The air outside the conference chamber was cool and hushed—thick with old stone and the quiet hum of castle wards. The moment the doors clicked shut behind them, the tension didn't vanish, but it did ease, just slightly, like the air had loosened its grip on their ribs.

Clarisse led them through a side corridor, Augusta Longbottom close behind with a pace that didn't allow for nonsense. Elijah followed last, quiet and steady, a shadow of calm behind the storm.

The room they entered was smaller than the one they'd left—still grand, but cozier. Firelight flickered over carved paneling, and three padded chairs had been drawn up in a gentle arc. A fourth chair sat across from them, where a DMLE officer was preparing a small set of instruments: memory thread extractors, a glass basin for recording impressions, and a wand set in a magical stabilizer.

Amelia had sent someone calm and capable—Detective Kerrigan, late thirties, with a clipped manner and a voice like sanded wood: quiet, even, no wasted effort.

He stood as they entered. "Thank you for coming. I'm Auror Kerrigan. This will be conducted like a standard witness interview. One at a time, recorded under stabilizing charm. You may have magical counsel or your guardian present if you wish."

Clarisse gave Hermione a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and sat beside her. Augusta positioned herself behind Neville with brisk efficiency. Elijah stood behind Harry, arms folded—not imposing, but anchored.

Kerrigan sat opposite Hermione first.

"Miss Granger," he began, "you identified the intruder in your common room."

"Yes," she said clearly. "I was using the Marauder's Map. I saw a name that shouldn't have been there—Peter Pettigrew."

"Where was the name located?"

"By the fireplace. In the Gryffindor common room."

"And to your knowledge, is there anyone currently enrolled at Hogwarts with that name?"

"No," Hermione said. "There isn't."

"Then how did you know the name wasn't a student alias, or a joke?"

Hermione took a breath. "Because it wasn't just that the name was unfamiliar. It was that it wasn't supposed to exist. If someone's name is on the map, they're present in that space. And we've only ever seen names belonging to people—students, staff, visitors. Not animals."

Kerrigan nodded slowly. "So you believed someone was impersonating an animal."

"I didn't know what it was," she admitted. "But I knew—there's no reason a grown wizard's name should be showing up in our common room, alone with children. Especially not one who was supposed to be dead."

Kerrigan's brow arched slightly. "You recognised the name?"

Hermione hesitated. "I'd seen it before. In a history book. But I didn't connect it until after."

"And what did you do after identifying the name?"

"I gave Crookshanks a signal. He's been watching that rat all term."

"Rat?"

"Ron Weasley's pet—Scabbers. Crookshanks doesn't go after random animals. But he never left Scabbers alone. It wasn't normal. He's protective of the Tower. It felt... like he knew."

Kerrigan considered her. "Understood. With your permission, I'll extract a stabilized memory of that moment."

She nodded.

A thread of silver memory flowed into the basin, swirling slowly.

"Thank you, Miss Granger."

He turned next to Neville.

"Mr Longbottom. You used the DMLE floo?"

"Yes, sir," Neville said. "As soon as I realised something was wrong—I'd heard Hermione mention the name, and then Crookshanks went for the rat—I knew it wasn't normal. It wasn't just a cat chasing something. I've seen Crookshanks ignore mice completely. But he's been stalking that one for months."

Kerrigan nodded. "And why the DMLE, not just a professor?"

Neville glanced at Augusta. "Because if it was a magical infiltrator, and Hermione was right, we couldn't risk him getting away. I wasn't sure if the professors would act fast enough."

Another nod. "You made the right call. Memory extraction?"

Neville gave his consent, and the basin received a second thread.

Kerrigan turned to Harry.

"Mr Potter, how did you respond?"

"I summoned Elijah," Harry said calmly. "Three-turn code on the ring he gave me. I didn't know what was happening yet, but if something had slipped into the Tower... it was serious."

"You didn't suspect the rat at that point?"

"No," he said. "But I trusted Hermione. And I know how accurate the map is. If it said someone was there—they were."

Kerrigan leaned back slightly. "And the name, Mr Potter—did you recognise it?"

"Yes," Harry said, evenly. "It's been in books. But I didn't think it could be real. Not until we saw him transform."

Kerrigan tilted his head. "Do you believe he was a registered Animagus?"

Harry frowned. "Animagus have to register? I didn't know that, I just knew... he was hiding. As a pet. With kids. And I don't know any good reason for that."

The third memory thread curled into the basin.

Kerrigan stood, sealing the phials.

"You've done very well. Your testimonies are consistent and grounded. These will be used as evidence in the upcoming inquiry."

He gave a nod. "You've made a difference tonight. One that matters."

The kids didn't speak right away.

But Hermione reached for Harry's hand under the table.

And Neville sat just a little straighter.

Back in the high-ceilinged conference chamber, the tension had only grown heavier.

Peter Pettigrew, now human and bound in chains enchanted to suppress transformation, slumped in a corner, guarded by two unsmiling DMLE officers. Every few minutes, he made a faint whimpering sound. No one acknowledged it.

Professor Dumbledore stood near the long table, hands clasped behind his back, robes still catching the light like a dying storm. His tone was calm, but layered with quiet insistence.

"Sirius Black is a fugitive," he said. "Regardless of what has come to light this evening, he escaped custody. He has refused to come forward. His whereabouts are unknown. And he remains under suspicion."

"Suspicion for what exactly?" Tavian Forewyn's voice cut across the room with the sharpness of polished steel. "Because unless someone can produce new charges, the only crime he stood convicted of was the murder of Peter Pettigrew. Who, as we are all now enjoying firsthand, is very much alive."

He let the silence settle, then added, "And let us not forget: the other charges were the murder of twelve Muggles in that same explosion and the accusation of being a Death Eater—based entirely on the word of Pettigrew, who fled the scene and faked his death. All of which now warrant reinvestigation."

