Thursday, May 9, 1991
Hogwarts Castle
5:45 a.m.
Green fire rolled through the grate in Professor Flitwick's office, and Josh stepped out of the flames fifteen minutes before six. He cleared the hearth easily, brushing a trace of soot from his sleeve as the fire settled behind him.
Flitwick was already at his desk with a cup of tea and a book open in front of him. "Good morning, Joshua. Welcome back."
"Morning, Professor."
"Right on time, I see."
"Fifteen minutes early."
"Yes," Flitwick said, taking another sip of tea. "Right on time."
Josh smiled and crossed the office as the Floo flames guttered out behind him. Flitwick gestured toward the chairs opposite his desk and offered him tea, which Josh declined before taking a seat.
For the first time in eight days, he was properly back at Hogwarts.
The strange thing was how completely normal it felt.
Flitwick's office was exactly as Josh remembered it. Books occupied the shelves and had long ago begun colonizing every other available surface. Stacks of parchment competed with teaching materials for space, while small enchanted objects rested beneath protective glass along one wall. Chairs and cushions of different heights accommodated visitors ranging from first-years to Hagrid without making anyone's size into an event.
After the last eight days, the familiarity of it hit harder than Josh expected.
Before May first, he'd known he was a reincarnator. He knew some cosmic asshole with a number for a name had dropped him into another life with a System attached. He knew this Earth was close enough to the one he'd left behind to be familiar while also having very real magic tucked away beneath the surface. He'd effectively woken up at Heathrow nearly three years ago, his consciousness snapping into place the moment he set foot on British soil, and from there he'd done the only thing that made sense.
He'd lived.
What he hadn't known was that he'd landed in Harry fucking Potter.
Getting those memories back hadn't changed the previous three years. It had given them context. Names, places, conversations, oddities he'd filed away and forgotten suddenly had explanations attached to them.
Some explanations were more useful than others.
The Sorting Hat had known exactly what Josh was when it landed on his head in 1988. It had called him the first transmigrant it had encountered who was unaware of the world he'd entered, poked around the sealed package in his head, laughed at something Josh couldn't understand, and eventually told him to come looking once the timer ran out.
The timer had run out.
Whether Josh finally understood what the Hat had found so funny was another question entirely.
He'd have an opportunity to ask in September.
For now, he was back at Hogwarts.
His attention drifted toward Flitwick's desk and finally registered the blue-bound book sitting open beside the professor's tea.
So You Got a Letter... A Guide for the First, the Forgotten, and the Fed-Up.
Narrow strips of parchment protruded from between enough pages to make Flitwick's opinion of the book look alarmingly thorough.
Josh pointed at it. "Should I be worried?"
"Deeply. I have notes."
"I can see that."
Flitwick laughed and closed the book. "Some are even complimentary."
"That's worse. Now I can't dismiss the whole pile out of spite."
"You did give a copy to a professor, Joshua."
"Yeah, I'm starting to see the tactical error."
That earned another quiet laugh before Flitwick set the book aside, mercifully taking the small forest of parchment markers with it.
Josh had missed this.
Three years had done a lot to change the relationship he'd had with Flitwick as a nervous first-year meeting his Head of House. There were still boundaries. Flitwick was his professor, Josh was his student, and neither of them had ever pretended otherwise. That didn't stop them from liking each other.
It helped that Flitwick had figured Josh out fairly quickly.
Give Josh an answer and he'd probably remember it. Tell him why the answer worked and he'd go find three books to see whether everyone agreed. Tell him something couldn't be done and there was a decent chance he'd spend the next week trying to determine whether that meant impossible, illegal, dangerous, or merely inconvenient.
Flitwick, rather than trying to beat that tendency out of him, usually made sure Josh knew which category he was dealing with.
It was one of the reasons they'd gotten along so well.
Josh glanced toward the book again before another thought occurred to him. "How'd the Society manage while I was gone?"
"Quite well. Although Arthur and I had an interesting discussion concerning his interpretation of controlled force."
Josh knew his roommate well enough that the wording answered half the question. "What'd he blow up?"
"Nothing, thankfully. He did, however, calculate that the spell he intended to use would destroy his target, the two targets beside it, and possibly damage the wall behind them."
"He calculated it first?"
"Before casting."
Josh sat back, pleasantly surprised. "Huh. He is learning."
Flitwick smiled. "My thoughts exactly."
The Hogwarts Martial Society had only existed officially since September, but what became HMS had started much earlier and for a considerably simpler reason.
Josh and his friends wanted to keep practicing martial arts.
Hogwarts taught magic extraordinarily well. Physical education was another matter, mostly because apart from quidditch practice for the teams, there wasn't any. For students who already trained before arriving at school, that left seven years in which maintaining those skills was largely their own problem. Josh had no intention of letting himself go soft for nine months out of every year, and several of his friends had reached much the same conclusion for their own reasons.
So they'd trained together.
At first that meant exercise, sparring, and whatever martial disciplines each of them had brought to Hogwarts. There was even historical precedent for it. Hogwarts hadn't always treated physical and martial education as something entirely separate from magical schooling. In earlier centuries, when carrying a sword was considerably more useful than owning one to look impressive placed over a fireplace, the school had offered instruction built around swordsmanship and the education expected of magically trained knights.
Those courses were long gone.
The need to stay in shape wasn't.
By third year, however, simply maintaining what they already knew wasn't enough. They wanted to explore how physical combat and magic worked together, and that required more than an unused room and an agreement not to hit each other too hard.
So HMS became official.
A Society gave them the structure they wanted without turning what they were doing into another professor-led club. They could set standards, control membership, require members to maintain their academics, and decide how seriously someone needed to take the training before being allowed to participate. Josh served as Captain, with the students themselves responsible for actually running the organization.
They still needed a faculty sponsor.
Flitwick had been the obvious choice.
His history as a dueling champion alone would have put him near the top of the list, but his heritage made the choice even easier. Magical combat had never existed entirely at wandpoint, and Flitwick understood that better than most. He knew the traditions behind what they wanted to study, had the practical experience to recognize when an idea was merely ambitious rather than suicidal, and possessed the authority to supervise spellwork Hogwarts quite reasonably didn't want students experimenting with alone.
