The world had turned into a churning chaos of crashing waves. In the brief moments he surfaced, Peter opened his eyes only to see the sea spray shattering, his vision filled with fragmented images.
He thought he could escape the bloodthirsty school of fish if he just made it to the surface. But the moment his swim ended and he broke the water, he realized he was surrounded by Dementors. Black cloaks encircled him, their hollow eye sockets casting gazes down like whispering ghosts.
The wet, freezing white fog made every hair on the rat's body stand on end. Blood-red liquid dissipated into the dark blue seawater. Another hailstone smashed into his face, bringing an unbearable, sharp pain that felt like a blade piercing through his skull and into his soul.
Peter Pettigrew felt his consciousness blurring. Groggy and fading, he tried to muster the energy to swim and struggle, but he felt as if he were sinking into a dream; his exhausted paddling seemed nothing more than an illusion.
He felt he was going to die. He would drown in this salty, fishy water, be devoured by fish, or perhaps his Animagus form would wear off, leaving his bloated corpse to float to the surface and be hauled back to London by patrolling Aurors.
The rat extended its front paws, hoping the Ouroboros mark would save him one more time, but he could no longer distinguish reality from hallucination. Just as Wormtail fell into utter despair, a grayish-white water snake quietly approached, its agile tail coiling around the rat.
The snake's body twisted, its scales opening and closing rhythmically. Following the current, it swam toward the nearest coast.
The seawater and the school of fish seemed to actively make way for the Horned Serpent. Wormtail opened his eyes and felt as if an invisible bubble had encased his head. The scenes of the surface and the seabed were reflected on this film. Looking closely, the shattered waves transformed into neat rows of scales.
Not fish scales—snake scales.
A warm current surrounded him. The rat and the snake swam within this warmth. Peter felt no sensation in the lower half of his body, as if he had been bitten in two, yet he felt a lingering heat around the wound of his severed tail.
Wormtail instinctively twitched, attempting to struggle. The next moment, the snake's tail tightened immediately.
Wormtail's breath hitched. The wound on his tail tore open, and he could feel the warm, blood-red liquid escaping. He began to struggle desperately, but he felt like a rat awaiting slaughter, bound tight by the snake.
Once again, he felt he was going to die—strangled alive by this water snake.
He extended his claws, trying to scratch the snake and force it to let go, but he had no strength left. He had no idea that the Horned Serpent was dragging him away from Azkaban at unimaginable speed, its serpentine eyes glowing with a silver sheen.
The sound of the surging waves roared like wind rushing through a canyon. To the ears of a land mammal underwater, this should have been the bubbling sound of drowning, but Wormtail heard it with crystal clarity.
Reality and illusion began to blur in Wormtail's mind. In his trance, he felt he had seen this snake before—perhaps also at sea, accompanying a professor in a long trench coat.
In a sudden moment, the long snake coiled around the rat and leaped out of the sea.
One landed smoothly; the other hit the ground and rolled. Wormtail shivered violently. Leaving the seawater, the flowing air seemed even colder and damper, constantly stripping away his body heat.
Before sinking completely into unconsciousness, he saw the young professor in the trench coat walking slowly toward them. Peter seemed to hear him say:
"You have experience with this, so how did you end up looking so pathetic?"
Peter was too weak to answer and closed his eyes peacefully.
---
Newcastle, upon the River Tyne.
"Wormtail, my friend, was the trip from Azkaban exciting?" Melvin asked softly with a smile. He didn't look at Wormtail; instead, he was browsing the menu.
Crunch... crunch...
Wormtail didn't answer. His cheeks were stuffed full, the sound of his chewing echoing in the corner of the private booth at Blackfriars Restaurant.
This restaurant was built within the remains of a 13th-century Dominican friary. The monks who lived here back then wore black cloaks and cowls, hurrying to and fro.
The building had been bought by private owners during the First Industrial Revolution and had housed many businesses before finally becoming a restaurant. The main hall outside was half-full, but Melvin and Wormtail were seated in a secluded booth at the deepest end of the corridor.
Yurm, the Horned Serpent—or rather, the facilitator of this jailbreak—occupied a seat as well, enjoying a rare steak, bloody and blue, on a plate.
