Ch. 2
It was an entirely disorientating experience.
One moment, Lucy was on the shores of Aslan's Country with Edmund and Eustace and Aslan and Caspian, the next she was falling through darkness.
The brightness of the beach had disappeared, throwing off her sense of perception, and the sand beneath her feet dropped away.
A scream clawed its way out of her throat but she silenced it. She tried to spread her body out to slow the fall and grasped at her waist to make sure her dagger was sheathed and wouldn't stab her at the end of the fall.
"Edmund?" she tried, "Eustace?"
The wind whistled her only reply.
"Caspian?!"
Lucy screwed her eyes tight and tried to ignore the wind in her ears.
What had Aslan meant, when he'd said her journey wasn't over yet? Why had he been looking at her, not Edmund or Eustace? Sure, Caspian had to stay in Narnia — he was the king, after all — but why would her journey be longer than Edmund's or Eustace's? And if they went back to England, how would they explain her absence? Where even was she going?
It couldn't be Narnia — they would have just gotten back on the Dawn Treader if that was the case.
Was it somewhere beyond, then? Beyond the Great Desert? Was it the Underland? Was it somewhere in the north, where the Stars were?
But just as Lucy was prepared to go through the entirety of Narnia's geography in her mind, her fall began to slow.
Lights became visible once more — no longer the arresting blue of the day she'd just left, but deep, dark night, fraught with shadows and specks of starlight.
She was falling through trees now, but they seemed to move out of her way as gravity released her.
The scream tore itself from her mouth again as she neared the ground, but before she could hit it, the air around her seemed to thicken and billow up beneath her as a cushion. She dropped slowly and when she hit the ground it was barely a fall.
Lucy scrambled to her feet and looked around — as well as she could, that was.
"Edmund?" she said again, "Eustace? Caspian?"
The wind whistled again, but no reply came. Lucy checked her pockets but had no torch had made the journey with her, and indeed she wasn't sure she'd brought one — the Dawn Treader had an abundance of lanterns.
"Oh, Aslan," Lucy sighed.
She'd learned, long ago, that the Stars in Narnia, while infinitely brighter than back home, were essentially the same, and so she glanced up at the sky and began to search for the Northern star.
It was duller than in Narnia, which meant she was on Earth. Hopefully somewhere in England, but definitely not London.
Something ran over her boot and, on instinct, she reached down and caught it.
"Reepi—oh."
It was not Reepicheep, but rather an ugly-looking rat with a stubby tail. Lucy examined it as best as she could in the moonlight. Something Reepicheep had once said about rats with no tails having no honour stuck in her head, and, rather than dropping this rather glouting rodent, she stuffed it in the money-satchel attached to her belt and tied the ribbons. It squirmed for a while but she poked it forcefully and it stopped.
Shrugging, Lucy glanced back at the sky.
She started North according to Polaris and trekked for what seemed like hours among the kilometre-high trees before breaking into a clearing. Or, rather, the end of the woods.
There was a hut a few metres away, and what looked like pumpkins littered the field between her and the door. They were huge, though — far larger than any normal pumpkins she'd ever seen, and on a pole, illuminated by lanterns, hung a string of dead...polecats. Lucy was suddenly glad Reepicheep wasn't there.
The hut was dark but a lantern hung from beside the door, and she was certain she could hear a dog whining inside.
Lucy crept over the field carefully until she reached the post of hanging polecats. She reached for the very top of the post and grabbed the lantern that swung there.
Now, she looked around.
She was standing on a great lawn that stretched and morphed into stone steps and faded back into forest on the other end of the hut. The steps lead up a large hill and eventually to the doors of a castle, which looked nothing like Cair Paravel — it was smaller, for one. It seemed like far less of a fortress and more of a...private castle? Private...lords' castle? She frowned.
As a matter of fact, as well as she could see it from where she stood, it didn't seem like any kind of familiar castle. It was far too tall, for one, and seemed to face west rather than north or south. She shook her head. Perhaps the kinds of castles she'd studied in Narnia were different from the kinds of castles in the real world.
Well, there was only one sensible course of action; approaching the castle.
Lucy held the lantern out in front of her and drew her dagger. Just in case. If she was wrong about being in England, then who knew what would greet her at the castle door? At least she knew it wasn't Ettinsmoor; the castle was far too small for giants.
It was a long trudge up those stone steps but when she reached great oak doors which made her question her earlier conviction that she was safe from giants — although, perhaps the hut should've brought that idea.
She knocked twice, heavily, then with her dagger, which was louder, and, upon receiving no reply, tried to push the doors open on her own, and was surprised at the give.
