The students hurried in, most of them carrying cages of some kind. Snape swept to the front of the room, and the students quickly fell silent.

“As you know, today you will brew the Animalis Fide potion, which measures the bond between you and your familiar. I see that most of you were able to carry out my instructions to bring your familiar with you to class. After brewing the potion, you will use it to see how closely bonded you are with your pet.”

“P-Professor?” Neville raised a timid hand.

Snape huffed impatiently. “Well? What is it, Longbottom?”

“Sir, will it hurt our familiar? Trevor’s kind of old for a toad, and…”

“The potion – if brewed correctly – is entirely harmless, Longbottom. The animals are merely here to serve as the focus of your mind. The potion will measure how bonded you are to the animal, not how bonded the animal is to you. Does anyone else wish to ask a foolish questions and reveal how imperfect your grasp of the material is?”

Oddly enough, no one else took him up on his offer, and the class was quickly immersed in brewing. “Oi! Harry!” a loud shout broke the quiet, and Snape glared at the youngest Weasley boy who was protectively cuddling his rat. “Keep your owl away from my rat! She’s lookin’ at him like he’s dinner!”

“Weasley! Is working silently beyond your capabilities?” Snape scolded. “Move your things up here to this corner and perhaps you will be able to stay focused on your task.”

“But Hedwig was gonna eat Scabbers,” Ron whined in protest.

“Would you prefer to work in the corner or stand in it?” Snape asked him, too low for the other children to hear, and Ron instantly stopped arguing, aghast at the idea of having to stand in the corner - in front of the entire class no less!

“Yes, Uncle Sev,” he whispered hastily, scurrying to move his supplies to his new table and therefore missing the look of horror that crossed Snape’s face at the newly awarded title.

Dumbledore and the others fidgeted behind the wards, watching the children with varying degrees of polite interest. Finally, the potions were completed and the students waited expectantly by their desks.

“Potter,” Snape called. “Bring that owl up here along with your potion.”

“Her name’s Hedwig,” Harry reminded him reproachfully, placing her perch on his professor’s desk and setting the vial down beside it.

Snape scowled at him. “Quiet, Potter. Take one drop of the potion and place it on your owl’s head, then drink the rest yourself.”

Harry obeyed, and a moment later, an intense gold beam coalesced between the two. The class oohed and aahed in admiration. “This represents a very strong bond,” Snape lectured. “Both the color of the light and the width of the beam are measures of strength. Take your seat, Potter. Zabini, get up here with that creature.”

Blaise, then Millicent, then Dean all went with varying results. In all cases, though, the familiar merely sat there and hooted or meowed or ribbited, looking wholly unimpressed by all the excitement.

“Longbottom!”

Neville glanced nervously from Hermione’s pale blue potion to his own deep gray sludge. “Erm, P-Professor, I th-think I’d better not.”

Snape cast a contemptuous glance at the potion. “I suspect you’re making a wise choice, Longbottom,” he snapped. “Zero for the day!”

Neville drooped miserably and hugged a placid Trevor, while Snape scanned the room. “Weasley! Bring your rat!”

“Yessir.” Ron obeyed, depositing Scabbers on the front desk and fumbling for his potion.

The boy was never quite sure what happened next. One moment he was pulling the potion vial from his robe, while Professor Snape waited impatiently on the other side of his desk, and the next minute there was a bright flash of light and suddenly a fat little man sat, blinking stupidly, where Scabbers had just been. “Oi! Where’s my rat?” Ron demanded, then Harry grabbed him by the back of his robe and jerked him away from the desk.

The invisibility ward shimmered and fell as Dumbledore and the others erupted out of the corner. “Peter?” Dumbledore gasped in astonishment.

Pettigrew threw a hunted look over his shoulder, then lashed out at Snape, heading for the door.

Bones had no idea what was going on, but she knew that a middle aged man masquerading as a little boy’s familiar was not a good thing. The things some sick bastards do, she sighed to herself even as she leveled her wand and yelled, “Take him!”