Wormtail had changed into Muggle men's clothing: a jacket, a baseball cap, and hard-soled deerskin boots. The soft lighting fell on him, revealing a dazed look in his eyes—the look of a survivor.
Melvin wore the same style of trench coat as last year, one hundred percent Muggle-made, paired with a scarf that obscured his face, ready to blend into a Muggle crowd at any moment.
It was an inconspicuous outfit. Searching Aurors appeared from time to time, and overly conspicuous clothing invited trouble.
A seascape window had been opened in the wall facing the coast. With no other buildings blocking the view, the gloomy harbor was visible at a glance. Thick fog shrouded the port, and sailors were stranded in the city, filling the streets with many strange faces.
Since noon, staff at various hotels, inns, and restaurants along the coast had noticed a sharp increase in business. It wasn't peak tourist season, so they could only guess it was a gathering for some niche hobbyist group.
Middle-aged eccentrics dressed in slightly old-fashioned clothes mingled with the crowd, holding Sneakoscopes of various shapes, paying particular attention to sewers or trash cans, seemingly very interested in rats.
Wormtail hadn't eaten a proper meal like this in a long time. Worried about the wound on his tail, he couldn't straighten his back no matter how hard he tried. With his slightly protruding beer belly, he looked like a mediocre middle-aged Muggle.
Fork in his left hand, knife in his right, he cut the steak with excessive force, his movements stiff from over a decade of disuse.
They didn't waste much time ordering. Melvin wasn't a picky eater, and Peter even less so; after living as a rat for a dozen years, he wouldn't refuse any food. As long as it wasn't a creative dish like "Stargazy Pie," he was willing to shove it down his throat.
"I thought I was going to die several times," Wormtail sobbed, letting out a startled hiccup. "While I was waiting in the holding cell for trial, the Aurors threw frozen cream soup and spoiled bread at me. They even extinguished my heating fire in the middle of the night."
Melvin nodded noncommittally. "Those Aurors lived through the Wizarding War. Their friends and family were killed by Death Eaters' wands. You are a newly captured Death Eater; they were quite willing to vent their anger on you."
He had checked Wormtail's condition when he picked him up at the coast. There were no signs of torture, aside from hypothermia and drowning. The most serious injury was the severed tail, which corresponded to a fractured coccyx in a human body.
It was painful, sure, but a few healing spells would fix it. He wouldn't even need Skele-Gro or Essence of Dittany.
"During that time drifting at sea, I felt like the Grim had found me."
Wormtail got tired of cutting the steak and grabbed it directly with his hands to gnaw on it, his movements carrying a few rat-like habits.
"Relax, Pettigrew. I never abandon a business partner. We were just slightly delayed on the road."
Melvin spoke very earnestly. "Just half an hour ago, Madam Bones issued a warrant for your arrest. Newspapers and Shadow-Mirror news have broadcast your detailed information. Some wizards voluntarily went to the coast carrying Sneakoscopes to scan for Animagi. They've practically sealed off the entire coastline. I had to have Yurm bring you back."
"Business partner..." Wormtail wiped his mouth, speaking with some resentment. "I almost lost my life. what could I possibly have left to pay you?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how stupid they were. He looked up at Melvin, fear and terror in his eyes. He had witnessed this young professor's Dark Magic.
"Business is about mutual benefit and consent."
Melvin put down the menu and pulled a parchment scroll from his pocket, displaying the freshly issued wanted poster.
Peter Pettigrew's short, stout bust was printed on the paper, the details sharp. After a few seconds, it would transform into a balding, toe-missing rat, its crafty little eyes darting around.
"The Daily Prophet helped print the wanted posters, specifically adding the Animagus form. Every characteristic of your body is clearly marked. They also have the wand you used. The Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries are trying to dissect the wand, reverse-tracking your location based on the magical residue in the core."
Melvin spoke leisurely. "Based on feedback from the Mirror Club pub owners, I believe wizards across all of magical Britain are hunting for you. Plus, the North Sea coasts of Norway, Belgium... I believe you have nowhere left to run."
Wormtail was silent for a moment. "What exactly do you want me to do?"
Melvin shook his head. "It's not about what I want you to do. It's about what you can still do for yourself."
"Turn myself in for a reduced sentence?" Wormtail laughed self-deprecatingly. "I hope they just give me a quick death instead of letting the Dementors suck out my soul."
