Delicate snowflakes drifted lightly onto the Astronomy Tower. Handcrafted telescopes from master alchemists lined the walls, and a short, pudgy middle-aged wizard dragged his unconscious hostage behind one of them. His face twisted into something ugly as he jammed his wand against the head of his old friend.
"Stay back, both of you professors."
Pettigrew forced a nasty grin at them, pressing the wand tip harder until a spot of red bloomed on the skin. "Severus, Remus—lower your wands. There are students here. You wouldn't want them watching a brutal murder up close, would you?"
"As a matter of fact, I wouldn't mind," Snape said coolly, his expression eerily calm.
Nobody doubted he meant it. Old grudges from school, new scores to settle—if Sirius died at Pettigrew's hand, the Ministry wouldn't come after Snape. Two birds, one stone.
But Lupin froze in place, slowly lowering the hand that held his wand.
Harry and Hermione turned to look at the werewolf professor, wanting to say something—then noticed his hair standing on end. Compared to a normal man's, it was coarser, tougher—not quite human, more like an animal's.
He was staring fixedly at Pettigrew and Sirius, his body trembling slightly.
Hermione watched the usually gentle professor and suddenly realized: Lupin wasn't scared. He was furious. Once again he was facing the same nightmare as thirteen years ago—his best friend about to die because of another friend's betrayal.
Snape kept his wand raised, locked on Pettigrew's forehead. He backed up step by step, using the telescope stands and Sirius as cover.
"Remus," Pettigrew tried again, desperate for any lifeline, "talk some sense into him. Do you really want to watch Sirius die horribly?"
He shifted tactics, turning toward Harry. "And you, dear Harry—think about it. He's your godfather, the only real family you have in the wizarding world. He loves you—broke out of prison to protect you… The moment he heard your broom was wrecked, he sent you a Firebolt, even though it exposed him."
The words hit Harry like pictures flashing in his mind: a skinny black dog running tirelessly from Diagon Alley to Hogsmeade, from London to the Scottish Highlands, trailing the Express through rain and wind.
A gust of wind lifted Sirius's tangled hair. Harry glanced over curiously—then his eyes widened. He could finally see Sirius's face clearly.
Gaunt cheeks, sallow skin stretched tight over sharp bones like a skull, colorless lips, yellowed teeth. Harry watched those eyelids flutter faintly.
In that moment, he accepted this godfather he'd never met.
Pettigrew kept edging backward, putting more distance between them. "Oh, and my dear little Ron—Sirius attacked you those times but never hurt you. He was just trying to get rid of me, your pet rat. He even worried about getting you in trouble, so he didn't steal your wand."
Ron's face went scarlet. He exploded, "That's all because of YOU, you filthy rat! Sneaky, cowardly sewer-scuttling dung-eater, hiding in someone else's house pretending to be a pet—"
A string of crude insults echoed across the tower, shattering whatever touching mood Pettigrew had tried to build. The only thing left on the platform was a hostage-taker, and Snape raised his wand—then flicked it sharply.
A silent Cutting Curse whipped past Sirius's shoulder, drawing blood. Those eyelids fluttered harder; Harry even caught the faint movement of lips—like a very rude curse.
The spell missed its mark, but Snape didn't press forward.
The former Death Eater turned Potions master had plenty of patience. He wasn't in a rush—like a well-fed cat toying with a mouse for fun.
Harry was sure it was deliberate; he caught the tiny upward twitch at the corner of Snape's mouth.
"I hope you're this persuasive at your Wizengamot trial," Lupin said coldly. Then he swung his wand straight at Pettigrew, ignoring Sirius completely in the line of fire.
"Expelliarmus!"
Another Cutting Curse followed.
The spells flew—one cracked the base of a nearby telescope, sending the bronze tube and stand crashing sideways. The Disarming Charm came a fraction slower, slamming into Sirius just as Pettigrew's pupils shrank in panic.
Just when Pettigrew thought he'd dodged it, the unconscious vagrant in front of him moved—lightning-fast. He drove an elbow backward, curled into a ball the instant the wand jabbed toward his forehead, and transformed into a big black dog.
Bang.
The force of the Disarming Charm sent Pettigrew flying backward into another telescope. His wand spun out of his hand and clattered away.
Pettigrew ignored the pain, scrambling desperately toward it—but he was too slow compared to the agile dog.
The black dog leaped, front paws slamming into his chest, claws raking bloody trails. Inch-long fangs hovered over his throat, hot breath pulsing against the artery. Terror swallowed him whole.
"No! Don't—Sirius, please!"
A low growl rumbled.
The dog's eyes were bloodshot, mind flooded with hate. Without effort, sharp teeth sank into flesh.
Blood flowed—steady like a little stream, or a soft breeze through the Forbidden Forest.
Harry stared, stunned. It wasn't as satisfying as he'd imagined. Maybe because he was too close—the twitching body, the pained face too clear. Revenge didn't taste as sweet as he'd thought.
He trembled along with the dog, feet rooted to the spot. He didn't know why he was hesitating. This was the man who'd killed his parents—he should be torn to pieces.
But Harry still hesitated.
Pettigrew's desperate pleas echoed in his ears. His head spun like a Dementor was nearby, consciousness sinking underwater, bubbles filling his ears.
Broken images floated past: moonlight over a peaceful valley, a green Dark Mark hanging in the sky, his father's body on the ground, a cloaked monster with red eyes moving through the house toward the bedroom, green light ready to destroy them all.
His mother had begged the same way—full of despair.
"Let the Ministry handle him!"
Lupin lunged forward, wrapping an arm around the dog's neck and whispering urgently, "Sirius! Think of Harry. He's had a rough life these years—he needs you!"
