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HRHL# CHAPTER 248
🕑 Added 2025-07-22 06:20:46 +0000 UTCHearing Harry’s words, the professors exchanged glances, each hesitating over whether to reveal the full truth to him.
It wasn’t that they feared Harry would confront Black himself—facts had already proven Harry’s strength. Not even a hundred Dementors could stop him. Send Black to fight him?
He didn’t have the skill, you know.
“Tell him,” Dumbledore said, sensing the professors’ reluctance. “Things can’t possibly get worse.”
“Very well, I’ll explain,” Professor McGonagall said, taking a couple of steadying breaths before addressing Harry. “This matter begins with a prophecy—Voldemort learned that a child born at the end of July would become his nemesis, and so he targeted your family.”
“You know how tirelessly Dumbledore has opposed You-Know-Who,” she continued, clutching her collar. “He had many capable informants—one of whom told him about this. Dumbledore immediately warned James and Lily.” She paused, her voice tightening. “He urged them to go into hiding, telling them their best chance was the Fidelius Charm.”
“You’re familiar with that spell, Harry,” Dumbledore interjected. “Mr. Flamel’s alchemical study is protected by it.”
Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.
“An extraordinarily complex spell,” he said in his high-pitched voice, “one that involves the very essence of a soul. The Fidelius Charm magically conceals a secret within the soul of a living person—the Secret-Keeper. From that moment, the secret is impossible to find unless the Secret-Keeper willingly reveals it. As long as they remain silent, You-Know-Who could scour the village where your parents lived for years and never find them—not even if he pressed his nose against the glass of their sitting room window!”
“You mean…” Harry quickly grasped the crux of the matter, “Sirius Black was my parents’ Secret-Keeper?”
“Yes, Harry, he was,” McGonagall sighed. “Your father, James, told Dumbledore that Black would rather die than betray their whereabouts. He even said Black planned to go into hiding himself. But despite this, Dumbledore was still uneasy—I remember him offering to be your parents’ Secret-Keeper himself.”
Harry froze.
“You’re saying Professor Dumbledore offered to be their Secret-Keeper?” he asked, incredulous. “And my father refused?”
“Yes,” McGonagall said, shaking her head. “Your father believed in friendship.”
Harry took a deep breath.
“Was he a fool?” he nearly roared. “Why didn’t he choose Professor Dumbledore as the Secret-Keeper? Could Voldemort have captured and tortured Dumbledore? Or did he think Dumbledore would betray them to Voldemort?”
The professors turned their heads away, unwilling to answer.
When you put it like that…
It does make your father seem rather foolish.
Harry found it hard to accept—but these were the professors’ words, and he had no choice but to face the truth.
It seemed Professor Snape was right—his father had always been like that: arrogant, conceited. If he’d been even a bit more sensible, perhaps his mother wouldn’t have died.
“There was always a spy among us,” Flitwick squeaked. “Someone feeding You-Know-Who information about our movements. For a while, we wondered who it could be, but the truth eventually came out.”
“Yes,” Professor Sprout sighed, “less than a week after the Fidelius Charm was cast, Black betrayed them. Voldemort found your parents’ hiding place in Godric’s Hollow and killed them. You know what happened next, Harry.”
“He failed with you, lost his powers, and fled, weakened,” McGonagall added. “That left Black in a bind. Having just revealed himself as a traitor, his master fell, so he had no choice but to run.”
Harry sat in his chair, silent.
“If only we could have caught him then,” McGonagall said, her voice heavy with pain. “But it wasn’t us who found him—it was Peter Pettigrew, another of your parents’ friends. He must have been mad with grief. Knowing Black was their Secret-Keeper, he went after him.”
Peter Pettigrew?
Harry lifted his head from his silence. The name felt familiar, as though he’d heard it somewhere before.
Where was it? he wondered.
“Peter Pettigrew?” Flitwick squeaked. “That chubby little boy, always trailing behind Potter and Black. Quiet, reserved, seemed so honest…”
“He worshipped James and Black like heroes,” McGonagall said, her voice hoarse, as if she had a cold. “To be honest, Peter didn’t seem clever enough to run with them. He was… well, dim. I was often harsh with him. But now… you can imagine how much I regret that.”
Tears welled in McGonagall’s eyes. She wiped them away, sobbing softly.
“There, there, Minerva,” Flitwick said shrilly. “You should take comfort. Peter Pettigrew died a hero. Witnesses—Muggles, whose memories the Ministry later erased—told us how he cornered Black. They said he was sobbing, crying out, ‘Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?’ before drawing his wand.”
“Of course, Black was faster,” McGonagall added, her voice breaking with sorrow. “Peter was blasted to pieces. All we found at the scene was his finger…”
She blew her nose, her voice trembling with emotion. “Foolish boy, silly boy… He was always hopeless at dueling. He should’ve left it to the Ministry…”
“Do you remember their nicknames at school?” Flitwick said, patting his chair. “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs—inseparable friends, and yet…”
“Wait!”
