The Great Hall emptied in waves of color—scarlet and gold flowing toward one corridor, green and silver descending toward another, yellow and black heading in a third direction, and blue and bronze climbing upward. The castle seemed to accommodate this mass exodus with practiced ease, corridors widening slightly to prevent bottlenecks, torches flaring brighter to illuminate the paths, even the portraits on the walls turning to watch the annual migration of students to their respective common rooms.
Sarah Chen, the fifth-year Ravenclaw prefect who'd been talking to them during the feast, positioned herself at the front of their group with the confident authority of someone who'd done this exact thing for two years running and knew precisely how to manage a cluster of excited, nervous first-years in an ancient castle with mobile architecture.
"Right then, Ravenclaws!" she called out, her voice carrying clearly despite the general noise of hundreds of students moving through stone corridors. "Stay together, pay attention to the route, and please don't wander off to investigate interesting-looking doorways. The castle will still be here tomorrow when you're less likely to get hopelessly lost."
She was tall and moved with efficient grace, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail that suggested she prioritized function over fashion. Her prefect badge caught the torchlight as she gestured for the first-years to follow, and there was something reassuring about the way she conducted herself—competent without being intimidating, authoritative without being harsh.
Peter found himself near the front of the group alongside MJ, Gwen, and Felicia, with several other first-years clustered around them in various states of excited exhaustion. The day had been long—the train journey, the boat ride, the Sorting, the feast—and now they were navigating an actual medieval castle that was somehow also a functioning boarding school.
"The Ravenclaw common room," Sarah explained as they began climbing a spiral staircase that seemed to go on much longer than the tower's external dimensions should have allowed, "is located in Ravenclaw Tower, which you probably noticed during your arrival. It's the west tower—the tall one with the bronze eagle on top."
"How tall exactly?" asked a nervous-looking first-year girl with blonde pigtails who'd been sorted as Amanda Brock.
"Seven floors from the base," Sarah replied cheerfully. "Don't worry, you get used to the stairs. Consider it built-in exercise—by the end of first term, you'll barely notice the climb."
"Seven floors," Peter repeated faintly, doing rapid calculations about daily caloric expenditure from stair climbing alone. "That's approximately... a lot of stairs."
"One hundred and forty-seven steps from ground level to the common room," Gwen supplied automatically, apparently having already researched this detail. "Though that doesn't account for the intermediate landings or the fact that some of the steps are uneven."
"Of course you know the exact number," MJ said with fond amusement.
"Preparation is never wasted effort," Gwen replied with dignity.
As they climbed, Sarah continued her orientation lecture, her voice carrying back to the group trailing behind. "The Ravenclaw common room is different from the other Houses in one very important way. We don't use a password to enter."
"Then how do we get in?" Felicia asked with practical interest.
"You'll see when we get there," Sarah said with a slight smile that suggested this was a tradition she enjoyed introducing to new students. "It's very Ravenclaw, I promise you that."
The staircase they were climbing opened onto a landing, and Sarah led them down a corridor lined with portraits of witches and wizards who appeared to be engaged in various intellectual pursuits—reading enormous books, conducting experiments with floating potions ingredients, drawing complex mathematical diagrams in the air with their wands. One portrait showed an elderly wizard who appeared to be playing chess against himself and losing to both sides simultaneously.
"Ravenclaw Tower has been home to scholars, inventors, artists, and philosophers for over a thousand years," Sarah explained with obvious pride as they walked. "Every Ravenclaw leaves their mark on the House in some way. Some through academic achievement, some through creative contribution, some through discoveries that advance magical understanding. The point is, we value the pursuit of knowledge and the creation of beauty in all their forms."
They turned a corner and began climbing another staircase—this one narrower and steeper than the previous one, spiraling upward with dizzying determination. Several first-years were breathing hard now, the combination of full stomachs and physical exertion taking its toll.
"Almost there," Sarah called encouragingly. "Just one more flight."
The final staircase opened onto a landing that was surprisingly spacious, with a high ceiling that disappeared into shadows and walls lined with more portraits and decorative brass fixtures that gleamed in the torchlight. And there, at the end of the landing, was a door unlike any Peter had seen before.
It wasn't just a door—it was a work of art. The wood was ancient oak, polished to a deep shine that reflected the torchlight like dark water. But what made it truly remarkable was the bronze eagle knocker mounted at eye level, so perfectly crafted that it looked like it might spread its wings and fly away at any moment.
