I stood alone in the semi-darkness of the corridor, clutching in my pocket the petrified lump of rat dung… or rather, Peter Pettigrew. A man who deserved such a humiliating Animagus form. But this time, he could potentially play on my side. Hence the dilemma: what to do with him next?
My thoughts raced, colliding with ruthless logic. I'd been deliberating for a minute already, wasting precious time.
On one hand, killing him was the better solution. What else was there?
Arguments for: certainty. If Pettigrew is dead, then in the near future, the issue of my inheritance won't be resolved unfavorably for me. No surprises, no escapes, no accidental meetings with Dumbledore. I'd simply rid the world of a traitor, and simultaneously increase my father's chances of delaying Sirius Black's case review. And the body… the body could be disposed of. It didn't matter if I missed breakfast; at least the cancerous name wouldn't be on the Map.
If I'd resolved this dilemma earlier, I'd have gotten rid of the problem quickly enough. There are spells, like fire, that can burn a body completely. And in the Room of Requirement, it wouldn't be difficult to kill him and hide the ashes until the weekend to bury them. Or even destroy the ashes with household charms. At worst, scatter them to the wind or simply bury the body in the forest, transforming the future corpse into some object.
Thankfully, it's easier to Transfigure a corpse.
The counter-argument was that even death isn't absolute. Wizards can extract memories from "thin air," for example, using the Resurrection Stone, which would eventually doom Dumbledore. Would that work here too?
Or what if a ghost appeared… Though, honestly, I was just trying to find reasons not to kill Wormtail. Because I had plans for him. After all, a ghost of someone like Peter is highly unlikely, even in a magically saturated place like Hogwarts. And the Stone… that's very, very far off.
I needed to stop deceiving myself…
Why did I want to spare him? And, of course, send him far away?
Because Pettigrew was a very convenient tool. Moreover, he was the key to the most significant and predictable future event: Voldemort's return at the Triwizard Tournament. If everything went according to the scenario I knew (or even close to it), I would gain the advantage of the Dark Lord's favorable attitude. But more importantly — I would know what and when to expect. That is, I could prepare. Furthermore, such an act could soften my family's standing, gaining Voldemort's favor and trust (as much as possible).
I remembered in first year, thinking how easily I could prevent his return at the Tournament. But if not that path, he would resurrect another way.
Even if I started collecting and destroying all the Horcruxes, the self-styled Lord of Fate would eventually resurrect. In fact, he should still be alive now — just in an extremely weakened state and without a body.
Essentially, I had been foolish and young, not yet understanding that I needed to play all sides, outmaneuvering everyone. That's how I could clear the board of excess pieces.
And it seemed straightforward — follow the plan, because plans are good… But where's the good in this? I constantly had to improvise and come up with plans on the fly. Sending Pettigrew away by owl… that promised unpredictability. My future knowledge had long since unraveled at the seams. Through my actions and mere existence, I had already changed everything, was changing, and would continue to change. But I could try, precisely this way, to bring about Voldemort's resurrection. Of course, there were no guarantees it would happen the same way. That's why saving Wormtail was necessary.
Pettigrew could escape and hide, fall into the wrong hands. And most importantly, I had decided to play not with some schoolboy, not even with Pettigrew. I had decided to make Tom Riddle himself a piece on the board — a wizard, mind you, not much inferior to Dumbledore, a Dark Lord, and generally a better player than me.
Overall, no one currently free and influential in Britain wanted Voldemort's resurrection. Especially my father and others in the Conservative party. They had suffered under Voldemort, and after his fall. My father, like all those Death Eaters now free, had recanted and wriggled out, but the scars remained. And they would start bleeding again the moment the Dark Lord resurrected.
No one ever wants to bring back their slave master… except devoted fanatics. But Pettigrew, who wasn't a fanatic at all, might — simply because, in his time, he had bet everything, and now, after so many years, he had no way to renege or hide.
If he returned without my involvement, the situation would become utterly chaotic and unpredictable. My chances would drop to zero. But this way… this way, I'd have at least some card in my hand.
Think, Arcturus, think! Only cold calculation! By this point, I had already started moving towards the stairs.
