Ron's face had gone through several color changes in rapid succession—white with shock, red with confusion, and now settling on a sickly greenish pallor that suggested his stomach was reconsidering its commitment to processing breakfast.
"Scabbers is a person," Ron repeated, his voice climbing toward hysteria. "My rat—the rat I've been sleeping with, carrying around in my pocket, feeding scraps to—is actually a *person*?"
"Was a person, is a person, technically always was a person," Harry corrected, keeping his wand trained steadily on Peter Pettigrew while his enhanced tactical awareness monitored both the cowering animagus and Ron's deteriorating emotional state. "Just a person who's been living as a rat for the past ten years."
"Ten years," Ron's voice cracked. "Ten years Percy had him. Ten years of—oh my god, he saw me getting dressed! He saw—" Ron's face went from green to bright crimson. "He saw *everything*!"
Peter had the grace to look deeply uncomfortable, his rat-like features twisting into an expression of embarrassed guilt that would have been comical under less serious circumstances.
"I never looked!" Peter squeaked defensively, his high-pitched voice making him sound even more rodent-like. "I always turned away when—that is, I respected your privacy—"
"RESPECTED MY PRIVACY?" Ron's voice reached frequencies that probably alarmed dogs in three neighboring counties. "YOU'VE BEEN *LIVING IN MY POCKET* FOR MONTHS!"
"Ron, breathe," Harry said, his enhanced social perception recognizing the signs of an impending panic attack. "I know this is disturbing—"
"Disturbing? DISTURBING?" Ron's hands were shaking as he pointed at Peter. "That's my family's pet! We fed him! We—we treated him like—and he's been what, spying on us? For twelve years?"
"Actually," Harry said, his analytical mind working through the timeline, "if what I've read about Peter Pettigrew is accurate, he's been hiding from Death Eaters who think he betrayed them, and from the Ministry who thinks he's dead. Your family was probably just convenient cover."
"Oh, well that makes it SO much better!" Ron's voice dripped with sarcasm that would have impressed his brothers. "He wasn't spying on us specifically, just using my family as camouflage while hiding from people who want to kill him!"
"It wasn't like that!" Peter protested, still crouched on the compartment floor like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. "The Weasleys are good people! I never meant any harm—"
"You betrayed my father to Voldemort," Harry interrupted, his voice going cold despite Gamer's Mind's emotional regulation. "You sold out your best friends to a murderer. You let Sirius Black rot in Azkaban for crimes you committed. I'm not particularly interested in your justifications."
Peter's watery eyes darted between Harry and Ron, clearly calculating his options and finding them all terrible. "You don't understand—the Dark Lord—he was so powerful—if I hadn't—"
"Wait," Ron said, his panic temporarily overridden by confusion. "Earlier you called yourself the son of James Potter? As in *the* Harry Potter?" His gaze snapped to Harry's face, then up to where the baseball cap concealed his scar. "You're—are you—?"
"Yes," Harry confirmed, not taking his eyes off Peter. "Sorry for not introducing myself properly. I wanted to make friends normally rather than being Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, Famous Person." He kept his wand steady. "Though the situation has gotten somewhat more complicated than I anticipated."
"Somewhat more—" Ron's voice was climbing again. "I've been sitting here chatting with Harry bloody Potter while my rat turned out to be a Death Eater! SOMEWHAT MORE COMPLICATED?"
The compartment door slammed open with enough force to rattle the windows.
Fred and George Weasley stood in the doorway, wands drawn with the quick reflexes of pranksters who'd learned to respond rapidly to unusual situations. Their expressions were identical masks of concern mixed with curiosity, and both sets of eyes immediately locked onto the unfamiliar adult man crouched on the floor of their youngest brother's compartment.
"Ron, are you—" Fred started.
"Why is there a strange man—" George continued.
"—in your compartment—" Fred added.
"—and why is he dressed like—" George squinted at Peter's tattered appearance.
"—a homeless person who lost a fight—" Fred concluded.
"—with a washing machine?" they finished together.
The twins' synchronized speech would have been amusing under other circumstances. Right now, it just added another layer of surreal to an already bizarre situation.
