erratic circling inked around young Ronald's shoulder. Intensely confused, Albus looked more closely at the image and found his confusion not at all abated when he saw the focus of the circling: the boy's pet rat.
"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" the man before him asked politely, looking as tired and worn down as always. Albus neglected to ask after his health, knowing that his inherent maladies as a werewolf had been exacerbated of late by his former friend's escape.
"I know this is a difficult topic, Remus, but I need to speak with you about Black," Albus said delicately.
Remus's face took on an ugly look, and his voice gained not-inconsiderable sharpness. "As I've already told the Aurors, and the Daily Prophet, and countless acquaintances from school, sir, I have not been contacted by him. I have no notion of where he might be. I have no way to get a message to him. And I have no intention of seeking him out!"
"You misunderstand me, my friend," Albus said reassuringly. "I do not wish to know if you've been in contact with him. He has been in contact with me, and I would greatly appreciate your help in shedding some light on the matter."
Remus sat is stunned silence for several seconds before he breathed, "He contacted you?"
"He did," Albus responded mildly. "And he specifically requested that I consult with you on the contents of his communication."
Remus snarled. "I don't care what he 'requested,' Headmaster. He doesn't get to ask favors of me, or you for that matter, not after everything he did."
"I understand the sentiment, Remus, but in the interests of returning him to Azkaban for his crimes, I'm afraid I must ask for your assistance in interpreting the clue he so readily provided us with. His correspondence may indicate that his target is not Harry Potter, as we originally thought, but I need to understand the situation fully before taking it to the Ministry."
Remus's shoulders slumped in sorrow and pain, but he nodded his head resignedly. "What was the message?" he asked.
Albus merely slid the two sheets across his desk, paper clip and all (that was the right phrase – he had checked). Remus carefully lifted them, and his brows furrowed at the three-word note. When he lifted it and saw the photo, his confusion seemed to deepen for a few seconds until he took a closer look. Albus saw the moment that his soon-to-be employee realized the significance of the photograph, significance that, not for lack of trying, Albus himself could not recognize.
The werewolf's face went from shock to pale horror to anger, back to horror, and finally settled on denial. Whatever he'd discovered, whatever Black had been trying to communicate, Albus was sure that Remus was unwilling to accept it in that moment.
"Though all reports are to the contrary, it would seem that Black's time in Azkaban has taken quite the toll on his mind," he decided to prompt, knowing that Remus needed to be brought back to the conversation. "For him to fixate on a rat in a photo, he must be less sane than we knew. But he seemed to think you'd understand the obsession, and from your face I believe he must be right."
Remus swallowed hard, and when his eyes met the Headmaster's, a new desperation lit them. Albus was somewhat surprised to see tears threatening to fall as the man cleared his throat and agonizingly began his explanation. "Headmaster, you have always given me your support and trust, far more than I have ever deserved." When Albus opened his mouth to argue, Remus held up his hand. "Please let me get through this."
The despair with which he made the request stayed Albus's tongue, and Remus continued. "There are things I haven't told you, things about Black, things we did in school, things that I convinced myself had no bearing on the present situation, because how could they? Black spent almost twelve years in Azkaban, so how could…? But I'm getting ahead of myself."
His rambling train of thought was hard to follow, even for a man as brilliant as Albus Dumbledore, and his voice rose and fell in a way wholly uncharacteristic of the articulate man. However, he seemed to rally his thoughts a bit and continued.
"When we were in school the others – James, Peter, and Black – became Animagi to safely keep me company during the full moon," he said haltingly. Albus kept his expression politely interested, but he reeled at the varied implications of that statement. Remus's thoughts seemed to follow a similar pattern, for he continued, "I- I won't expound upon the many ways we trod upon your trust right now; I'll tell you whatever you want to know later.
"For now, you should know that Peter was a rat, and his form bore a striking, remarkable resemblance to the one in that photo. Black, I would guess, thinks that that rat is Peter. In his madness, he has convinced himself that Peter is alive."
Albus stared hard at the pale man before him over the top of his glasses, digesting all he had learned. He had many, many questions for the werewolf about the events of his school days, but, as Remus had said, those discussions could come later. For now, they had more pressing matters to deal with. Remus was apparently finished giving information, and he sat in silence, his eyes darting down toward the photo every few seconds.
