Argus and Snape both turned to Lupin. The Room of Requirement manifested based on the entrant's desires— even they might not summon the right space to find Sirius. Lupin was their best shot.
After a moment's thought, Lupin paced three times in front of the tapestry of trolls clubbing Barnabas the Boggart, just as they used to. A door appeared. He pushed it open, with Argus and Snape close behind.
Inside stretched a wide room lined with wooden training dummies—figures eerily resembling Snape in their sharp features and hooked noses. Argus studied one closely, then glanced at Snape, whose face had darkened to the shade of storm clouds.
Lupin cleared his throat, forcing a smile to ease the tension. This had been their old Marauders' hideout, where they'd plotted endless pranks on Snape. Awkward memories hung in the air like a poorly cast Confundus.
They hadn't gone far when they spotted Sirius chatting with Harry.
"Hey, Harry! Padfoot!"
Lupin cut in before Sirius could stir up more trouble. "Thank Merlin you're safe, Moony!"
Sirius looked battered—Snape's blows, their earlier scuffle, and a near-fatal Dementor's Kiss had left him reeling, body and soul. Only Harry's Patronus had kept him conscious.
"It was Argus who held me back," Sirius admitted, catching the worry in Lupin's eyes. "Lucky he was there, or I'd be in real Azkaban fodder. What happened? Why the sudden wolf-out today?"
"Argus asked the same," Lupin said with a wry smile, shaking his head. "But honestly, I haven't a clue."
"Spare me the excuses!" Snape snapped, cutting them off. Sirius shot him a venomous glare, and even Harry bristled from the sidelines.
"Business first," Argus said firmly, silencing the room. He eyed Sirius. "After today's chaos, Peter might catch wind. We move now, before he bolts."
"I'm in," Sirius growled, fists clenched like he could strangle the traitor already.
The original plan was out—too risky now. Harry watched Argus, Snape, and the adults hash it out, feeling sidelined. As "Yages" dominated the talk, disappointment gnawed at him. Was there no way he could help?
He gathered his nerve. "I want in."
Snape sneered. "The Boy Who Lived fancies this a game of Gobstones? Or just another Quidditch dash after the Snitch?"
"You slimy git!" Sirius lunged, but Lupin shoved him back.
"Padfoot, easy." Lupin turned to Argus, deferring. Everyone knew Argus held the reins here.
Argus considered Harry. "You sure you want this?"
Harry nodded fiercely. "Peter murdered my parents. I need to catch him myself."
"Fine. I've got a job for you."
"I'll do it!" Harry blurted, before details could follow. No way he'd let Argus reconsider. Professors and prefects be damned—this classmate of his was the real leader.
"Argus, he's only third year," Lupin protested gently, mindful of Harry's pride.
"Come off it, Moony," Sirius said, clapping Harry's shoulder. "James and Lily's boy deserves a shot at his parents' killer."
"With Harry in, we simplify," Argus said. "The search was his anyway. Peter Pettigrew— you're bait."
Snape scoffed, but Harry flushed, suddenly daunted. Help, yes—but lead the hunt? His heart raced.
"I... uh..."
"Relax," Argus said, reading his unease without Legilimency. "We'll cover you from afar. It's less a search, more a lure."
"Lure how?"
"Simple. Peter's Scabbers, Ron's rat. He's vanished, so Ron hunting him makes sense. You just take Ron out looking."
"We'll shadow from a distance. When Peter nears our net, we pounce."
Harry lit up—this was real action, not Dumbledore's scripted rescues. Adventure pulsed through him.
"Sirius, you stay put till we bag the rat. Then he's yours."
...
The next afternoon, Argus pinpointed Peter's likely spot on the Marauder's Map and set up with Snape and Lupin, sealing off the floor. The noose tightened.
"Scabbers! Scabbers, where are you?" Ron wailed, voice cracking as he scanned the corridors.
He shot Harry a mournful look. "He's been gone days—no sign. Bet that smug Ravenclaw cat got him. Always eyeing my rat!"
"Poor Scabbers," Ron sniffled, slumping against the wall. "He's been mine since I was little..."
Harry tuned him out, eyes darting everywhere. Peter was close—he could feel it. "Let's check ahead. He can't be far."
"But Harry, he's not a marathon runner! Let's head back!"
Ron flopped dramatically, but Harry pressed on, irritation flaring.
Nearby, Argus watched the Map. Peter's label inched toward them.
"Showtime," he murmured. The trap was set.
---
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