— — — — — —
A bottle of Veritaserum—worth quite a lot of money.
Tom winced at Snape's extravagance. What a waste. Just the leftovers could've loosened a dozen tongues if he'd been the one using it.
Still, a full bottle had its perks. After Peter Pettigrew swallowed it all, he looked ready to burst. The potion worked fast.
His once-dazed eyes went glassy, and an unnatural flush spread over his greasy, rat-like face.
Dumbledore rose from his chair and approached him. He waved a hand in front of Peter's eyes. "Peter, it's been a long time. Do you know who I am?"
Peter's head jerked up, trembling uncontrollably. "D–D-Dumbledore."
"Good. And who is he?" Dumbledore pointed at Snape.
"Snape…"
He was just testing whether the Veritaserum had taken effect, but Tom couldn't help clicking his tongue.
Dumbledore's reputation wasn't exactly pristine. Even under truth serum, Peter's voice still carried pure, instinctive fear when he spoke the man's name.
"You must answer all my questions truthfully and in detail," Dumbledore said sternly.
Peter nodded stiffly.
"What happened back then between you and Sirius Black? Why did you survive when everyone thought you were dead? And why did you hide as a rat in the Weasley household?"
Peter answered obediently, voice flat and mechanical: "Sirius didn't kill me. I faked my death. I used a spell the Dark Lord taught me—sacrificed a finger bone, blew up half the street, and turned into a rat in the chaos to escape."
"I was afraid the Dark Lord's enemies would hunt me down after his fall. But I didn't want to leave the wizarding world completely. So I chose the Weasleys."
"Why did you run?" Snape's voice trembled. Hearing that the Dark Lord had taught Peter personally made his chest seize like it was caught in an invisible fist. "Did you have anything to do with the Potters' deaths?"
"It was me… it was me…" A flash of guilt crossed Peter's face—but it vanished quickly.
"The Secret Keeper for the Fidelius Charm wasn't Sirius," Peter said, disturbingly calm. "It was me. Sirius thought no one would ever suspect if it was me. After all 'Who would believe the pathetic useless Peter is the Secret Keeper?' And he and James were right. No one ever did."
"And then you told the Dark Lord," Snape said through clenched teeth, face twisted in fury while tears spilled from his eyes. "You betrayed them—you were their friend!"
"Friend?" Peter laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "No. I was their tagalong. Just like Lupin—only difference is, he didn't care. He was happy just to be included. But me? I was sick of it. Then one day, the Dark Lord caught me…"
His face contorted in terror, body trembling like a leaf. "He said if I didn't give up James and Lily, he'd kill me. I didn't want to die… I wanted to live. I wanted power. Respect."
When he finished, Peter slumped over, limp and silent.
Dumbledore said nothing. Snape was gasping, shaking with rage. Tom leaned back on the sofa, crossing his legs as he watched the three of them—each a study in human drama.
What was he supposed to feel? Honestly… nothing at all.
Finally, Snape snapped. He drew his wand. "Avada—"
"Severus!!"
Dumbledore's robes whipped through the air as he flicked his arm, and a shockwave blasted Snape across the room. He slammed into a bookshelf; dozens of heavy tomes crashed down on his head.
The portraits of former headmasters—who had been pretending to sleep—let out startled gasps.
"What do you think you're doing, Severus?!" Dumbledore strode over and dragged the dazed man out of the pile of books, eyes blazing. "Casting a Killing Curse so casually—before a student, no less?"
"Calm yourself!"
"How can I?!" Snape roared, shoving Dumbledore away and raising his wand again. "He killed Lily! Why stop me? Move aside! I'll kill him—I'll avenge her!"
But before he could act, the books behind him transformed into ropes that lashed out and bound him fast. Dumbledore snatched his wand from his hand in a single motion.
Meeting the old man's sharp furious gaze, Snape froze.
"Tom is still here," Dumbledore said quietly, pressing a firm hand onto Snape's greasy hair. "I won't let you do this in front of a student. You can't kill Peter. He still has his uses. Yes, he's one of Lily's killers—but…"
Dumbledore's eyes hardened. "So are you."
The words hit Snape like a blade through the chest. The light in his eyes went out completely.
Dumbledore didn't look back at him. He exhaled slowly, then turned to Tom—who was watching with a fascinated grin.
"Tom, you've certainly brought me quite the problem. But also—very good news."
"The true criminal will face justice, and the innocent will finally be cleared."
"No need to thank me, Headmaster." Tom shrugged. "Go ahead, talk all you want. Pretend I'm not here."
Dumbledore sighed inwardly. 'This boy….'
"Severus is in no state to continue," he said at last. "You should go back for now, Tom. Come by tomorrow—I want to hear more details about how you found Peter Pettigrew."
"Alright," Tom said, reluctantly standing. But instead of leaving, he rubbed his hands together with a hopeful grin.
"Professor, I did do a good thing, didn't I? About that reward…"
Dumbledore blinked. "Reward? Slytherin already has the House Cup in the bag. What difference would a few more points make?"
"Of course it matters!" Tom shot back, voice rising enough to startle even the broken Snape.
"Points are a reward for my performance. Proof of my effort. Even if Slytherin already has the House Cup in the bag, you don't get to erase what I've done."
