Ch 122
"At that moment, my anger burned like an inextinguishable fire. I shouted at Blake, demanding to know why he had betrayed us—but all he gave me in return was manic laughter, followed by the Cruciatus Curse…"
Peter Pettigrew's voice echoed across the stage, rising and falling with practiced emotion. From time to time, enthusiastic applause erupted from the audience. Over the past few days, he had been invited by countless media outlets, all eager to hear him recount that dramatic confrontation from years ago. Much like Lockhart not long before, he had suddenly become a sensational public figure.
These speeches filled his schedule from morning until night, leaving him almost no time to rest.
"Phew…"
Backstage, in the dressing room, Peter Pettigrew finally let out a long breath. It was his way of relaxing after yet another performance. He was growing more accustomed to his current life—and more intoxicated by the endless fame and admiration. He could clearly remember the looks of awe in people's eyes, and even the furtive, flirtatious glances cast by young witches. He wished, more than anything, that he could live like this forever.
But he knew that was impossible.
He had betrayed them back then, and now he was basking in stolen glory. That alone meant he would have to pay a price eventually.
For instance—living with guilt, and being controlled by someone else.
The former was what remained of his conscience; the latter meant that he was never as free as he appeared.
"You seem to be living quite well lately, Peter Pettigrew."
A hoarse adolescent voice suddenly sounded behind him. Peter's body stiffened instantly.
"You seem to have forgotten our agreement. What's wrong—have you grown addicted to being a hero? Do I need to remind you?"
The voice sent a chill straight down Peter's spine. This was a student who quite literally held his life in his hands.
"N-no, of course not. I wouldn't dare forget," Peter said hastily, straightening his posture toward the source of the voice.
Malfoy slowly stepped out from behind a silver-framed full-length mirror. He stopped in front of Peter and looked him over coldly.
"Then explain yourself," Malfoy said flatly. "What exactly are you doing lately? What's the point of wasting valuable time on these meaningless speeches?"
His tone was icy, but Peter could clearly sense the restrained anger beneath it. If he failed to give a satisfactory answer, that anger would erupt and swallow him whole.
"There are too many professors around Harry," Peter said hurriedly. "I can't find any opportunity at all. He doesn't fully trust me yet, and his two friends are always with him. I simply don't have a chance."
As he spoke, a trace of resentment quietly surfaced in his heart.
Now that he was basking in the limelight, why was this boy acting like a madman—targeting Harry, and even trying to find that person?
With Peter's way of thinking, he simply couldn't understand it. He believed in relying on the strong. Concepts like justice and evil meant little to him—otherwise, he would never have betrayed the friend who treated him like a brother. What he had done had smeared Sirius's name and stolen honor that should never have belonged to him.
The student standing before him usually appeared calm and composed, but whenever that person was mentioned, his eyes burned with an unsettling fanaticism.
"We must take revenge for the Dark Lord. After clearing away all obstacles, we will welcome his return."
Peter still remembered Malfoy's expression when he had delivered that mission—like a true madman.
Merlin help me… Have they all gone insane over pureblood status?
Wasn't life good enough now? The wizarding world was peaceful. The one who could not be named had supposedly died long ago. The boy who lived had defeated the darkest wizard in history.
And yet Malfoy wanted to welcome the Dark Lord back.
It was unbelievable.
Peter was terrified. He did not want to give up this glamorous life. Why should he risk everything to seek out a Dark Lord who was barely clinging to existence?
"It would be best if we can kidnap that so-called savior. If not, then we kill him. After that, we find the Dark Lord and restore his rule over the wizarding world."
That was Malfoy's mission—simple, brutal, direct. In practice, it meant becoming a hero, lowering everyone's guard, earning Harry's trust step by step, and then striking at the critical moment.
Seeing the fear written all over Peter Pettigrew's face, Malfoy could almost read his thoughts.
Greedy for comfort and peace, Peter could not bear to give up everything he had now.
And that was precisely what Malfoy needed.
As for that so-called mission—it was, of course, a lie.
Everything Malfoy had done was to completely destroy Voldemort. If Peter Pettigrew had truly been a fanatic like Barty Crouch Jr., Malfoy would never have handled him this way.
He had tailored this "mission" perfectly to Peter's cowardly nature. To be exact, Peter's behavior was exactly what Malfoy required.
After all—who would willingly abandon fame, safety, and admiration, only to return to disgrace for the sake of a vague, uncertain future?
No sane person would.
And Peter Pettigrew was the furthest thing from brave.
Peter was pretending to submit to Malfoy—but Malfoy was doing the same.
Ravenclaw's diadem, Slytherin's locket—these remaining Horcruxes were all in fixed locations and could be destroyed at any time. But what about Nagini?
That serpent, bound to Voldemort, was still hiding somewhere in the forests of Albania, waiting.
Malfoy could expose everything right now. He could even deal with Barty Crouch Jr., who might still be trapped under the Imperius Curse in his own home.
But Voldemort could still return—at any time.
Did Malfoy really believe there was only one resurrection ritual? Bone of the father, flesh of the servant, blood of the enemy? What a joke. To Voldemort, that might simply be the most convenient method.
A man with genius and persistence could never be underestimated. Even if all known resurrection rituals were eliminated, Voldemort could still devise something even darker.
If Voldemort ever succeeded in a Thousand-Blood Sacrifice—or worse, a Ten-Thousand-Blood Sacrifice—and returned, Malfoy would lose every advantage he had.
For now, Malfoy's only edge was foresight.
On the surface, he still had to keep acting. The enemy he faced was one of the most powerful dark wizards in history—and far more terrifying was the fact that Voldemort had no moral limits.
If Voldemort wanted something, he would not ask politely.
He would take it.
Using the magic he was most proud of, he could tear through a person's entire life—memories and all—in an instant.