The apparition felt more a sharp snap, as Sirius, Bill, Fleur, and Charlie all appeared in the shadowy Hogsmeade Alley, behind Hog's head.

Sirius felt the sharp intake of the unseasonably wintry air overwhelming his senses.

"A few hours, Padfoot," Bill stated, his voice firm. "Shrieking Shack. No detours, no heroics."

"He's my godson, Bill. Heroics come with the territory," Sirius replied gruffly.

Charlie stepped closer. "I'll be patrolling nearby with Tonks," he murmured. "If anything goes awry, send a patronus. Alright?"

They all nodded, and Bill led Fleur out of the alley on the busy street. Sirius took the other way around, heading to the familiar pub where he had spent many evenings with Remus, James, and the rat, a lifetime ago.

Minutes later, he slipped inside, the low hum of conversation and the scent of spilled butterbeer washing over him.

He took a table at a more secluded corner, not removing his hood. Soon, to be certain, a surge of Hogwarts students would come in from Honeydukes, seeking warmth.

Sirius could spot Rosmerta from a distance. She did seem different though, more subdued, especially since he had last seen her when he was hiding in the cave at Hogsmeade about two years ago. Must be the war, he thought bitterly, as he took in the woman's bland expression.

The pub door creaked open, and Sirius quickly looked up. But it was only a group of giggling witches, their chatter quickly swallowed by the pub's general noise.

Then, he saw them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione navigated the crowded pub with practised ease. Harry, taller than the last time Sirius had seen him, his face etched with a seriousness that belied his sixteen years. Hermione, always sharp, caught Sirius's presence across the room, and nudged Harry carefully. A flicker of recognition, a ghost of a smile, passed between them, despite Sirius being hooded.

"Sirius," breathed Harry and Sirius looked up, lowering his hood just a bit so his face was visible, and shot his godson a grin.

"Looking good, Padfoot!" Ron exclaimed shyly.

"Keep it down, would you, Ron?" Hermione hissed, her eyes darting around as if expecting the Minister of Magic himself to materialise out of butterbeer foam.

Sirius, unable to help himself, threw back his hood, a grin spreading across his face. "Hello, Harry. Ron, Mione," he nodded at them, in greeting, and waved at them to take a seat.

"We'll be over there," Hermione announced, already steering a reluctant Ron towards a table by the window. "You two probably have loads to talk about," she added.

" Hermione!" Ron hissed, but his protests were cut short as Hermione practically dragged him across the room.

Sirius watched them go, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Just wait until Ron sees who's sitting across the room," Harry said, his voice dry. He inclined his head towards a table near the fireplace.

Sirius followed his gaze, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Ginny, her back to them, was engaged in an animated conversation with another boy, her laughter echoing through the pub. The boy had his arm draped casually over the back of her chair, his face turned towards her, his expression a mixture of adoration and something akin to smugness.

"No way," Ron's voice, thick with disbelief, cut through the air, as Harry and Sirius watched them head toward the table. Hermione, sensing an impending eruption, grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him towards their chosen table. He turned and looked at Harry apologetically and mouthed the words: three hours.

Harry then leaned in closer to Sirius. "So, what happened during the mission?"

"Quiet, Harry," Sirius hissed, his hand closing over Harry's wrist in a firm grip. He glanced around the pub."Not here. Walls have ears."

Harry, startled by the sudden shift in Sirius's demeanour, lowered his voice. "But you told me–"

"Later," Sirius interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "We'll take a walk, get some air. It's not safe here," Sirius said again, looking oddly at the pub's owner, Madam Rosmerta, who was distractedly coming back inside from the blizzard only clad in her vest.

Sirius then took a long, fortifying gulp of his butterbeer, his eyes scanning the room once more. "How are things here, Harry?" Sirius asked softly as Harry was looking mutinous.

"Nothing new, I have told you everything that is happening with...you know," his godson said hotly, averting his gaze.

Sirius noticed that Harry's eyes flickered back to Ginny, who was now engaged in what could only be described as a full-blown snogging session with that Dean boy.

"I take that you must be frustrated, Harry" he said softly. "I understand what it is like…to not be informed, and I promise to amend this. But I want you to think, to think hard if anything else–aside from Narcissa's boy–does anything else look odd, Harry," Sirius asked, his voice soft but insistent. "Anything at all?"

"What do you mean by odd, Sirius?" Harry asked, half confused, half irritated.

Sirius leaned forward. "When you told me, the other night, that Dumbledore is missing often, I had my little inquiry done. No one in the Order is informed as to where he goes or what he does. Although , I do have some thoughts," said Sirius. "This is why I am asking…have you noticed anything odd, anything out of the ordinary, no matter how insignificant, Harry?" he asked again.

