When the tale concluded, James lifted his bloodshot eyes, staring blankly at Peter Pettigrew.
Severus Snape shifted his gaze from Wormtail's ashen, trembling face to Sirius Black, whose chest heaved with emotion.
"Sirius," Snape asked, "is what James said true? Do you agree with it all?"
Sirius nodded slowly, his disheveled black hair clinging to his sweat-dampened forehead.
The cabin fell into a silence deeper than before, broken only by the occasional faint crackle from the fireplace, though its flames had somehow dimmed.
Light and shadow danced across everyone's faces, reflecting disbelief, fury, or a bone-deep chill.
"Peter…" Professor McGonagall's voice, heavy with disappointment, broke the quiet. She looked at Wormtail but said no more. With a wave of her wand, she bound him.
Peter Pettigrew slumped in his chair, his face smeared with snot and tears. He struggled weakly, his voice breaking into intermittent, sobbing gasps.
"Professor… me, a traitor? … Absurd… He must be mad, it's not true, I don't know how he could say such… such vicious…"
Professor Flitwick gazed at the disheveled Peter, clinging to a final shred of hope for confirmation.
"Peter Pettigrew, why would you do this?" he asked. "Or… is there anything, any evidence, to prove your innocence? Anything to refute Potter's accusations?"
Peter's mouth opened and closed, as if he'd lost the ability to speak. His small, terrified eyes darted across the faces around him, meeting only cold scrutiny, anger, and profound disappointment.
Snape took two steps forward, looming over Wormtail.
"We can find the evidence ourselves," he said, slowly drawing his wand and pointing it at Peter. "Look up. Meet my eyes."
With a final, pleading glance, Peter raised his head, his tear-blurred eyes locking onto Snape's dark gaze.
The moment their eyes met, Peter's pupils contracted sharply, then dilated like a punctured balloon, losing focus entirely.
"Severus!" Professor McGonagall's sharp voice rang out, laced with shock and a hint of restraint. "That's against—"
But Snape didn't hear her. Peter's mental defenses crumbled like tissue paper before him, far weaker than he'd anticipated.
He plunged into the depths of Peter's consciousness, sifting through memories wrapped tightly in layers of fear.
Time seemed to freeze. The others held their breath, watching Peter's occasional, unconscious twitches and Snape's focused profile.
Finally, Snape's eyelids flickered. He withdrew his wand, the piercing light in his eyes fading, replaced by a flicker of understanding and disgust. He looked away calmly, no longer regarding the hollow shell of a man before him.
"Argh!"
The moment Snape ended the Legilimency, Peter Pettigrew jolted awake as if from a nightmare, letting out a heart-wrenching scream.
With strength from some unknown source, he thrashed violently, the ropes binding him cutting into his flesh. The heavy chair toppled with him, crashing to the floor.
Peter, along with the chair, hit the ground with a dull thud, his body pinned beneath it, face-down.
Wormtail broke completely. Like a writhing insect, he crawled across the floor, as if Snape's actions had pronounced his death sentence.
Driven by raw survival instinct, he pressed his head and knees against the ground, dragging himself forward, scraping and twisting in a desperate attempt to escape.
Sobbing and wailing inhumanly, his frantic movements left a wet trail across the floor.
Peter struggled to McGonagall's feet, mustering all his strength to lift his head, his forehead pressed to the ground as he strained to glimpse the tip of her boots.
"Professor McGonagall… Professor…" he whimpered pathetically, "I'm your student… a Gryffindor… please, I beg you…"
Seeing this boy—once a Gryffindor who cheered on the Quidditch pitch, who answered questions timidly in class—now groveling like a filthy maggot, begging for his life in the most debased way, a wave of revulsion surged through McGonagall.
She took two swift steps back, avoiding his pathetic reach.
Peter's body convulsed as if her retreat had lashed him with a whip.
But he refused to give up.
With a desperate sob, he summoned astonishing strength, writhing and rolling on the floor under everyone's gaze.
The chair pinning him finally shifted, crashing to the side with a heavy thud.
This allowed him to lie on his side, catching sight of Sirius Black's face a few steps away.
"Sirius," he wailed, "it's me, Padfoot, your friend… Wormtail… we're best friends…"
Sirius's response was to lunge forward, spitting viciously in his direction.
"Pah!"
The spit landed on Peter's grime-streaked cheek.
He flinched, as if scalded, letting out a short, pained whimper.
But he didn't give up. His desperate gaze shifted, landing on Moody standing nearby.
"Brave Auror… righteous warrior…" Peter's voice dripped with flattery and pleading. "You won't let them do this to me… please… hand me to the Ministry… judge me by wizard law…"
Moody ignored him, his magical eye swiveling to the back of his head.
"Severus," Moody said, "what did you see in his mind? What's got him so terrified?"
Snape didn't answer immediately. Expressionless, he turned and walked to one side of the cabin, opening an ancient oak cabinet brought from Hogwarts. From it, he retrieved a stone basin etched with mysterious runes along its rim.
He carried it to the center of the cabin, conjuring a low stool to place it upon.
Then, from his robes, he drew his wand and lightly touched its tip to his temple. With a gentle pull, a long, pearlescent silver thread emerged.
He carefully added the silvery strand to the swirling substance in the basin.
The strand merged, sending ripples across the surface. The basin's contents spun faster, glowing brighter.
"The truth is here," Snape said, looking up and issuing an invitation to the others. "Shall we see it?"
No one objected.
Finally, Professor McGonagall took a deep breath and stepped forward first, leaning down to immerse her face in the swirling silver glow…
A powerful pull enveloped them, and they spiraled downward through icy darkness, landing in a void so black they could see nothing.
