Harry Potter and The Trial of Peter Pettigrew

Calmacil20

Rating: PG
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 23/05/2006
Last Updated: 26/05/2006
Status: completed

Three months after the War, the one Harry hates most is caught at last...

Chapters

1. A Future Mired in the Past

2. The Loneliest Chair in the World

3. The Contested Verdict

4. Razor Perceptions

5. The Shadows and The Light

1. A Future Mired in the Past

Things were simpler during the War.

Could that be right? Harry Potter thought to himself as he slammed his closet door shut with more force than he had intended.

He looked out the window of his third story London flat at an angry grey sky that fit perfectly with his mood, and his mind briefly toyed with the idea of whether one's mood was controlled by the weather, or if it was the other way around. As usual these days, he couldn't concentrate on the thought for long and it was soon lost in the avenues of his mind.

Besides, he had more things to occupy his mind today. It was three months after he had defeated Voldemort, and at last the Demiguises that had run Azkaban since the Dementors abandoned their posts had found Peter Pettigrew.

When Harry had first heard that Demiguises were being used at Azkaban, he was more than a little skeptical. Hermione had shown him in some bestiary book that they were peaceful creatures and he wondered if they would be at all useful in protecting the prison. Their successes took Harry by surprise. When he actually saw one, he almost forgot the fact that they were docile - they were very large, black-haired ape-like creatures, with pitch-black eyes that seemed to have no end. When it disappeared right in front of Harry's eyes, he suddenly understood why they had been called into service; it would be useful to have guards who could become invisible at will. Hagrid had been working with them, so that while they weren't prone to violence like the Dementors, they could be fierce when the time came.

Most importantly, they had tracked down Pettigrew, so Harry was having a hard time faulting them with anything at this point.

Peter Pettigrew. Just the name made Harry's hands ball into fists and waves of rage crash through his body. Of all Voldemort's remaining servants, Pettigrew was the one that Harry had wanted caught the most. The things that the man was responsible for: the betrayal of his parents, Cedric's murder, the return of Voldemort… Harry took a deep breath to calm himself down. He couldn't let the hatred that had been simmering under the surface for the past three months boil over now. Not yet.

He couldn't explain where this anger that he carried had come from, but it had been there ever since he had destroyed Voldemort. He knew that he should have been relieved, happy, joyful, a thousand other things than angry, but he couldn't escape it - the void in himself that killing Voldemort failed to fill. All his life he had been working towards the goal of freeing the world from Voldemort's shadow, and now that he was gone, Harry couldn't figure out why he had all this left over emotion.

He remembered all the celebrations and parades that had happened afterward, and he remembered feeling like he wasn't even there, like he was watching someone else sit there and receive all kinds of toasts and accolades, honors and recognition. None of it seemed to matter.

He had stayed with the Weasleys at the Burrow for a couple of weeks after everything had calmed down, but eventually he found that he couldn't be around them all the time. He cared about them all dearly, and he knew he always would, but there was always some argument going on or someone running about the house, none of which helped to improve his continually worsening mood, so he had found this flat just around the corner from Diagon Alley and taken it. He hoped some time alone would help him figure out what was wrong, but so far he hadn't gotten close to an answer.

There were some things that he could rest easy about, however, like the fact that his friends had made it through everything okay. That was one of his biggest worries during their seventh term, but together they had managed to survive. Things certainly weren't the same though. How could they be? he wondered.

One of the biggest surprises was Ron ending up with Luna Lovegood; that was something he had never seen coming. He had always figured that Ron and Hermione's bickering had just been a cover for something deeper, but during the course of their seventh year, as they went through challenge after challenge to hunt down the Horcruxes, Luna had become more and more of a help, and, for some reason, Ron had been drawn to her. Some time back his friend has confessed that he didn't know how it had happened, but he just suddenly found himself thinking about her a lot and always worrying about her safety. Harry wondered if it also had something to do with the fact that Hermione had been so focused on helping defeat Voldemort that she didn't really make anytime for anything else in her life, but Harry didn't want to bring that up to Ron. His best friend was happy and that was all that mattered.

He found himself relating to Hermione in the fact that he barely made any effort to have any kind of social life last year, which would explain why he and Ginny had drifted apart. At first, Harry told himself that it was for the best; Ginny would be safer the further away from him she was. As time had passed, he found himself thinking less and less about her, and by the time the War was over, he had been through too much to just pick up where they had left off. He'd told her this with some serious trepidation, only to find that she had been expecting it.

“I'm not daft,” she had reminded him when he told her. “I could see this coming, Harry. You're not as good at hiding things as you may think.”

Harry fumbled for a moment before saying, “Look, Ginny, it's okay for you to be angry with me; you have every right to be. But after all of this, I thought I owed you the truth.”

“You owed me?” she asked bitterly. “I daresay you do, Harry Potter, or rather did. You made it pretty evident this past year that you were never going to come back to us, even if you never said anything. It just would have been nice if you had just said it to me so I wouldn't have spent all this time waiting for you, for no reason.”

That last bit stung a bit, but Harry couldn't bring himself to rise to the challenge in her voice. “I don't know what you want me to say here, Gin. I'm sorry.”

Ginny looked like she was about to say something else, but then changed her mind, and sighed heavily. “I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it?”

Harry looked at her for a moment, trying to summon up the feelings that had seemed so real only months before, but nothing came, so he only responded, “No, I guess it doesn't.”

That was where it ended. They parted ways cordially, and Harry knew that things would never be the same between them. They had never really built up much of a friendship, and this effectively killed any chance at ever having one. He actually heard from Ron that she and Neville had been seeing a fair amount of each other recently, and Harry was happy for them. Just like Luna, Neville had proved himself a loyal friend during the War, and if he made Ginny happy, then it was fine with Harry.

Then there was Hermione, and she seemed different in a way that he couldn't quite put his finger on. She'd also purchased her own flat in London, just a few streets over from his as it happened, so he saw her more than he saw anyone else, although their getting together usually seemed to be her idea. He was becoming increasingly reluctant to go out, and Hermione didn't like to seem him like that, so she was always suggesting they did something. She might try to hide it, but Harry could see that she was feeling a bit lost herself, and though they never really talked about it, they connected over it. She always seemed to be holding something back, some small part of her that Harry could never get her to reveal, as much as he tried. So instead, they would just go for walks, go to coffee houses, do things that normal people did. Yet at his core, Harry knew no matter what, he would never feel normal. Not after everything he'd been through.

Maybe that will change today, he thought hopefully as he put on a jacket. It only took him a glance at the sky to tell him it would rain at any minute, but he didn't grab an umbrella. Today was the trial of Peter Pettigrew, and Harry hoped that maybe this would ease his mind, stop the restlessness that he couldn't get rid of.

He looked at the clock on the wall which read a quarter till one and swore under his breath. The trial was supposed to start at one sharp, and he was supposed to meet Hermione at the Ministry of Magic ten minutes before. He threw his keys into his jacket pocket, and rushed out the door. He was going to have to hurry to make it on time.

He hit the street at a half-run, briefly relishing the cool London air, and the faint scent of rain on the breeze. He quickly made his way through the traffic and constant stream of Muggles as he headed towards the Ministry, hoping that he wasn't too late.

He found the red telephone box in the same dodgy street it always was just as the fat raindrops were starting to fall, rushed into it and shut the door and quickly dialed 62442. When the voice of the welcome witch suddenly filled the booth, asking him to state his business he said, “the trial of Peter Pettigrew,” and a silver badge appeared with his name and the word “trial” inscribed on it. Then the lift kicked on, and Harry was lowered into the Ministry.

As Harry waited in the lift, he couldn't help but remember one of the last times he was here, when the Death Eaters and Voldemort had attacked, looking for the Prophecy, and Sirius had been killed. He felt a knot in his stomach just going to where he had lost his god father, and his rage at Pettigrew surged up again. Today is your turn, he thought to himself as he heard the ding and the door opened.

