When James finished speaking, his bloodshot eyes lifted slowly, staring blankly at Peter Pettigrew.
Snape tore his gaze away from Wormtail's ashen, trembling face and turned toward Sirius, whose chest was still heaving.
"Sirius," he asked quietly, "is everything James said true? Do you agree with it all?"
Sirius gave a slow nod. His tangled black hair clung damply to his sweat-covered forehead.
The cabin sank into an even deeper silence than before. Only the occasional faint crackle from the fireplace could be heard, and even that flame had grown weak.
Shadows flickered across their faces, reflecting disbelief, grief, and a chill that reached the bone.
"Peter..." Professor McGonagall's voice broke the stillness, heavy with disappointment. She waved her wand slightly toward Wormtail but didn't finish her sentence.
Peter Pettigrew collapsed into the chair, his face streaked with tears and snot. He struggled weakly, choking out words between sobs:
"Professor... I, a spy? Nonsense... he must be mad, there's no way... I don't know how he could say something so... so vile..."
Professor Flitwick regarded the disheveled man with the faint trace of a last, desperate hope for confirmation.
"Peter Pettigrew," he asked softly, "why did you do it? Or... do you have any evidence to prove your innocence? Anything at all to refute Potter's accusation?"
Peter's mouth opened and closed several times, as though he'd forgotten how to speak. His frightened little eyes darted across the faces around him, finding only cold scrutiny, anger, and deep disappointment.
Snape stepped forward, looking down on Wormtail from above.
"We can find the evidence ourselves." He slowly drew his wand, pointing it at Peter. "Lift your head. Look into my eyes."
Peter raised his head with one last flicker of pleading, staring tearfully into Snape's dark eyes.
But the instant their gazes met, his pupils contracted sharply, then burst wide open, deflating like a pricked balloon, unfocused and glassy.
"Severus!" McGonagall barked, her voice sharp with shock and a hint of protest. "That violates-"
But Snape didn't hear her. Peter's mental defenses were like paper before him, far weaker than he had imagined.
He dove deep into Pettigrew's mind, excavating the memories buried beneath layers of fear.
Time seemed frozen. Everyone held their breath, watching Peter's occasional spasms and Snape's unwavering profile.
At last, Snape's eyelids flickered. He lowered his wand, the piercing light fading from his eyes, replaced by realization, and disgust. He looked away from the hollow shell on the floor.
"No-!"
The moment Snape withdrew from his mind, Peter screamed, a high, tearing shriek as if ripped from a nightmare.
With sudden, frenzied strength, he thrashed violently. The ropes bit deep into his flesh, and the heavy chair toppled with a thud, crashing to the floor and pinning half his body.
Wormtail completely broke down. Crawling like a worm, he pressed his face to the floorboards, as if Snape's intrusion had just passed his death sentence.
His remaining instinct for survival drove him onward, knees and elbows scraping the floor, writhing and dragging himself desperately.
He whimpered and sobbed inhumanly, leaving a slick trail of moisture across the planks.
Peter struggled to McGonagall's feet, forcing his head up just enough to press his forehead against the floor and glance up at the tips of her boots.
"Professor McGonagall... Professor..." he pleaded pitifully, "I'm your student... from Gryffindor... please... for the sake of-"
McGonagall stared down at the pitiful creature groveling before her, the student who once cheered for Gryffindor on the Quidditch stands, who once stammered timidly in class. Now he was nothing but a filthy maggot crawling on the floor, begging for life. A surge of nausea rose in her throat.
She abruptly stepped back twice, avoiding his touch.
Peter's body convulsed violently, as if struck by her recoil.
But he wasn't done.
He gave a desperate whimper, mustered all his remaining strength, and began thrashing again, rolling and wriggling wildly on the floor before everyone's eyes.
The chair that had pinned him clattered aside.
Now lying on his side, Peter could see Sirius's face only a few feet away.
"Sirius," he wailed, "it's me, Padfoot, it's Wormtail! Your friend... we're best friends..."
Sirius's answer was to wrench forward against his restraints and spit in Peter's direction.
"Pah!"
The spit landed on Peter's grimy cheek.
He recoiled as though burned, whimpering sharply.
Still, he didn't give up. His eyes darted around desperately, then fixed on Moody.
"Brave Auror... righteous warrior..." Peter's voice turned oily and pitiful, "you won't let them treat me like this... please... take me to the Ministry of Magic... let the wizarding law... judge me..."
Moody ignored him. His enchanted eye rotated to the back of his head.
"Severus," he growled, "what did you see in his mind? What's got him shaking like that?"
Snape didn't answer immediately. His expression was unreadable as he turned away, walking toward an old oak cabinet from Hogwarts. He opened it and withdrew a stone basin engraved with strange runes along its edge.
Carrying it to the center of the cabin, he set it carefully atop a small stool.
Then, drawing his wand, Snape pressed its tip to his temple. A long, pearly thread of silvery substance drew out, shimmering faintly.
He added it to the swirling silver contents within the basin.
The thread melted in, sending ripples across the surface. The liquid spun faster, glowing brighter.
"The truth is here," Snape said calmly, raising his head at last. "Shall we see it together?"
No one objected.
At last, Professor McGonagall took a deep breath and stepped forward first, lowering her face into the spinning silver light.
A powerful pull seized them all. In a rush of cold darkness, they fell, spiraling downward into another world of shadow.
