novelraw Chapter 95: Aftershocks Caused by Rats
Chapter 95: Aftershocks Caused by Rats
Within seconds, Ron Weasley's worldview was shattered, and his hair stood on end.
He witnessed things that were unbelievable and even more incomprehensible to him.
A few seconds earlier, he'd been grimacing and clutching his injured leg, watching in shock as Hermione pulled a long, thin gold chain from the collar of her robes and hung it around herself, Draco, and Harry. She twisted the small, glittering hourglass at one end of the chain three times, and the three of them vanished on the spot.
A few seconds later, in the blink of an eye, he saw Harry, Hermione, and Draco fly in through the window of the adjacent Hospital Wing on broomsticks and land lightly on the floor in the center of the ward—the very spot where they'd disappeared earlier.
"How did you do that?" Ron asked, his voice trembling, thinking he was going mad. His eyes widened. "How did you get from here to there? Did you fly in?"
"We really don't understand what you're talking about, Ron," Harry said mysteriously.
"Yeah, how can one person be in one place and another?" Draco said, teasing Hermione by turning to her with a phrase she often used.
As he spoke, he naturally raised his arm so that Hermione could help him dismount from the broomstick.
Ron opened his mouth, looking even more panicked.
The three of them couldn't help looking at him, and finally burst into laughter, almost making Ron laugh himself silly.
"I'm going to get angry if you laugh again!" Ron said crossly, forgetting his injured leg. He slapped his thigh hard, then twisted his face, hissed, and fell back onto the pillow.
"All right, all right, don't get worked up..." Harry rushed over to check on his injuries. "We'll tell you what happened right away."
To soothe Ron's frightened mind, they shared the enormous chocolate cake that Madam Pomfrey had provided with him and explained everything:
How they'd used Hermione's Time-Turner to travel back three hours and track down another version of themselves;
How Crookshanks had managed to kill the rat quietly when no one was looking, accomplishing what Sirius Black couldn't do;
How Harry had unleashed the Patronus Charm to save himself on the other side of the lake.
"Blimey! You saved yourself? That's unbelievable! Wait, Professor Snape's Patronus is exactly the same as your mum's? But does and stags are a pair, aren't they? What's his relationship with your dad? My head is about to explode!" Ron exclaimed in amazement, taking a large bite of cake and saying excitedly yet regretfully, "How many good shows have I missed? It's all my leg's fault! Harry, you have to tell me again—"
Draco shook his head, gently closed the Hospital Wing door, shutting out Ron's thousand-and-first question and Harry's tireless explanation.
"I think they'll probably stay up all night," Draco said with certainty as he strolled through the castle with Hermione.
The night was deep and all was quiet.
"Yes, today was so long, with all those coincidences and unexpected events... there's so much to tell," Hermione said softly.
"That's right," Draco remarked. "Professor Snape's Patronus is quite unexpected."
"It's not that surprising," Hermione said, recalling. "Do you remember when the Dementors attacked you and Harry on the Quidditch pitch? I think I saw a doe then too. I wondered who'd released it..."
"Now everything is clear," Draco said, walking beside her past a drowsy portrait. "Remember the question we discussed? What were Professor Snape's true feelings toward Harry's mother?"
"Yes. Not hatred—it's love," Hermione said.
She recalled the conversation Draco and Harry had had by the Black Lake not long ago.
"That doe was conjured by Professor Snape!" Harry had buried his face in his hands and said painfully. "I don't understand! Why is all this happening?"
"Why what?" Draco had asked. "What's bothering you?"
"He was my mum's friend, wasn't he? But he never talked to me about my mother's past like Professor Lupin did. All year, I've tried to be kind to him, tried to understand him, even tried to endure all his rude mockery in Potions, but all I got in return was more torment. He's never been nice to me! He puts me down, stares at me with sarcasm—he's never shown me any kindness! He even prevented me from going to Hogsmeade, he made things difficult for me in every way! He just can't stand seeing me happy! He hates me!" Harry had said, his voice rising with emotion. "I just don't understand!"
"There's nothing to be confused about. Your godfather said he hated your father, and he was your father's rival in love, so of course he'd hate you because you look like your father," Draco had said calmly. "It has nothing to do with you personally."
"Yes, then hate me to the bitter end! Then why did he save me?" Harry had been confused and angry. "Why didn't he just let me fend for myself? It was the same in first year, and it's the same this time. Why would he save the son of his enemy?"
"It's very simple," Draco had said calmly. "He has always had a deep affection for your mother—and to this day, it remains so. The same Patronus is the best proof of that."