"Here we are," Sarah announced with satisfaction, gesturing toward the door. "The entrance to Ravenclaw Tower. As I mentioned, we don't use passwords. Instead, the door knocker will ask you a question. Answer correctly, and you may enter. Answer incorrectly... well, you'll need to wait for someone else to answer it for you."
"What kind of questions?" asked a first-year boy who'd introduced himself as Terrance Bowen during the feast.
"Riddles, philosophical questions, logic puzzles—anything that requires you to think rather than just memorize," Sarah explained. "The questions change constantly, and there's no single correct answer to most of them. The knocker is evaluating the quality of your reasoning, not whether you happen to know some specific fact."
"That's actually brilliant," Gwen said with obvious appreciation for the system's intellectual merit. "It encourages critical thinking rather than rote memorization. Very appropriate for a House that values wisdom over mere knowledge."
"Exactly," Sarah confirmed. "Now, since this is your first time, I'll demonstrate. Watch carefully."
She stepped up to the door and raised her hand to the knocker. As her fingers touched the bronze eagle, it came to life with fluid grace, turning its head to regard her with eyes that gleamed with metallic intelligence.
"What," the eagle asked in a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously, "is the difference between living and existing?"
Sarah didn't hesitate, her response immediate and thoughtful: "Living requires purpose and engagement—making choices that reflect who you are and who you want to become. Existing is simply occupying space and time without intention. Living is active participation in your own life; existing is passive observation of it."
The eagle considered this for a moment, its bronze head tilting thoughtfully, then replied with what might have been approval: "A reasonable distinction. You may pass."
The door swung open smoothly, revealing a glimpse of warm light and comfortable furniture beyond.
"See?" Sarah said, turning back to the assembled first-years with a smile. "Nothing to worry about. The knocker isn't trying to trick you or make you look foolish. It's genuinely interested in how you think and reason. As long as your answer demonstrates thoughtful consideration of the question, you'll be fine."
"What if you can't think of an answer?" asked another first-year nervously.
"Then you wait for someone else to answer it, and you both go in together," Sarah explained patiently. "It's not a test you can fail—it's an exercise in thinking. Sometimes the best learning happens when you listen to how other people approach the same question you're struggling with."
She gestured for them to follow her inside, and the group of first-years filed through the doorway into the Ravenclaw common room.
Peter stepped through last, and found himself stopping just inside the entrance to stare in wonder at what was clearly going to be his home for the next seven years.
---
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the castle, a very different journey to a very different common room was unfolding with considerably more noise and significantly less architectural appreciation.
Marcus Bowen, the fifth-year Gryffindor prefect who'd been assigned to shepherd the first-years to their dormitory, was tall and broad-shouldered with the kind of confident stride that suggested he'd probably played Quidditch and was good at it. His prefect badge was pinned slightly crooked on his robes, and he moved through the corridors with the easy familiarity of someone who'd been navigating this castle for four years and had probably explored half of its secret passages.
"Right then, Gryffindors!" he called out with cheerful authority, his voice echoing off stone walls as they moved away from the Great Hall. "Follow me, try not to trip over anything in the dark, and please don't touch any of the suits of armor. Some of them are friendly, but a few of them are a bit tetchy about being poked by first-years."
Ned Leeds was walking alongside Fred and George Weasley, with Lee Jordan just ahead of them, all four of them already deep in conversation despite having left the feast less than five minutes ago. Felix was still perched on Ned's shoulder, cycling through curious blues and purples as he took in the castle's architecture with what appeared to be Pygmy Puff fascination.
"So the armor is alive?" Ned asked with immediate scientific interest. "Like, sentient suits of empty armor that can move around and interact with students?"
"Some of them," Marcus replied without turning around. "Others are just decoration. The trick is figuring out which is which before you accidentally insult one and spend the rest of term having it clank menacingly every time you walk past."
"How do you tell the difference?" asked a first-year girl with dark skin and braided hair who'd been sorted as Dawn Thomas.
"Trial and error, mostly," Fred said cheerfully from his position in the middle of the group. "Though if the armor's eyes start glowing when you get close, that's usually a good sign it's actually paying attention to you."
"Glowing eyes," Ned repeated thoughtfully. "So there's some kind of magical animation charm that includes visual responsiveness to proximity? That's actually really sophisticated enchantment work—"
"Ned," Lee interrupted gently from ahead, "maybe save the magical theory analysis for when we're not navigating dark corridors full of potentially grumpy animated armor?"
"Fair point," Ned conceded, though he was clearly filing away questions for later research.