Harry hesitated. "Nothing I can think of, except, well, you know, him," he said, meaning Malfoy.

"Hmpf ," murmured Sirius, Sirius wanted to know if Albus had told Harry about the Horcruxes, but did not want to agitate the boy more, to burden him. Although if he were honest with himself, Dumbledore's disappearances worried him sick, more than Bellatrix's nightly visits.

"Arthur searched their home the other day. It was all over the Prophet–nothing to be found, of course, as expected," Sirius said flatly to assuage Harry over the Malfoy git.

Harry didn't answer but looked irritated. He took a sip of his butterbeer.

"How about Slughorn, Harry?" Sirius ventured again. "Anyone from the other teachers seemed particularly surprised at his assignment as Potions Master? Any odd reactions?"

"He's…he keeps trying to get me to join his stupid Slug Club, but I would say he is well-liked by the rest" Harry said morosely. "Snape's thrilled that he finally got the DADA job," Harry scoffed.

Sirius snorted. "Slughorn always did have a penchant for collecting promising students. Consider it a dubious honour. I am glad I never had to participate in that, Evans on the other hand–" he said bewildered at the memories, taking another large sip.

"My mum!" exclaimed Harry. "Well, yeah he keeps telling me how good she was at Potions," Harry said, and Sirius felt a warm feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with the butterbeer. He knew how much Harry needed those stories, but now he was more concerned about what Dumbledore's plan was about his godson.

"James had to brave a few dinner dates at Sluggy's back in the day. He had just started to date your mum and wanted to be in her good graces, the lovesick bastard," he said nostalgically and Harry seemed mesmerised by the details about his parents.

"Sirius," he said suddenly in a lighter tone. "Would you happen to know, back in your time, I mean, anyone called The Half-Blood Prince?" he asked.

"The Half-Blood, what?" said Sirius.

"Prince," repeated Harry.

"No–not anyone I would remember. Why?" Sirius asked intently, his brow furrowing.

"It's just this potions book that I am using, full of notes on…potions techniques," Harry said. "The owner of the book is called The Half-Blood Prince."

"Sounds like a pompous git, Harry," said Sirius dismissively and he could see that Harry's hand flew on his neck. "There are no princes and princesses in our world."

"It's more than that–" Harry insisted, but before he could elaborate, his gaze was drawn back to Ginny and Dean. They were at it again, embracing a tangle of limbs and muffled giggles, oblivious to the world around them.

Ah. Sirius thought.

Sirius followed his gaze and let out a long, weary sigh. He placed a hand over Harry's, a rare moment of physical contact.

"Chin up, Harry," he said. "Christmas is just around the corner. We'll be celebrating at Grimmauld Place. You, me, and the rest of the lot. We'll have a proper feast, pull some crackers, maybe even manage a snowball fight or two, if Buckbeak is up to it," he smirked. "Unless you want us to accept Molly's invitation, of course!" He said cheerfully.

The promise of spending Christmas together added a smile on Harry's face and Sirius knew he had to tread carefully, to not burden the boy, but to tell him to be careful about what lay ahead nevertheless. He wished he was James, at that point.

"Finish up your drink, I see some Ministry warlocks over there, Harry. We better be off soon," Sirius said, finishing his butterbeer with one final gulp.

Emma pushed open the door to Remus's room, a tray laden with food balanced carefully in her hands. "Dinner delivery," she announced cheerfully.

Remus looked up from the papers scattered across his bed, a weary smile spreading across his face. "You're a lifesaver, Emma. I completely lost track of time!"

"Happens to the best of us," Emma replied, setting the tray down on the bedside table. "Molly sends her love, by the way. She wanted to bring it herself, but she had to head back to the countryside"

"Always looking out for me, Molly that is," Remus chuckled, taking the tray from Emma's hands. "How's the Patronus practice coming along?" he asked.

He was getting healthier, stronger, Emma observed and this made her happy.

"It's… coming along. Tonks is a great teacher, when she has the time, that is." The reality was that Emma was hoping to continue their lessons more actively, but with everything, Tonks was too distracted and Emma simply could not practise in those last hectic days.

Remus's fork clattered onto his plate. "She's been busy, I imagine, with… everything."

"Yes, well, you seem to be taking up most of her attention these days," Emma said. The moment the words left her mouth, however, she could sense the bitterness in Remus's eyes and Emma instantly regretted her intervention. "Right," she mumbled, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then."

"Emma, wait," Remus said, his voice softer now. "Stay for a bit? I could use the company."

Emma hesitated for a moment, then nodded, perching on the edge of the bed. "Tea?" she offered.

"That would be lovely," Remus replied.

