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Game of Thrones: The Sword King
Game of Thrones: From Deserter to Power
Game of Thrones: King of Harrenhal— Garth Greenhand Stat Panel
"You just mentioned a message. What message is so important that Mr. Peter, who faked his death for thirteen years, would come out of hiding and actively seek out a former enemy?" Snape asked with an expressionless face, the power of his Muffliato charm rippling outwards.
"News concerning Sirius Black."
"I want that Death Eater who committed the Unforgivable Crime to pay the price. His betrayal led to the misfortune of James and Lily."
"I know you don't care about James, but you and Lily were friends, and I imagine you can't stand the thought of him getting away with it."
Peter Pettigrew calmed down, a look of sadness creeping into his two rat-like eyes.
"Just consider it a favor for Lily. It's easy for you."
"You may have forgotten that I am also a Death Eater," Snape sneered.
"But you aren't anymore."
Peter avoided his gaze, looking at the transparent wine glass on the table, its exterior covered in stubborn grease stains.
"Regardless of the reason, you weren't tried, and you became the Potions Master at Hogwarts. Dumbledore is willing to trust you, and I am willing to trust you too."
"I have indeed struck certain bargains with Dumbledore..."
Snape's tone shifted. "But that doesn't mean I will help you. Lily and I... didn't share any deep affection."
Under the table, Peter's right hand, missing a finger, subtly clenched, yet his face maintained a look of sorrow.
"Can't you do it just to honor the dead, to help a friend who has passed away?"
"This is the Hog's Head Inn. The place to honor them is Godric's Hollow. The last wizarding war was thirteen years ago, and it's been fifteen years since we graduated. You're still the same as you were in school, always hiding behind others."
Snape gave a cold laugh. "Wake up. I won't do anything to help you."
"No, you will... I once thought I would never mention them again, never go near Hogwarts, to avoid thinking about them. I constantly wonder, if I hadn't been out on a mission that night, maybe James and Lily wouldn't have died."
Peter feigned grief: "But when I heard the news of Black's escape, I couldn't help but worry, worried that he would hurt Harry, just like that night thirteen years ago in Godric's Hollow, so I still came."
"Since you brought it up."
Snape asked ominously, "I am indeed very curious why the hero who captured Black last time, the champion who received the Order of Merlin, chose to fake his death and live under an assumed name for so many years?"
Peter was silent for a moment, then gave a half-truth: "I was afraid of retaliation, retaliation from the pure-blood families, retaliation from the remaining Death Eaters."
"The Black family might be gone, but pure-blood families are interconnected, relatives of one another, and there are still Death Eaters who escaped trial. Compared to accepting the honors and praise, I cared more about my safety."
He sniffled theatrically. "The tragedy of the Longbottoms is an example. Poor Frank and Alice. Thank Merlin for their protection."
"Stop your hypocritical act, and give me the message!" Snape looked at his ridiculous behavior, feeling only disgust. Concerned about his own safety, so he abandoned his elderly grandmother.
The sound of heavy thumping on the stairs came from the back of the pub. The two alert men turned simultaneously, their right hands already reaching for their wands in their pockets, spells held in readiness—the reflex of a Death Eater spy.
But it was just the normal sounds of the pub. The tall, goat-bearded landlord came down from upstairs, carrying two oak barrels, his clear blue eyes scanning the hall, warning those making suspicious movements.
The Hog's Head Inn caters to all sorts of guests who prefer to remain anonymous, so the landlord often needs to make his presence known.
Peter picked up his glass and took a sip, only wetting his lips, not actually drinking it.
"The Ministry of Magic sent hundreds of Dementors to surround Hogwarts, and they're patrolling Hogsmeade. Three Auror squads from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement are stationed here. Wizards all over the world are looking for Sirius Black, but no one has found a trace of him. Don't you want to know why?"
"You have news from the Ministry of Magic?"
Snape raised an eyebrow, not pressing further. "What is the reason? Is Remus Lupin his inside man?"
"Remus is the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, your colleague, personally hired by Headmaster Dumbledore. Of course, he's not the problem." Peter swirled his glass.
"The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor Dumbledore chooses has problems every year," Snape remarked ominously.
"Remus is a member of the Order of the Phoenix. If he were a problem, it would have been exposed a decade ago, not now."
