For thirty years I have watched the Ministry's courtrooms play host to the worst monsters our world can conjure—murderers, zealots, dark wizards hiding behind gilded names.
But nothing—nothing—prepared me for Peter Pettigrew under Veritaserum.
The man who had been presumed dead for twelve years sat hunched in his chair, trembling like wet parchment, eyes glassy and distant.
The potion worked fast—his resistance stripped bare, leaving him little more than a puppet of truth.
Adrian Arclight stood before him, wand clasped lightly behind his back, every word measured.
"Mr. Pettigrew," he began, his voice quiet but carrying through the vast chamber. "You were once a member of the Order of the Phoenix, were you not?"
Pettigrew's head jerked once. "Y–yes."
"And yet, you were also in the service of Lord Voldemort."
A wave of gasps rippled through the court. Dumbledore's expression, for once, was unreadable marble.
"When," Adrian pressed, "did you pledge yourself to him?"
Pettigrew blinked slowly, his voice dreamlike. "It was in… seventy–nine. Two years before I was supposed to have died. He promised power. Protection. Said I'd be part of something… greater."
"Seventy-nine…" Adrian repeated, letting the number hang in the air. "Nearly two years before the fall of the Dark Lord. Meaning, you were a Death Eater even as you sat among the Order."
A horrified murmur swept through the Wizengamot.
"Merlin's beard," someone whispered. "All that time—he was feeding You-Know-Who their plans…"
During the war itself the Order was the British wizarding worlds frontline, they were Dumbledores handpicked members to act as the army of light against the encroaching darkenss.
Often times acting as leaders and commanders of the regular wizards and Aurors who found themselves on the battlefields against the dark lords forces.
Pettigrew's lips twitched into something like a smile. "He called me his little sneak. Said no one would ever suspect the least of them all. The one they all looked down upon."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Adrian's expression hardened. "Let us move forward. You were the Secret-Keeper for the Potters—"
"No," Pettigrew interrupted suddenly, voice hollow. "Sirius was supposed to be. But he thought he was clever—he thought the Dark Lord would go for him first. So he made me Secret-Keeper instead."
He gave a strangled laugh, a sound without joy. "He trusted me. James trusted me. Lily called me family."
Sirius made a sound—half growl, half sob—from his place at the defense table.
His innocence already all but assured.
Adrian didn't turn.
His tone stayed level, clinical. "And what did you do with that trust, Mr. Pettigrew?"
"I told Him," Pettigrew said simply. "Everything. Where they were, what protections Dumbledore had placed. The Fidelius, the backup wards… all of it. He said if I told him, there'd be a place for me when the new world began."
"And did He?"
The broken little man laughed again.
"He died before i could find out. I ran. I always run. My own life is always the most important thing."
Even Umbridge, who had spent most of the trial sneering, now looked pale and silent.
Adrian paced once across the floor. "And the Longbottoms?"
Pettigrew's eyes flickered.
"He asked for all the families Dumbledore trusted most. I told him about the Longbottoms too. I didn't know which child was supposed to be the prophecy one. He sent Bellatrix and her husband to… question them... Along with Crouch Jr."
Gasps filled the gallery once more, as new evidence was presented revealing that the Longbottoms werent in fact left out in the open as bait by Dumbledore, but were just like the potters exposed thanks to this snivelling traitors right before their eyes.
Neville Longbottom, sitting with his grandmother near the back, had gone stiff, his knuckles white on the railing.
Even now to this day his Parents were still struggling due to what they had been put through, though thanks to the rising Arcanum they had at least managed to wake up from their despondant state from before.
Adrian's face was a mask of composure, but his voice came out colder than ice. "You caused two of the greatest tragedies of the war."
"I survived," Pettigrew said simply. "That's all that mattered. Always survive."
Adrian stopped in front of him. "And when your master fell?"
For the first time, Pettigrew's head drooped lower. "He was gone. The Mark burned cold. The others... they lied to escape persecution, or were caught and sent away. I knew Sirius would come for me. He was clever, even mad with grief. He found me on that Muggle street."
The entire courtroom leaned forward as Pettigrew's voice dropped to a whisper.
"He was shouting at me, demanding to know why i had betrayed them. The Muggles were staring. I had to… had to make them believe. So I screamed that he had betrayed them instead, that he had killed the Potters. I blew the street apart. Muggles, all of them, gone in an instant. Cut off my finger and transformed before the smoke cleared."
Sirius had risen to his feet now, trembling.
His voice cracked the silence. "You framed me, you filthy coward—"
Madam Bones raised her wand. "Mr. Black, control yourself!"
Adrian spoke over the commotion. "Continue."
"I slipped into the sewers," Pettigrew said dully. "Stayed there for months. Cold. Starving. Then I saw a family in Ottery St. Catchpole. The Weasleys. So happy. So ordinary. I thought—if I stayed near something good, respectable, no one would ever look twice at me."
His head lolled to the side, eyes glinting faintly. "A pure-blood family. The right sort of name. Always talking about Muggles, but harmless. Who would suspect a Weasley of harboring a Death Eater?"
Arthur made a strangled noise somewhere in the gallery.
Molly clutched his arm, tears streaming down her face.
"I became their pet," Pettigrew continued. "Percy first, then the younger one—Ron. I listened. The Ministry. The Order. Dumbledore. Everyone talked freely in that house. No one ever noticed me. Even let me get close to Harry himself, along with news that the dark lord himself was not even dead."
"And you never intended to reveal yourself?" Adrian asked.
"No." Pettigrew answered. "Not until the dark lord could rise again."
A hush fell again.
But when Adrian spoke again everyone in attendance knew this farce was over.
"Witches and Wizards of the wizenagmot, you've all sat, heard testimony, and been presented with irrefutable evidence of Sirius Blacks innocense, in the interest of justice i move for a vote to release Black from custody, restoring his rights and priveleges as a sacred 28, and file for compensation from the ministry for this miscarriage of justice!"