"That's Scabbers," Ron said, his voice carrying the hollow tone of someone whose understanding of reality had just been thoroughly demolished. "Or he was Scabbers. Except he's actually Peter Pettigrew. Who's apparently been living as our family rat for ten years while being a Death Eater who betrayed Harry Potter's parents."
The twins stared at Ron, then at Peter, then at Harry, their expressions cycling through disbelief, shock, and dawning horror.
"Scabbers is a person?" Fred's voice had lost all its usual levity.
"A Death Eater?" George added with matching seriousness.
"Not a Death Eater exactly," Harry corrected, keeping his wand trained on Peter while appreciating the twins' quick understanding of the situation. "Peter was friends with my father at Hogwarts. He betrayed them to Voldemort, then faked his death and let Sirius Black take the blame. He's been hiding ever since."
"I didn't have a choice!" Peter wailed, his voice rising to frequencies that made Harry's enhanced hearing wince. "The Dark Lord would have killed me! He was unstoppable! What was I supposed to do?"
"Not betray your friends?" Harry suggested coldly. "Stand up to evil? Literally anything other than selling out the people who trusted you to a murderer?"
Fred and George had moved into the compartment properly now, positioning themselves to block the door while keeping their wands pointed at Peter with a steadiness that suggested they took this threat very seriously.
"So let me get this straight," Fred said, his analytical mind working through the implications. "This man—"
"—who's been living as our brother's pet—" George continued.
"—is actually a wanted criminal—" Fred added.
"—who betrayed the Potters—" George said, his voice hardening.
"—and framed someone else for his crimes?" they finished together, their expressions now showing none of their usual playfulness.
"That's the situation," Harry confirmed. "I recognized his magical signature when I first saw him—animagi have distinctly different signatures than actual animals. Once I explained it to Ron and suggested testing whether Scabbers was really just a rat, Peter here transformed and confirmed everything."
"I didn't confirm anything!" Peter protested desperately. "You forced me back to human form! I didn't—"
"You didn't deny any of it either," Harry pointed out. "And your reaction pretty much confirmed you knew exactly what I was talking about when I mentioned betraying my parents."
Peter's mouth opened and closed without producing sound, apparently unable to come up with a plausible denial.
"Ron," George said gently, his concern for his younger brother overriding everything else, "are you okay? This is... this is a lot."
"Am I okay?" Ron's laugh was slightly unhinged. "I just found out my pet rat is actually a middle-aged man who's been living in my room. In my *pocket*. Eating my food and—and—" He made a gagging sound. "I'm never going to be okay again."
"Think of it this way," Fred said with forced cheerfulness, "at least you found out now rather than after several more years of—"
"DO NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE," Ron commanded with surprising authority.
Fred wisely stopped talking.
Harry's enhanced tactical awareness was monitoring multiple threats simultaneously—Peter's obvious desire to escape, the possibility of other Death Eaters on the train, and the growing crowd of curious students he could sense gathering in the corridor outside the compartment. His enhanced magical perception picked up dozens of magical signatures, most of them young and unfocused, but a few that carried the distinct signature of older, more trained wizards.
*Prefects,* Harry identified. *And possibly professors. The commotion must have attracted attention.*
"We need to secure Peter properly," Harry said, making a decision. "George, can you go find a prefect or professor? We need adult authority to handle this, and we need it before Peter decides to try something desperate."
George nodded immediately, understanding the urgency. "I'll find Percy—he's Prefect and he's just a few compartments down. Fred, you stay here and—"
"Keep our wand on the Death Eater?" Fred supplied. "Already planning on it."
George moved toward the door, then paused. "Harry—that is, you are Harry Potter, right? The real one?"
"Yes," Harry confirmed.
"And you're sure about all of this? About Scabbers—Peter—whatever—being who you say he is?"
"I'm certain," Harry said. "His magical signature is unmistakable to anyone with the perception to read it properly. He's been maintaining an animagus transformation for ten years, and the strain of that is evident in his magical patterns."
George studied Harry for a moment, his expression suggesting he was rapidly recalibrating his understanding of the situation. "Alright. I'll get Percy. Try not to let the Death Eater escape."
