Peter Pettigrew—better known to most as Wormtail—had once been a member of the same group of four close friends as Harry Potter's father. Yet compared to the other three, he was utterly unremarkable.
And worse—he was a despicable traitor.
It was he who betrayed the secret location of Harry's parents to Voldemort. Without his treachery, even the Dark Lord could never have broken the Fidelius Charm.
When Charles suddenly encountered a rat of that size scurrying through the castle, it nearly slipped past him. Fortunately, he gave it a second glance—and didn't mistake it for an ordinary rodent.
What's this guy doing away from Ron? Why is he wandering around here? Charles hadn't imagined that Peter had been frightened out of hiding by the pack of Houndoom roaming the corridors.
Those little beasts were far more dangerous than Crookshanks ever was.
Peter himself hadn't wanted to run. There was nothing wrong with being a rat—he'd been one for nearly ten years, after all. He was used to it. Living as a rat was better than dying as a man.
But whatever Wormtail might have thought, now that Charles had run into him, he had no intention of letting the creature escape.
The rat kept crawling along, oblivious, until suddenly a force yanked at the back of his neck, hoisting him into the air. His four tiny legs flailed helplessly as he found himself suspended midair.
Only then did he realize—he'd been caught in a Levitation Charm.
The caster was watching him with an amused smile.
A very young face. Peter was sure he'd seen it somewhere before. Then it hit him—The Daily Prophet.
Even after so many years living as a rat, Peter still kept an eye out for any news about his master, Voldemort. When the Dark Lord rose again, he intended to crawl straight back to his side.
A few months earlier, one article in The Daily Prophet had mentioned the words "Dark Lord." Naturally, it caught Peter's attention immediately.
Though the content was nothing like what he'd hoped—there had been no sign of Voldemort's return—he had remembered the name of the person the paper called "the one who might become the third Dark Lord."
And from everything that man had done, even Peter had to admit that his power might rival Voldemort's own. Toppling so many pure-blood families wasn't something any ordinary wizard could do.
Now, that same terrifying Dark Lord in waiting had caught him. Would someone like that capture a filthy, ordinary rat for no reason?
Could he have seen through my disguise?
Once the thought appeared, Peter couldn't stop it. Fear surged within his already-cowardly heart.
Still, he forced himself to play dead, pretending to be just a normal, limp rat.
He clung to one desperate hope: he was an unregistered Animagus. No one but James Potter and his friends had ever known his secret.
Animagus transformations were nearly flawless. Surely, this man couldn't possibly know.
Maybe he had just recognized him as Ron Weasley's pet and wanted to return him—or perhaps he simply didn't like seeing a dirty rat wandering the castle.
But Charles's next words shattered all his illusions.
"Well, well. An unregistered Animagus? How about showing me your true face?"
He hadn't said Peter's name outright, but that one sentence was a death sentence in itself.
The Ministry of Magic was extremely strict about Animagi. Any witch or wizard who managed the transformation was required to register their animal form and traits with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Anyone found unregistered would be immediately sent to Azkaban.
And Peter's case was far worse than that. A supposedly dead hero who had lived on for years disguised as a rat? Once they brought Sirius out and questioned him, it would be clear who had really betrayed James Potter.
It had been him. He had led the Dark Lord straight to them.
Azkaban for life—or worse, a Dementor's Kiss—awaited him. The very thought made Peter quake with terror.
Yet even now, he didn't dare reverse his transformation. Coward that he was, he wouldn't risk it until the very last second.
Charles didn't care what went through his mind. With a flick of his wand, the weapon held by a nearby suit of armor twisted and reshaped into a sturdy iron cage. He dropped Wormtail inside.
The armor rattled indignantly, stamping its feet in protest at being used that way.
Then, from the end of the corridor, came a harsh, grating voice filled with venom.
"Who's there?"
"Destroying school property, are you? Caught you red-handed, you little brats!"
"I keep saying they should never have abolished corporal punishment! Back in my day, I'd have hung the lot of you—"
Argus Filch came stomping forward, ranting furiously. But when his eyes landed on Charles, his tirade stopped cold.
"Good evening, Mr. Filch." Charles didn't particularly like the man, but he had no reason to provoke him either. They were both adults now, working in the same castle. There was no need to sour relations.
"P–Professor Gold! My apologies, I didn't realize it was you," Filch stammered, staring at him with surprise, confusion, and something complicated in his expression.
Argus Filch—a pitiful man consumed by his obsession with magic.
His only joy came from seeing students suffer. Watching those with magical "talent" endure punishment at his hands gave him a twisted sense of comfort.
And the thing he hated most of all was seeing students use magic freely before him—because he himself had none.
During Charles's brief student years, he'd clashed with Filch more than once. The man's temper was infamous, and he operated on a principle of guilty until proven innocent. Even if you hadn't done anything, he'd still bark a few warnings just to vent his frustration.
But Charles had never been one to take bullying quietly.
Suspect me of using magic in the corridor, do you?Then I'll make sure your suspicion comes true.
As he'd always said: when someone suspects you of doing something wrong, you might as well actually do it.
Now, the troublesome student from years past had become a professor—and Filch could no longer speak to him in that old, menacing tone.
(End of Chapter)