I was curious why Timothy had asked me to meet him in our music room. The others weren't around, and it wasn't practice night. The moment I stepped through the door, I understood.
He was standing by the stage, bathed in soft green and silver light. The floating orbs above him made the room look half-dream, half-duel arena. His silhouette stretched long behind him, cast by the shifting glow. Always dramatic.
"Thanks for coming, Harry," he said, stepping forward with that usual saunter, his shadow trailing behind like it had secrets of its own.
I clapped twice. The lights flared to full brightness — a nifty spell he called the clapper. I folded my arms.
"Mate, really. Why the theatrics? What's this about?"
He gave me a disappointed look, like I had ruined his favorite part.
"Alright," he said. "No riddles. Just truth. With a dash of pureblood presentation."
I narrowed my eyes. "Go on, then."
"I caught a rat."
I blinked. "You what?"
"Not just any rat. A magical one. Animagus."
Hermione had explained that term once when I asked about Transfiguration. A wizard who could turn into an animal at will. It sounded brilliant — and dangerous.
"Here? At Hogwarts?"
He nodded, but there was a flicker of concern behind his calm expression.
"What do you know about Sirius Black?"
The name meant nothing to me. I shook my head. I must have looked confused because he kept going.
"Sirius Black was your parents' Secret Keeper. A powerful spell had been cast to hide them from Voldemort. He was trusted with the secret. But he was accused of betraying them. That's how Voldemort found your family."
My breath caught. My ears rang. My heart pounded like it was trying to get out.
I clenched my fists. "What happened to him?"
"He supposedly killed Peter Pettigrew. Another friend of your parents. Blew him up in front of a dozen Muggles. He's been in Azkaban ever since."
I stared at him. My voice came out a whisper. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because, Harry…" Timothy's voice lowered, steady and quiet. "The rat I found — is Peter Pettigrew."
The world tilted.
"What?" I barely breathed.
"Sirius Black, your godfather, might have been framed. Pettigrew went into hiding — as a rat. Ask yourself why someone innocent would live as an animal for over a decade."
I swallowed hard. "How did you find him?"
He scratched the back of his head, glancing to the side. "I used… a Rosier heirloom. An artifact my family keeps locked away. Not registered with the Ministry. Old magic. Think of it like a magical truth-snare. It doesn't catch lies — it catches liars."
I stared. "So you're saying you caught Pettigrew with some ancient cursed family relic?"
He shrugged. "Cursed is a harsh word. I prefer 'persuasively selective.'"
He stepped closer. There was no smugness now, just focus.
"He's bound. Alive. Not Polyjuiced. Not glamoured. Animagus reveal spell confirmed the form. It's him, Harry."
I took a shaky breath. My voice was firm, but low. "We need to tell someone. Dumbledore. Now."
"That's the plan," he said. "We go together. First thing in the morning. Quietly."
"Why not now?" I asked. I was already turning toward the door.
He held up a hand. "Because this has to be airtight. No mistakes. No vanishing evidence. Pettigrew's going to break the world open when the truth comes out — and some people will try to stop that. I've secured him. I want you there when we bring it forward. As a witness."
I hesitated, then nodded slowly.
His eyes lit with approval.
<><><><><><><>
The office was quiet. Not the comforting quiet of our music room, or the focused hush of the library. This was the kind of silence that wrapped around your ribs and whispered that something important was about to happen.
I stood behind Harry, hands clasped behind my back, eyes fixed on the silver cage sitting on Dumbledore's desk. Inside, Peter Pettigrew shifted and twitched, a disgusting little man reduced to a trembling ball of nerves and half-muttered excuses.
So this was the rat that helped murder a legend. He didn't look like much.
"It's not often I begin my day with a resurrection," Dumbledore said, his voice smooth and wry.
Harry leaned forward. "He was Scabbers. Ron's pet. For years."
"Yes," Dumbledore murmured, his eyes flicking to the cage. "And before that, declared dead. Posthumously awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class."
Then his gaze slid to me.