The fact that he was Josh's Head of House had simply made approaching him easier.
"Anything I need to deal with before the next meeting?" Josh asked.
"Nothing urgent. I believe you'll find things much as you left them." Flitwick picked up his tea again, studying Josh for a moment before continuing. "The same may not be true of your classmates once examinations begin."
Josh gave him a suspicious look. "What'd I do?"
"Nothing. Yet. You have missed nearly a week of lessons immediately before examinations, Joshua. Most students in your position would be panicking."
"Most students should've studied harder."
"I expected you to say that."
Josh shrugged. "I'm caught up."
"I'm aware. Which is precisely the problem. Anyone who spent the last week consoling themselves with the thought that your absence might improve their position in the year is about to be terribly disappointed."
Josh laughed. "That's not my fault."
"No, but I expect I shall hear about it anyway." Flitwick regarded him thoughtfully over his teacup. "At this point, I am considering simply registering you for your O.W.L.s during the summer and sparing the rest of us another two years."
"I'm thirteen, Professor."
"Yes. Minerva pointed that out when I suggested it."
Josh's amusement faltered just enough for Flitwick to notice. "You actually suggested it?"
Flitwick answered by calmly taking another drink of tea, but the corners of his mouth gave him away before Josh could decide whether McGonagall had actually been subjected to that conversation.
"Asshole."
"Language, Mr. Myrddin."
"Sorry, Professor."
"No, you aren't."
Josh grinned. "No, sir."
By then the office windows were beginning to show the first real signs of morning. The grounds beyond them remained washed in the muted grey of dawn, but Hogwarts wouldn't stay quiet much longer. Students would begin crawling out of bed, portraits would resume arguments abandoned the night before, and somewhere in the castle a suit of armor would inevitably fall over for reasons nobody would ever adequately explain.
For the first time since May first, Josh was about to do something remarkably ordinary.
Eat breakfast. Go to class. Find his friends somewhere in between.
Flitwick finished his tea and looked up at him. "It is good to have you back, Joshua."
There wasn't anything complicated hiding behind the words. Flitwick wasn't asking what had happened during the week Josh had been gone or fishing for details about family business Josh hadn't volunteered. He was simply glad one of his students was back.
Josh found himself smiling. "It's good to be back, Professor."
And, somewhat to his own surprise, he meant it.
Josh left Flitwick's office a few minutes later with a cupcake in one hand.
He hadn't gone in expecting breakfast, and technically this didn't count. Flitwick had offered him tea, Josh had declined, and somewhere between discussing HMS and Josh getting up to leave, the professor had produced a small covered tin from behind his desk and offered him one of the cupcakes he'd made the evening before.
Josh had accepted immediately.
There were some things a man simply didn't turn down.
He peeled back another section of the paper wrapper as he walked, taking a bite while the office door swung shut behind him. The cake was light without being dry, rich with vanilla and butter, and topped with just enough frosting to be worth calling it a cupcake without burying the thing beneath half its weight in sugar.
Goddamn.
Josh chewed slowly, reconsidering several opinions he'd held in his previous life.
He understood now.
For years, he'd read Harry Potter fanfiction where authors seemed contractually obligated to assign every professor a particular snack. McGonagall had her ginger newts. Dumbledore had whatever random confectionery struck his fancy that afternoon, with sherbet lemons apparently maintaining a permanent position somewhere within arm's reach.
And Flitwick had cupcakes.
Josh had always assumed that one was just fandom collectively deciding the tiny Charms professor needed baked goods.
No.
They knew.
Flitwick made the damn things himself, and unless Josh encountered some serious competition in the future, Filius Flitwick currently made the best cupcakes in the world.
That was admittedly the opinion of a thirteen-year-old American eating one before six in the morning, but Josh stood by it.
He took another bite as he made his way down the corridor, catching a bit of frosting with his thumb before it could reach his sleeve. Hogwarts was beginning to stir around him now. Not awake yet, exactly, but getting there. A portrait farther down the corridor grumbled when one of its neighbors knocked against the inside of his frame. Somewhere above him came the distant scrape of moving furniture, followed by a muffled thump that Josh had neither the information nor the motivation to investigate.
Normal Hogwarts noises.
After the week he'd had, they were almost relaxing.
Josh finished the last bite and folded the wrapper in on itself as he reached the end of the corridor. He'd just started considering whether being one of Flitwick's favorite students carried enough political capital to secure a second cupcake later when footsteps sounded from around the corner.
A moment later, Percy Weasley came into view.
Josh recognized him immediately, although Percy seemed more interested in whatever he'd been reading before rounding the corner. A folded piece of parchment occupied one hand, his other disappearing briefly into the pocket of his robes as he adjusted something inside.
Something with whiskers.
A familiar brown head poked out over the edge of Percy's pocket.
Josh nearly stopped walking.
Well, hello there.
Scabbers looked more or less like a rat.
Which, admittedly, wasn't the most useful observation Josh had ever made.
Percy noticed him a moment later and lowered the parchment. "Myrddin. You're back."
"Got in a few minutes ago." Josh kept walking, giving Percy a nod as they approached one another. "Morning, Weasley."
"Good morning."
Josh's attention returned to the rat despite himself.
He knew exactly who he was looking at. That wasn't the problem.
Third-year Transfiguration had already covered Animagi. McGonagall had made damn sure they understood the transformation itself, the legal requirements surrounding it, and enough of the underlying theory that Josh no longer had to rely entirely on memories of books and movies written for children to understand how Peter had spent nearly a decade hiding as somebody's pet.
What Josh didn't know was which Peter Pettigrew he'd eventually get when the transformation came off.
That question had been bothering him more often than he cared to admit since getting his memories back.
The people around him generally looked close enough to what he remembered that his old memories were useful, but there was no universal rule for it.
Hagrid was recognizably Hagrid, but considerably larger than Robbie Coltrane had ever been. Harry obviously wasn't a ten-year-old Daniel Radcliffe, but put the two side by side at the same age and Josh would've believed they were brothers without much convincing.