"Working on it," Fred said dryly.
George slipped out of the compartment, and Harry could hear his voice in the corridor—"Move! Emergency! Need to find Percy!"—followed by the sounds of students scrambling to get out of his way.
The compartment fell into tense silence, broken only by the rhythmic sound of the train and Peter's increasingly desperate wheezing breaths.
"You know," Fred said conversationally, though his wand never wavered, "I always thought there was something off about Scabbers. Too smart for a normal rat. Always seemed to be watching things too carefully."
"He bit Goyle once," Ron said, his voice still carrying shock but beginning to stabilize slightly. "Goyle tried to grab him during one of our visits to Diagon Alley, and Scabbers bit his finger hard enough to draw blood. We thought he was just a feisty rat."
"I was defending myself!" Peter protested. "That boy was going to hurt me!"
"You were a rat," Fred pointed out. "Or pretending to be one, anyway. Rats bite things. That's what rats do."
"But he wasn't a rat," Ron said, his voice rising again. "He was a person *pretending* to be a rat. Which means he made the choice to bite Goyle. Which means—oh god, how many times did he bite people on purpose while pretending to be an animal?"
Peter's guilty expression suggested the answer was "more than zero."
Harry's enhanced social perception was picking up the complex emotional dynamics in the compartment. Ron was oscillating between horror and angry betrayal. Fred was maintaining tactical focus while processing shock. Peter was cycling through fear, guilt, and desperate calculation as he tried to figure out any possible escape route.
And Harry himself remained centered, his Gamer's Mind ensuring optimal emotional regulation while his enhanced capabilities provided constant tactical awareness of the situation.
*This is working,* Harry thought, reviewing his success so far. *Peter is exposed, Ron and his brothers are witnesses, and we're about to bring in adult authority who can properly handle the situation. This is exactly what I needed—Sirius's innocence proven with multiple witnesses and the actual traitor caught.*
"Can I ask you something?" Fred said suddenly, addressing Harry while keeping his wand on Peter. "How did you know? I mean, you're eleven, right? First year, same as Ron. How did you know enough about animagi and magical signatures to recognize what Scabbers actually was?"
It was a good question, and one Harry had anticipated. His cover story needed to be plausible while not revealing the full scope of his capabilities.
"I've been studying intensively since I found out about magic," Harry said, which was technically true. "My aunt and uncle are Muggles who didn't approve of magic, so I've been catching up on my own. Reading every book I could find, practicing theory, learning to sense magical signatures. When I saw Ron's rat, I noticed the signature was wrong for a normal animal, and I'd just read about animagi, so I put the pieces together."
Fred's expression suggested he found this explanation somewhat implausible but was willing to accept it given the circumstances. "That's some impressive studying. Most first years can barely light their wands properly."
"I've been motivated," Harry said simply. "Finding out that I was famous in a world I'd never heard of tends to inspire thorough research."
The compartment door slid open again, and this time Percy Weasley entered with the kind of bustling self-importance that suggested he'd been practicing for Head Boy duties since approximately age seven. His prefect badge gleamed on his robes, and his expression cycled rapidly from officious concern to absolute shock as he took in the scene.
"George said there was an emergency—" Percy started, then his eyes found Peter Pettigrew crouched on the floor. "Who is that? Why is there an adult in the student compartments? And why do Fred and that first year have their wands drawn?"
"Percy," Fred said with unusual seriousness, "I need you to put your Prefect authority aside for a moment and just listen. This is going to sound mental, but it's real."
"What's going on?" Percy demanded, his hand moving toward his own wand.
"That's Peter Pettigrew," Harry said clearly. "Death Eater. Betrayed my parents to Voldemort. Has been hiding as Ron's pet rat for ten years. We just forced him back into human form."
Percy stared at Harry, then at Peter, then back at Harry. His mouth opened and closed several times without producing sound—apparently a Weasley family trait when confronted with impossible situations.
"That's ridiculous," Percy said finally. "Peter Pettigrew is dead. He died ten years ago when Sirius Black murdered him. There's nothing left but a finger. It's in the history books."