"Don't be so pessimistic. Look at it from another angle." Melvin smiled. "In the eyes of the Ministry Aurors and ordinary wizards, you are an unforgivable Death Eater. But what if Dark Magic and Death Eaters ruled the wizarding world?"
Wormtail frowned, feeling inexplicably uneasy.
"In your first year as a rat, you were still with Ron. You must have seen Professor Quirrell. Perhaps you sensed that familiar feeling. You know very well that the Dark Lord did not die completely."
"What do you mean?"
"There isn't a rat hole left in Britain for you to hide in. I want you to go to Albania. Find your old master. Bring him back. Help him resurrect and let the Death Eaters rise again."
Wormtail looked up sharply, his eyes filled with disbelief and terror.
On Christmas night, on the terrace in the time rift, Wormtail had faced a Boggart and witnessed his own fear. The young professor and the Dark Lord were the deepest shadows in his heart.
But at this moment, Wormtail vaguely felt that this young professor was even more terrifying than the Dark Lord.
Peter Pettigrew trembled uncontrollably, dropping the unfinished steak onto the plate. Many images flashed through his mind: being persuaded to return to Ron, being persuaded to continue hiding, being told not to run when Sirius came knocking, looking for Snape to do the dirty work...
A sudden, groundless suspicion rose within him. "All of this... did you plan it?"
Melvin offered a gentle smile and pulled a wand from his pocket.
"The journey to Albania is long and difficult. I bought this wand in Budapest. I wish you a pleasant journey."
---
"This is wicked!"
A red-haired boy with a freckled face spread his arms wide, embracing a table full of colorful gift boxes. Not caring if he dislocated his shoulders, he buried his head in the pile of presents with a look of pure bliss.
Familiar figures sat around the table in the Great Hall's side chamber. Harry's eyes were wet with emotion at the reunion, but seeing Ron's antics made him want to laugh.
Next to them sat Sirius and Professor Lupin. The once-destitute prisoner had changed into well-fitting, clean robes. Holding a glass of wine, he had just finished a proper catch-up session.
Lupin's eyes, usually so calm and indifferent, now showed a look of nostalgia and joy.
"Don't worry, they're all yours. No one's going to fight you for them!"
Sirius pushed the scattered gifts toward Ron. "I didn't sneak back into the school as a wanted criminal this time just to talk to Harry and Remus. I came to apologize to you, Ron. These are my sincere apologies. I wanted to tear that rat apart a while back, and I dragged you into a lot of unnecessary scares because of it."
"It's fine, it's fine. I forgive you," Ron grinned, looking a bit goofy.
Brand new Wizard's Chess, collector's edition Gobstones, and signed posters of the Chudley Cannons' Seeker from every season. Even when he had earned over a thousand Galleons in acting fees from Professor Levent, he hadn't thought he could buy such luxurious toys.
Forget a few scares—he'd say it was worth a broken arm or leg.
"I heard you like Quidditch too. I ordered a new broomstick. It's not a Firebolt, but it's handmade. It won't be mailed out until next week."
"Sirius!"
Ron's heartfelt shout echoed through the side chamber.
Harry chuckled beside him, feeling a peace he had never known before. From now on, he had a godfather. He had a place to go during the Christmas holidays. He didn't have to wander the streets to avoid the Dursleys, and he wouldn't have to beg for a signature on his Hogsmeade permission slip.
He had so much he wanted to pour out to Sirius. He couldn't wait for summer vacation to arrive.
Sirius downed his wine in one gulp, feeling freer than ever. He ruffled Harry's hair. "I'll come to pick you up during the Easter holidays. I've already spoken to Professor McGonagall. I'll take you back to Godric's Hollow during the break to see your mum and dad."
"Yeah!" Harry nodded vigorously, his voice choking up a little.
"Stay alert on the road. There's still no news of Peter since the breakout. No one knows where he's hiding. He might be lying in wait at Godric's Hollow for revenge."
Lupin looked through that day's Daily Prophet, pointing at the photo on it. "You two be careful."
"The Ministry... Azkaban..."
Sirius curled his lip. A bunch of incompetent fools. He had told them about Peter's Animagus form in advance, yet they were still so careless.
They'd already had a prisoner escape once; didn't they learn a single lesson?