Madam Pomfrey's tone softened slightly. "Even so, Mr. Black, you should never have left the hospital wing without permission in the first place."
Sirius slumped against the headboard, his voice hoarse. "I know… I made a mess of things. Still couldn't kill the rat. Alright, how bad is it, Albus?"
Before Dumbledore could answer, Snape sneered. "Beyond what your pathetic mind is perhaps capable of comprehending."
"I suspect Cornelius won't be particularly pleased," Dumbledore mused. "But, Sirius, I think you need to know…"
Just then, the hospital wing doors creaked open again. The professors turned. Harry stood in the doorway, hair mussed, wearing pyjamas and slippers, breathing hard. Mrs. Norris sidled up behind him with malicious intent, then halted in surprise at the sight of the bright ward and the row of professors.
"Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall said, both shocked and stern.
"Sorry, Professor, I couldn't sleep. I saw the red sparks." Harry's words tumbled out. "You found him, right? Is he hurt?"
Sirius sat bolt upright in bed, raising his voice. "Harry, I'm fine!"
"Sirius!" Harry said, the relief in his voice palpable. Professor McGonagall hesitated, then gave a curt nod. Harry dashed into the ward and stopped at Sirius's bedside.
A flicker of genuine remorse finally appeared in Sirius's expression.
"I promise I didn't mean to break our deal, Harry."
"It's fine," Harry said dismissively, his eyes scanning Sirius's bruised, battered face and the purpling mark on his forehead. "Where'd you go? You look awful."
"Not surprised," Sirius shrugged. "Azkaban. You know the place."
"Sirius!" Professor McGonagall disapproved, clearly feeling this was not a topic for a second-year.
But Harry was already asking. "What? Why'd you go there? You said it was a hidden island out at sea. How'd you even find it?"
"Lived there a long time, Harry—if you can call it living." Sirius tried for a light tone. "Trust me, I'd never mistake the feel of Dementors, that cold, rotten stink of Azkaban… the way it sucks all the joy out of you. Just swim toward the worst place you can imagine. That's Azkaban. But promise me you won't try." He attempted a joke with the last part. It fell flat.
Harry didn't smile. "You said it was a horrible place. Why go back?"
Sirius hesitated. Didn't answer.
Snape said softly, "Allow me to tell you, Potter. Because your godfather wished to make his conviction somewhat more… deserving. He wished to become a murderer in truth."
"That's not true!" Harry snapped, whirling to glare at Snape.
Sirius snarled, "No one asked you!"
A malicious smile played on Snape's lips as he stared at Harry, his voice dropping even lower. "You say that only because you do not truly know Black. You've constructed an image in your mind from wishful thinking—"
"Shut it, Snivellus!" Sirius roared. He shoved the blankets aside, looking ready to leap from the bed and brawl right there. Snape, still in his duelling robes, drew his wand with shocking speed, smirking as he pointed it at Sirius. Harry jumped up, his eyes darting to the other professors, his hand slipping toward his own wand, which was tucked into his pyjama pocket.
Madam Pomfrey slammed a potion vial onto the nearby bedside table. The sound was sharp, loud, final.
"Please, Severus," Dumbledore said, his tone stern. "And you, Sirius."
Snape held Sirius's gaze. Very slowly, he lowered his wand. He took half a step back, returning to Professor McGonagall's side.
"Really, Severus!" McGonagall whispered.
Sirius watched Snape warily from the bed for another moment before throwing himself back against the headboard with a huff. He looked at Harry beside him, conflict plain on his face.
"I went to Azkaban… because I wanted to kill Peter Pettigrew," he finally admitted. "You can't say he doesn't deserve it. But," he added, looking at Harry, "I didn't succeed. The rat's still alive and well in Azkaban."
"Actually…" Anthony began.
"You are not considering trying again, Sirius?" Professor McGonagall said sharply.
Madam Pomfrey said in exasperation, "Splendid! No one wants the patient to rest! Do remember to close the door on your way out—and draw the curtains, if the sun is up by then."
She turned on her heel and left, the door to her private room slamming shut behind her.
"He sold out his friends! He deserves to die!" Sirius said loudly, utterly undeterred. "If he ran to Voldemort to save his own skin, he should have known we'd kill him for it!"
"But Sirius, he's already in Azkaban!" Harry argued.
"What's Azkaban?" Sirius said fiercely, gesturing wildly. "He's gotten away for too long! Given the chance, he'd run again. Don't you see? He was feeding information to Voldemort for a year before he sold James and Lily… the rat had already betrayed us!" He turned to Harry, pleading now. "James trusted him so completely—I trusted him—I was a fool. I know he has to die—"
"Don't kill him," Harry said. "No. You can't."
"Harry!" Sirius sounded almost furious. "He got James and Lily killed! If it weren't for him—if I hadn't talked James into making him Secret-Keeper—they'd be alive! You wouldn't have had to live with those damn relatives! James would be here, Lily would be here, you'd be a family! Remus wouldn't be struggling to find work!" He gripped Harry's shoulders. "Do you understand, Harry?"
"I understand. But you can't kill him." Harry's voice was stubborn, a little choked. "I don't think my dad would have wanted you to become a murderer… not for someone like Peter Pettigrew."
Sirius froze.
"He's already cost me two family members," Harry said, taking a shaky breath. "Don't make that number any bigger."
Sirius held Harry's shoulders, staring into his face. For a long moment. Then his grip loosened. He nodded, a stiff, difficult motion, and sank back against the headboard.
