Mad Dog

The story so far: Harry runs away from Privet Drive, having inflated his Aunt Marge. As he stops for breath, he sees a large, savage looking dog. But he doesn't trip over the pavement, and he doesn't summon the Knight Bus. Instead, he meets Sirius Black, who tells him why he has escaped from Azkaban.

With nowhere else to go, Harry travels with Sirius Black up to London, and to the Black household at 12, Grimmauld Place. Now read on ...

He woke with a start. Confused, he rolled over, staring round the room. A bar of sunlight was streaming through thick, heavy, dirty looking curtains. In fact, they looked so dirty that it was difficult to discern their original colour. Where was he? This wasn't Privet Drive, and it wasn't Gryffindor Tower. Then he remembered about last night. Running away. Meeting an escaped convict who claimed to have been his father's best friend. Pretending to be blind. And now, here he was, in a filthy rundown house somewhere in London.

His calf and thigh muscles protested as he tried to sit up, and he remembered the long, long walk through the night, through the streets of the city. He looked at his watch. Past midday. He'd no real idea what time it had been when he had crashed out.

He swung his feet over the bed and padded across to the bathroom. Cold water refreshed him, even if it was still a murky brown colour. Feeling a little more human, he padded downstairs. What sort of house was this anyway? And why had he to be quiet in the hallway? It still had a very creepy feeling. All the curtains were drawn, but there was a sufficient number of tears and rents in the rotten cloth that a fair amount of light filtered in. Even so, he took care going down the ill lit staircase, looking carefully at where he was treading. He looked round the hall, but there even less light here. And he remembered Sirius telling him not to make any noise in here. What was that all about?

Shrugging, he went down into the kitchen. It was a little brighter in the dingy room now the sun was up. He went over to the kettle and tried to light the gas on the stove, but the supply had obviously been turned off at the main. He wondered how Sirius had boiled the kettle last night – he must have used his wand. That sort of spell was still beyond him, and he settled for a glass of milk and some bread and butter instead.

As he was stacking his plates, he heard Sirius coming down the stairs. He turned and saw a rather different figure from the convict of the previous evening. The ragged clothes had gone, even though the ones he had on now looked old and dusty, and hung loosely on his frame. He had trimmed his hair and made some attempt to wash it, and the change didn't make him seem quite the gaunt and frightening figure he had been the night before.

“Sleep well?” Sirius asked, yawning.

“Like a log.”

“And you went out like a light.”

“Yeah. It was a long walk.”

“Sorry about that. I'd forgotten how far it was. I've walked half Britain in the past three weeks – got used to walking by now.”

“Where were you – in prison, that is?”

Sirius face tightened. “Azkaban.”

Harry whistled. “I remember they took Hagrid there at the end of last year. I've never seen Hagrid frightened before, but he was then.”

“They took Hagrid?” asked Sirius with a look of surprise.

“Long story. But it all turned out to be a mistake. They let him out after a month or two.”

“A month or two is quite enough to drive you mad,” muttered Sirius.

“How long were you there?”

“Eleven years.” Harry stared at him. “Am I mad?” Sirius asked.

“Dunno yet,” Harry answered.

“I suppose I deserved that.”

“How did you survive?”

Sirius sighed. “As a dog.”

“What?”

“Yeah. A dog. You see, the guards of Azkaban – they suck all the happiness out of you. That's what they feed on – people's happiness.”

“What?” cried Harry, horrified.

“That's why no one escapes - they're in no fit state. But when I was a dog, they didn't affect me so much. That, and knowing I was innocent. That was something the Dementors -”

“The what?”

“Dementors – the creatures they use as guards in Azkaban. They're foul, loathsome things. But being innocent – that was something they couldn't take away from me. You see, it wasn't exactly a happy thought. But without that – my mind would have gone years ago.”

Harry thought about that. “But it's evil – using creatures like that.”

Sirius shrugged. “That's the way it is. Makes life nice and easy for the Ministry. Everyone's terrified of being sent there, so it keeps people on the straight and narrow. Plus, of course, using creatures like that makes running a prison so much easier.”

“You were going to tell me about my mum and dad,” Harry said, remembering Sirius's promise, and changing the subject.

“Was I?” His face darkened.

“You said you would.”

Sirius sighed again. “All right then. Let me get a cup of tea first.”

Harry could hardly contain himself as Sirius boiled water, made tea, then poured out two cups. He picked one up, took a deep draught, and sat down at the table. And then he began.

But once he had started, his mood lightened, as he recalled their days at Hogwarts together, and told Harry story after story, about pranks and Quidditch and detentions. Half of it Harry didn't fully understand, but he listened all the same. But inevitably as Sirius moved through the years, he came to what happened afterwards.

“And Voldemort started his terror. We didn't know why, but he was after James and Lily in particular. They had to go into hiding, and we used a special spell – the Fidelius Charm. Basically, someone was their Secret Keeper, and only he could reveal their whereabouts. Well, to begin with, the idea was to have me as the Keeper. But it was all too obvious, we thought. Who would Voldemort think of first? Me, most likely. So we changed.”

“Who to?

“Peter Pettigrew,” Sirius said, bitterness in his voice again.

It was the first time Harry had heard the name. “Who was he?”

“I didn't tell you about Peter. He was one of our friends at school too. Peter wasn't like James. Peter struggled at school – at the work, that is. And he didn't have many other talents either. Still he was one of our gang. And he could do stuff if really pressed.” He paused. “Anyway, Peter suggested that he become the Secret Keeper. We weren't all that happy with the idea to begin with. But on the other hand, it was brilliant. No one would think we'd have used little Peter.” The scorn in his voice was almost palpable. “Only one snag. Peter had gone over to the other side. He told Voldemort where to find Lily and James. And you. Well, the rest of that you know.”

He paused again. “So, afterwards, I went looking for Peter. Found him too. He admitted what he'd done – he was quite brazen about it – then, before I realised what he was going to do, he'd blown up the street. He was clever enough to blow off one of his fingers too. So what did the Ministry find when they arrived? A big hole on the ground, lots of dead Muggles, Peter's finger, and me. And they all thought it had been me who had been the Secret Keeper. No one bothered listening to my story. One way ticket straight to Azkaban. Until three weeks ago.”

“What happened three weeks ago?”

“Fudge.”

“What?” asked Harry, puzzled.

Sirius gave another sigh. “Fudge came round on his annual tour of Azkaban. They keep the Dementors at bay during the visits so our VIPs don't get too upset. Most people are so far gone it doesn't make much difference. He came round to my cell. We actually chatted, and I could see he was quite surprised to see that I was still coherent. He was carrying a copy of the day's Prophet. Something in it caught my eye, and I asked him if I could have it. I think he was so taken aback that he just passed it through the bars without thinking.”

Sirius stopped. Harry could see the tightness of his face. “When they'd moved on, I took a closer look. Then I found out where Peter Pettigrew was now.”

Harry waited for Sirius to tell him, but the man fell silent. “Go on then,” Harry eventually burst out. “Where is Pettigrew?”

Another long silence. Then Sirius said: “He's the pet rat of the Weasley family.”

Harry gaped at him. “Scabbers?”

“What?”

“Scabbers. That's Ron's pet rat.” Now Harry thought Azkaban might really have affected Sirius' mind, if just seeing a picture of Scabbers in a daily paper had set him off on this path of revenge.

“Is that what they call him?” Harry nodded. “Does he have a claw missing on his front foot?”

“Well, yeah, but ...”

“How long has he been in the family?”

“Well, he was Percy's pet. He gave him to Ron when he went to Hogwarts – that's two years ago now.”

“How long had Percy had him?”

“Dunno.”

“Is he fit and healthy?”

“I think so.” Truth to tell, Harry had never paid that much attention to Scabbers.

“Quite long lived for a common or garden rat.”

“Maybe.”

Sirius suddenly leaned across the table. “I knew Peter. And his Animagus form. You see, Peter was an Animagus too, just like me and James.”