"It's in the incorrect history books," Harry corrected. "Peter faked his death by cutting off his own finger, causing an explosion that killed twelve Muggles, transforming into a rat, and escaping down the sewers while Sirius got blamed for everything."
"This boy speaks the truth," Peter said suddenly, his voice taking on a pleading quality that made Harry's skin crawl. "But you have to understand—I had no choice! The Dark Lord would have killed me! He killed James and Lily anyway! What difference would my death have made?"
Percy's face went very pale. "You're... you're actually Peter Pettigrew? The Peter Pettigrew?"
"I'm afraid so," Peter whimpered. "But I was forced! The Dark Lord—"
"Was defeated by a one-year-old," Harry interrupted coldly. "Which suggests he wasn't as unstoppable as you claim. You betrayed my parents because you were a coward, Peter. Own it."
The compartment had gone very quiet, with only the sound of the train and five young wizards plus one terrified animagus all trying to process the weight of what was happening.
"Percy," George said, reappearing in the doorway, "I brought Professor McGonagall. She was in the prefects' compartment and—"
He stopped as a stern-looking witch in traveling robes pushed past him, her sharp eyes taking in the scene with a single comprehensive glance. Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, stood in the doorway with the kind of presence that made everyone in the compartment sit up straighter automatically.
"What," she said in a voice of dangerous calm, "is going on here?"
Harry looked at Percy, at the twins, at Ron who was still looking shell-shocked, and finally at Professor McGonagall herself.
*This is it,* Harry thought. *Time to explain to someone who actually has the authority to do something about this. Time to start the process of freeing Sirius Black.*
"Professor McGonagall," Harry said clearly, "my name is Harry Potter, and I believe we've just captured the man who actually betrayed my parents to Voldemort. The man who framed Sirius Black. The man who's been hiding as a rat for ten years."
He kept his wand steady on Peter Pettigrew.
"And I think we need to contact the Ministry immediately."
The adventure had just taken a decisive turn away from the original story, and Harry Potter was exactly where he needed to be to change everything that came next.
—
Professor McGonagall's expression went through a remarkable transformation in the span of three seconds—from stern authority, to confusion, to dawning horror, and finally settling into the kind of carefully controlled fury that suggested she was holding back emotions that could level buildings.
"Peter Pettigrew," she repeated, her Scottish accent becoming more pronounced as her control wavered. "Peter Pettigrew, who has been legally dead for ten years. Peter Pettigrew, who was supposedly murdered by Sirius Black after betraying the Potters."
"That's what everyone believes," Harry confirmed, his enhanced social perception picking up the complex storm of emotions beneath McGonagall's controlled exterior. Grief, rage, betrayal—this wasn't just professional concern. This was personal. "But as you can see, Peter is very much alive. And he's just confirmed that he betrayed my parents, not Sirius."
McGonagall's gaze fixed on Peter with an intensity that made the cowering animagus try to press himself even flatter against the compartment floor.
"Minerva," Peter whimpered, using her first name with the familiarity of someone who'd once been her student. "Please, you have to understand—"
"DO NOT," McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip, "presume to address me by my given name, Mr. Pettigrew. You lost that privilege when you betrayed every person who ever trusted you."
She drew her wand with a motion so smooth it appeared to be one continuous gesture with her speaking. "*Incarcerous.*"
Ropes shot from her wand tip, wrapping around Peter with efficient precision. The animagus squeaked—an uncomfortably rat-like sound from a human throat—as the magical bindings tightened, rendering him completely immobile.
"Prefect Weasley," McGonagall addressed Percy with crisp authority, "I need you to seal this compartment. No one enters or leaves without my express permission. Can you manage that?"
"Yes, Professor," Percy said, drawing his wand with hands that shook slightly. He began casting locking and sealing charms on the door, his Head Boy training apparently including advanced security measures.
McGonagall turned her attention to the rest of the compartment's occupants, her sharp eyes cataloging each person with rapid assessment. "Mr. Weasley—both Misters Weasley—you're witnesses to what occurred here?"