Flitwick was another interesting one.
Thank God he'd ended up resembling the later movies more than the first.
Josh could never remember the actor's name.
Warwick something.
Warwick Davis.
Yeah. That guy.
He'd been great in Willow.
Josh took another look at Percy while part of his brain continued wandering down a road it hadn't visited in years. Davis had also been one of the few little-person actors Josh remembered consistently seeing when he was growing up. Certainly a better representative for actors with dwarfism than the other famous option, considering everything Josh remembered hearing about Peter Dinklage and how spectacularly that particular asshole had managed to piss off other dwarf actors by helping make it harder for them to get work.
Dumbledore was even stranger. Josh couldn't have pointed to either movie actor and said that's him. The real man looked almost like someone had taken both portrayals and found the point where they overlapped. Younger than the oldest version Josh remembered and somehow older at the same time.
It was the eyes, mostly.
Those eyes could put another twenty years on the man whenever he stopped pretending to be somebody's eccentric grandfather.
Then there was Snape.
Early-thirties Alan Rickman.
That one still fucked with him.
Especially because Josh now lived in a universe where Severus Snape was a real human being, which meant there was a nonzero chance that somewhere out in the multiverse Alan Rickman's Metatron was also a real person.
Josh's mouth twitched.
Jesus Christ.
Snape meeting the Metatron.
He could practically hear it.
Actually, forget just Dogma. If the multiverse was going to insist on making his old entertainment real, somewhere out there Jay and Silent Bob might be wandering around New Jersey getting dragged into increasingly stupid bullshit while God herself occasionally showed up to interfere.
That raised several questions Josh absolutely did not have time to investigate before breakfast.
Scabbers shifted in Percy's pocket, drawing Josh's attention back to the considerably more immediate problem.
Right.
Peter fucking Pettigrew.
And now that Josh was looking at him, he had another question.
Would Pettigrew actually look like Timothy Spall?
Or would he come out looking like the book description Josh remembered, close enough to the films to recognize but distinctly his own person?
There was, of course, a very easy way to find out.
Percy had started to move past him when Josh spoke.
"Hey, Weasley. Weird question."
Percy stopped and looked back. "Yes?"
Josh nodded toward the brown head protruding from his pocket. "How attached are you to the rat?"
Percy looked down as though he'd briefly forgotten Scabbers was there, then back at Josh. "Scabbers? Not especially, I suppose. Why?"
That was a considerably easier answer than Josh had expected.
He hadn't planned on running into Percy this morning. Getting his hands on Peter while he was back at Hogwarts had been on the list, but Josh hadn't settled on exactly how he intended to do it yet. He'd figured he'd find an opportunity sometime during the day, preferably one that didn't involve explaining why he suddenly wanted Ron Weasley's older brother's pet rat.
Instead, less than ten minutes after stepping through the Floo, the bastard was poking his head out of Percy's pocket.
Sometimes luck really did hand you one.
Josh left that thought exactly where it was. He knew better than to start putting names to concepts that might decide to take an interest.
He looked at Percy. "You ever thought about getting an owl?"
That got a reaction. Percy's confusion didn't disappear, but interest joined it. "Of course. They're useful, but we already have Errol."
"Yeah, I've met Errol."
Percy's mouth tightened.
Josh had nothing against the bird. Errol was apparently a perfectly serviceable owl when he wasn't being asked to perform the avian equivalent of working three consecutive double shifts while approaching retirement.
"I could get you one," Josh continued. "Your own owl. Healthy, trained for post, nothing ridiculously expensive. You pick the bird."
Percy stared at him for a moment before his eyes dropped toward the pocket containing Scabbers. When he looked back up, he'd apparently reached the obvious conclusion. "In exchange for the rat."
"Yep."
"You're offering me an owl for Scabbers."
"That's the general shape of the deal."
Percy regarded him with the same expression Josh had seen him wear whenever somebody presented an argument that technically worked but offended his sense of proper procedure. "You are aware Scabbers is old?"
"I noticed."
"And he's just a common brown rat. He's not worth anything approaching the price of an owl."
Josh shrugged. "Good thing I'm the one offering the owl, then."
Percy couldn't really argue with that, although from the look on his face he was giving it a respectable effort.
An owl was objectively more useful to him. Percy was ambitious enough that Josh doubted he'd need the advantages explained. Private correspondence alone would make one valuable, especially when the alternative was relying on the school owls or waiting for Errol to become available. Scabbers, meanwhile, was an aging rat who ate food, occupied a pocket, and contributed approximately nothing to Percy's plans for the future.
That didn't mean Percy was stupid enough not to wonder why Josh wanted him. After considering the offer for another moment, he glanced toward the brown head still visible above his pocket. "What do you want him for?"
There it was.
Josh followed his gaze and found Scabbers staring back at him. He had plenty of answers available, especially if he wanted to hide behind Transfiguration. Percy knew him well enough that some vague explanation about experimentation would probably be accepted without much argument. Josh could bury the entire thing beneath enough technical bullshit to make Percy regret asking in the first place.
The problem was that complicated lies had an annoying tendency to require more complicated lies later.
"I've got a use for him," Josh said with a shrug.
Percy waited a moment before apparently realizing that was all he was getting. "I gathered that much. What use?"
"One that requires a rat."
"Very informative," Percy replied dryly, although the slight movement at the corner of his mouth took some of the bite out of it.
"Thank you."
Whatever Percy might have said next was interrupted when Scabbers shifted inside his pocket. The movement was small at first, barely enough to disturb the fabric, but a second squirm sent the rat's head disappearing beneath the edge of Percy's robes.
Josh watched without comment.
Peter knew something was wrong.
He couldn't know exactly what. Josh hadn't called him Peter, mentioned Sirius, or given the slightest indication that he knew the rat was anything other than a rat. All he'd done was show an unexpected interest in acquiring him.
For Peter Pettigrew, apparently that was enough.
