The floorboards of the Shrieking Shack groaned under every cautious step.
Harry moved first, wand raised, eyes sweeping the shadows. Hermione followed close behind, her face pale, her wand clutched so tightly her knuckles were white.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice quivering, "are you sure we shouldn't go back and get a professor?"
Harry didn't answer right away. He knew what Dumbledore or McGonagall would say—run, stay safe, let the adults handle it. But he was done waiting for adults to save him.
"No," he said softly. "We're already here. We're finding Ron."
Hermione swallowed hard and nodded.
They moved carefully through the ground floor, dust swirling in the moonlight. The rooms were empty—just broken chairs and the smell of damp wood.
"Nothing," Hermione said after they checked the last room.
Harry looked toward the crooked staircase. "Then he must be upstairs."
Hermione's wand wobbled in her hand. "Harry… be careful."
He didn't answer, only started up the stairs. They creaked under his weight, each step loud as a gunshot in the silence.
When he reached the top, he rested his palm against the door. He didn't feel any magic on it—no wards, no locks.
Slowly, he pushed it open.
The room was large and cold, the roof sloping above them. Broken beams crossed the ceiling, and old furniture had been shoved against the walls. In the far corner, something moved—small, huddled.
"Ron!" Hermione gasped.
Ron was curled against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. His face was white as parchment, his breathing shallow and ragged.
Harry ran to him, dropping to one knee. "Ron. Are you hurt?"
Ron didn't look at him. He was staring across the room, eyes wide with terror.
Harry followed his gaze.
At first, he saw only darkness. But then—
Something shifted.
A shape uncurled itself from the corner—a man, taller than either of them, draped in tattered prison robes. His hair hung in greasy ropes around a gaunt face, and his eyes gleamed with feverish hunger.
It was like looking at a corpse that had refused to lie still.
Ron's voice cracked when he spoke.
"It—it's not a dog," he whispered hoarsely. "It's him. It's Sirius Black."
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, raising her shaking wand.
Sirius Black stepped into the moonlight. His prison uniform hung off his skeletal frame. His skin looked paper-thin, stretched over bone. But his eyes—his eyes were bright. Sharp.
He looked straight at Harry.
For one awful moment, nobody moved.
Then Harry rose to his feet, wand leveled at the man who'd haunted his nightmares since summer.
Sirius didn't flinch. His voice was hoarse as broken glass.
"Hello, Harry."
Hermione edged closer, her voice quivering. "Harry… he—he killed your parents—"
Sirius' mouth twisted into something that was almost a smile—and almost a snarl.
Hermione was trembling so hard her wand tip shook. "Harry—don't—he's dangerous—"
Ron clung to the wall, his face pale and sweaty. "He's mad—Harry, he's completely mad—"
Sirius' hollow eyes flicked toward them and then back to Harry. A wild, mirthless smile split his gaunt face.
"Yes… dangerous…" he croaked. His voice was cracked from disuse, raw and shredded at the edges. "They told you, didn't they? That I betrayed them. That I killed them all…"
His laughter came out broken and jagged—like glass splintering.
Hermione gasped and took a step back.
Sirius tipped his head, as if listening to something only he could hear. His matted hair fell across one eye.
"Killed them…" he whispered. "All except one."
He turned abruptly, pacing across the room, fingers twitching around the length of an invisible wand. "He thought he was so clever… hiding… but I knew. I knew. And I waited twelve years… to finish it…"
Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. "Harry—he's going to kill us—"
Sirius stopped in front of Harry again, so close Harry could smell the cold, unwashed reek of Azkaban clinging to him. His thin chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.
"And now… now he will pay…" Sirius hissed.
Harry didn't move. He didn't raise his wand. He didn't even flinch.
Because despite the madness in Sirius Black's eyes, despite the words, the threats, the half-formed snarls, he felt nothing directed at him.
No intent to harm.
No hatred.
Harry closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, letting the Force settle around him like a second skin. He could feel Hermione's fear vibrating in the air. Ron's panic—sharp as a blade.
But Sirius… Sirius' emotions were a swirling storm—but the lightning wasn't aimed at him.
It was aimed somewhere else.
When Harry opened his eyes, he felt strangely calm.
"You're not here to kill me," he said quietly.
Sirius blinked. The ragged grin faltered.
Ron made a strangled noise. "What—what are you talking about? Harry—he's going to—"
"No," Harry said firmly, without taking his eyes off Sirius. "He's not."