"Peter, I don't want to argue about these insignificant characters. We are discussing Black."
The liquid in the glass seemed to burn, orange-red sparks spraying and hitting the inner glass wall. The Firewhisky reflected on both their cheeks, giving them a bizarre look in the dim light of the pub.
The Muffliato charm blurred the whispers of nearby wizards, leaving only the two men sitting opposite each other. Peter lowered his two rat-like eyes:
"Black is an unregistered Animagus, a black dog. He can transform without a wand, can trick Dementors and Aurors, can sneak into the school, and won't be noticed."
A flash of realization crossed Snape's eyes, but his expression remained cold: "Such important information—why not pass it on to the Ministry of Magic, or tell Dumbledore? Why specifically choose me?"
"Cornelius Fudge is in charge of the Ministry now, and he's too close to people like the Malfoys. I'm unsure of his stance. And Dumbledore..."
Peter paused, shaking his head. "I just want to live a quiet, stable life now. I don't want to go back to the terrifying days of the Order of the Phoenix, nor do I want Dumbledore to be suspicious of me. After all, I've been missing for thirteen years..."
"You know, wizards like them don't trust anyone," Peter concluded. "If possible, I hope you can keep my secret too. Don't mention me to anyone else."
Snape frowned slightly, silently sorting through these words, neither refuting nor agreeing.
Cowardly and timid, always looking to hide when things go wrong—it certainly fit the impression Peter Pettigrew gave people.
"By the way, is there any news of Black at the school?" Peter asked tentatively. "Black won't let Harry go. He must have tried to attack. If you keep an eye on Harry, you can find Black's trace."
"He certainly made an attempt. He broke into Hogwarts last weekend. I almost managed to slice open his heart, but Lupin interfered and he escaped." Snape's voice was frigid.
"If slicing open his heart can honor them..." Peter sniffled, crying out, "Then I hope you do it."
"Don't expect me to help you with anything."
Snape gathered his thoughts, his expression returning to indifference. "Don't try to guess what I'm thinking. You had better pray that I'm in a pleasant mood lately, or I will expose your existence to the Ministry of Magic."
Peter immediately fell silent, like a rat with its throat choked.
Snape picked up his medical bag and stood up, glancing at the table before leaving. His gaze fell on the glass. The Firewhisky inside had burned out, and apart from the evaporated water, the liquid level had barely dropped.
No chance to administer Veritaserum.
The Potions Master walked straight out of the pub.
Peter silently watched the trailing hem of his robes. Compared to his student days, the greasy git had matured a lot. He was no longer the pathetic boy dangling upside down, his underwear exposed.
A Death Eater who escaped trial, a Potions Master—truly impressive titles.
But all these powerful wizards were much the same. They saw his cowardly and timid pretense and didn't even bother to conceal their contempt. In the end, they could only be deceived by him and pay the price for their arrogance.
Speaking of which, he actually missed those days as a Marauder.
---
## 🧹 The Three Broomsticks - Peak Hours
The Three Broomsticks Inn also reached its peak hours, and the fire in the fireplace burned brightly.
Despite the fact that the sky hadn't completely cleared after the continuous torment of the previous days' storm, it was already a mood-lifting good day for the wizards of the Scottish Highlands. The residents of Hogsmeade and the students of Hogwarts were enjoying the weekend.
The hall was packed with drinkers.
Some Quidditch fans were discussing yesterday's House match. Many wizards were trying to talk to Madam Rosmerta, clustering around the bar, loudly boasting about themselves. The noise was quite deafening.
Harry and his friends sat in a corner near the bar. The spots next to them were quickly filled.
Hermione and Harry each ordered a Butterbeer and a serving of chips. The two of them were responsible for staying seated to hold the spots, and Ron volunteered to fetch the food from the bar as part of paying for his own share, making three trips by himself.
He was cheerful and tireless.
Minister Fudge was talking about the Ministry of Magic's security measures. In addition to sending new Aurors to guard the village, they had also assigned veteran wizards from Azkaban to command the Dementors.
Upon hearing this, the wizards near the bar turned their heads away, their faces showing disdain.
Some professors were out buying supplies on the weekend and discussed certain matters with the shop owners.
News from Hogwarts spread quickly, especially in pubs frequented by drinkers and fans. The fact that Dementors broke into the school, harmed the Boy Who Lived, and caused Gryffindor to lose the match had already spread.