They spoke of different things, mainly his time at Hogwarts and the Order business. Lupin, despite the toll of his condition, was a very pleasant man, very warm, and polite. He was also one of her brother's old friends and one who could tell her things, who could deny or confirm her fears about the truth behind Peter. What Dumbledore and Sirius were saying…about him being seen. Alive.

"Dumbledore has me running an errand soon," Remus said, his gaze still averted. "A… delicate matter. Needs to be done before the next full moon."

"Oh?" Emma prompted, her curiosity piqued. "Anything I can help with?"

Remus shook his head, a humourless smile playing on his lips. "Not this time, I'm afraid. This one's a bit… specialised. Requires a certain… understanding of the werewolf perspective, you might say."

Emma's eyebrows shot up. "Underground again?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "But you have barely recovered!"

"I have to make myself useful. It was like that in the previous war, before," he said sadly but soon went back to finish his meal and take a big loud gulp of tea.

Emma took the chance, her voice barely a whisper. "Could I ask you a personal question, Remus?"

"I believe you already know I'm a werewolf, Emma," he said, a wry smile twisting his lips. "What could be more personal than that?"

Emma smiled a bit, but her anxiety remained. "It's about… about Peter Pettigrew," she stammered, her gaze dropping to her lap. Oh dear, would she get caught, she thought.

Remus's smile vanished, replaced by a look of surprise. "Peter?" he echoed, his voice flat. "What about him?"

"Is it true?" Emma blurted out. "What everyone says about him"

Remus set his teacup down, the clink of china against the wooden tray unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He leaned back against the headboard, his expression carefully neutral.

"I am afraid, yes," he said. Emma looked at him with anticipation, and Lupin continued.

"Peter," he began, "was the follower of our little group, the Marauders. We were silly boys, back then," he brushed off the memory. "Well, he was always rather like that spare sock you find clinging to a shirt fresh from the wash. Never quite sure how he ended up in the mix, but there he was, clinging on for dear life."

He gave a humourless chuckle, a hollow sound that did little to lighten the mood. "James and Sirius, they were the magnets, you see. Drew everyone in with their brilliance and their bravado, they were popular. They immediately befriended me, they saw me as the logical one, the consciousness of the group. Peter… he just wanted to be part of something, anything, that made him feel less… insignificant"

"And did he? Feel less insignificant, I mean?" asked Emma.

Remus paused. "For a time, perhaps. He always had this look of terror, of fear in his eyes. James, especially, felt protective of Peter," he added.

Emma stilled. James and Lily Potter, dead. Their one year old baby, an orphan.

A wry smile touched Remus's lips, as he was not aware of her racing thoughts. "We used to joke about Peter's well, different demeanour. Perhaps… Perhaps we never realised how patronising that sounded. How much we underestimated his fears, his insecurities."

He sighed. "We were young, arrogant even. Thought we knew everything about each other, about the world. But the truth is, sometimes the people closest to us harbour secrets, desires, that we never truly see. And sometimes… sometimes those secrets have the power to destroy everything we hold dear."

"Peter… he chose self-preservation over loyalty, over friendship, over everything we held dear."

"So he made a deal with Voldemort. Out of fear," she swallowed hard, it was a statement and not a question more for herself, but Remus nodded sadly.

"Voldemort came to him, I suppose" Remus continued. "And that's how he betrayed James and Lily, betrayed all of us, for the promise of a life free from fear."

"And Sirius Black?" she asked.

"What about Sirius?" asked Lupin.

"He never harmed Peter, never went after all those Muggles?" Emma asked. She needed to know, needed to hear it from Remus. She trusted the man before her more than Pia, more than Sirius, more than Albus Dumbledore.

Remus seemed to misinterpret her question, a flicker of something akin to protectiveness crossing his features. "Sirius… well, he always was impulsive," he said. "But he never imagined that Peter could outsmart all of us."

"That was his mistake, you see. Underestimating Peter. Sirius… he thought he could right the wrong, bring Peter to justice himself. So he went after him, chased him down like a feral animal."

"Sirius was the one who found them, you know," he murmured. "James and Lily… And Harry, of course, alive amidst the rubble. He was… distraught. So he chased Peter, hunted him down and Peter–well–you might know this from rumours, I suppose. Peter blew up a Muggle street, cut his own finger, and transformed into his animagus form. A rat," Remus clarified.

The Aurors delivered Peter's remains in a box that morning. Her father was in his study, her mother in bed. Pia was left there to collect the box and the Ministry letter. She remembered the day.

"James, Sirius, and Peter all became Animagi, well," he chuckled at that, nostalgically. "To keep me company when I needed to transform. It took them three years, and they did it and it was brilliant. James was a stag, so he was named Prongs. Sirius, the dog, Padfoot. And Peter, well, Peter was the rat, so he became Wormtail."

