A Potter Secret

Godfather?!

The trio trudge through the swirling snow. Harry's donned Hermione's scarf and Ron's hat to disguise himself. "Those weasels! Never told me about any Marauder's Map!" Ron complains.

"But Harry isn't going to keep it. He's going to turn it over to Professor McGonagall, aren't you?" Hermione asks.

"Oh sure. Along with his invisibility cloak, his pack of exploding snap cards, his-" Ron replies.

"Oh, shut up," Hermione says.

"Rosmerta, m'dear!" Fudge greets.

Up ahead Cornelius Fudge emerges from a ministry sleigh as Hagrid swings the door clear and, with unfortunate ease, rips it clean off the fittings. Fudge joins McGonagall and a curvy barmaid, Rosmerta outside the three broomsticks pub.

"That's Madam Rosmerta. Ron fancies her," Hermione reveals.

"It's not true!" Ron calls.

"Shhh," Harry interrupts.

"I trust business is good?" Fudge asks.

"It'd be a right sight better if the Ministry wasn't sending Dementors into my pub every other night," Rosmerta replies, scaring him til he steps back into a pile of poop.

"We have a killer on the loose," Fudge argues.

"Sirius Black? In Hogsmeade! And what would bring him here?" Rosmerta asks.

"Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter!" Rosmerta asks.

Fudge looks around nervously, then jerks his head toward the pub. As he leads Rosmerta and McGonagall inside. "Harry?" Ron asks. He's gone. Footprints track through the snow, into the pub.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As he threads through the teeming pub, past a sign saying, "No Underage Wizards," and nearly collides with some very strange-looking patrons. Ron and Hermione ripple briefly past a frosted window, then three shrunken heads swing into view.

"So I says to him, 'Careful, Ned. Don't want to go losing your head!'" The shrunken head says. As the three heads cackle hysterically, bobbing up and down on their strings, Harry turns just as an unshaven wizard's arm whips down and a dart goes whistling right toward Harry's eyes. Harry ducks, pivots, and, Thwock! Sees the dart pierce the cork of the disfigured dartboard behind him. Harry hurries on, trailing Fudge and McGonagall up a dark stairwell as Rosmerta leads them into a small back room. As the door starts to close, Harry rushes forward, Slam! Too late. The knob turns, the door opens and snow flutters off the sill of a half-open window. McGonagall turns, frowning, and re-closes the door, harder this time, then joins Fudge and Rosmerta. They start to speak.

"Come on then. Let's hear it," Rosmerta pries.

"Years ago, when Harry Potter's parents were marked for death, they went into hiding. Few knew where they were. One who did was black. And he told," McGonagall says.

"You-Know-Who. I've heard this rot. It was all over The Daily Prophet back in the day. And I'll say now what I said then: Of all the boys I ran out of here, Black's the last who would've gone over to the dark side. Hearsay. That's all the Ministry had. Hearsay," Rosmerta replies.

"Ha! Tell that to Peter Pettigrew!" Fudge grumbles.

"Peter Pettigrew?" Rosmerta asks.

"Little lump of a boy? Always tagging after Black and-" McGonagall starts.

"I remember him. What's he got to do with it?" Rosmerta asks.

"After the Potters were killed, Pettigrew went looking for Black. And, unfortunately found him."