Moody – constantly vigilant! – surged forward, with Shacklebolt right behind him, but in a roomful of shrieking children, they were understandably nervous about firing off any spells. “Surrender to the MLE!” Moody bawled, stumping forward as quickly as his leg would allow.

Pettigrew snarled and knocked over a table, blocking their way, and continued in his rush to the exit. Just before he got there, a form appeared in front of the door, nearly seeming to materialize out of thin air. “Hello, Severus. I just came by for my potion,” Remus smiled, then gasped as he found himself face to face with his childhood friend.

“Peter Pettigrew!” Remus shouted, his expression shocked.

“WHAT?” The Aurors momentarily froze in astonishment, even as Peter gasped, “Remus?”

Amelia Bones took the mutual recognition as an admission of guilt, and her voice rang out, “Peter Pettigrew! I arrest you for the murder of –“

Pettigrew looked desperately from side to side but the Aurors were fast approaching from behind and Remus was between him and the door. An instant later, a rat darted into a narrow crack in the wall.

“Get him!” Bones shouted, knowing that it was hopeless, but then the rat was scrambling out of the wall even faster than it had gone in, pursued by a hissing, snapping snake.

The children screeched and jumped on their desks as more snakes boiled out of other cracks in the walls and floor, all seemingly intent on catching the terrified, fleeing rat.

Pettigrew was quickly cornered by the serpents and, in imminent danger of being eaten, he shifted back into his human form. “Wait, wait!” he begged, flinging out his arms. “I didn’t mean it!”

“Peter, how could you?” Remus demanded, his wand out and pointed at the smaller man.

“Remus, my friend, please!” Pettigrew wept. “Have mercy! Surely you of all people understand! I was forced to do it! I had no choice! He would have killed me!”

“Then you should have died before betraying them!” Remus spat. “I would have!”

“Oh, noble Remus,” Peter snarled back, dropping his groveling pose, “always showing how good and human you are! Always despising anyone who wasn’t as smart or strong or handsome as you and the other Marauders! What did you expect me to do? Do you think I didn’t know that I was only kept for comic relief? Do you think I didn’t know you all secretly despised me?”

“What are you talking about?” Remus demanded. “We trusted you! James and Lily trusted you with their secret! With their lives! With Harry’s life!”

“Only because they were convinced that I was such a pathetic creature no one else would ever imagine that they’d be stupid enough to make me the Secret Keeper! It was an insult, not an honor! Do you think I was too stupid to understand that? But the Dark Lord saw my talent! He praised my intelligence and cunning! He honored me for what I am! He respected me!”

“He used you, you deluded fool,” Snape drawled coldly. “As he uses everyone. He respects no one but himself, least of all a useless cowering little rodent who would sell out his best friends for an insincere compliment and then spend ten years in hiding as a child's familiar.”

Ron’s face worked furiously as he figured it out. “Scabbers!” he shouted angrily. “You bad rat! I’m gonna tell Percy on you!”

“It’s over, Pettigrew,” Moody growled, relieved to note that the snakes had withdrawn as mysteriously as they had appeared. “Give yourself up. There’s nowhere to go.”

“No!” Peter shouted. His eyes scanned the room frantically, then fell upon Harry’s wide eyed form. “Harry!” He lunged for the boy, knowing that with him as a hostage, he would be safe from the others. “Come here!”

Harry squeaked and tried to get away, but Pettigrew was shoving his way through the student desks with unexpected speed, driven by utter desperation. The adults cursed and fought to follow him, still trying to avoid using spells in a room full of screaming children, unstable potion ingredients, and dangerous snakes.

Hedwig flew at the man, striking at his eyes with her talons, while Neville grabbed Harry and struggled to pull him away, much as Harry had earlier dragged Ron to safety. Peter flung up his arms, driving the owl away, just as Neville’s elbow struck his cauldron, tipping it over and sending the sludge-like contents towards the short wizard.

