Chapter 180: Peter: I’ve Got Dirt On Him!
The dilapidated wooden plank was transfigured by magic into a small boat, speeding across the sea surface, with oncoming waves crashing against the hull, turning into shattered water foam and spray.
“Professor, you finally found me. You don’t know how I’ve been living these past days!”
Peter sat at the stern, stuffing several biscuits into his mouth, swallowing them down with juice almost without chewing, while reporting the situation in a garbled manner, “The Dementors have been restless lately. Azkaban is on high alert, not allowing Dementors to approach prisoners, and Bellatrix in her normal state is hard to get close to, so it took this long.
“After getting the intelligence, I wanted to deliver it to you at the fastest speed, but the fog around Azkaban is too thick, the whirlpools too turbulent… If not for you! I almost got trapped on the sea surface!”
Melvin ignored his nonsense. The waters near Azkaban had disorienting fog, various protective magics covering dozens or even hundreds of sea miles around, but they were all aimed at Muggles. For a wizard with a wand like this Peter, nearly getting trapped to death on the sea surface was truly hard to evaluate.
“Get to the point. What is Bellatrix’s vault key?”
“Vault key, right, vault key.” Peter hurriedly replied, “Bellatrix’s vault has two ways to open it. One is the vault key; she left one key at Lestrange Manor. The other is her personally bringing her exclusive wand to Gringotts.”
“The key at Lestrange Manor, Bellatrix’s wand…”
Waves continuously slapped against the hull, the sound of splashing seawater somewhat melodious. Melvin sorted out his thoughts on his own, and Peter didn’t dare disturb him, carefully stuffing biscuits into his mouth, afraid to make any noise, occasionally glancing with the corner of his eye at the slender white snake in the sea.
Yurm stretched its body in the sea, swimming freely without restraint, white scales blending with white waves, diving, vanishing, then resurfacing, like a flickering, teleporting ghost.
This batch of Death Eaters’ wands was confiscated by the Ministry of Magic. Though the storage location was unclear, with some thought and careful planning, they could be obtained. He had ways to deal with the Anti-theft Waterfall, and impersonating Bellatrix posed no technical difficulties… It was just handling Gringotts goblins that might be troublesome.
Bellatrix was a notorious Death Eater. News of her trial and sentencing had been widely reported back then; any wizard of a certain age knew of this Mrs. Lestrange serving time in prison.
Disguising as a serious criminal to conduct business at a wizarding bank, praying they wouldn’t recognize her, was a bit unrealistic.
He had to find a way to borrow the vault key from Lestrange Manor and also disguise a reasonable identity…
Melvin suppressed his inner thoughts and glanced at the sated Peter, who was clutching his belly and panting, appearing defenseless on the surface, but his shifty eyes were quietly observing.
He smiled and asked aloud: “A former inner circle Death Eater dosed with Veritaserum, unable to resist, won’t leak secrets. For such a precious opportunity, Peter, did you only ask these questions?”
Cold sweat instantly beaded on Peter’s forehead, his voice trembling slightly: “Yes… yes, Professor. I only wanted to complete the task you assigned.”
“Is that so? I thought you’d seize the chance to inquire about some deeply hidden secrets.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about?” Peter forced a fake smile.
“Like, is Voldemort really dead? Will Voldemort return? And when will he return…”
The young professor spoke slowly, each question paling Peter’s face further. His shoulders trembled involuntarily, his gaze subconsciously turning to the Ouroboros Mark on his hand, even suspecting the mark could monitor his actions anywhere, or read memories and thoughts.
No, it couldn’t. This was something even the Dark Lord couldn’t do.
Peter reassured himself, shifting his gaze, just in time to meet the eyes of the surfacing Yurm. In an instant, he turned ghastly pale; a pair of cold snake eyes stared straight at him, as if piercing directly into his soul.
The secrets deep in his heart were completely exposed; this feeling made Peter shiver all over.
Just as he was on the verge of collapse, Melvin changed the subject: “Peter, our transaction is complete. Have you thought about where to go next?”
“This…” Peter wasn’t sure how to answer.
As if knowing his inner doubts, Melvin chuckled lightly, his tone softening: “Relax, I’m a businessman who keeps his promises. You’ve brought me intelligence, and I’ll keep your secrets, never revealing your identity to anyone, nor using this to blackmail you into working for me further.”
Peter felt this professor wasn’t a good wizard, and his words weren’t entirely trustworthy. After pondering, he said: “I plan to settle in a remote village and live my own life, never leaving again.”
“An outsider settling in a village, especially at your age, would make it hard to find suitable work. No work means no income, and life would be difficult…” Melvin considered for him, “How about this: before you go, I’ll give you some Galleons. It won’t last a lifetime, but it’ll tide you over for the first few months.”
“Tha… thank you.”
Peter was truly baffled now.
This professor, who illegally detained him without hesitation, was skilled in Dark Magic and adept at coercion and inducement—could he really be a good person?
“No need to thank me; it’s just a little insignificant help.”
Melvin’s tone grew even more casual and mild, chatting idly: “I’ve actually studied wizards going into seclusion. It used to be easier; Muggle registries were easy to forge, no one checked, and Muggle money could be transfigured. Now it’s more troublesome. All transport requires identity checks, Muggles rarely use cash anymore, always checks, credit cards, and vouchers, all networked for verification—fakes get exposed easily.”
Hearing this from a Muggle Studies professor made it especially convincing: “Trouble can be handled with Confundus Charms or Imperius Curses, but too many anomalies might attract the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s attention. You know, they’re very strict about the Secrecy Law.”
Peter glanced at him and said weakly: “I plan to seclude myself in a wizarding village.”
“Wizarding villages have become troublesome too.”
