The Dark Slytherin (Trilogy)

Ch 15- The Deleacours

The night was thick with shadows, the moon casting long, flickering lights across the narrow, cobbled streets. Sirius Black's heart pounded in his chest as he finally cornered the man he had been hunting for over a year. Peter Pettigrew, small, trembling, and cornered like the rat he was, looked up at Sirius with wide, fearful eyes.

Sirius's face was a mask of fury. His wand was drawn, hand steady, though his eyes burned with rage. Pettigrew, always so weak, so cowardly, began to blubber. But this wasn't the time for sentiment. Sirius had a single goal: to exact justice.

"Why, Peter?" Sirius's voice was a growl, thick with barely contained anger. "Why did you do it? How could you betray them?"

Pettigrew stumbled backward, his pudgy hands shaking. His rat-like eyes darted around, searching for an escape, but there was none. He was cornered.

"I—I didn't mean to, Sirius," Peter stammered, his voice high-pitched, wheedling, almost pathetic. "I didn't... It wasn't my choice. You have to understand, there were things—things I didn't know."

"Things you didn't know?" Sirius spat, advancing on him. "You sold out James and Lily! It was only luck that they had gone to the Burrow, or else they would be dead. But you knew that Hadrian and Jules were there. Why, Peter Why? I trusted you, and you almost killed them. For what, Peter? To save your own skin? Or was it for power?"

"No!" Peter squeaked, eyes wide and panicked. His hands twisted nervously in front of him, trembling. "It wasn't me, not really. You don't know what they did to me, Sirius. The Selwyns—they forced me. They... they used rituals, dark rituals. Ancient magic. You don't understand what they're capable of."

Sirius paused, his brow furrowing. His wand lowered, but only slightly. "What do you mean? Dark magic?"

Peter nodded frantically, seizing on Sirius's hesitation. His voice dropped to a whisper, desperate to gain sympathy. "The Selwyns, Sirius. They're ancient, old blood, steeped in the Dark Arts. They know things—things about Egyptian magic, Kemetic rituals that most wizards don't even know exist. They... they broke the Fidelius, Sirius. They used me against my will. They... they read my mind, Sirius, tore into my thoughts. I had no control."

Sirius sneered, his eyes narrowing. "You expect me to believe that? That you were just a pawn?""Yes!" Peter cried, taking a step forward. "Yes, I was! I swear, I would never have done it on my own. You know me, Sirius! I'm too weak to even think of crossing Voldemort, let alone fight against him. I never wanted to betray them, never. But they—they took me, Sirius. They used me like a tool."

Sirius didn't lower his wand, but his mind began to race. The Selwyns... ancient, dark magic... He had heard of the Selwyns' dabbling in forbidden rituals. It wasn't impossible. And the idea of Egyptian magic, of Kemetic rites—there was truth to that. He had encountered enough dark wizards in his time as an Auror to know that ancient magic had powers they barely understood.

He thought back to Augustus Rookwood, the Unspeakable. Rookwood had been two years ahead of Sirius at Hogwarts, a Slytherin with a brilliant mind. Even then, Rookwood had been a prodigy. Sirius remembered the rumors: Rookwood had designed a special reflecting coat, capable of deflecting almost any spell, save for the Killing Curse. If anyone had the capability of mastering ancient, dark magic, it was those like Rookwood—and, by extension, the Selwyns.