The ruined potion splashed all over Pettigrew, and the man shrieked in agony as he began to cycle uncontrollably between forms. Even the hardened Aurors drew back in horror at the appalling sight before them. It was a transformation gone terribly wrong, and after a few horrible, nightmarish moments of screaming agony, Pettigrew lay still, reduced to a twisted lump of deformed flesh, half-man, half-rat. His head in particular was stuck between the two forms, with the left half human, and the right half rodent. In between the two mismatched skulls, brain matter oozed out, and there were several other… watery… bits where the tortured flesh had liquefied under the stress of too many transformations.

The children were shrieking like maniacs and hiding their faces – all except Harry, who had watched the whole thing with a grim visage.

“Damn it!” Bones snarled, finally shoving her way through to the corpse. “I wanted to take him alive!”

“Considering how alarmingly easy escaping from Azkaban has become of late if even Pretty Boy Black could manage it, perhaps it is just as well that we will not need to worry any longer about this self-confessed minion of the Dark Lord,” Snape commented snarkily.

Bones glared at him. “He had a lot of questions to answer,” she retorted. “And I don’t see how we can fully clear Black without Pettigrew’s confession.”

Snape raised his eyebrows. “Everyone in this room, including numerous students, the head of the Wizengamot, two senior Aurors, the head of the MLE, and a boyhood chum of the dead man all heard his confession and can identify him and provide pensieved memories. I cannot imagine what more you could possibly require.”

“Listen, you Death Eating bastard,” Bones began heatedly, then stopped as she realized that the children – now that a much more fascinating diversion was before them – had stopped screaming and were watching her exchange with Snape with lively interest. After all, as much fun as it was to shriek in abandon and jump on desks (in Snape’s class, no less!), it was even more entertaining to watch their most fearsome professor take on the equally intimidating head of the MLE.

Madame Bones cleared her throat and started over. “In the absence of a Veritaserum-elicited confession from the accused, there are some who might challenge the testimony.”

“Such as?” Snape challenged. He gestured lazily about the room. “This is a first year class of Gryffindors and Slytherins. Who on the political spectrum won’t believe one side or the other? Or are you seriously suggesting that Lucius Malfoy – or Arthur Weasley – would challenge his own son’s account and force him to submit to Veritaserum, despite the potentially permanent brain damage it can cause when administered before puberty?”

Bones scanned the room and realized the truth of his words. Anyone who might want to deny what had just happened – whether former Death Eaters, Minister Fudge, or the Pettigrew family – would be wholly unable to do so. The families represented in this room were the power elite on both sides of the last war, and just about the only thing that would cause them to close ranks and form an alliance would be a threat to their children. No one would be foolish enough to challenge what had just happened if doing so would bring down upon them the wrath of Malfoy and Weasley alike. Pettigrew’s deception (and therefore Black’s innocence) would be instantly accepted.

But something was wrong. Amelia Bones hadn’t become the head of the MLE without having an excellent instinct, and something told her there was more here than met the eye. It was all just a little too neat.

She turned speculatively to Remus. “Hmmm. Mr Lupin, wasn’t it fortuitous that you were here and could positively identify the fugitive? Why are you here just now? Aren’t you supposed to be in Italy?”

Remus returned her gaze calmly. “I came to pick up an urgently needed potion from Professor Snape. I knew he’d be in class at this time, and it seemed sensible to come in and let him know I was here.”

Bones pursed her lips skeptically. “Oh, really? Professor Snape hardly seems the type to welcome an interruption to his class. What potion is so urgent he would permit such an intrusion?”

Snape’s calm, faintly contemptuous expression didn’t change, but internally his heart sank. They hadn’t planned for this level of scrutiny of Remus’ presence.