They turned down a corridor lined with portraits that were significantly more rowdy than the scholarly ones Peter had seen on the way to Ravenclaw Tower. These paintings featured witches and wizards engaged in what appeared to be perpetual parties—dancing, singing, dueling with paintbrushes that flung colored sparks, and generally carrying on like they were having the time of their afterlives.
"The portraits near Gryffindor Tower are traditionally more... energetic... than in other parts of the castle," Marcus explained with obvious fondness for his House's aesthetic choices. "We value courage and daring, and apparently that extends to our decorative artwork preferring excitement over quiet contemplation."
"I like it," Ned said with genuine enthusiasm. "It feels alive. Like the corridor itself is celebrating something."
"That's very Gryffindor of you," Fred observed approvingly. "Most people say it's too noisy. But if you think it's celebratory, you're going to fit in perfectly here."
They descended a staircase that seemed to spiral in directions that shouldn't have been geometrically possible, passed through what Marcus called "the shortcut corridor" (though it didn't appear noticeably shorter than any other corridor they'd traversed), and finally arrived at a dead end featuring a large portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.
"Here we are," Marcus announced with satisfaction. "Gryffindor Tower. Password to enter is 'Caput Draconis'—that's Latin for dragon's head, by the way. The password changes regularly—usually every few weeks—and you'll be notified when it does. Don't share it with students from other Houses, and definitely don't write it down anywhere someone else might find it."
He turned to address the portrait, which had been watching their approach with obvious interest and what might have been slight impatience.
"Caput Draconis," Marcus said clearly.
"Oh finally!" the Fat Lady exclaimed in a voice that somehow managed to be both melodious and slightly exasperated. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost! Come in, come in—I've been holding this open for ages waiting for the stragglers to arrive!"
The portrait swung forward like a door, revealing a round hole in the wall that led to what appeared to be warm, golden light beyond.
"Mind your heads going through," Marcus warned. "The entrance is a bit low for taller students. Inside, you'll find the Gryffindor common room. Make yourselves comfortable—I'll give you the full tour once everyone's through."
The first-years began climbing through the portrait hole with varying degrees of grace. Ned managed it without incident, though he did have to be careful about Felix's position to avoid bumping the Pygmy Puff against the entrance frame. Fred and George went through with the synchronized efficiency of people who'd done this approximately a thousand times, and Lee followed with the casual confidence of someone returning to familiar territory.
Ned emerged into the Gryffindor common room and immediately understood why everyone seemed so happy about their House placement.
---
The Ravenclaw common room was circular—a perfect geometric space that rose up into a domed ceiling painted to look like the night sky, complete with constellations that actually twinkled and moved in slow, stately patterns that matched the real astronomical movements happening outside. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with volumes on every subject imaginable, interspersed with comfortable reading nooks where students could curl up with books and scrolls.
Tall, arched windows offered spectacular views of the surrounding mountains and the lake far below, the glass so clear it seemed almost absent. The furniture was elegant but comfortable—deep blue and bronze armchairs, tables perfect for spreading out homework or collaborative projects, and even a few desks positioned near the windows where students could work while enjoying natural light during the day.
"Welcome home," Sarah said with genuine warmth as the first-years filed in, staring around in wonder. "This is the Ravenclaw common room. It's your space for the next seven years—for studying, for socializing, for thinking, for creating. The books on these shelves are available to all Ravenclaw students, many of them rare volumes you won't find in the main library."
Peter moved toward the nearest bookshelf as if pulled by magnetic force, his eyes scanning titles with the hungry attention of someone who'd just discovered an all-you-can-read buffet. "These are incredible," he breathed, reading spine after spine. "Advanced Transfiguration Theory, Principles of Magical Engineering, Historical Applications of Arithmancy—"
"Parker," MJ said with fond exasperation, "we just got here. Maybe explore the books after you've at least seen where you're going to sleep?"
"But there's a first edition of Quantitative Analysis of Spell Efficacy!" Peter protested, pointing at a volume that looked older than the castle itself.
"Which will still be there tomorrow," Gwen pointed out with systematic logic. "Sarah's trying to give us the rest of the tour. We should probably pay attention."
Peter reluctantly tore himself away from the bookshelves, though he kept glancing back longingly as Sarah continued her orientation.
"The dormitories are up the stairs," Sarah explained, gesturing toward two spiral staircases on opposite sides of the room. "Boys on the left, girls on the right. Your trunks should already be in your rooms—the house-elves bring them up while we're at the feast. You'll each have your own bed with privacy curtains, a trunk for your belongings, and a desk for studying."
"Privacy curtains?" Felicia asked with interest.