He walked out into the Atrium, glancing briefly at Fountain of Magical Brethren, again pushing back memories, and looked for Hermione. There were a few wizards milling about, but no one that he recognized. He let out a sigh of relief; he wasn't late.

Suddenly from behind him, he heard a voice say, “Harry Potter, you are one minute late.”

He couldn't help but smile as he turned around to see Hermione looking up at him. She had certainly grown up during their seventh term, and now looked much more a young woman than the girl he had first met all those years ago. She was dressed in more formal clothes than normal, with a pair of black dress pants and a navy blue top with a black jacket, but her hair was the same mess of curls it had always been, although it had seemed to straighten a little as it got longer.

As if reading his thoughts, she said with a smile, “Well, at least I tried to look respectable for the occasion.”

Harry looked down at his wrinkled tan pants and the red t-shirt he was wearing under his blue jacket.

“Er…I was running a little late. I didn't exactly have time to put on my dress robes, Hermione,” he said.

She laughed softly and said, “Well, you could at least have tried to comb your hair, or are you tired of combs breaking off in that mess?”

He laughed at that -- something that only Hermione seemed to be able to make him do these days and gave her a playful shove.

“My hair's not as long as yours,” he said, running a hand through his messy hair, trying to pat it down.

“You're also not a girl,” she replied, smirking.

Harry kept smiling for a moment, until a scowling wizard bumped into him, and the deep frown suddenly reminded him why he was here. He knew Hermione was trying to cheer him up, but this was not the time.

“Look, we can discuss hair styles on the way in, all right? We're going to be late,” Harry said and started walking to the gates and security check point. He heard Hermione mumble “because of you,” but decided to ignore it.

They both checked their wands and were allowed to the gates where they took the stairs that lead to level ten, which was where the trial was being held.

As the hurried down the stairs Harry asked, “How long have you been here?”

Hermione shrugged and said, “About ten minutes or so I would guess.”

“Seen anyone we know?”

“I saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, as well as Fred and George, Ginny and Ron and Luna.”

Harry looked sideways at her as she said the last two names; he had never figured out how she felt about Ron dating Luna and they had never really brought it up, but he didn't think now was the time to delve into it.

“Anyone else?”

“Quite a few of the Order members. I saw Tonks go in, and McGonagall, too. She said that Moody was already down there, so I assumed there'll probably be a few more.”

“You saw Tonks? So Lupin must be here too,” Harry said. Tonks and Lupin had gotten married in a small ceremony shortly after Voldemort was gone, and they both seemed very happy together.

Hermione said, “He must be, but I didn't see him with her, so maybe he's just running late.”

At last they reached level ten and opened the door. They quickly walked through the hallway, which was full of people trying to get into the trial, towards the courtroom. Hermione looked at her watch and said, “We only got about two minutes, we've got to hurry.”

They pushed through the crowd, before finally making it to the door and getting inside the courtroom. As they entered the Wizengamot, Harry shivered at the dark stone and torches that seemed to only barely light the room. And then there was the chair in the middle of the room, with the chains on it. The loneliest chair in the world, he thought to himself. He remembered his own trial here and how panicked he felt. He hated this room.

As they tried to find somewhere to sit, Harry saw the area reserved for the Chief Warlock and the other four Interrogators. The Court Scribe had already taken his place, and was preparing for the trial to begin.

The balcony was packed with people, and Harry and Hermione had to fight their way to a pair of seats. At last they sat down, but were sandwiched together by all the bodies around them. Harry took a moment to look around, and immediately noticed some familiar faces. Almost directly across from him was the Weasley family, and Ron waved to them. They both waved back and Mr. Weasley nodded in their direction. Harry also saw Moody sitting to the back, a scowl on his face, be he got a half-smile when he caught Harry's eye. McGonagall and Tonks were sitting together further down. There were also other faces he recognized, but couldn't put a name to.

Suddenly a hush fell on the room as the Chief Warlock and Interrogators entered the chamber, all wearing the plum-coloured robes with the silver “W” on the left side. Rufus Scrimgeour was the Chief Warlock, looking as fierce as ever. There was more grey in his hair than the last time Harry had seen him, but he didn't act any older; if anything, he seemed even prouder as he limped to his chair.

The Interrogators filed in after him, and Harry was shocked by a familiar face: Lupin, which would explain why he hadn't come in with Tonks. He was in for another shock when he saw the last judge walk in. It was Snape.

Harry ground his teeth just looking at the man. Yes, he had been cleared of Dumbledore's death after it had been revealed that he had been acting as the former Headmaster had ordered him too, but Harry still couldn't bring himself to forgive the man. And Snape certainly hadn't changed the way he treated Harry either; he still had the barely cloaked contempt and sarcasm that Harry always seemed to be the perfect target for.

“Oh, this is ludicrous!” he suddenly heard Hermione hiss under her breath.

“What is?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice lower.

“Having Lupin and Snape as judges. They both have personal connections to Pettigrew, which is going to completely negate their ability to give a non-biased ruling.”

“A non-biased ruling?!” Harry said, having to stop himself from shouting. “Hermione, do you really think there's any way that Pettigrew's getting out of here?”

She was about to say something when there was a loud bang on the courtroom floor as a door suddenly flew open. Harry and Hermione had a perfect view of the door, but couldn't see who opened it. It just stayed open, and whispers rippled through the room until suddenly a Demiguise appeared out of nowhere, right next to the chair for the accused. There's a useful trick, Harry thought to himself.

The creature looked around the courtroom with its midnight black eyes before turning and looking back at the door, the entire courtroom following its gaze. Walking, or trudging would probably be the better word, towards the chair was a bent-over Peter Pettigrew, and another Demiguise. The courtroom door slammed shut with another bang, and the room fell into silence.

It was time for the trial to begin.

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2. The Loneliest Chair in the World

He heard the snap of a branch behind him, and whirled around, only to find the ever-present darkness and the looming trees. He paused, looking around, his rat-like nose sniffing the air for a sign of danger, but he couldn't pick any scents up.

But Peter Pettigrew knew something still wasn't right.

He had been fleeing east for weeks now, fleeing from the wrath of his master's servants…or at least, those who hadn't been caught yet. Sometimes in his animagus form, sometimes in his human, he stayed in wooded or covered areas and avoided any contact with anyone. He'd been surviving on the meager things he could steal or catch, and he knew he was losing strength by the day.

He left because he couldn't bear it. He knew that Potter and his friends were getting closer, that they had already destroyed three of the Horcruxes, which meant there was only one left. If his master fell, Peter knew that there would be no hope for him, no chance at freedom. Only the rest of a lifetime spent in a dank cell, death, or something even worse. So he had done the only thing he could; the only thing he had known how to do. While his master had been busy seeing to other affairs, he fled.

It was a virtual certainty that once the Dark Lord realized this, he would send his servants after him, so Peter barely rested for days, hearing every noise as the inevitable sound of his doom.

Then came the day when the metal hand his master had made for him disappeared, and Peter knew: he was gone. Potter had won. Instead of relief that he wouldn't be hunted by the Dark Lord's servants anymore, he was now racked with worry about the others coming to find him. It wouldn't take long to reveal that he had escaped, and then every Auror that could be spared would probably be after him. Potter would see to that.

No rest for the weary, he thought abysmally. Or was it wicked?

Peter came across a stream and took a moment to catch his breath and look around. The forest he was in was misty and he could tell it was very green, despite the darkness. The moon hung high in the sky, casting shadows everywhere; shadows that Peter had a sickly feeling were watching him.

He heard another snap behind him, and turned again, but still nothing. If he was paying attention in front of him, he might have noticed a faint rustle in the bushes, as if something was quietly moving through them. As it was, it wasn't until he heard splashes in the water coming towards him that he began to panic. Was someone throwing rocks in the water?

He backed away slowly, until his back met with something solid. A tree? Weren't the trees further back? He looked behind and saw that the nearest trees were at least a meter or two away. What was he up against then?