“My dad was an Animagus as well?” asked Harry, excitedly.

Sirius ignored him. “Appropriately enough, Peter could turn into a rat. Well, he was pretty ratlike as a human, if you see what I mean, so it wasn't much of a change. We used to call him Wormtail. We watched and watched as Peter tried to become an Animagus. There were three of us, and he was the last. It took him an awful long time. And when he got the hang of it, we used to watch him changing into a rat and back again and into a rat and ... I tell you, I know what Wormtail looks like. And that rat on the boy's shoulder was Wormtail. I could see it in his face, the way he scampered.”

Harry sat thinking about what he'd just be told, his father forgotten for the moment. Scabbers – Wormtail – Peter Pettigrew. It just seemed too fantastic to be true. The chances against it ... had Sirius really lost it in Azkaban? But what if it really were true? And Pettigrew – the man who had betrayed his parents to Voldemort – was still alive and in hiding? Harry now had a personal interest in this story.

“But – well, I mean, how did you find out that Scabbers was Pettigrew?”

“There was a picture on the front page of the Prophet – the one Fudge was carrying in Azkaban. The Weasleys had won some competition or other. They were in Egypt; you could see a pyramid in the background. So there they all were, all lined up, and this rat on the shoulder of the youngest boy.”

“Ron.”

“Yeah.”

Harry thought about that - it made sense. He remembered the letter from Ron, telling him about their holiday. Then: “You wouldn't hurt Ron, would you?”

“What? Of course not. It's Pettigrew I'm after.”

“And what would you do when you find him?”

“Commit the murder I've been imprisoned for,” said Sirius savagely.

“But if you do that – they'll just throw you back in Azkaban again.”

“If they catch me.”

“So you'd spend the rest of your life on the run?”

“If I had to. It'd be worth it.”

“What if ... what if we could catch Pettigrew and turn him in?”

Sirius laughed – and it wasn't a pleasant sound. “Just like that? If an Auror sees me, he's not going to worry about Pettigrew. No, if they see me, that's it.”

“Okay, we try it some other way. I could get Pettigrew here. At least, I think I could. But only if you promise me you won't kill him. And then we can turn him in.”

“Why are you so worried about Pettigrew? It was him that betrayed your parents!”

“Maybe. But I don't want you locked up again, or on the run, or killed yourself.”

“And why the concern for me?”

“Because ...” - Harry struggled for words - “because you were my dad's best friend, and you deserve better.”

Sirius blinked. There was a long silence. Harry suddenly had the impression that Sirius had given no thought at all to what might happen later, that he was simply driven by his desire to take revenge on Peter Pettigrew. After that ... Sirius simply hadn't given it a thought.

“All right then,” Sirius said eventually, “you say you can get Pettigrew here. Let's suppose you can. What do we do after that?”

It was Harry's turn to be silenced. He hadn't thought any plan through yet. But there must be a way of doing it. He turned over ideas in his mind ... it might work. The difficult part would be persuading Sirius.

“First,” he said slowly, “Ron trusts me ...”

He began outlining his ideas to Sirius, who, despite his disbelief, started listening to what Harry had to say.

Finally, he sat back, frowning. “Harry – what makes you think they'll listen to you?”

“Because it was my parents that were killed. Think what a sob story it'd be for the papers. 'Boy Who Lived Pleads for Innocence of Sirius Black'.”

“Would you do that?” asked Sirius curiously.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Again Harry had to struggle for words. “Because I believe you,” he said finally. He wasn't entirely sure he did, but he thought he'd better say it.

Another silence. Then Sirius said slowly, “That means a lot to me, Harry.”

Harry shrugged. “I might be wrong. You might just be a mass murderer after all. You might have had your brains addled in Azkaban. Scabbers may just be a rat.”

Sirius suddenly laughed. “You could be right.” He looked down at the table. “All those years. People in there - they all say: 'I didn't do it. It wasn't me. I'm innocent!' At least, they do until their minds are so mixed up that they don't even know who they are any more. But me - I knew I hadn't done it. That's what kept me sane. At least, I hope it did.” He looked back up at Harry. “Okay. If that's the way you want it. But you better make sure it works.”

“I can give you a plan,” said Harry. “I can't guarantee it'll work.”

Sirius gave him a long stare. “It had better.”

They began sorting out the kitchen, trying to make it a little less filthy. As they were working away, the door from the stairs began to open, and they both swung round, wands at the ready. What came through the door was almost unrecognisable – it took Harry half a minute before he realised it was a very ancient, very tatty house elf, shuffling and wheezing, almost bent double.

“You!” snarled Sirius. “You're still here?”

The elf gave a long deep bow, almost touching the floor, yet Harry felt there was a touch of mockery in its extravagance.

“Master,” it croaked. Then it straightened up somewhat, and Harry was startled to see a pair of glittering malevolent eyes surveying him. Even before the elf had recovered from its low bow, it had started a commentary as if talking to itself, yet Harry had the feeling that the elf was not bothering to lower its voice.

“Ah, Master is back. Master who broke his mother's heart! Master who was locked away ...” Then an expression of mock surprise. His voice grew ever so slightly louder, and he once more looked directly at Sirius.

“Kreacher thought Master had been taken away. Kreacher thought Master was locked up in ...”

“Master escaped,” said Sirius.

“Ah, a convict still, and on the run. Kreacher knew he would come to no good ...”

“Stop that, I tell you!”

Another bow. “As Master directs.” Then his eyes swung back to Harry. “And a brat. Kreacher doesn't remember this brat. Ah, but it is years since ...”

“This,” said Sirius to the elf, “is Harry. You will obey him as you would obey me. Is that understood?”

“Certainly, Master.” Another sidelong long. “The brat's name is Harry. Who could it be?” Then the large eyes widened further. “Not the boy – the boy who vanquished the Dark Lord ...?”

“That's right,” said Sirius. “So you better make sure he doesn't do the same to you.” The elf was still muttering away in an undertone. “Look, I thought you were supposed to be keeping this place clean. It's filthy! Nothing's been done for years.”

“Ah, Master, Kreacher is not the elf he once was. Kreacher is becoming old. Kreacher cannot do what he once could.”

Sirius stared at him. “If you're that feeble, perhaps you'd like to take your place in the hall.”

Harry didn't understand this. But then, the hall was always in darkness, and they had passed through it as quickly as they could.

“Perhaps Kreacher's time has come – but perhaps not just yet. Kreacher will see what he can do.”

“First thing, keep out of here. Second thing – the two bedrooms on the first floor. They need cleaning.” The elf stood staring at Sirius. “Go on, then,” Sirius said impatiently. “Get on with it. They need cleaning. Now.”

“As Master wishes.”

The elf slowly turned and began to shuffle away. Harry could hear its mutterings as it began to go up the stairs.

“What has the House of Black come to? A blood traitor. A convict. Broke his poor mother's heart, he did ...”

The sound faded as the elf climbed away. Harry turned to Sirius.

“What on earth?”

“Our house elf.” Harry was startled by the expression of hate on Sirius' face.

“It didn't seem to like you ...” Harry said cautiously.

“Ha! It hates me.”

“Why?”

“The Black family are purebloods. One of the few pureblood families left. Me, I think it's all a load of rubbish.” Harry felt slightly heartened at hearing this. “I was thrown out when I was sixteen.”

“What?”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah. Went to live with James' family.”

“But why?”

“Because I told them it was a load of old rubbish. Mother threw a fit. Then threw me out.”

“Oh.” Harry didn't know quite what to say about that. Then he thought: he went to live with my dad! Sirius moved up another notch in Harry's estimation. But yet another thought struck him. “Um, Sirius?”

“Yes?”

“What did you mean about the hallway?”

Sirius's face was grim. “Another charming tradition of the Black family. When their house elves get past it, they have their heads chopped off, and stuck on the wall in the hall.”

“Yuck!”

“Exactly. Something else you didn't really want to know about the Black family, eh?”

They carried on with their cleaning in silence.