"The dormitories are shared," Sarah clarified, "but the beds have curtains you can close for privacy when you're sleeping or need quiet time. It's a good system—you get the benefits of community while still having personal space when you need it."
She gestured around the common room, her pride in the space evident. "A few rules to keep in mind: the common room is accessible to all Ravenclaws regardless of year or house status. We encourage cross-year mentorship and collaborative study. The quiet hours are from ten PM to seven AM—during that time, conversations should be kept to whispers and please don't practice spell-casting in the common room. If you need to work on practical magic, use the practice rooms on the sixth floor."
"Practice rooms?" Gwen asked immediately.
"Small chambers designed for safe spell practice," Sarah explained. "They have protective wards and are cleaned regularly to remove any magical residue from previous sessions. You'll learn about them in more detail during your first week of classes."
She paused, looking around at the assembled first-years with an expression that suggested she was about to share something important.
"One more thing about being in Ravenclaw: we're not just the smart House. We're the curious House, the creative House, the House that values wisdom over mere intelligence. That means we support each other's learning, we share knowledge freely, and we never make anyone feel inferior for not knowing something or asking questions. If you're struggling with a subject, ask for help. If you understand something well, offer to tutor. We succeed as a community, not as individuals competing against each other."
"That's actually really beautiful," MJ said quietly, apparently moved by the philosophy Sarah was describing.
"It's practical too," Sarah replied with a smile. "Students who help each other learn tend to understand material more deeply than students who only study alone. Teaching someone else is one of the best ways to discover the gaps in your own understanding."
She clapped her hands together, signaling a transition to the final part of her orientation. "Right then, let's get you settled in your dormitories. Boys, follow me up the left staircase. Girls, the sixth-year prefect Emma Chambers will show you up the right staircase. Get some sleep—tomorrow's your first day of classes, and you'll want to be well-rested when you start learning actual magic."
---
The Gryffindor common room was a riot of scarlet and gold—warm colors that seemed to make even the stone walls feel cozy and welcoming. A magnificent fireplace dominated one wall, flames crackling cheerfully despite it being September and not particularly cold yet. The furniture was comfortable rather than elegant, worn in the way that suggested generations of students had studied, played games, and fallen asleep in these chairs.
The walls were decorated with tapestries depicting famous Gryffindor moments—Quidditch victories, successful duels, dramatic moments from Hogwarts history when Gryffindors had apparently done something particularly brave or reckless (the line between the two seemed somewhat blurred in the depicted scenes). The overall effect was energetic, alive, celebrating action over contemplation.
"Welcome to Gryffindor!" Marcus announced with obvious pride, spreading his arms to encompass the entire space. "This is your home for the next seven years. Make yourselves comfortable—the chairs are for sitting in, the fireplace is for warming up by after Quidditch practice or cold winter days, and the notice board over there will have important House announcements, Quidditch tryout dates, and occasionally very entertaining ASCII art drawn by bored seventh-years."
Ned immediately gravitated toward the fireplace, Felix apparently drawn to the warmth. The Pygmy Puff cycled through contented gold colors and made soft purring sounds that suggested he very much approved of this living arrangement.
"This is cozy," Ned said with genuine appreciation, looking around the room. "It feels less like an institution and more like someone's actual living room. Like a place where you'd want to hang out even if you didn't have homework to do."
"That's exactly the atmosphere we go for," Fred said with satisfaction, flopping into one of the armchairs with the casual ease of someone who'd done this approximately ten thousand times. "Gryffindor common room is supposed to feel like home—warm, welcoming, maybe a bit chaotic sometimes, but always comfortable."
"Unlike the dungeons," George added with a theatrical shudder, claiming the chair next to his twin. "Where the Slytherins live. Cold, dark, probably full of questionable smells and morally ambiguous interior decorating choices."
"You've never been to the Slytherin common room," Lee pointed out reasonably.
"No, but we're going to have to go to the dungeons for Potions class," George replied. "And if their common room is anything like the corridorsnin that direction, I'll take our warm, well-lit tower any day."
Marcus cleared his throat, reclaiming the first-years' attention with practiced prefect authority. "Right then, a few important things you need to know about living in Gryffindor Tower. First, the password changes regularly—you'll be notified by your prefects or the Head Boy and Girl when it does. Don't share it with students from other Houses. We like visitors during the day when we can supervise, but we prefer to keep the common room secure at night."
He gestured toward the notice board covered in various announcements, schedules, and what did indeed appear to be elaborate ASCII art of what might have been a dragon.