They opened with ease, as if they were made of...of...cardboard, rather than wood. Lucy raised her lantern as she entered but lowered it again when the yellow torchlight washed over her face.
There was no one in sight.
A pair of stairs lay directly in front of her, along with a series of doors along the two other walls, but she chose the stairs, and then the ones after, and then, upon still finding no one, the ones after.
It was the fourth floor before Lucy found any sign of humanity. An older man in moulding brown robes glowered at her, cat at his feet.
"It's past curfew," he snapped, and the cat hissed. "What're you doing out of bed?"
"I'm—" Lucy paused, the words registering. "I don't live here. I live in London. Or, if it suits your fancy, Cair Paravel."
"Well, don't get smart," the man snapped. "Get to bed! There's enough going on without you lot getting involved. Dementors and hippogriffs! What House are you in, anyway?"
"...Pevensie?" Lucy tried. "House of Pevensie."
"I said, don't try and be smart!"
"Well, I'm looking for whoever owns this castle. Manor?"
"That's it, I'm taking you to Dumbledore," the man said grumpily.
He grabbed Lucy by the arm and she considered removing her arm from his grasp but it seemed she was going where she meant to go after all — this Bumbledoor sounded like the king? head? owner? of the castle. So she allowed this old man to manhandle her down three flights of stairs, several hallways, and stopped in front of a large white door.
Several voices inside stilled when Lucy's accuser twisted the doorknob, and when he threw open the door, Lucy blinked at the sudden light.
"I found a student out of bed!" the man announced.
A very old fellow with a white beard that reached his belt turned around. He seemed even older than Coriakin, which was probably impossible, since the magician was a former Star. He wore silver robes, decadent and worthy of a king, and a pointed hat atop his head.
"That," he said, peering at Lucy thoughtfully, "is not a student."
"This is a school?" Lucy asked in disbelief.
"Yes, indeed. This is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he said genially. "And I am its Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore, at your service."
"Uh," Lucy scrambled to curtsey. "Lucy Pevensie."
"As I was saying," another man cut in angrily, "Potter and his friend are clearly Confunded! Black's done a very good job on them..."
"WE'RE NOT CONFUNDED!" someone roared, and Lucy's vision expanded to encompass two rows of hospital beds, only a few of which were occupied. The speaker, a boy with dark hair and glasses, was sitting upright in a cot, while a nurse hovered, looking nearly as annoyed as everyone else.
"What's Confunded?" Lucy asked.
"My dear girl, where have you been attending? A Confundus is a charm which confuses and misdirects the target," the man next to Albus Dumbledore said. Lucy stared at his bowler hat — it was bright green.
"So this is Narnia!" Lucy said, relieved. "If there's magic—"
"What's Narnia?"
"Doesn't matter!" the boy in the cot shouted. "You've got the wrong man—"
"This isn't Narnia?" Lucy wondered.
"This is Hogwarts!" the boy turned on her, "And an innocent man is about to be killed!"
"Now, now, Harry, that's an exaggeration. The Kiss won't kill Black, it'll simply—"
"I know what it does! And he's innocent!"
"Harry, Harry, Harry—"
"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry pleaded, "Sirius Black—"
"You can't kill an innocent man," Lucy cut in. "You can't — that's not...that's not...moral. Yes, that isn't moral. And...where am I?"
"Hogwarts — Merlin, have you hit your head?" Lucy's original accuser glared at her.
"But — country-wise, where am I? England? Ireland? France? Not America, surely?"
"Scotland, actually," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.
"Scotland...Scotland...Scotland," Lucy said, thinking very fast. "Why is this man about to be executed? Has he committed treason? Is he aligned with the Nazis?"
"My dear girl, your perception of history is quite skewed. The man — Sirius Black — is convicted of murder on thirteen counts and the betrayal of James and Lily Potter to You-Know-Who."
"No, I don't know who. What?"
"Voldemort," Dumbledore said calmly. "Or Tom Riddle, if you prefer."
"I've never heard that name. Am I supposed to?"
"It doesn't matter!" the boy — Harry — burst out. "He's going to be killed and he's innocent! I swear, Professor, it was Peter Pettigrew—"
Lucy's pocket seemed to squirm.
"—he framed Black, he killed all those Muggles! We saw him, he was Ron's rat, he's not dead!"
"Does my evidence count for nothing?" snarled a man in a great black cloak. His face was twisted not into annoyance but pure loathing. "Peter Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack, nor did I see any sign of him on the grounds."
"That was because you were knocked out, Professor!" Harry's friend began earnestly. "You didn't arrive in time to hear."
