Cael stood silently by the wall, eyes heavy with the storm of revelations that had just torn through the room. His mind replayed the events like a broken memory reel: James Potter alive. Sirius Black cleared of betrayal. Peter Pettigrew exposed under Veritaserum. And yet, none of it sat cleanly in Cael's heart. He now understood the mystery that had haunted him since the beginning—but one question still clung to the edges of his thoughts like cobwebs.
Why had James Potter believed Voldemort?
He didn't say it aloud, but the thought echoed loudly in the chambers of his mind. In the original history, Voldemort had killed James without hesitation. A flash of green light. No offers. No questions. But in this twisted version of events, Voldemort had spared him. Why? Just to play mind games with Dumbledore.
Then the system's soft female voice returned, as if reading Cael's thoughts. "Let's assume for a moment that you're the man who believes your precious friends murdered the love of his life and tried to kill his only child—only for that child to survive by a miracle. Then you wake up in St. Mungo's. And you are told wYour wife is dead. Your son was nearly killed . Your friends—Peter is declared dead, Sirius is arrested on a Muggle street screaming 'I killed them!' like a madman. What else would you believe?"
Cael stood still.
"If Peter could betray you," the voice continued, "then why not Sirius? You spent every day with them, since you were eleven. If one heart could turn… perhaps the others could too."
And so James Potter had vanished. From the wizarding world. From his friends and relatives . With his son .
Only Dumbledore had known the truth of his survival.
Cael swallowed hard. James had spent thirteen years with his grief and mistrust—yet he had never sought the truth. Never questioned what really happened. He had let the pain harden into silence.
And then the door opened. The truth had been laid bare in Dumbledore's office—Peter and Sirius both under the influence of Veritaserum. Peter trembling. Sirius hollow-eyed, furious. James clutching his head and stumbling to his feet.
"I don't know what to think anymore, Professor," he said hoarsely, before walking out of the office.
Remus Lupin rose and followed him.
The room stayed quiet. Professor McGonagall finally broke the silence.
"What now, Albus?"
Dumbledore stared at the empty doorway, then turned to her. "Now, Minerva, we tell the Ministry of Magic. The truth must be known."
But Sirius stood suddenly, eyes burning with hate. "No. I want to kill that rat."
He pointed at Peter, still weeping on the floor. "He doesn't deserve Azkaban. Death is mercy."
Dumbledore's voice was soft, resolute. "I disagree. Let justice handle this, Sirius. Mercy, in this case, is leaving him to rot with his guilt."
Peter gasped between sobs, turning toward Sirius. "You dragged me into this! You're the reason I—! You're the reason everything happened!"
Sirius lunged forward, snarling, "Don't talk! I swear, I will—!"
"Enough!" Professor McGonagall's voice cracked through the room like a whip. "Sit down, Sirius. No more threats. You are not a child. Let the law deal with this."
Sirius dropped back into his chair, eyes locked on Peter like a predator waiting for the bars to disappear.
Snape stood near the corner, his arms crossed, lips tight, watching it all with unreadable eyes.
Cael, silent through it all, said nothing. This wasn't the time for him. This was history—raw, painful, unresolved.
Dumbledore reached for parchment, wrote swiftly, then turned to Fawkes. "Old friend," he murmured. "Take this to the Ministry , give it to Fudge ."
The phoenix trilled a sorrowful note and vanished in a burst of flame.
⸻
Outside, James Potter stood at the edge of the Black Lake. The sun shimmered across the dark lake surface, casting ripples over his expression.
Remus approached slowly, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"James are you okay ?"
James didn't look at him. "I'm not alright, Moony."
He exhaled, long and hollow. "I ran away from the truth. Once—I tried to ask Sirius. I confronted him in Askaban . I asked him why. Why Voldemort told me it was him. But he said nothing. Just stood there like a statue. That silence—it buried the last of my trust."
Remus nodded. "James, you have every right to feel broken and hurt . But remember—Sirius spent thirteen years in Azkaban. Thirteen years with Dementors breathing down his neck. He was punishing himself long before the world did. You heard him… he blamed himself for all of it."
James wiped his face. "I know. I know. But it all started earlier, you know. Before the prophecy. Before Voldemort came."
He looked at Remus now, finally meeting his eyes. "Dumbledore once told us—there's a spy in the Order. We didn't know who. And Sirius… he said it might be you."
Remus flinched, just barely.
"He said… maybe you turned because the Dark Lord promised you safety. Because you were a werewolf. And back then, even the Ministry hunted your kind. But Lily—Lily never believed it. She said none of us could betray the other."
Remus gave a small, bitter smile. "She was always the best of us."
James took a shaky breath. "And I—I let that suspicion take root. You weren't invited to our house anymore. You stopped being included in meetings. You noticed, didn't you?"
Remus nodded slowly. "I did know. I always knew, deep down. During the missions, I was deliberately kept in the dark about the objectives. I saw the mistrust in the eyes of the Order members—the way some of them avoided me, the way others watched me too closely. But it was you not trusting me… that was the deepest cut. There were meetings I wasn't even invited to. And I tried—truly tried—not to let it hurt. But it did. It hurt more than I ever let on."
His voice cracked. "You were the only ones who ever treated me like a human being, James. Seven years at Hogwarts—I was never alone, because of you, and Sirius, and Peter… and now look. One betrayed us. One was imprisoned. And one… one was distrusted because of who he was a beast ."
James turned to him, tears shining in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Moony. I truly am. For everything. For doubting you. For pushing you away. For… for what I said to you at her funeral ."
Remus stepped forward and wrapped his arms around James, holding him tightly.
"You don't need to apologize," he whispered. "I understood. I always understood. You had every reason to be angry, to lash out. That's why I left. I didn't want to be a reminder of the pain."
James wept silently against his shoulder. "I don't deserve your forgiveness."
Remus held him tighter. "You don't need to deserve it. We're friends, James. We were always friends."