"Maybe it's just a coincidence! Sirius said he and my mum have been enemies for ages," Harry had said, looking at Draco's calm gray eyes, rather panicked. "It must be common for wizards to have the same Patronus, right? I don't believe wizards can't have the same Patronus! George and Fred's Patronuses are exactly the same! But they're not lovers."
"They're blood brothers with a deep bond, aren't they?" Draco had reminded him. "You'll find that the connection between Patronuses goes straight to the soul, and that can never be faked. I admit it's true that wizards who aren't related can have the same Patronus, but between close friends and acquaintances, if their Patronuses are similar, there must be deeper meaning. It's very difficult for non-blood relatives, like the Weasley twins, to conjure identical Patronuses; that requires strong resonance of the soul. He must have had deep feelings and strong identification with your mother. This is something hatred can't achieve; it's the opposite."
Harry had shut his mouth. He'd stared silently at the Black Lake's surface for a moment, his voice dry. "So you mean he and my mum were kindred spirits? They released the same Patronus, didn't they? Even my dad's Patronus looks different from my mum's—"
"Oh, I don't think you need to worry about that," Draco had said casually. "Professor Snape's Patronus was altered later in life; the doe he released wasn't natural. I asked my father, and he said Professor Snape had manifested some kind of Patronus form during his student days. I'm sure it wasn't a doe. Your parents' Patronuses aren't exactly the same, but clearly, the stag and the doe are a pair, and they remain soulmates."
Harry's expression had finally softened.
Hermione recalled their conversation as she strolled leisurely with Draco down the candlelit corridor.
"Draco, Professor Snape's original Patronus form—" Hermione asked with interest. "What exactly was it?"
"It's a bat," Draco whispered. "His former Patronus was a bat. That's why Sirius Black called him a greasy git."
"Oh," Hermione said, speechless at the answer.
She walked in silence for a while, then suddenly realized he was following her.
She suddenly realized he seemed to intend taking her back to the Gryffindor common room first, then returning to his Slytherin common room.
"Draco, there's no need for all that," she said awkwardly, turning to look at him furtively. "I think I know the way back to the common room."
It's so inconvenient, isn't it?
One was atop a towering tower, the other at the bottom of a dark, murky lake, she thought dejectedly.
"I insist," he said calmly. "You've had enough of a day, and it's been exciting enough. I need to ensure you have a short, uneventful commute back to your dormitory."
"Well, all right then," she said hesitantly.
Tonight, she really didn't want to encounter any more accidents, coincidences, or anything else.
However, she always sensed something was off about him.
It seemed things had taken a strange turn ever since she'd punched him.
Draco Malfoy was a proud boy. He was just as proud as she was. Even the snoring portraits in the corridor had heard something about his pride.
"When it comes to how tough he is, Draco Malfoy is definitely at the top of the list—in every sense," she'd heard the fearless Fred say to Lee Jordan with a grin.
Throughout Hogwarts, almost no one dared truly provoke him, or gain any advantage over him, let alone beat him up—that was unthinkable.
But she'd beaten him up. Strangely enough, he wasn't angry, his pride wasn't hurt, he didn't retaliate cruelly, and he didn't ignore her or cut ties with her forever.
Instead, he'd become more gentle, more obliging, and more eager to get closer to her than usual.
Even if she'd tried putting on a fierce look tonight, he didn't care and still treated her kindly.
He'd protected her, embraced her, comforted her, applied medicine to her, fed her chocolate, and was taking her back to her dormitory.
Was his reaction reasonable after being punched? Had she knocked him senseless? Hermione was confused.
He was even taking extra care of her. He'd done so all night long. His tenderness and consideration made her feel increasingly attached and dependent, while at the same time, the bitterness in her heart grew deeper.
The better he treated her, the more upset she became—he was treating her like a younger sister.
Hermione sighed in frustration, her steps becoming heavy as she climbed the stairs.
"What's wrong?" he asked keenly. "Are you tired?"
"Mm," she replied dismissively.
"I'll pull you along," he said, casually taking her hand, interlacing his fingers, and holding her tightly as he led her away.
Hermione could hear her own heartbeat again. The sound shattered the night's silence.
"Listen, Hermione, I want to apologize to you about—" Draco hesitated before starting, trying to explain the misunderstanding.
"No, no, don't say it," Hermione said urgently. "I don't want to talk about it."
"All right," he said uneasily, falling silent.
