Time rewound in a blur—the stars and moon above stretched into shimmering silver streaks, dazzling and unstoppable, crashing down to earth. Faded sunlight rose from the west, blending dusk and dawn into one.
They'd jumped from night back to afternoon.
"What… how'd it go?" Harry asked, shaking off the dizzy, weightless feeling of time travel.
"Hermione, did we make it?" Ron added, both of them stumbling back onto solid ground.
"We went back five hours," Hermione said, glancing at the fresh footprints leading out from the Whomping Willow's roots. "It's cutting it close, but we should catch up."
The prints were clearly from a grown man's boots. In the whole castle, only a couple of professors fit that bill—and if there were Slytherin snake marks etched in the snow, it had to be Snape.
With the blizzard piling up, those tracks wouldn't last long. But they were still crisp and fresh, meaning Snape had passed by not too long ago. They had a shot.
Harry and Ron exchanged a wide-eyed look, then pinched each other's arms—hard. The sharp pain confirmed this wasn't some crazy dream.
"We can't waste any time," Lupin said urgently, his voice tense. He scanned the ground—only one set of footprints. Something felt off.
The group hurried out from under the thrashing branches of the Whomping Willow. The grumpy old tree wasn't thrilled to see Harry and Ron again. As they trudged through the deep snow toward the castle entrance, its whip-like limbs cracked and lashed out behind them.
Things were more complicated than they'd expected. The castle was eerily quiet that Christmas afternoon. The only sounds were Snape's snowy boots melting into wet tracks on the stone floors.
Harry and the others stared at the fading footprints. "Snape definitely didn't head back to his office this afternoon," Harry said. "At least not in the next few hours—we'd remember if he did."
"So he went upstairs?" Ron asked, eyeing the staircase leading up.
Hermione wasn't sure. She glanced around suspiciously.
The portraits on the walls were mostly empty. A few nuns were bustling in and out of a church courtyard scene, polishing windows and decorating a Christmas fir tree for some evening party.
Even the portraits celebrated the holidays—they just picked snowy backdrops that fit.
The easiest thing would've been to grab Professor Lewin. That magic map of his could pinpoint Snape in seconds.
But… did they really want to drag Lewin into this mess?
Hermione bit her lip, then leaned closer to one of the frames. "Hi, Violet."
The witch in the painting blinked. "Who are you?"
Hermione had met her by chance before. The Fat Lady guarded the Gryffindor common room entrance, and Violet was her best friend—they often hung out, sharing drinks.
Drinking got in the way of work sometimes, so Gryffindor passwords were often booze-related. The Fat Lady loved and hated it—swearing off at the start of the month, then sneaking monk wine with Violet by the end.
"I'm…" Hermione hesitated, then rephrased. "I'm a Gryffindor student, and a friend of the Fat Lady's. We were wondering when she'll be back at her portrait?"
"It's already settled—right after the Christmas holidays," Violet said, eyeing them suspiciously.
A bunch of sneaky-looking Gryffindors asking random questions? Were they up to no good? Helping Black sneak in?
But spotting Professor Lupin eased her doubts. Professors were trustworthy.
Hermione figured they'd chatted enough. "Violet, have you seen Professor Snape around?"
"Oh, sorry—we've been busy prepping for the party. Didn't notice," Violet said, turning back to her tasks.
Harry and the others deflated. If even the portraits had no clue, they'd have to search the whole castle—hundreds of rooms. No way they'd make it in time.
Then something tugged at Hermione's pant leg. It was Crookshanks, who'd somehow tracked them down. The flat-faced cat nudged her foot, pulling insistently.
Hermione got it in a flash. "You want us to follow you, Crookshanks?"
The ginger cat nodded and took off up the stairs. Hermione didn't hesitate—she bolted after him, Harry and the rest right behind.
"Thanks a ton!"
"And Merry Christmas again—tell the Fat Lady we said hi!"
The Astronomy Tower was the tallest in the castle. They pounded up the spiraling stairs, just like they did for midnight lessons, climbing from the first floor all the way to the eighth.
Hundreds of steps later, Crookshanks slowed, crouching low. The corridor was wide and bare—no torches or lamps to mess with stargazing.
Square windows dotted the outer wall. Peering through at just the right angle, they spotted telescopes outside—and two figures. One stood on the balcony; the other lay sprawled on the ground.
Harry's group stared at Snape. Even from afar, he radiated this dark, heavy vibe that made it hard to breathe.
The guy on the ground looked lifeless—greasy, matted hair hiding his face, skin pale and shriveled from malnutrition, clinging to bones like a skeleton.
But his chest was rising and falling. He was alive.
Lupin stared too, his breathing quickening. A flicker of secret hope stirred inside him.
He flashed back to that night not long ago—Sirius using Neville's password list to sneak into the castle, getting slashed by Snape's dark magic curse. For days, Lupin had worried Sirius wouldn't heal, that he'd die alone in some frozen field.
Now, so many questions swirled. Sirius might be guilty… or innocent. Lupin just wanted the truth—not to lose every friend and end up a lonely werewolf wandering the world.
Outside on the balcony, Snape's voice cut through the air, flat and emotionless, like he was presiding over a grim feast.
"As the Secret-Keeper, you gave up the Potters' address. Were you forced by Voldemort? Or did you sell them out for your own gain?"