"And what of you, Remus?" Albus asked lowly. "Do you believe that Peter Pettigrew yet lives and was photographed in Egypt with the Weasley family? 'A striking, remarkable resemblance,' you say. Do you think it a mere coincidence, or do you believe that to be the image of your childhood friend in the flesh?"
Remus looked back at the photo for several long seconds, battling with himself. Finally, he answered with slow, careful words. "I can't believe that Peter would fake his own death and live as a pet rat. Nothing about it makes sense. But I can't deny… All I know for sure is that I won't be able to sleep well until I've confirmed for myself that this is just an ordinary animal."
Dumbledore nodded, thinking of all the reasons that a man might, after having been presumed dead, spend the next twelve years masquerading as a child's pet. Arriving at very few innocent possibilities (and those very improbable), he wondered if now would be the time to bring in the Aurors. But if he did so and the lead turned up nothing, Remus would come under legal scrutiny unnecessarily. And worse still, if this were to hit the media and, by some miracle, Black had been right, Peter would be alerted and would vanish forever. No, this required a more delicate touch.
"Then confirmation we will seek," Albus said with finality. Remus seemed relieved that he wouldn't have to argue the point. "If you would excuse me for a moment, I will Floo-call the Weasleys to request permission to visit. If you could retrieve the cuffs on the bottom shelf of the cabinet just there while I do, I'd very much appreciate it."
Remus seemed a little stunned that they were acting immediately, but as Albus moved to the fireplace, he stood to retrieve the cuffs.
"The Burrow!" Albus called once he was in position, and his fireplace blurred out of sight.
Molly was in the Burrow's kitchen, her usual haunt, while her children wreaked chaos outside in the makeshift Quidditch pitch. The residual energy from the trip to Egypt had bled seamlessly into anticipation and excitement for the start of the new school year, so the family hadn't seen a moment of peace or calm since before Arthur had won that money. She loved her family, and in a few weeks she was sure she'd curse herself for the thought, but at the moment she couldn't wait for them to vacate her house for a while.
She was startled from her musings when her Floo flared green. She threw a casual glance over her shoulder only to drop the serving spoon she'd been holding into a pot of stew. The face of Albus Dumbledore was looking pleasantly up at her from her fireplace.
"Headmaster!" she called, flustered. "Welcome! What can I do for you?"
"Hello, Molly, my dear," he smiled genially. "I have a rather delicate matter I and a friend of mine were hoping to speak with you about. Would you mind if we come through?"
"I- Why yes, of course, please do," Molly answered in confusion and not a little worry. What could one of her children have done that would warrant a personal visit from the Hogwarts Headmaster?
The man's face disappeared for a moment before the fire flared green again and he, in all his star-spangled, pastel green glory, stepped out of the flames. Close behind him was a much younger-looking man, perhaps close to Molly's age. His hair was greying, and his scarred and weary face spoke to a dangerous lifestyle. Perhaps he had some sort of high-risk profession, like Bill and Charlie?
"Molly, this is Remus Lupin, an old friend of mine and this year's new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Albus introduced, and Molly mentally congratulated herself on her perceptiveness. Not many DADA teachers came from cushy desk jobs. "Remus, this is Molly Weasley, the mother of several of your future students."
After hands had been shaken, pleasantries had been exchanged, and tea had been served at the table, Molly finally addressed her concern. "What brings you here, Headmaster? I hope none of my children have been up to any mischief."
"Oh, not at all, my dear!" he exclaimed joyfully, easing some of her trepidation. "We have merely discovered a disease that seems to be infecting the mammals at Hogwarts, and we were hoping to confirm that it has not affected young Ronald's pet."
Molly's eyes went wide as she began worrying for an entirely new reason. The new professor hastened to reassure her, though Molly wasn't sure how to interpret the half-amused side-glance that he threw the Headmaster. "The disease can't be transmitted to humans, so your family is safe," he said kindly. "We've managed to cure all the animals at Hogwarts, so now we're making sure none of the students' animals will bring it back. Obviously, this is a monumental undertaking, so all the professors are making trips."
"Yes, we're trying to handle the matter discretely, to avoid panic or overreaction from pet owners," the Headmaster picked up easily. "Especially as the disease can cause the animals to become violent when startled. Because of this, I was hoping you'd be willing to retrieve Ronald's rat and stun it before bringing it to us. It's easier if they're already unconscious before they undergo the examination spell."