"Yes, Professor," Fred and George said with unusual synchronization that wasn't their typical playful mimicry but rather genuine shock.
"And you, young man," McGonagall's gaze settled on Harry, her expression softening fractionally. "You claim to be Harry Potter?"
"I am Harry Potter," Harry confirmed, removing his baseball cap to reveal the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. The distinctive mark was immediately recognizable, and McGonagall's breath caught slightly.
"Mr. Potter," she said, and her voice carried layers of emotion that Harry's enhanced perception decoded as grief, regret, and something approaching maternal concern. "I knew your parents. I taught them. They were..." She paused, visibly collecting herself. "They were exceptional students and even better people."
"Thank you," Harry said quietly, allowing genuine emotion to show despite Gamer's Mind's regulation. "That means a great deal."
McGonagall's expression hardened again as she looked back at Peter. "The Marauders," she said, and the word carried weight that suggested significant history. "James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. You four were inseparable. Brilliant, troublesome, utterly devoted to each other—or so we all believed."
"I was devoted!" Peter protested desperately. "But the Dark Lord—"
"The Dark Lord targeted many people," McGonagall interrupted coldly. "Many people who chose to resist rather than betray their friends. The Order of the Phoenix lost dozens of members who stood firm against Voldemort. You chose cowardice and treachery."
She raised her wand, and silver light began to gather at the tip—not threatening, but purposeful. "I need to contact the proper authorities immediately. This situation is well beyond my jurisdiction as Deputy Headmistress."
"A Patronus," Harry recognized, watching the silver light coalesce. His enhanced magical perception could sense the complex spell structure—one of the most advanced forms of magic, requiring powerful positive emotion and exceptional control.
"Indeed, Mr. Potter," McGonagall confirmed. "I'm contacting two individuals who can handle this appropriately. Both are Aurors of the highest caliber and unimpeachable integrity."
The silver light burst from her wand, taking shape as it formed into a recognizable animal—a cat, lean and purposeful, with the same stern dignity as McGonagall herself. The Patronus sat on its haunches for a moment, awaiting instructions with intelligent awareness.
"Kingsley Shacklebolt," McGonagall said clearly, addressing the silver cat as if it were a person. "Emergency situation. Hogwarts Express, approximately forty minutes out of London. Peter Pettigrew has been discovered alive, having spent ten years as an illegal animagus. Multiple witnesses including Harry Potter. Require immediate Ministry presence with full authority. This is not a drill."
The Patronus flickered once in acknowledgment, then shot through the compartment wall like it was insubstantial—which, Harry supposed, it technically was.
McGonagall immediately cast again, producing a second silver cat. "Alastor Moody," she addressed this one with equal urgency. "Hogwarts Express. Peter Pettigrew alive and in custody. Need your expertise to secure the situation and verify identity beyond any doubt. Bring your detection equipment. Urgent."
The second Patronus departed with the same ghostly efficiency as the first.
"Professor," Percy ventured, his voice carrying uncertainty, "will they be able to reach the train? We're moving, and the wards—"
"The Hogwarts Express has emergency access protocols for exactly this kind of situation," McGonagall explained, her professional demeanor firmly back in place despite the emotional turmoil Harry could sense beneath. "Aurors can apparate directly to the train when authorized by a senior Hogwarts staff member. They should arrive within minutes."
She turned her attention back to Peter, who was still bound and whimpering on the floor. "Mr. Pettigrew, you will remain silent until the Aurors arrive. Any attempt to escape, transform, or use magic will be met with immediate stunning. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, Professor," Peter stammered.
"Good." McGonagall's expression could have frozen fire. Then she looked at the assembled students, her face softening with concern. "This must be deeply disturbing for all of you. Mr. Weasley," she addressed Ron, "I understand this... person... was your pet?"
Ron's face went through several color changes again. "For the past few months, yes. Before that, he was Percy's for years. And before Percy..." Ron's voice trailed off as the full implications hit him. "Oh my god, he was Bill's first. Mum gave Scabbers to Bill when he started Hogwarts."
McGonagall's expression tightened. "Ten years as an animagus. Observing your family. Living in your home."