Suddenly he heard the sound of breathing and looked up, and from out of nowhere, a shadow seemed to materialize. A shadow with black eyes.

Peter yelped and ran forward again, only to see another shadow take form, with the same eyes. He scampered about, but they just kept appearing out of the trees; creatures that looked like giant apes. They were all about him.

He tried for one last gap in the closing ring but tripped, and they suddenly were upon him. He felt their iron tight grips on his arms and legs, but all he could see was the dark pool that was their eyes. As they picked him up, he let out a scream of terror that nobody heard.

************************************************************************

Harry watched as the Demiguise led Pettigrew to the chair of the accused, a mixture of pity and anger swirling in him.

At first Harry almost didn't recognize Pettigrew. He looked far thinner than Harry remembered and smaller too, like he had collapsed into himself. His face, so similar to a rat's, was sunken in and pale, and his thin wisps of hair were wildly unkempt. There appeared to be some bruises on his face, and Harry wondered where he'd gotten them. His eyes were watering and his hands were shaking. The word “broken” suddenly popped into Harry's mind, and it seemed the best word to describe Pettigrew now.

Ripples of muttered disgust went through the court. Hermione looked horrified, but Harry could see the sadness in her eyes, and for a moment, the pity inside him won over the anger. He just looked so run-down and old, and Harry couldn't imagine the things he'd been put through serving Voldemort.

But just thinking about Voldemort snapped Harry out of the sympathetic mood he was in. He pushed those feelings away with revulsion, and remembered that this man, this vile, evil man had been the one who brought Voldemort back to life, and who had taken away his parents all those years ago. No, he thought to himself. I have no pity for you.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione giving him a concerned look, but he ignored it. This is what he had come here for.

At last Pettigrew was chained to the chair, and one of the Demiguises moved to the door, and instantly disappeared, and the other drifted back behind Pettigrew and did likewise. Scrimgeour banged his gavel down and all sound in the room was instantly cut off.

“It's time to start,” he said in a serious tone, his piercing eyes scanning the crowd. The Court Scribe took out his quill and waited on what Scrimgeour would say next.

“We're here today, the twentieth of July, for the trial of one Peter Pettigrew, who has been charged with several very serious offenses against the Wizarding world, not the least of which include murder, treason, and conspiring with the deceased criminal Voldemort.” Scrimgeour then went on to name the Interrogators and the Court Scribe, but didn't say anything about a witness for the defense.

Hermione must have noticed this too, because her face took on a steely look, and Harry could tell she was angry.

Pettigrew didn't even look up during this speech; however, he flinched notably at “the deceased criminal, Voldemort.”

Scrimgeour continued on. “Mr. Pettigrew, do you understand the charges that have been laid against you?”

Pettigrew nodded, but only just, like his head was too heavy to lift.

“Good,” Scrimgeour said with barely concealed relish. “It is also my duty to inform you Mr. Pettigrew, so that you completely understand, that this trial has no possibility of ending in your release. I'm afraid the list of charges against you, their severity and your propensity to conspiring with our enemies, firmly rules out any chance of releasing you.”

Pettigrew barely chocked back a sob, and his shoulders shook. Again a strong surge of pity welled up in Harry as he watched him try to contain his emotion.

“This is ridiculous!” Hermione said, her face red with anger. “What's the point of even having a trial if Scrimgeour already knows the verdict before he starts? And Pettigrew doesn't even have a defense, which is guaranteed to a defendant in a case like this.”

“Maybe no one wanted to defend him,” Harry volunteered quietly, unable to shake the feeling that Hermione may be right.

“That's not the point,” Hermione said. “It's not fair. He should at least have a chance to defend himself.”

Their conversation was cut short by Scrimgeour suddenly speaking up again.

“No, Mr. Pettigrew, the reason for this hearing is to decide on a punishment suitable to your crimes, which as previously stated are very serious indeed. I have documents in which several captured Death Eaters named you as the key individual in bringing Voldemort back,” he said holding up a maroon folder. “I have already shown them to some of my fellow judges, and rest assured that the testimony it contains is quite damning.”

Harry looked at Lupin who had a deep frown on his face, and Harry wondered if he was one of the judges who had seen the documents. From the faint smile on Snape's lips, Harry had no doubts he had seen them.

To Harry's surprise, instead of going over the documents like protocol demanded, Scrimgeour set the file down and started leveling another charge against him. Hermione nearly choked when he did this, but Harry just put a hand on her leg to quiet her and so he could hear what Scrimgeour was saying.

“We also have the eye-witness testimony from Harry Potter, as reported by one Rita Skeeter three years ago, who witnessed not only your part in the resurrection of Voldemort, but also the murder of one Cedric Diggory.”

Several heads in the room turned towards Harry, and he suddenly felt both embarrassed an angry. I defeated Voldemort; I did my part, he thought bitterly to himself. Stop dragging me through all this.

Scrimgeour looked at Harry too and nodded, but suddenly, in a barely audible voice Pettigrew started saying, “The Dark Lord forced…”

Scrimgeour banged his gavel, instantly cutting him off. “You will have a chance to speak in a moment, Mr. Pettigrew. Please refrain from doing so until then. I also have received testimony from various sources that you had a hand in planning several of the more deadly attacks on both wizards and Muggles, including the raid on this very building two years ago.”

At this, Pettigrew looked up, surprise and disbelief playing across his face. “Me? I didn't plan any…”

Scrimgeour raised his voice and said, “In a moment, Mr. Pettigrew, as I just said. Remain silent until then.”

Hermione was looking angrier and angrier, and Harry had a feeling she was going to burst if this kept up.

“In fact, Mr. Pettigrew,” Scrimgeour said, his voice getting louder with each word, “it is not unreasonable to lay the deaths of many, if not all, of the War at your feet, since you were the one responsible for bringing Voldemort back!”

Hermione's hands balled into fists at this and even Harry had to admit this was pushing it. The scattered whispers throughout the crowd meant that they certainly weren't the only two who thought this.

Pettigrew was trying to talk again, saying something about “all the deaths?” with a look of utter confusion on his face, and Scrimgeour was about to slam the gavel down again when Lupin spoke up.

“Sir, I think you've leveled enough charges for the moment. Perhaps we should allow the defendant to speak now.”

Scrimgeour gave Lupin a hard glance before sighing, and saying, “Very well. Mr. Pettigrew, you may present any defense you wish to at this point.”

Harry caught Pettigrew giving his old classmate a grateful glance, a glance Lupin acknowledged but didn't return.

Now that he had the chance to speak, Pettigrew started fumbling with his words, the pressure of the eyes of the room bearing down on him.

“The Dark Lo…or, Voldemort, sir, has…had!..many powers and…I didn't want to, he made me…I never really had any friends, except for a few and…he promised that…”

Scrimgeour rolled his eyes as Pettigrew spoke, and it was certainly nothing that Harry hadn't heard before. The fact that Pettigrew would try to use his parents and Sirius as a defense stirred the anger he had been hiding, and he felt himself losing his empathetic feelings for Pettigrew. He'd been there when he'd first been revealed by Sirius and knew that he would use any excuse to get out; on that night he'd pleaded with Sirius, Lupin, Ron, Hermione and himself for forgiveness, using a different excuse for each. His teeth ground at the memory and the fact that Pettigrew was trying the same thing again.

Harry looked at Hermione, who, to his surprise, actually seemed moved by his words, and he could see the pity in her eyes. Harry marveled that despite all they had been through, she still maintained that innocence and purity that he had found so comforting all these years. She must have felt his eyes on her, because she suddenly turned and looked at him too. For a moment they looked at each other, one with pity, the other anger, before the sound of Scrimgeour's gavel whipped their heads back around.

“That's enough Mr. Pettigrew. If that is all the defense you have to present, the Interrogators and I shall retire for a brief moment to the hallway to decide your punishment. While we are gone, no one is permitted to leave the room,” he said, and with that the five judges stood up and filed out of the room, which immediately was filled with the sound of conversation. Pettigrew just hung his head again and didn't make a sound.