"Of course," Molly said with conviction. "Now that you mention it, Scabbers has been rather ill. This would explain it. I'll just go get him from Ronnie's room."
Remus and Albus exchanged significant looks once Molly's back was turned. Given the lack of actual animal-infecting disease, it would be quite the coincidence if Scabbers the rat just happened to be sick. On the other hand, it seemed even more implausible that the rat was in fact Peter Pettigrew, whose declining health could be attributed to stress at Sirius Black's escape.
After a minute or two, Molly returned carrying a cage in her hand. Remus gasped when he saw the rat inside, his face going a few shades paler, but he pulled himself together at a stern look from the Headmaster. Molly watched the exchange warily before setting the cage on the table and carefully removing the rat. She stepped back after gently placing him on a cleared space on the table, and Albus pointed the Elder Wand at the unconscious rodent.
A flash of blue light, a scream of shock and terror, and a gasp of horror later, the unconscious human form of Peter Pettigrew was sprawled on the Burrow's kitchen table. A beat of silence followed the commotion, and then a thump as Molly Weasley fell to the floor in a dead faint.
"Remus, the cuffs," the Headmaster said sternly, all traces of good cheer wiped from his demeanor. "I'll tend to her."
Remus felt as though a slight breeze could knock him over, but the Headmaster's words shocked him into action. Unsure what the cuffs did but trusting in Dumbledore's judgment, he encircled the wrists of his old friend, whom he had long since thought dead, with the two leather strips he'd retrieved from Dumbledore's office. They sealed themselves magically, but Remus barely noticed. His eyes were fixed unerringly on the chubby, slack face of the weakest, least talented, most forgettable Marauder.
But Remus hadn't forgotten him. He'd grieved him. He'd spent countless hours wallowing in agony over his failure to protect him, over his failure to see the danger that Sirius posed. And now he was here, completely healthy and apparently of his own choice. He could have come to Remus; Remus would have helped him, so why hadn't he come? None of it made sense.
Dumbledore's voice calling his name brought him back to the present. "Remus, please Floo the Auror Department and have them come to detain Mr. Pettigrew."
He looked up to see a very pale Molly Weasley leaning heavily on Dumbledore, looking confused and terrified. "Aurors?" he croaked out in response. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Why would they need to detain him?"
Dumbledore's look softened, and his tone was kinder when he said, "We don't know the reason Peter has chosen to hide his survival and reside here with children, but I'd rather treat it as something sinister and be wrong than treat it as something innocuous and be wrong. The Aurors, Remus, please."
What little color that had returned to Molly's face drained at Dumbledore's words, and he graciously helped her to a chair far from the unconscious man on the table as Remus finally complied with the Headmaster's request.
Sandy DeAngelo had been having a bit of a day, and her patience with the inane and idiotic population of Wizarding Britain had worn razor thin. She was still paying her dues as an Auror rookie, and manning the fireplace was just one of the undesirable jobs that had been foisted upon her in the months since she had left the Academy. It was amazing what some people thought warranted Auror intervention ("No, ma'am, we cannot arrest your mother-in-law because you think her pumpkin pasties gave you food poisoning!"), and the levels of stupidity had only risen with the news of Sirius Black's escape.
They were inundated with ridiculous tips and sent on wild goose chases, since the Minister had mandated that all leads about the man be followed up on. So when Mrs. Jenks insisted that she saw Black watering her neighbor's begonias while singing along to the Carpenters, they were required to respond as though the idea had even a modicum of credibility. She hated politicians.
In addition, her mother had recently met a young, single man named Danny Zacharias and decided, based solely on the fact that their names were similar to the main protagonists of said mother's favorite movie, that the two of them were meant to be. She had been fending her off for days now.
So Sandy could perhaps be forgiven for her attitude when Remus Lupin's face appeared in the flames.
"Hello, what can the Auror Department do for you?" She asked, acid dripping from her tongue.
The scarred male face in the Floo didn't even flinched at her tone or expression, seemingly distracted by whatever had brought him to the department's hearth.
"Ah, yes, well," he stuttered, and Sandy's eye twitched with the effort not to explode at his wasting her time. "You see, we've found a man who was declared dead during the war, who is apparently an unregistered Animagus, hiding as a child's pet."