Killing provided immediate safety but sealed off a huge strategic opportunity. And if Voldemort somehow didn't resurrect, such a move would leave me alone against Dumbledore and an unpredictable future.
Sparing Wormtail offered a chance at better relations with the most powerful dark figure in Britain of recent centuries, but it was a step along the edge of an abyss. One wrong move, and the fall would be fatal.
I sighed. The thought of my father and his cautious, cynical policy of survival, betting on generations ahead, momentarily took hold of me… But I was not my father.
I wanted to flip the board. I wanted me to be the one to achieve greatness, the greatness my ancestors had spent centuries accumulating knowledge, strength, influence, and wealth for.
I didn't want to dedicate my life to further accumulation and survival. I needed victory. And for victory, I needed allies and leverage. Even ones like Peter Pettigrew.
It was a risk… agreed. But there would always be risk.
The decision crystallized, with crystal clarity. Hell — I'd probably made the decision a couple of minutes ago, but still doubted, even as I purposefully started walking towards the Owlery. But now I shifted into a light jog. Or a fast walk. Depends on what you call jogging… Right, now's the perfect time to debate the definition of jogging! What a genius…
The Owlery was in a separate tower annex, so the distance was considerable. And I still had to do everything in a short time and make it to breakfast. I didn't want to appear before Dumbledore as a little liar.
Rushing into the cool tower, smelling of feathers and droppings, I stopped to catch my breath. Okay, the smell was minimal — even an average housewife in the magical world had a considerable arsenal of household charms, so for the school, or rather the house-elves, it was easy to keep the place clean. But the noise was unavoidable: dozens, if not hundreds, of owls hooting and flapping their wings in their niches. No people were around, for obvious reasons.
I pulled the motionless rat from my pocket, quickly renewed the Petrificus, and got to work. I needed to hurry. I took a small bag from my expanded-space shoulder bag… Damn it, I'd told Dumbledore I needed to get textbooks… Idiot.
Anyway. I always carried the essentials with me, thanks to my shoulder bag with its modestly expanded space. From it, I took the bag, emptied its contents, and then, with my wand tip, tried to make… tried to make a few tiny holes in the fabric — so the rat wouldn't suffocate. Eventually, giving up, I managed to make the necessary holes using telekinetic magic.
Also, I realized I needed a knife… or better yet, a goblin-forged blade laced with Basilisk venom, and a gag for good measure.
Now, I could talk. I leaned down to the bag, and my quiet, yet ominous voice began its monologue.
"Listen here, Pettigrew. Can you breathe? I hope so, because you'll be paralyzed for the duration of our talk. The situation is this: Albus Dumbledore is currently looking for any way to quickly free Sirius Black. The very same one who, with your help, was sentenced to spend the rest of his life in the arms of Dementors. So, the Headmaster now has in his hands," I paused dramatically, "the Marauder's Map. That very map of yours that shows the names of everyone in the school. Even those who decided to pretend to be the Weasley family rat and are considered long dead. If you remain in this castle for another half hour, an hour at most, you're finished. Sirius will go free, and all his sins… all the sins of that night… will fall upon you. You'll end your days in Azkaban. Not in the general cells, but on the lowest level. Or you'll be sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss, to shut your mouth for good. Understand?"
I continued my monologue, receiving no response from the rat… Pfft-ha. It would be strange if he, paralyzed and in rat form, answered me.
"But I, unlike some, don't forget others' deeds. You once served Voldemort. I think my godfather would approve of this gesture of goodwill. For their sake, and for your potential usefulness… I'll spare your life. In the future, there will be a place for you beside the Dark Lord, for he is still alive, though weakened. For now, your goal is simple — disappear, so as not to expose yourself and me."
I took parchment from my shoulder bag and began writing quickly.
"Now, I'm sending you to Malfoy Manor. There, you'll be placed in a cage. No one except me will know who you are. But if you show your human form or expose yourself in any other way, you will definitely be killed. If you try to escape, I will kill you. Your task is to do nothing. Sit quietly and wait until I return home. I hope you understand me. Otherwise…" I let the threat hang in the air. "You know what will happen."
