The cast-iron chains were etched with Runic arrays; though they looked like they had gaps, not even a mouse could squeeze through. Iron-rimmed wheels ground against the stone-paved corridor as the cage cart was slowly pushed deeper underground, heading toward the black chamber at the end of the hall—the location of the Portkey to Azkaban.
Three groups of Aurors guarded the front and rear. Following the trial, every wizard's eyes were fixed on this procession. Ministry employees from every department had turned out today, not to admire the Aurors or the cage, but to see if Peter Pettigrew—the man who had deceived the entire wizarding world—would attempt to escape during the transfer.
Aurors rotated shifts frequently. A retired Auror with a terrifying, scarred face took a swig from a hip flask, his magical eye spinning wildly as it fixed on the short, stout wizard in the cage.
Even for an illegal Animagus, escape was impossible under his watch.
"Peter Pettigrew, you wretched scum! James and Lily were so good to you! No one knew you were the Secret Keeper, yet you refused to keep their secret, choosing to sell out your friends for the Dark Lord's favor!"
Frank and Alice Longbottom stood by the corridor, spitting their disgust:
"This is it. The truth is finally out. You're going to that island, you damned Death Eater! Let me tell you, the Dementors love fresh meat like you. If they decide to give you a Kiss, no one will stop them!"
Sitting in the cage, Peter Pettigrew was pale. His head hung low; he dared not retort or look up, because the old woman from the Pettigrew family was still standing in the crowd.
The old witch had cried until she had no tears left. "Peter, my boy... I will come to visit you. I'll bring your favorite pie..."
After a few more spittle-flecked curses, the cage cart slowly disappeared into the black chamber, lit only by the dim glow of a fireplace. The spectating wizards gradually dispersed. The Aurors from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement finalized the handover plan with Azkaban officials, confirming that the cell modifications deep within the fortress were complete. The flames in the fireplace turned emerald green.
The door creaked shut. Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, walked to the center of the room. His tawny hair and bushy eyebrows were streaked with gray, and though he walked with a slight limp, his stride carried a confident swagger.
Next to the fireplace lay a tattered vest. Scrimgeour grabbed one corner of it and looked at Peter in the cage, his eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses.
"Peter Pettigrew, the trial is over. I don't want to repeat the warnings and threats."
With that, he drew his wand with his right hand, aiming it at Peter. He reached his left hand, holding the vest, into the cage and offered the other corner to Peter. Maintaining a sharp, guarded stance, he said in a low voice:
"We fully understand your Animagus form. We didn't use a carriage for transport this time to prevent you from getting any funny ideas. I suggest you cooperate with the Portkey transfer. I assume you don't want to find out what a Dementor's Kiss tastes like."
His tone was flat, yet it carried a biting chill. Rufus Scrimgeour was the backbone of the Ministry's hardliners. The Aurors beside him remained silent, not doubting the truth of his words for a second.
In the Minister's office on the top floor of the Ministry, Madam Bones and several Department Heads were organizing Fudge's files. They didn't need to be present for the prisoner transfer; they trusted their subordinates. The entire transfer plan had been devised by the re-hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, who had also consulted Dumbledore and Professor Levent.
Every detail of the plan was clear and precise, ensuring Peter had zero chance of escape.
Thinking of the young professor's article on Azkaban published in a magazine, Tonks couldn't help but sigh:
"Melvin thinks we're 'breeding' Dementors and abusing prisoners, but for a Death Eater like Peter Pettigrew, even a thousand Dementor's Kisses wouldn't be enough to punish his crimes."
At the mention of the young professor, Madam Bones, standing by the desk, recalled the suggestions and wording in Dumbledore's letter before the vote of no confidence. Her gaze grew complex.
Such a cautious, restrained... or perhaps power-fearing old wizard. What magic did Levent use to make Dumbledore touch power and propose the removal plan?
Stacking the files on the desk, Madam Bones shook her head.
"Regardless, Hogwarts is Hogwarts, and the Ministry is the Ministry. We won't easily change a system that has been in place for centuries just because of the opinions of a few professors and scholars."
---
The Portkey activated on time. When his feet touched solid ground again, Peter had moved from the Ministry's underground black chamber to a lonely island in the North Sea. Compared to the spring chill of London and the Scottish Highlands, Azkaban, surrounded by ocean currents, was far colder.