They had other problems. When Harry had first thought of an emergency fund, he imagined that two hundred pounds of Muggle money would be more than enough. To Harry, deprived of pocket money for years, two hundred pounds seemed like a fortune. He soon found out how wrong he was. He'd already spent some of it getting up to London. He had to buy food for the two of them, and Harry had quite a hearty appetite. He also felt Sirius needed feeding up, so as to lose some of that gaunt look. But buying even the cheapest of food for them both was costing nearly twenty pounds a time on their daily visit to the supermarket. He had no access to any more money, and neither had Sirius. They had to get Pettigrew soon, or they'd simply starve.

Harry decided it was time to get to work. He sat down that evening to write a note to Ron, hoping that he was back from Egypt by now. He should have been. This was the first stage of the plan. The letter took a lot of effort to compose. If anyone else was around when Ron received it, and read it, they'd be in trouble. In the end, Harry gave up on his more elaborate efforts and just scribbled:

'Ron – this note is just for you, okay? Don't tell anyone else I've written to you. If you get it, just send an acknowledgement back with Hedwig. I'll fill you in with the details later. Don't worry – I'm fine. Harry.'

He sent Hedwig off with the note, and he and Sirius waited anxiously for the reply. As well as worrying whether their plan would work, living in Grimmauld Place was getting on their nerves. Harry could go out for a walk, or for some shopping, but he could only take Sirius with him in his dog form. But the house itself had what could only be called a malevolent atmosphere to it. Harry had been warned about the portrait of Mrs Black, which didn't make things any more cheerful. He had no wish to investigate the array of elf heads in the hall. Kreacher appeared to have done nothing at all in their rooms: they stayed just as filthy as ever. Harry stripped his bed, but there were no clean sheets about. He got some detergent to wash his clothes, but the best he could do was to leave them in the bath to soak overnight, then rinse them out. The water from the taps was slowly getting less brown, but was still not very appetising. Spending money on bottles of drinking water seemed an extravagance too far: instead, they let the water from the tap settle, and then boiled it well.

To his relief, Hedwig arrived back at Grimmauld Place with a reply from Ron the next morning. Harry eagerly took the note from her leg. “Thanks, girl.” He unravelled and started reading it aloud to Sirius.

'Harry – Everyone's been going mental about your disappearance! Something to do with your aunt and uncle apparently, but Dad said he could have fixed that in five minutes. There's something else too - I don't know if you know, but some lunatic called Sirius Black' – Harry's voice faltered for a moment – 'has escaped from Azkaban. According to Dad, he wants to track you down and kill you.' Harry looked up at Sirius then back to the note. 'So keep your head down, okay? And there's no need to hide out. Dad said you won't be expelled for whatever you did. So tell us where you are. Ron.'

“They think I'm after you,” said Sirius in a dead voice. He laughed, but there was no mirth in the laughter.

Harry did his best to smile. If Sirius had wanted to kill him, he'd had plenty of opportunity by now. And as to ransoming him or anything like that – well, if he was going to try that, he'd have done it already.

“It's going to make things more difficult,” Harry admitted.

“Difficult!” Sirius snorted.

“Look,” said Harry, “I'm prepared to try to get Ron to bring Scabbers – Pettigrew – here, but only if you promise not to murder him. Will you promise me that?”

Sirius avoided his eye for a long time, then eventually nodded his head. “Okay, I promise. But if you don't get him here, then I am going after him.”

That was probably the best Harry could hope for. He reached for quill and parchment.

'Hi, Ron. Things are a little complicated. One thing's for sure, I'm never going back to my aunt and uncle again. Remember last summer when they locked me away? But there's something I need to do first, and I need your help. I'm going to have to ask you to trust me on this. I want you to meet me next Sunday afternoon – say three o'clock? And I want you to bring Scabbers with you. Don't ask me why – please, just trust me. Take the floo – and you're to go to 12 Grimmauld Place. Don't tell anyone. Not your mum or your dad or Hermione or anyone. And destroy this note, so no one else gets a chance to read it. Harry.'

“Is there any chance he'll know what Grimmauld Place is?” Harry asked.

Sirius thought about it. “Pretty unlikely. It's been empty for years. Arthur and Molly would probably know.”

“Right. We'll just have to chance no one else does see the letter.”

“If you're wrong,” said Sirius, “then instead of Ron, we'll have a load of Aurors piling through the fireplace.”

“You could be up in the hall. If it's Ron, I'll come up and tell you the coast is clear. If it's Aurors, you dive through the front door. You turn back into a dog and make a run for it.”

Sirius nodded slowly. “Not a bad idea. Do you think Ron'll do this?”

“I hope so.”

“Does he trust you that much?”

“I hope so.”

“So do I. Hey, Harry -”

“Yeah?”

“You're not bad at planning, you know.”

Harry snorted. “This isn't planning, it's common sense.”

“If you say so.”

They had to wait another twenty four hours for Ron's reply.

'This is all sounding very mysterious. Well, I did what you said, and I burned the note. What makes me think I'm getting into something very stupid here? If it hadn't been your handwriting, I'd have given it straight to Dad. But, okay, I'll be where you said when you said and I'll bring you know what with me. But you'd better have a explanation. And it'd better be a good one. Ron.'

“What's he like – your friend Ron?”

Harry thought about that. “He's a good bloke. All the Weasleys are. And he's loyal.”

“I always liked Arthur. Molly could be a bit much at times.”

“Her heart's in the right place,” said Harry, sticking up for her.

Sirius grunted. “Maybe.”

The next few days were very tense. Harry had read Ron's first note over and over. Mr Weasley had sorted things out for him. Maybe he wasn't going to be expelled after all. For want of something better to do, he got his books from his trunk and spread them out over the kitchen table, and busied himself on his essays. Sirius disappeared into various rooms on the ground floor, coming out only for meals and for the daily shopping. Kreacher was nowhere to be seen, neither did any cleaning get done.

On Saturday, Harry spent almost all the Muggle money he had left. Whatever the outcome of Sunday's events, he needn't be on the run any more. At least, he hoped not. He made an extra good lunch on Sunday morning. Sirius was appreciative if rather distracted.

“You must be good at Potions if you can cook as well as this.”

That made Harry laugh. “I learned to cook at my aunt and uncle's. Potions – well, let's just say the teacher hates me.”

“Who is it?”

“Professor Snape.”

To his surprise, Sirius stiffened. “What? Snivellus?”

“Er – Severus.”

“No – that's what we used to call him. James and me. Snivellus.”

Harry laughed again, louder. “Not a bad name at that. You know him then?”

“We were at Hogwarts together. Same year.”

“Really? Well, I can tell you, he hates anyone from Gryffindor and me in particular.”

“He used to hate James. That'll be why he hates you.”

“You reckon?”

“I do. And he used to be a Death Eater,” Sirius said grimly.

“What's a Death Eater?” said Harry, startled.

“One of Voldemort's inner circle. Guess how they got their name.”

“So Snape was in with Voldemort?”

“Oh, yes, Snivellus was in with Voldemort all right. Tell me, does he wear long sleeves? Over his wrist?”

“Yes. So?”

“To hide the Mark.”

“What mark?”

“Voldemort used to Mark all his Death Eaters. On the wrist, just about here.” Sirius tapped his arm. “That's how he'd summon them. When he wanted them, their Mark would begin to burn, and they knew they had to get there as soon as they could. Snivellus will be Marked – I bet you anything.”

“But why would Dumbledore employ a Death Eater?”

“How would I know? But he must have spun some very convincing yarn.” Could this be another of Sirius' delusions? Harry didn't like Snape, and Snape didn't like him, but even so ... “If you don't believe me, ask Dumbledore at the start of next term.”

“Right.” It was all too much to take in, given what they were preparing for. “Come on. Let's wash up.”

They dragged it out as long as they could, then Harry went back to the table and to his books. Sirius sat to one side, endlessly twirling his wand in his fingers. It was incredibly distracting, but Harry hadn't the heart to tell him to stop. Mind you, he wasn't in much better state himself. What if Ron didn't come? What if the Aurors came instead? What if ...? What if...?

