Chapter 8: Strike One and two of Three

Lily's Point of View

Her child.

He was only a few feet away, close enough for her to see his chest rise and fall, his jaw clench, and something unreadable flicker in his eyes. For one crazy, reckless heartbeat, she wanted to run—across the shiny floor, pick him up, and never let him go again. She wanted to bury her face in his hair and smell the scent she remembered from long ago to prove to herself that this wasn't just another bad dream.

But she didn't budge.

She knew it wouldn't be welcome just by looking at him.

He hadn't looked at her even once since he walked into the Great Hall. He looked past her like she was just another shadow among hundreds. And oh, how that silence hurt more than any curse. She would have understood if he had yelled at her or thrown accusations at her until his throat hurt. She would have taken every word and every bit of pain he threw at her and begged for more just to hear him talk to her. But this? This quiet was too much to take.

Lily's mind was racing with questions that were pushing her to the edge of her control. Where had he been all this time? Who had taken care of him, held him when he was scared, and calmed him down when he had nightmares? Why had he used his wand against Severus and Moody, killing them with a determination that wasn't normal for a boy his age? What had he been through to be able to stand in front of them now, shrouded in this unbreakable silence?

The words were stuck in her throat, begging to be let out, but her voice gave her away. Nothing happened. There was no plea, no apology, and no explanation.

So she stayed put.

She waited quietly, like only a mother can, with her heart torn between breaking and hoping. Every second felt like an eternity, and every breath was a prayer that went unheard. She had dreamed of this reunion and foolishly thought it would be a happy time with hugs and tears. Instead, she stood still on the floor, watching her son  stranger carrying pieces of her heart that she had lost a long time ago.

Lily wanted to close the gap between them, but she knew with a certainty that made her shiver that this moment was not hers to take. It was his. His choice, his rage, his silence. She could only wait and watch as the story unfolded, powerless against the tide of time that had taken him away from her before.

General Point of View

Harry didn't move. His jaw was so tight that it could break a bone. His wand buzzed softly in his hand, and sparks flew from the tip and died in the thick air.

Dumbledore fell back into his chair like an old puppet whose strings had been cut. His hands shook on the armrests.

He whispered, "I... Harry. I'm very sorry. I let him down. I let Sirius down."

Harry didn't even blink.

Harry said, "You shouldn't be sorry to me, Headmaster." His voice was as sharp as broken glass. "He had faith in you. He fought his own blood for you. And when he needed you the most, you locked him up like a monster.

No one was brave enough to speak up.

"You talk about second chances," Harry said, "but where was his first? You gave more to the real Death Eaters. To people who are traitors. But not to Sirius Black. "Why?"

Dumbledore turned his head away. There was no answer.

Hermione cleared her throat, but she didn't take her eyes off of Dumbledore.

"Strike one," she said in a soft voice. "Of three."

She stepped forward, holding her satchel tightly at her side. She pulled out a folded piece of parchment and a yellowed clipping without saying a word.

She put a picture of the Marauder's Map on Dumbledore's desk. Harry father and his friend made this map when they were in school. The photo came into focus when she tapped her wand and said, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

The room watched as tiny labeled footsteps began to move across the map. Then, next to "Ronald Weasley" in the Gryffindor dormitory, a name that should never have existed appeared.

Peter Pettigrew.

"This map they made is always right," Hermione said calmly. "It saw him long before anyone else did. Two years ago, Harry and I saw his name on that map. This is the picture taken of it.

She opened a second item, an old Daily Prophet clipping with the famous picture of Sirius Black in Azkaban, with wild eyes and a smile.

"He wasn't mad," she said in a softer voice. "He was laughing because he knew who got away."

She looked at Dumbledore with a hard look. "You put the wrong man in jail."

Ron, who had been quiet until now, stared blankly at Peter, the man who shared his breakfasts, summers, and family.

Ron whispered, "He slept in my bed. For three years."

He looked down at his hands, shaking with disgust.

"I used to give him cookies under the table."

His voice broke. "I let him sleep on my bed for Christmas."

Peter was about to say something when Harry raised his hand.

"Don't," he said.

Peter turned it off.

Harry walked purposefully toward the body of "Moody," which was still. He took the flask out of the man's pocket and walked across the room, where he quietly put it in front of Dumbledore.

The headmaster looked at it with confusion, then opened the flask and smelled it. His eyebrows came together.

"Polyjuice," he muttered. "Sweetroot. Fluxweed. Recent."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "We didn't change the contents of his flask, if that's what you're thinking."

Dumbledore's eyes moved from Hermione to Harry. "Who is he?"

Harry just crossed his arms and said, "We have to wait and see."

"Strike two," Hermione said softly.

Lily spoke up. Not much.

"Harry..." she said in a low voice.

He didn't look. Didn't move. Didn't even look at her.

And for some reason, that silence felt worse than any curse.

McGonagall, who had had scolded Harry earlier, now looked at him like a force of nature she didn't know.

"That's James's fire," she said to herself. "But sharper." It's colder.

Dumbledore rubbed his temples.

"Harry, you've taken charge of this meeting. And I think I know why. But if there is a third strike...

Peter shook where he was kneeling, his face pale and his body wet with sweat. His watery eyes moved around the room, looking for someone to feel sorry for him or a break in the circle of judgment.

"I—I didn't want to," he stammered. "You don't get it—he was gaining more power everyday. He said he'd kill us all if I didn't—

"No one made you betray them," Harry said coldly as he stepped forward. "You had a wand. You had a choice. You did it.

Peter flinched as if he had been hit.

"I was scared," he whined, holding his hands to his chest. "You-Know-Who—he was scary—he could have killed me!"

"You chose to kill for him instead," Hermione said, her voice hard as steel. "And you let an innocent man rot because of what you did."

Peter's lips shook. "I didn't mean for Sirius—"

"But you didn't stop it," Harry said. "You didn't come forward. Not even once. You let my godfather suffer. You let my father die. And my mother is as good as dead to me."

The words of his younger self slipped out, even though the merging had happened months ago. Sometimes the emotions of that younger self got the better of him. With effort, he quickly brought them back under control.

The word felt like a slap to Lily

"I—I—"

"Peter, there's nothing else to say," Harry said. "The truth is out. At last.

Peter's eyes suddenly darted to the floor, where Snape's wand was just out of reach. Peter lunged at it with all his might, his fingers shaking and his heart racing.

But Hermione was quicker.

Peter's body froze in mid-reach with a quick flick and a muttered "Petrificus Totalus." It fell to the floor like a ragdoll.

There was no hesitation from Hermione. She stepped forward and quickly tied him up with magical ropes that glowed with runes of restraint.

Harry looked at Dumbledore and spoke in a low but steady voice.

"One truth hidden. One more to find. Should we?

The headmaster nodded slowly, his eyes heavy with regret and hope.

Lily, who had been quiet the whole time, suddenly made a strangled sound. Her mind went over and over again the same scenes: Ron's rat curled up on the windowsill, resting on Ellie's blanket, and eating snacks in the kitchen.

In the room of her daughter.

Her voice sounded like broken glass: "He was in my daughter's room..."

The horror slowly spread across her face.

Dumbledore shut his eyes.

"I knew there was a discrepancy," he said. "I decided to trust the Ministry. I was too focused on Voldemort to notice what was right in front of me.

Nobody said anything.

Harry's wand was the only thing that kept sparking, slowly and steadily, as if the magic inside him wouldn't let it stop.

Hermione reached out and lightly touched his arm. He didn't let her go.

He didn't even look at anyone.

Not even his mom.

Not yet.

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