The flickering candlelight trembled hesitantly in the niches, and the boy and girl walked up the silent stairs, one step at a time.
He slowed his previously arrogant pace to match hers; he gently led her, guiding her away from all the treacherous staircase traps.
Like an unreal, dark, sweet-smelling dream, he silently held her hand—warm, strong, and firm.
The dappled light and shadow cast on his facial bones created a kind of breathtaking or heartbreaking beauty.
Her heart was pounding, and her heart was breaking.
It was as if some trapped beast was bound within her heart. She couldn't breathe, nor could she utter a sound.
In the lonely, deserted night, their fingers intertwined.
A sense of melancholy lingered. Her love for him was burning to its peak, about to soar to the heavens; but her despair had also plummeted to its lowest point, about to shatter her until she was reduced to dust.
"Draco," Hermione began with difficulty, her voice hesitant and filled with bitterness. "Could you... not be so good to me—"
He shouldn't be so good to her.
Who could resist such kindness from him?
So gentle, so meticulous, so misleading, so seemingly uniquely good.
Who could guarantee their heart would remain as firm as a rock, unmoved by this cruel boy?
"Could you... not hold my hand?" Hermione said, shrinking back.
She tried breaking free of his hand and distancing herself from him, but he held her hand and refused to let go.
He stopped and turned to look at her.
Those serious gray eyes blinked slowly, then stared intently at her.
She could see her own face in those eyes.
That face showed some bewilderment, some fragility, and some sadness.
Exhaustion revealed her hidden bad mood. He probably already saw through her pretense, Hermione thought wearily.
They stood silently gazing at each other for ages on the deserted stairwell.
"No," Draco said softly but firmly.
At this moment, he no longer had a stern face, no longer appeared extremely serious.
He smiled at her, his eyes sparkling.
He was gazing deeply into her eyes, as if trying to capture her fiery soul. Then he would embrace her soul without hesitation, no matter how intense it was, whether it would scorch him, whether it would burn his withered self to ashes.
He smiled silently, his eyes filled with very faint mist.
Faced with death, they could still embrace each other; but now, having escaped death, he was tired of retreating and hiding.
She was being held in his hand. He was incredibly selfish; he didn't want to let go—he wanted to try.
What would happen if he kept holding her hand?
"I'm sorry, Hermione, I can't," he said, gazing at her intently and whispering. "I want to be good to you. I—I want to hold your hand."
She was stunned by his answer.
He was completely unreasonable!
She wanted to refute him immediately. Merlin, by his side, she genuinely wanted to refute him.
However, the smile he showed was exactly the kind she liked, even though a glimmer of water seemed to shine through the shadows cast by his lashes.
He seemed certain of something, yet there was also palpable unease about it. She could sense this unease, for she felt the same way. She forgot to argue and instead was drawn into a confusing predicament by his expression.
She was thinking about why he was uneasy.
She let him pull her along, and they continued walking, continuing uphill.
She remained silent, conflicted, with a hint of joy and anticipation, and a touch of foolish doubt and delusion.
Hermione decided to temporarily abandon her thinking.
Perhaps she shouldn't be thinking about such important questions at this time. This wasn't a good time for clear-headed reflection.
Perhaps she should relax and seize the only sense of security in this quiet emptiness.
"I have to admit something to you," Hermione said as the road was nearing its end. She gathered her thoughts and shared some ideas with Draco that she could still make sense of.
"What?" he asked.
"I've borrowed a little of your roundabout methods today," Hermione said. "I have to admit, sometimes Slytherin's methods do have their merits."
"That's really unexpected," Draco said, smiling at her, sounding quite pleased. "First you admitted the Slytherin professors aren't all that bad, and then you acknowledged Slytherin's methods have their merits. What are you going to do next? Transfer to Slytherin and throw yourself into our arms?"
He accompanied her straight to the portrait of the dozing Fat Lady, teasing her with a double meaning, and staring at her intently.
"I'm just telling the truth! Of course I won't transfer Houses—I'm a Gryffindor through and through!" Hermione argued, her face slightly flushed.
What did "throwing yourself into Slytherin's arms" mean? His words were too ambiguous.
She glared at him in alarm, but he just smiled happily at her.
A genuine and joyful smile, not fake or insincere.
She put on a disdainful look, wrinkled her nose at him, released his hand, and stepped through the portrait without looking back; the next moment, she hid behind the portrait and suddenly covered her blushing face.
The boy watched as the girl's brown hair disappeared without a trace behind the portrait, vanishing as lightly as a carefree cat, and couldn't help chuckling and muttering, "You heartless little rascal."