Although they'd been over the details time and time again, Harry was still afraid that once Sirius saw Scabbers, he'd lose his head and just blast him away. He didn't want Ron hurt. In some ways, he didn't mind if Pettigrew were killed, since, if Sirius was right, it had been him who had betrayed his parents to Voldemort. But if they were to get a pardon for Sirius, they needed a body at least. In fact, if Pettigrew were alive, they'd be able to question him, and find out what had really happened that night. Assuming, of course, that Scabbers was Pettigrew, and not just a tame rat.

Sirius had stopped fiddling with his wand, but instead was sitting motionless, almost like a statue, his face dark and brooding. Harry wasn't re-assured by the sight. He looked at his watch. Quarter to three. Harry shut his book with a snap, and piled them all at one end of the table. He turned to Sirius.

“Take your chair upstairs, and go and sit in the hall.” Sirius lifted an eyebrow at him. “You know the plan. You wait there. If it's not Ron, I yell as loud as I can and you get the hell out.” Sirius nodded. “If it is Ron, I'll have to talk to him first. I'll leave the door open – you should be able to hear something. Then I come and get you.” Sirius nodded again. “And Sirius, please ...”

“Don't lose my temper, don't murder Pettigrew, don't do anything stupid,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes up.

“Yeah. Cos I've trusted you so far. Do for me, okay? And Mum and Dad.”

Sirius said nothing, but got to his feet looking grumpy. He picked up the chair, and started carrying it to the door. He stopped and turned. “This had better work.” Then he went upstairs.

Harry sighed. It was the waiting that was the worst. And wondering whether it would be Ron coming through the fireplace. And whether he could convince him once he was here. He reached for a book and opened it at random. He looked at the page, read a sentence. Read it again. And again. It still meant nothing. He was determined not to look at his watch. Transfiguring ... transfiguring what? A mouse? Into a cat? That sounded like third or fourth year stuff. Imagine if he could do it though ... and there were scrabbling noises in the fireplace ... he whirled round, wand at the ready.

“My God, Harry, what is this place?”

“Ron! It's so good to see you!”

“Do you mind telling me what this is all about?”

“Yeah, sure, in just a moment – did you bring Scabbers?”

“Yeah, he's asleep in my pocket – what do you want ....”

“No! Don't wake him.”

“If you say so. Are you alright, Harry?”

“Never been better,” with an attempt at a laugh. “Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yeah, course I do, idiot.”

“Have I ever been wrong?”

“Oh, about a million times.”

“Thanks, Ron. Now, I want you to promise that whatever or whoever you see in the next five minutes, you'll still trust me.”

“I don't like the sound of this.”

“Trust me!”

Ron looked at the agonised expression on his friend's face. “Yeah, okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die and all that.”

“Right. Wait there a sec.”

Harry went to the door and looked up the steps. Sirius was standing there – he'd obviously been listening. He had his wand in his hand, and Harry frantically beckoned him to put it away, but he shook his head. Harry gave up, and waved him down the stairs. He turned back to Ron.

“There's someone I'd like you to meet, Ron,” his voice not quite steady.

Sirius must have appeared in the doorway, judging by Ron's expression, as it changed from surprise to shock to horror.

“Harry – are you mental? That's Sirius ...”

“Black. Yes. Sorry, Ron. But I'm not after you or Harry.”

“Dad said you wanted to kill Harry.”

“He's had his chances,” said Harry. “We met up the night I ran away.”

“The night you ran away?”

“Yeah. In a playground.”

“A playground ...” Ron's voice tailed away as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“That's right. And he told me who he was. And he told me loads of other stuff too.”

Harry was grateful that Sirius was letting him do the talking.

“Like what?”

“It's not me he's after at all. Or you.”

“Who then?”

“Peter Pettigrew.” Sirius spoke again.

Ron's eyes widened further. “Peter Pettigrew?” he spluttered. “He's already dead. You know that. I mean, it was you who killed him.”

“No, Ron, I didn't, although I'd have liked to have done. You see, I think Peter Pettigrew is still alive.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Harry interrupted. “Ron – Scabbers is in your pocket?”

“Yeah – so?”

Harry moved into the room a little more, to give Sirius a clear view. Ron was looking terrified, and Harry didn't blame him.

“Can you let us have a look at him? Please, Ron?”

“What's Scabbers got to do with anything?”

“Please, Ron?”

“Okay, then,” he grumbled, and reached into a pocket.

He drew out a torpid looking creature, looking rather mangy and motheaten, which opened its eyes and blinked as Ron held him up. Then the eyes seemed to focus, and the creature suddenly squealed and began to wriggle and writhe in Ron's grip.

“Scabbers - stop it! Ouch! He bit me!”

But the rat leapt from Ron's hand, and as it did so, Sirius stepped forward. There was a flash from his wand, and the falling rat suddenly seemed to blur, to grow, to change to something else – and then a short, balding, podgy man lay sprawled on the floor, fists clenched to his chin.

“Merlin!” Ron leapt back.

“Hello, Peter,” said Sirius softly, his wand still pointing at the man's heart. Harry put up a restraining arm, but Sirius took no notice.

The watery eyes blinked. Then, in an anxious, would be friendly tone: “Sirius! My old friend. So good to see you again!” Sirius said nothing, but stood with his wand pointed directly at the man on the floor. The eyes shifted. “Harry,” Pettigrew wheedled, “You know, you look just like James. It's uncanny – there are times when I look at you and think ...”

Sirius' voice hardened. “Don't talk of James to Harry!”

“Sirius – don't talk like that. We're old friends, aren't we?”

“No!”

The eyes shifted again, the voice became more agitated. “Ron! Help me, please. He's going to murder me, I know it!”

But Ron was looking at him with horror and astonishment. “Scabbers?” he whispered.

“I'm a good pet, aren't I, Ron? Always clean. Never any fuss.”

“You're Peter Pettigrew!”

“Yes. I had to hide, you see, because I know he ...” - Pettigrew jabbed a stubby finger towards Sirius - “was after me. He'd kill me, given half the chance. That's why I went into hiding. You've got to save me! Please, Ron.”

“You were my pet!” Ron's expression changed to that of revulsion. “You used to sleep in my bed with me!”

Pettigrew's head swivelled back to Harry. “You'll help me, won't you, Harry? Please? He's going to try and kill me, I know he is!”

Sirius took Harry's elbow, and pulled him back. “On the chair, Peter.” He jerked his wand.

“Of course, Sirius. Whatever you say.”

And he scrambled to his feet, pulled up a chair, sat down, and gave them all what he thought was an ingratiating smile.

What a miserable creature, thought Harry. And this was his parent's secret keeper? Ron was still looking at Pettigrew with that mixture of horror and revulsion.

“Restucilae,” hissed Sirius, and cords appeared to bind Pettigrew to his chair. “Resideo!” Pettigrew started sobbing loudly.

Sirius stepped back. “He can't transform back now,” he said grimly.

“Will someone tell me what's going on? Please?” Ron asked plaintively.

“He's an Animagus, Ron,” Harry told him.

“What? And he's being living with us all this time – as a rat?”

“He had good reason, Ron,” said Sirius.

“Like what?”

“You know Harry's parents were killed by Voldemort?” Ron nodded. “Well, our friend Peter here was supposed to be protecting them. Except he didn't.”

“Think about it, Ron,” said Harry. “If Pettigrew's alive, then Sirius didn't kill him. He's innocent.”

Ron looked at Sirius uncertainly. “Yeah – but what about all those Muggles?”

“I confronted Peter, but I wasn't quick enough. He blew up the street. Then transformed himself into a rat again and scuttled down into a sewer. Very appropriate, eh, Peter?”

All the time, Pettigrew was muttering. “It's not true, I tell you. I was a good rat, wasn't I? Sirius is going to kill me, I know it ...”

