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Azkaban.
With the arrival of a small boat, several Aurors escorted a lifeless-looking wizard onto the island.
Sirius Black's case had been closed. His innocence had been restored. As the true traitor who had sold out the Potters, Peter Pettigrew naturally had to be locked in Azkaban to receive the punishment he should have received twelve years earlier.
The Aurors opened a cell, threw him inside, and left without looking back.
He had been placed in Sirius's old cell.
The first thing Peter did after being imprisoned was curl up, trying to make his body as small as possible.
He was hiding himself.
He did not want the Dementors to suddenly drift over and give him a Kiss.
The chance was low, but what if it happened?
He did not want to die.
Even in Azkaban, he did not want to die.
He had a chance.
He still had a chance to escape, because he knew how Sirius had done it.
Animagus.
He had no wand and could not cast spells, but Animagus transformation was not restricted by that.
The Ministry knew he was an Animagus, yet they had taken no special measures.
Perhaps, in their view, Sirius had escaped because his Animagus form was a dog. Peter Pettigrew's form was a rat, so he could not possibly escape.
Do not expect the current Ministry to accomplish much. Under Minister Fudge's leadership, the British Ministry of Magic was no longer what it had once been.
They even believed Dementors were enough to guard the prisoners of Azkaban.
Dementors had no minds. They were filled with endless negative emotions and were naturally weak at sensing animal emotions. Even if they knew how Sirius had escaped, they had no way to defend against it.
Most importantly, Peter knew both Animagus transformation and the Patronus Charm.
That was thanks to his old friends at Hogwarts. As one of the four, he had been taught whatever magic they learned.
As long as he could get a wand, he would have a chance.
"Ha ha ha, look at that. The new one looks like a pitiful little rat."
A mad, hysterical laugh sounded nearby.
After spending too long in Azkaban, ordinary people became unstable. Or rather, there were no ordinary people in Azkaban.
Peter ignored the voice. He stayed on the ground, curled into a ball in the corner.
When the owner of the laugh received no reaction, he soon lost interest.
Peter lay quietly. Aside from mealtimes, he barely moved. He was conserving strength. He did not want to waste energy on anything unnecessary.
He was waiting for an opportunity.
No matter how long it took, once it appeared, he would seize it.
Waiting was what Peter Pettigrew did best.
He had hidden in the Weasley family for more than twelve years without being discovered. That had required endurance.
If he had used that persistence elsewhere, perhaps he would have had a different life. Perhaps he would have become an excellent wizard fighting Death Eaters on the front lines.
But life rarely offered that many what-ifs.
No one knew how long passed. Azkaban was covered in dark clouds all day, making day and night difficult to distinguish. Perhaps a month had passed. Perhaps a year. Perhaps only a week.
Then another visitor came to Azkaban.
He was a stern middle-aged wizard with neatly combed short gray hair, cold eyes, and a sparse little moustache.
"Mr. Barty Crouch."
Peter heard the others call him by that name.
Crouch stopped in front of Peter's cell and looked directly at him.
He said nothing.
After a brief pause, he left.
That night, a wand appeared in Peter's cell.
Whoever had arranged it had worn Barty Crouch's face.
Hogwarts, a Slytherin meeting room.
Dudley and the other members of the disciplinary group were gathered there.
"Brother D, it is not that I do not believe you, but can this thing really be used to communicate?"
Ron pointed uncertainly at the phone snail on the table, which was chewing corn.
This phone snail had already been modified.
"I mean, a shelled slug replacing owl post is a little unbelievable."
When the phone snail heard Ron speaking badly of it, it stopped eating corn and angrily spat at him. He dodged in disgust.
"It is called a phone snail!"
Before Dudley could speak, Hermione said, "Ron, the unbelievable part is that wizards are still using owls to deliver letters."
"Do you know that while you are still using living creatures for such a primitive method of communication, the people you call Muggles have already invented tools that allow direct conversation across thousands of miles?"
"Of course, I do not mean to belittle owls. But their communication efficiency is truly slow."
"Brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. "What is that thing? I think Dad would love it."
"A telephone."
Unexpectedly, the answer came from Draco, the pure-blood wizard who should, in theory, look down on Muggles the most.
When everyone looked at him, Draco shrugged with an expression that said this was only natural.
"It is not that strange. The Malfoy family also knows many Muggle nobles. Malfoy Manor is registered with the Queen, and we have a corresponding title."
"It is not only your Weasley family, Robbie. Many pure-blood wizarding families have some contact with Muggle society. They simply do not announce it publicly."
Draco was telling the truth. Having contact was one thing. Valuing it was another.
Even the Malfoy family had only begun paying more attention after Draco learned many things about Muggle society from Dudley.
"Malfoy, are you trying to start something?"
Ron flared up at having his name deliberately mispronounced again.
"Come on, then. I will use only one hand."
"Enough."
Dudley interrupted the argument and placed another phone snail in front of Ron. "Whether it works or not, why not test it yourself?"
"You and Draco each take one phone snail and go to two separate rooms."
A short while later, Ron pushed open the door with a flushed, excited face.
"Brother D, it really works!"
He held the phone snail high.
"It did not just have Malfoy's voice inside. It even copied his tone and expression. This is incredible."
"How does it work? Charms? Transfiguration?"
Draco followed behind him. He was also excited, though far calmer than Ron.
Dudley did not answer Ron's question. Instead, he took out several finished phone snails.
"Phone snails cannot be mass-produced yet. For now, each member of the disciplinary group gets one. Remember to feed them regularly. Do not let them starve."
"If anything happens, we contact each other through the phone snails."
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