"Oh, they're always like that," the Fat Lady said sleepily. "Yet you'll still like her."
"That's quite a wise saying," Draco said, shrugging at her. He turned gracefully and walked downstairs.
The next morning, Hagrid discovered Peter Pettigrew's body while watering his vegetable garden. By then, his body had transformed back into human form rather than being an easily overlooked rat.
When Draco, Hermione, and Harry rushed over, they found him lying where Crookshanks had vomited the dead rat the day before, his mutilated face showing a mixture of fear, blankness, and surprise.
Draco wasn't surprised by this.
An Animagus would gradually revert to human form after being severely injured, as there was no longer any magic to support such a transformation; the same applied after an Animagus died.
"Don't look there, Hermione—he's been gnawed disgustingly," Draco said, stepping before Hermione and blocking her view. "I suggest you brush Crookshanks's teeth."
Hermione pursed her lips, glanced at the ground, and turned her head to examine the giant pumpkin Hagrid had planted.
"Hermione, what's going on between you and that Malfoy brat?" Hagrid said, slamming the bucket of water down beside a large pumpkin, looking worried. He bent down and whispered, "Didn't he upset you terribly yesterday? How come you're all friends with him again today? And how did he suddenly appear beside you last night? Are you all right? He won't tell anyone, will he?"
"Oh, Hagrid, relax. He was just passing by last night and helped us considerably. He'll keep last night a secret. As for that, he apologized to me later," Hermione said, shrugging as if to say, "I must say, I might have been rather silly yesterday."
"A Slytherin student! He'd actually help? Hermione, don't forget—the Dark wizards all come from that House, and the Malfoys were once supporters of You-Know-Who! Don't forget that," Hagrid said warily. "Hermione, you'd better be careful not to be deceived by him!"
"Don't worry, Hagrid. To me, he's just a friend from the neighboring House," Hermione said, her face showing a hint of pride, as if she were trying to convince herself.
Yes, she'd worked it out. She couldn't ignore Draco, nor could she bear a second blow.
Let's just remain friends. Maintain a safe distance, just like he'd done for her before.
"Let's just stay where we are now," Hermione thought, glancing at the boy who was talking to Harry, trying to calm her racing heart.
After all, she had endless essays to write and mountains of exam revision plans to complete, so she didn't have the energy to dwell on this matter!
Then Hermione took a deep breath, changed the subject, and asked cheerfully, "Speaking of which, I've been wanting to ask for a while now—how did you cast the Engorgement Charm on the pumpkin? Did you use your large pink umbrella?"
"Ah, er, um..." Hagrid suddenly became flustered. He knocked over the bucket beside him, then hurriedly righted it. "Hermione, would you like some snacks? I'll go get some rock cakes..."
Amidst the clanging of Hagrid's buckets, Harry stood silently to the side, staring at Peter Pettigrew's corpse with deep fear and disgust.
"He died too suddenly, and too easily," he told Draco.
"It was an accident," Draco said. He was thinking about the cat named Crookshanks.
An ordinary cat couldn't kill an Animagus unless it was a descendant of a magical creature like Crookshanks.
It was incredibly clever, appearing in the right place at the right time, moving freely between the two timelines they'd created, and ultimately accomplishing something amazing and remarkable.
Although cats and mice had been at odds since ancient times, it seemed particularly competitive with the rat, as if they had some deep-seated hatred between them.
Draco didn't believe a magical creature of this intelligence couldn't distinguish between a rat and an Animagus.
It might be a personal grudge rather than something as simple as nature.
Draco glanced at Hermione, who was smiling and speaking to Hagrid in the distance—she'd always seemed to like Crookshanks.
What's done was done, and pursuing it further seemed pointless. She probably didn't want to lose her cat.
Finally, he said to Harry in a nonchalant tone, "Cats catch mice."
The dark-haired boy remained noncommittal, shifting his gaze to the large pumpkin beside him, a hint of confusion still on his face. Yesterday's events felt like a long, empty nightmare to him.
Seeing Harry's dejected state, Draco felt a surge of sympathy. Harry must have been going through considerable turmoil last night. So he changed the subject, determined to cheer the listless boy up: "Harry, I have to say, I've seen you grow."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused.
"It's been three years, and you've finally learned to use your wand instead of just fighting hand-to-hand," Draco said with satisfaction. "That Patronus Charm was cast quite well."
"Oh, thank you. It's not easy for you to compliment someone," Harry said, grinning. "But why do I sense a hint of sarcasm in your words?"