Emma was shocked at this. She knew of Black's animagery, from the Ministry news and the Order, but to know this first-hand from Remus, the person who all these boys wanted to protect, to support. It made her dizzy.

"So," she choked. "Peter became an Animagus, too. To help you, I mean," she asked Lupin, feeling her hands cold all of a sudden.

"Yes, yes, although with the help of James and Sirius. Peter–to put it kindly–lacked their prowess," he said.

"The rest is mostly well-known, I suppose," Lupin continued his narration. "When the Aurors arrived, they found Sirius…"

"Laughing," Emma finished, her voice tight.

"Sirius… Sirius blames himself. He'd been the one to suggest Peter as Secret Keeper, believing it would throw Voldemort off their trail. He thought that he himself would be the obvious choice. It was the perfect bluff, and I didn't know either. To think that his friend, his brother in all but blood, had betrayed them so completely… it broke something inside him."

Emma listened, her heart clenching with each word. She knew the story, of course, knew it in a way that Remus could never imagine. But hearing it now, seeing the calm but raw pain in his eyes, she knew he was telling the truth.

"Twelve years," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Twelve years Sirius spent rotting in Azkaban, wrongly imprisoned. And all the while, the wretched creature was living as a rat, hiding in plain sight. It's a ludicrous story, of course. We were all foolish–" he stopped for a moment, as if considering something.

Remus stared at Emma, his brow furrowed with concern. He had expected a flinch, a gasp, perhaps even a hint of fear. Instead, he was met with a single tear, tracing a silent path down her cheek.

"Emma?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

She never thought she would feel sorry for Sirius Black, she was in fact surprised at the warm feeling in her chest, sadness, a pool bubbling up and a need to see him, to speak to him, to–no, she thought.

"It's just… he didn't deserve that," Emma whispered, her gaze drifting towards the window, as if she could see Sirius Black himself, haunted and hunted, in the gathering darkness, Dementors around him approaching.

Remus cleared his throat. "It was a dark time," he agreed.

There was a deafening silence for a while.

"Remus," Emma, then, said, her voice quiet but steady. "Could you ever forgive him? Peter, I mean," she asked urgently, her gaze agitated, pained. "Could you ever forgive him for what he did?" she asked and she felt immediately child-like.

For a long moment, Remus simply stared at her. "I'm not sure forgiveness is mine to give, Emma," he said kindly.

"Apart from Harry, obviously, the person Peter wounded most deeply… the person who truly needs to find a way to forgive, if such a thing is even possible… is Sirius," he said gently.

Emma nodded, feeling the salt of her tears on her cheeks.

Rosmerta was outside, a shovel in her hand, getting rid of the slush that had accumulated on the front step of the pub.

Draco's instructions echoed in her mind. She needed to act today, since the Hogwarts students were visiting the village.

Suddenly, the pub door swung open and the warmth from inside caressed Rosmerta's back, a contrast against the cold weather. Katie Bell, tall and brown-haired, was a seventh year Rosmerta knew well, and she had just slipped out, her breath misting in the cold air.

The girl paused, tucking a strand of unruly hair back under her woollen hat. "Oh dear, you are not cold? You don't have your coat on!" She said bewildered gazing at Rosmerta, who was standing in the cold, clad only with her usual form-fitted dress and thin vest.

Rosmerta didn't reply and the girl still gaped at her. "Well, I am just out for a cigarette and I will be right back, it's bloody freezing!" She said cheerfully and with a small wave of her hand the girl turned on her heel and went to the alley next to the pub, where she could be protected from the snow.

That was it.

Rosmerta followed the girl, her movements stiff.

The alley was narrow and Katie stood there, underneath a spiralling staircase that led upstairs, in the inn.

The girl acknowledged Rosmerta and gestured at her pack of cigarettes, thinking the older woman craved one as well.

"What–" started Katie but a jolt of something hit her right in the face.

"Imperio."

Katie stiffened, her cigarette tumbling from her grasp to skitter uselessly across the snow. Her head snapped back, her gaze fixing on Rosmerta, but her eyes were vacant.

"Take this," Rosmerta rasped, her voice a strained whisper, as she thrust the package into Katie's unresisting hands. "Give it to Dumbledore. Don't open it. Don't talk about it. Dumbledore. Only Dumbledore. It's given to you by a stranger at the bathrooms of the pub," she whispered the instruction in the girl's ears.

"Dumbledore," Katie repeated. She clutched the package tightly, her knuckles turning white.

"Go," Rosmerta choked out.

Katie turned and walked back towards the pub, her movements stiff and mechanical.