"We need to tell Mum," George said suddenly, his usual humor completely absent. "And Dad. They need to know that there's been a Death Eater living in our house for ten years."
"The Ministry will handle family notifications once the situation is confirmed," McGonagall assured him. "Though I imagine your parents will want to speak with all of you quite urgently once they learn what's happened."
Harry's enhanced tactical awareness was monitoring Peter continuously, watching for any sign of attempted escape or transformation. The animagus was bound securely, but desperation could drive people to attempt impossibly foolish things. His enhanced magical perception kept careful track of Peter's magical signature, ready to detect any gathering of power that might signal an attempted spell.
"Professor," Harry said, a thought occurring to him, "if Peter's been living with the Weasleys for ten years, that means he's been listening to Ministry business. Mr. Weasley works for the Ministry, doesn't he?"
McGonagall's eyes widened with horrified understanding. "Arthur Weasley works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He would certainly discuss Ministry matters at home, particularly during You-Know-Who's fall from power and the subsequent investigations."
"So Peter would have had access to information about Ministry operations, Auror activities..." Harry let the implications hang.
"Dear Merlin," McGonagall breathed. "The intelligence breach... Mr. Pettigrew, how much did you tell the Death Eaters? How many people died because of information you gathered?"
Peter's face crumpled. "I never told anyone anything! After the Dark Lord fell, I just hid! I swear I didn't—"
"You expect us to believe," Fred said with cold anger that Harry had never heard from the usually jovial twin, "that you spent ten years in perfect position to spy on a Ministry family and never took advantage of it?"
"The Dark Lord was gone!" Peter wailed. "There was no one to tell! I just wanted to survive!"
"By hiding as a pet rat," George added with matching coldness. "Living off our family's kindness while knowing you'd betrayed Harry's parents and framed Sirius Black for crimes you committed."
The compartment fell silent except for Peter's whimpering and the steady rhythm of the train. Harry found himself genuinely impressed by how the twins were handling this—their usual playfulness completely set aside in favor of focused anger and moral clarity.
A sharp crack of displaced air made everyone jump. Two figures appeared in the corridor just outside the sealed compartment—one tall and dignified with dark skin and a deep, commanding voice; the other grizzled and scarred, with a magical eye that spun independently of its natural counterpart.
Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody had arrived.
"Minerva," Kingsley greeted through the compartment window, his voice carrying authority that matched his imposing presence. "Your Patronus message was somewhat alarming. Peter Pettigrew alive?"
"See for yourself," McGonagall said, gesturing to the bound figure on the floor.
Moody's magical eye swiveled to focus on Peter, and even through the window, Harry could see it spinning with rapid assessment. "That's a human under those ropes, not a transfigured object or an illusion," Moody confirmed. "Though I'll need to verify identity properly before we make any official declarations."
"Percy," McGonagall instructed, "unseal the door for the Aurors."
Percy complied, his wand work steady despite obvious nervousness. The sealing charms dissolved, and Kingsley and Moody entered the compartment with the practiced efficiency of law enforcement professionals used to tight spaces and potentially dangerous situations.
Moody's natural eye focused on Harry while his magical eye continued examining Peter. "Harry Potter, I presume? You're the one who identified Pettigrew?"
"Yes, sir," Harry confirmed. "I recognized that his magical signature was wrong for a normal rat—too complex, layered with transformation magic. When I suggested testing whether he was an animagus, he transformed and confirmed his identity."
"Smart thinking for an eleven-year-old," Moody said, his scarred face showing something that might have been approval. "Most adult wizards wouldn't notice animagus signatures without specific training."
"I've been studying extensively since learning about magic," Harry explained, using his prepared cover story. "Magical perception was one of the first things I worked on."
Kingsley had drawn his wand and was casting detection spells on Peter with methodical precision. Blue light washed over the bound figure, followed by gold, then silver, each spell revealing different aspects of Peter's magical signature.
"Well," Kingsley said finally, his deep voice carrying certainty, "I can confirm this is definitely a human wizard who's been maintaining an animagus form for an extended period. The magical strain patterns are unmistakable—years of sustained transformation have left distinctive markers."
