Thick Of It

The air in the tunnel leading back to the Whomping Willow was thick with tension. Harry trudged forward, his thoughts swirling in chaos. This year had been one blow after another, and now, as the moonlight shine in sky.

Harry muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with bitterness, "This year's been a right disaster. First, the Dementors nearly sucked out my soul. Lovely start to the term, that."

The memory of their icy presence sent a shiver down his spine. The nightmares that followed still lingered, like shadows he couldn't quite shake.

"Then there was Quidditch. Bloody Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff… in form, my foot! How do you even defend against Jason and Tobi? Passing like they've got a secret map of the pitch or something. " His voice dripped with sarcasm as he kicked a stray pebble in frustration.

And then there was Sirius Black. The infamous prisoner of Azkaban, the man he'd been told was responsible for his parents' deaths. Except, surprise! He wasn't. He was Harry's godfather, innocent and betrayed.

"Oh, and let's not forget the cherry on top: Ron's rat—yes, Ron's ruddy pet—is actually Peter Pettigrew, the snake who sold my parents out to Voldemort. Honestly, I couldn't make this up if I tried."

The evening's events replayed in his mind. Harry had been ready to deliver Pettigrew to justice, to finally get some semblance of closure. Sirius had been ecstatic at the thought of being free, of being able to take Harry away from the Dursleys. But, as always, fate had other plans.

They'd captured Pettigrew and were on their way back to the castle when the moon emerged from behind the clouds. Harry's gut twisted as he remembered the way Professor Lupin's body contorted, his limbs elongating, fur sprouting as the transformation overtook him.

"He warned us, didn't he? Said he'd forgotten his potion. Of all the nights to forget, Remus. Really top timing there."

The sounds of growling and snarling echoed behind him. Sirius, in his Animagus form, had lunged at the werewolf, trying to keep him at bay. Harry glanced back for a moment, just in time to see Snape—yes, Snape, of all people—throw himself between them and the danger.

"Snape protecting us. That's a sentence I never thought I'd think. He'll probably hold it over my head for the rest of my life. 'Ten points from Gryffindor because I saved your neck once.'"

But amidst the chaos, Pettigrew had seized his chance. In the confusion, he'd transformed back into a rat and scurried off into the darkness. The realization hit Harry like a Bludger to the stomach.

"He's gone. After everything—catching him, hearing him admit what he did—he's just gone."

A growl erupted behind him, snapping Harry out of his spiraling thoughts. Sirius, battered but relentless in his dog form, was still holding Lupin off. Harry's hand gripped his wand tighter as he glanced at Ron, who was pale and trembling, and Hermione, whose face was streaked with tears but set with determination.

"We need to move," he muttered to them, his voice firmer now.

Hermione nodded, her voice trembling but resolute. "Harry, we can't just leave them."

Ron, clutching his injured leg, groaned, "Leave who? Snape? He's doing fine, look at him! Best duel he's had in years!"

Harry couldn't help the faintest smirk at that, despite the situation. But the humor quickly faded as another feral growl erupted.

"We can't fight a werewolf, Hermione," Harry said urgently. "Not without getting all of us killed."

He turned back toward the direction of the castle, his heart pounding. Pettigrew might've escaped, and the Dementors were still out there, but if they didn't get moving soon, Lupin might add them to his list of regrets.

The gnarled branches of the Forbidden Forest swayed gently under the pale glow of the moon, casting eerie shadows across the ground. Perched silently on one of the higher branches, a raven observed the chaos unfolding below. Its beady black eyes gleamed with intelligence far beyond that of an ordinary bird. It was Jason, in his Animagus form, his sharp gaze fixed on the path scurrying rat—Pettigrew had taken.

The raven let out a soft caw, then spread its dark wings, gliding soundlessly through the night sky.

The rat darted through the underbrush, its tiny paws scrabbling against the dirt, its mind racing with triumph. Pettigrew's thoughts were a tangled mess of relief and self-congratulation.

"Free… finally free. They thought they had me," he squeaked to himself, a manic grin forming in his rodent mind. "Fools! The Dark Lord will reward me for my loyalty—oh, how he'll reward me!"

Unbeknownst to him, a shadow moved stealthily behind him, gliding effortlessly from tree to tree. The raven's movements were deliberate, each swoop and turn keeping it just out of Pettigrew's limited sight.

After several frantic minutes, the rat's pace began to falter. Pettigrew's short legs and lack of stamina betrayed him as exhaustion set in. Gasping for breath, he stumbled into a clearing, his tiny body heaving. With a faint pop, he transformed back into his human form, collapsing onto his hands and knees.

Pettigrew looked up at the moon, its silvery light washing over his pale, sweaty face. "Thank you, thank you," he muttered, his voice trembling. "Oh, sweet freedom. I'll be back in his favor soon enough."

But his celebration was short-lived. A cold chill ran down his spine as an ethereal sensation brushed against him. Before he could react, a ghostly lick trailed along his neck, freezing him in place. His body went rigid, his limbs unresponsive, and his eyes darted frantically, searching for the source of his paralysis.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the clearing, deliberate and measured. Panic surged through Pettigrew as he realized he was no longer alone. His breathing hitched when a figure emerged from the shadows, wand alight with a faint red glow. The light danced ominously, illuminating the calm yet calculating face of Jason.

Jason stood silently for a moment, his wand lowered . Pettigrew out cold , unable to move, his paralyzed body a prisoner of Jason .

Jason's thoughts churned as he gazed at the pathetic figure before him. "What now?" he thought. "Do I take him to Dumbledore and derail everything I know? Or do I let him go and trust the timeline to play out as it should?"

The raven Animagus turned wizard contemplated the consequences of his choices. He could see the butterfly effect spiraling outward with every potential action. Pettigrew's capture might mean the end of Voldemort's resurgence—or it could unleash a series of unintended events that would leave the world in greater chaos. But letting him go... that required faith in the timeline to self-correct, faith that the key players—Harry, Sirius, and the others—would find their paths without interference.

Jason's grip on his wand tightened. 

The ghostly presence lingered beside him, waiting for Jason's command. The forest seemed to hold its breath, as though the very trees were awaiting his decision.