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The revelation that a Ministry fugitive lay dead, on the ground before everyone, plunged the group into perplexity. No one knew how to react.
They could only exchange glances, fully aware that the presence of that corpse could not be a mere macabre coincidence.
"Wait a second!" Dora suddenly exclaimed, drawing the attention of the many adults gathered.
Under the curious and questioning eyes of all, she stepped forward, cautiously approaching the remains.
Her gaze was fixed on the head that lay beside Pettigrew's corpse, apprehension written across her face.
"This head... isn't it Macnair's?!" she asked, her eyes widening slightly.
As someone who worked at the Ministry and interacted with many employees from different departments, it wasn't hard for her to recognize the owner of that severed head.
With Dora's question, everyone's focus fell upon the pale and bloodied face.
Those familiar with Ministry wizards, or who had faced Death Eaters before, soon realized the disturbing resemblance between the lifeless head and the brutish executioner.
"Bloody hell... What happened to him?! And this arm... is that Macnair's too?" the Metamorphmagus muttered, grimacing as a chill ran down her spine.
No one answered her, and once again a tense, heavy silence fell over the group.
They were still trying to process the situation, too caught up in their own thoughts. Each of them was struggling with growing confusion and dread.
But amid all the lost stares, there were two people on this Quidditch Pitch who knew exactly what had happened, and only they could answer everyone's doubts.
And knowing this, Headmaster Dumbledore — who had remained distant and silent until now — stepped closer to us with a serious look.
"Ethan, Harry," he called, drawing both our attention and that of our families to him, "I know you must be tired and shaken by everything that has happened, and that you probably just want to rest with your families and friends..."
"But even so, I still need to ask you... what happened in that graveyard?" he asked, a grave and intense gleam in his blue eyes.
That question struck Harry like a bolt of lightning, pulling him out of his relieved happiness. His expression, softened moments ago by his reunion with Sirius and his family, now showed distress.
He remembered that this was not the time to relax or rest. He still had to warn everyone about the great evil that had returned.
"Headmaster, you must act immediately!" he began urgently, "They must still be there, with Vo—"
"Well, Headmaster, you're right," I cut in, interrupting the green-eyed boy before he could speak the name everyone feared.
Then I took a step forward, drawing all attention to myself
"As you said, after all this chaos, I really do want... and need, a long, deep rest," I said, rubbing my forehead tiredly.
I looked weak and worn out. Everything about me radiated exhaustion, as if I had just endured something draining and overwhelming — and, truth be told, that wasn't far from the truth.
And in a way, my fatigue wasn't entirely feigned. I really did need a proper night's sleep.
"So, about what happened in the graveyard... let's leave that for later. Right now, I just want a very warm and intimate meeting with my bed and my sheets," I continued, trying to end this conversation.
Hearing this, Harry turned to me, confused. He didn't understand why I had stopped him from warning everyone about Voldemort, nor why I was avoiding talking about what had happened in the graveyard.
Bewildered and with his worry growing, he opened his mouth, ready to say something.
But before he could utter a single word, I gave him a firm, serious look — one that told him I would explain everything to him later.
Noticing this, the Boy-Who-Lived hesitated for a moment. Then he closed his mouth, though he couldn't stop himself from furrowing his brow.
The dilemma he faced was clear: he was torn between telling everyone the truth — that the most terrifying being in Britain had been resurrected — or staying silent.
In the end, after a few moments of thought, the young Gryffindor chose silence and patience.
He decided to trust me, understanding that I wouldn't do this without a reason, and that it was probably part of some plan of mine.
Seeing his decision, I nodded discreetly.
In truth, unlike what he thought, I wasn't trying to hide the truth or omit what had happened in the maze... I was simply waiting for the right time to reveal it to everyone.
"Wait!" the Headmaster raised his hand, stopping us, "You may not want to talk about what happened in the maze now... but what about Pettigrew and Macnair? And Barty Junior?"
"Well, what about them?" I asked simply, with a relaxed look.
Noticing my indifference to their deaths, a grave glint flickered in the old wizard's eyes.
"What I want to know is: what happened to them? Who did this to them?" he pressed, staring at me seriously.
To everyone else, the Headmaster's questioning sounded strange. It didn't feel like he was merely asking me a few questions — it sounded like he was interrogating me.
And this became even more evident when everyone picked up on the subtle tone of accusation in his voice.
It was obvious to anyone with at least three functioning brain cells what the Headmaster was suggesting — that I had killed those men.
Realizing that the old wizard was seriously questioning me over the death of those criminal vermin, my blood instantly boiled.
I wasn't angry at the Headmaster for suspecting me — after all, I really had killed them. What truly bothered me was feeling the weight of his judgment, as if what I had done were something wrong, almost evil.
"Headmaster, please, cut the nonsense and just say what you really want to say," I said impatiently.
Sensing my irritation, the powerful wizard shook his head with a sigh, deciding to get straight to the point.
"Ethan... why did you do it? Why were you so brutal?"
"I know your abilities, so I know you didn't need to go to such extremes... not with them, not even with Barty Junior." He looked at me, disappointment in his eyes.
'Ugh,' I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. 'Here comes the great forgiver of the wizarding world, with yet another sermon...'
Just as I was about to open my mouth to give him a rather impolite answer, Nick stepped forward, placing himself by my side.
"Albus, that's enough. This is neither the time nor the place for such a conversation," the French immortal said seriously.
His voice was neither too loud nor too soft, but his tone carried a clear warning for his old friend.
Seeing his old friend trying to stop his questioning, Headmaster Dumbledore frowned. The two powerful, aged wizards locked eyes, engaging in a silent battle.
...
...
...
"Sigh... You're right," the Headmaster was the one who yielded.
He realized that the subject had stirred him up, making him act more aggressively than he intended.
"Let's leave this for tomorrow, when everyone is calmer and recovered," he said, returning to his gentle, calm old-man demeanor.
"I agree." Sirius joined the conversation, giving his godson's shoulder a comforting squeeze.
When his eyes turned to me, he gave the slightest nod. His gaze conveyed a profound sense of gratitude and support.
He, like everyone else in the group, knew deep down that I was probably the one responsible for the death of those dark wizards.
And knowing that I was the one who had taken the life of the man he most hated and wished dead, he felt extremely grateful.
This was the second time I had helped him deal with that treacherous rat, and because of that he had already decided in his mind that if anyone tried to accuse me or confront me because of these murders, he would stand by me without hesitation.
Noticing the weight of his gaze and understanding its meaning, I slowly looked away, somewhat embarrassed.
Yes, I had killed Pettigrew. But I had also been the one to let him escape in the first place. So Sirius's unconditional support didn't bring me relief... only guilt.
'Well, let's just consider Pettigrew's death as my act of redemption' I thought, nodding to myself.
End.
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