"Important announcements will be posted there. Check it daily—you don't want to miss Quidditch tryouts or forget about important meetings. The dormitories are up those staircases—boys on the left, girls on the right. Your trunks are already in your rooms. You'll be sharing with the other boys in your year—four or five to a dormitory, depending on the year."
"Privacy curtains?" asked one of the other first-year boys hopefully.
"Yep," Marcus confirmed. "Each bed has curtains you can close when you need quiet or privacy. But honestly, most students keep them open unless they're studying for exams or need to have private conversations. We're a pretty social House—people tend to like the community atmosphere."
He paused, his expression becoming more serious. "Last thing, and this is important: Gryffindor values courage, but that doesn't mean being reckless or stupid. Real courage is knowing when to stand up for something important, even when it's difficult or scary. It's protecting people who can't protect themselves, speaking up when you see something wrong, trying again after you fail. It's not about being fearless—it's about doing what's right despite being afraid."
"That's actually profound," Ned said with genuine respect for Marcus's unexpected philosophical depth. "Like, courage isn't the absence of fear, it's action in the presence of fear. Taking the fear with you and doing the thing anyway because it matters."
"Exactly that," Marcus confirmed, looking pleased that someone had understood his point. "Some of the bravest people I know are absolutely terrified most of the time. They just don't let that fear stop them from doing what needs to be done."
He clapped his hands together, shifting back to practical orientation mode. "Right then! Boys, follow me up to your dormitory. I'll show you where everything is, make sure you can find your trunks, and then I'll let you get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day—first classes, first opportunity to accidentally set something on fire during Charms, first time getting lost in corridors that definitely weren't there yesterday—"
"That sounds both exciting and concerning," Ned observed.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Fred, George, and Lee said in perfect unison, which was either rehearsed or genuinely supernatural.
---
Peter followed Sarah up the spiral staircase to the boys' dormitory, his mind still half-focused on those incredible books in the common room. The staircase seemed to go on forever, winding upward with the kind of architectural commitment to height that suggested the founders had genuinely enjoyed making students work for their accommodation.
Finally, they emerged onto a landing with several doors, each marked with a year number.
"First years, you're in here," Sarah said, pushing open the door marked with an ornate "1" in bronze numbering. "Get settled in, get some sleep, and I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow morning. Welcome to Ravenclaw!"
Peter stepped into the dormitory and found himself in a circular room with five four-poster beds arranged around the perimeter, each one hung with deep blue curtains embroidered with bronze stars. Tall windows offered views of the mountains and the night sky, and each bed had a trunk at its foot and a small desk nearby for studying.
His trunk was already there, positioned at the foot of the bed second from the door. The other four beds were clearly claimed by his fellow first-year boys—he could see other trunks, other belongings being unpacked by boys he'd seen during the feast but hadn't properly met yet.
"Peter Parker!" called a cheerful voice from across the room. Terrance Bowen, the boy who'd asked about the questions during Sarah's demonstration, was already unpacking his trunk with enthusiastic disorganization. "We're roommates! This is going to be brilliant!"
"Yeah," Peter agreed, sitting down on his bed and feeling the mattress respond with that perfect combination of support and comfort that suggested magical enhancement. "Yeah, I think it really is."
Tomorrow would bring classes, challenges, new experiences, and probably considerable anxiety about whether he was actually qualified to be learning magic at an ancient castle in Scotland. But tonight, in a circular tower room with four other first-years who were probably just as nervous as he was, surrounded by the comforting knowledge that his friends were nearby in other towers, Peter Parker finally let himself believe it.
He was home.
---
Ned climbed the staircase to the boys' dormitory with Fred and George on either side, Felix still contentedly purring on his shoulder, and found himself in a room that was less architecturally dramatic than Ravenclaw Tower but somehow more immediately comfortable. Five four-poster beds hung with scarlet curtains, warm wooden furniture, and windows that showed the grounds rather than the mountains, giving the room a sense of connection to the earth rather than ethereal separation from it.
His trunk was waiting by the bed nearest the window—apparently the house-elves had been remarkably efficient about placement. The other beds were claimed by Fred, George, Lee, and a fifth boy Ned hadn't properly met yet who introduced himself as Dean Taylor and seemed very excited about everything.
"First night at Hogwarts!" Dean announced with enthusiasm that matched Ned's own energy levels. "This is mental. This is completely mental. We're going to learn magic in an actual castle!"
"With moving staircases and talking portraits and ghosts who are surprisingly nice about discussing execution failures," Ned added, setting Felix down on his pillow where the Pygmy Puff immediately began exploring the bed with obvious approval.