“Well that was short,” Harry said as he turned to a fuming Hermione.

“Short!” she exclaimed, startling the people around her. “That was a joke! Pettigrew didn't even get a chance to defend himself. He was so flustered by all that bullocks from Scrimgeour that he didn't know what to say. `All the deaths can be put at your feet!' I can't believe that! You can't blame him for everything that happened during the war!”

Part of Harry couldn't help but agree with her. It did seem like an awfully short time to give someone a chance to defend themselves when they had as much to answer for as Pettigrew did, but he wasn't nearly as outraged as Hermione seemed to be. On the other hand, what defense could Pettigrew give? Harry didn't see any point in dragging out a trial where there was really no chance of freedom. Might as well get it over with and give him what he had coming.

Harry was about to say something when the door opened at the Interrogators and Scrimgeour returned to the room.

Hermione gave Harry a sarcastic look and mouthed the words “well, that was short.” Harry nodded, and turned an anxious ear to the judges as they sat down and Scrimgeour banged the gavel, silencing the room.

“We have reached our decision, and Interrogator Severus Snape will read our decision.”

Harry felt the heat rise in him as Snape stood up and addressed the crowd.

“The Wizengamot has decided that Peter Pettigrew shall be sentenced to death by…”

There were a few muttered comments made, but no one seemed surprised by the ruling. Harry noticed that Pettigrew was shaking, and tears were leaking from his eyes. Harry stole a brief look at Hermione, who looked furious, before he listened as Snape finished.

“…by a wizard's hand.”

The room erupted into whispers and surprised looks. Pettigrew suddenly sat up straight, a horrified look on his face. Hermione let out a frightened gasp and Harry looked around curiously.

“What's the big deal?” Harry asked the still-rattled Hermione quietly. “With the Dementors gone, it's not like the Dementor's Kiss is an option.”

Hermione looked at Harry with wide eyes.

“Harry, an execution by a wizard is almost never done. It hasn't been done for years! There is no greater disgrace than being killed by a fellow wizard, who has been sanctioned to do so. It is a pure, utter humiliation for the condemned and from what I've read, hell on the one who has to do it as well. They used to do it a lot in the Middle Ages, but it drove too many wizards insane, so they stopped doing it. I can't believe they're bringing it back!”

Harry hadn't realized all of this, but as he glanced at all the shocked faces, it seemed he was the only one who didn't know about it. Harry suddenly looked at Lupin, who looked extremely upset and pale. Oh no, Harry thought. They're going to make him do it. He's the last of the friends that Pettigrew had, and they're going to make him do it. Harry noticed Snape was still standing, and seemed incredibly calm. I'll bet that was his suggestion, he thought acidly.

Scrimgeour banged the gavel loudly several times before everyone finally quieted down, and then he looked at Snape and nodded for him to continue.

“The wizard selected to do this is Harry Potter.”

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3. The Contested Verdict

The four Interrogators and Scrimgeour stepped into the hallway, and Snape put a silencing spell on the door so no one could hear their deliberations.

Scrimgeour eyed each one inquisitively before finally asking, “Well, what do you think is to be done with him?”

There was a brief moment of silence while each individual thought it over. No one wanted to break the silence.

“Shall I decide, since no one else seems to be willing to?” Scrimgeour asked, a faint smile flickering across his lips.

“I don't think that would be wise, Sir,” Lupin suddenly said. “Enough traditions have been broken already; we don't need to add to the list.”

“What's the matter, Lupin?” Snape asked sarcastically. “Don't like to see an old friend be mistreated?”

Lupin glared at the dark-haired man before replying, “Peter and I have not been friends for years, Severus, as you well know, but that doesn't mean he deserves this.”

“Deserves what exactly?” Scrimgeour asked, his voice hardening. “He's responsible for the deaths of countless wizards and Muggles, including your dear old friend Sirius Black. He brought Voldemort back, for Merlin's sake! How would you have me treat him, Remus?”

Lupin stared defiantly at Scrimgeour for a moment before replying, “Like a human.”

The other man just snorted with contempt. “I will when you prove he's acted like one.”

Lupin was about to reply when Snape intervened, “This is getting us nowhere. Let's make a decision. I say death.”

One of the two witch Interrogators, a hard woman with grey hair streaked with black, gave her agreement.

Lupin gave Scrimgeour another dirty look before saying, “I say life in Azkaban.”

“As do I,” added the other witch.

All eyes turned to Scrimgeour, who had been silent while they each announced their opinion. He was silent for only a moment before saying, “Death it is.”

Lupin's shoulders sagged as he heard the words and said, in a quiet voice, “How?”

“By a wizard's hand,” Scrimgeour said, his voice hard as iron.

Lupin's head shot up. “What?! By a wizard's hand? Are you mad? That hasn't been done for centuries, and for good reason! We can't bring that back!”

Scrimgeour stepped towards Lupin and said, “We need to send a message to all the former supporters of Voldemort that their crimes will not be forgotten, nor forgiven. They need to understand. I can't think of a better way to make sure they do.”

Lupin struggled for words as the first witch asked, “Who shall do it?”

The hallway was again enveloped in silence while everyone mulled over who would be forced to do this horrendous task when Snape said, “What about Potter?”

“Harry!” Lupin yelled, not even attempting to mask his shock. “You want Harry to kill him in cold blood?! That's ridiculous! He's been through enough, more than many of us can claim to have been though. He rid the world of Voldemort! Give him some peace for pity's sake!” He looked pleadingly at the others around him, but found Scrimgeour looking at Snape with a thoughtful expression.

“Potter eh? That's not bad Severus. After all, who has Pettigrew harmed more than him? He took the boy's parents away, killed that Diggory in front of him, plus you know how connected to Black and especially Dumbledore the boy was. Maybe this will ease his mind.”

Lupin stared at him like he had lost his mind, which from the menacing glare in Scrimgeour's eyes, seemed likely. “Ease his mind? This could destroy him! I'm begging you, please, consider someone else. I'll do it! Just don't make Harry.”

Scrimgeour looked at Lupin for a moment before announcing, “Potter it is. That is my final ruling. Let us return and announce our decision.”

The four turned and headed towards the door, Lupin feeling like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Just as they entered the door, he heard Scrimgeour say to Snape, “Did you say they used to call him `Wormtail?' How fitting. Maybe we should put that on his headstone.”

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As he heard his name announced, Harry was hit by a wave of déjà vu. Fourth year all over again, he thought desperately to himself. Why can't they bloody leave me out of things for once?

As soon as Snape had finished speaking, the courtroom erupted in chaos, people standing and shouting at the five in the plum-coloured robes, but everything quieted in Harry's mind. Everyone's yells sounded far away, like he was in another room listening in. He couldn't bring himself to look at Hermione, so he looked up to see Snape watching him curiously. Harry was suddenly struck with the feeling that it was Snape's suggestion that Harry be the one to do this. Hate rose up in him as the two stared at each other, but Harry's thoughts were broken by the sound of Mrs. Weasley's voice rising above the others.

“Have you all gone mad?!” she yelled at the judges. “Harry's just a boy! He can't just be asked to kill someone on command like this! Leave him alone!”

Harry noticed that all the Order members seemed to be shouting the loudest, their voices mixing together so that he only heard snippets of what they were saying.

“…have you already forgotten he defeated Voldemort? Isn't that enough?” he heard McGonagall say, her voice dripping with indignation.

“It's barbaric to bring this penalty back in the first place, and now you want to make a boy be the first one to murder another wizard?” Tonks shouted at McGonogall's side.

Murder. The word hit Harry like a punch in the stomach. Was that what it was? Murder? Didn't Pettigrew deserve it? Didn't he?