“Silencio,” snapped Sirius, and Pettigrew's mouth opened and closed, but no more sound came out.

“Sit down, Ron,” Sirius went on, in a kindlier voice. Ron lowered himself onto a chair, his legs obviously slightly shaky. Sirius and Harry took a chair each. Harry relaxed a little – things were working so far.

“Now, Ron,” Sirius went on, “we need your help. Will you help us?”

Ron looked from Harry to Sirius and back again.

“You've been with him all week, Harry?” Harry nodded. “Is that how you knew about Scabbers?”

Harry nodded again. “He told me all about my mum and dad, and how Pettigrew was supposed to have been their secret keeper, and how he betrayed them.”

Ron screwed up his face. “But how did he know Pettigrew was Scabbers?”

“That picture of you all in the Prophet. Taken in Egypt. Scabbers was on your shoulder. He recognised him from that.”

“Oh.” Ron looked at him, still slightly uncertain.

“Think about it, Ron,” Sirius said, leaning forward. “I was in Azkaban, right? So why would Pettigrew need to hide? And as a rat, of all things. He had to do that, because I was supposed to have killed him. He comes out of hiding – I'm innocent.”

“That's what we want to do, Ron,” said Harry. “Prove that Sirius is innocent. That's why we needed Pettigrew. If we can bring him in alive, then Sirius has a chance. So will you help us?”

Ron looked at them both, still uncertain, then at Pettigrew. He looked long and hard at Pettigrew, still struggling feebly against his bindings. Finally he nodded. “Okay.”

Harry could feel the relief in Sirius.

“What we want you to do is this,” Sirius began. “You see, if we fetch some Aurors now, they'll just shoot first and ask questions afterwards. We need to convince other people first - about Pettigrew, that is. Are you with me?” Ron nodded. “Right then. What we'd like you to do, Harry and I, is to go back home. Find your father. He's at home?” Another nod. “Tell him you've found Harry. Tell him that he's got to come and help Harry. Bring him along to the Floo. Shout: '12 Grimmauld Place', very clearly, then come straight here. He'll follow.”

“What is this place anyway?”

“My house.” There was a slight smile on Sirius's face.

“Your house?” asked Ron, with a surprised look on his face.

“That's right. And your dad will know that. That's why you mustn't tell him beforehand. Do you understand?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah.”

“Where is your dad?” Harry asked.

Ron gave a slight grin. “In the shed with his Muggle stuff.” For a moment, Harry grinned back. “Mum's out with Ginny, visiting aunts. Percy's in his room, writing some essay or other. Fred and George ... they're blowing things up, as usual.” Another slight grin.

“You're sure you want to do this?”

Once more Ron looked at Sirius, then at Harry, then at Pettigrew. At the sight of Pettigrew, his face once again hardened. “Yeah, I'll do it.”

“Okay, Ron,” said Sirius. “Now tell me what you're going to do.”

“Go back home, find Dad, tell him I've found Harry, drag him to the fireplace, step in, tell him it's 12 Grimmauld Place, and disappear.”

“If this works out,” said Sirius, “I owe you big time.”

Ron smiled. “A new broom?”

“The best there is.”

“You've got some money, haven't you?”

“I've got some money,” said Sirius, smiling.

“Right then.” Ron stood up and straightened his clothes. “I'll be a few minutes,” he warned.

“You're a mate, Ron,” Harry told him.

“Yeah. And you didn't really get me here under false pretences, did you?”

“Did I lie to you?”

“Well, no.”

“Didn't I tell you to trust me?”

“Yeah.”

“And was I wrong?”

Ron made a noise of exasperation. “Okay then.” He looked at Sirius. “I hope you're not a mass murderer after all.”

“You'll have to take my word on that.”

Ron stared at him for a few moments more, then: “I believe you. I think.”

“Get on with it, Ron,” Harry told him.

“Right.”

Harry could see him rehearsing his story once more, then he went over to the fireplace, cried 'The Burrow', and disappeared in a flash of green flames.

“It's working,” said Harry.

“So far.”

“Come on, Sirius, we've done well to get this far. We've got Pettigrew, and he's going to find it difficult to explain why he's spent twelve years as a rat.”

“Maybe.” Sirius buried his head in his hands for a moment, then looked up at Harry again. “I hope all this is going to be worth it.”

“James and Lily might have been your friends, but they were my parents too.”

“Yeah. Sorry, Harry.”

The seconds ticked by. Harry wondered how well Ron was getting on with his dad. It wouldn't be the easiest of jobs, persuading Mr Weasley to drop everything and climb through the fireplace to Grimmauld Place.

Peter Pettigrew sat slumped in his chair now, neither trying to speak nor to struggle. Harry felt that he ought to keep an eye on him now Sirius was distracted.

Then with a whoosh and a flurry, Ron came scrambling out of the fireplace. “Dad's right behind me.”

Sirius' head came up. He had put his wand down on the table earlier. Harry could feel him tense up as Mr Weasley came spluttering out of the fireplace. Mr Weasley stopped, open mouthed, then took in the tableau in front of him. Four pairs of eyes stared back. Wand held high, Mr Weasley swung round to each one in turn.

“Merlin's beard, what is going on here?”

“Afternoon, Arthur,” said Sirius coolly, although Harry could sense the tension in his voice.

“Sirius Black?”

“Yes, Arthur.”

“Harry?”

“Mr Weasley?”

“Will someone tell me what's going on?” He saw Ron, turned to him, and, somewhat unfairly, snapped: “Well?”

“Er – Harry will explain, Dad,” passing the buck.

“Harry?”

For once, Mr Weasley looked neither mild nor friendly. Harry gulped.

“Mr Weasley, do you know who that is?” pointing at Pettigrew, who was now rocking agitatedly from side to side, his mouth moving soundlessly.

Mr Weasley peered at him, blinked, looked again, then said, “It can't be.”

“Who do you think it is?” Harry asked.

“It looks – well, it looks like ... Peter Pettigrew.”

“It is Peter Pettigrew.”

“Then -” Mr Weasley looked from Pettigrew to Sirius and back again.

“Yes, Arthur?” inquired Sirius.

“If this is Pettigrew ...”

“Yes, Arthur?”

“We knew you wouldn't believe us, Dad.”

“I'll talk to you later,” snapped Mr Weasley, without taking his eyes off Pettigrew.

Ron looked at Harry and rolled his eyes.

Mr Weasley looked back at Sirius, noted his arms on the table, the wand lying a little way off, Harry sitting by his side. He seemed to relax fractionally.

“Did you know this before you broke out?” Sirius nodded. “How?” There was genuine curiosity in his voice.

“A photograph in last month's Prophet.” Mr Weasley looked puzzled. “Except – except he wasn't quite as you see him now. Ron?”

“What? Oh, yeah. You see, Dad, that thing -” he pointed at Pettigrew “- is an Animagus.”

Comprehension began to dawn on Mr Weasley's face. “Ah, I see.”

“He's Scabbers,” Ron announced bluntly.

“What?” Mr Weasley exploded.

“He's Scabbers. Who's been in my pocket and in my room and in my -” Ron's face twisted “- bed all these years.” He paused, then went on, “Harry owled me. Said to come here and bring Scabbers with me. I didn't know why then, but when I got here, he -” nodding to Sirius “- changed him into this.”

Mr Weasley's face darkened. “What photograph was this?” he asked Sirius.

“The one of you lot in Egypt. It was in the Prophet. Remember?”

“Ah,” Mr Weasley breathed, in further comprehension. “And Scabbers was in the picture. You knew he was an Animagus?” Sirius nodded. “You've put a silencing charm on him?” Sirius nodded again. “We'd better hear what he has to say for himself,” Mr Weasley said grimly.

“May I?” asked Sirius, indicating his wand. Mr Weasley looked startled. “But if you would prefer to, Arthur ...”

Mr Weasley looked at Sirius hard. “It's not that I don't ... well, I don't. Not yet. Harry seems to trust you, and that's usually a good sign. But if, just for the moment, you'd keep your hand off your wand?” For a moment Mr Weasley and Sirius looked hard at each other, then Sirius inclined his head. Mr Weasley turned to Pettigrew. “Finite.”