The silence there was oppressive. Only the occasional broken sob echoed faintly in the blackness.
After what felt like an eternity, a harsh creak shattered the quiet. Above them, a heavy wooden door opened.
Dim yellow light pierced through, forcing their eyes to squint after so long in darkness.
A tall, thin figure in a black cloak descended a creaking ladder, wand raised, casting a faint glow.
By its light, Snape and the others saw where they were: a damp, freezing dungeon. The stone walls wept moisture; filthy straw littered the floor; a few ragged prisoners huddled in corners.
Peter Pettigrew was among them, crouched against the wall, curled into a ball, eyes vacant.
The Death Eater's face was grim. Without a word, he pointed his wand at Peter. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Peter gave a terrified scream as his body lifted off the ground, floating helplessly toward the ladder under invisible force.
The Death Eater followed him up; Snape and the rest trailed close behind.
Through the narrow passage and a dusty corridor, the Death Eater brought Peter into a larger, though still decayed, hall.
It was less filthy than the dungeon, but still bleak, furniture covered in dust, faded tapestries hanging from the walls.
With a flick of his wand, the Death Eater released the Levitation Charm. Peter crashed to the floor with a dull thud, grunting in pain.
Wormtail caught his breath, then, seized by terror, began to scream.
"Gibbon! Gibbon, what are you going to do to me? I'm not a Mudblood... I'm really not... my mother was, please, let me go!"
"Shut up!" snapped the Death Eater called Gibbon, a cruel smile twisting his face.
"Peter Pettigrew?" he sneered down at the trembling man. "The famous tagalong of the Potter heir?" He crouched, wand nearly touching Wormtail's nose. "Too bad the Potters didn't accept the Dark Lord's generous offer."
"You're really unlucky, little rat. Blame your ungrateful friends, and your filthy blood."
Gibbon straightened, raising his wand.
"No! Don't, don't kill me! Please!" Peter wailed, shielding his head with both arms.
At the same moment, Gibbon's killing curse was on his lips,
"Avada-"
But his voice was drowned out by Peter's desperate scream, shrill and cracking:
"Lord Voldemort!"
The name froze Gibbon where he stood. His wand arm trembled; the cruel grin vanished, replaced by sheer horror. His eyes bulged wide.
Peter Pettigrew, cowardly Gryffindor, had found in terror the kind of courage he had never known. A pathetic, desperate courage born not of honor, but fear of death.
"Lord Voldemort!" he sobbed, tears and snot running down his face. "I have important news for you! Important news!"
"Shut up!" Gibbon yelped, panic replacing fury. "You fool! You'll get us both killed!" His eyes darted wildly around.
With several loud cracks, more black-hooded figures Apparated into the ruined hall, surrounding them.
At their head stood a massive, broad-shouldered Death Eater. He threw back his hood, revealing a brutal, scarred face.
"Gibbon?" he barked. "What's going on here?" His wand was already trained on the frightened Gibbon.
Gibbon went pale. He pointed frantically at Peter. "Lord Yaxley, it wasn't me, it was him!
"Peter Pettigrew, this filthy little rat! He spoke the Dark Lord's name! He said, he said he has important news for our master!"
Yaxley's harsh eyes turned instantly to Peter.
He strode forward and yanked the smaller man up off the ground like a rag doll, holding him so that their faces were inches apart.
"You?" Yaxley snarled, fingers tightening around Peter's throat. "You want to see the Dark Lord?"
Peter gasped for breath, knowing this was his only chance. Words tumbled from him in a frantic rush:
"I want to see the Dark Lord! I want to join you!
"I know something of great value to Him, something about the Potters!"
"You'd better hope that's true," Yaxley growled, eyes narrowing. "If not..."
He glared at Peter, saying no more, but his grip tightened cruelly.
Peter's throat burned. His head swam from lack of air.
Then Yaxley raised his free hand, wand flashing toward Peter's brow. "Legilimens!"
Peter's eyes glazed over, unfocused, much as they had under Snape's gaze before, though this time it took longer.
Seconds stretched into minutes.
Yaxley's frown deepened, then slowly shifted to one of grim satisfaction.
He withdrew his wand and released Peter, who crumpled to the floor, gasping for air.
Yaxley studied him in silence, weighing the truth and worth of the memories he had seen.
Finally, he made his decision.
"Hmph." He snorted coldly and grabbed Peter again, hauling him upright. "You're lucky, little rat. Pray your information is important enough to earn you a personal audience with the master."
With that, he seized Gibbon by the arm and twisted on the spot.
When the scene cleared, Yaxley stood with Wormtail and Gibbon before a heavy wooden door.
After a brief pause, he turned the bronze handle, leaving Gibbon outside, and pulled Peter in with him.
Beyond the door lay a richly appointed drawing room.
The walls were draped with ornate hangings; through half-drawn curtains, the manicured gardens outside were barely visible.
The light within came mostly from a great marble fireplace dominating one wall. Its flames burned fiercely, but the crystal chandelier above caught the firelight and scattered it into cold shards across the ceiling.
A thick, dark carpet muffled their steps completely.
At the far end, slightly raised above the rest of the room, stood a tall-backed armchair. Its sharp, austere lines disappeared into the surrounding shadows.
Someone sat there now.
His head was slightly bowed, perhaps in thought, or merely to observe from above.
Yaxley set Peter down on the carpet, bowing deeply, voice low and reverent.
"My Lord..."