As Aurors, they were often among the most outstanding and elite wizards in the magical world.
When the dark clouds in the sky grew heavier and the lightning more brilliant, they had already prepared in advance.
Though the chance of being struck by lightning was slim, it wasn't impossible.
Crack!
A bolt of lightning split the sky, landing precisely atop the carriage. A silvery-white protective shield flickered briefly before the two forces collided... and ultimately dissolved into nothing.
The Auror driving the carriage, exercising caution, quickly guided the Thestrals to a lower altitude, skimming the ground as though running across water.
But this inevitably reduced their speed.
Just as the instigator had intended.
The black-robed, hooded figure's form twisted and vanished from the spot, only to reappear atop the moving carriage.
Thud!
Inside the carriage, Parker clearly heard the loud 'thud' from above. His expression changed, and he immediately shouted, "Malat! Michelle! Enemy attack! On the carriage roof!"
The two Aurors outside had barely looked up when the reins in their hands suddenly transformed into thick, venomous snakes that struck at their necks.
"Diffindo!"
The carriage roof shattered into countless pieces as the hooded figure descended from above. Parker reacted swiftly, firing several silent spells, but his curses were effortlessly deflected.
The enemy moved with ruthless efficiency, kicking Parker squarely in the chest before wrenching his wand from his grip.
In a hoarse voice, the hooded figure said, "Stay quiet, Auror. You're lucky—today, I'm not in the mood to kill."
With that, he flicked a Stunning Spell, knocking Parker unconscious, then seized Peter Pettigrew and Apparated away from the carriage.
...
Dozens of miles away, on a desolate island, the hooded figure reappeared.
Peter Pettigrew, still gagged, could only whimper through the muzzle, his beady eyes wide with terror as they fixed on the hooded man.
Being rescued from the Aurors and spared a trip to Azkaban didn't fill Peter with relief...
Only fear!
What if this was Snape?
He couldn't imagine anyone else in the world—aside from Snape, who surely wanted to torture him—taking such a risk to save him.
If it were Snape, he'd rather be sent to Azkaban.
Take me back! Take me back!
Peter screamed inwardly.
But when the hooded man removed his cloak, revealing his face, Peter froze in confusion...
Who was this?
A young man, no older than seventeen or eighteen, not even of his generation. Why would he rescue him?
Had he used Polyjuice Potion to hide his true identity?
The hooded man offered no explanation. Instead, he studied the collar and muzzle around Peter's neck, quickly deciphering their mechanisms and destroying both.
He also removed the shackles binding Peter's limbs.
"Thank you, sir," Peter said humbly once he regained his mobility.
"Do you know who I am?" the mysterious youth asked.
Peter, ever shrewd, replied, "You are my saviour... and the one who needs my power."
"You could say that," the mysterious young man said noncommittally with a nod. "But I should introduce myself first... My name is Tom Riddle."
"Perhaps that name isn't familiar to you, but you'll certainly know my other name."
Tom abruptly seized Peter Pettigrew's left arm, tore off his sleeve, and pressed his wand against the Dark Mark.
Instantly, Pettigrew's face twisted in horror. His left arm burned as if scalded, the Dark Mark writhing to life—the serpent slithering relentlessly through the skull's hollow sockets.
"My lord!"
His legs gave way, and he collapsed to his knees, frantically kissing Tom's shoes.
"This is wonderful! You've returned, my master! I always believed you would come back to lead us lost sheep..."
At this moment, Pettigrew played the part of the most devoted servant, tears streaming down his face as if genuinely ecstatic about the Dark Lord's return.
"Get up, Peter." Tom shifted his foot away in disgust. "I am him... yet not him."
An unseen force hauled the bewildered Pettigrew upright.
"My lord, what do you mean?"
"Don't call me 'lord.' Voldemort is Tom Riddle, but Tom Riddle is not Voldemort."
Tom smiled gently—a smile that struck Pettigrew as oddly familiar.
"You could say... I am his past self, resurrected through certain means. The master you knew remains a wraith, drifting in some shadowy corner, consorting with wild creatures."
"Perhaps one day he'll return. Or perhaps... never."
Peter grew even more confused by this convoluted explanation. Hesitantly, he asked, "Then how should I address you?"
"Comrade.'"
Peter gaped. Him? Addressing the Dark Lord as 'comrade'?
"Peter... I understand you perfectly." Tom patted Peter's shoulder, his gaze brimming with sympathy.
