"Mr. Grindelwald, if you don't speak up soon, I'll assume someone's got you by the throat."
Snape showed no sign of relenting. Lupin gritted his teeth, gripped his wand tighter, and braced for a desperate stand. Back at school, Snape never could have overpowered him so easily. But years of relentless study had honed Snape's edge, even with his distractions in potions mastery, leaving Lupin—exhausted from endless odd jobs—far behind.
"Argus, fetch Headmaster Dumbledore. I'll hold him off," Lupin said, ready to throw himself into the fray.
Argus shook his head with a helpless sigh. "Professor Lupin, I wasn't finished. It doesn't have to come to blows."
He turned to Snape. "The evidence, Professor—you'd know it well. Professor Lupin knows it too."
"Out with it," Snape snapped, his eyelids twitching as his wand stayed trained on Lupin.
"The Marauder's Map."
"After learning Ron's rat Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew, I've kept a close eye on him. Peter's name overlaps with Ron's far too often. You know its power and origins better than anyone, Professor."
Lupin flushed with embarrassment. The map had been Sirius Black's creation, drawn from the Black family archives and their secret tunnel explorations, laced with tracking charms. It was meant to prank Snape—yet here it was, vindicating Sirius in his eyes.
"Where's the map?" Snape demanded, extending a hand to Argus without lowering his guard.
"Right here—I never leave without it." Argus pulled the folded parchment from his pocket and tossed it over.
Snape caught it deftly but didn't unfold it. "Now, Professor, will you lower your wand?"
"One map proves nothing conclusive. But it does clear Sirius of betraying James and Lily. Fair's fair—you trusted their bond more than I ever could."
Snape exhaled sharply and pocketed his wand. A faint, bitter smile tugged at his lips as memories flooded back to their first encounter at St. Mungo's. "Animagus form: a black dog. Fitting for him."
"Where is he now?" Snape's voice was ice.
"First things first, Professor—we capture Peter Pettigrew." Argus avoided revealing Sirius's hideout. Snape's grudge ran deep; given the chance, he'd make Sirius suffer endlessly. Another fugitive on the run? It would end in blood.
Argus glanced at Lupin, who met his eyes with quiet worry. Snape already suspected Sirius's ties to Lupin—the hiding, the meetings. With his resources, tracking Sirius was inevitable.
What now?
"If I'm not mistaken," Snape sneered, "you two muddleheads have been chasing shadows for months?"
Lupin bit back a retort. They'd scoured leads fruitlessly; even Snape's barbs stung without rebuttal. Sirius would have swung first by now.
Lupin let it slide. "Your help would make all the difference, Professor. The acolytes were my backup for an ambush in Hogsmeade, but Sirius's sighting there likely scared Peter off. Hogwarts is the trap now. I'll drive him out; you seal the exits."
"Stay hidden until the last moment," Argus added to Lupin. "Peter's ruthless—he blew up a street and murdered a dozen Muggles to escape once. He won't hesitate to threaten students here. We get one shot."
Argus laid out the scheme, little more than a feint with Peter. Half his plan was in motion; the rest hinged on this.
They hashed out details until dinner loomed. Lupin slipped away first with his Wolfsbane Potion. Alone now, Snape's gaze sharpened like a blade.
"Mr. Grindelwald, whatever Sirius promised you, heed this: a third-year has no business in this mess. I'll speak to Dumbledore."
"Dumbledore?" Argus snorted, claiming a chair. "You know the Dark Arts better than most. Do you truly believe Harry's shield was some love charm Lily conjured?"
"A Muggle-born like her? Mastering that complexity? The Blacks might hoard such secrets, but she'd never touch them."
Snape's eyes darkened, lost in thought.
"I've dabbled in something similar," Argus pressed. "An ancient blood pact—Dumbledore swore one with my father. A binding contract: no harm between parties. Sound familiar? Like Lily's protection."
Snape said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes.
Argus leaned in. "Try this angle: How did Voldemort learn of the prophecy? Why fixate on Harry as its subject?"
Snape stiffened, memories crashing over him. His hands shook; he gripped the table to steady himself. Minutes passed before his voice rasped out.
"It was me. I overheard it and told him. At the Hog's Head—Dumbledore interviewing Trelawney. She prophesied it. I caught only the first half before the owner—Aberforth—booted me."
Argus let out a low chuckle. "You eavesdropped on the era's pivotal prophecy, right under the greatest white wizard's nose? And his response? Just have his brother toss you out?"
Snape's face twisted, the weight of old regrets settling heavier than ever. The room fell silent, the ghosts of that fateful night lingering between them. For the first time, alliance felt possible—fragile, but real.
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