The silence hung heavy in the office.
Pettigrew remained slumped on the floor, unconscious but very much alive. Harry sat tensely in his chair, his eyes locked on the man who had destroyed so many lives. Across from him, Dumbledore's expression was unreadable, but his fingers were steepled, his gaze unblinking.
Then, softly, Dumbledore spoke.
"We will need witnesses."
He stood and moved to the fireplace, conjuring a small burst of green flame with a tap of his wand.
"Cornelius Fudge," he said clearly into the Floo. "Please come to my office at once—and bring Madam Bones."
There was a brief flicker of a reply—too muffled to make out—before the flames died down.
Dumbledore turned to Harry.
"I would ask that you refrain from speaking for now," he said gently, but firmly. "Let them see what is true before we begin explaining it."
Harry gave a tense nod.
Moments later, the door to the office opened with a soft creak.
Professor McGonagall stepped in first. She looked tired, her usual composure slightly frayed. Behind her came Professor Lupin, pale and somber, followed by Snape, who swept in with the air of someone already prepared to be displeased. Professor Flitwick trailed behind them, eyes bright and curious beneath his silver eyebrows.
And then they saw him.
There was a beat of complete stillness—an awful, breathless silence as four professors took in the sight of Peter Pettigrew, unconscious and undeniably alive, lying at the center of Dumbledore's office.
McGonagall gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
"No… that's impossible," she whispered. "He was… he was killed. Sirius—"
Lupin stepped forward slowly, face ashen. His eyes fixed on Pettigrew, and Harry could see the memories crashing into him like a wave. He looked stricken. Betrayed. A little broken.
Snape's face twisted in something like revulsion.
"Wormtail," he spat, voice low and cold. "I never thought I'd see that coward again."
Professor Flitwick's hand trembled where it gripped his wand. "But—but he was declared dead. Posthumously awarded the Order of Merlin…"
Dumbledore raised a hand.
"There will be answers," he said calmly. "But they must wait. We are not done."
As if on cue, the fireplace flared green once more—and out stepped Cornelius Fudge, his bowler hat slightly askew.
He brushed ash from his coat with a self-important huff. "Dumbledore, what is the meaning of this—?"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Behind him, Madam Bones emerged, tall and composed in her crisp robes, with her monocle gleaming. She said nothing at first, but her sharp eyes went immediately to the body on the floor.
Two Aurors followed: Kingsley Shacklebolt, calm and observant as ever, and Alastor Moody, who stomped forward with his magical eye whirring violently, already sizing up every soul in the room.
Fudge's gaze finally fell on Pettigrew. His face blanched. "Is that—? That can't be—Peter Pettigrew?"
Madam Bones inhaled sharply. "Alive," she murmured. "Merlin help us."
Moody let out a low, dangerous growl.
"Well, I'll be damned."
Dumbledore gestured toward Pettigrew. "As you can see," he said smoothly, "we have much to discuss."
Fudge stood frozen, his face pale and glistening with sweat. His eyes flicked between the bound, unconscious form of Peter Pettigrew and the Aurors standing nearby.
"This is preposterous," he muttered. "Absolutely impossible. Peter Pettigrew died a hero. There was a memorial! The whole wizarding world knows it!"
Dumbledore's gaze was calm and unwavering. "The world believed it, Cornelius. But belief is not truth."
As if on cue, Peter stirred weakly on the floor. His eyelids fluttered open—and the moment recognition dawned, he began trembling violently.
"No. No, please—don't—"
McGonagall took a sharp step back, her hand pressed over her mouth. "It really is him," she whispered.
Lupin looked like he'd been struck. His voice cracked. "He was our friend..."
Snape curled his lip. "Your friend, perhaps."
Kingsley stepped forward and roughly hauled Peter into a sitting position. "Peter Pettigrew," he said firmly, "you are under Ministry custody pending formal interrogation for crimes including fraud, conspiracy, and possible treason."
"No, wait, you don't understand!" Peter babbled. "I was—there was danger—I had to disappear—it wasn't my fault!"
Fudge stammered, "No! No, I—I don't believe this! It's some Polyjuice trick—Dumbledore, you're being duped!"
"We confirmed his magical signature and wand," Madam Bones said crisply. "He is who he appears to be."
"But this will—ruin everything!" Fudge cried. "Do you have any idea what kind of backlash the Ministry could face? If it's true, then we condemned the wrong man for twelve years—"
"Which is exactly why we must get to the truth," Dumbledore said gently.
Madam Bones turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter. How did you discover Pettigrew?"
Harry hesitated. He didn't want to mention the Map. Not with Snape and Fudge in the room.
"Well," Harry said, "Professor McGonagall taught us about Animagi a few months ago. She said no ordinary witch or wizard becomes one—and they have to register."
McGonagall gave a startled blink.
"I started thinking about Ron's rat—Scabbers. He's been in the family for eleven years. That's not normal. Rats don't live that long. He was always nervous, and he had a missing toe."
He looked up, eyes serious. "I figured I'd test my theory."
He offered no more. The Map would remain secret.
Moody gave a grunt of reluctant approval. "Good instincts."