Unfortunately, I didn't have a protected envelope with me. Tying the note and the bag to the leg of the most nondescript but hardy-looking tawny owl, I whispered the address. The bird flew out the high window, disappearing into the grey morning sky.
I watched it go, feeling the adrenaline begin to subside, leaving behind emptiness and a slight tremor in my knees. The plan seemed to have worked. Peter Pettigrew was no longer a threat. And not just 'not a threat,' but a genuine tool and pawn, sent into storage. Moments like this make you want to laugh villainously.
But… that was only half the job. Now I needed to send a real, protected letter. And make it to breakfast to meet Wood and play my role as a distressed but honest, defeated Slytherin.
I had to quickly go to my room — I had protected envelopes there. That's why I decided to send a different owl, not my Darth. My black bird flies faster, and it would also immediately signal it was from me and all that. In the note, I simply stated that it was very important to put the rat in a cage and feed it until I returned home. Very important, for certain reasons I'd explain later, and also wrote that a confirmation letter would arrive soon.
What are protected envelopes and two-factor authentication? Well, that became the standard in our family after it was proven to us that even a mail owl could be intercepted with enough desire and effort. It involves two letters from different owls with the same context, one of which must be in an envelope protected from opening by outsiders. That's why I had these "special" envelopes with layers of protection. Before, only serious correspondence between adult businessmen used them, but now my father decided we needed to enhance security. Long overdue… and it's also time to restrict our house-elves.
Anyway, another ten minutes of running around, and I sent Darth off, quickly jotting down a more detailed and, crucially, protected message explaining the situation with the "cargo" and the need to await my personal presence for questioning. I'd figure out what to say later.
Now, I could go to the Great Hall… Correction, run. Hopefully, my running wouldn't be noticed by a passing McGonagall…
Breakfast was nearing its end when I finally burst into the Great Hall. The smells of fried food and sweets made my appetite even stronger. But just at that moment, I felt a gaze on me. Penetrating and very tangible, it tore me from my thoughts of food. At the raised staff table sat Albus Dumbledore. He wasn't eating, but he was, of course, "simply" looking in my direction, and on his lips played that same serene smile. I hate him… He met my eyes and slowly, almost imperceptibly, nodded.
Cold sweat broke out on me… Well, how was I supposed to react to that! How!? I quickly looked away, trying not to show that a shiver had run down my spine. I'd barely eaten anything, but my appetite was completely gone. Damn it… that old man…
And the murmur of voices began to fade as students finished their meal and dispersed around the castle. When you're sitting there alone, and your friends are asking what happened… Well, I'd eat at lunch.
I also noticed Oliver Wood — he was sitting at the Gryffindor table, throwing tense glances at the entrance, then at me. Next to him, with a face like a clenched fist, sat Percy Weasley.
Of course, I sat for about five minutes so Dumbledore would see I'd eaten, but the appetite that had built up over the very, very long, eventful morning couldn't be satisfied in that time without being a glutton, and I'm a cultured young man. Unfortunately, this left my stomach unhappy, but I needed to talk to the Gryffindors.
I left the table, nodding to Wood when he looked at me. I thought the conversation would be difficult. But honestly, after three years of such difficult conversations, this was child's play.
We started talking after leaving the Great Hall.
"Wood, Weasley," I nodded, lowering my eyes. "I'd like to apologize to both of you."
Percy was the first to erupt, but to my surprise, without hysterics. His anger seemed performative, and it was far too calculated.
"My rat, Malfoy," he said through gritted teeth. "She's been with our family for many years. She's not just a pet, she's… a member of the family! And you let her escape as a result of your stupid scheme. I'm now quite unsure I'll be able to find my pet in this enormous castle. And she's very timid…"
I expected shouts, tears, threats to report me to McGonagall. Not this. Percy was behaving like a mini-bureaucrat presenting a bill for damages, not an angry owner who'd lost a pet. Interesting. Also, his skin looked problematic… none of my business, but his face seemed somehow flabby.
"You're absolutely right, Weasley," I agreed, not raising my head. "My fault is undeniable. And I'm ready to compensate for it." I took out my wallet and, without counting, poured ten gold Galleons into my palm. The coins clinked, and Weasley's surprise was something to behold.