"Identity verification," Moody growled, limping closer to Peter. His magical eye was spinning frantically now, examining Peter from every conceivable angle. "Need to confirm this actually is Pettigrew and not someone polyjuiced or transfigured to look like him."
"I'm Peter Pettigrew!" Peter squeaked. "You can verify me—use Veritaserum, check my memories, whatever you need! Just please don't send me to Azkaban!"
"That's not your decision to make," Moody said flatly. He produced what appeared to be a small crystal sphere from his pocket—one of many defensive and detection items he apparently carried routinely. "This is a Truth-Glass. Responds to lies by turning black. Answer my questions truthfully and it stays clear."
He held the sphere up where everyone could see it, its surface perfectly transparent. "State your full name."
"Peter... Peter Pettigrew," Peter whimpered.
The sphere remained clear.
"Were you friends with James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin at Hogwarts?"
"Yes."
Clear.
"Did you betray James and Lily Potter's location to Lord Voldemort?"
Peter's face crumpled completely. "Yes," he whispered.
The sphere remained clear, and the compartment seemed to collectively hold its breath.
"Did you murder twelve Muggles with an explosion in a public street?"
"Yes."
Still clear.
"Did you cut off your own finger and transform into a rat to fake your death?"
"Yes."
Clear.
"Has Sirius Black been imprisoned for crimes you actually committed?"
Peter's voice was barely audible. "Yes."
The sphere's perfect clarity seemed to condemn Peter more thoroughly than any words could have.
"Well," Moody said with grim satisfaction, pocketing the Truth-Glass. "That's fairly conclusive. Kingsley, we'll need to transport him to the Ministry immediately. Full security protocols—assume he'll try anything to escape."
"Agreed," Kingsley said. "I'll contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement directly. This situation requires Minister-level attention."
McGonagall had been watching the verification process with an expression of controlled devastation. "Sirius Black," she said quietly. "Ten years in Azkaban. Ten years for crimes he didn't commit."
"We'll need to process his release immediately," Kingsley confirmed. "Though after ten years in that place..." He shook his head grimly. "Azkaban damages people in ways that don't always heal."
Harry felt something cold settle in his chest. He'd known intellectually that Sirius had suffered, but hearing Kingsley's tone drove home the reality—ten years exposed to Dementors, surrounded by the worst criminals in magical Britain, knowing that his best friends were dead and that he'd failed to protect them.
*But he's alive,* Harry reminded himself. *And now we can free him. It won't undo the ten years, but it's a start.*
"I'll need statements from all witnesses," Moody announced, his magical eye fixing on each student in turn. "You're all going to Hogwarts anyway, so we'll conduct formal interviews once you're at the castle. For now, I need basic accounts of what happened."
"I can provide that," Harry said, his enhanced memory ensuring perfect recall of events. "I noticed Ron's rat—Scabbers—had an unusual magical signature when we met on the platform. Once we were settled in the compartment, I mentioned to Ron that I'd been studying magical creatures and animagi. When I looked at Scabbers more carefully, his signature was clearly wrong for a normal animal—far too complex."
He continued methodically through the sequence of events, his analytical mind presenting facts clearly and precisely. McGonagall added her perspective on being summoned by George, and the twins confirmed what they'd witnessed upon entering the compartment.
Ron, who'd been largely silent since the Aurors arrived, finally spoke up. "He was my pet," Ron said, his voice hollow. "For months. I fed him, carried him around, let him sleep in my dormitory—well, not yet, but I was going to. And all that time he was a person who'd murdered twelve people and betrayed Harry's parents."
His voice cracked on the last words.
"Mr. Weasley," Kingsley said gently, crouching down to Ron's eye level despite his dignified bearing, "you were a victim in this situation. Peter Pettigrew exploited your family's kindness and trust. None of what he did is your fault or your responsibility."
"But I should have noticed something," Ron protested weakly.
"How?" Moody asked bluntly. "You thought he was a rat. Most wizards can't detect animagus signatures even when they're looking for them specifically. You had no reason to suspect, no training to recognize the signs. Pettigrew is a coward and a traitor, but he's also clever enough to have fooled hundreds of people for over a decade."