"Honestly, I'd have been more pleased if you hadn't tried crawling under the Whomping Willow with your bare hands last night, or tried going toe-to-toe with a werewolf," Draco said, teasing him. "Thinking about it, it seems you haven't changed much of your Gryffindor habit of fighting dangerous species."
"Oh, that's not convincing at all coming from a Slytherin boy who shielded a werewolf with his body," Harry said, chuckling. "Draco, where was your wand then? Why—why did you lose your usual caution and do something so impulsive and reckless that you've always disapproved of?"
"I don't know," Draco said softly, his eyes fixed on Hermione as she spoke to Hagrid.
Harry, standing to the side, looked at him curiously, then at her, and finally shook his head with a slight smile.
Soon after, Minister for Magic Fudge arrived hastily. As usual, he wore a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak. He personally examined the body in the vegetable garden and immediately declared it to be Peter Pettigrew himself.
"He must have been eaten by some giant animal from the Forbidden Forest," Fudge said, slowly examining the mutilated corpse for a while, making a tut-tutting sound of disgust. "Look at these wounds—so jagged."
"In that case, there's no need for the Dementors to continue stationing themselves at Hogwarts, is there?" Professor Dumbledore said with a smile beside him, his silver beard gleaming in the morning sun.
"Of course, of course not. I'll remove them immediately. Lucius Malfoy has complained about the Dementors countless times; now I can finally give him an explanation," Fudge said, his plump face radiating with pride. "Peter Pettigrew's matter is finally over too; I no longer have to live in fear..."
He glanced at the dial of a large gold pocket watch hanging on his waistcoat, greeted Dumbledore, then left happily and in a hurry.
"I received Hagrid's owl almost as soon as I arrived in London, so I rushed back. It was quite a night. Fortunately, you managed just fine without my help, didn't you?" Dumbledore said with a smile to the figures standing on the ridge.
His sharp eyes were hidden by his half-moon spectacles. On this crisp morning, when everything had settled down, he appeared very kind.
Harry, Hermione, and Draco gave him an embarrassed smile. They'd only told Dumbledore part of the truth; the part about Hermione's Time-Turner had been subconsciously omitted.
Nobody wanted to cause her trouble.
But Draco guessed Dumbledore had already seen through this—he'd just chosen not to mention it.
"Sir, Professor Snape said he wants to recommend that the Board of Governors expel us..." Hermione asked tentatively.
"If I were you, I wouldn't be worried," Professor Dumbledore replied with a smile. "You fought a heroic battle against Peter Pettigrew and ultimately eliminated a threat to the wizarding world. This is very courageous and deserves a Special Award for Services to the School—of course, you violated about fifty school rules in the process."
She knew it! Hermione groaned inwardly; she'd already anticipated the rule violations!
Seeing their growing panic, Dumbledore raised his hand to signal them to calm down and continued, "I won't deduct House points, since there was a reason for it. But you need to accept some punishment. How about you go with Hagrid to the Forbidden Forest to do some detention? I heard the hippogriffs had a tough night last night—several were injured—and he can't handle them all by himself."
Draco's eyes flickered guiltily; the hippogriffs were injured because of their deliberate misdirection.
He glanced at Hermione and noticed she also seemed uneasy, secretly glancing at him from the corner of her eye.
"I have no objection," Draco said to Dumbledore, and Harry and Hermione nodded in agreement.
"Then it's decided!" Dumbledore said, his blue eyes gleaming with delight. "Now, I suggest you hurry to the Great Hall; nothing in the morning is more invigorating than a cup of hot pumpkin juice!"
"Professor Dumbledore, are you coming with us to the Great Hall?" Harry asked.
"Oh, I must first write a letter to Mr. Scamander and ask him to come see how the hippogriffs are faring," Dumbledore said. "He is very good at treating magical creatures."
Just as Draco and the others breathed a sigh of relief and happily went to the Great Hall for breakfast, Severus Snape, carrying the untouched Wolfsbane Potion in his pocket and filled with overwhelming anger and worry, limped toward his office.
For an entire school year, he'd watched over Potter like a dutiful mother hen, fearing something might happen to him. This matter was more troublesome than all the advanced potions he'd researched combined.
Potter... what a clueless troublemaker!
He recalled the perilous scene of the previous night—werewolves and Dementors. It was a disaster! Had he not clung to his last breath and cast the Patronus Charm, Potter would likely be dead.
