"Yes, on account of him being a fucking rat!" Sirius snarls, hands curling into claws, remembering that awful, awful moment of clarity, watching a rat scamper away from the garden of the Potter house, wand in his mouth—remembering that flash of hatred, and handing over Harry to Hagrid and telling him to take the bike, remembering the chase... catching Wormtail on the crowded street, blind with rage and grief, wand out in front of muggles, screaming nonsense—remembering the bang, and the fingers, and Peter’s disappearance, and the Aurors descending on him, grabbing him, arresting him for murdering those innocent people, for murdering Pettigrew even when he wasn’t dead—