"Miss Granger, HOLD YOUR TONGUE!"
"Now, Snape," said bowler hat, startled, "the young lady is disturbed in her mind, we must make allowances—"
"A rat, you said?" Lucy queried. "A rat? How could a rat kill thirteen people?"
"Because he's an ANIMAGUS!"
"A what-a-what?"
"An animagus is a person who can transform into a particular animal by will," Dumbledore explained, eyes twinkling. "For example, Professor McGonagall—" he gestured toward the woman on his right. "—is a cat Animagus."
"I could be mistaken," Lucy began, "but if, say, this account is true and the rat were found, would that prevent this man — with the odd name — from being executed? That is what's going on, right? An execution, which you, boy — Harry? are trying to prevent?"
"Yes!"
"And I could be further mistaken," Lucy said, reaching for her money satchel, "but would this happen to be a satisfactory rat?"
Harry's jaw dropped as she presented the squirming rat. For a moment, no one spoke, and Lucy wiggled the rat in the air, trying to make it stop attempting to bite her.
"Yes!" the Granger girl said eventually. "Yes that's—! Yes! That's Pettigrew! Look, Harry, he's missing a toe. That's Pettigrew!"
"Impossible," Snape murmured.
"Well, there's only one way of finding out," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Shall you, Cornelius, or shall I?"
"Go ahead," bowler hat said, looking stupidly amazed at the man.
Dumbledore removed a long thin stick from his sleeve and pointed it at the rat Lucy held aloft.
"What're you—"
Dumbledore uttered something untranslatable and from the stick there issued a great blast off blue light, which hit the rat. And within seconds, Lucy was no longer holding a rodent but rather the collar of an ugly, cowering man in his late thirties. He was balding, and rather overweight, too, but in the corpulent way of someone who'd ate too much, exercised too little, and had abruptly been forced to change his routines — although perhaps not for the better.
"Great Merlin!" bowler hat stood agog. "That's Peter Pettigrew!"
"Severus, would you fetch a Veritaserum for us?" Dumbledore asked, eyes twinkling.
Snape left in a hurry, brushing past Lucy as he did.
Pettigrew tried once or twice to open his mouth, perhaps to beg or plead or make a case for his innocence, but at a glance from Dumbledore, shut it just as quickly. Snape returned momentarily with a black phial in hand.
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, "would you please administer it? I think we'd all like some answers."
Pettigrew struggled but Lucy, somehow convinced of his guilt despite really having no grasp of the situation or who she was keeping company, gripped his neck harshly and poked the notch in his throat, forcing him to gag. Snape tipped the phial in and Lucy used her other hand to slam Pettigrew's jaw shut.
"Alright," Dumbledore said, sighing.
Lucy noticed that Pettigrew's eyes had glazed over.
"What is your full name?" bowler hat began.
"Peter Oliver Pettigrew."
"Did Sirius Black attack you on Hallowe'en of 1981?"
1981? Lucy's mind wheeled. It was 1981? It was supposed to be 1942! How long had she been in Narnia?
"He tried."
"Why did you say he'd betrayed James and Lily Potter?"
"To frame him," Pettigrew choked. "And to escape."
"Did you cast a Bombarda behind you to frame him?"
"Yes."
"Are you aware that twelve Muggles were killed in that explosion?"
There was that word again — Muggles. What were Muggles? Were they a creature — like Dufferpuds? Or Marsh-wiggles?
"Yes," Pettiugrew said dully.
"Were you the Secret-Keeper for James and Lily Potter by the thirty-first of October, 1981?" Dumbledore took over.
"Yes." "Did you give up the location of the Potter cottage to Voldemort?"
"Yes."
"Great Merlin," bowler hat whispered.
"Were you, then, a Death Eater, otherwise identified as a follower of Voldemort?"
"Yes."
"Was Sirius Black, to your knowledge, ever a Death Eater or sympathetic to Voldemort's aims?"
"Never," Pettigrew sneered; the Veritaserum was wearing off.
"I think that's all I need to hear," Dumbledore said, glancing at Cornelius.
"Yes...yes...I suppose we'll have to...yes...release Black...where's Macnair? Will someone call Amelia?"
"I believe Macnair is fetching the Dementor," Dumbledore said calmly. "However, given the circumstances, I see proceeding this matter to trial as the best course of action."
"Yes...yes," bowler hat blustered. "Yes...I suppose that's what Sirius Black ought to have had...I suppose..."
Lucy couldn't help herself. "You mean you were about to execute a man without trial? Are you insane?"
"Now, listen here, little girl—"
"Lucy."
