By Rita Skeeter, Senior Correspondent, Daily Prophet
If yesterday's revelations had been an inferno, today's proceedings were nothing short of a magical apocalypse.
Courtroom Ten once again overflowed.
The air itself seemed to crackle with tension, every wand hand trembling as if lightning might strike at any moment.
Everyone in the audience, myself included was stunned into utter silence...
Peter Pettigrew—alive.
I still struggle to write those words.
Alive, breathing, trembling at the front of the witness stand in magical chains, his watery eyes flicking from corner to corner like a rat cornered before a cat.
The Wizengamot had taken nearly thirty minutes just to restore enough order to continue.
The discovery of Pettigrew had turned the entire court upside down.
Sirius Black sat, slack-jawed and hollow, his entire being balanced on the edge between hope and disbelief.
But Adrian Arclight wasn't finished.
Far from it.
As the Aurors stepped forward to secure Pettigrew—six of them this time, no less—Adrian raised a single hand.
"Not yet," he said calmly. "We are not quite done with Mr. Weasley."
Arthur, who had begun to rise from the witness stand with visible relief, froze mid-motion.
The color drained from his face.
"W–what? But surely—surely this proves everything? Pettigrew's alive, you've got your man!"
Adrian's voice was soft, but there was a knife's edge beneath it.
"You misunderstand me, Mr. Weasley. I'm not questioning Pettigrew's guilt. I'm questioning your innocence."
The entire court inhaled sharply.
Even Dumbledore's twinkling eyes hardened ever so slightly.
Arthur paled.
"My—my innocence? What are you—?"
Adrian stepped closer, the marble floor echoing with each deliberate footfall.
"You say you've had this… pet… in your home for over a decade. You're a Ministry official, an active member of the Order of the Phoenix, and a man familiar with magical creatures of every sort. And yet, you never once thought to question a rat that lived fifteen years beyond its natural lifespan?"
Arthur's hands began to shake.
"I—no one—Merlin's beard, no one thought—"
"Did you not think, Mr. Weasley?" Adrian interrupted sharply. "Or did you simply ignore what was in front of you? Perhaps out of loyalty to a certain organization that prefers its secrets kept even from the Ministry?"
That last line dropped like a thunderclap.
The courtroom rippled with gasps and murmurs.
"The Order of the Phoenix…" someone whispered from the gallery.
Fudge leaned forward eagerly, the smell of political opportunity practically oozing from him.
Adrian pressed on. "You admit to being part of Dumbledore's Order during the war, correct?"
Arthur swallowed. "Yes, but I was never—"
"Was never what? Informed? Trusted? Told that your family was harboring one of the most notorious Death Eaters of all time? A traitor to all wizardkind?"
Arthur's voice cracked. "I didn't know! For Merlin's sake, I swear it!"
Adrian's tone softened just slightly, but only to become colder. "So you claim ignorance. Yet ignorance is not innocence, Mr. Weasley. The creature slept in your children's beds. Ate your food. Sat on your shoulder while you worked at the Ministry. And you never noticed how different it was from a regular rate? Never even wondered why it seemed to be just as intelligent as humans?"
Arthur's jaw trembled. "I—no—I thought he was just—just timid—"
A bead of sweat slid down his temple.
Across the room, Molly Weasley sat in the gallery, her hands clutched white-knuckled around her wand, eyes brimming with unshed tears.
She herself was from another sacred twenty-eight family, the Prewits though she had been disowned after running off to marry Arthur.
Her own hatred though was destined for Pettigrew, alongwith herself.
She had never known, never questioned, and yet... and yet that disgusting man had been with her beloved children all this time!
Adrian's next question came like a hammer blow. "Or perhaps you did suspect, Mr. Weasley. Perhaps Dumbledore or one of his lieutenants asked you to take the rat in. To hide him under your roof, to ensure that Pettigrew—one of their own Order members—was kept safe, under your watch, even after the war."
Arthur looked like he'd been slapped.
"That's absurd! Pettigrew betrayed them! Betrayed us all!"
"Then why," Adrian countered, "did Dumbledore never investigate the matter properly? Why did no one question how a man so small, so insignificant, could have fooled the entire wizarding world? Unless, of course, someone wanted him forgotten."
The murmurs turned into outright shouts.
"Order!" Fudge barked, banging his gavel so hard the sound echoed like cannon fire.
But Adrian wasn't finished.
He circled Arthur like a predator, his tone low and surgical. "Mr. Weasley, in all your years at the Ministry—how many illegal Animagi have you encountered?"
Arthur blinked through the sweat in his eyes. "None. None personally."
"And yet one lived in your home for over a decade."
Arthur said nothing.
His eyes were wide, unblinking.
Adrian straightened.
"Either you are the most negligent wizard in this court, or you were protecting him. Which is it, Mr. Weasley?"
"I—I didn't know!" Arthur finally shouted, his voice cracking like old wood.
"I swear on my family's honor—I didn't know!"
The silence that followed was thick, almost oppressive.
Adrian let it hang there, long enough for every witch and wizard in that room to feel the weight of it.
Then, quietly: "That will be all."
Arthur swayed as he left the stand, each step slower than the last.
By the time he reached his seat beside Molly, his face was pale as parchment.
Whatever reputation he'd carried into that courtroom—kind-hearted Ministry worker, devoted father, loyal friend, and follower of Dumbledore—had been burned away under the scrutiny of Adrian Arclight's questions.
And though no formal accusation had been made, the seed of suspicion had already taken root in the minds of everyone watching.
Moving forward Arthur would be under heavy scrutiny, perhaps even losing his postion within the ministry, and the freedom it provided.
Adrian turned smoothly toward the center of the court.
"Now," he said, his voice steady once more, "let us proceed with the true culprit."
He gestured toward the trembling Pettigrew, who was now half-collapsed under the weight of magical chains and the realization that his time had finally come.
"Peter Pettigrew," Adrian called, "you will take the stand."
Pettigrew whimpered, but the Aurors dragged him upright.
He stumbled to the witness chair, his face glistening with sweat, his body shaking violently.
For the first time since his unmasking, he spoke. "P–please… I'll tell you everything, just don't—dont let them kill me—"
Adrian raised a hand.
"You'll tell the truth, Mr. Pettigrew. Nothing more, nothing less."
He motioned to a tall, thin witch at his side, who uncorked a small crystal vial filled with a shimmering silver liquid.
Veritaserum.
Even Umbridge paled at the sight of it.
It would force the truth to come to light, a potion that was illegal in almost all cases since everyone had something they wanted to hide, and none would want to have their secrets exposed.
Madam Bones nodded grimly. "Administer the serum."
One of the Aurors grasped Pettigrew's chin and tilted his head back.
Three drops of the potion fell onto his tongue.
Pettigrew convulsed once, then went still, his expression blank, his breathing shallow.
The courtroom held its collective breath.
Adrian's voice came calm, measured, and deadly.
"Now then, Mr. Pettigrew. Let's start from the beginning."
And with that, the great hall fell silent.
Quills froze mid-scratch.
History was about to be rewritten.