"I promise you," Sirius said quietly. He repeated it, louder. "I promise you, Harry. You have the right to decide his fate."
A heavy quiet settled over the ward, broken only by Sirius's still-laboured breathing.
Dumbledore said gently, "You have a heart of gold, Harry." Both Sirius and Harry seemed to startle. Harry looked deeply embarrassed. For a moment, he'd clearly forgotten the professors were there.
Anthony cleared his throat. "Though, I think you both should know something. Peter Pettigrew is dead."
"What?" Sirius said, astonished.
"Astonishing, Black. You always seem to miss the relatively important events while you're busy pontificating," Snape said with contempt. He'd been glowering, looking thoroughly disgusted, since the conversation between Sirius and Harry began.
"That is the potential trouble I mentioned," Dumbledore said. "But that is for the future. For now, while the sun has not yet risen and the roosters have not yet crowed," he smiled at Harry, "I suspect you can finally rest easy and return to your dormitory, Harry?"
"Yes, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, offering a small, sheepish smile.
"Excellent," Dumbledore nodded. "Pleasant dreams, Harry."
…
Harry left. Sirius leaned forward eagerly. "Wormtail's dead? How?"
"Well…" Dumbledore said. "I would say primarily the Dementors."
"Dementors?" Sirius said. "The Kiss? Serves him right."
Professor McGonagall looked puzzled. "The Dementor's Kiss? But Pettigrew had already stopped breathing."
"Because there was something else as well, Minerva," Snape supplied smoothly. Dumbledore glanced at Anthony.
"Yes. Something else," Anthony agreed.
"Something else?" Professor McGonagall's gaze darted between them. Dumbledore glanced at Anthony again. Anthony met his eyes and smiled.
Professor McGonagall seemed to understand. She drew in a sharp breath. "No!"
Snape merely sneered.
"Am I supposed to know or not?" Sirius protested. "I thought I was the one who went to kill the rat?"
Snape feigned confusion. "If you find your intellect is indeed insufficient to grasp the matter, why not simply remain quiet?"
Dumbledore cut in. "Rather than dwelling on the cause of Peter's demise, perhaps we should consider more pressing matters. First, the matter of Peter's burial plot—"
"He doesn't deserve one!" Sirius snapped.
"—should be arranged in a suitable location. I believe you assisted with his mother's interment, Minerva?"
Professor McGonagall nodded. "I did."
"It would be wonderful if you could locate a suitable plot nearby," Dumbledore said. "Second, Cornelius will certainly not enjoy the story of our… and his Head of the Auror Office's… late-night excursion to Azkaban. I am merely uncertain how much he will dislike it. Before his reaction reaches our ears, I hope you are all prepared—mentally. Cornelius can be rather stubborn at times."
"Most times," Professor McGonagall corrected, her mouth a thin, tight line.
"Third, we encountered an old acquaintance in Azkaban. Bellatrix."
Sirius made a sound of disgust. "Oh, her. Still screaming her head off?"
"Quite," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "I believe she and I share a conviction—that Lord Voldemort will return one day. Most impressive, especially considering she—unlike us—has had no evidence these many years that Voldemort did not perish. She simply believes it with great fervour.
"Having witnessed the fragility of Azkaban's defences, I must admit I am somewhat concerned that she—and other ardent followers—may also entertain notions of departure. On the other hand, Cornelius will undoubtedly dismiss my concerns as nonsense."
Sirius caught on quickly. "You said 'unlike us,' Albus? What does that mean? You have evidence?"
"Oh, yes," Dumbledore said. "I assume Harry or his friends have mentioned their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?"
Sirius nodded. "Lockhart?"
"Professor Lockhart is this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," Dumbledore said, his tone deceptively light. "Last year, it was Voldemort."
The hospital wing lights seemed suddenly too bright. Anthony saw Sirius blink. "Sorry?"
"Last year, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was Voldemort," Dumbledore repeated. "Or, more precisely, a follower acting directly to facilitate his return. Quirinus Quirrell, if you're curious. He attempted to help Voldemort steal the Philosopher's Stone, which was hidden at Hogwarts."
"The Philosopher's Stone. Hidden at Hogwarts," Sirius repeated dazedly. Then the full weight of Dumbledore's words seemed to hit him. "Have you gone mad, Albus?" He turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, is it because I just got out of Azkaban—"
"Which brings me to the fourth matter," Dumbledore said gravely. "Given the circumstances, I must insist on unity. Severus, Sirius—"
Snape and Sirius looked at each other. They seemed to know what was coming. Identical expressions of hatred and disgust settled on their faces.
"Please refrain from such overt hostility. At least in public. Will you?" Dumbledore said. "Shake hands."
Sirius and Snape stared at each other, unyielding, radiating a hatred Anthony had never seen before.
Dumbledore seemed to sigh. "Anthony? Severus?"
Anthony hadn't expected to be involved. "Sir?"
"Shake hands," Dumbledore said. "Azkaban is clearly not secure. Voldemort lurks in the shadows, seeking return. We face Cornelius's displeasure."
"Er… right." Anthony extended his hand. "Professor Snape?"
A muscle twitched in Snape's jaw. He stared at Anthony's hand, then glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to see a giant bear there.
"Professor Anthony," Snape said through gritted teeth, and took Anthony's hand. Sirius let out a loud, derisive snort.
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