Harry suddenly felt completely lost, and looked around desperately for something to steady him. His eyes landed first on Ron, who was looking at his best friend like he had never seen him before. Harry recoiled from the look in his eyes, screaming inside, I'm not a murder! He deserves to die!

Scrimgeour's voice could suddenly be heard amidst all the shouting, saying “He's not a boy anymore, madam. He's an adult now, and has proven himself more than capable of handling a task like this. Besides, I ask you, who has Mr. Pettigrew harmed more than Mr. Potter? Isn't he responsible for the betrayal of his parents and their deaths? Didn't he help to kidnap Mr. Potter during the Tri-Wizard Tournament so he could bring back Voldemort? I ask you, who deserves this chance more than him?”

More shouts came from the crowd in answer to this. Harry heard Mr. Weasley shouting something about this not being about revenge for past deeds, but justice, and even Moody had stood up and was arguing along with everyone else. Lupin looked miserable sitting there with the other judges, but Snape seemed oblivious to everything that was going on, and just kept glancing inquisitively in Harry's direction.

Harry felt himself fall deeper into a panic, as the faces in the room started to lose focus. He was breathing heavily as his mind raced over the thought of actually killing Pettigrew. He couldn't do it, could he? But Scrimgeour was right -- did anyone else have the right but him? Who else had Pettigrew done so much damage to?

Harry felt the room closing in on him, and he had to get of there as fast as he could.

Then out of nowhere he felt a warm hand on his, and looked over at Hermione, who was looking at him not with surprise, but compassion. He felt himself calm at her touch, and his breathing slowed and the room became more defined. She said softly, “Harry, you don't have to do this. Do you hear me? You don't have to.”

He looked into her brown eyes and said, without thinking about it, “He deserves it.”

Hermione yanked her hand away like she had been burned. “What?”

Harry was talking now without restraint, his thoughts just spilling out. “Doesn't he, Hermione? Can you honestly tell me that he doesn't deserve to die? Look at all he's done to me! Don't I deserve this chance to finish this, for my parents who he helped kill? For Cedric? For everyone else who died in the War?”

Hermione was shaking her head in disbelief, “Harry, you don't mean that. I know he's put you through a lot, but you don't want to do this Harry. You don't have to. You've done enough for everyone; you don't have to do everything! Let this go! Move on!”

Harry shook his head, his words becoming stronger as he spoke. “How can I just move on Hermione? Maybe I need to do this.”

Hermione stared at him intently, her eyes pleading. “Harry, don't, please. You don't need to.”

Suddenly Scrimgeour's voice boomed through the courtroom, shouting “Silence!” The room quieted and Harry saw Scrimgeour standing up, his want to his throat. “Everyone will be silent, and sit down, or you will all be forced to leave.”

The people who were standing sat down, muttering as they did, until the room was quiet.

Scrimgeour looked around and said. “Mr. Potter is old enough to make his own choices. He was selected, as I said, due to the fact that the Interrogators and I believe that Mr. Pettigrew has done the most personal harm to Mr. Potter, and so he has the right to do this.”

Mrs. Weasley looked like she was about to say something else, but Scrimgeour continued speaking. “However, he will not be forced to do this task. If he does not want to, we will select another to take his place, but is for him to decide, not anyone else,” he said, looking challengingly at Mrs. Weasley, who sat quivering with rage.

All the eyes in the courtroom turned to Harry, and he could feel the weight of all of them pushing down on him. Why does it always come down to me? he wondered.

“Mr. Potter,” Scrimgeour said in a formal voice, “The Wizengamot had selected you to execute Mr. Pettigrew as punishment for his crimes. If you are willing to accept this, the execution will be held exactly three days from now. If you decline, we will select another to complete the task, and you will free of any obligation. The choice is yours. Do you accept or decline?”

Harry could hear the challenge in his voice, but didn't know how to respond. A large part of him wanted to do it, to be the one to kill the man who had done so much wrong to the world, but another part resisted, sounding a warning that if he did, there would be no turning back.

He searched the eyes of the courtroom, looking for some kind of clue as to what to do. The Weasley's were all looking at him with desperation on their faces; he knew they didn't want him to do this thing, but they couldn't understand what he had been through because of Pettigrew. Lupin looked at him with misery in his eyes, and Harry knew with an unexplained certainty that Lupin had fought this decision outside, but had lost the battle. The faint amused smile that Snape wore was enough to send bolts of rage through Harry, and he angrily clenched his fists.

Suddenly Harry could hear the word “no” being repeated over and over and looked over to see Hermione, her head down so that her curly brown hair almost completely veiled her face, murmuring to herself. Is she telling me what to do, or praying that I don't he wondered. She looked so fragile that Harry had this sudden pain in his stomach just seeing her like that and his hand moved slightly, as if to comfort her.

Because of the extreme quiet of the room, the jingling sounds of the chains moving as Peter Pettigrew turned to look at Harry sounded as loud as bells. Harry looked up at the sound and for the first time in the trial, his eyes me those of the accused.

Harry looked at the small, crumpled man who had brought Voldemort back to the world; who had sold-out his parents, and had killed Cedric Diggory without hesitation on Voldemort's order. He looked at him and thought of all the horrible things that had happened because of him. The anger he'd been fighting so hard against started to leak out, and he felt a white-hot hate take over him.

In a voice so hard, he barely recognized it as his own, he said, “I accept.”

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4. Razor Perceptions

The door clanged shut ominously and a chill slithered up her spine. It was almost completely dark and she could hear water dripping somewhere. The wizard in black motioned for her to follow him down the stairs, with a nod and a toothless grin, and she had to force back a grimace.

No wonder they keep this place under wraps, she thought to herself. She pulled her cloak tighter around her, and followed the guard into the black.

As she followed him down the steep stairs, she thought about how hard it had been to find this place. She'd spent two days asking people, always in hushed tones or off to the side, and many claimed they didn't know what she was talking about, or if they did, where she should look.

Finally she had gotten someone to admit it existed - a former Ministry official - and told her who to talk to about arranging a visit. She met with the man in charge of the site, although he was more than a little shocked when he heard her request. He had to contact several of the sources she gave him before he decided to allow her a visit.

And here she was, on her last chance before it was too late.

Desolation Row.

The place in London, or under London rather, where prisoners were held awaiting either their trials or their sentences. No one really seemed to wonder about what the prisoners did in the meantime, they just assumed they came from Azkaban and went straight back. When she asked why it existed, the man in charge merely shrugged and said, “This allows us to keep a closer watch on the prisoners. Plus, it's not quite as soft as Azkaban.” She never thought anyone would refer to Azkaban as “soft,” which made her more than a little hesitant about visiting it. But she had to do it.

So she had gone in search of this place because she had to see him for herself, one last time.

“Jus' a bit farther down, Miss,” the guard said, his voice cracking from disuse. She nodded in acknowledgement, and he seemed grateful for the company, so he kept on talking. “We don' usually get many vis'tors here, especially like yourself,” he said, eyeing her in a way that made her feel like she'd been thrown in the mud.

Note to self, wash thoroughly when I get out of here, she thought.

She gave him, and their surroundings, a hard look for a minute, before replying, “I can see why.” That seemed to stop the conversation, and the rest of the trek downward was made in silence.

At last they reached the floor, and the guard took out a ring of keys, fit a rusty black one into the lock, and opened a rotting wood door.

As soon as he opened the door, she was hit by the screams; they were almost inhuman, the sustained wails and shrieks of those were lost and knew it. She pushed down the urge to run straight back up the stairs - she had come too far now. Besides, she'd seen some pretty horrible things in her time. I can handle this, she told herself in between deep breaths.

She followed the guard down the aisle, cells protected by thick iron gates on both sides of the row. Some had people in them, some were vacant, but as she walked, she noticed they all had scratches…in the stone. The thought of someone so desperate they would try to claw their way out of here made her want to sick up.

At last they came to the end, to the very last cell and stopped. The guard waited for her to draw near, or as near to him as she was going to get, and pointed to the curled up body on the ground.