Based on the time, the Ministry of Magic's mailbox must be stuffed with Howler letters by now.
They were all kind greetings from the wizarding public, but the Minister couldn't hear them.
Minister Fudge had come to the pub at this time to dispel the wizards' anger and explain the measures proposed after their emergency meeting: Dementors were now under control, and Aurors had been sent to guard the village, forming an absolutely reliable patrol team.
"...Don't even mention the Death Eater Sirius Black; even You-Know-Who... even his master returned, Hogsmeade would be absolutely safe."
Fudge thumped his chest, the sound echoing loudly. The cocktail the pub owner had personally mixed was handed to him, causing him to stumble slightly, but it didn't affect the grand passion in his heart.
Madam Rosmerta smiled at him as she handed him the drink! The witch must admire him!
"I hear Headmaster Dumbledore submitted a written protest as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, demanding that Dementors be banned from approaching Hogwarts, even its airspace, and explicitly stating that Dementors must maintain a distance of at least five hundred feet from the school." Madam Rosmerta said softly from behind the bar.
This shattered the romantic fantasies in Fudge's mind, forcing him to face the cruel reality.
Dumbledore did submit a written protest to the Ministry of Magic, but considering the safety of all the faculty and students at Hogwarts, and the opinions of the students' parents and the School Governors, he had righteously refused it.
Unfortunately, the Dementors wouldn't listen.
Those inhuman dark creatures had suddenly developed self-awareness, as if they had been placed under a curse. They actually developed a sense of fear. No matter how the Azkaban Aurors communicated with them, they stubbornly refused to approach Hogwarts' airspace and avoided the area while patrolling.
"The Dementors are afraid of Professor Lewent's Patronus Charm. They dare not approach Hogwarts, nor dare they offend students wearing the school uniform."
Madam Rosmerta glanced at him, chuckling. "If you ask me, Professor Lewent or Headmaster Dumbledore should cast it once in the village. That way, those Dementors wouldn't dare approach Hogsmeade either."
Fudge slowly sipped his cocktail, his face grim, as if he had swallowed a fly. "Arranging Dementor patrols is to protect the residents and prevent danger. We must remember that Sirius Black is deranged and could launch an attack at any time."
"Dementors are also deranged and could launch an attack at any time."
Madam Rosmerta looked disgusted. "Those creatures start wandering the streets in the evening. We can't even do business. Mr. Flume can't sell his sweets anymore."
Fudge opened his mouth, looking slightly embarrassed: "Regarding Headmaster Dumbledore's letter and the Dementors, I will clarify the situation in the Daily Prophet later. Under normal circumstances, Dementors do not arbitrarily attack residents. If people see those cloaked monsters approaching, they should avoid them beforehand, and no one will be harmed."
"What if they faint upon seeing one, like Potter?"
"He's just a child, you know, easily scared."
"That is the danger!"
"..."
At the round table near the corner behind them, the Butterbeer was half-gone, the foam clinging to the inner glass walls.
The three children kept their heads down, worried about startling the drinkers and being recognized as the Boy Who Lived.
Through the conversation between the landlady and the Minister, they vaguely pieced together how the Headmaster was pressuring the Ministry, making the Minister resentful but powerless. The three students felt deeply proud, though Harry's mood was exceptionally complicated.
He hadn't expected the news of his fear of Dementors to spread not only through the school but to become pub talk in Hogsmeade as well. Although many wizards were on his side, his cowardice had become a common belief.
He still wanted to be an Auror after graduation!
In the past, the wider wizarding world knew him as the boy who bravely faced You-Know-Who. Now, he was the boy who fainted when scared by a Dementor.
"..."
Harry's heart was troubled.
Hermione was also silent next to him, unconsciously clenching her fists.
It was only through Madam Rosmerta's words that she realized the relationship between the school and the Ministry had become so strained—a power struggle, with each side trying to undercut the other.
This was despite Minister Fudge being supported by the Headmaster to take office.
Just a few years ago, he was still referred to as the Headmaster's ally and mouthpiece.
Ron, facing the other direction, held his Butterbeer, pretending to focus on the foam, but was actually glancing at Madam Rosmerta's beautiful face and curvy figure from time to time.
The round table was quiet, and the atmosphere was peaceful.