At least Lupin had managed to emerge from under the Invisibility Cloak during the worst of the chaos, so no one had realized he had been in the room all along - hiding beneath the Cloak and behind the tall supply cupboard, ready to blast the rat should Snape's plan go awry. The Cloak - which Dumbledore had given to Snape when the Potion Master had taken over Harry's guardianship - was now tucked away in the pocket of Lupin's robe and would hopefully stay there until Snape could reclaim it and place it back in secure storage. Oh, Albus had made some mad suggestion about giving the Cloak to Harry for Christmas - as if a mischief-prone 11 year old really needed an Invisibility Cloak! - but Snape had dismissed that notion with the contempt it deserved. Still, if Bones' questioning rattled Lupin, he might give something away...

He needn’t have worried. Remus tilted his chin up and gave Bones a challenging stare even as he calmly answered, “Wolfsbane.”

There was an audible gasp, followed by excited whispers, as the students reacted to this revelation. Remus’ expression didn’t alter, but a tinge of red crept up his neck.

Bones had the grace to look embarrassed. “I beg your pardon,” she said, genuinely apologetic. Then she turned to the children and cleared her throat for their attention. “As you have heard, Mr Lupin suffers from the condition of lycanthropy, however this in no way reflects negatively upon him. He has registered with the Ministry and as you have heard, takes great care to have a monthly supply of Wolfsbane. You should accord him the same courtesy that you would any other wizard. Don’t you agree, Headmaster?”

“Absolutely,” Dumbledore said firmly.

“An’ he’s like my godfather too, so you better not be rude to him,” Harry added pugnaciously, sending a glare towards Pansy Parkinson. He’d heard some whispered comment about “Dark creatures” from her direction, and at his belligerent look, she sniffed and tossed her hair.

Remus looked surprised and pleased at these unexpected endorsements, while Snape fought down his nausea before returning to the attack. “May I have my classroom back now, Madame, or are you too busy asking foolish and embarrassing questions to mop up your evidence and leave? Perhaps there are a few more miscarriages of justice that my class and I can help clear up for you?”

The students giggled. Oooh, that was their professor, all right! He was snarky with everyone. They felt rather proud of Snape. Getting a tongue-lashing from the man was practically a Hogwarts rite of passage, and they didn't need to feel too badly about it if even Madame Bones came out the worse after an encounter with him!

Unfortunately, Bones was no fool, and unlike Fudge, she was not easily driven away by a few snide remarks. “I’m struck by the fact it’s rather convenient that Pettigrew was killed by a potion before he could be interrogated properly.”

Snape quirked an eyebrow at her, even as he mentally damned the inconveniently persistent witch. “Are you seriously suggesting that Longbottom, rather than producing the assigned potion, deliberately crafted a weaponized version of a Potion-Master-level brew?”

Before the words were out of his mouth, the entire room of students – including Neville – burst into laughter. Even Dumbledore masked a chuckle behind a politely raised hand.

Bones and her Aurors didn’t join in the general hilarity, Bones because she was still analyzing the situation, and the men because they were still leery of their boss’ mood. Besides, Bones’ intuition had been proven right too often in the past, even in cases that had appeared more open-and-shut than this one.

“You could have crafted it,” Bones suggested, once the giggles had died down. “You’re a Potion Master. You could have switched the boy’s potion or adulterated it in some way so as to convert it to a deadly poison.”

“I see,” Snape sneered. “And I’m supposed to have engaged in this sleight of hand under the magical eye of Auror Moody? Presumably he didn’t notice because he was off daydreaming? Or perhaps he is so fond of me he felt he could relax his ‘constant vigilance’ while in my classroom?” he inquired sarcastically.

“Then what is your explanation for these events?”

“As I am not on your payroll, Madame, I see no need to offer an explanation,” Snape retorted coldly. “However, I would point out that it is well known that students enjoy pranking each other by slipping things into each other’s potions. That said, I cannot imagine you would seriously propose to interrogate every student in this room.”