Hermione's breath caught. "How do you know?"
Harry's wand was still raised, but his voice was steady as stone.
"Because he's not angry at me," he said softly. "I can feel it."
Sirius stood frozen. For a moment, the madman mask slipped—and something pained and terribly human flickered behind his eyes.
But just as quickly, the manic grin returned.
"Oh, I will kill," Sirius rasped, voice cracking with old grief. "I will kill… the traitor… I will tear him limb from limb…"
Hermione backed into Harry's shoulder, her voice shrill. "Harry, we need to run!"
Harry didn't answer her. He took a slow step forward, meeting Sirius Black's feverish stare without fear.
"Then tell me," he said quietly, "who you're really here for."
The air in the Shrieking Shack was so heavy with tension that it felt like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Sirius stood still, his bony hands curled at his sides. Hermione's wand was aimed straight at his heart. Ron was gripping his own so hard his knuckles were bone-white.
Harry didn't move. He met Sirius' wild gaze calmly, feeling the Force hum quietly between them.
Then—
BANG.
The door burst open.
Remus Lupin strode into the room, his shabby cloak whipping behind him. His wand was out, but the expression on his face wasn't shock—or rage.
It was something like grim recognition.
His eyes swept across the scene: Hermione and Ron ready to hex, Harry standing utterly still, and Sirius—hollow-eyed and trembling.
For one heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then Lupin's gaze fixed on the ragged man before him. His voice came out low and rough.
"It's been a long time… Padfoot."
Hermione's head snapped toward him. "Padfoot—?"
Sirius' breath hitched. He looked almost dazed. "Moony…?"
Ron's wand wobbled. "Moony? Padfoot? What are you—"
But Lupin didn't look away. He stepped forward, close enough that Sirius flinched.
Sirius licked his cracked lips. "How… how did you know?"
Lupin reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn scrap of parchment. He held it out with a faint, tired smile.
"The map," he said simply.
Harry squinted at it, puzzled. "Map?"
Lupin glanced at him, his voice gentler. "The Marauder's Map, Harry. I saw a name on it last night, who was supposed to be dead twelve years ago."
He turned back to Sirius, his eyes glinting.
"Wormtail."
Sirius inhaled sharply. For an instant, every trace of madness slid off his face, leaving only raw disbelief.
"You… you saw Wormtail?"
"I did," Lupin said quietly. "And I knew then… you must have switched Secret Keepers."
Sirius' eyes brimmed, and he let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Merlin… you finally believe me…"
And then, without warning, he crossed the floor in three strides—and grabbed Lupin in a fierce, desperate embrace.
Hermione's wand dipped. Ron stared, too stunned to speak.
Harry stood rooted, feeling the world tilt sideways.
He had expected a monster. A murderer.
Instead, he was watching two men who looked like they'd been dying to see each other for twelve years.
Sirius pulled back from Lupin, his gaunt face taut with urgency.
"There's no time," he rasped, voice cracking. "He's here, Moony. He's in this room. If we don't finish it now, the Dementors—"
"WAIT!"
Harry's voice echoed through the rafters, firm and calm in the dark.
Everyone turned to look at him. Even Ron stopped clutching Scabbers long enough to stare.
"I've been patient," Harry said quietly. "I've listened. But you're going to explain."
Sirius' breath came ragged. "Harry—"
"NO!" Harry snapped, surprising even himself. "You owe me the truth."
Sirius' sunken eyes searched his, and for a heartbeat, all the fury seemed to drain away.
Lupin touched Sirius' shoulder gently and stepped forward. His voice was low, heavy with memory.
"It started with four friends," he began. "James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and me."
Hermione swallowed, her eyes wide.
"We were called the Marauders," Lupin continued. "We… we were inseparable at Hogwarts. We did everything together."
He glanced at Sirius, who nodded once, hollow-eyed.
"When Voldemort began hunting your parents," Lupin said, voice hoarse, "they decided to use the Fidelius Charm. A Secret Keeper to hide them from the Dark Lord himself."
Sirius took a ragged breath. "Everyone thought it would be me."
"Because you were their best friend," Hermione whispered.
Sirius nodded. "And that was exactly why we did it differently. We told everyone I was the Secret Keeper, even Dumbledore. But we switched at the last moment."
Harry's brow furrowed. "You switched?"
"I convinced James to use Peter," Sirius said. "Peter was weak. No one would ever suspect him. He'd be safe."