A heavy chill settled over the balcony. They all knew what this meant: Godric's Hollow, Voldemort, the night James and Lily died…
The figure raised his wand, pointing it at the skeleton on the ground. Murder was about to happen.
Lupin couldn't stay hidden anymore. He stepped out and shouted, "Stop, Severus! There are still too many questions!"
"No—I've got it all figured out," Snape said calmly.
"Peter Pettigrew came to me a few weeks ago. Explained how he escaped Azkaban, dodged the Dementors by turning into an Animagus. He's been hiding in the Shrieking Shack ever since. He even sent Harry that new Firebolt broom—that was his mistake. I disguised a potion to trap him. Caught the idiot easily."
"Peter Pettigrew?" Lupin echoed, confused.
Harry glared at Sirius. Even if there was more to the story, the old hatred boiled up, his green eyes flashing with fury.
Hermione eyed Snape's wand—birch wood, core unknown. For an ex-Death Eater skilled in the Dark Arts, catching someone off guard would be easy. But why drag him back to the castle?
Crookshanks arched his back, fur bristling, circling slowly while staring daggers at Sirius.
Ron hung back, trying to blend into the wall.
"The traitor was Peter Pettigrew," Snape continued, noticing Hermione's gaze but keeping his wand trained on Sirius. "Black thought he was clever, suggesting a switch in Secret-Keepers. Stupid Potter went along with it—and convinced Lily."
"And this fool got tricked by Pettigrew twice. Saw a severed finger and assumed he was dead. Arrogant idiot—didn't even defend himself when arrested. Dragged it out all these years."
"…"
Harry felt like he couldn't breathe. Too much info hit him at once—his head spun. Dementor echoes flooded back: screams, pleas…
"Harry…" Hermione and Ron grabbed his arms, their hands shaking but steady. Their eyes said, We've got you.
"So… you brought him back here…" Lupin trailed off.
That's when he noticed something wild. The howling wind died down, smells stabilized. Behind him: the students. Ahead: Severus and Sirius. The ginger cat. But there was another scent—familiar, rat-like.
Snape gripped his wand tighter. Magic surged.
"Revelio!"
The spell exploded across the balcony.
Everyone's eyes locked on the white beam. It hit Sirius's collar—seemed to strike the unconscious man. But then came frantic squeaking.
"Scabbers!?" Ron's eyes bulged in shock.
The mangy, toe-missing rat flew back from the impact, hovering mid-air. Its gray-black body twisted wildly, glowing bright white—like a sped-up plant growing. Ugly limbs and a head sprouted from the rat form.
It morphed into a short, balding middle-aged wizard.
Peter Pettigrew was tiny—barely taller than a third-year. Mid-thirties, thin wispy hair, a bald patch like a monk's tonsure. Greasy skin, beady eyes, pointed nose—all rat-like.
Crookshanks hissed and spat nearby, fur standing on end.
"Oh no, no, no…" Ron looked thunderstruck, brain frozen.
No wonder his pet rat lived twelve years!
No wonder it survived the basilisk chase and came back!
No wonder Crookshanks, part Kneazle, went nuts chasing it!
This guy—a Death Eater—had been hiding in his house the whole time, right by his side.
Ron's life flashed before his eyes.
His twelve-year buddy—the one he ate with, slept with, shared everything—was actually this creepy old wizard.
Peter wouldn't meet their eyes, glancing around nervously, wringing his hands, forcing a fake-friendly smile.
Lupin looked at his old friend. "Peter. Long time no see."
"Severus… Remus…" Peter's voice was high and squeaky. His eyes darted—mostly to the exit. "Long time no see, old friends."
Snape eyed his missing finger. "Thirteen years ago, you tricked stupid Potter with your fake death. Then fooled stupid Black. And in the Hog's Head, you fed me info with those rat eyes. What made you think I'm as dumb as them?"
Under Snape's cold, piercing stare, Peter trembled. He turned pleading eyes to Lupin and Ron.
Ron clenched his fists, teeth grinding.
"Got any excuses left?" Lupin asked quietly.
Sweat beaded on Peter's forehead in the winter chill. His mind raced for an out. This was Hogwarts— that professor was here. Survive this, and he'd live.
"They're both Death Eaters," Peter said gravely.
Hermione's eyes widened—she sensed where this was going, holding her breath.
"Who?" Lupin frowned.
"Sirius and Snape." Peter lowered his voice. "They serve the Dark Lord. They're in it together. Snape's framing me to clear Sirius!"
"Sorry, Peter—I don't buy it."
"You're with them too!"
Peter's eyes bulged in panic. He shrieked, "I should've known! Snape's a known Death Eater. Sirius betrayed James. They're Voldemort's tools—and you, Remus, you cover for Snape because of that Wolfsbane Potion!"
Ron looked between them, totally lost.
Harry kept staring at Peter.
Both their Potions grades were just passing—they were slow on the uptake.
Only Hermione gasped, then pieced it together. Clues from the past months clicked: the full moon secret.
Six pairs of eyes bored into him on the balcony. No one budged. If this standoff dragged on, he'd end up rat food for owls.
They were tight-knit, trusted each other—sowing doubt wouldn't work. Time for a new plan to survive!
Peter's rat brain sparked. They didn't care about Lupin being a werewolf—but they'd care about Sirius's life!
Under their stares, Peter jumped up, yanked out a wand, grabbed the unconscious Sirius, and pressed it to his head. "Back off—or I kill him right now!"