"People accuse you of betraying friends, of becoming the Dark Lord's lapdog. But who realises you were just an ordinary man with little choice?"
"You only wanted to survive. And what's wrong with that?"
Peter trembled slightly, his eyes reddening uncontrollably.
This was the first time since his betrayal was exposed that someone had spoken from his perspective.
Even if Tom had ulterior motives, these words... they truly echoed Peter's own thoughts!
"Lord Riddle—"
Tom cut him off irritably: "I said call me comrade! At the very least, 'Tom' or 'Riddle' will do."
"Yes... Mr Riddle."
Peter obediently corrected himself.
Tom smiled approvingly before continuing: "Frankly, I don't believe you, Potter, Black and the others were ever real friends!"
He gestured angrily: "They were pureblood princes—wealthy, privileged, born to look down on others. To them, wizards like you exist merely to highlight their superiority!"
"Your 'friendship' was never equal, Peter. Have you considered that even without the Dark Lord, your children would still end up as Harry Potter's lackeys?"
"And they'd never question this injustice. To them, it's simply the natural order."
Peter was completely drawn into the vivid picture Tom was painting, breathing heavily with a fierce glint in his eyes.
"Join me in accomplishing great things, Peter."
Tom gripped his shoulders firmly, their eyes locking. "The Dark Lord took the wrong path. He only saw pure-blood wizards, but I'm different..."
"In my eyes, all wizards should be equal. We shouldn't judge by bloodlines or divide by wealth."
"I will correct this flawed world, eliminate all injustice, and create a truly harmonious wizarding society."
"Will... you help me?"
Tom extended his hand. Peter's beady eyes widened...
Truth be told, every word resonated deeply with him. But context mattered enormously.
In his heart, the man before him was still the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord preaching equality?
He wouldn't believe it even under the Imperius Curse!
Yet reason was one thing, reality another. Did he truly have any choice but to agree?
Having reached this conclusion, Peter adopted an expression of fervent excitement and grasped Tom's hands tightly.
"Comrade Riddle! I'm with you!"
...
Several hours later, three teams of Aurors and Fudge arrived at the isolated island nearest the attack site.
"What in Merlin's name happened!"
Fudge's face was livid as he glared at the three injured Aurors, his jowls trembling with rage that sent spittle flying:
"Who rescued Peter Pettigrew?"
"Minister, the assailant's face was obscured by magic. I couldn't make out any features," Parker said meekly, the only one who'd faced the attacker directly.
"Three against one, and you let a prisoner get rescued! Is this an Auror standard? You'll be guarding Diagon Alley's gates by tomorrow!"
Fudge stripped the three Aurors of their duties through gritted teeth, then ordered Kingsley and others to perform reconstruction spells of the incident.
Just as described, the attacker's face remained indistinct.
"Who could it be..." Fudge frowned deeply.
"Minister, it must have been Death Eaters," Kingsley murmured.
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"
Fudge shook his head violently. "How could there possibly be Death Eaters left? They're all in Azkaban. Our society is perfectly safe."
"Besides, the attacker wasn't wearing the standard silver Death Eater mask. How dare you slander them!"
Kingsley's jaw dropped.
Wait... were they actually defending the criminal now?
Fudge caught his slip and hastily corrected: "I mean, your hypothesis is flawed. The attacker clearly had other motives. It couldn't have been Death Eaters."
"Fine. What's our next move then?" Kingsley reluctantly played along.
Studying the wrecked carriage, Fudge's mind raced until inspiration struck.
"Kingsley, Dawlish." He addressed them solemnly. "This matter requires absolute secrecy."
"Why?" Kingsley objected. "Pettigrew's been rescued. Shouldn't we warn the public for their safety?"
"Certainly not!" Fudge shouted loudly, "This will only cause unnecessary panic! We must capture Peter Pettigrew, but it must be done discreetly—we can't alert the enemy!"
"The fact that he could hide as a rat in the Weasley household for twelve years shows just how cowardly he is. So we still have time!"
The more Fudge spoke, the more convinced he became of his own reasoning. "Upon returning, have all Aurors sign a secrecy spell—no leaking information. Meanwhile, intensify efforts to hunt down the culprit and Peter Pettigrew."
"As long as we catch him before the public finds out, it'll be as if nothing happened."
Minister, is this truly wise?
