Peter Pettigrew's face appeared countless times on the Ministry of Magic's wanted posters, on the front page of the "Prophet Daily" and in Flow Mirror News, and it was deeply imprinted in the memory of every member of the Weasley Family, impossible to forget!
He was actually here, in this way, making eye contact with Percy Weasley!
Only the two of them were face to face, Percy Weasley backed by the British Ministry of Magic, but at this moment, there wasn't a single helper by his side!
At this moment, Percy didn't feel the anger of being deceived and exploited, nor the joy of having his suspicions verified, only a fear that instantly permeated his entire body.
What flashed through his mind wasn't the silly appearance of his pet Scabbers, but those ghastly photos in the archives, that horrifying scene—
The man before him once used just a single spell to blast an entire street into ruins, killing more than ten Muggles!
This was a vicious, murderous Dark Wizard!
While Percy was so terrified that his mind went blank, Peter, lying on the bed, didn't take the opportunity to viciously counterattack, but instead appeared even more panicked than Percy!
He let out a piercing scream, like a mouse whose tail had been stepped on, and abruptly sprang up from the bed.
Completely losing his senses, Peter frantically scrambled around the room, crashing into the walls with a "bang", and after bouncing back, he rushed towards the window again, only to hit the window frame firmly with a "clang".
He staggered a bit, glared malevolently at Percy, but didn't dare to run towards him, instead recklessly shielding his head and face with his arms, he fiercely slammed into the tattered old window!
"Crash——!"
The glass shattered, and Peter's voice accompanied by flying shards of glass plummeted outside, landing heavily on the grass.
The crisp sound of glass breaking was like a splash of cold water, finally awakening Percy from his fear-frozen state.
He hurriedly chased to the window, seeing Peter limping towards the door, he desperately waved his magic wand, shouting loudly with little hope:
"Stupefy!"
In that instant, Percy's mind briefly flashed Fuller's philosophy of survival.
If you don't need to risk your life against Dark Wizards at work... that really is an ideal state...
But at the very least, he wasn't someone who had done nothing...
He was already starting to think about how to write his report to appear sharp and brave, instead of looking like a foolish fool who let an important criminal escape.
But then Peter flew out with the red light, hit the wall, and his body limply slumped to the ground, motionless.
Percy: "...?"
His arm holding the magic wand was still rigidly raised in the air, his mind almost stopped functioning.
Everything happened so quickly, staring at the man on the grass curled up like a pile of garbage bags, he still found it hard to believe.
Peter Pettigrew, who had been on the run for over a decade, troubled the Ministry of Magic for so long, and killed so many people… had he just... been captured by him?
The next second, a massive wave of joy almost drowned him, crashing over the previous fear and bewilderment like a tsunami.
[Merlin! I caught him! I, Percy Weasley, caught Peter Pettigrew!]
This thought roared in his mind, a rush of heat surged from his heart straight to the top of his head, almost making him dizzy.
Percy clenched his fist tightly, forcefully suppressing the urge to cheer exuberantly.
His limbs weak, he stumbled towards the broken window, climbed out, rushing to the unconscious man on the ground.
Until both hands firmly grasped Peter's unconscious body, using a magic spell to bind him tightly with ropes, Percy finally breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as if he had truly grasped the ladder to glory.
He panted and straightened up, looking back at the dilapidated building, Fuller's mocking expression vividly appearing in his mind.
A cold smile crept onto Percy's lips.
He hesitated no longer, nor did he consider greeting Fuller, grabbing Peter's collar, concentrating all his thoughts—
"Snap!"
A crisp smashing sound echoed across the empty grass.
...
"What noise was that? Like a tire blowing out?"
A bleary-eyed Edward lifted his head, then unconcernedly waved his hand:
"Must be those little brats throwing stuff around nearby... unlucky sods..."
He muttered, not paying any mind to the sound.
Fuller's movement of pouring wine paused for a moment, then lazily lifted his eyelids, glancing towards the direction the sound came from.
All he saw was the nursing home's dirty windows, still covered with opaque plastic film.
"Ha, it's our eager and ambitious young colleague who couldn't wait and left ahead."
Fuller poured a full glass of wine, then casually grabbed a piece of toffee, stuffing it into his mouth, muttering indistinctly:
"He doesn't even have the patience to wait ten minutes, just keeps his eyes glued to the higher-ups' heels, wishing he could step up each time! Haha, wait and see... the more eagerly he flounders now, the harder he'll fall later."
"Hmph, young people..."
Edward's dull brain hadn't quite caught his words, only casually capturing one word, arousing a bit of conversation:
"Those youngsters dump the old folks on me, pay a little money, and act like they've done a great duty! As if we're a waste disposal station here, specialized in solving their troubles!"
"Don't they see how much money they've gotten from the old folks! Only willing to give me so little..."
...
In the corridor, a caregiver holding cleaning supplies had just returned to push an elderly person in a wheelchair to the bathroom but found both the person and the chair exceptionally clean.
A brief confusion flashed across his face, "Who's so kind-hearted to do all the work for me?"
Of course, there was no one to answer him, only the old man in the wheelchair silly shaking his right hand, like waving something.
Long accustomed to numbed work, the caregiver was too lazy to investigate further or ask—
If he figured it out, wouldn't it be like owing his colleague a favor, meaning he can't refuse later if they ask for a cover shift?
Thus, he pretended nothing happened, mumbled "Lucky for you", then left, pushing the still bewildered old man away.
In the dim corridor, finally, no one remained, only the smell of disinfectant permeated every corner.
Amidst this silence, a subtle disturbance quietly occurred.
A broom propped up in the corner twisted its shaft and stood upright, then lightly floated up from the ground, hovering only a few inches from the floor, the tied twigs at the end rustled faintly.
"Hey, folks."
The broom softly said: "Did Lock really get taken away?"
"Of course, I saw them Apparate away."
Another voice responded.