The compartment fell quiet again as Kingsley began the process of adding additional security measures to Peter's bindings. Chains materialized alongside the ropes, glowing with suppression magic that would prevent any spell casting or transformation attempts.
"Transport's ready," Kingsley announced. "Minerva, we'll need you to provide an official statement as well, but that can wait until after you've seen your students safely to Hogwarts."
"Of course," McGonagall agreed. "Though I suspect the Headmaster will want to be involved in this matter personally."
"Dumbledore will be contacted immediately," Kingsley confirmed. "This situation involves the wrongful imprisonment of an innocent man and the exposure of a Death Eater who's been living in hiding for twelve years. The Chief Warlock will definitely need to be informed."
Moody had grabbed Peter by the collar of his transfigured robes, hauling him upright with surprising strength for someone who appeared to be at least sixty. "Come along, Pettigrew. You've got a lot of questions to answer."
"Please," Peter begged one final time, "I can provide information! Names of Death Eaters who escaped justice! I know things that could help the Ministry!"
"Then you can share that information during your trial," Kingsley said firmly. "After you've been formally charged, processed, and given proper legal representation. That's how justice works in civilized society—something you apparently forgot while living as vermin."
With a sharp crack of apparition, Kingsley and Moody disappeared, taking Peter Pettigrew with them.
The compartment suddenly seemed much larger and quieter without them.
McGonagall stood in the doorway for a moment, her stern expression cracking slightly to show the exhausted woman beneath. "Mr. Potter, Messrs. Weasley—you've all done remarkably well in an incredibly difficult situation. The magical world owes you a debt for exposing this deception."
"I just wanted to find the truth about what happened to my parents," Harry said quietly. "And make sure Sirius Black got justice."
"You've accomplished both," McGonagall assured him. "Though the process of actually securing his release will take time—the Ministry doesn't move quickly even with compelling evidence."
She paused, studying Harry with an expression that mixed assessment with something approaching concern. "Mr. Potter, may I ask how you came to be so knowledgeable about magical signatures and animagus detection? Such skills typically require years of study and practice."
Harry had anticipated this question. "I've had access to comprehensive magical texts since learning about my heritage. And I've been highly motivated to learn everything I could—both because I was behind my peers and because..." He gestured vaguely. "I wanted to understand the world that my parents died protecting."
It was true enough to satisfy McGonagall's inquiry without revealing the full scope of his Daily Check-in System or his month of intensive training.
"Well," McGonagall said with a slight smile, "I suspect you'll do quite well at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter. You've demonstrated remarkable analytical thinking and practical application of magical theory. Your parents would be proud."
The words hit harder than Harry had expected, despite Gamer's Mind's emotional regulation.
"Thank you, Professor," he managed.
McGonagall nodded once, then addressed the entire compartment. "I'll be notifying the Weasley family about this situation immediately. Your parents will want to hear from you directly, I imagine. For now, try to rest and recover from this morning's events. We'll reach Hogwarts in approximately six hours, and I suspect you'll all need time to process what's happened."
She swept out of the compartment with characteristic efficiency, leaving four students staring at each other in the aftermath of an event that would be discussed in magical history classes for decades to come.
Fred was the first to break the silence.
"So," he said with forced levity, "I think we can all agree this has been the most mental start to a Hogwarts year in recorded history."
"And it's not even technically started yet," George added weakly.
Ron just stared at the spot where Scabbers—Peter—had been captured, his expression suggesting his entire understanding of reality was currently being rebuilt from scratch.
Harry settled back into his seat, feeling the adrenaline beginning to ebb from his system. His first major intervention in the timeline had been successful—Peter was captured, Sirius would be freed, and the whole trajectory of future events had just shifted dramatically.
*Day 31 of the Daily Check-in System,* Harry thought, allowing himself a small smile. *And already I've changed one of the biggest injustices in the original story.*
Outside the window, the British countryside rolled past as the Hogwarts Express carried them steadily toward Scotland, toward the castle, toward the beginning of everything.
The adventure had officially begun, and Harry Potter had just proven he could handle whatever came next.
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