Slipping Through My Fingers

Peter Pettigrew sat on the ground, his back pressed against the wall, the remnants of his rat form still clinging to him like a bad dream. His eyes darted back and forth, panic etched across his face as he realized he had nowhere to hide.

Remus stalked toward Peter, each step deliberate and menacing. The air in the room thickened with tension as Remus’s expression shifted from fury to something deeper—a profound disappointment mingled with sadness for what they had once shared as friends.

As Remus closed the distance, Pettigrew's fear skyrocketed. He scrambled backward on all fours, his eyes wide with terror, desperately seeking refuge. In a frantic attempt to escape, he crawled toward Ron, reaching out as if he could draw strength from his friend.

“Ron! Please!” Pettigrew pleaded, his voice trembling as he clung to Ron’s leg. “You have to help me! I’ve always been a good pet, haven’t I? You can’t let them kill me!”

Ron stood frozen, shock paralyzing him as he processed the sight before him: the traitor who had once been his family’s pet rat now begging for mercy at his feet.

Pettigrew’s eyes flicked to Ron’s face, searching for any glimmer of hope, but he found nothing but cold resolve. Realization hit him like a bucket of ice water—Ron wouldn’t help him. Panic surged through him as he scrambled to his feet, turning his attention to Harry instead.

“Harry! Please!” Pettigrew cried, lunging forward and dropping to his knees before Harry, his hands clasped together in desperate supplication. “You have to help me! I swear, I’ll do anything! Just don’t let them kill me!”

He grovelled at Harry’s feet, his forehead pressed against the ground as he pleaded. “I was just a rat! I didn’t want any of this! I just wanted to survive! You know what it’s like to lose everything! Please, Harry!”

Remus exploded, the fury boiling within him spilling over. “Get the fuck away from my son, you coward!”

With a swift motion, he lunged forward, grabbing Pettigrew by the collar and yanking him away from Harry, tossing him into the center of the room like a ragdoll. Pettigrew landed hard, scrambling to right himself as he looked up at Remus, terror etched across his face.

“Remus, please!” he whimpered, pushing himself up on trembling hands and knees. “I didn’t mean any harm! I was scared! You have to understand! What would you have done!”

Sirius's voice erupted from behind, filled with rage and contempt. “I would have died! I would have died rather than betray James and Lily Potter!” He stepped forward, eyes blazing with fury as he pointed an accusatory finger at Pettigrew. “You sold them out! You were their friend, and you turned your back on them for your own pathetic survival!”

Remus stepped closer, his expression darkening. “You should have understood, Pettigrew,” he said, his voice steady but cold. “If the Death Eaters didn’t get to you, you knew I would. You chose betrayal over friendship, and now you’ll pay the price for your cowardice.”

He raised his wand, the magic crackling in the air around him, ready to strike. “You think pleading for your life will save you? You’re wrong. You deserve to face the consequences of your actions.”

Just as Remus was about to deliver the final blow, a voice cut through the tension.

“Wait,” Harry said, his voice strained but firm.

Remus faltered, his wand lowering slightly. He turned, his shoulders slumping as if all the weight of the past years came crashing down on him at once. He looked exhausted, his usually composed face lined with weariness. His eyes, filled with a mixture of pain and helplessness, found Harry’s.

“Harry,” Remus rasped, his voice thick with emotion. “Do you understand what he’s done? What he’s taken from us… from you?”

Harry stood frozen, his wand still gripped tightly in his hand. He looked from Remus, to Pettigrew—who was still cowering like the rat he was—and back to Remus, his thoughts racing. He did understand. He understood more than he ever wanted to.

Pettigrew, still shaking on the ground, didn't dare look up at either of them. He knew he had no right to speak.

Remus, however, just stared at Harry, his wand still in hand, waiting for his son's response. The silence hung between them, heavy and suffocating.

Harry swallowed, his throat dry, the weight of everything crushing down on him. His gaze flicked between Remus, his father, who stood there trembling with fury, and the man who had betrayed them all, quivering on the floor.

"I understand," Harry said, his voice hoarse and quiet. He clenched his fists, his heart racing. "I do."

Remus’s eyes softened for a brief moment, the tension in his face breaking slightly. He held his son’s gaze, waiting for more.

Harry’s next words came out in a rush, raw with emotion. "I just… I don’t want you to be a murderer."