“You only get a few moments,” he said curtly, and headed back down the hall.

She sighed heavily, and kneeled down, so she was almost eye-to-eye with the body on the ground. This is what I came here for, she thought to herself. For him, even though he won't understand why.

When Peter Pettigrew was awoken from his sleep by the sound of breathing, Hermione Granger was there waiting.

************************************************************************

“I accept.”

The words were still ringing in his ears two days later. Tomorrow was the day of the execution, and Harry knew he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. It wasn't that late yet, but the dark night sky seemed to tease him with what was to come.

Right after he had agreed to do the job, Scrimgeour had ended the trial and summoned Harry over to where the judges sat to give him the procedures for the execution. Harry looked to Hermione to see if she was coming too, but she just shook her head in disgust, and quickly made her way out of the room. He didn't have time to feel put off by this, because Scrimgeour called his name again, so he headed to the five judges. People were filing out of the court, but they seemed to part for him as he made his way over. He was actually grateful for this, because then he wouldn't have to deal with any of the other familiar faces who had been at the trial. Hermione's disappointment had stung enough, and he didn't want to deal with anymore.

All the judges watched him curiously as he neared where they were sitting, like they were seeing something new. The only one who showed any emotion was Lupin, who looked at Harry with mingled disappointment and sadness.

Scrimgeour offered his hand to Harry, who shook it reluctantly and glanced quickly at the Interrogators, refusing to look Snape in the eye.

“Well, Mr. Potter, since you have decided to perform this task, there are a few things I need to inform you of. First off, the time: it will be held three days from now at exactly one o'clock, just as this trial was. The execution will happen in The Death Chamber of the Department of Mysteries, on the ninth floor. I trust you know which room I mean,” he said, and Harry could have sworn he saw a glint of amusement in his eye.

The Death Chamber? Harry thought miserably. They want me to go back to where I lost Sirius for this? Is that why the call it The Death Chamber - because they used to perform executions there? Why would they make me go back?

Harry looked darkly at Scrimgeour, as he nodded. “I remember where it is.”

“Excellent,” Scrimgeour said happily, as if they'd just agreed on a favorite Qudditch team or something. “The doors, as you may remember, are constantly revolving, but we will have someone stationed there to guide you to the correct door. In the room will be myself, the four Interrogators, and the condemned. If you so desire, you may bring one guest for…moral support.”

Harry liked the man less and less with every word, and just wanted to get out of here. “Anything else?”

Scrimgeour seemed a little annoyed to get such a short tone from him, but said, “No, just remember to be there exactly on time.”

“Right,” Harry said and started walking through the now empty courtroom to the door.

“Oh and Mr. Potter,” Scrimgeour called out, and Harry stopped and turned. “Don't forget your wand.”

Harry stared at the man for a minute before nodding and walking out.

He lingered in the hallway for a few moments, before slowly making his way back to the Atrium. He really hoped that everyone was gone, because he really just wanted to be by himself. When he finally got the Atrium, he saw the Weasley family lingering, clearly waiting for him, but a group of wizards were walking right by the stair door, so he just jumped along with them and got past the Weasleys and into the lift without them seeing him. He felt wretched about doing it, but didn't feel that he could be with anyone right now.

Since then, he'd spent the last two days in his apartment, not going out or anything. The phone never seemed to stop ringing the first day, but had tapered off a little today, and had been blissfully quiet for the past couple hours.

He'd mostly spent the days going over his decision time and time again. Pettigrew did deserve it, didn't he? Harry didn't agree with Scrimgeour that all the deaths of the war could be laid at his feet, but he certainly thought that the man responsible for killing his parents deserved to die.

But there was a voice inside of him that kept crying out that he shouldn't be doing this, that his parents wouldn't want him to, even now that he had the chance. He found it curious that the voice always sounded like Hermione's.

For two days, these conflicting parts of him went back and forth, and at this point, Harry was a wreck. The weather had stayed in a constant state of stormy grey, which had only fueled his mood. At night, all he did was toss and turn, and had barely gotten any sleep or had anything to eat; his appetite just wasn't there.

He heard the small thuds of rain falling as he sat on his couch, a small fire going, when there suddenly came a loud knock on the door. He looked at his watch, which read a quarter till nine, and wondered who it could be. He was tempted to just ignore it when the knock came again, this time louder he could hear a muffled voice say, “Harry, open the door. It's me, Hermione!”

Harry jumped off the couch and ran to the door, unlocked it and let a soaking wet Hermione in. Her hair, made lanky by the rain, was dripping and she had her cloak wrapped tightly around her. She looked pale, like she had seen a ghost or something.

“What are you doing out in this weather?” he asked, as he ran to the bathroom to get her a towel. He wrapped it around her and moved her closer to the fire and sat her down on a chair. She let out a grateful sigh as she stuck her hands out to warm them, and Harry went back to sitting on the couch.

“Well?” he said, and she looked at him questioningly.

“Well, what?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “What were you doing out in this weather?”

“You haven't been answering your phone, and I needed to see you,” she answered.

“That was all you?” he asked, surprise in his voice.

“I'm not sure what “all” means, but I have called a fair few times. I know the Weasleys have been as well, because Ron called me to see if I had gotten a hold of you, and apparently Lupin's tried to call at least once.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, looking at the fire. “I haven't really felt like talking to anyone.”

“I figured as much,” Hermione said with a small smile. “When I get other people calling me, trying to get in touch with you, it becomes pretty obvious that you're not talking to anyone.”

The best Harry could do was to give her a small smile in return, and then said, “Do you want some tea?”

She nodded and he went into the kitchen to fill up the kettle. “What did you want to see me about, Hermione?” he asked, although he had a feeling he already knew the answer. Maybe that was why he nearly dropped the kettle when he heard her say, “I went to see Peter Pettigrew this afternoon.”

The flat was silent as Harry slowly made his way back into the living room, to see Hermione looking at him apprehensively.

“You went to see who?” he asked, still reeling from the shock.

“Peter Pettigrew,” she repeated.

Harry felt numb as he sat back down on the couch. “Where?” he managed to ask in a quiet voice.

“Desolation Row,” she answered and Harry looked at her questioningly. “Don't worry. A lot of people don't know what it is. It's this place underground London where they keep the prisoners whose trials are about to start, or who are waiting for their sentence.”

Harry was completely dumbfounded by this. Why had he never heard of it?

As if reading his thoughts, Hermione said, “You didn't think that they just traveled back and forth to Azkaban in between did you?”

Harry shrugged and answered, “I guess I never really thought about it. What's it like?”

“It's horrible Harry. The worst kind of place you can imagine. It's way underground, and in almost complete dark. The prisoners are stuck in these little cells that they can barely stand in, and there's scratches all over the walls from people who went mad. And the screams, Harry; there's always screams. Peter said that one of the prisoners found a way to hang himself yesterday.” She shivered in spite of the heat, and wrapped the towel even tighter around her.

Harry arched his eyebrow and said, “Peter?”

Hermione gave him a questioning look and said, “Yes, I told you I went down there to see him.”

“Why?”

“To make sure I was right.”

“Right?” Harry repeated. “Right about what?”

“That what you're doing tomorrow is wrong.”

Harry felt himself getting angry, and tried to push it down.

“Look, Hermione, I know you don't approve, but I agreed to do this. I have to, and I don't need you taking Pettigrew's side on it.”

“I'm not taking his side Harry! I know he's done terrible things, things that he can never erase, but killing him won't solve anything. He was a wreck when I saw him, Harry; he's completely shattered. He could barely get out a coherent sentence, and he kept breaking into tears.”

Harry felt a mix of revulsion and pity was through him at the image, and pushed it aside.

“It's nothing more than he deserves, Hermione.” She was about to say something, but he just kept talking. “I just told you, I already agreed. I can't go back now.”

“But you can, Harry! You don't have to do this.”

“Yes, I do!” Harry roared, standing up, rage pulsing through him now.

