Hermes hadn't gone peacefully—anyone could tell that if he had the strength, he'd have gladly flayed Louis alive.
Unfortunately for him, he didn't.
Still, even though Hermes was gone, he had left Louis with a head full of knowledge.
That knowledge couldn't possibly be false. Hogwarts's library might not contain the detailed methods behind it, but it certainly held the verified results.
Besides, Louis relied more on ordinary magic and his own unique powers as substitutes. Those were the kinds of things that, once exposed, could be understood clearly. There was no complex technical trickery Hermes could have slipped past him.
In addition to knowledge, Louis had also gained something far more practical—the method to control the Room of Requirement.
Not only could he open up an annex beside an existing room, he could now open a door into that room from anywhere within the castle.
"Hermes can be said to have died a worthy death," Louis remarked, giving him a small moment of respect before cleaning up—burning the wooden shards and transferring the still-boiling cauldron into the annex room.
That way, he wouldn't have to worry about the brew being disturbed inside the main Room of Requirement.
Of course, the easiest way would've been to throw it into his storage space. But since time was completely frozen inside that strange nowhere-dimension, the cauldron would simply sit there unchanged, leaving the magician's cloth unaltered.
"This will do. But I still need to find the twins. They haven't given me the Marauder's Map yet."
With that, Louis left the Room of Requirement with Hastur in tow.
It wasn't until that evening in the Great Hall that he spotted the twins eating.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Louis greeted, striding over without a care for the astonished stares that followed him.
After all, everyone dined at their House tables—and Louis, in his Slytherin robes, walking straight to sit at the Gryffindor table looked like a deliberate provocation.
But the students wisely kept silent. Word had spread that Louis was a frighteningly dangerous wizard—so dangerous that even the dark-hearted Slytherins obeyed him obediently.
George and Fred, of course, didn't see him that way. They welcomed him warmly.
That warmth, however, cooled somewhat when Louis asked about the Marauder's Map and Peter Pettigrew.
"So… you lost the Marauder's Map?" Louis arched a brow. "And you didn't find Peter Pettigrew either?"
"Yeah… as embarrassing as it is to admit, we really did lose it," George sighed heavily. "It's all Fred's fault—he brought up Pettigrew in front of Ron. I'd bet anything that rat was right there in Ron's dormitory at the time."
"Don't pin it on me! You agreed with me when I suggested it," Fred shot back.
"What are you two talking about?" At that moment, Ron and Harry, still buzzing with excitement, walked over. Ron exclaimed, "Do you know? Harry's been approved to join the Quidditch team!"
Harry flushed in embarrassment. He was happy, of course, but Ron's loud announcement made it feel mortifying.
"We knew ages ago. Wood told us."
Fred and George grinned, mocking Ron for being behind on the news.
"You all knew already?" Ron slumped, then looked toward Louis. "Wilson, did you know?"
"I just found out. But I'm not interested in Quidditch." Louis's gaze shifted to Harry. So fate had given another push—Harry had still found the thing he excelled at.
"You're not interested in Quidditch? Impossible! What's more exciting than Quidditch?" Ron exclaimed in disbelief.
"There are plenty of things more exciting. It depends on personal taste."
Louis spoke casually, then spotted the rat wriggling out of Ron's robes. His expression twisted with disgust.
How in Merlin's name could Peter Pettigrew shamelessly burrow into people's clothes like that? Was he some kind of pervert?
No, this was unbearable. He couldn't watch.
Turning back to George and Fred, Louis prompted, "Let's continue our earlier conversation. And then?"
"And then? That's it. The map's gone," George shrugged.
"Map? What map?" Ron asked curiously. Harry, beside him, looked just as puzzled.
"None of your business," George and Fred said in unison, completely dismissing their younger brother.
At that moment, the rat in Ron's lap narrowed its eyes slyly.
It was Peter Pettigrew—an Animagus, a wizard capable of transforming into an animal.
Becoming an Animagus was a branch of Transfiguration, one of the most advanced and perilous forms of the art. Students weren't permitted to learn it, and even adult wizards were discouraged from attempting it by the Ministry of Magic.
In the entire United Kingdom, there were only seven officially registered Animagi. Peter Pettigrew wasn't one of them. He had secretly mastered the transformation while still in school.
Since then, he had lived as a rat, lurking in the Weasley household—first as Percy's pet, then eventually passed down to Ron.
But just a week ago, Ron's older brothers had stormed into his dormitory, tearing the place apart and casting revealing spells everywhere.
When Ron asked what they were doing, the twins had told him they were searching for someone named Peter Pettigrew.
The moment he heard that name, the rat's fur had stood on end. At first, he thought his cover was blown—that they had come for him—and he had nearly bolted in terror.
But soon he realized they didn't actually know the rat was him. They didn't even know who Peter Pettigrew really was.
So how had they learned his name?
The Marauder's Map.
It had to be that. Those damn twins must have stumbled upon the map Harry's father and his friends had created long ago—with Pettigrew, the traitor, among them.
How else could two third-years possibly detect his presence, even calling him by name?
The knowledge that the Marauder's Map had fallen into someone else's hands left Pettigrew sleepless for days. He couldn't even bring himself to eat his beloved Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.
Fearing the twins might soon suspect him, he waited for nightfall, then snuck into their dormitory to steal the map.
Now he was safe. Completely foolproof. And such a powerful tool would surely prove invaluable in the future. No matter how he looked at it, he'd profited.
Just as Peter Pettigrew was gloating in his thoughts, he suddenly heard the Slytherin-clad boy sitting among the Gryffindors say:
"How old is that rat of yours?"
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