The words hit Remus like a blow. His wand faltered, the crackling magic dimming as his hand dropped to his side. His shoulders slumped even further, the anger that had been fueling him now drained, replaced by a deep, hollow exhaustion. He let out a breath, the pain of Harry’s plea cutting through the haze of his rage.

As Remus’s grip on his wand slackened, the room’s tension shifted. Pettigrew, sensing the change in the air, seized his chance. With a desperate burst of movement, he broke free from Remus’s weakened hold, scrambling across the floor. His breath came in panicked gasps as he threw himself at Harry’s feet, clutching at the hem of his robes, his voice trembling with desperation.
“Thank you, Harry!” Pettigrew whimpered, his face contorted in a pitiful display of gratitude. “Thank you for sparing me—thank you for saving my life!”

Without a word, Harry stepped back slightly, narrowing his eyes at Pettigrew. Then, in one swift motion, he spat on him.

Pettigrew flinched as the spit landed on his cheek, recoiling as though Harry’s contempt burned him. His hands trembled, his grip on Harry’s robes loosening as the weight of his disgrace settled in.

“You don’t deserve to thank me,” Harry said, his voice cold, laced with fury. “You deserve nothing.”

Remus, watching the scene unfold, stood frozen, the exhaustion from moments earlier still weighing on him. Sirius, standing to the side, let out a dark chuckle, his eyes filled with both rage and grim satisfaction as he watched Pettigrew grovel.

But Harry wasn’t satisfied. He wasn’t done. Pettigrew didn’t just deserve contempt—he deserved justice.

“The Dementors can have you for all I care,” Harry said, his voice like ice, cold and final. His words echoed in the room, and for a moment, even Pettigrew froze, as if the weight of the sentence had finally sunk in. There was no more mercy to be found here, no salvation. Harry’s contempt was clear, as was his resolve.

Pettigrew whimpered, trembling on the floor as he tried to scramble back from Harry, the fear of his fate etched deep into his rat-like features.

Sirius let out a satisfied, almost feral growl of approval, his gaze locked on Pettigrew. “Did you hear that, Wormtail? Harry doesn’t care. No one does. You’re going to get exactly what you deserve.”

Remus, still standing close by, glanced at his son, the hollow exhaustion in his face now tinged with a solemn understanding. Harry had made his decision, and though it left him unsettled, he knew his son had every right to feel the way he did. Remus lowered his wand completely, his eyes fixed on Pettigrew. There was nothing more to say.
______________________________________

The group emerged from the dark passage beneath the Whomping Willow, the weight of everything that had transpired pressing down on them like a suffocating fog. The towering tree creaked above, its branches twisting ominously as though aware of the dark secrets they carried with them.

Sirius walked just ahead, his hand firmly gripping the rope that bound Peter Pettigrew, who stumbled along, his head down, filthy and trembling. Every now and then, Pettigrew would shoot a nervous glance at Sirius, but the murderous gleam in Sirius’s eyes kept him silent.

Hermione, walking beside Ron, was carefully supporting him as he limped. His leg, still sore from where the black dog—Sirius—had dragged him down into the tunnel, slowed their pace, but Hermione kept pace with him, her face pale with concern. “Just a bit further,” she whispered, though it was more to herself than Ron, her mind still reeling from everything they had learned.

Harry walked a few paces behind, his gaze fixed on the ground, his thoughts a tangled mess. His father… Remus… had nearly killed Pettigrew. And Harry had been the one to stop him. The weight of his own words echoed in his mind: The Dementors can have him for all I care. He felt numb, as if everything that had happened was too big, too impossible to process.

“Harry…” Hermione’s soft voice cut through his thoughts as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “You should talk to your dad.”

Ron, wincing in pain but still focused, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, mate. I think he needs to hear from you… after everything.”

Harry looked up at the sound of their voices, meeting their worried gazes. His eyes darted forward to where Remus was walking silently ahead, his shoulders still slumped in that same hollow exhaustion. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left the Shrieking Shack.

Harry hesitated for a moment, watching the defeated figure of his father ahead, the weight of their silence pressing on him. With a glance back at Ron and Hermione, who gave him encouraging nods, he took a deep breath and quickened his pace to catch up with Remus.

They walked side by side in silence at first, the only sounds being the rustling of leaves under their feet and the faint groaning of the Whomping Willow behind them. Harry snuck glances at Remus, unsure how to begin, the emotions from everything still swirling inside him. He didn’t have to wait long.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Remus said, his voice hoarse from the shouting back in the Shrieking Shack. It cracked with exhaustion and regret, like the words had been festering for too long. His eyes remained fixed ahead, his tone low and weary. “I should have told you the truth… about being a werewolf.”