Draco, watching this exchange as closely as the rest of the class, reacted to this challenge predictably. “My father would never permit such a thing!” he announced arrogantly, every inch the Malfoy scion.

“Nor mine!” Pansy agreed shrilly.

“I don’t think my parents would want me to be interrogated!” Parvati Patil exclaimed in alarm, prompting Lavender Brown to loudly agree.

As Slytherins and Gryffindors alike began chiming in, Bones realized it would be political suicide to push the matter further – and unlikely to prove anything useful anyway. She glanced over to Moody, silently querying whether he had seen Snape do anything.

The grizzled old Auror shook his head and, knowing the man’s hatred for Snape, she accepted that and decided to back off gracefully. After all, it wasn’t as if she was upset at the outcome. One more dead Death Eater – and the betrayer of the Potters to boot – was something to be celebrated, and with that idiot Fudge in office, not to mention Voldemort hanging around Merlin knew where, she would just as soon have the rat animagus safely dead.

Still, the proprieties had to be observed, especially with a reporter documenting the whole thing and the scandal of Sirius Black making everyone all too aware of what could happen when fair trials weren’t provided. “It would seem to have been an accident,” she declared. “Making that grab for the Potter boy proved his undoing – there’s some poetic justice in that, I suppose.” She glanced over at Harry. “You all right there, young man?”

“Yes, Madame Bones,” Harry said politely, but she could see that several of the children, including one of Arthur Weasley’s lot and Augusta Longbottom’s grandson, had moved to flank him protectively.

“We can thank Merlin that none of the children were harmed,” Dumbledore said soothingly. “The potion accident was obviously just that: a dreadful accident.” He clapped his hands. “And now I think it’s time for the students to hurry along to their next class. Under the circumstances, the prize giving will have to be canceled, don’t you agree, Severus?”

“Alas, yes,” Snape replied calmly.

The children, knowing an order when they heard one, even if it was gently phrased, gathered their books and started to file out, widely skirting the puddle of slime and gristle that had been Pettigrew.

Harry paused by his guardian on his way out, stopping to look up into the man’s dark and fathomless eyes. “Run along, Potter,” Snape said firmly, but the hand that dropped to the boy’s shoulder was gentle. “I will see you tonight in our quarters.”

Harry relaxed and nodded, following Hermione and Ron out the door.

“Remus, perhaps you will escort Miss Skeeter to my office so she can floo to the paper? I’m certain she has a busy afternoon ahead of her,” Dumbledore twinkled.

Skeeter didn’t even look up when Remus gently took her by the arm and steered her out the door; she was too busy dictating the story to her automatic quill. At this rate, she’d be a shoo-in for Journalist of the Year!

“Goodbye, Headmaster. Goodbye, Professor.” Every inch the proper young pureblood, Draco nodded politely as he passed in front of them on his way out of the classroom.

“Mr Malfoy,” Snape replied, his tone neutral. He exchanged a special, knowing look with the boy, whose timely outburst of aristocratic arrogance had been extremely convenient. Draco’s expression didn’t change one iota – Lucius had taught him well – but his silvery eyes gleamed.

“A moment, Mr Longbottom.” Snape halted the stocky boy as the last student made ready to leave. “Given the fact that your potential for unintentional destruction has reached new heights,” he said acidly, “I will be contacting your grandmother later today to suggest that you are excused from regular potions class, effective immediately. Instead, I will suggest to her that you study privately, one on one, with a special remedial Potions tutor. Perhaps individual instruction, coupled with a curriculum that emphasizes the close ties between Herbology and Potions, will ensure that no one else perishes during your training.”

Neville’s eyes grew huge with delight. “Really, sir? Will you?” He caught sight of Madame Bones and abruptly muted his response. “Erm, yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He was unable to conceal the happy skip to his step as, clutching Trevor, he fled the classroom, hopefully for the last time.