Boundless gray fog shrouded the sky and earth. Monsters born of pain and despair constantly radiated an evil magic that devoured life. The moisture-laden island showed no signs of life—vegetation was withered, seabirds were extinct, and only the endless waves crashed against the shore.
Black cloaks wove through the clouds and waves. The cold trapped the moisture, freezing it into frost on the rocks and mud. The cells, lined with straw and rags, were drafty on all sides. Prisoners huddled behind walls, staring blankly ahead.
Perhaps their muscles were frozen stiff by the cold wind; their postures seemed rigid, their eyes hiding fear and regret.
Aurors stepped out of the fireplace continuously. Outside the central fortress gate, Mad-Eye Moody paced back and forth with his walking stick, muttering indistinctly about prison regulations, seemingly convinced the place was full of loopholes.
Scrimgeour completed the handover with the Azkaban warden, turned to exchange a few whispered words with Moody, and felt his furrowed brow relax. He explained the anti-Animagus measures again to dispel Moody's unnecessary doubts.
"Azkaban has modified the cells in the deepest part of the fortress. The walls are embedded with Sneakoscopes tailored for Animagi. Any relevant magical fluctuation will trigger alarms in both the Ministry and the Azkaban office. Dementors will lock down the surrounding miles of ocean within five minutes, and Aurors will immediately seal the coastline...
"This is the North Sea, and he is just a rat. His stamina can't compare to a black dog's. The accident of Black's escape will never happen again."
The cold wind billowed his robes. A scar cut across his nose, and his missing leg throbbed with phantom pain. Mad-Eye narrowed his eyes at the wizard in the cage cart, his expression grim.
"If I were you, I wouldn't speak in absolutes!"
In the cage cart parked at the fortress entrance, the Death Eater who had evaded justice for twelve years remained silent. He looked defeated, as if he had accepted the trial's outcome. But as an old Auror who had spent a lifetime fighting Dark Wizards, Moody knew this type well.
Cowardly on the surface, but liable to turn into a lunatic at any moment.
Even a rat can go berserk and bite, and it hurts.
Moody's sour expression wasn't just due to intuition; he had noticed some overlooked details.
Peter's head was bowed, staring at the chains on his wrists, the other ends connected to the cage cart. His hands were clasped in front of him, fingers resting on his arms, subtly rubbing the inside of his forearm. Since leaving the courtroom, he hadn't said a word, and his pale, flabby face showed no emotion.
But the old Auror's gut told him this rat was waiting for something.
Minutes later, the handover procedures between the Ministry and Azkaban were complete. Aurors stepped forward as planned, hitting Peter with a Stunner and a Body-Bind Curse. They unlocked his wrist and ankle shackles. Next came the escort to the cell deep within the fortress.
This was the only part of the transfer plan that relied solely on human guards. Groups of Aurors guarded the front and rear, alert to any movement. Peter lay peacefully on the wooden board, eyes closed, as a Levitation Charm carried him into the fortress.
Just then, as the group passed a cell near the corridor, a Dark Wizard inside threw himself at the door, screaming madly and incoherently.
Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye locked onto the Dark Wizard before his head even turned. He raised his hand and fired a Banishing Charm. The heavy impact slammed the Dark Wizard against the wall, bloody saliva spilling from his mouth and nose.
Moody stared at the Dark Wizard for a moment, glanced at the cells ahead, and realized they were only halfway there. He immediately raised his hand to halt the procession. "Take a team of Aurors ahead and stun every prisoner along the route!"
This was Azkaban; prisoners driven mad by Dementors were everywhere. Stunning every prisoner because of one madman's outburst seemed paranoid, but Scrimgeour didn't object to the order.
From the beginning of the century to its end, over decades, Mad-Eye Moody had faced more Dark Wizards than these young Aurors had ever heard of. Whether in combat experience, deductive reasoning, search and patrol, or prisoner escort, he was the ultimate expert.
He might be a bit paranoid in his old age, but no one questioned his authority.
"Constant Vigilance!"
As Mad-Eye Moody always said, that motto was never wrong when dealing with Dark Wizards.