"You've already made friends with Nearly Headless Nick," Fred observed with satisfaction. "That's excellent social instincts. Nick's one of the best ghosts in the castle—always happy to chat, never judges you for asking weird questions, and he knows absolutely everything about Hogwarts history."
"Plus he's got fantastic stories about medieval life," George added, already changing into pajamas with the efficient speed of someone who'd mastered this routine over several years. "Though fair warning—some of them are pretty gross. Don't ask about medieval medical practices unless you've got a strong stomach."
Ned grinned, feeling the last of his nervous energy finally beginning to fade into simple contentment. He was in Gryffindor Tower, surrounded by friends who appreciated his enthusiasm and his tendency to ask detailed questions about inappropriate topics, with a Pygmy Puff who was already making himself at home on what was apparently a very comfortable magical bed.
Tomorrow would bring actual magic lessons, new challenges, and probably some spectacular failures as they all learned to transform theoretical knowledge into practical skill. But tonight, in a warm tower room with scarlet curtains and the sound of other first-years settling in for sleep, Ned Leeds finally let himself fully appreciate what had happened.
He was exactly where he was supposed to be.
And it was going to be absolutely brilliant.
—
# The Third-Year Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory - Late Night
The third-year boys' dormitory was dark except for the silver moonlight streaming through the window, casting long shadows across five four-poster beds with their curtains drawn. Four of the beds contained sleeping teenagers, their breathing deep and even with the exhaustion that came from a full day of classes, Quidditch practice discussions, and the general chaos of Hogwarts life.
The fifth bed—the one nearest the window—belonged to Percy Weasley, who was currently sleeping with the rigid posture of someone who took even unconscious rest seriously, his prefect badge polished and positioned on his nightstand where he could see it first thing upon waking.
But Percy wasn't the only occupant of that sleeping space.
In the shadows beneath the bed, a rat sat very still, its small eyes gleaming with an intelligence that was decidedly un-rat-like. Scabbers—or rather, Peter Pettigrew, though only he knew that particular detail—had been living as the Weasley family pet for so long that sometimes he almost forgot he'd once been human. Almost. But never quite.
The problem with being a rat, even a magically-transformed one, was that people talked around you like you weren't there. Like you were just furniture with whiskers. And sometimes—sometimes—they said things that were *extremely* interesting if you happened to be a Death Eater in hiding who was very, very invested in knowing where certain important people were and what they were doing.
Like, for instance, when Arthur Weasley had mentioned—casually, over breakfast at the Burrow last week, like it was no big deal—that one of those American exchange students was Harry Potter's cousin.
*Cousin.*
Peter's rat heart had nearly stopped when he'd heard that. He'd been so shocked he'd actually fallen off the table, which Percy had attributed to him being "elderly and clumsy" rather than "having an existential crisis about the proximity of his former best friend's son to his current living situation."
The thing was, Peter had been tracking Harry Potter's location obsessively for three years now. Not that he could *do* anything about it—he was a rat, for Merlin's sake, not exactly in a position to send threatening letters or organize attacks on famous children. But he needed to *know*. He needed to be aware. Because someday, eventually, the Dark Lord would return (Peter had to believe that, because the alternative was too terrifying), and when he did, Peter needed to have useful information.
Harry Potter was the most useful information possible.
But if one of the American exchange students was Harry's cousin... that changed things. That meant someone connected to Harry was *right here*, in this castle, potentially accessible. Someone who might know things. Someone who might let slip details about where Harry spent his summers, who protected him, what security measures were in place.
The problem—and Peter considered this a *significant* problem—was that Arthur hadn't specified *which* American student was the cousin. There were five of them, spread across multiple Houses, and Peter had no idea which one was connected to Harry Potter.
This required investigation.
Peter scurried out from under Percy's bed with the nervous energy that characterized most of his movements, his small claws clicking softly against the wooden floor. The dormitory was quiet—perfect conditions for some light espionage. All he needed to do was get downstairs to the common room, maybe poke around a bit, see if he could find any helpful information lying around.
Sure, it was a long shot. What were the odds that one of the third-years would have conveniently left a letter or document or something that said "Dear Diary, today I learned that one of the First-year is secretly Harry Potter's cousin!" But Peter Pettigrew hadn't survived eight years in hiding by ignoring potential intelligence opportunities, no matter how unlikely.
He made his way toward the dormitory door, which was slightly ajar—Percy was weirdly particular about air circulation and insisted on leaving it open despite his roommates' complaints. Peter squeezed through the gap and started down the spiral staircase toward the common room.