The silence was oppressive, broken only by faint, terrified sobs echoing from the dark.
After an eternity, a shrill creak shattered the quiet. Above, a heavy wooden door swung open.
Flickering yellow light pierced the darkness, forcing everyone to squint against its sudden glare.
A tall, thin figure in a black robe descended a creaking ladder, holding a wand that cast a faint glow.
In the dim light, Snape and the others made out their surroundings: a damp, cold dungeon with rough stone walls glistening with moisture, filthy straw scattered on the floor, and a few ragged prisoners huddled in the corners.
Peter Pettigrew cowered nearby, pressed against the wall, curled into a ball, his eyes vacant.
A Death Eater, face grim, strode straight to Peter. Without a word, he pointed his wand: "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Peter let out a terrified scream as his body floated uncontrollably, pulled by an invisible force toward the ladder.
The Death Eater followed coldly; Snape and the others trailed behind.
Through a narrow ladder and a dusty corridor, the Death Eater led Peter to a relatively spacious hall.
Though less grim than the dungeon, it was still dilapidated—furniture covered in dust, faded tapestries hanging on the walls.
The Death Eater waved his wand again, releasing the Levitation Charm. Peter crashed to the floor with a thud, groaning in pain.
Wormtail recovered slowly, overwhelmed by fear. He screamed hysterically:
"Gibbon! Gibbon! What are you going to do to me? I'm not a Muggle-born… I'm really not… my mother was… let me go!"
"Shut up!" Gibbon snapped, his face twisting into a cruel smile.
"Peter Pettigrew?" he sneered, looming over the trembling figure. "The loyal little sidekick of the Potter heir?" He crouched, his wand nearly touching Peter's nose. "Pity. The Potters didn't accept our master's generous offer.
"You're out of luck, Wormtail. Blame your stubborn friends and your filthy blood!"
Gibbon's grin widened as he stood, raising his wand.
"No! Don't kill me! Please!" Peter's desperate wail echoed, his hands shielding his face.
Gibbon's spell was on the tip of his tongue:
"Avada—"
But Peter's desperate, cracking scream cut him off.
"Lord Voldemort!"
The name froze Gibbon in place. His wand arm trembled mid-air, his cruel smile replaced by terror, his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets.
Peter Pettigrew, the cowardly Gryffindor, summoned a courage he'd never known, born of sheer terror. It was the bravest moment of his life, though driven by fear of death.
"Lord Voldemort!" he sobbed, tears and snot streaming down his face, yet he pressed on with resolute desperation. "Lord Voldemort, I have vital information for you! Vital information!"
"Shut up!" Gibbon snapped out of his shock, leaping forward. "You idiot! Are you trying to get us both killed?" He glanced around in panic.
With several soft pops, more black-robed, hooded figures appeared in the hall's shadows, surrounding Gibbon and Peter.
A tall, burly Death Eater threw back his hood, revealing a rugged, brutal face.
"Gibbon?" he barked. "What's going on?" His wand was already trained on the terrified Gibbon.
Gibbon, pale with fear, pointed at Peter, stammering, "Yaxley, sir, it's not me—it's him!
"Peter Pettigrew, this filthy worm! He called the Dark Lord's name! He says… he says he has vital information for the master!"
Yaxley's fierce eyes snapped to Peter on the floor.
He strode forward, yanking Peter up by the collar like a ragdoll, his feet dangling.
"You?" Yaxley growled, his face inches from Peter's pale one, forcing their eyes to meet. "You want to see the master?"
Peter could barely breathe, his throat constricted, but he knew this was his only chance. Gasping, he shouted as fast as he could:
"I want to see the Dark Lord! I want to join you!
"I know secrets about the Potters, secrets valuable to the master!"
"You'd better have something worth the master's time," Yaxley snarled, his eyes glinting with cruelty.
He squinted, staring into Peter's eyes without another word, his grip tightening on Peter's collar.
Wormtail's throat burned, his head spinning from lack of oxygen.
Then, Yaxley's free hand shot up, his wand pointing at Peter's forehead: "Legilimens!"
Peter's eyes went vacant, just as they had with Snape, though this time it took longer.
Seconds ticked by.
Yaxley's brows furrowed, his expression shifting from skepticism to a flicker of delight.
After a moment, he withdrew his wand and released Peter's collar. Peter collapsed, gasping for air.
Yaxley studied the pitiful traitor on the floor, his face twitching as he weighed the truth and value of the memories he'd extracted.
Finally, he made his decision.
"Hmph," Yaxley snorted, grabbing Peter roughly again. "You're lucky, Wormtail. You'd better pray your information is important enough for the master to see you himself!"
Without another word, he seized Gibbon's arm, spinning on the spot.
When the scene cleared, Yaxley stood with Peter and Gibbon before a heavy wooden door leading to another room.
After a moment's hesitation, he turned the bronze handle, leaving Gibbon outside and dragging Peter through.
Beyond the door was an opulent parlor.
Ornate tapestries adorned the walls, and beyond large windows lay a neatly trimmed garden, though the curtains were half-drawn. The room's light came mainly from a massive marble fireplace, its roaring flames casting cold, refracted light through a chandelier overhead.
The floor was covered in a thick, dark carpet, muffling all footsteps.
At the far end, a raised platform held a stark, high-backed armchair, its form blending into the shadows above.
A figure sat in the chair, head slightly bowed, either in thought or coldly observing those below.
Yaxley set Peter gently on the carpet, bowing deeply with deference.
"Master…"
————
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