Immediately, the babbling began.

“Oh, thank Merlin you're here, Arthur -” squeak “- Black's a madman -” squeak “- such a good son you have in Ron,” - squeak - -

“Shut up,” roared Mr Weasley. Harry blinked – he'd never heard such a noise from the normally mild mannered Mr Weasley. “Tell me,” in a softer tone, none the more gentle for it, and with his wand pointing directly at Pettigrew, “tell me, were you Scabbers?”

“Oh, yes – I was in hiding, you see – Black was after me ...”

“What had you to fear when he was locked away in Azkaban?”

“He could have broken out any day – see, he has done ...”

“Why a rat? Why my family?”

“I knew how kind and gentle you and Molly and all your children were ...”

“Do you really think I'd want someone like you around my children all day long?”

“I looked after them and they looked after me; they were so kind ...”

“I don't believe a word of it.” That stopped Pettigrew in his tracks. He stared at Mr Weasley, a look of abject terror on his face. “Silencio.”

Pettigrew's mouth opened and closed again soundlessly. Mr Weasley stepped back. He surveyed them all.

“Well, Sirius, it does look as though we owe you an apology.”

Harry sagged in relief, and he felt some of the tension go from Sirius.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

“The next question is – where do we go from here?”

Harry spoke up. “Um – Mr Weasley?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“I have an idea.”

Mr Weasley stared at him. “Harry?”

“Yes, Mr Weasley?”

“Did you organise all of this?”

“He did,” said Sirius. “All I wanted to do was to commit the murder I'd been imprisoned for. It was Harry who talked me out of it.”

“Right. Well, I suppose you've worked out what to do next?”

“Yes, Mr Weasley.”

Mr Weasley put on a long suffering expression. “And you'll going to tell me what it is?”

“Yes. You see, I thought even if we had Pettigrew, and just sent for the Aurors, they'd come in all guns blazing, so to speak. But we knew we could talk to you, and that you wouldn't do anything rash.”

Mr Weasley's mouth quirked. “You're not thinking of going in for politics, are you, Harry?”

“Er – no. Why?”

“Never mind. Carry on.”

“But we knew you worked at the Ministry, and would know some Aurors, and could go and explain to them what the situation was before they came bursting in.”

“Hm.” Mr Weasley swung out a chair from under the table and sat down. “So – what you're suggesting is that I go direct to the Ministry, find the Auror on duty, get a squad, brief them, and come back.” Harry nodded. Mr Weasley turned things over in his mind. “Righto then. I think I can do that. Come on, Ron.”

“I'm staying with Harry.”

Mr Weasley stared at him indignantly. “You're not staying here!”

“I'm staying with Harry,” Ron repeated stubbornly.

Mr Weasley sighed. “Why do all my children always argue?”

“Percy doesn't.”

“You want to bet? All right. You've got your wand?” Ron held it up. Mr Weasley turned to Sirius. “I'm entrusting these boys to your care. I hope to God I'm right.”

“I've been staying here with him for a week,” Harry said.

Mr Weasley stared at him for a moment or two. “Here?” Harry nodded. “You'll fill me in on the details later,” Mr Weasley said firmly. “But in the meantime ... yes, I can go to the Ministry and explain things. I may be some time about it, though, so you'd better keep a good eye on that,” pointing at Pettigrew. “And the Aurors may still want to throw their weight around when they get here, whatever I say, so tread carefully with them. Okay?” Sirius and Harry both nodded.

Mr Weasley stood up, cast another glance at Pettigrew, then headed for the fireplace.

The room was very quiet after Mr Weasley had left.

“Thanks, Harry,” whispered Sirius.

“It's okay,” said Harry, putting a hand on his arm. Sirius smiled, and put his other hand over Harry's wrist.

“Erm -”

“It's okay, Ron. It's not like that.”

“Right,” said Ron, relieved. “How long do you think Dad'll be?”

“Can't see him getting things sorted out in less than half an hour.”

“Suppose not.” Ron glared across to Pettigrew, who was sitting once more slumped in his chair, eyes closed. “I still can't believe it. That thing was Scabbers.”

Sirius suddenly stood up and stretched. “That thing, Ron, is the man who betrayed Harry's parents to Voldemort.”

“You're kidding!”

“Nope. It was me who was supposed to have been their Secret Keeper. We switched to Peter at the last minute. We didn't think anyone would think we'd choose him. What we didn't know was that Peter was already working for Voldemort. That's why I went after him after Lily and James had been killed.”

“I wouldn't have blamed you if you had just murdered him.”

“But that way,” said Harry, “we'd have had no way of proving Sirius innocent.”

“S'pose so. Anyway, we've got him now. Hey, Harry. How come you ran away from home in the first place?”

Harry felt vaguely embarrassed by that. “Blew up my aunt,” he mumbled.

“Blew her up?”

“As in inflated.”

“How come?”

“She's my uncle's sister, and she hates me. She's always getting at me. Started on about how my father was a drunk and a layabout. And I lost my temper. I didn't mean to blow her up. She just sort of – inflated.”

“Wicked!”

“Well, not exactly. Remember me telling you about when Dobby performed a Hover Charm the year before?” Ron nodded. “Well, that time I got a letter saying that if it happened again, I'd be expelled from Hogwarts. So I thought, this time, I'm really in for it.”

“Half the time those letters are just sent to scare people,” Ron said, dismissively.

“Yeah, well, it succeeded.”

Sirius was pacing up and down the kitchen now, when the door creaked open. All three seized their wands and pointed them at the opening crack in the doorway, but it was only Kreacher who shuffled in.

“Master,” he wheezed, but with an evil sneer in his voice, and a mocking low bow. Sotte voce he continued. “It's the Potter boy, oh yes, and someone else. A nasty redhaired boy. And someone at the table – all tied up he is ...”

“What is that?” exclaimed Ron.

“That,” said Sirius with gritted teeth, “is the local friendly house elf.”

“What a disappointment to his dear mother he was, oh yes ...”

“Out of here,” yelled Sirius.

Kreacher stopped in mock surprise. “Master does not want Kreacher to clean and to tidy?”

“I asked you to do that days ago. And you've done nothing!”

“Kreacher tries his hardest,” said the elf with mock humility. “But Kreacher is becoming old and feeble ... Kreacher wonders who the redhaired brat is?”

“Get upstairs,” said Sirius. “You are forbidden to come down here until I tell you. Is that clear?”

“Of course, Master. Kreacher only wants to be of service to the noble House of Black. But, ah, how that House has fallen now ... a ruffian, a murderer ...”

“Upstairs! And get cleaning!”

“As Master directs ... if Master were a fit Master then it would be different – oh, how different ...”

“Now.”

The elf gave a final low bow and shuffled out once more. Sirius gave the door a great kick to close it behind the elf.

“Is he always like that?” Ron asked in awe.

“He is,” Sirius said grimly. “Often worse.”

“Mental.”

Sirius looked at Harry. “You've a lot to learn about the House of Black, I'm afraid.”

“You're the last one?”

“The last of the line,” Sirius said gloomily. “I've cousins, but most of those – you wouldn't want to know.”

“Oh?”

“One – one of them – she's in Azkaban. And don't go thinking she's innocent too. One of the nastiest pieces of work you could hope to meet. She was in Voldemort's inner circle from the start.”

“Is that – is that Bella someone or other?” Ron asked tentatively.

“Bellatrix – yes. Why?”

Ron mumbled something, then said, “I heard Dad talking about her the other night.”

“And what did he have to say about me?” Ron went red and said nothing. “Then there's Narcissa.”

“Who?” asked Harry.

“Now Mrs Malfoy.”

“Draco's mother?”

“Have they a son?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, “and he's in our year and he's a prize git.”

“Sounds right. Mixing the blood of the Malfoys and the Blacks – not a good combination.”