Shacklebolt, as the junior-most Auror present, had gloomily accepted the unpleasant task of collecting what Moody had termed “Pettigoo”, and Bones and Moody got ready to depart.

Madame Bones paused on the threshold of the classroom and gave Snape a speculative look. “About my niece’s performance in your class,” she began slowly.

“Susan?” Snape said mildly. “An excellent student. I’m sure she will do very well this year.”

“Hmmmm.” Bones’ expression grew even more pensive, but she departed without another word.

Moody started to follow her, then paused, glancing from Dumbledore to Snape and back again. Unexpectedly, he reached out and shook Snape’s hand, saying. “I hear you’ve done well by the Potter boy.”

Snape blinked incredulously. A kind word from Moody was nearly as much of a shock as Black’s apology had been.

“Reckon you’d’ve given the Artful Dodger some competition!” the Auror commented obscurely, then limped away after his boss.

The Headmaster stared after the old Auror for a moment then turned and gave Snape a very sharp look. The Potion Master returned the look blandly, and after a moment, Dumbledore sighed.

“I hope you know I am not the enemy, my boy,” the older wizard said sadly.

Snape nodded silently but he thought, Not being the enemy doesn’t necessarily mean being a friend, Albus. You should have learned that lesson from the Dursleys.

Dumbledore sighed again. “Sometimes, my boy, I worry that you see everything in such black and white terms. Please remember that we all deserve mercy.” With one last look at where Shacklebolt was gingerly mopping up the last of the dead Gryffindor, Dumbledore departed.

Snape glared after him; it had been a long, difficult day and it would have been nice to get a little acknowledgement of how brilliantly he had pulled the whole thing off. But what could he expect from a non-Slytherin?

Anyway, Dumbledore was just too committed to the notion of happy endings – his greatest weakness was his refusal to admit that some are beyond redemption and help… and to act accordingly.

No one knew better than Snape that redemption hurts, and few people were willing to put in the hard work and pain that it required, no matter what they might wish and/or say. He turned a hard look onto Pettigrew’s remains. Whatever Albus’ preferences, Snape wasn’t about to risk Harry’s welfare in the hopes that that someone who had already proven his enmity might be turned back to the Light. If that made him – a grateful beneficiary of the Headmaster’s mercy – a hypocrite, so be it. He was prepared to accept that label if it meant that Harry would be safe.

Snape knew perfectly well that Dumbledore hadn’t wanted Pettigrew dead, any more than he desired the death of any other Death Eater – hence the Order’s reliance on spells that subdued but did not kill. And that was why he had no intention of ever revealing to Albus just how much plotting had gone into today’s “dreadful accident”. But if the Headmaster imagined that Snape would willingly leave such an obvious threat to Harry alive and kicking, he was well and truly senile.

Snape watched dispassionately as Shacklebolt tried to scoop Pettigrew into an evidence bag. Bits kept dripping off the sides, much to the lanky Auror’s disgust.

Dumbledore could be a powerful ally, but it would have to be on Snape’s terms – not his own. Snape could no longer blindly trust the Headmaster, not only because of the older wizard’s past mistakes – from the Dursleys to Sirius – but also because it was obvious that he had a completely different opinion as to how best to prepare and protect Harry for the battle ahead.

Snape knew that he had chosen a long and lonely road for himself, one on which there might be allies, but none with whom he could share the big picture. He trusted no one to take as good care of Harry as he himself would, not even those who were truly devoted to the boy, such as Sirius or the Weasleys or possibly even the Headmaster. No, only he was willing to do whatever it took to protect the boy – whether that meant ruthlessly eliminating a threat like Pettigrew or depriving Harry of some of the dubious pleasures of childhood, such as innocence about his ultimate role in Voldemort's downfall.

Still, it would all be worth it if, at the end of the day, Voldemort was vanquished and Harry was alive. He would deal with his conscience at that point, and pay whatever penance he had to pay. So long as Harry survived, it would be worth it.