In the corridors of the central fortress, Aurors walked silently, casting spells. The faint glow of Stunning Spells bloomed repeatedly, felling infamous Death Eaters one by one.
Bellatrix, the Lestrange brothers, Rookwood, the Carrows...
Scrimgeour and Moody led the escort team forward again. Seeing the special cell getting closer, their suspended hearts and tight nerves relaxed slightly.
It seemed true: Voldemort had fallen twelve years ago, and the Death Eater forces had disintegrated. Even the sanctimonious ones who had escaped trial wouldn't invite trouble by colluding to break a criminal out. And the cowards among them lacked the ability.
"Alastor, this really is your last job. The Ministry shouldn't disturb your retirement again," Scrimgeour joked, seeing the Aurors opening the cell door.
"I hope so."
Mad-Eye Moody cracked a grim smile, ready to make a sarcastic remark. Suddenly, his magical eye twitched. The smile vanished, replaced by a ferocious glare. Almost instantly, he whipped out his wand, aiming at the prisoner on the wooden board.
Deep in the central fortress, in the stone corridor, Peter slept peacefully under the kerosene lamplight. Eyes closed, expressionless. But in that instant, his arm twitched.
A flowing, watery light enveloped his body, like a film of a growing tree played in reverse. His head and limbs shrank into his torso, his body diminished rapidly, and a black rat replaced the stout wizard.
Before Mad-Eye's seven consecutive curses could land, the black rat bolted. Under the kerosene lamp, only a black blur was visible. By the time anyone reacted, the rat had vanished into the shadows of the corridor.
Wind blew through the sealed cell. Rustling sounds echoed. The Sneakoscopes embedded in the walls vibrated, then emitted a piercing shriek.
Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye spun so fast it nearly flew out of its socket. He roared in a hoarse voice, "Peter is escaping! Seal Azkaban!"
Heavy stone doors slammed into the ground, trapping the escorting Aurors inside the fortress. In the office on the northwest side of the island, Aurors poured out, searching every inch of the island. The gathered black cloaks received the hunting order and scattered across the sea in moments.
Far away in London, emerald green flames roared in the Ministry fireplaces. Not just Aurors from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but almost every employee turned out in force. Figures holding Sneakoscopes lined the coastline, sealing off several coastal cities, including Newcastle.
---
Thump...
A dull sound echoed.
A heavy stone door slammed down onto the rat's tail, crushing it like a rolling pin mashing cranberries for jam. Vertebrae and muscle were ground into paste, yet it didn't hinder the rat's movement at all. Wormtail lost his tail, leaving a long trail of blood in the damp, cold soil of the isolated island as he disappeared into the cracks of a rock pile.
The moment Mad-Eye shouted "escape," Wormtail, returning to Azkaban for the second time, scurried rapidly. Relying on his memories of hiding here for weeks, he squeezed through crack after crack, escaping the prison just before the fortress sealed itself.
This wasn't a pre-planned escape. He hadn't known he would wake up at the last moment.
He had only felt a cool stream of magic seep from the Ouroboros mark on his inner arm. The magic of the Stunner and the Body-Bind Curse was devoured instantly. The rest was just the instinct to survive.
Wormtail gambled and won, at the cost of a tail.
Squeak... huff...
Squeak... huff...
Heavy breathing mixed with cries of pain—but only the squeaks of a rat. He couldn't transform back into a wizard to treat his injuries.
Countless Dementors filled the sky above the island, and Aurors were searching in groups. He could almost hear the piercing alarm of the Sneakoscopes following him like a shadow, creating a suffocating pressure.
Waiting until the wound on his tail stopped bleeding, Wormtail wove through the rocks, running fast toward the coast.
Dementors searched only through emotions; they couldn't distinguish a rat floating on the sea. As long as he disappeared into the waves, he could shake off the Aurors and the Sneakoscopes. This wasn't Wormtail's first time doing this; he was confident.
With no time to find a plank or any floating debris, he plunged straight into the oncoming waves. Salty, fishy seawater poured into his mouth and nose, nearly bursting his lungs. The saltwater seeped into the wound of his severed tail, pain drilling through his bones and into his brain.
Squeak, squeak...
The black rat let out two miserable cries before disappearing into the receding waves.
---