Sirius fell silent, then, for want of something to do, starting making tea. Ron looked at him as though he really were mad, but took the tea all the same.

The minutes dragged past. Harry was refusing to look at his watch again. How long could it take for Mr Weasley to find some Aurors? On the other hand, presumably he was briefing them as to what was going on. He really didn't want the Aurors bursting in, then Sirius starting to fight back. He sighed.

Ron was sitting staring into space. Sirius had his head on his arms and his eyes closed. Pettigrew seemed to sleeping too – at least, he wasn't stirring.

A scuffle from the fireplace. Everyone sat up. Mr Weasley appeared, moved away, then a very severe looking Auror followed him. Behind him came two more Aurors. With a jolt of surprise Harry recognised the first as someone he remembered as a seventh year when he was just starting at Hogwarts, a burly curly haired young man, who looked distinctly nervous. Behind him was a young woman Harry had never seen before.

The severe one looked to be in charge. “Sirius Black?” he barked.

“Here.”

“On your feet!” Harry stood up too, and the Auror flicked a glance at him. “Stand back.”

“No!”

The Auror blinked. Obviously he wasn't used to someone talking to him like that. “Stand back,” he said more impatiently.

“No,” Harry repeated. He took a grasp of Sirius' elbow.

“We're arresting this man.”

“Why?”

“Why, lad? He's only an escaped murderer, that's why.”

“Who did he murder?”

“Merlin's beard! What's it to you?”

“Who did he murder?” Harry repeated.

“Peter Pettigrew,” the Auror said impatiently.

“Then who's that?” Harry asked, pointing.

The Auror glanced sideways. Pettigrew was awake once more, and struggling in his chair. The Auror looked again, and then, slightly guiltily, at Mr Weasley.

“It's Pettigrew, all right,” Mr Weasley said quietly.

“Black's still a wanted man!”

“For a crime he didn't commit?” asked Harry. “He's supposed to have murdered Peter Pettigrew, right? Then who's that?”

The other two Aurors were hanging back, keeping out of this. Mr Weasley was standing next to Ron. The Auror in charge wavered a moment.

“Go on. Take a look,” said Harry.

But there was no need. Pettigrew was staring up at them all, an expression of pure terror on his face.

“It is, too,” the Auror said, in an awed tone. He looked at Sirius again, then at Mr Weasley, at Harry, then finally to Pettigrew again.

“I'll come with you of my own free will,” said Sirius stiffly.

The Auror looked as though he was about to say something, then cut it off.

“Why don't we settle this at the Ministry rather than in here?” Mr Weasley asked. “We can get there easily enough with a Portkey, and we can do things properly there.”

The Auror grunted. Harry could see that he didn't like being told what to do – even if Mr Weasley's suggestion was eminently sensible.

“Oh, and by the way, don't cut Pettigrew loose,” said Sirius. “He's an Animagus. He'll turn back into a rat. Those cords are all that are stopping him.”

“The Ministry, then.” The words were uttered grudgingly. The Auror looked round and saw a battered frying pan on the draining board. “This'll do.”

“Be my guest,” said Sirius.

That earned him a glare. The Auror leaned over the pan and touched it with his wand: there was a faint blue light. “Gather round.” He held the saucepan out next to Pettigrew's chair. “Put a finger on it.” Pettigrew ignored him. “Put a finger on it, or we'll take you Stunned.”

The Auror was not having a good day. Pettigrew put a finger on the saucepan.

“All right. Now the rest of you.” He checked everyone had a finger on the pan. “Portus.”

Harry had never experienced anything quite like it before. Well, perhaps travelling by Floo. Both were very unpleasant. After an age of what seemed like swirling and turning and more swirling, he found himself rolling helplessly across the floor in somewhere he'd never seen before. He picked himself up and looked around.

They were in a very large room, almost like a hall, with chairs round the side, and windows letting in summer sunshine. There was a large pair of wooden doors at one end, and Harry could see more Aurors hurrying into the room, wands at the ready.

Pettigrew's chair was lying on its side a few feet away, its occupant screaming in silent terror. Two Aurors pulled the chair back onto its legs, then stood guarding their captive.

Over on the other side of the room, Sirius also had guards either side of him. He was standing stiffly upright. His guards obviously weren't quire sure whether to restrain him or not, and Sirius was doing his best to give them no excuse to do so. He caught Harry's eye, and gave him a rather forced smile. Harry wanted to go over there to make sure that Sirius wasn't provoked into losing his temper, but thought he'd better keep out of things for the moment.

The Auror in charge – Harry hadn't found out his name yet – turned to his assistant. “Go tell the Minister we've got Black in custody.” Harry didn't like the sound of that. To Sirius he barked, “Sit over there,” pointing to a chair. Sirius glared at the Auror, but did as he was told, making sure his hands were visible all the time. He sat down on the chair and leaned back, legs crossed one over the other, and obviously trying to look as nonchalant as he could.

Mr Weasley came over and took Harry's arm. “Sorry about Dawlish,” he whispered. “He feels cheated. He wanted to be the one to bring in Sirius as a prisoner. Now he's got a different problem.”

“He's got a problem all right,” said Harry. Dawlish was barking orders to his minions, ignoring Harry and the others for the moment.

“You can say that again,” Ron remarked, rubbing his elbow where he'd fallen over. “What is his problem?”

“His problem is that we've handed Sirius Black over to him, and now he won't get the credit. Plus the fact that I keep telling him Sirius is innocent, and he's finding that hard to accept.”

“Even with Pettigrew there?”

Mr Weasley shrugged. “Makes things worse for him. There he was, on the hunt for a mass murderer, only to find the victim very much alive. Too much to take in.”

“They're not all not like that, are they? Aurors, I mean.”

A smile from Mr Weasley. “Not all of them. You've met one of more – ah, officious ones.”

Dawlish eventually came over to the three of them, having finished telling everyone else what to do. He gave them all a grim look, then turned to Harry.

“Why did you run away like that?”

Harry blinked at the abruptness of the question. “I blew up my aunt.”

“We know you did,” snapped Dawlish. “We've sorted all that out.”

“Well,” said Harry indignantly, “last time magic was used at my place, it wasn't even me, and I got a letter telling me I'd be expelled from Hogwarts if it happened again.”

Dawlish stared at him disbelievingly. “From what I can gather, it was accidental magic, and that doesn't count. You didn't use a wand?” Harry shook his head. “Well, then.”

'Well then' what, Harry wasn't quite sure.

Dawlish turned to Ron. “We'll need a statement from you about your rat.”

“I can give you that,” said Mr Weasley quietly.

“Maybe. But I still want one from your son.”

It was clear from Mr Weasley's expression that his opinion of Dawlish was similar to Harry's.

Suddenly, the doors at the end of the hall were thrown open, and Minister Fudge was standing on the threshold, surveying the scene, rubbing his hands, beaming all over his face, and looking very pleased with himself.

“Harry,” he cried, “you're safe and well!”

“Yes, thank you, Minister.”

“And I hear you caught the criminal Black.”

“No, Minister.”

Fudge looked surprised at this. “But there he is,” flinging out a hand to where Sirius was sitting. Sirius had a very sour expression on his face as he looked at Fudge.

“He's not a criminal and I didn't catch him.”

“Harry, you're too young to remember ...” began Fudge in a patronising tone. It was that tone more than anything else which angered Harry.

“... what Sirius Black was put in prison for.” Harry finished Fudge's sentence, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “Killing Peter Pettigrew?”

Fudge looked even more surprised. “Why, yes.”

“Then who do you think that is?”

Harry threw out an arm and pointed. Fudge looked at the figure tied up in the chair, blinked, then looked again. He spluttered. The look of satisfaction faded slowly from his face. Then: “Pettigrew? Peter Pettigrew?” His voice no longer had that smug tone.

“That's right, Minister. So Sirius Black isn't a murderer, is he?”

“Now look here, young man, it's going to need more than ...”

“A live victim?”

“You don't know what Black's capable of!”