Hermione stood up too, looking him directly in the eye, her voice surprisingly calm compared to his.

“No, you don't! What you need to do is get past this, and move on.”

“The War's been over for months now, Hermione, and I still can't get past it. I know you know it. I've been looking for something that will fill this hole in me ever since the War ended, and maybe if I do this, if I get rid of him, maybe it will end.”

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, her eyes pleading. “I know that you feel empty, but this won't help. This isn't what you want to use to fill that hole in you, because if you do, you'll never get rid of it. You can never take it back.”

“Enough, Hermione!” he shouted. “I've made my decision, and I know what I'm doing! Besides, why do you care so much? It's not like you're the one who has to do it!”

“Because,” she shouted back, “I will not be in love with a murderer!”

It was like he had just been slammed by a Bludger in the chest. He didn't know what to say, and just stared at her, his mouth trying desperately to form words. She just kept looking into his eyes, waiting for him to say something, when the room was pierced by a scream that made them both jump.

“The bloody tea,” he murmured and retreated to the kitchen to take the kettle off the stove. He didn't even bother to pour any, but came back out to the living room.

“You're…in love with me?” he managed at last, suddenly finding it hard to look at her.

“Yes,” she answered firmly, “and if you weren't so dense, you would have seen it long ago. During all our time together the past months, you've been asking me about something that I've been holding back. Well that's it; I'm in love with you,” she said, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

He found himself reaching out to brush it off, but she wiped it away herself.

“Hermione, I…” he fumbled for the right thing to say, the best way to express the swell of emotions that had suddenly risen in him.

She shook her head and said, “You don't have to say anything now Harry, but you have to listen to me. I've followed you for years now, but if you walk down this road, if you kill him tomorrow, then you're going to a place I can't follow. I won't follow.”

Harry just stood there at a loss. Hermione handed him back his towel and said, “You're allowed one guest tomorrow right?”

He looked at her and she shrugged, “I read it.” He nodded in answer to her question.

“Then I'll meet you in the Atrium at the same time as we did for the trial.” Even though it was more of a statement than a question, he nodded again.

She headed over to the door and opened it, the sound of rain filling the room. As she was about to walk out, she turned and looked at him, still standing there with her towel in hand and said, “Think about it, Harry. You've always done the right thing before. Don't stop now.”

She then stepped into the night and closed the door.

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5. The Shadows and The Light

Harry rubbed his eyes wearily as the curtains on his window grew lighter with the rising of the sun.

What a night, he thought to himself as he yawned. Well, I was right when I said I wasn't going to get any sleep.

Hermione's voice saying “I will not be in love with a murderer!” had been ringing through his head all night. Could she really have been in love with him all this time and he never noticed it? She'd said as much, but he couldn't help feeling that he would have picked up on some hint.

Unless you've been so consumed with your own pain that you haven't been paying attention to those around you, a voice inside him said. Maybe that was it: he'd been so preoccupied with himself that he hadn't really given much thought to what Hermione was feeling.

Until last night, anyway. He spent his evening pacing around the flat, his mind racing from the revelation of Hermione's love for him, what she had told him about Pettigrew and his own hate-driven desire to see the man die. He drank the entire kettle of tea he had brewed while Hermione was here, and that certainly hadn't helped him to calm down. There were just too many questions: could he really be the one to kill Pettigrew? Did he actually deserve it or was his own torment punishment enough? And the one question that kept popping up, even more glaring than the others: Did he love Hermione too?

Granted, she had always been there for him, putting herself right in harm's way to protect him, and she was always concerned for him, even though he had proved that he was more than capable to handle most things. But he always thought she'd had feelings for Ron: they were always fighting, and she seemed pretty upset during that whole Lavender incident sixth year. Now that he thought about it, it was sometime during the mad rush that was their last term at Hogwarts that Ron and Hermione had stopped fighting so much, which Harry had been grateful for at the time, but had never really questioned its meaning. Had she started feeling this way then?

Harry shook his head and looked at his watch, which read 8:30. I can't keep thinking about this right now, he told himself. It only leads to more questions, and I've got something to do today. I need to focus on that.

Unfortunately, he had just as many questions about executing Pettigrew as he did about Hermione. She made that Desolation Row place sound so horrible that he couldn't imagine spending any time at all there, and Pettigrew had spent three days, if not longer. She also had said that he was completely broken. So could he really kill someone like that?

The same side of him that had insisted all along that killing Pettigrew was the right thing to do answered with a resounding “yes.” Harry knew Pettigrew was beyond forgiveness, and he was, at least in part, responsible for so many deaths that he kept telling himself that he shouldn't feel anything for the man. He deserved to die, and it was his right to be the one to do it.

Then, Hermione saying that if he did this he was going somewhere she wouldn't follow, came back into his mind and he was as stuck as he had been all night.

Just focus and try to get trough this, he told himself, trying to get a little quiet in his mind, if only for a brief time.

He made himself some dry toast and forced himself to eat it, although he didn't taste a single bite, and then took a long, hot shower, trying everything he could to make himself relax. He took his time getting ready, just selecting a pair of plain jeans and blue shirt (he had no idea what to wear to an execution), and found that after all that time, it was only 11:30, which meant he still had one more hour to wait.

He opened his door to grab the Daily Prophet, and got his first breath of outside air in days. The sun which he had seen through his curtains this morning, was already being hid by an avalanche of grey and white clouds. A normal day in London, he thought as he grabbed the Prophet and shut the door.

He plopped down on the couch and looked at the cover, and groaned loudly. In huge letters across the front was “Pettigrew to be executed today,” complete with a picture of a groveling Pettigrew, tears running down his cheeks. He was tempted to just throw the paper away, but he caught his name in the first paragraph, and so gave it a quick read-through.

He was more than a little surprised when he read that Chief Warlock Scrimgeour had issued a statement saying that on the advice of his Interrogators, since this was the first execution of this type in centuries and the fact that such a young person was going to performing the act, he would not release the time of the execution, nor would anyone but official Ministry workers be allowed inside today.

Harry couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief at this, which meant he wouldn't have to deal with all kinds of people being there. This didn't seem like Scrimgeour, but when Harry saw that it was on the “advice of his Interrogators,” he said a silent thanks to Lupin, who he was sure was the one responsible for this.

The rest of the story wasn't anything new; just background about himself and Pettigrew, as well as a brief history of the death by wizard's hand execution. He just skimmed the story before opening the paper, hoping to find something to help clear his mind.

He spent the next hour slowly leafing through the paper, sometimes stopping to read a piece or two of a story, but never the whole thing, and he had forgotten what he read as soon as he stopped. His mind kept wandering back to Hermione, and he had to tell himself time and time again to focus on the task at hand.

Finally 12:30 rolled around, and Harry got up, ate another quick piece of toast to settle his stomach and went into his room, a jacket out of his closet, made sure he had his wand, and with a deep breath, stepped outside.

It felt good to be out of his flat, which suddenly seemed unbearably stuffy now that he was outside. He decided to put his jacket as he headed to the door to the street.

As soon as he stepped outside he was hit by a flash of light, and the sound of yelling voices. When his eyesight finally cleared, he saw the entrance to his building was ringed with reporters and people with cameras, all shouting questions at him.

A slew of curses flew through his mind. Of course, he thought. If they can't inside the Ministry, they'd just wait for me outside. He wished he had thought of this - he would have brought his Invisibility Cloak, but it was too late for that. All he could do now was push through the crowd and try to get to the telephone booth as quickly as possible.

The people weren't too easy to push aside, and he had plow his way through them, with questions constantly raining down on him like, “Mr. Potter, do you think your parents would approve of this?” “Is this about revenge?” “Is there anything you're going to say to Pettigrew before you kill him?” and “What do your friends think of your choice?”

That last question was more than he could take, and he finally broke through them and started running toward the street where the booth was. To his dismay, he could hear the sounds of footsteps behind him, and fought back the urge to turn around and attack them with his hand.