The man had survived a war, betrayed his friends, faked his own death, and spent nearly a decade hiding as a household pet because he was terrified of what would happen if the truth ever caught up with him. Paranoia had probably kept the bastard alive more than once, and now Joshua Myrddin, who had never shown the slightest interest in Scabbers before, had appeared out of nowhere offering Percy an owl specifically in exchange for him.
Josh could practically hear the alarm bells.
Percy finally reached into his pocket when the movement became impossible to ignore. "Would you stop that?" he muttered as he pulled Scabbers free, only for the rat to twist sharply in his hands and claw at his sleeve in an obvious attempt to get back inside. Percy caught him before he could manage it and adjusted his grip, frowning at the sudden struggle. "He's been restless this morning, but this is ridiculous."
Josh kept his expression neutral even as Scabbers went abruptly still in Percy's hands. Not relaxed. The rat's sides were moving far too quickly for that, and his small dark eyes had locked directly onto Josh.
Oh, you know something's fucked, don't you?
Percy noticed where the rat was looking and glanced between them. "That's odd. He doesn't normally behave like this."
"Maybe he doesn't like me."
"Scabbers doesn't particularly like anyone," Percy said, looking back down at him.
"See? We've already got something in common."
That managed to pull a brief smile from Percy before his attention returned to the more important part of the conversation. He shifted Scabbers into one hand and regarded Josh more seriously. "If I agreed, I would choose the owl?"
"Within reason," Josh said. "I'm not buying you some endangered Peruvian death owl that eats kneazles and costs six hundred Galleons, but yeah. It's going to be your bird. You should pick it."
Percy's eyebrows rose. "I don't believe such an owl exists."
"Good. Then we're already under budget."
Percy actually laughed at that, brief though it was, and Josh left him to think.
There was no reason to push. The trade was already absurdly favorable from Percy's perspective, and trying to convince him too aggressively would only make the whole thing stranger. Scabbers was an aging rat of no particular value. A healthy post owl was useful every day of the year, gave Percy his own means of correspondence, and meant he no longer had to rely on Errol or the Hogwarts owls whenever he wanted to send something.
Percy didn't need Josh to explain any of that to him.
He looked down at Scabbers for several seconds, and whatever sentimental attachment existed after years of ownership apparently wasn't enough to outweigh the practical advantages of the offer. When Percy finally looked up again, his decision seemed made.
"All right," he said, adjusting his grip before holding Scabbers out between them. "Provided I actually get to choose the owl, you have a deal."
"Deal."
Josh reached out and took Peter Pettigrew from his hands.
Scabbers immediately twisted in his grip, but Josh had been expecting that. He shifted the rat into one hand, opened his bag with the other, and reached inside far enough that the expanded interior swallowed most of his arm before he found what he wanted.
The cage came out folded nearly flat.
Josh gave it a practiced flick of his wrist, and the metal frame unfolded with a series of soft clicks until a small rat cage rested in his hand. It was nothing fancy to look at. Solid base, narrow bars, hinged door, simple latch.
Scabbers disagreed.
The rat began struggling harder the moment he saw it.
Percy's eyebrows rose. "You came prepared."
"Not for him specifically." Josh opened the little door and guided Scabbers inside before the rat could find enough leverage to bite him. "I've been practicing Unbreakable Charms."
That explained the cage well enough without explaining Peter.
Percy's attention shifted from the rat to the metal frame as Josh closed the door and secured the latch. "On a cage?"
"On a lot of things. This was convenient." Josh lifted it slightly by the handle. "Small, simple construction, enough separate pieces to make the charm annoying if you don't apply it properly."
Percy leaned a little closer, his interest becoming more academic now that there was something concrete in front of him. "And it actually is unbreakable?"
"Close enough that I haven't managed to break it yet."
That answer seemed to satisfy him more than an absolute claim would have. Percy studied the bars for another moment while Scabbers backed into the far corner and stared at Josh with the wide-eyed stillness of an animal that had suddenly realized its morning had gone catastrophically wrong.
Josh ignored him.
"I've been doing some basic enchanting too," he added. "Figured I'd start with simple objects and work upward."
Percy glanced at him. "Enchanting?"
"Thinking I might like to be an alchemist when I'm older." Josh shrugged, keeping his tone casual. "Enchanting seemed like a decent place to start. Making magic stay in an object, learning how different materials take spells, figuring out what happens when you layer effects. Same general neighborhood."
That wasn't the whole of alchemy by any stretch, but it was close enough to explain why Josh owned an absurdly overbuilt rat cage.
Percy nodded slowly, looking at it again with renewed understanding. "So that's the use."
Josh followed his gaze to Scabbers.
Peter had gone very still.
"Part of it."
Percy accepted that without pressing. The answer fit what he knew about Josh well enough, and there was no reason for him to care beyond that. He gave the cage one last look, then stepped aside to continue down the corridor.
Josh waited until Percy had gone before looking down at the rat.
Scabbers stared back at him through the bars.
Josh adjusted his grip on the handle and started walking.
"Come on," he murmured. "Let's get you some breakfast."
.....
The quickest route to the kitchens took Josh down another two floors and through a corridor not far from the Hufflepuff common room. Scabbers spent most of the walk alternating between absolute stillness and increasingly determined attempts to find a weakness in the cage.
Josh let him.
Peter could chew on the bars until his teeth fell out if he wanted. The charms would hold, and until Josh had somewhere private to deal with him, there wasn't much point acknowledging that his new rat was behaving suspiciously unlike a rat.
The corridor outside the kitchens was empty when Josh reached the painting of the fruit bowl. He tickled the pear, waited for it to giggle, and pulled the resulting green handle.
Warm air carrying the combined smells of coffee, bread, bacon, cinnamon, and several things involving entirely too much butter greeted him when the portrait swung open.
That was more like it.
The Hogwarts kitchens had changed somewhat over the last three years.
Not structurally. They still occupied the enormous chamber directly beneath the Great Hall, with four long tables positioned beneath the corresponding House tables above and fireplaces large enough to roast animals Josh could probably have ridden into battle. The army of house-elves responsible for feeding most of the castle still moved through it with the frightening efficiency required to put several hundred breakfasts on tables at roughly the same time.