Lucius Malfoy, seated at the edge of the room like a portrait come to life, arched a brow. "Black also endangered the school. He infiltrated it on more than one occasion this year. I fail to see how that warrants exoneration."

"You mean when he broke into a castle full of children to retrieve his godson from a household the Ministry illegally placed him in?" Tavian said smoothly. "Yes, quite the villain."

Lucius smiled coldly. "And who precisely is his heir, now that the Black line is legally fractured?"

"That," Tavian said, "is a matter for the Wizengamot. But if you're hoping it's your son—don't."

Dumbledore turned toward Amelia. "Surely, Director, we cannot ignore the larger implications of this. If Black is cleared, he becomes Harry's legal guardian by magical law. That has... consequences."

Amelia Bones did not flinch. "I am fully aware of the implications, Headmaster. Which is why I will not allow this to be swept aside. We will be pursuing a full reinvestigation."

She nodded to her second, who was already taking notes. "A team will be assembled to review Black's original conviction, trial records—if any exist—and magical records pertaining to his oath. As of this moment, all further attempts to capture or engage Sirius Black without DMLE approval are to be suspended."

Dumbledore's eyes flicked to her. "You would halt the search for a known fugitive?"

"I would halt the search for a man we now have reasonable cause to believe was wrongfully imprisoned for a murder that did not occur."

Lucius scoffed. "How very noble."

Tavian leaned forward slightly, the lines in his voice deliberate. "I have already authorized a review by my own office. Independent of the Ministry, but fully cooperative with the DMLE. Our findings—including witness reports, magical forensic analysis, and banking records—have been filed with the ICW."

Lucius stiffened. "You went outside the Ministry?"

Tavian didn't blink. "Given the British Ministry's role in allowing this miscarriage of justice to persist for over a decade, yes. I did."

Amelia's mouth twitched—almost approval.

Tavian continued, addressing the room more broadly now. "We are dealing not just with a failure of justice, but a systemic one. A man was imprisoned without trial. A child—the Boy Who Lived—was illegally placed in a household that did not meet magical standards of care. The Potter Will was sealed improperly. And now we find the supposed victim of Black's crime living under an assumed form in a student dormitory."

He looked to Dumbledore.

"Perhaps the question we should be asking, Headmaster, is not what Sirius Black might have done wrong—but how many of those wrongs were committed against him."

Then, after a beat, he added, quieter but more cutting:

"And while we're asking questions—how did an unregistered Animagus enter Hogwarts, live undetected for years, and evade every magical safeguard you claim to maintain? If you knew, why wasn't it stopped? And if you didn't—what does that say about your stewardship of this castle?"

Dumbledore's silence was long.

But telling.

The Hospital Wing smelled faintly of lavender and potion steam. Floating orbs cast soft golden light across the white stone walls, and the windows had been charmed shut against the deep November chill.

Ron lay propped against a mound of pillows, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of something mildly calming. Madam Pomfrey had run three scans, declared him physically fine, and handed him a draught for magical shock. He still hadn't said much.

Fred and George were slouched across the next bed, subdued but visibly buzzing with unspent adrenaline.

Percy stood stiffly near the foot of Ron's bed, trying to look in control and not quite pulling it off.

"You've got to admit," Fred said finally, voice low, "he was weird. Even for a rat."

George nodded. "Remember when he chewed the corner off your holiday jumper? Gran thought it was moths."

Percy frowned. "He was always a bit... twitchy."

"Wouldn't go near the ghoul in the attic," Fred added. "But I always figured that was just good sense."

Ron didn't look up. "He liked digestive biscuits. Used to steal them off my bedside table."

Percy cleared his throat. "He came back to you. After Egypt."

"I thought it was lucky," Ron murmured. "I missed him."

Then the Floo flared green.

And Molly Weasley stepped through like a storm in a tartan dressing gown.

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!"

Ron startled upright so hard he nearly sloshed his drink.

Arthur followed a second later, eyes wide, jaw tight, but saying nothing—for now.

"I leave you in this school, and now I get a Floo saying you've been harbouring a criminal under your pillow?!"

"Mum—!"

"Scabbers?" she cried. "I thought you lost him in Egypt!"

"I did!" Ron yelped. "But then he came back—"

"He CAME BACK?!" Molly repeated, aghast.

Fred leaned over. "Technically, he came back in George's sock drawer."

George nodded solemnly. "Bit me. Twice."

Percy tried for order. "Mum, he didn't know. None of us did. Hermione figured it out with the Marauder's Map."

Molly's eyes snapped to him. "The what?"

George handed her a bean. "It's like a magical tracker thing. Shows everyone's name and where they are."

"And none of you," she said, rounding on the group, "thought to look up who was sleeping in your dormitories?!"

Fred winced. "We were mostly looking out for Filch."

George added, "And to avoid Snape."

Percy muttered, "And I didn't know about the map."

Arthur finally moved to Ron's side, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You alright, son?"

Ron nodded, slowly. "Yeah. Just... weird. I trusted him. For years."

Arthur's hand gave a firm squeeze. "You weren't to know. None of us were."

Madam Pomfrey returned with a final scan charm, then glanced to Molly. "He'll be alright. He's stable, just shaken."

Molly collapsed onto the edge of Ron's bed, pressing a hand to his cheek like she still wasn't convinced he was real.

"No more rats," she said, voice cracking just slightly. "Next time—maybe an owl."

Ron stared. "But not like Hermione's, right?"

Fred snorted. "Crookshanks is an icon."

George nodded. "He's the real hero of the hour."

Molly finally gave a sigh and pulled the blanket up around Ron's shoulders. "Twelve years. A rat. Of all things."