At last he made it to the booth, with the crowd still behind him, and saw McGonagall and Tonks pacing in front of it. They both looked up at the sound of the crowd approaching and their eyes momentarily widened in shock. Then they moved forward towards the rush of oncoming people and Harry ran between them.

The crowd was just about to run into the two when McGonogall suddenly shouted, in a voice that Harry recognized well, “If you don't want to be reporting on an insider's account of life in Azkaban, than I would halt!”

It was like the people had run into a wall; they screeched to a halt, and looked at the two women.

“The Chief Warlock said that was once he was inside the Ministry, not out here,” one of the cameraman said in a hesitant voice.

“You will leave the boy alone,” Tonks said, stepping towards the crowd, who all stepped back in response.

Harry was so grateful that they had been there, and briefly wondered whose idea that had been as he stepped into the booth. He dialed 62442 and when the welcome witch asked his business he said, “execution of Peter Pettigrew” and a badge popped out with the word “executioner” on it, which made his stomach roll.

He looked back and saw the crowd still standing trying to get a picture of Harry, but McGonagall and Tonks still stood in their way. Right before the lift kicked on McGonagall turned and smiled encouragingly at Harry.

He nodded in gratitude at her as he was lowered into the Ministry.

He removed his jacket as the lift went down and soon the doors opened and he found himself in the Atrium again, which was far less crowded this time around; there were only a handful of wizards wandering around, and they all looked up when he walked into the room. They all know why I'm here, he said to himself.

According to the clock on the wall, he was a few minutes early to meet Hermione, but he saw her standing a little ways in, and her eyes quickly flickered to him as he got out of the lift. He walked over to her and offered a faint smile.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, looking at him directly in the eyes, as if she could read any decision he had come to that way. It made him feel a little uncomfortable, and he looked away.

“All right, I suppose. I didn't sleep very well last night.”

“I know the feeling,” she said, which caused him to look back at her. He found himself analyzing everything she was saying, trying to make up for all the signs he had missed before.

Not finding anything in what she said, he decided it was better to just get this over with.

“Come on, we're going to be late,” he said as he headed towards the check point. Harry was allowed to keep his wand, and they were admitted to the lifts which would take them to the Department of Mysteries. The ride to the ninth floor was almost completely silent, as if they had both run out of things to say. Or maybe it was because there is too much to say, Harry thought to himself.

At last they arrived on the last level and they stepped into the plain corridor that ended in a simple black door. As they walked to it, Harry was swarmed with memories of his last visit here; the mayhem and chaos as they tried to find the prophecy before Voldemort did. It was here that he would see Sirius for the last time. Just the thought made his hands ball into fists.

They reached the door and opened it and stepped into the circular room that they both remembered so well. It was just as it was last time: the twelve black doors, the candles with the blue flames and the floor so polished that it looked like they were walking on water. Standing in the center of the room was one of the witches from the Wizengamot; her silver hair looked liquid blue in the candle light.

“Shut the door,” she said in a hard voice.

Hermione let the door close, and the room whirled around them, the black doors bleeding together while it spun, until at last it slowed to a halt. Harry was a little dizzy, but the witch wasn't even fazed. She looked around for a minute, then walked to one of the doors, opened it, took a brief look and motioned for them to follow.

They followed the witch through the door, and were in the Death Chamber. Just being in the room gave Harry goosebumps. It was just as cavernous as he remembered, with the stone benches that ran all the way around the room that turned into steps as the led to the huge dais and archway in the center. He heard Hermione shiver, and momentarily thought about putting an arm around her, but thought better of it.

The chamber was dimly lit, but Harry could see five people on the dais, looking in their direction. One of them was on their knees. That's Pettigrew, he thought to himself, and suddenly all the feelings of doubt and uncertainty he'd been feeling seemed to attack him at once, and for a moment the ground seemed to shift under his very feet, like the room was trying to make him fall into the archway - just like Sirius.

Scrimgeour's voice, which seemed suddenly far away called, “Come on, Mr. Potter, everything is ready,” and the witch moved down the stairs. Harry suddenly felt like his feet were made of stone and that he couldn't lift them.

He didn't know what to do until he felt a hand slip into his, and looked over to see Hermione looking up at him, not with judgment or anger, but with pure and honest caring and friendship. He found that he was able to move again, and they descended to the dais, hand-in-hand.

The sound of their footfalls on the stone echoed through the chamber as they neared the dais, and Harry felt his own grip on Hermione's hand get tighter and tighter. At last they reached the pit and those waiting for them, and stopped. He could see them a bit more clearly now, thanks to the lone candle on the dais, but they were still largely cloaked in shadow. Lupin came down to stand in front of them.

From the dais Scrimgeour said, “Ms. Granger, if you will please accompany Mr. Lupin.” Hermione looked at Harry, then at Lupin who nodded, then she squeezed Harry's hand and let go, and allowed Lupin to lead her up to the dais. He was left standing alone.

“Mr. Potter, the time has come,” Scrimgeour said, and Harry trudged up the dais to stand with everyone. He could only make out about half of their faces, due to the poor light, but Snape looked relatively pleased, and Harry had a sudden urge to push him into the archway. It was so near. He was jolted out of this train of thought by the sound of Pettigrew weeping. Harry looked over to the kneeling man, but couldn't really make out his face, a fact for which he was grateful.

Scrimgeour stepped forward and announced, “On today, the twenty-third of July, the condemned Peter Pettigrew shall be executed for crimes against the wizarding world by one, Harry Potter. The Wizengamot has sanctioned this punishment and gives Mr. Potter their full support.”

Everyone stepped back until in the middle of the dais Harry and Pettigrew were facing each other.

“Mr. Potter, draw your wand,” Scrimgeour ordered, and Harry reached down with a shaking hand and pulled his wand out of his pocket. He could feel the fragments of his calm breaking apart, and panic starting to set in. Could he really do this? his mind screamed.

“Mr. Potter, you may execute when ready,” Scrimgeour said and the room fell silent, save the quiet sounds of Pettigrew crying.

Harry raised his wand and pointed it and Pettigrew's shadowed face, and froze. The last part of his control shattered, and his mind started reeling.

He heard his mother's scream as Voldemort killed her, thanks to information given to him by Pettigrew.

He watched Cedric die and Voldemort rise from the cauldron, with Pettigrew standing their, smiling in triumph.

Sirius going into the archway…Dumbledore falling from Hogwarts…the charred bodies of so many innocents…

They all went flying through Harry, and the rage had kept in check all this time poured out. His hand stopped shaking and the wand suddenly seemed an accusatory finger, damning Pettigrew for all that he'd done. You deserve this, the rage in Harry said, and I deserve to watch you die.

The darkness in the room seemed to deepen, and Harry felt himself fall into it. The words for the killing curse sprang into his mind and he was about to start saying them when he heard a voice inside of him, a voice he had been pushing away for days now; Hermione's.

You don't have to do this! Let it go! Let it go and we can be together!

Harry suddenly realized, in that moment, that he did love Hermione; that he had all along, that he wanted to be with her.

After! the rage screamed. Finish this first!

At last, Harry found his own voice amidst the chaos inside.

But if I do this, I'll lose her forever!

Would you rather not do this, and carry it around for the rest of your life?

Harry felt like he was drowning. His wand was shaking again, and he looked around desperately for help. All the faces around him, including Pettigrew's were cloaked in darkness, and he couldn't see anything. His eyes were drawn to the one source of light on the dais, and under the candle stood Hermione.

She was looking at him, tears welling up in her beautiful brown eyes, but he could see love shining from them as well, a love that he had just discovered, but already felt like he needed.

Harry closed his eyes and the two emotions raged against each other.

Do it! Kill him and end the nightmare! His grip on his wand steadied.

Hermione, soaking wet in his apartment, telling him she loved him.

Harry Potter's eyes snapped open, and he knew what he had to do.

Fin

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