The menu, however, had suffered prolonged exposure to an American.
Josh hadn't set out to change anything. He'd merely made the mistake, sometime during his first year, of asking whether they knew how to make pancakes.
They had.
They had known how to make crepes too, which had resulted in Josh spending several minutes explaining that those were not the same damn thing. That conversation had led to another about what he meant by biscuits, because what Britain called a biscuit was a cookie and what Josh called a biscuit was apparently an existential threat to established culinary terminology.
Things had escalated from there.
Three years later, the Hogwarts house-elves could make proper flapjacks, French toast, cinnamon rolls, hash browns, home fries, omelets, breakfast casseroles, country gravy, grits, and biscuits that Josh's grandmother probably wouldn't have considered an insult. Coffee had expanded into an entire category after Josh introduced them to espresso, and the usual pitchers of pumpkin juice now occasionally found themselves competing with orange, apple, and cranberry juice.
There had been experiments.
Chocolate gravy had required considerably more explanation than Josh expected. Peanut butter and jelly had been regarded with deep suspicion right up until several students discovered it made an excellent midnight snack. Thin steaks fried in butter had caught on immediately with students who considered bacon insufficiently carnivorous, while croissants had suffered indignities ranging from chocolate fillings to being sliced open and stuffed with eggs, cheese, and bacon.
Josh maintained that the French would survive.
He wasn't entirely responsible for all of it anymore. Once the house-elves decided something was worth making, they experimented, and once several hundred children discovered new combinations of sugar, butter, meat, bread, and caffeine, cultural exchange became effectively unstoppable.
"Master Joshua!"
Josh turned toward the voice.
A house-elf wearing a neatly folded Hogwarts tea towel hurried toward him from one of the preparation tables, enormous ears bouncing slightly with every step. Josh recognized him immediately.
"Morning, Pip."
"Pip is knowing Master Joshua was coming back, but Pip is not knowing Master Joshua would be coming to kitchens!" Pip said, grinning broadly before his eyes dropped to the cage in Josh's hand. "Master Joshua is having a rat."
"Apparently."
Pip leaned slightly to one side for a better look.
Scabbers backed away from him.
"Pip is thinking rat is not liking kitchens."
Josh looked down at Peter, then around at the ovens, knives, open flames, and several hundred pounds of food being prepared around them. "Can't imagine why."
Pip's ears twitched with amusement. "Is Master Joshua wanting breakfast? Pip can make biscuits and gravy. Or steak and eggs. Cinnamon rolls is nearly ready."
Josh's stomach gave the offer serious consideration.
He hadn't eaten anything except Flitwick's cupcake since returning to Hogwarts, and somewhere nearby bacon was sizzling beside potatoes fried with enough garlic, black pepper, and butter to qualify as chemical warfare before sunrise.
"In a minute," he decided. "Actually came down here for him."
Pip looked at the cage again. "For rat?"
"Yep." Josh lifted it slightly. "I need a Full English."
Pip blinked.
"For rat?"
"Rat-sized Full English."
For a moment Pip simply stared at him.
Josh started counting the components off on his fingers. "Sausage, bacon, fried egg, tomato, mushrooms, black pudding. Toast with baked beans on it."
"Beans on toast," Pip repeated carefully.
"Apparently that's important."
Pip looked from Josh to the rat and then back again. "Master Joshua is wanting Pip to make tiny English breakfast for rat."
"When you say it like that, it sounds weird."
Pip's expression suggested that changing the way he said it was unlikely to solve the underlying problem.
Josh grinned. "Think you can do it?"
Pip drew himself upright with all the wounded professional dignity of a chef whose abilities had just been questioned. "Pip can make breakfast for anything."
"There we go."
Scabbers remained pressed against the bars at the rear of his cage.
Josh looked down at him.
"See? You're in good hands."
....
Pip made good on his promise.
A few minutes later, Josh left the kitchens carrying considerably more food than he'd gone in intending to acquire. His own breakfast had somehow joined the order despite his initial insistence that he could wait until the Great Hall opened, an argument Pip had dismissed with the kind of determined hospitality that made Josh suspect house-elves and Southern grandmothers had independently discovered the same fundamental laws of feeding people.
Peter's breakfast occupied a plate small enough to fit comfortably through the door of his cage.
Pip had taken rat-sized as a professional challenge.
The sausage was barely longer than Josh's thumb joint, accompanied by a narrow strip of bacon, a tiny fried egg, a slice of fried tomato, one mushroom, a piece of black pudding, and a square of toast covered properly with baked beans. It was ridiculous.
It was also, Josh had to admit, kind of impressive.
Rather than take everything upstairs only to come back down again for the morning post, Josh found a quiet place not far from the Great Hall where he could wait. A broad window overlooked the grounds from an alcove off the entrance hall, with enough room along the stone beneath it to sit comfortably without planting himself directly in the path of students beginning to make their way toward breakfast.
The morning had brightened considerably since he'd arrived. Sunlight was beginning to reach across the grounds, catching on the distant surface of the Black Lake while the last traces of mist lingered closer to the water.
Josh set the cage beside him.
"Ah, here we go. Nice, lovely view to enjoy breakfast."
Peter stared at him.
Josh opened the small access door and slid the plate inside, careful to leave Scabbers plenty of room to reach it without giving him anything resembling an opportunity to escape. Peter immediately retreated to the opposite side of the cage.
"Suit yourself."
Josh settled back with his own breakfast and took his first proper bite of the morning. For a little while, he simply ate and watched the grounds.
Scabbers did not.
Josh noticed without acknowledging it. Peter remained pressed near the rear of the cage, his attention moving between Josh, the food, and the corridor beyond them. Whether he was trying to work out why Joshua Myrddin had traded a perfectly good owl for him or merely searching for another avenue of escape, Josh couldn't say.
Probably both.
Josh looked at the little plate again.
Something was missing.
Ah. No tea.
He considered going back.
Forget it. I'm not going back to the kitchens for a pot of the stuff first thing in the morning. I swear, Pip would go straight to Flitwick or McGonagall and tell them something was wrong with me.
The thought made him smile.
