For once, Ron wasn't yanked out of bed at the crack of dawn by Harry. He was already awake but had no intention of getting up. Hugging his pet rat, Scabbers, he rolled happily under the covers. Then, faintly, he thought he heard Professor Dumbledore's voice in the dormitory.
What kind of joke was this? I must be dreaming. Why would Professor Dumbledore be in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory? Ron thought to himself, burrowing deeper into his warm bed.
However, the voice didn't disappear; instead, it became clearer. Along with it, Harry's voice reached Ron's ears.
"Does Mr. Weasley always sleep with his rat?" Dumbledore's expression was somewhat peculiar as he looked at the Marauder's Map, where two names were nearly overlapping. Even with all his experience, the sight of Ron Weasley sleeping with Peter Pettigrew was a bit…
"At least since I met Ron in our first year, he's always slept with… Scabbers," Harry said, glancing at Ron's bed with an odd expression.
"Harry! I'm ready! Why aren't you guys—uh… Professors… Headmaster…" Hermione, dressed in her workout clothes, appeared at the dormitory door, only to trail off as she took in the room full of teachers.
Realizing that he wasn't going to wake up from this bizarre dream anytime soon, Ron finally opened his eyes. He saw Harry standing before him, with Hermione fidgeting awkwardly behind. Then he glanced around at the solemn-faced Professor McGonagall, the now-unfriendly Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick with his wand at the ready, and a Severus Snape whose expression was even darker than usual. Finally, Ron's gaze landed on Dumbledore, who was standing closest to him. Hugging Scabbers tightly, Ron began inching backward.
"W-what's going on? Why are there so many professors in my dormitory?!"
By this point, Seamus, Neville, and Dean had also woken up, staring dumbfounded at the unexpected assembly of Hogwarts staff in their room.
"Mr. Weasley, may we have a look at your pet, Scabbers?" Dumbledore asked kindly.
"Scabbers? What's wrong with him?" Ron blinked in confusion.
This dream was getting weirder by the second. The headmaster and professors had come all this way… for a rat? But since Dumbledore had asked, Ron pulled the still-sleepy Scabbers from under the covers.
"Professor Dumbledore, this is Scab—ahh! Scabbers, where are you going?!"
Scabbers, having been rudely awakened, groggily flipped over in Ron's hands. But midway through, his small eyes suddenly widened in terror. With startling speed, he scrambled upright, kicked off Ron's hand—his claws leaving a long scratch on Ron's skin—and shot toward the door.
"Well, since you're already here, no need to leave in such a hurry."
With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore sent the escaping rat floating into the air. Scabbers flailed wildly, his tiny limbs paddling desperately as if trying to swim through the air. Another flick of Dumbledore's fingers, and the struggling rodent drifted slowly toward him.
Holding the rat by the tail between his thumb and forefinger, Dumbledore let his magic seep into the creature's body, carefully feeling out its structure.
"I see… I see," Dumbledore sighed deeply. "I must say, Peter, you've squandered quite the talent for Transfiguration."
Scabbers went limp, his tiny limbs dangling lifelessly as if he had just died.
"Professor Dumbledore… Is he really Peter Pettigrew?" Professor McGonagall's voice trembled, and indeed, her whole body had begun shaking.
"Professor Dumbledore… Who's this Peter you're talking about?" Ron asked hesitantly, pinching his leg hard in an attempt to wake up. Because judging from McGonagall's reaction, he was beginning to suspect that this dream was about to turn into a nightmare.
He.
His Scabbers—the rat he had cuddled to sleep with every night—was, in all likelihood… a man?!
"We'll know for certain soon enough," Dumbledore said, releasing the rat's tail. Scabbers didn't drop to the floor but instead hovered midair.
Then, under everyone's watchful eyes, Dumbledore tapped his wand lightly against the rat's body. A flash of blue-white light burst forth, and Scabbers began writhing uncontrollably. His small body expanded rapidly in uneven jerks.
The black-furred rat thrashed violently—Ron let out a scream as his worldview crumbled. Then, the rat fell to the floor, convulsing. Another burst of dazzling light, and—like a time-lapse of a tree rapidly growing—limbs extended, a head emerged… Moments later, in Scabbers' place stood a hunched, middle-aged man, twisting his hands anxiously.
He was short—barely taller than Harry and Hermione. His thin, pale hair was a mess, with a bald patch on top. He was stout, his bulging belly prominent. His shifty eyes darted around nervously. His dirty skin was almost the same color as Scabbers' fur, and upon closer inspection, his sharp nose and watery little eyes still retained a distinctly rodent-like appearance.
The man's breath came in rapid, shallow gasps. Harry saw his eyes flick toward the door before quickly darting back—clearly, he hadn't abandoned thoughts of escape. But even more obvious was his fear of Dumbledore; he didn't dare make a move in the headmaster's presence.
"Oh, hello there, Peter~" Dumbledore twirled his wand in his fingers, his tone light and pleasant as if it were perfectly ordinary for a rat to transform into a former student. "Long time no see."
"D-Dumbledore… Professor Dumbledore…" The middle-aged man known as Peter Pettigrew stammered in a shrill voice, stealing a glance at the dormitory door just a few steps away. "I-I'm v-very… happy to s-see you."
"After twelve years apart, Peter, don't you have anything to say?" Dumbledore's smile remained, but his eyes sharpened. "Perhaps, about the truth?"