His voice broke. "I thought I was clever. That I'd tricked Voldemort himself."
"But Peter betrayed them," Lupin said softly. "He sold your parents to Voldemort. That's how… how he found them."
Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth. "But—Peter Pettigrew—he's dead! Everyone knows he was murdered by—"
She gestured at Sirius, unable to finish the sentence.
Sirius laughed—a hollow, bitter sound.
"Dead?" he rasped. "No, He's very much alive."
He turned, his gaze falling on Ron's shaking hands.
"He's sitting right there."
Ron blinked. "Wha—what?"
Sirius lifted a finger, pointing at the trembling bundle of fur in Ron's arms.
"Peter Pettigrew is your rat."
The room went so still Harry could hear the wind in the eaves.
Hermione's face had gone chalk white. "But… they found his body—they found a finger—"
"Yes," Sirius snarled. "One finger. The biggest piece he left behind when he transformed and fled."
His eyes gleamed feverishly. "Ask yourself, why would an ordinary rat live twelve years? Why would it be missing a toe?"
Ron clutched Scabbers tighter, his voice cracking with desperation.
"You're all mad," he stammered. "Scabbers isn't a person—he's a rat! He's just a rat!"
Harry looked at the trembling creature in Ron's hands.
And for the first time, he truly saw it.
The watery, intelligent eyes. The way it shivered—not with fear, but almost as though it knew it had been unmasked.
He took a slow step closer.
"Then prove it," Harry said, his voice quiet but unyielding. "Show us."
Sirius and Lupin exchanged a look—a look that held twelve years of grief and rage.
For a moment, no one moved.
Ron stood trembling, clutching Scabbers so tight the rat's wiry limbs squirmed against his chest. Sirius and Lupin were advancing slowly, their wands raised.
"Stay back!" Ron croaked, voice cracking. "Don't—don't come any closer!"
"Ron," Lupin said gently, "give him to us."
"He's just a rat!"
"No," Sirius rasped, his gaze fixed and unblinking. "He's not."
As though it understood that its time was up, Scabbers let out a shrill, unnatural screech—and went mad.
It twisted in Ron's hands, bit him hard enough to draw blood, and dropped to the floor in a blur of grey fur.
"Scabbers—NO!" Ron shouted, clutching his bleeding hand.
The rat shot across the rotting floorboards toward the far wall.
Sirius moved first, his wand snapping downward. A silent jet of red light streaked across the room, missing by inches and blasting a chair to splinters.
Lupin followed, his face grim, casting another wordless curse that crackled through the air. The rat dodged again, squealing, and scurried toward the door.
Hermione gasped, backing away.
"Stay behind me!" Harry ordered her, voice like iron.
The rat was almost to the gap in the floor when Sirius flicked his wrist in a sharp, violent arc. A thin bolt of blue shot forward—missing by a hair.
"No!" Sirius snarled. "He's not getting away again!"
Lupin raised his wand—
CRACK!
A thin beam of white hit the rat squarely as it leapt.
Scabbers froze in midair.
Time seemed to stretch and snap all at once.
And then—slowly, horribly—the rat's shape began to melt and twist, limbs elongating, fur receding into sallow skin. Bones cracked as they re-formed. A thin scream built in the creature's throat.
And when the transformation ended, a man lay crumpled on the floor.
Short, balding, with a pointed nose and watery eyes. His front teeth were large and yellow. His fingers still twitched with a rodent's nervous energy.
Ron fell backward, staring. "What—"
Hermione covered her mouth with both hands, eyes huge.
Harry just stood there, staring down at the creature who had hidden in their dormitory for years.
Peter Pettigrew's gaze darted wildly from Lupin to Sirius to Harry. His lips trembled as though trying to form words.
Then Harry felt it—someone was coming.
A presence at the edge of his senses—heavy, cautious, moving up the stairs.
He didn't know if it was a teacher, or worse, a Dementor—but he wasn't ready to let them in.
He raised one hand toward the door, his wand still in the other.
"Claudere."
He poured the Force and his magic into the word.
The door glowed bright blue—then locked itself with a heavy metallic clunk. The boards around the frame rippled as the enchantment sank into them, sealing the entrance like a vault.
Sirius turned to stare at him, eyes widening just a fraction.
Harry ignored it. He stepped forward until he was looking down at Peter Pettigrew, his heart hammering, his voice cold and deadly.
"Now," he said, "you can kill him."
The shack was silent except for Pettigrew's ragged, terrified breathing.