Fudge was now red in the face, and his blood pressure was obviously rising.

“Maybe I do. I spent the last week living in the Black house in Grimmauld Place.”

“What nonsense!”

“You're telling me that I don't know what I've been doing the past week?” Harry demanded.

“A Confundus charm!”

“And he's a figment of my imagination, I suppose,” pointing again at Pettigrew in his chair. The sarcasm in his voice was very clear.

Fudge looked over to where the bound figure of Pettigrew was struggling against his bonds, looked again, opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. He turned and glared at the Aurors. “Why wasn't I told of this?” he demanded of Dawlish.

“We haven't had time, sir.”

“You should have briefed me properly beforehand!”

“Yes, sir,” said Dawlish stiffly.

“I want a full report. On my desk. First thing in the morning. Understood?”

He turned on his heel and swept out, the door slamming behind him. Dawlish slowly turned and gave Harry a very dirty look.

“My word, Harry, you certainly gave him both barrels there,” Mr Weasley whispered in his ear.

“He deserved it.”

“Maybe. But there are more tactful ways of doing it. Maybe politics isn't your forte after all.”

“I'm sorry. But it was these people who put Sirius in Azkaban without even a trial.”

“I know you've a point, but cool it, Harry, cool it.”

Wasn't that exactly what he'd been telling Sirius to do? He gave Mr Weasley a shamefaced smile. “Sorry.”

“It's okay – you' must have been through a lot these past few days.”

Harry gave a small smile. “Something like that.” He looked round the room. “How long's all this going to take?”

“Hours,” said Mr Weasley morosely. Harry looked at him slightly quizzically. “Oh, I suppose you thought that once you'd brought in Pettigrew, everyone would say: fine, thanks – well, you must be innocent, Mr Black. You can go home now.” Mr Weasley looked at all the people scurrying around. “it doesn't work like that, Harry.”

“Oh.” Truth to tell, Harry had thought something like that. “So when will Sirius be let out?”

Mr Weasley shrugged. “A couple of days, maybe. If things are as he says. But Pettigrew hiding as a rat like that is a pretty good admission of guilt.”

“A couple of days?” cried Harry.

“Oh, yes – at the least.”

They were interrupted by the woman who had been the third member of the Auror party. She gave Harry a smile, then turned to Mr Weasley.

“Wotcha, Arthur. And here was me thinking this was going to be a nice quiet Sunday.”

Mr Weasley raised an eyebrow at her. “And then I come along and spoil it.”

“Something like that.” The young woman looked across at Harry. “Well done. Best moment of the day, that was.”

“What was?” asked Harry, confused.

“Taking Dawlish down a peg like that. I've been waiting to see someone do that for months now.”

“Oh,” said Harry weakly, not quite sure how to respond.

“Fudge too. Not that taking Fudge on was an awfully clever move.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Harry ruefully, “but I couldn't resist it. But I was just sticking up for Sirius.”

“So I gather. Well, you'll be able to tell me all about it. Sorry, Arthur, but I've got to take this young man away for his statement.”

“Righto, Tonks. But go easy on him.”

Tonks smiled. “Me go easy on him? After what I've just seen, it should be the other way round!”

Harry gave a small grin. “I'll come quietly.”

“Right then.”

He followed her out of the hall, down a long corridor, then into a small office. There was a desk, some parchment, and a couple of chairs. “Sit down,” said Tonks, and pulled something from her pocket. “This here is a dictation quill. You talk, it'll write.”

“I could do with one of those at Hogwarts.”

“Can't give you this one – Auror issue only.”

She pulled a piece of parchment towards her and set the tip of the quill on it.

“Off you go.”

Harry began talking.

It took him a half hour to finish his story. At the end of it, he sat back, and Tonks took the quill from the parchment.

“Sounds as if you've had a busy week. And thanks for rescuing my cousin.”

“Sirius is your cousin?”

“Yep.”

“You're a Black?”

“Not quite. But you might say I'm another of the Black sheep of the family. Mother didn't marry a pureblood, see, and so we were cut off.”

“Oh.” From memories of Draco and Hermione, Harry could appreciate the attitude. “Mind you,” Harry went on, “I wouldn't call Sirius a black sheep. Not a sheep, anyway.”

“I'll agree with you there. Come on, I'd better be getting you back to Arthur.”

She led him back into the large hall, but Mr Weasley hadn't finished with his statement yet. Ron had, and so Harry went and sat with him.

“Well done, mate.” Harry shrugged. “You didn't half give it to Fudge.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not sure that was such a good idea now.”

“I still can't believe it, you know? Scabbers.” Not only had it been a shock to Ron, he obviously taken it personally, as if he had been betrayed in some way.

“I'm just glad we got him.”

“And he's the one who gave your parents away to You Know Who!”

“Yeah,” said Harry heavily.

“Well done for catching him.”

“We wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been for Sirius. Mind you, it might have been a narrow escape for you otherwise. Sirius was setting out to kill Pettigrew. If you'd have been in the way ...”

“I don't want to think about it.”

“Tell me what happened when you went back to the Burrow.”

“Well, there was no one around, which was just as well. So I ran to the shed, and yelled at Dad to come, because I'd found you. Didn't give him a chance to ask any questions, just ran back inside, and he came running after me. I stood in the fireplace and said to him, '12 Grimmauld Place'. He looked blank for a moment, then you should have seen his face! He was going to make a grab for me, but then I threw down the Floo powder. He wasn't quick enough.”

“We owe you big time for this.”

“Yeah, well, tell Sirius to forget the broom.”

Harry thought about that. He thought Ron deserved one, but he didn't know if Sirius had much money. Harry had a vault full of gold, but he knew Ron, much though he coveted a new broomstick, would never accept one from him. Perhaps he could go halves with Sirius, and not tell Ron. That might work ...

They sat looking round. People were still bustling in and out, but no one seemed to be taking any notice of them.

“What is this place, anyway?” Harry asked, looking round the hall.

“Dunno,” said Ron. “Except that it's in the Ministry somewhere.”

For all the excitement of earlier, the rest of the evening passed in a blur of tedium. Both Pettigrew and Sirius had been taken away, they had given their statements, and Mr Weasley had disappeared somewhere. Harry felt too nervous about things to want to leave, and, besides, where would he go? How would he get back to Grimmauld Place? He didn't even have any idea where the Ministry actually was.

People came and went, Aurors came in looking harassed, looked around for who they wanted, and went away muttering. Harry and Ron were mere spectators to all this byplay. Dawlish came in once or twice, each time casting a dirty look in Harry's direction. Eventually Mr Weasley appeared, looking as tired and fed up as they felt. “This place is a lunatic asylum,” he muttered in exasperation.

“What's happening to Sirius?” Harry asked, standing up and stretching.

“They're keeping him overnight while they get the details from Pettigrew. But Dawlish told me in confidence that they'll probably release him tomorrow.”

“Really?” asked Harry eagerly.

“Well, you know what the Ministry's like – they do insist on going through the motions. Oh, and just before they carried him away, Sirius said something about you and a broomstick, Ron.” Mr Weasley looked at his son quizzically. Ron muttered something and went a bright red. Mr Weasley looked at Harry, who just shrugged. “Anyway, you two, it's nearly midnight and Molly will be worried sick. Come on, we'll go back to the Burrow. You too, Harry.”

Harry was too tired to argue. They made their way to the nearest fireplace, and one by one headed off for the Burrow. Predictably, Mrs Weasley was waiting anxiously for them. She leapt to her feet as they came in, her hand to her mouth.

“Oh, Ron,” she burst out. “What a thing to do! You're all right though, aren't you? And Harry! Running off like that. And then ...”

“Leave it to the morning, Molly.” Mrs Weasley caught sight of Mr Weasley's face and subsided. “Have we got room for Harry in Ron's room?”

“I'll go and see to it now.”

Mr Weasley turned to the two boys. “If I were you, I'd get to bed before she starts up again.”

“Good idea,” muttered Ron.