"W-what truth? I don't… I don't know what you're talking about, Professor Dumbledore." Peter averted his gaze, mumbling, "Didn't you already know… all the truth from back then?"
"Peter, do you know how heartbroken we all were when we thought you had been killed by Black? I even attended your funeral, where I saw your mother—she was still alive then. She wept so bitterly, so inconsolably, that Pomona and I had to comfort her for a long time before she could even stand," Professor McGonagall said coldly, her eyes hard. "If the truth was really what it seemed back then, why, after Sirius Black was imprisoned in Azkaban, did you not come forward to tell everyone you were alive? Why did you choose to live as a rat in the Weasley household for twelve years, not even attending your own mother's funeral?!"
"I-it was because… because…"
Peter's eyes flickered in panic. Suddenly, he pointed a trembling finger at Snape. "Because of Snape! I've been in hiding all these years because of Snape! I know he's the Dark Lord's servant! If I revealed myself, Snape would surely have killed me for his master—just like he got Lily and James killed! I saw it with my own eyes! I saw him deliver the prophecy to the Dark Lord—"
BANG!
The dormitory fell deathly silent. Snape's fists were clenched tightly. Then, suddenly, Peter was lifted by his collar and slammed hard against the wall.
But it wasn't Snape who had moved.
"What did you just say?" Harry's hands trembled, but his gaze remained locked onto Pettigrew. "My parents' deaths—weren't they because of Voldemort? And you—you saw Snape deliver a prophecy to him? Why? Why would you have been there to see it?!"
"Harry..."
Hermione stepped behind Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder, her voice filled with concern.
"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry turned to reassure her before glaring fiercely at the small, cowering figure pinned against the wall—Peter Pettigrew. "Now talk! What's going on?!"
"It was Snape... Snape was the one who told that person about the prophecy concerning you and You-Know-Who. And it was because of that prophecy that he chose to personally go after James and Lily!"
Peter's breath came in ragged gasps, his throat constricted by the grip on his collar. He didn't dare struggle—he only panted heavily as he tried to explain.
"Snape... Professor Snape." Harry lowered his head, not turning to look at the man. "Is it true?"
Severus Snape took a deep breath. The shadows beneath his greasy hair obscured his eyes.
"...It was me. I was the one who got Lily killed..."
"Harry, Severus actually—" Dumbledore began, intending to explain, but Harry gave him no chance.
"Tomorrow night. By the Black Lake."
Harry's voice was cold, devoid of emotion.
"Use everything you've got. I don't want to kill a coward."
Peter Pettigrew, who had been trembling under Harry's grip, let out a long breath of relief—only for the pressure on his neck to suddenly tighten once more.
"You've only answered one of my questions," Harry said icily, his gaze piercing into Peter's soul. "There's still another."
Those eyes—void of warmth—looked as if they belonged to a dead man. Coupled with the strange, scale-like texture on Harry's face, they twisted in Peter's vision, transforming into the visage of a fearsome dragon. The dragon bared its fangs, hot breath washing over his neck. A violent shiver ran through Peter's entire body.
"W-what could I have done..." Peter mumbled in despair. "Harry, you don't understand... That Dark Lord... You have no idea... His power is beyond imagination... I was terrified, Harry. I never had your parents' bravery... I never meant for it to happen... It was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—he forced me..."
"Rubbish!"
Professor McGonagall pointed a trembling finger at Peter, her voice shaking with fury.
"Even before Lily and James were killed, I suspected that someone among us was leaking information! For an entire year, every move we made was known to them in advance! Because of you, so many from the Order of the Phoenix walked straight into Death Eater ambushes—including the Camerons! If not for your betrayal, most of them wouldn't have died!"
"But the Dark Lord... He... He could be anywhere! No one in the wizarding world could stop him!" Peter gasped for breath. "And refusing him... What good would that have done me?"
"The good," Dumbledore said quietly, disappointment deep in his gaze, "is that you would have been able to stand tall as a decent human being. The good is that, when you could not defeat the enemy, you would have had my protection."
"But instead, Peter, you chose the worst possible path."
Disgust twisted Harry's features as he released Pettigrew, raising his left hand. A swirl of green energy began gathering in his palm.
"No, no—you wouldn't—you wouldn't dare—" Peter panted, scrambling toward Ron, who was still huddled on the bed.
"A merciful boy... A kind master... You won't let them kill me, will you? I was your pet, Ron! I was a good pet!"
Ron recoiled in disgust, bolting away.
Pettigrew then turned desperately to Hermione, his beady eyes full of pleading.
"A clever girl... A good girl... You won't let them—please, help me—"
He reached out to grab Hermione's robes, but Harry kicked him aside.
With a sharp motion, Harry's left hand traced an eerie arc in the air, the concentrated green magic at his fingertips growing denser.
"Wait, Harry! Don't kill him!"
Dumbledore's voice interrupted.
"What's the point of keeping scum like him alive?" Harry lowered his hand, but his gaze remained fixed on Peter.
"Don't forget," Dumbledore reminded him. "Sirius Black is still locked away in Azkaban. Like it or not, we need Peter alive. Without him, I doubt Fudge would be willing to clear Black's name."
Harry slowly let his hand fall.
Peter Pettigrew collapsed onto the ground like a sack of filthy, quivering flesh, drained of all strength.
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