"Thank you very much for bringing this matter to light, but there's a lot going on you clearly don't understand, so—"
"I'm afraid, Cornelius, that Miss Lucy is correct. Sirius ought to have gotten a trial, and I understand you weren't Minister then," Dumbledore raised his hands placatingly. "And I understand the chaos directly preceding the war, better than anyone, I'd imagine, but it is a matter of fact that an innocent man suffered for twelve years because he was not afforded a trial. This is not the sort of thing that can be repeated, and I'm sure when Amelia arrives — for I've just sent a Patronus, dreadful hour though it is — she will agree. In the meantime, why don't we all have a seat? This has been dreadfully confusing."
He turned to Professor McGonagall.
"Minerva, dear, would you please bring Sirius down here? He certainly deserves out of Professor Flitwick's office — I imagine he's having worse nightmares about exams, locked in there, than about the Dementors. Oh, and speaking of, would someone call off Macnair?"
"That'd have to be the Minister," Minerva said sharply, turning in the doorway. "And good riddance!"
Dumbledore smiled pleasantly as the two left the Hospital Wing. He had drawn together a group of chairs and conjured some sort of handcuffs for Pettigrew as well.
"When will this excitement be over?" the nurse burst out, seemingly taking advantage of bowler hat's absence. "Headmaster, I have patients! Is this a hospital wing or a court room?"
"My apologies, Poppy, but sometimes justice trumps health — at least for a while."
Poppy huffed and moved over to Harry's bedside, where she force-fed him a great big bar of chocolate. He choked.
Lucy wondered when she was going to get the full story. A bell rang somewhere in the distance; eleven tolls.
"So," Dumbledore started, turning towards her. "Miss..."
"Pevensie. Lucy Pevensie."
"Miss Pevensie, what brings you to Hogwarts?"
"Uh..." Lucy considered. What could she possibly say that would make sense? "A lion sent me here." Nope, not that.
"A lion?" Dumbledore said, smiling. "How fitting."
"Why is that?" she winced.
"Because, at Hogwarts, we have four Houses. Slytherin, represented by the snake, of the cunning and ambitious; Hufflepuff, represented by the badger, of the kind and loyal; Ravenclaw, represented by the eagle, of the clever and wise; and Gryffindor, represented by the lion, of the brave and chivalrous. You seem, to me, very brave."
Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Well, my dear, you have just changed the course of an entire man's life. You have made it possible for an innocent man to walk free after twelve years of imprisonment, and the truly guilty, truly dastardly man to take his place. That, to me, requires a great deal of courage, and not a small bit of cleverness."
"Um...thanks." But that's Peter, she thought, or perhaps Susan. Even Ed...maybe.
"How did you even find him?" Harry asked, choking down the rest of his chocolate. "Pettigrew?"
"He ran over my shoe and I caught him, hoping he was my friend Reepicheep."
"Reepicheep? What a peculiar name," Dumbledore smiled.
"Reepicheep's a mouse," Lucy said dumbly. "He can...talk."
"How strange."
"Won't shut up, really," Lucy continued, thinking of how much she would miss the mouse, now that he was in Aslan's Country. "He used to sing this song, when we were at sea—
Where the sky and water meet,
Where the waves grow ever sweet,
Doubt not, Reepicheep,
To find all you seek,
There is the utter East."
She smiled, self-consciously. "I don't have the best voice, of course."
"The utter East?" Dumbledore inquired.
"Heaven, I suppose. The story goes that if you sail to the end of the world, you reach As— er, Heaven, and if you want, you can just...cross over. Then you stay there forever, and you can't come back to...Earth, but that's okay because Heaven is the real Earth, the better world of God. So if you sail to Heaven, that's the utter East, that's where your answers are."
"Why must you sail there?" Dumbledore asked, "Why can't you just...walk? Or Apparate?"
"I don't know what Apparating is, but you have to sail because there is no land bridging the way. It's like crossing the ocean — you can't walk across the Atlantic, now can you?"
"Not that I know of," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "That's a lovely story."
Lucy smiled and glanced awkwardly out the window. The moon was bright and lovely.
Minerva returned momentarily, towing a man in prison garb. His hair hung in his face, filthy and matted, and Lucy assumed, from his dragging feet, that he had not yet been appraised of the turn of events. But when he saw Pettigrew, sitting beside Lucy, bound and gagged, he startled.
"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, getting halfway out of bed before Poppy shoved him back down.
"Harry?" Sirius Black croaked. "What's going on?"
For some reason, his voice sounded peculiarly familiar.
"We can remove the handcuffs, don't you think, Minerva?" Dumbledore said pleasantly.
