POV: Remus Lupin
In the dimly lit corner of his small flat, Remus Lupin sat slumped in his worn-out armchair, staring blankly at the wall. His thoughts raced, chasing one another like an endless game of tag. The news about Peter Pettigrew had hit him like a thunderbolt—his old friend, long thought to be dead, had been alive this entire time. More than alive, he had been in hiding, quietly shaping the events that had torn their world apart.
Peter, alive. The thought was a wound that refused to heal.
It gnawed at him. If Peter had been in danger, if he had truly needed protection, why hadn’t he come to him? Why hadn’t he reached out to Remus, his friend, who would have done anything to help?
But the answer came swiftly, cutting through his self-delusion. Of course, Peter hadn’t come to him. Why would he? Remus was a werewolf, after all. A filthy, dangerous creature, shunned by society and feared by even those closest to him.
"Just a filthy werewolf," Remus muttered bitterly under his breath. The weight of those words settled over him like a heavy blanket. They had been thrown at him his whole life, and now, once again, they circled back, reminding him of his place in the world.
His thoughts turned to Sirius Black, whose name had resurfaced in every corner of the wizarding world. The mere mention of a retrial for Sirius had sent ripples of disbelief through the community. How could it not? For years, the world had believed Sirius was the traitor, the murderer who had sent James and Lily Potter to their deaths. And now, with Peter’s reappearance, everything was being called into question. It seemed impossible, almost surreal.
But what truly shocked him was the person behind the decision to grant Sirius a retrial: Dolores Umbridge. Of all people. Remus had never expected such a move from her. Dolores had made her disdain for ‘half-breeds’ like him abundantly clear, with her prejudiced policies and disdainful sneers. She represented everything wrong with the Ministry, a bureaucracy that sought to control rather than protect, to suppress rather than understand.
The idea that Umbridge might be capable of fairness in a case as delicate as Sirius’s retrial felt wrong, as though the world had tilted on its axis. But then again, perhaps this was not about fairness. Perhaps it was simply about politics—about her making a name for herself by taking on such a high-profile case. Remus sighed. He had learned long ago not to expect genuine justice from the Ministry.
Still, Sirius deserved this chance, and that was enough for now.
Remus ran a hand through his graying hair, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest that always came with thinking about his old friends. He couldn’t sit idly by, not when Peter’s return was stirring up so many unanswered questions. He needed to do something. And that meant talking to the man in charge of this mess: Rufus Scrimgeour.
With a sudden burst of resolve, Remus stood up and grabbed his cloak. He would request an appointment with the Minister of Magic himself. He needed answers. If Peter was alive, and if Sirius’s fate was tied to this, he had a right to know what was happening. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was a part of him that still wanted to believe in Peter’s innocence, however naïve that hope might be.
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Rufus Scrimgeour’s office in the Ministry was a place of order, power, and calculation. The walls were lined with shelves full of documents, books, and ancient magical artifacts, all meticulously organized. Behind his heavy wooden desk sat Scrimgeour himself, his lion-like mane of tawny hair framing a face that seemed permanently set in a frown. His sharp eyes, though tired, were as piercing as ever, scanning each visitor as if assessing their worth before they had even spoken.
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Remus entered the office with a sense of unease. The room was too pristine, too organized for his liking, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside his own mind. He cleared his throat as Scrimgeour looked up from his paperwork.
“Lupin,” Scrimgeour greeted him, his voice steady and measured. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Remus nodded and took a seat in front of the Minister’s desk. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Minister. I understand you must be busy.”
Scrimgeour waved a hand dismissively. “Busy, yes, but not too busy for this.” He leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “I assume this is about Pettigrew?”
“It is,” Remus said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “I wanted to request permission to meet with him.”
The room seemed to grow colder, the air heavier with Scrimgeour’s silence.
“I know this must be difficult for you,” the Minister began, his tone carefully neutral, “but Pettigrew is still on trial. He’s being held under tight security, and I cannot allow any visitors.”
Remus stiffened. “Minister, Peter was my friend. For years, I believed he was dead, that he’d been murdered by Sirius. And now, not only do I find out that he’s alive, but that he’s been in hiding—pretending to be someone’s pet. I just want to understand why.”
Scrimgeour’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained impassive. “I understand your position, Lupin. Truly, I do. But Pettigrew is being tried for more than just hiding. His Animagus status alone is a serious offense.”
Remus frowned. “Being an Animagus isn’t a crime, Minister. You’re an Animagus yourself.”
“I am,” Scrimgeour acknowledged, his voice cool and controlled. “But I did not fail to register my status. Nor did I fake my own death and go into hiding within the household of a respected member of the Ministry.”
That revelation hit Remus like a slap to the face. He stared at the Minister, his mind racing to process the new information. “What?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Peter… was hiding in the home of a Ministry official?”
Scrimgeour gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Yes. Pettigrew took refuge with a family that has strong ties to the Ministry. It complicates things, as you might imagine.”
Remus swallowed hard, his thoughts spiraling. Why hadn’t Peter come to him? Why hide in such a way, putting others at risk? His stomach twisted with a mix of anger and sorrow. He had so many questions, but no answers. Not yet.
“I need to speak to him, Minister,” Remus said, his voice more urgent now. “I need to understand what happened. If there’s any way—”
Scrimgeour raised a hand, cutting him off. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Lupin. Pettigrew may have been your friend once, but he is still on trial for serious offenses. Until the investigation is complete, he remains in custody.”
Remus clenched his fists in frustration. “But Peter—if he had any reason to go into hiding—”
“If Pettigrew had any justification for his actions,” Scrimgeour interrupted smoothly, “then I will ensure that he is pardoned for his illegal Animagus status. But until then, the law is the law, and we must follow procedure.”
The finality in Scrimgeour’s tone left no room for argument. Remus sat back in his chair, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. Peter was being held, Sirius was awaiting a retrial, and there were still so many unknowns swirling around them all.
“I see,” Remus said quietly. He didn’t have the energy to argue further, not when it was clear that Scrimgeour had made up his mind.
“I understand this is difficult for you,” Scrimgeour said, his voice softening slightly. “But rest assured, Lupin, justice will be served. If Pettigrew’s actions were justified in any way, we will uncover the truth.”
Remus stood, his legs feeling heavier than before. “Thank you for your time, Minister,” he said, though the words felt hollow.
Scrimgeour nodded curtly. “Of course. If there’s anything else I can do to assist you, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Remus gave a brief nod, then turned and left the office, the echo of the door closing behind him lingering in the air. As he walked down the cold, sterile corridors of the Ministry, his mind churned with conflicting emotions. He had come seeking answers, but all he had found were more questions.
Peter. Sirius. Dolores. Scrimgeour.
The threads of their lives were tangled in ways Remus couldn’t begin to untangle, and the weight of that uncertainty sat heavy on his chest. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he stepped out into the cool evening air. The world outside the Ministry was bustling, alive with the usual noise of London, but for Remus, the world felt quieter, more uncertain than ever.
He had no choice but to wait. Wait for the trial. Wait for the truth to come to light.
And hope—against all odds—that justice, real justice, would be served.