"How long have you known?"
I kept my tone measured. "Long enough to be cautious. Short enough to act before he vanished again."
His fingers steepled. He always did that when he wanted you to think he was thinking more deeply than you were. Maybe he was. Hard to tell with Albus Dumbledore.
"And how did you act?" he asked.
I smiled lightly. "Let's call it a family artifact. Inherited magic. Selectively responsive to deceit. The rat failed the test."
A flicker of amusement danced behind the old man's eyes, but his voice remained perfectly still.
"A Rosier heirloom that unmasks criminals. That is either poetic, or concerning."
"Both," I said smoothly, "depending on who you ask."
He tapped the edge of his desk once, his fingers drifting toward the cage. "And why come to me directly?"
"Because he's alive," Harry said firmly, "and Sirius Black is innocent."
The name hit like lightning in a bottle. Fawkes stirred. Dumbledore's expression did not change, but something subtle shifted behind his eyes. Calculation, maybe. Recognition.
"I see," he said, quietly.
He stood then, robes gliding around him like shadows given form. He approached the cage and stared inside. Pettigrew shrank away from that gaze. I would have, too, if I were guilty.
"Peter Pettigrew," Dumbledore said, voice like ice wrapped in velvet. "Do you deny your identity?"
"I—I want a barrister," Pettigrew croaked, sweating already. "I demand—"
"Oh for Merlin's sake," I muttered.
I stepped forward, calm and unbothered. "We can fetch one. I believe Azkaban has a few waiting their turn."
"Enough," Dumbledore said, lifting one hand.
Silence fell like a curtain.
"This complicates many things," he said softly. "The Ministry will resist this truth. They will say it is fabricated. Staged. But the magic in this room does not lie."
He tapped the bars of the cage with his wand. A sharp flash of blue light erupted, and Pettigrew screamed like his soul had been branded.
Dumbledore did not flinch.
"Undeniable," he said. "It is him."
"What happens now?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore's voice was quiet, but resolute. "Now, we restore a man's freedom, and challenge a lie that has lasted over a decade."
His eyes sharpened, curious now. "Be careful, Mr. Rosier. Those who move in silence often find themselves the focus of sudden attention."
"I've noticed," I said, smiling faintly. "That's why I wear good shoes."
The conversation paused. The tension did not.
Dumbledore returned to his desk. With a flick of his wand, green flames bloomed in the fireplace, curling upward like smoke from a dragon's mouth.
"I will contact Madam Bones," he said. "She is not easily swayed by politics. Pettigrew will be secured, and the truth will find its way forward."
"May I ask something, sir?"
His eyes found mine again. "Of course."
"When Black is freed," I said, steady as ever, "will you let him see Harry?"
Dumbledore looked to Harry, and for the first time since we entered the office, his face truly softened.
"Yes," he said. "He has earned that much. As have you both."
In that moment, a rush of memory floods my mind, a clone's final thoughts before unsummoning himself. I open my inventory, and there it is. The journal. No longer cursed. Just a plain book now, resting in quiet defiance.
I allowed myself a long breath. Not relief. Not yet. But progress.
Behind us, the day had only just begun. Outside, Hogwarts was waking.
<><><><><><><>
It's been a week since we gave Dumbledore the rat in the cage. In that time, wheels have started turning. Quiet ones. Dangerous ones.
Susan slipped me a note over breakfast, folded inside her napkin like a guilty secret. Sirius Black has been moved. Out of Azkaban, into a Ministry holding cell. The trial is coming. The news hasn't broken yet, but it will.
And Harry? He hasn't said much. But the next day, he found me, pulled me aside, asked if I knew a song that captured how he felt. He didn't say it outright, but I saw it in his eyes. The weight. The rage. The betrayal.
Of course I had a song.
I gave him the lyrics. Taught him the beat with Tracey, taught him how to scream with purpose instead of pain. Tracey understood Harry needed this, even if she didn't know the full story. She didn't ask. She just played.
That brings us here.