He pointed the stick at Black's hands, emaciated and bound, and the chains disappeared.
"Am I free, then?" Black sounded like he could hardly believe it.
"Unfortunately," Snape snarled.
"Thanks to Miss Pevensie," Dumbledore gestured, smiling. "The Minister will be back any moment, and I suspect, Amelia Bones will arrive..."
There came a knocking on the hospital door.
"Come in!" Dumbledore called.
The door swung open to reveal a middle-aged woman with a monocle. She wore severely cut black robes and was frowning.
"I expect a very good explanation for all this," she said to Dumbledore. "And where is Cornelius?"
"Sending the Dementors off, I believe. Hopefully Macnair as well."
"Well, don't wait for him, then. I want my explanation."
"This, as you can see, is Peter Pettigrew. The not dead victim of Sirius Black. He has confessed, with myself, Cornelius, Minerva, Poppy, and Severus as witnesses, to the murder of the twelve Muggles, as well as the betrayal of James and Lily to Voldemort. He, not Sirius, was the Secret Keeper at the time of their death."
"And how was this discovered?"
"Peter Pettigrew, as it turns out, is an unregistered Animagus. This was brought to Harry's attention by none other than Sirius Black, and Harry brought it to my attention. Pettigrew momentarily escaped but was captured once more by Miss Pevensie here, who, while unaware of his identity...why did you pick Pettigrew up, Miss Pevensie?"
"He gave me a bad feeling," Lucy shrugged. "And he barely has a tail. Everyone knows that a tail is a rodent's pride and honour. He has no pride and honour. Besides, he was glaring at me, and rats don't usually do that."
Amelia Bones arched an eyebrow. "You happened to pick up a legally deceased criminal, in the guise of a rat, because he gave you a bad feeling? Either you are incredibly lucky, Miss Pevensie, or you have something of a Seer in you."
"Thank you?"
Bowler Hat returned momentarily, looking rather tired and annoyed.
"Ah, Amelia," he said. "You're here."
"Yes, and I've been apprised of the situation. I can only ask now — why was Sirius Black not given a trial upon his arrest?"
Bowler Hat sagged into his chair. "I don't know, Amelia! I wasn't Minister."
"You ordered the Kiss on sight. We can not, in the future, do that without a trial and unanimous verdict. It's simply unjustifiable."
Bowler Hat didn't reply.
"Well, I am going to take both Pettigrew and Black in. Pettigrew will go to Azkaban to await trial and Black will be processed based on your testimonies of Pettigrew's confession — which I expect all five Pensieves for, sooner rather than later, too — and you, Minister, have to put a statement out to the Daily Prophet. It needs to make the morning edition, understand?" Amelia spoke matter-of-factly and glared at everyone in the room. "The finer details can be sorted out by the Wizengamot at a later date, but tonight, before either of us go home, Cornelius, I want this done. This case has dragged on long enough."
"Yes, Amelia," Bowler Hat said weakly.
"If you will come with me, Mr. Black," Amelia said, turning to the man, "And Dumbledore? Would you like to escort Mr. Pettigrew, as an extra precaution?"
"I'd be delighted."
Dumbledore stood up and brought Pettigrew with him. Sirius Black also stood up, and when he glanced at Amelia, Lucy saw his face for the first time.
"Caspian?"
Sirius Black glanced oddly at her. "What?"
But he didn't look entirely like Caspian; he was older and prison-worn. His hair was longer and filthier than Caspian would have ever had it, and he did not stand like a king but rather like someone who was trying not to draw attention to themselves.
"Sorry," Lucy said, frowning. "You look like a good friend of mine."
"I think, as Miss Pevensie here was crucial in Mr. Pettigrew's capture, and as she is not a student of Hogwarts, it would be best if she also came along," Dumbledore said, glancing at Amelia. "Otherwise, I'm not entirely sure what to do with her."
"Yes, alright, Miss Pevensie...full name?"
"Lucy Helen Pevensie."
"Date of birth, blood-status, and school?"
Lucy blinked. "The second...of January, 1932...I'm English? and I attend Saint Finlay's with my sister Susan."
"Now, really," Amelia said, glowering. "If you're not going to be sincere in the matter, then you can stay here."
Lucy glanced at Dumbledore. "I don't know what answers you want. That's the truth."
"Well, we can figure this out later. I believe Miss Pevensie has to come along."
Amelia didn't reply, simply turning and marching out of the hospital wing. Dumbledore followed, smiling, and so did Lucy, at the Headmaster's nod.
As she left, she heard someone mutter, 1932...really?