Silence fell. For most students, this was unimaginable money — pocket money for a year, if not more. It could buy a dozen magically gifted rats, which is what their family considered Scabbers to be.
And in general, ten Galleons was a fairly large sum, which some low-level workers earned in a full work week, considering that wizard salaries, converted to Muggle money, were quite substantial. After all, the exchange rate was two and a half times more favorable than in my future knowledge. As the Malfoy heir, I received such a sum with every letter, but even for me, it was significant. I usually stretched it over months, avoiding stupid spending, though, for the record, I asked every month. I always wanted to have a reserve. Which is sometimes very necessary, as now.
I handed the money directly to Percy, without even blinking.
Percy slowly, as if not believing his eyes, looked at the coins in his hand. His face lost some of its feigned anger, replaced by puzzlement.
"That's… that's more than enough," he muttered, pocketing the gold. "But it won't bring Scabbers back."
"I know," I sighed. "And I apologize again."
Now it was Wood's turn. I turned to him.
"Regarding our bet. I lost." I started rummaging in my backpack and began to pull out the broom.
But then something unexpected happened. Wood, who a minute ago had looked at me with distrust, suddenly seemed embarrassed.
"Listen, Malfoy…" he hesitated. "Well, it's just… this seems like a very expensive bet. Too expensive for such a… stupid argument. You admitted you lied. You apologized to Percy and paid up. That's already more than I expected from a Slytherin. Taking such a broom from you… feels wrong. I didn't really risk anything…"
I stared at him, genuinely stunned. I had expected greed, triumph, even gloating. Not honesty. Apparently, this stubborn Gryffindor really was principled.
"We had a deal, Wood," I said softly but insistently. "I gave my word, and I must keep it."
"No!" Wood almost shouted, attracting a few curious glances. "I… I have my Nimbus 1900. So it wouldn't be right to take yours. Why would I need two brooms…"
In his eyes, I saw an internal struggle between the desire to get a new broom and an innate sense of fairness. And the latter, to my astonishment, was winning.
We argued for another five minutes. It was perhaps the most surreal dialogue of my life: a Slytherin insisting on giving away an astronomically expensive item, and a Gryffindor refusing to accept it on principle. Eventually, we reached a compromise which, I understood, would elevate me even further in his eyes.
"Fine," I gave in, pretending to be convinced. "Then let's do this. I'll give you my Nimbus 1901. And you… give me your old broom. As a… symbolic exchange for losing the bet. And for the deception…"
Wood looked at me for a long time, assessing. Then he slowly nodded.
"Alright. Deal. But only if you're sure… my broom isn't new anymore."
"I understand," I smiled. And this time, the smile was almost genuine. "But I want everything to be fair."
We shook hands — for the second time that morning, but this time with a strange, budding mutual respect.
This whole saga — from losing the Marauder's Map and stealing the rat, to paying compensation and bartering brooms — cost me money and a ton of nerves. But Peter Pettigrew was on his way. That meant the Black inheritance, which I'd nearly lost in a matter of seconds, was temporarily safe again. And I seemed to have gained… if not an ally, then certainly not an enemy, in the form of honest Oliver Wood. And through him, I hoped to make contact with his older brother.
And also, I had apparently made my choice. Hah, I'd decided to turn the Dark Lord himself into a chess piece. Well… maybe I'm exaggerating, but it sounds epic!
In reality, this whole plan was a risk. An insane risk. But as I'd learned this morning, when I handed the Map to Dumbledore, then stole the rat from Wood — sometimes the only way to win is to bet everything. Though in other cases — maximum caution! Because situations where you have to take risks usually arise after you haven't been cautious enough.
I couldn't wait for evening. Hopefully, I'd get to spar with Merula today, or at this rate, I'd definitely have a heart attack — I needed an outlet. If not… I wouldn't want to be in Cassius and Blackmore's shoes…
Meanwhile, long lessons awaited me, followed by a meeting with the Head Boy. Thankfully, I wouldn't be alone. But this time, I intended to take a more substantial part in the conversation. At least, if it didn't go smoothly.