Still, Peter needed something to drink.
Josh glanced toward his bag.
I have just the thing.
He reached inside and pulled out a bottle of real Irish whiskey.
Peter stopped moving.
"Oh, don't look at me like that."
There was, admittedly, a slight problem with the plan. Josh hadn't thought to ask Pip for anything resembling a rat-sized cup, and pouring whiskey into the water dish would ruin the presentation.
His eyes wandered across the floor until he spotted an acorn that had somehow found its way inside the castle. Josh picked it up, turned it between his fingers, then drew his wand.
A quick bit of Transfiguration turned the acorn into a tiny ceramic cup complete with a handle far too small for any human finger.
Perfect.
Josh poured enough whiskey into it to qualify as a generous serving by rat standards, then carefully placed it beside Peter's breakfast.
"There." He leaned back again and regarded the finished arrangement with satisfaction. "Now eat up, Peter. You've got a big day ahead of you."
The reaction was immediate.
Scabbers went completely still.
Not the ordinary stillness of a frightened animal. Peter had done plenty of that already. This was different. His body seemed to lock around the name, every previous attempt to maintain even the appearance of being an ordinary rat disappearing in an instant.
Josh took another bite of his breakfast.
He didn't say anything else.
There wasn't anything else Peter needed to hear yet.
The castle continued waking around them. A few students passed through the entrance hall on their way toward the Great Hall, most paying Josh no more attention than a sleepy greeting or curious glance at the cage beside him. Josh returned the greetings when appropriate and otherwise continued eating.
Then came the first flutter of wings.
Josh heard them before he saw them, the sound multiplying rapidly as owls began entering the castle with the morning post. Several continued toward the Great Hall, carrying letters and parcels for students who would shortly be sitting beneath them, while others broke away toward destinations elsewhere in the castle.
One came directly toward Josh.
He recognized the Daily Prophet rolled beneath its leg before the owl landed beside him.
"Morning."
The owl extended its leg.
Josh relieved it of the newspaper, and after satisfying whatever arrangement handled the delivery, watched the bird launch itself back into the air and disappear toward the rest of the morning traffic.
Peter hadn't taken his eyes off the paper.
That was interesting.
Josh unrolled it.
The front page filled his vision.
Sirius Black's photograph occupied enough space that there was no possibility of mistaking the subject, and the headline above it was exactly the sort of thing Josh had expected after the previous several days.
He read enough to confirm that nothing had changed overnight before lowering the paper.
Then he looked at Peter.
Scabbers had finally abandoned the back of the cage.
Not for the breakfast.
For the newspaper.
Josh folded it until the front page was clearly visible and propped it beside the cage at an angle Peter could easily read.
"Figured you might want to catch up."
The rat stared through the bars.
Josh returned to his breakfast.
For several seconds, the only sound from inside his head was silence.
Then the System spoke.
SYSTEM: Why are you treating the rat so well?
Josh paused halfway through another bite.
Hospitality.
SYSTEM: Hospitality.
The incredulity somehow came through perfectly despite the lack of an audible voice.
Josh glanced sideways.
Peter was staring at a newspaper announcing that Sirius Black had been exonerated while sitting beside a miniature Full English breakfast and a rat-sized cup of Irish whiskey.
SYSTEM: You communicated to me less than an hour ago that you know exactly who that is.
Yep.
SYSTEM: Peter Pettigrew.
That's the one.
SYSTEM: The Peter Pettigrew currently reading about the exoneration of the man who spent nearly ten years in Azkaban because of him.
Josh took another bite and chewed.
Southern hospitality.
The System was quiet for a moment.
Josh could almost feel it judging him.
Look, I'm American. I believe a man on death row deserves a proper last meal.
SYSTEM: He isn't on death row.
Same principle.
Josh glanced at Peter again. The rat still hadn't touched anything. His entire attention remained fixed on the Prophet, small eyes moving across what portion of the front page he could see.
Besides, what's he supposed to do, tell me what he wants? He's a rat right now.
SYSTEM: He could stop being a rat.
And immediately discover why I put him in an unbreakable cage.
That earned another brief silence.
Josh looked at the miniature breakfast.
I doubt he's had sausage, bacon, fried egg, black pudding, mushrooms, tomato, beans on toast, and good Irish whiskey while hiding in the Weasleys' house for almost ten years. Least I can do is give the bastard a decent breakfast before I hand him over.
SYSTEM: You have an unusual interpretation of hospitality.
Josh took a drink.
You ain't from the South.
The System had no immediate response to that.
Josh smiled faintly and returned his attention to the paper while Peter Pettigrew continued reading about the world collapsing around him.
Josh gave him another minute, but Peter still hadn't touched the breakfast or the whiskey. Josh found the latter mildly disappointing considering he'd gone through the trouble of making the little cup, but the newspaper clearly had Peter's complete attention.
Josh finished the last of his own breakfast while Peter worked his way through what he could see of the front page. The Prophet had apparently decided that restraint was inappropriate when reporting one of the largest judicial failures in recent Ministry history. Sirius Black had been imprisoned without trial, evidence presented before the Wizengamot had overturned the official account surrounding the Potters' betrayal, and Peter Pettigrew, long remembered as one of Black's victims, was now wanted for questioning in connection with the events of October thirty-first, 1981.
The public version didn't contain everything, but it didn't need to. Josh turned through the paper until he found the continuation on page four, where the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had issued a warrant for Peter Pettigrew. He folded the newspaper again and positioned the relevant article where Peter could see it through the bars. "Here. This one's about you."
Peter crossed the cage so quickly that one of his hind feet clipped the edge of the tiny plate. The little cup rocked beside it, and Josh reached through the access door to steady it before the whiskey spilled. "Careful. That's the good stuff."
Peter ignored him, and Josh withdrew his hand and let him read. He didn't need to threaten Peter, demand a confession, or indulge in some dramatic speech about James and Lily Potter. He'd already called him by name. Peter knew exactly where he stood with Josh. The newspaper was simply filling in everything that had happened while he'd been hiding inside Hogwarts. Sirius was free, the Ministry knew Peter might be alive, and the DMLE was looking for him. Whatever plans Peter might have started making from the moment Josh traded Percy an owl for him had just become considerably more complicated.
