Ron snatched the Marauder's Map from Fred, his eyes fixated on the name etched upon it. Fred and George tried to explain, but Ron wasn't listening.
"It's impossible," he muttered. "There's no Peter Pettigrew in our dorm!"
His gaze traced the spot marked with Peter Pettigrew's name on the Marauder's Map, centering around the table by the window. "I knew it! No one's there. This damn map must be broken. It's just Scabbers..."
Ron's words died in his throat. Scabbers… he's always been different. Tom's words echoed. Scabbers, having lived so long, couldn't be a mere rat. But what kind of magical creature resembled a rodent? His eyes darted back to the words "Peter Pettigrew" on the map.
Unease gnawed at him. He spun around and bolted from the common room.
"Hey! Ron! The map!" George yelled after him.
Ron ignored him, his feet pounding.
Fred sighed. "Doesn't matter. We've memorized the secret passages anyway. Let him have it."
...
In his office on the fourth floor of Hogwarts Castle, Tom sat immersed in a book. Cassandra, perched by the window, absorbed magical knowledge from his notes. Nagini, equally engrossed, devoured a tome on magical business, seeking ways to aid Tom. With his abilities, combat is hardly where he is needed…
Holding his wand, Tom could unleash endless lightning or Fiendfyre. Sometimes, he probably has to be careful not to accidentally kill his own underlings. As for pointing his wand at their enemies... Well, that would be stating the obvious.
No, he can best serve by managing the Death Eaters. Tom, of course, loathed such tasks, so Nagini took the initiative to ease his burden.
When Tom tired of reading, Cassandra or Nagini would replenish his teacup.
Knock, knock, knock…
A knock at the door interrupted the tranquility.
"Come in," Tom called out, still engrossed in his book.
The door creaked open, and a shock of red hair peeked through the gap. "Uh… excuse me, Professor."
Tom closed his book, his gaze meeting Ron's cautious one. "What is it?"
Ron hesitated, glancing at Nagini and Cassandra. Whatever he had to say was clearly… delicate.
Seeing his unease, and unwilling to waste time, Tom simply plunged into Ron's mind with Legilimency.
"Hmm, I believe I understand."
"Huh?" He already understands before I even explained?
Tom, unfazed by Ron's bewildered expression, addressed his doubts directly. "Didn't you already suspect?"
Ron looked confused at first, then his eyes widened when Tom continued.
"You saw it on the Marauder's Map. It is exactly what you think."
"..."
No way?! Ron finally understood. Tom's response confirmed his worst fears. But he still clung to the last vestiges of hope. "Then… why did he…"
"Haven't you seen Professor McGonagall turn into a cat?"
"..."
"Haven't you heard of the Animagus?"
"..."
Ron was numb. Resigned, his only hope now was that the reality wouldn't be too appalling. "What did he originally look like…?"
"A sleazy, greasy fat man."
"..."
"No!!!" Ron collapsed, his legs giving way beneath him.
"I've slept with a greasy guy for so many years!" he wailed. "I've slept with a greasy guy for so many years! I've slept with a…"
Seeing Ron teetering on the edge of hysteria, Tom offered a sliver of comfort. "Although you cannot undo the past, you can still seek revenge, can't you?"
Ron's eyes lit up, hope flickering in his gaze. "Professor, can you increase the potion strength of your candies?"
"Aren't you worried about hurting his body now?"
"…"
Tom's teasing stung. Ron looked ready to burst into tears.
Mercifully, Tom relented, retrieving a vial from his drawer and placing it on the table. "One drop. After that, your Scabbers will never have thoughts other than mating."
"?"! That powerful?!
Ron scrambled to his feet, thanked Tom with solemn gratitude, snatched the potion, and fled the office. He would send another letter ordering a dozen more mice, this time only males!
After Ron's departure, Cassandra and Nagini crowded around, curious.
Tom, never one to hoard embarrassing tales (unless they were his own), obliged with the full story.
...
Back in the Gryffindor common room, Ron kicked open the door to the men's dormitory.
"Scabbers, I'm back!"
His bloodshot eyes locked onto the mousetrap on the table by the window. "This time, I brought you a present."
Peter Pettigrew, diligently "working," barely reacted, accustomed to such minor torments. It was just a little hardship. Endure. Survive.
The patient Peter Pettigrew was confident he could endure. But that meant he didn't notice that this "present" was different from the others.
By the time he realized it, after consuming the treats from Ron, it was too late!
The last person who ate what Tom gave them was Quirinus Quirrell. So, what became of that Quirinus Quirrell guy? Hmm… Peter Pettigrew probably wouldn't want to know.
…
"Squeak! Squeak!"
Peter Pettigrew, as if jolted by a surge of electricity, sprang to life (in every sense of the word). He seized the nearest male rat and prepared to get to work.
"Squeak? Squeak squeak! (What's going on? Baby, you've finally figured it out!)"
The male rat, ecstatic, called for his buddies to join.
Watching the commotion inside the cage, Ron smirked, his eyes bloodshot, a sinister sound bubbling from his throat. "Hehehe... Hahahaha... Hehehehe..."
Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnegan, terrified, huddled together, unaware that Ron had been utterly consumed by vengeance.
---