Those few words cleared a bit of the red haze. The bloody tint faded from Sirius's eyes; Godric's Hollow blurred. When he came back to himself, all he saw was a baby wrapped in blankets in a crib.
A thin boy stood in the snow, slowly walking over and reaching out.
"Sirius… it's me. I'm Harry," the boy said softly.
Sirius shifted back from Animagus form, emotions a jumble—like early spring thaw on the Black Lake, icy water mixed with slush pouring through his chest, freezing then warming. His eyes stung.
He pulled Harry into a fierce hug. The boy wasn't the helpless infant anymore, but the one shaking and crying was the grown wizard.
On the other side, Snape—fueled by some deep rage—was unleashing it freely on Pettigrew. His wand tip glowed with persistent cutting edges, slicing over and over into the squat body.
The once-snarling coward curled into a shivering ball in the snow, howls echoing across the platform.
Lupin hesitated, then walked over and murmured something to Snape. None of the others caught it, but whatever it was convinced him. Snape stared at Pettigrew for a long moment, then stopped the slow torture.
…
On the Astronomy Tower platform, a roaring bonfire cast warm orange light.
The students clustered around it. Ron still looked shell-shocked. Harry and Sirius talked quietly about life with the Dursleys. Hermione hugged Crookshanks, stroking his thick fur over and over.
Pettigrew lay crumpled on the ground, letting out occasional high-pitched whimpers.
The wounds from the Cutting Curses wouldn't heal on their own—slow, steady bleeding, raw flesh exposed. Every time the wind brushed them, it felt like a fresh slice.
Snape glanced at him coldly, then flicked his wand. Snake-like strips of cloth shot out, wrapping tightly around Pettigrew's wrists and ankles, gagging his mouth.
"Now," Snape said, "you're going to give me a proper explanation—for the Animagus business, for showing up here, for all of this."
"Where do you want us to start?"
Lupin sighed, aimed his wand at the shivering Pettigrew, and sent a soft green light over the wounds. The bleeding stopped; thin scabs formed.
"Anywhere," Snape snapped. "I've got plenty of time."
Hermione tried to shrink into the background, but her ears were perked, catching every word.
"Our time's a bit shorter, but…" Lupin glanced gently at the young students. "Let's start with the Animagus thing. When I first came to Hogwarts, Wolfsbane Potion hadn't been invented yet. Dumbledore planted the Whomping Willow for me. On full-moon nights, the professors would sneak me out of the castle through the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack to transform."
Snape knew he was explaining for the students' sake. He gave a soft huff but didn't interrupt.
"I thought the Shrieking Shack was haunted," Ron piped up.
"I was the ghost," Lupin said with a gentle smile. "Transforming hurts—a lot. With no humans to attack, the wildness had nowhere to go, so I'd scratch and bite myself. The villagers heard the howling and screaming… that was me. The shack's been quiet ever since I graduated."
"There was no hiding it forever—especially from dorm mates. I was terrified they'd be afraid of my lycanthropy, so I made up stories. But they saw through me anyway.
"And instead of pulling away from their werewolf friend, they started researching Animagi. By fifth year, they'd done it.
"Werewolves only attack humans—they leave animals alone. So on full moons, they'd throw on the Invisibility Cloak, Peter would turn into a rat and freeze the Willow's knot, and the rest would join me in the shack. We'd run together under the moonlight. Because of them, I tamed some of the wildness. I never regained my mind, but I wasn't quite so savage."
"That still sounds incredibly dangerous," Hermione said sternly, refusing to ignore the risks just because it was touching. "What if you'd run into someone else?"
Harry and Ron both turned to glare at her.
"Is that really the point?" Ron yelled. "The point is their amazing friendship!"
"Yes, there were close calls—plenty of them," Lupin admitted heavily, looking guilty. "We'd joke about them afterward… We were young and stupid, proud of how clever we were."
"Get on with it," Snape cut in. "Nobody wants to hear about your fake friendship and how it all fell apart after graduation."
He turned to Harry and Ron, face hard. "I want to know how you three got here."
Harry and Ron shrank back. Sirius instantly glared at Snape like a guard dog protecting his pups, refusing to back down.
"It was Hermione's Time-Turner," Lupin said. "I skipped the Christmas feast—went to the Shrieking Shack alone to remember old times. Found fresh footprints. Combined with Harry and Ron being in your detention, it wasn't hard to figure you'd caught Sirius."
"Sneaky Slytherin," Sirius muttered.
"Idiotic Gryffindors," Snape shot back, completely unbothered that he was outnumbered.
"We were worried you'd already killed Sirius to avenge Lily," Lupin continued, getting back on track. "So we came to this time—and ran into Crookshanks. He led us here."
"That cat's brilliant," Sirius said gratefully, reaching to stroke Crookshanks's fluffy tail. "Smartest cat I've ever met. He knew what Pettigrew really was from the start. Recognized I wasn't just any dog the first time he saw me… I worked hard to earn his trust, explained what I was after, and he's been helping me ever since."
Hermione jolted, eyes wide. "What do you mean?"
"He passed messages for me, tried to bring Pettigrew to me—couldn't manage it. Then he stole the Gryffindor Tower passwords for me, helped me dodge that portrait of Mrs. Norris."
"…"
Hermione went rigid, suddenly remembering her endless detentions.
Ron stared down at Crookshanks's squashed persimmon face, color draining then flooding back, expression complicated.
He'd been the biggest obstacle to the cat catching the rat—always protecting Scabbers, cradling him, even sleeping with him curled in his arms. Now that he thought about it…
"Urgh…"
Ron clapped a hand over his mouth, stomach churning.
He couldn't suffer this alone—he had to tell Percy!