November 3, 1981
Peter Pettigrew strolled through the crowded London street with forced nonchalance, though his eyes darted nervously at every shadow.
He had glimpsed the Grim several times—Sirius’s Animagus form—lurking at the edges of the crowd, waiting for the Muggles to thin out.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded behind him.
Peter spun and darted down a narrow alley.
He had only made it halfway when a voice sharp as broken glass cut through the night.
“It’s over, Peter! I’ve got you now!”
Peter turned, drawing his wand with deliberate slowness.
“Traitor, Sirius? You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Sirius’s wand was already leveled at him, murder burning in his eyes.
“What’s that, Wormtail?
Got some pathetic excuse ready?” “I have no excuses for you, Death Eater!” Peter shouted defiantly.
“What?!
What the hell are you—” “Expelliarmus!”
Sirius’s wand flew from his grasp.
He whirled just in time to see James Potter throw off his Invisibility Cloak and catch it neatly in his off hand.
For a split second, relief flickered across Sirius’s face—his friend was alive—before it was replaced by cold dread at the look of pure hatred in James’s eyes.
“Prongs?” he breathed.
Pettigrew’s Body-Bind Curse slammed into Sirius’s back.
His arms and legs snapped together, and he crashed to the filthy ground.
Paralyzed, Sirius could only watch in silent horror as his best friend approached with the same contemptuous expression he used to wear while tormenting Severus Snape back at Hogwarts.
“You thought you could betray us—betray me—and get away with it, Secret-Keeper?” James snarled.
He kicked the helpless man hard in the ribs.
Sirius made no sound, but the pain was written clearly across his face.
James, I wasn’t your Secret-Keeper!
Peter was!
he screamed inside his mind, but no words escaped.
Soft pops echoed nearby as Aurors Apparated in to contain any curious Muggles.
“Thank you for helping catch him, Peter,” James said, voice tight.
“Though I still don’t understand why he was so desperate to kill you instead of just running.”
“No idea…” Peter replied, feigning confusion.
“Unless… he called me a traitor. You know, Dumbledore might have known he was the Secret-Keeper, but only the three of us and Lily were there when you cast the spell. Maybe he thought You-Know-Who had already killed both of you. If he killed me too, he could claim you’d switched Secret-Keepers. Merlin, what a sly bastard.”
Wormtail looked down at Sirius with an expression of disgust, but his eyes danced with barely contained glee.
Despite everything, Sirius almost had to admire it.
He had never imagined Peter Pettigrew could be this cunning.
Where had that been hiding all these years?
“So, now that we’ve caught him,” Peter asked, “what are you going to do with him?”
“As tempting as the Killing Curse is right now, I’ll let the justice system handle him.”
“James!” Peter exclaimed.
“You’re going to trust the Wizengamot? He’s the Black Heir! Now that he’s been exposed as a blood purist, they’ll bend over backwards to set him free!”
“What do you want me to do?” James hissed.
“Kill him in front of half a dozen Aurors?”
Peter stepped closer and lowered his voice.
“You’re an Auror yourself, James. You have a license to kill marked Death Eaters.” James stared at him.
Sirius’s eyes widened in horror—Potter was actually considering it.
Suddenly, James flicked his wand.
Sirius’s sleeves tore away.
James let out a loud sigh.
“I have a license to kill marked Death Eaters, Peter. He clearly hasn’t been marked… yet.” James stared down at his former friend with burning intensity.
“Still, there are other laws on the books for high-ranking Death Eaters. Secret trials. Even trials in absentia. Between my testimony, Lily’s, and yours, we’ll have this bastard in Azkaban by tomorrow night.”
“James,” Peter said hesitantly, “I was happy—honored, even—to help you catch him. But I’m not an Auror. I don’t have a heavily warded estate, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for Death Eaters. Do you really need my sworn testimony against the Black Heir?”
James smiled fondly and clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“No, I suppose not. Lily and I can handle it. I’ll just need a sealed statement from you for the official report.” His voice softened.
“You’ve been a true friend tonight, better than I’ve deserved. I know I didn’t always treat you right at school, but I promise I’ll make it up to you from now on.”
James turned to the waiting Aurors.
“All right, gentlemen. I want this bastard Stupefied, bound, silenced, and locked in the deepest, darkest Ministry holding cell you can find. No one speaks to him. No one knows where he is until after sentencing. Understood?”
A chorus of “Yessir!” rang out.
As the Aurors moved in, the still-paralyzed Sirius Black looked up into Peter Pettigrew’s face.
It wore an expression of absolute, triumphant victory.
For the next twelve years, that would be the first image Sirius saw every night when the Dementors came.