Sandra blinked, trying to process the disparate pieces of information in that sentence. There was plenty to assimilate, and there were any number of divisions she could call in: the Dark Lord Conflicts Squad, the Magical Registry Enforcement, the Child Protection Unit…
"We, ah, have strong reason to believe it's Peter Pettigrew, who was supposedly killed by Sirius Black," the man finished in a strangled tone.
…and the Sirius Black Recapture Taskforce. She stammered out an assurance that Aurors would be responding in short order and, after he'd given the particulars of the situation, the man disappeared. Her mind whirred with both the implications of the strange visit and the protocol guides she'd been forced to absorb during training. She was almost certain that when three or more divisions of the Auror Department could claim jurisdiction in a developing situation, the responding Auror should bring the matter directly to the director. If she was wrong, it would be embarrassing, but… Screw it, she thought and pulled out a sheet of bright orange emergency parchment and a quill. Once her brief memo was complete, she folded it swiftly into a paper airplane, tapped it with her wand, and watched it fly off toward Amelia Bones's office.
Amelia's hands were at her temples, rubbing firm circles as Shacklebolt finished his report on the Sirius Black case. He had spent half an hour detailing all the ways in which they'd failed to make any progress since the last report the previous week. Somehow, even with Black's name and face being shoved into the faces of every witch, wizard, and Muggle in Britain, they still had yet to confirm a single actual sighting. There'd been countless claims from concerned citizens, but each one had been disproven. If Black hadn't been a mass murdering psychopath, Amelia might have even been impressed. As it was, they were wasting their limited resources on rabbit trails instead of doing any serious investigative work. Shacklebolt's tone of faint frustration conveyed his similar thoughts.
As he was wrapping up his report and Amelia was preparing to respond, a paper airplane suddenly zoomed through the closed door. It was orange, which explained its ability to fly through the heavily enchanted wood of the door, and both Amelia and Shacklebolt jumped to their feet with their wands drawn at the sight. Orange memos meant immediate action was required.
Amelia snatched it out of the air and shook it into flatness one-handed, Shacklebolt waiting tensely for orders as her eyebrows first scrunched together and then shot upward toward her hairline.
"Huh," she said quietly, unsure how else to respond to the strange memo. She pulled herself together and stowed her wand. "Shacklebolt, with me. It seems we have something to investigate today after all."
She strode out of her office without waiting for his response. He followed her dutifully after sliding his own wand back into its holster, and she was grateful not for the first time for his steadiness and competence. If Black's most public victim was in fact back from the dead, she wanted to get out in front of the fallout. Until she knew for certain what was going on, she was limiting the need-to-know. The report said that the situation was contained, so a show of force or a breakneck sprint through the department was unnecessary.
When Amelia strode into the Floo room in the corner of the Auror Department, the attending Auror immediately sprang from her chair with an apprehensive look on her face.
"Good work on this, DeAngelo," Amelia said tersely, and the woman's features relaxed. "I'm putting a Protocol 23 on this one until further notice, understood?"
DeAngelo nodded her head grimly, and Amelia turned to the fireplace, confident in the recruit's discretion. Protocol 23 made it a criminal offense to divulge the details of a case to anybody, even internally among the department. Her first item of business upon arriving at the scene would be to issue a gag order to everyone already aware of the situation.
With two deceptively mild whooshes of the fireplace, Amelia and Shacklebolt were off to change the course of Wizarding history.
Let me start by saying that Harry is my favorite HP character, as cliché as that is. I think he's complex and funny, and I hardly ever read fics that don't feature him in some way.
So I was a bit startled, after another re-read of this years-old one-shot, when I realized that I'd managed to write an entire HP fic that doesn't feature Harry in any way, or even any of his fellow students. But I still really like it as a what-if and a limited character study of several of the adults. Plus, it's one of the few fics in my files that I managed to get to a good ending point, so I decided to post it. I should note that the idea to invent an animal disease as an excuse for examining Scabbers is not original to me, though I couldn't tell you which specific fic(s) I've read it in.
I currently have no plans to continue this, as I'm not sure I have anything new to add to the Sirius-gets-free-and-everything-changes genre, but I may add a chapter or two if the muse strikes and there's enough interest. Anyway, I hope you liked this little piece – comments are welcome!
(I know you're shocked by this, but I don't own HP, its characters, or anything about the Wizarding World. JKR and Warner Bros have those distinct honors.)