Dumbledore rubbed his forehead. All this over a few academic points? He really couldn't understand how someone like Tom—who had already achieved things far beyond any student—could care this much about something so childish.
"Slytherin. Plus five hundred points. On my account." Snape spoke suddenly. Whether Tom knew or not, Snape had delivered his enemy straight to them.
Dumbledore stared at him in silence.
Five hundred points? Your ego must be huge.
Still, Slytherin was already so far ahead it hardly mattered. And if humoring Snape helped keep him stable as Potions Master, Dumbledore would tolerate it.
"Very well," he said finally. "Once everything is concluded, I'll add your points officially."
Only then did Tom leave, fully satisfied.
Five hundred house points meant five hundred credits—one hundred achievement points. And right now, Tom was starved for achievement points to a desperate degree. An SSS legendary teacher costed five thousand. Absolute robbery.
So, he needed Slytherin's performance this term to skyrocket through the roof. That way, when the year-end evaluation came, he'd get a flawless rating—and higher rewards.
...
Tom reached the gargoyle at the entrance of the headmaster's office feeling absurdly cheerful. Even the ugly stone perched there looked kind of endearing.
He gave its stone head a friendly pat. "Didn't you say you wanted to tell me something?"
"Riddle," the gargoyle muttered quietly. "You remember what you promised me, right? I want to go with you."
"…?"
"Buddy, I'm not some street thug forming a gang. I'm a respectable person."
Tom sighed. "You're the headmaster's statue. If you're going to 'go with' anyone, shouldn't it be the headmaster? Why me?"
"No, no." The gargoyle shook its head. "I only serve as Dumbledore's gatekeeper while school's in session. When summer comes, I'm free."
"You said it yourself, the world's so big, time to see it."
Tom blinked. "Dumbledore gives you summers off?"
"Of course." The gargoyle puffed up proudly. "Only summer break, though. Christmas holidays are too short, and students are still around, so no time off then."
"He even pays me fifty Galleons a year. I'll give it all to you if you take me with you."
Tom didn't answer at first. He was seriously considering it.
He did have a few… inconvenient secrets. Connections with Dark Wizards, for example. If that ever got out, he'd have to defect from Konoha—no, Hogwarts—on the spot.
Still… he had promised. Refusing outright would be lame.
Fine, he could take it along. When at home, leave it in the yard. In New York, dump it at Newt's place. In Paris, leave it with Nicolas Flamel. It wouldn't really affect anything.
Decision made, Tom nodded readily.
"No problem, little bro. I'll take you traveling. You'll live the good life, eat all kinds of food."
"Riddle, I can't eat," the gargoyle reminded him flatly.
"I was talking about myself. You can just watch."
"…"
---
Inside the headmaster's office…
Snape and Dumbledore sat facing each other. Snape had regained his composure, though his face looked even colder than before.
"Severus, I apologize for what I said," Dumbledore said quietly.
"No need." Snape let out a low, bitter laugh and clutched his head in both hands. "Why apologize? Because you spoke the truth? I killed Lily. What makes me any different from Pettigrew? We both deserve death."
"But the one who truly deserves death still lives," Dumbledore replied, voice calm but firm. "I know you're not clinging to this world for comfort. You want to finish it—to end him for real. In that, our goals are the same. That is the foundation of our trust."
"You know my trust in you exceeds even Minerva. Especially when it comes to Voldemort. Her nature doesn't suit the dark truths that must be known."
"I still need your help, Severus."
Snape was silent. He pressed thumb and finger into his brow, forcing the fury and grief back down into the depths. His eyes went cold again.
"Say it. What do you want me to do this time?"
"Peter Pettigrew must not die," Dumbledore said softly. "Sirius spent eleven years in Azkaban without ever defending himself. He must believe he killed James and Lily."
"Isn't that the truth?" Snape said, voice dripping with scorn. "Swapping the Secret Keeper out of arrogance—what right did that rat-eyed coward have to hold anyone's life?"
"He is also a murderer. Prison is what he deserves."
Dumbledore shook his head. "If James didn't agree, Sirius could have said nothing. Fate rarely favors the kind."
"Tomorrow, I'll summon Fudge. I need you to brew more Veritaserum. He must see the truth with his own eyes."
Snape snorted but didn't refuse. He only added one condition. "Fine. But tonight, he's mine."
Dumbledore frowned and shook his head.
"Have you forgotten your role?" he said slowly. "You and he are… 'colleagues.' We both know Voldemort will return one day. If you torment Pettigrew too much and Voldemort learns of it, you will be in danger."
"There won't be any problem." Snape stood. Dumbledore noticed his fists clenching tight enough that the knuckles went white.
Snape walked over to the unconscious Pettigrew. With every ounce of strength he had, he smashed his fist across Pettigrew's miserable face. Blood splattered—some his, some Peter's.
"Did you forget how the Marauders treated me?"
Snape's voice was painfully soft, but pure hatred bled through every word. "They used my own spell to hang me from the Whomping Willow's branches. Humiliated me."
"This isn't revenge for Lily. This is repayment for the past."
Dumbledore exhaled slowly. "Go. Just don't destroy his mind."
Dragging Pettigrew like a dead dog, Snape hauled him out of the office.
.
.
.