Running into Filch wasn't exactly a surprise for Charles Gold. After all, whether it was day or night, that man haunted the castle like a restless ghost, endlessly patrolling its corridors.
When Filch realized Charles wasn't one of the students he usually preyed upon, he immediately lost interest.
Charles was just about to part ways when Filch suddenly muttered, "Professor Gold, you shouldn't be damaging Hogwarts property."
"Just borrowing it for a while. I'll return it soon," Charles replied calmly, lifting up the transformed cage in his hand. "Can't blame me for catching a sneaky little pest, can you?"
A sneaky pest?A rat?
Filch looked like he wanted to say something, but when he remembered who he was talking to, he thought better of it and shuffled away in silence.
Charles ignored him and began walking toward the Headmaster's office, the cage swinging lightly at his side. Some old, long-buried injustices were finally about to be overturned. If Snape knew what was coming, he would no doubt be pleased.After all, this was about an old "friend."
By the time Charles reached the entrance to Dumbledore's office, he suddenly realized—he didn't know today's password.
"Changed again? That old man really isn't worried about forgetting it himself one of these days," Charles muttered. Dumbledore changed his password more often than all the House common rooms combined. Thankfully, his choices were usually easy to guess—mostly sweets or sugary drinks.
"Cockroach Cluster.""Chocolate Frog.""Sugar Quill?"
He listed off several wizarding treats he could remember, but the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance remained motionless.
Then, from behind him, a familiar, kindly voice spoke up:"Today's password is 'Cream Puff.' Remember? You sent me some for Christmas two years ago. I haven't had any since."
Dumbledore was holding a small tray of fruit, smiling as he approached.
At his words, the stone gargoyle shifted aside, revealing the spiral staircase within.
"Ah, Dumbledore—you were outside? When did you get here?" Charles asked.
"Not long ago," Dumbledore chuckled. "Just in time to hear you call me senile." He walked past Charles, stepping into the elevator with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "Come along."
Charles followed without so much as a blush. If he didn't act embarrassed, then Dumbledore would be the only one feeling awkward.
"So," Dumbledore began as they ascended, "what brings you to me this late at night? Don't tell me that rat is a gift for me. I doubt Fawkes would find it appetizing."
"In a way, it is a gift. But whether you'll be happy about it… that's another matter."
As they stepped into the office, a grumpy voice grumbled from one of the portraits on the wall:"The little Dark Lord returns! Come to gift Dumbledore another horrid little sheep to gnaw on our precious books, no doubt."
Charles shot a glance toward the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, but the old headmaster had already shut his eyes, feigning sleep.
'You old fraud. We'll see how long you can keep up that act later,' Charles thought, rolling his eyes. He knew perfectly well how much this irritable portrait cared for his great-great-grandson. The Black family line was thinning fast—Sirius was the only male heir left in the world.
Dumbledore settled into his chair. Fawkes, now looking frail and nearly bald, dozed drowsily on his perch, his feathers dim. The phoenix's next rebirth was clearly near.
Across the room, a fluffy yellow Mareep was chewing on a pile of papers, looking up with bright eyes as Charles entered. It bleated happily and trotted over, nuzzling his leg, static crackling from its wool.
"Normally, I only let it eat a few copies of The Daily Prophet—hardly priceless literature," Dumbledore remarked cheerfully, countering Phineas's complaint. He waved a piece of fruit to lure the Mareep away. "Now, don't mind him. Tell me—what's this about?"
"It's not exactly my matter, but I think you'll find it important," Charles said, setting the cage on the Headmaster's desk. With a flick of his wand, he lifted the Transfiguration charm.
Instantly, the rat inside—Scabbers—tried to bolt. But he was nowhere near fast enough.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The Full Body-Bind Curse froze him mid-motion. The rat stiffened and toppled onto the desk like a lifeless stone.
"This is…" Dumbledore's eyes flickered with dawning realization. It took him only a few seconds to reach the correct conclusion. "An Animagus?"
"Exactly. And an illegal one at that. I think you'll be quite surprised when you see who."
Charles' wand emitted a blue glow, enveloping the frozen rat. Scabbers floated into the air, swelling rapidly, his form distorting, shifting—until a pudgy, short-limbed man materialized and crashed awkwardly to the floor.
Even Dumbledore, usually the picture of composure, stood stunned.
"Well, look at that," Charles said with a touch of mockery. "The hero returns."
His wand still pointed steadily at the trembling man—Peter Pettigrew—whose eyes darted wildly in terror. The curse left him completely paralyzed, unable even to express his fear, though his mind screamed with it.
To him, it felt like being dragged back to the days under Voldemort's reign of terror.
"Peter Pettigrew," Dumbledore pronounced the name slowly, each syllable heavy with disbelief.
Who could have imagined that the man once awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class—believed dead, hailed as a war hero—would reappear before him in such a disgraceful form?
And with that realization came another: ten years ago, Sirius Black's conviction had been a terrible mistake.
"It seems I'll have to write a letter to Fudge," Dumbledore said gravely. "Sirius's case must be retried."
"Perhaps a little Veritaserum would make things simpler," Charles suggested lightly. A small dose wouldn't harm Pettigrew—but it would make him tell the truth.
Dumbledore shook his head at once. "The Ministry banned the use of Veritaserum years ago. Call for Harry, will you? He has the right to know."
(End of Chapter)