Pettigrew began to squirm under the growing weight of silence. Kingsley conjured a chair and tied him to it with magical bindings.
"You're going to tell us the truth now, Pettigrew," Bones said coolly.
Peter gave a shaky, pitiful smile. "Of course! I—I've just been in hiding! I never meant anyone harm!"
Lies. Obvious and oily.
Harry had had enough.
He raised his wand before anyone could stop him and flicked it toward Pettigrew's sleeve.
The fabric tore itself away, revealing the faded but unmistakable skull-and-snake emblem burned into Peter's forearm.
Gasps echoed around the room. Even Fudge staggered backward.
"Merlin," Kingsley muttered.
"He's a Death Eater," Snape said coldly.
Pettigrew whimpered, trying to cover the mark with his other arm. "It doesn't mean anything! He's gone! I haven't heard from him in years—please—you have to believe me!"
The Aurors closed in now, sterner than before.
"What happened on the night of October 31st, 1981?" Moody growled.
Peter shook his head furiously. "I can't—I can't say—he'll come back—"
"No one's coming for you," Bones said sharply. "Tell the truth, or we will bring in Veritaserum."
Peter looked around wildly—but saw no escape.
He broke.
"I—I was the Secret Keeper!" he wailed. "It was me! I told Him—I told the Dark Lord where they were! I gave him the Potters! But I didn't mean to! He would've killed me!"
The room fell into a frozen silence.
Lupin closed his eyes. McGonagall looked like she might faint. Snape's expression twisted into utter loathing.
Peter's voice cracked as he went on, his trembling hands held out as if begging for mercy. "I didn't want to! He was going to kill me—my family! You don't know what He was like! None of you!"
"You betrayed your friends," Lupin said, his voice like cracked ice.
Peter whimpered and backed further against the wall. "I—I had no choice! And then… when Sirius found me… I panicked. I knew he'd kill me."
He swallowed, voice going hoarse. "So I waited until he confronted me in the street. I screamed—made a scene—then I… I blew up the street. Killed those Muggles. Cut off my own finger. Transfigured into a rat before anyone could see. Let them think Sirius had murdered me."
McGonagall gasped.
"You killed twelve people," she whispered. "You let a man go to Azkaban for it."
"I had to!" Peter wailed. "He would've killed me! The Dark Lord or Sirius—it didn't matter. I just wanted to live!"
"No matter the cost," Dumbledore said quietly, his gaze colder than it had ever been. "Even if that cost was the blood of innocents… and the soul of your own friend."
Fudge staggered, hands trembling. "No. No. This is all wrong. This is a setup! Black—Sirius Black—is the traitor! Pettigrew died a hero!"
"He is right there," Dumbledore said sharply, pointing to the sobbing wreck in the chair. "Alive. Confessing. And Sirius Black is rotting in a cell for his crimes."
"But this will ruin—" Fudge began again.
Harry stepped forward, voice steady, strong. "It wasn't your fault, Minister."
Fudge blinked at him.
"The Ministry made a mistake," Harry continued. "But you weren't Minister then. You didn't send Sirius to prison. You didn't award Pettigrew a medal."
He held Fudge's gaze. "But you can fix it."
The room was silent again.
"You can show everyone that under your leadership, real justice is possible," Harry said, voice almost silky. "That you're brave enough to right old wrongs."
Fudge straightened slightly. "Well—yes. Yes, that is true. I am committed to transparency."
"We can clear Black's name," Bones said. "With Pettigrew's testimony, we can reopen the trial and lift the Dementor order."
"Yes," Fudge said, emboldened now. "We'll… we'll rescind the Kiss on Sight. Black will be questioned properly. I'll inform Azkaban myself. And this time, we'll do it right."
Harry let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
As the Aurors secured Peter with enhanced bindings and began discussing the logistics of transporting him to a secure holding facility, Dumbledore remained silent.
His gaze, however, had shifted from Pettigrew… to Harry.
The boy stood tall, face impassive, his green eyes locked onto Fudge with the same cool precision he'd seen in a courtroom—not a schoolchild's gaze, but one of someone who knew how to twist a knife without drawing blood.
Dumbledore folded his hands.
He was proud—undeniably proud. Harry had shown extraordinary presence of mind. Resourcefulness beyond his years. He'd deflected attention from the Marauder's Map, manipulated the conversation to avoid unnecessary details, and even handled Cornelius Fudge with a finesse few adults possessed.
But that tone. That carefully measured voice, that calm sway of power and ego. It was clever. Too clever.
Very much like Tom…
The comparison was uninvited, unwelcome—and yet, undeniable.
Dumbledore studied Harry's profile, the way his jaw set, the way he held silence like a blade, using it to make others speak before him. It was the kind of control he had seen only once before—in a bright, charming boy who had turned out to be something very dark.
And yet… this was Harry.
He had acted not out of ambition or cruelty—but for justice. For Sirius. For truth.
Still, Dumbledore reminded himself, intention is the compass, but power is the path.
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[A/N] - I hope you're all enjoying the story so far. I'd love to hear your thoughts—what's working for you, what's not, and what you'd like to see in future chapters. Your feedback means a lot and helps me make this story even better. Please let me know in the comments or drop a review!
Thanks for reading !