Kingsley was vehemently opposed internally, but as Fudge's trusted confidant, he couldn't show it outright. Instead, he tactfully suggested, "If the public discovers Peter Pettigrew first, it would deal a severe blow to your authority."
"Then pin all the blame on Azkaban and the Dementors!" Fudge waved dismissively. "In any case, no one must know he was rescued mid-transport."
He patted Kingsley's shoulder meaningfully. "A certain insider once told me something I find quite fitting for this situation... 'An Auror's duty is to make the public believe they're being protected.' Don't you agree, Kingsley?"
Kingsley was dumbstruck...
...
Due to the secrecy spell, the matter was effectively suppressed.
Even Kingsley couldn't disclose it to Dumbledore.
But he could hint at certain truths through other means.
For instance, Aurors suddenly found their workloads significantly increased, and a large-scale rat extermination campaign was launched. Disguised as ordinary sanitation workers, Aurors visited every wizarding household to eliminate rats.
Dumbledore, ever perceptive, quickly grasped Kingsley's implication—the rat had escaped.
Though he deeply disapproved of Fudge's cover-up, he had to concede one point: informing the public would only cause unnecessary panic.
Peter Pettigrew wasn't Voldemort—the entire wizarding world needn't mobilise against him yet.
He also pondered... who could have rescued Pettigrew?
Meanwhile, apart from Dumbledore, Wayne had deduced the truth through his own channels.
In fact, he was even more certain than Dumbledore about the rescuer's identity.
His dear senior, Tom.
None of the three Aurors escorting Pettigrew had been killed. This wasn't the Death Eaters' style, nor Voldemort's.
It could only be Tom—the one who'd made a pact with him.
Trelawney's prophecy was unfolding step by step. The "sharp blade" undoubtedly referred to Peter Pettigrew.
Yet how the betrayal would ultimately manifest remained unclear to Wayne. Still, he had to prepare in advance.
...
Late at night, he arrived at Crouch's residence.
Crouch was visibly surprised by Wayne's unannounced visit.
"Move into the Ministry of Magic tomorrow and stay there for a while."
Wayne stated his request. Crouch agreed without hesitation before asking, "May I know why?"
"Peter Pettigrew has escaped. Did you know?"
"What?" Crouch's composure was shattered. "Where did you hear this? I've heard nothing about it."
"I've told you the prophecy's content before—the servant who breaks free of shackles doesn't refer to your son, but to Peter Pettigrew."
"Fudge must have issued a gag order, reinforced by magical means. No one privy to the information can speak of it. I merely deduced it."
"If you don't believe me, I'll make a trip to Azkaban tonight."
"That's not what I meant." Crouch hastily grabbed Wayne's arm to stop him from leaving. "I just... find it hard to accept. And even if he escaped, what does that have to do with me?"
"If anyone should be confronted, it ought to be Fudge, no?"
Wayne hesitated before saying, "I know of a... quasi-prophecy. There's a high probability you'll die by your son's hand."
"And the one who released him... was Peter Pettigrew."
Crouch fell silent.
He wasn't doubting Wayne's words—only grappling with the strangely complex emotions this outcome stirred in him.
Shock warred with... something disturbingly akin to relief?
Ever since he'd smuggled Barty Jr. out of Azkaban, each day had been fraught with torment.
This twisted relationship, prolonged indefinitely, would only harm them both.
After a long pause, Crouch composed himself, regaining his usual steadiness.
"You don't intend to intervene?"
"Correct." Wayne nodded. "If Barty Jr. is rescued, it's almost certainly Voldemort's doing. Whichever version it is, I'll need a tracker near him."
Though puzzled by the "which Voldemort" remark, Crouch grasped Wayne's meaning.
After brief consideration, Crouch agreed: "At dawn, I'll relocate to my Ministry office. I'll take Winky with me, only permitting her to deliver meals once daily."
"Good decision."
Wayne smiled, suddenly recalling his earlier promise to Crouch. He tossed Slytherin's Locket to him.
"This is a processed Horcrux. You can play with it for a while, but you'll have to return it to me later."
Crouch took it, gripping it tightly. When he saw Slytherin's name engraved upon it, his expression became somewhat peculiar:
"Are all of Voldemort's Horcruxes relics of the Founders?"
"Mostly. There are even more outrageous ones—you'll find out later."
Wayne showed no intention of elaborating further. Instead, he stood up and headed towards the basement.
He wouldn't be able to torment Barty Crouch Jr. for quite some time after this, so today he had to unwind properly...