The music room is packed, fuller than ever. Word has spread. The songs, the lights, the raw truth stitched into every note, it's caught on.
I even see a familiar face. Luna Lovegood.
But tonight, it's Harry's show.
I turn toward him and nod once. He breathes in, lifts the drumsticks, and hits.
[Bullet With Butterfly Wings- The Smashing Pumpkins]
Harry's voice rips through the silence. Not pretty. Not polished. But real.
"The world is a vampire
Sent to draaiiiin
Secret destroyers
Hold you up to the flames"
He hits the snare, hard and sharp.
"And what do I get
For my paaaiiiin?
Betrayed desires
And a piece of the game"
The beat builds. The bass rolls in, Tracey's fingers finding the groove with precision and something like fury. Her eyes flick to Harry, reading him now. Understanding.
"Even though I know
I suppose I'll show
All my cool and cold
Like ol' Job"
I slide in on guitar. Sharp. Metallic. Controlled chaos.
Then the chorus hits.
"Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage
Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage
Someone will say, "What is lost can never be saved"
Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage"
Harry screams it. Not loud. Raw. The kind of voice that carries more than volume.
The room stills. Not in fear. In attention.
Neville's eyes widen. He's reading the lyrics floating above us, projected by my spell, glowing silver and red like a gospel of grief. His hand clenches the edge of his chair.
"Now I'm naked
Nothing but an animal
But can you fake it
For just one more show?
And what do you want?
I wanna change
And what do you got!
When you feel the same?"
Susan blinked rapidly, staring at Harry like she was seeing him for the first time. She wiped at her eyes, then quickly looked away.
Even Daphne, ever composed, has stilled, gaze narrowed like she's dissecting the meaning line by line.
"Even though I know
I suppose I'll show
All my cool and cold
Like ol' Job"
Luna spins in slow circles near the back, dancing like she hears a second version of the song no one else does. Her eyes are distant, but smiling.
"Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage
Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage
Then someone will say, "What is lost can never be saved"
Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage!"
Blaise actually taps his foot. He's not smiling, not joking, he's thinking. This isn't his music, but something in the mess of noise and honesty speaks to him.
"Tell me I'm the only one
Tell me there's no other one
Jesus was an only son, yeah
Tell me I'm the chosen one
Jesus was an only son, for you"
Millicent, surprisingly, is nodding along, shoulders rocking with the rhythm. Her eyes burn with something fierce. Like the song woke up a part of her that had been sleeping.
"Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage
Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage
And someone will say, "What is lost can never be saved"
Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage!"
Harry's voice cracks. Just slightly. But he leans into it, rides the edge like he needs the pain to say the words right.
Tracey matches his intensity now, driving the bass forward like it's carrying his heart on her strings.
"Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a...
Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a...
Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage"
I lean into the final riff, pulling every ounce of control and distortion I can from my guitar. The spell above us flashes violently, shattering into red lightning bolts that race along the ceiling like rage given shape.
"Tell me I'm the only one
Tell me there's no other one
Jesus was an only son, for you
And I still believe that I cannot be saved
And I still believe that I cannot be saved
And I still believe that I cannot be saved
And I still believe that I cannot be saved"
When the final chord fades, no one claps. Not yet.
Harry lowers the drumsticks slowly, breathing hard, sweat glistening at his brow.
And for the first time since we dragged the truth into the light...he looks lighter.
His shoulders drop. Not in exhaustion. In release.
Tracey steps away from the amp, brushing hair from her eyes. She doesn't say anything, just bumps her shoulder against Harry's in quiet solidarity.
Susan stares down at her hands, lips pressed tight, as if she wants to say something but can't trust her voice yet.
Daphne rises and walks over, placing a cup of water in front of Harry. No comment. Just the gesture. Her version of concern.
Millicent crosses her arms and mutters, "That was actually brilliant," as if saying it any louder would make her vulnerable.
And Luna? She sits cross-legged on a cushion now, head tilted. "That was loud and sad. Like a Thestral screaming into a broken mirror."
Harry laughs, breathless and surprised. "That's... not far off."