Harry suddenly stood, realization dawning. He remembered where he’d seen Peter Pettigrew’s name.
He hurriedly pulled the Marauder’s Map from his wallet, placed it on the table, and turned to Flitwick. “You said the four of them… who were they, exactly?”
“I’ll take it from here,” Dumbledore said suddenly.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“Moony was Remus Lupin, our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” Dumbledore explained. “Wormtail was Peter Pettigrew, Padfoot was Sirius Black, and Prongs…”
“Was my father, James,” Harry finished.
“Yes, those were their nicknames,” Dumbledore nodded.
“But I saw Peter Pettigrew’s name on this map,” Harry said, tapping the parchment.
“What’s this?” Dumbledore asked with interest. “Oh, I’ve seen it before. It belonged to your father, then passed to those mischievous Weasley twins, and now it’s found its way back to you, hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Harry said, unfolding the map. “This is the Marauder’s Map—it shows every location in Hogwarts and everyone in it in real time.”
He pointed a finger at the center of the map.
“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he said.
The professors leaned in as thin ink lines, like a spider’s web, began to spread from where Harry’s finger touched. The lines connected, crossed, and stretched to every corner of the parchment. Then, at the top, words appeared in curling green script: Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present The Marauder’s Map.
“Sounds just like something James would create,” McGonagall said firmly. “Merlin’s beard, if I’d known they were making this at school, I’d have confiscated it on the spot.”
“Indeed, ‘I solemnly swear I am up to no good’—what a mischievous masterpiece,” Flitwick said wistfully.
“But what does this have to do with the map?” Sprout asked.
“I saw Peter Pettigrew’s name on it, right here—” Harry pointed to the Great Hall, where, sure enough, Peter Pettigrew’s name appeared… alongside Ron’s?!
The professors crowded around, and there it was, plain as day.
“But that’s impossible,” McGonagall frowned. “Peter Pettigrew is dead—we all know that. Perhaps the map is faulty…”
“One of the map’s creators is here at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore reminded them. “Perhaps we should summon Professor Lupin and ask him what’s going on.”
“I’ll have Peeves fetch him,” Flitwick said.
“We’ll meet in my office, Harry,” Dumbledore told him. “Perhaps you could bring Miss Grindelwald along.”
“Yes, Professor,” Harry nodded.
Veratia was still in the Slytherin common room, fast asleep. When Harry approached, he found her playfully kicking at Cassandra, who was returning the gesture with her long legs.
“Hey,” Harry said, but before he could continue, Veratia grabbed his leg and yanked him down.
“Well, well, you’ve delivered yourself to me,” Veratia teased, half-pinning him. “Ready to pay the price, my little…”
“There’s an urgent matter,” Harry interrupted. “We’ve got news about Sirius Black.”
Veratia sat up abruptly.
“You mean the one trying to kill you?” she asked. “Where is he?”
“Come with me to the Headmaster’s office,” Harry said, then, not wanting to exclude Cassandra, added, “Cassandra, you come too.”
“How rare, Potter, you actually remembered to invite me,” Cassandra drawled, lounging on the floor. “I thought that sneaky cat had already blinded you to everyone else.”
Harry coughed awkwardly. “Come on, let’s go.”
When the three arrived at the Headmaster’s office, they found Lupin and Snape, the latter looking distinctly disheveled. Unsurprisingly, Snape’s expression soured the moment he saw Lupin—not just because of the Boggart incident with Snape in women’s clothing, but because Lupin had been part of James’s tight-knit group.
“Professor Lupin, Professor Snape,” Harry greeted politely.
“Harry,” Lupin replied with a gentle smile, though exhaustion was etched into his face.
It was clear he’d been through a lot lately, though no one knew exactly what.
Once everyone was seated, Dumbledore produced the Marauder’s Map.
“Remus,” he said, “you recognize this, don’t you?”
Lupin’s face softened with nostalgia.
“Of course,” he said warmly. “This was something James, Sirius, Peter, and I made together. It’s hard to find lads as brilliant as they were. This map is truly one of a kind, thanks in no small part to the potion James sneaked from the Potter family vault.”
At that, everyone silently cursed James’s recklessness. A potion capable of creating the Marauder’s Map had to be extraordinarily rare—nothing less could produce a map that tracked people’s movements in real time.
“Harry tells me he saw a name on this map,” Dumbledore said. “The name of someone who’s supposed to be dead.”
Lupin shook his head firmly. “Impossible, absolutely impossible. If you look closely, you’ll see the map doesn’t even show ghosts. How could it display someone who’s dead? Who was it?”
Dumbledore spoke a name that was both unthinkable and deeply stirring.
“Peter Pettigrew,” he said.
Lupin’s gray-black eyes contracted sharply. He froze, clutching his chest and breathing heavily.
Even Snape was stunned, standing rooted to the spot.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