A soft chime sounded inside Josh's head.
QUEST UPDATE: BLACK VEIL, BLACKER CELLProgress: 99%
Josh paused halfway through another bite. Oh, come on.
SYSTEM: What?
Ninety-nine?
SYSTEM: That is the number displayed, yes.
I've got him.
SYSTEM: You do.
Josh glanced sideways at the cage. Peter had both front paws against the bars now, his nose almost touching the newspaper. He's literally sitting next to me.
SYSTEM: Also true.
Sirius is free. Peter's alive. The Ministry knows he's alive. There's a warrant out for him. What the hell is the other one percent?
SYSTEM: Would you like me to answer that question?
Josh stopped. That was never a good sign. No.
SYSTEM: Wise.
Josh narrowed his eyes. You're enjoying this.
SYSTEM: Immensely.
Asshole.
SYSTEM: System 384. Josh 42.
Josh stared straight ahead. There is no fucking way you've been keeping score.
SYSTEM: There is now.
That's not how keeping score works.
SYSTEM: System 385. Josh 42.
Oh, fuck you.
SYSTEM: 386.
Josh had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing where the handful of students now crossing the entrance hall could see him sitting beside a caged rat and apparently losing an argument with himself.
He looked back down at the newspaper and considered the stubborn ninety-nine percent. Peter had been found, Sirius had been exonerated, the Ministry had reopened the matter and issued a warrant, and Josh had the actual fugitive secured in a cage he wasn't getting out of without help. The problem wasn't finding Peter anymore. It was what happened to him next.
Dragging the cage directly into the Great Hall and announcing that he'd found Peter Pettigrew would certainly get results, but it would also create exactly the sort of circus Josh wanted to avoid. Half the school would know about it before breakfast ended, and Josh had no desire to turn Peter's arrest into entertainment for several hundred students.
The obvious alternative was Dumbledore.
Josh considered that for all of two seconds.
Nope.
He didn't know the Headmaster well enough.
That was really the beginning and end of the problem. Josh had attended Hogwarts for nearly three years, but he'd had surprisingly little direct interaction with Albus Dumbledore. He knew the man's reputation, knew what his recovered memories said about him, and had spent the last eight days discovering that the real world was considerably more complicated than the version he'd once encountered through books and movies.
He also still hadn't figured out what the hell was wrong with this school.
There was something there. Too many things about Hogwarts and the way magical children were handled didn't quite fit together properly, but Josh didn't have enough information yet to decide where institutional stupidity ended, where tradition began, and where individual people were actually responsible. Dumbledore was sitting somewhere in the middle of that unanswered question, and Josh wasn't going to pretend he'd already reached a verdict.
That didn't mean he was willing to hand Peter over to him.
Josh looked at the rat pressed against the bars.
The problem wasn't that he expected Dumbledore to deliberately help Peter escape. That would be ridiculous.
The problem was that Josh could very easily imagine the old man deciding Peter deserved an opportunity to explain himself.
Maybe he did.
Josh wasn't particularly interested in debating the philosophy of it before breakfast.
What concerned him was what came immediately before the explanation.
Opening the cage.
Peter was an unregistered Animagus who had successfully hidden from the entire magical government for almost ten years by pretending to be a rat. Josh currently had him inside an enchanted cage he'd already proven incapable of escaping. Opening that cage anywhere inside Hogwarts because somebody wanted to have a compassionate conversation with him struck Josh as an excellent way to spend the rest of the day searching several hundred thousand square feet of magical castle for one terrified rodent.
That assumed Peter stayed a rodent.
If he transformed the instant the door opened, things became considerably more annoying.
Yeah. Fuck that.
The cage stayed closed.
Fortunately, Josh had another option that didn't require gambling on what Dumbledore would or wouldn't do.
Amelia Bones already knew the case. She had been there for Sirius's hearing, knew exactly how badly the Ministry had failed the first time, and now headed the department whose warrant was printed on page four of the newspaper sitting beside Josh. More importantly, Josh trusted her to understand one very simple principle.
When someone handed you a fugitive who had successfully hidden as a rat for almost ten years, you didn't open the damn cage until you had somewhere considerably more secure to put him.
Josh reached into his bag and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. Peter noticed immediately, abandoning the Prophet long enough to watch Josh rest the parchment against a book from his bag.
"Don't mind me."
That didn't seem to reassure him.
Amelia didn't need much explanation. She knew who Josh was, knew what had happened at Sirius's hearing, and now had a warrant sitting in the morning paper with Peter's name attached to it. Josh dipped the quill and wrote.
Director Bones,
I have Peter Pettigrew alive and secured at Hogwarts. He is currently in Animagus form and contained in an enchanted cage he has been unable to escape.
Please send someone you trust to take custody of him.
Joshua E. Myrddin
Josh read the letter once. Short, clear, and difficult to misunderstand. Good enough.
He folded the parchment and looked toward the morning owl traffic still passing through the castle. One of the school owls had landed nearby after completing its delivery, and Josh coaxed it over before securing the letter to its leg. "Amelia Bones, Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
The owl launched itself into the air. Peter followed it with his eyes, and Josh watched with him as the bird climbed into the thinning stream of morning post and disappeared from sight.
The chime sounded before he could turn back.
QUEST COMPLETE: BLACK VEIL, BLACKER CELLProgress: 100%
Josh smiled. There it is.
The notification expanded.
OBJECTIVES COMPLETESirius Black ExoneratedTruth of the Potter Betrayal EstablishedPeter Pettigrew LocatedPeter Pettigrew SecuredLawful Custody Arranged
Josh's attention lingered on the last one. That's what I was missing.
SYSTEM: Congratulations. You have discovered that capturing a fugitive and actually turning him over to the authorities are separate activities.
System 386. Josh 43.
There was a pause before the System answered.
SYSTEM: I will allow it.
Damn right.
The objectives collapsed and the rewards replaced them.