*Okay,* he thought to himself, his rat brain working overtime to construct a plan while simultaneously managing the complexity of descending stairs on four tiny legs, *let's think about this logically. Five American students. Need to figure out which one is related to Harry Potter.*
*Could be that girl—what's her name? The one in Gryffindor. No wait, there's only one American in Gryffindor and he's a first-year. Ned something? No, that doesn't make sense.*
Peter paused on a landing, whiskers twitching with concentration. This was harder than he'd anticipated.
*The ones in Ravenclaw then. There were four of them, right? Or was it three? Dammit, I should have been paying more attention during the Sorting three years ago instead of being terrified that someone was going to recognize me.*
He continued down the stairs, his small feet moving quickly as anxiety and curiosity warred for dominance in his rat-sized consciousness.
*Think, Peter, think. What do we know about Harry Potter's family? Dursleys, obviously—but they're his mother's side, and they definitely wouldn't have wizard kids. His father's side though... James had family, didn't he? There was that cousin or uncle or something?*
Peter's rat memory was frustratingly incomplete, like trying to remember details from a life that felt increasingly distant with each year spent with four legs and a tail.
*Right, okay, new approach. Instead of trying to remember Potter family genealogy—which, let's be honest, was never your strong suit even when you had a human brain—focus on which American student would make sense as Harry's cousin.*
He reached the bottom of the stairs and scurried into the Gryffindor common room, which was deserted at this late hour. The fire had burned down to embers, casting a dim reddish glow across the furniture and making shadows dance across the walls.
Peter's rat nose twitched as he investigated the space, looking for... honestly, he wasn't sure what he was looking for. Conveniently labeled family photos? A student roster with annotations like "this one is Harry Potter's cousin"?
*You're being ridiculous,* he told himself firmly. *Calm down. Think this through systematically.*
He hopped up onto one of the tables near the window—a feat that required considerable effort and reminded him that he really needed to maintain his rat physical fitness better—and sat down to think.
*Okay. Five American exchange students. They came here specifically for some kind of special program—I heard the older Weasley twins talking about it. Something about magical training before they even got to Hogwarts? That seems excessive.*
Peter's whiskers twitched with thought.
*If they were specially selected for advanced magical training, that suggests they're all particularly talented or connected or both. Which makes sense if one of them is related to the Boy Who Lived—of course the cousin of Harry Potter would get special treatment.*
He was getting somewhere now. Not anywhere particularly useful, but at least he was thinking through the problem methodically.
*So we're looking for a student who: A) is American, B) is a first-year right now, C) is talented enough to qualify for special pre-Hogwarts training, and D) has some connection to the Potter family.*
Peter tried to remember what he knew about the American first-years. There was that kid in Gryffindor—Ned Leeds, that was his name. Very enthusiastic, always carrying around that color-changing Pygmy Puff. Percy had mentioned him a few times, usually in the context of "those first-years are too loud during study hours."
But was Ned Leeds Harry Potter's cousin? Peter had no idea. He looked nothing like Harry—different build, different coloring, completely different energy. Though that didn't necessarily mean anything. James and Sirius had looked nothing alike, and they'd been basically brothers.
*Sirius.*
Peter's small body went very still at the thought of his former friend. Sirius Black, rotting in Azkaban for crimes that Peter had committed. Sirius Black, who still thought Peter was dead. Sirius Black, who would kill Peter in approximately three seconds if he ever discovered the truth.
*Don't think about Sirius,* Peter told himself firmly. *Focus on the problem at hand.*
But the thought had derailed his investigative momentum, and now he was just a rat sitting on a table in an empty common room at midnight, feeling sorry for himself and trying not to have a panic attack about all the people who wanted him dead.
*You know what? This is stupid. I'm being stupid. What am I even going to do if I figure out which American student is Harry's cousin? Challenge them to a duel? I'm a rat. I have literally zero combat capabilities unless you count the ability to give people minor diseases, which is not exactly a strategic advantage in wizard conflicts.*
But even as he thought it, Peter knew he couldn't just ignore this information. Knowledge was power, even when you were powerless to use it directly. Someday, somehow, this information might be valuable. Might be the difference between the Dark Lord rewarding him or punishing him. Might be—
A sound.
Peter froze, every rat instinct screaming danger as he heard footsteps on the stairs from the girls' dormitory.
*Ohshitohshitohshit,* his brain helpfully supplied, because apparently even after thirteen years of being a rat, his internal monologue still had the sophistication of a panicking teenager.