Harry glanced up at him, but Remus didn’t meet his gaze. He seemed lost in his own regret, his shoulders hunched further, as if carrying the weight of that secret had taken a toll on him.

“I can’t imagine how this must feel for you, finding out like this. You… you have every right to be angry. I never wanted to hide it from you, but…” Remus paused, exhaling slowly as if trying to steady himself. “I was scared. Scared of what you’d think. Of what it would mean for you… having a father like me.”

Harry’s mind was still racing, the image of Remus about to kill Pettigrew etched into his thoughts. But hearing his dad’s voice, broken and raw, made his chest tighten with something other than anger. Remus wasn’t just a werewolf—he was the man who’d been there for him in ways Harry had never expected. And now, he was standing there, waiting for Harry’s judgment.

“Dad…” Harry’s voice came out more softly than he’d intended, but Remus finally looked at him. His eyes were tired, filled with years of guilt and shame. Harry didn’t know what to say. He had questions—questions about everything—but right now, none of them mattered more than this moment.

Harry swallowed, the words caught in his throat as he looked up at Remus. He could see the pain etched into every line of his father's face—the weight of years of secrets and guilt. And yet, beneath all of that, Harry saw the man who had cared for him, guided him, and protected him, even when the truth was hidden.

“I forgive you. I don’t care that you’re a werewolf,” Harry said quietly, his voice trembling as he spoke the words that had been sitting heavy on his heart. Remus flinched slightly, as though he didn’t quite believe what he’d heard. “You’re my dad… and I love you.”

The words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, everything else faded. The danger, the betrayals, the shocking truths—it all seemed to fall away as they stood there, just the two of them, father and son.

Remus’s eyes widened, glistening with unshed tears, and then the dam broke. A sob escaped him, and before Harry could say anything more, Remus was pulling him into a tight embrace, his arms wrapped around Harry like he was afraid to let go. His body shook with quiet sobs as he held his son close.

“I love you too, Harry. So much,” Remus whispered, his voice choked with emotion. He buried his face in Harry’s shoulder, his tears soaking into Harry’s robes. “You have no idea how much I love you.”

Harry felt his own tears spill over, unable to hold them back anymore. He hugged Remus just as tightly, feeling the warmth and safety of his dad’s arms around him. The pain and fear of everything they’d just been through melted away.

Harry's grip tightened around his dad as the guilt rose in his chest again, sharp and aching. He buried his face in Remus's shoulder, the words fighting their way out. “I’m sorry, Dad,” Harry whispered, his voice shaky. “For yelling at you in the Shrieking Shack… and for—” He hesitated, the weight of his next words almost too much to say. “For turning my wand on you.”

Remus stiffened slightly at the memory, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he held Harry even tighter, his hand gently rubbing his back. “Harry,” he began softly, his voice still raw with emotion, “you were scared. And you had every right to be.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly. “You’ve been through more than any boy your age should ever have to face.”

Remus took a shaky breath, his grip on Harry unwavering as he finally spoke again. “And I accept your apology, Harry. But you need to understand,” he added, pulling back slightly so he could look his son in the eyes, “you never had to apologize for trying to do the right thing. That’s what matters.”

Harry sniffed, his emotions still raw, but a small, hesitant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Remus’s words, warm and filled with love, eased the knot in his chest that had been tightening since the Shrieking Shack.

Remus smiled back, his expression softening as he wiped at his own damp eyes. For the first time since all the chaos had erupted, there was a quiet peace between them.

“You’re my son,” Remus continued, his voice steady but filled with a depth of emotion that made Harry’s chest tighten again. “I’ve loved you from the moment I knew you were mine. And nothing—nothing will ever change that.”

Harry’s smile widened, the warmth in his father’s words filling him with a sense of safety he hadn’t realized he’d needed so badly. For a long moment, they just stood there, looking at each other, sharing a quiet understanding that didn’t need more words.

“I love you, Dad,” Harry whispered, the truth of it washing over him with a sense of calm he hadn’t expected.

“I love you too, Harry,” Remus replied, his smile growing as he pulled Harry in for another hug. This time, it wasn’t filled with sorrow or fear, but something simpler. Something that felt like healing.