QUEST REWARDS5,000 EXPBlack Vault Priority AccessInherited Black Family Magic
The first two were exactly what the Quest Log had promised, but Josh's attention settled on the third. All right. What does that actually mean?
Another soft chime answered him.
PHYSICAL REWARD DEPOSITED TO INVENTORY
That was familiar enough. Josh opened his Inventory and immediately found a new item occupying one of the spaces. It was a book rather than a skill or another sudden addition to the increasingly absurd collection of knowledge already rattling around inside his head.
Well, that's reassuring.
SYSTEM: Your standards for reassurance have become concerning.
I've had a weird week.
Josh selected the book and withdrew it from his Inventory, its weight settling into his hands as it became physically present.
His first impression was that it somehow managed to look both ancient and new.
The black leather binding was beautifully finished, supple rather than cracked, with clean stitching and corners that showed none of the wear expected from a volume containing generations of family history. The Black family crest had been worked directly into the cover without excessive ornamentation, the impression deep and sharp enough that Josh could trace every line beneath his thumb. Nothing about the exterior looked like it had spent centuries gathering dust on a shelf.
The pages were another matter.
Josh opened the book and immediately found parchment that varied dramatically from one section to the next. Some pages looked almost new, while others bore the unmistakable character of age despite remaining perfectly intact. The ink changed constantly, as did the handwriting. Some entries were written in scripts old enough that Josh had to slow down to read them, while others were covered in corrections, annotations, arguments, additions, and notes squeezed into margins by people who had apparently considered blank parchment an unacceptable waste of available space.
Josh turned several pages before looking more closely at the book in his hands. What the hell? This isn't one person's grimoire.
SYSTEM: Correct.
It wasn't merely a spellbook. It was a family record of practical magic, assembled from generations of Black witches and wizards who had added their own work to whatever their predecessors left behind. Spells developed by members of House Black sat beside enchantments modified by their descendants. Rituals carried warnings from people who had apparently learned those warnings the hard way, and older workings sometimes had entire families of variations branching away from the original with explanations of why one worked better than another under particular circumstances.
There were sections on dueling magic, wards, household enchantments, curses, counter-curses, ritual work, protective magic, and enough other material that Josh quickly realized he'd lose days if he started seriously reading it now.
Then a name stopped him.
Charlus Potter.
Josh stared at it. No fucking way.
He read the heading again before moving into the accompanying notes. Several entries carried Charlus's name and identified the spells as his own creations, gifted to his brother-in-law over the course of the war with Grindelwald. They weren't Black family magic in the strictest sense. They were Potter magic that had entered the Black collection through family, friendship, and a war in which apparently nobody had cared much about maintaining neat divisions between who invented what when the alternative was getting killed.
Josh read enough of the first spell to become dangerously interested before reminding himself that he had class. He turned farther into the volume, where the handwriting changed dramatically along with the maturity level.
Josh's eyebrows climbed as he found an entire collection of original prank spells, modifications, experiments, and increasingly questionable marginal notes bearing four very familiar names.
James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.
Josh slowly raised his eyes over the top of the grimoire.
Peter was still inside the cage, staring back at him.
Josh looked down at the page again. Well, that's awkward.
SYSTEM: System 387. Josh 43.
That wasn't even a point.
SYSTEM: It amused me.
You're making the rules up as you go.
SYSTEM: Now you're learning.
Josh shook his head and returned to the front of the grimoire, where he finally noticed something he'd skipped when the contents caught his attention.
The dedication page was pristine. Unlike the accumulated handwriting throughout the rest of the volume, two messages occupied the page in fresh ink, each written in a different hand. The first was unmistakably formal.
Joshua Myrddin,
In recognition of services rendered to House Black and to this family as a whole, you are hereby granted unrestricted access to the Black Family Grimoire, a privilege ordinarily reserved to the Lord Black, the recognized Heir, and one Chosen Person entrusted with such access by the Head of House.
May the knowledge preserved by our family serve you as faithfully as you have served ours.
Arcturus Black
Josh read it twice before moving to the second message.
Sirius had used considerably fewer words.
Josh,
You gave me back my name, my freedom, and the chance to actually have a life after almost ten years of everyone believing I was a murderer.
Grandfather says this is appropriate.
I say it's nowhere near enough.
Thank you.
Sirius
Josh remained on the page for several seconds.
That hit differently.
The System had presented the grimoire as a quest reward, but the dedication made it clear that the access itself hadn't simply been fabricated from nowhere. Arcturus and Sirius had chosen to grant it. The System had taken that permission, along with the knowledge Josh was now entitled to access, and delivered it in a form he could actually keep.
It also explained the strange combination of old and new. The contents carried the accumulated history of the Black family grimoire, complete with the original handwriting, annotations, additions, and contributions preserved across generations. The physical volume in Josh's hands was his, a new book containing very old things.
Josh closed it carefully and ran his thumb across the Black crest. Okay. That's a damn good reward.
SYSTEM: System 388. Josh 43.
Josh frowned. For what?
SYSTEM: Gratitude.
I said the reward was good. I didn't thank you.
SYSTEM: System 389. Josh 43.
Fuck off.
Josh returned the grimoire to his Inventory before the System could award itself another point for that too. There would be plenty of time to investigate it later, and probably considerably less sleep once he started.
For now, Hogwarts was properly waking around him. Breakfast was beginning in the Great Hall, he had classes to attend, and Peter Pettigrew was still sitting beside him with an untouched Full English and a tiny cup of Irish whiskey.
Josh looked into the cage. Peter looked back at him, apparently having decided that neither food nor alcohol ranked particularly high among his current concerns.
"Seriously, man. Eat something."
Peter didn't.
Josh shrugged and began gathering the remains of his own breakfast. His first morning back at Hogwarts wasn't even properly underway yet.
A muffled bang sounded somewhere above the entrance hall, followed a few seconds later by the unmistakable laughter of Fred and George Weasley. Josh looked toward the ceiling as a series of paintings began loudly complaining about "those bloody twins" to anyone willing to listen.
Eight days away, his entire understanding of the world turned upside down, and apparently some things hadn't changed at all.
Josh smiled.
"The more they stay the same."