He scrambled off the table—fell off the table, really, landing with an undignified thump on the floor—and scurried behind the nearest chair, his heart racing so fast he thought it might actually explode.
The footsteps came closer, and a figure emerged into the common room—a girl, one of the third-years, though Peter couldn't immediately identify which one in the dim light. She was wrapped in a dressing gown and looked like she was heading for the portrait hole, probably going to the bathroom or something equally mundane.
Peter held very still, trying to make himself as invisible as possible, which was actually one of his few legitimate talents. Being inconspicuous. Being forgettable. Being the person—or rat—that nobody noticed because they were too busy looking at more interesting people.
*Story of my life,* Peter thought with the bitter self-awareness that came from too many years alone with his own thoughts. *Even as one of the Marauders, I was always the tagalong. James's less interesting friend. Sirius's less attractive friend. Remus's less intelligent friend. Peter Pettigrew, the fourth wheel nobody really wanted around but was too polite to tell to leave.*
The girl—he could see now it was one of the Quidditch players—walked past his hiding spot without even glancing in his direction, pushed open the portrait hole, and disappeared into the corridor beyond.
Peter waited until he was absolutely certain she wasn't coming back, then slowly emerged from behind the chair.
*Right. Okay. Mission... not accomplished. Not even close to accomplished. More like "mission barely attempted before panic-driven abandonment of all objectives."*
He should go back to Percy's dormitory. Get some sleep. Stop trying to be a spy when he was literally just a rat with anxiety issues and a terrible history of making catastrophically bad decisions.
But even as he started back toward the stairs, his rat mind was still churning through possibilities.
*The Americans in Ravenclaw. There are four of them, right? Or three? Dammit, I really need to pay better attention to these things. But Ravenclaw makes sense—James was smart, Lily was brilliant, their son's cousin would probably have the academic chops for the smart-kids House.*
Peter paused at the base of the stairs, torn between his desire to investigate further and his knowledge that he was a rat with no resources, no allies, and no reasonable plan for acquiring useful intelligence about students in a different House tower.
*Though... the Weasley twins. Fred and George. They're friendly with some of the Americans, aren't they? I've heard Percy complaining about them causing chaos with "those first-year Americans" multiple times.*
Peter's rat brain latched onto this idea with the desperation of someone who'd been spiraling for the past fifteen minutes and was grateful for anything resembling a coherent plan.
*If the twins are friends with the Americans, they might know which one is related to Harry Potter. They might even mention it in casual conversation. All I have to do is listen. Lurk around when they're talking. Be the invisible rat nobody pays attention to.*
It was a plan. Not a good plan, not a particularly actionable plan, but a plan nonetheless. And having a plan—any plan—was better than sitting around in rat form having existential crises about his terrible life choices.
Peter started back up the stairs toward the dormitory, his small feet moving quickly across the stone.
*Okay. New objective: establish which American student is Harry Potter's cousin through careful observation and strategic eavesdropping. Gather intelligence. Stay invisible. Don't do anything stupid or panic-inducing. Just watch, listen, and learn.*
*And maybe—just maybe—figure out a way to use this information that doesn't end with me being murdered by literally everyone I've ever known.*
Peter reached Percy's dormitory and squeezed back through the gap in the door, scurrying across the floor toward his usual sleeping spot under the bed.
Percy stirred slightly in his sleep, muttering something that sounded like "house points" and "academic standards," but didn't wake.
Peter settled into the shadows beneath the bed, curling up in the nest of old socks and discarded parchment that had become his home over the years.
*Tomorrow,* he thought with the determination of someone trying to convince himself he had any control over his situation. *Tomorrow I'll start paying better attention. Figure out which American knows Harry Potter. Figure out if there's any way to use that information.*
*Just... be careful. Stay hidden. Don't panic. And for Merlin's sake, don't do anything that attracts attention from people who might recognize you.*
It was a reasonable plan. A sensible plan.
Which meant, given Peter Pettigrew's track record with plans, it was almost certainly going to end in disaster.
But that was a problem for future Peter. Present Peter was just a tired rat trying to get some sleep in a dormitory full of thirteen-year-olds who had no idea they were sharing space with one of the wizarding world's most wanted fugitives.
*Harry Potter's cousin,* Peter thought drowsily as sleep began to claim him. *Right here at Hogwarts. Probably in Ravenclaw. Probably friends with the Weasley twins.*
*Tomorrow. I'll figure it out tomorrow.*
And with that comforting delusion firmly in place, Peter Pettigrew—Death Eater, traitor, rat, and possessor of possibly the worst decision-making skills in magical history—finally fell asleep.
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