That said, after casting the Patronus Charm, before he'd fainted, he'd seemed to vaguely see two deer.
But that was impossible; at that moment, everyone present had collapsed.
It must be an illusion created by the reflection in the lake. He pursed his lips tightly, a sense of weariness washing over him.
As he passed the cellar that was never easily opened, a casual glance revealed the door, which was usually tightly shut, was ajar. This unusual sight caused a brief look of surprise to appear on his usually expressionless face.
He flung open the door and, dragging his ailing legs, rushed inside. He navigated through numerous traps to reach the cellar's deepest part, where he confirmed something that shocked and devastated him—Quirrell's body, along with the Dark Lord's soul, had vanished.
No one knew how Quirrell had escaped.
All that remained at the scene was a wand and the unconscious Neville Longbottom.
"What happened, Neville?" Dumbledore asked Neville, who'd just woken, in the Hospital Wing. "Why were you there?"
"Professor Dumbledore, I was looking for my wand! It keeps disappearing and then reappearing near the dungeons!" Neville recalled with a bandage wrapped around his head—a large bump on the back of his head—and a mournful expression. "Then I heard voices behind a door, so I went to take a look and found it dark inside. Slowly, someone stood up—he was holding my wand!"
"Did you see who that was?" Dumbledore asked.
"It was Professor Quirrell!" Neville said, blinking and stammering. "I tried getting my wand back from him, but he used it to knock me away! I flew right into the wall... and then I don't remember anything else!"
"That bump on the back of your head is probably from when you hit the wall," Dumbledore said softly.
"Wait! Did he take that wand?" Neville's voice was tinged with despair.
"I suppose this is your wand," Dumbledore said gently, handing the ash wand left behind at the scene back to Neville.
"Thank Merlin, otherwise my gran would have killed me!" the poor boy said, ignoring the pain in the back of his head and taking the wand, looking at it from left to right with great joy.
Besides Neville's experiences, there were also fragmented memories from the portraits hanging all over Hogwarts, which helped Dumbledore piece together part of the truth.
When Sir Cadogan visited his drinking companions, he'd caught a glimpse of Quirrell, the former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who'd briefly appeared in the passageway at the dungeons' entrance on the day of the Gryffindor match against Hufflepuff.
The rather curious portrait had once followed the pale-faced Quirrell in the painting, wanting to see what he was doing, until he'd swaggered through the empty corridor and disappeared into the vast grounds.
Quirrell had undoubtedly chosen the most opportune moment.
As he fled, Gryffindor was engaged in a fierce and protracted battle with Hufflepuff on the pitch, with the score once reaching 149 to 150, and the Golden Snitch still nowhere to be found; all students were gathered in the stands to watch the exciting match; the professors—Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, and the others—were all on the pitch to ensure no Dementors attacked the players on the pitch or the students in the stands.
For two years, Dumbledore had remained silent about the Dark Lord's soul behind Quirrell's head.
The Hogwarts students only knew Quirrell had harmed unicorns in the Forbidden Forest and was later caught by Hermione and the others.
No one would have guessed the Dark Lord possessed Quirrell and escaped with him.
Otherwise, people could have been more alert to Quirrell's appearance.
Only then did Dumbledore realize what Peter Pettigrew had done.
He'd sneaked into Hogwarts time and time again in the form of a rat, never thinking of revenge or killing Harry—in this respect, he was surprisingly honest.
He'd faithfully explored Hogwarts, searching for the body inhabited by his master's soul, and ultimately succeeded.
Before Harry and his friends discovered Peter Pettigrew in Hagrid's tea caddy, he'd already completed his wicked mission:
He'd successfully stolen the wand of Neville Longbottom, the student with the worst memory, the least respectable, and the seemingly least dangerous in all of Hogwarts, without arousing anyone's suspicion.
He'd found the cellar where Quirrell's body was kept and used the wand to cast a spell, releasing the Petrified Quirrell along with Voldemort's soul.
Then he'd turned back into a rat, scurried away, and left the wand with his master.
He was just unlucky enough to be chased by Hermione's beloved pet Crookshanks, which was why he'd had to hide in Hagrid's hut.
Otherwise, he might have already completed his mission and fled with his master.
They'd been completely fooled.
Sirius Black's suspicions were entirely correct. This was by no means a scheme Peter Pettigrew could have devised.
There must be a hidden adversary who casually treated them as foolish pawns to be toyed with at will.
This adversary had made everyone focus on Peter Pettigrew as a target, forgetting that Peter Pettigrew had a master behind him—Voldemort.