“Ah?”
Melvin sighed with a complicated expression, “You picked a bad time. Recently, the Ministry of Magic’s Senior Deputy Minister drafted the Anti-Werewolf Bill, requiring werewolf registration. Werewolves naturally refused, running everywhere to evade investigation, so locals everywhere are wary of strange wizards migrating from afar, scrutinizing their identities. Without proof, they notify Aurors to check.”
Peter swallowed hard, feeling his breathing labored.
His identity couldn’t see the light of day, yet he had considerable notoriety. As a deceased Order of Merlin, Second Class recipient, any Auror check would reveal anomalies.
Muggle towns were hard to disguise in, wizarding villages would draw Auror attention—did he have to stay as a rat forever?
“Professor Levent, I… what should I do?” Peter asked, voice choking, sounding especially pitiable.
“Just keep disguising as a rat. Find a shop to hide in, preferably with a mild-tempered owner. Some wizards have bad tempers and draw their wands at the sight of rats.” Melvin advised sincerely.
Peter’s face grew even more dreadful; this wasn’t the answer he wanted.
“Best is a wizard tavern; they’re well-informed there. You know, the wizarding world hasn’t been stable these past two years. Last year there was that mess with Voldemort’s remnant soul; he might return anytime, so stay alert.”
“…”
Peter recalled the questions he’d asked Bellatrix and shuddered in fear.
The sea fog seemed to be thinning. Yurm frolicked in the waves, circling the boat. Amid the splashing water sounds, after careful thought, Peter arrived at an answer:
“Professor, what do you think about me returning to Hogwarts and continuing to hide by that Weasley boy’s side?”
Melvin feigned surprise with a glance, pondering briefly: “Hogwarts is indeed the safest place, with plenty of food, no Auror checks, and easy to gather news.”
Hearing the affirmative, Peter grew uncertain again.
Melvin waved it off: “Don’t worry about me. I can make an Unbreakable Vow, guaranteeing not to reveal your identity to a third party. Likewise, I don’t want you revealing what I’m planning.”
A flash of insight hit Peter; he immediately understood the young professor’s intent.
The professor didn’t want him out of sight and control because he was guarding against him, not wanting him to leak that this professor was plotting to raid someone else’s vault!
This guess reassured Peter and increased his trust in the professor. The prior advice now seemed reasonable; in a sense, they held each other’s handles.
As long as he didn’t leak the professor’s plot, the professor would keep his Animagus secret!
“I understand your meaning, Professor Levent!”
…
In an empty alley on Charing Cross Road, space twisted slightly, as if scorched by invisible, colorless flames. Reaching a limit, it tore open with a trembling hum.
“Bang…”
A figure appeared out of thin air.
Surveying the familiar streets, he soon reached half a street away and saw the Leaky Cauldron’s signboard.
Weekend daytime business was neither bustling nor slow; customers inside were just right in number. A few old witches chatted softly in the corner, wizards clustered by the projection mirror, cheering and cursing at a Quidditch match—seemingly Scotland’s training game from last night.
The tavern was still as dim and filthy, tables and chairs coated in thick grease and grime, only the bar somewhat clean. Several wizards gathered around, chatting with a bald old male wizard who looked like a shriveled walnut.
“Hey! Professor Levent, a drink?”
The bald tavern owner brightened and raised his glass, shouting loudly. The young professor had just entered, and Old Tom spotted him.
Melvin smiled: “Your treat?”
“For Professor Levent, a free drink is my honor!”
Old Tom grinned, already bringing over a glass of Butterbeer mid-speech. He guessed the professor might have business and didn’t bring whiskey or vodka.
“How’s business lately?” Melvin took the Butterbeer.
Old Tom sat opposite casually: “Not bad. Projection mirrors’ impact isn’t as bad as expected. Some wizards like watching Animal World and news at home, but others prefer coming to the tavern for exciting matches, shouting with fellow fans—losing feels better that way.”
Melvin turned to look; the match-watching wizards were split into two factions, obvious from goal reactions. For key plays, some stood to call the server, excitedly buying drinks for others.
He lowered his voice: “Old Tom, be honest— no gambling on matches, right?”
“Professor, we’re a proper tavern; we don’t do such undignified things!”
Old Tom grumbled discontentedly, but lowered his voice for the rest: “I hear Knockturn Alley’s doing it. Last summer the Ministry’s crackdown fined many wizards with dirty money heavily; they’re all eager to recoup quickly.”
Melvin was slightly surprised: “Projection mirrors can’t live broadcast yet, right? For matches with known results, how do they bet?”
“As long as gamblers don’t know the result, it’s fine. They have Magical Contracts, Unbreakable Vows… rules seem fair enough.” Old Tom couldn’t explain clearly.
Melvin nodded, not pressing further. Running a betting business in Knockturn Alley meant cheating was a skill; willing participants.
Projection mirrors needed promotion; impacts good and bad. The Magic Mirror Club couldn’t plan everything—letting wizards explore was right. Like Professor McGonagall connecting to the Floo Network on weekends, Melvin could foresee results but they had to try.
Wine glass spinning in hand, chatting idly with Old Tom, after fans’ next cheer, Melvin casually asked:
“Old Tom, do you know the Lestrange family?”
“Lestrange?”
Old Tom smacked his lips, recalling: “That Lestrange from the pure-blood Twenty-Eight Families? Like the Black Family and Gaunt Family, obsessed with Dark Magic, family members growing extreme, preaching pure-blood supremacy, hating Muggles, then incestuous marriages, gradual decline…
“I remember they split into three bloodlines.
“The last witch of the Covas descendants, Lita Lestrange, went to France with the Scamander brothers and died at the Cabal’s hands.
“The last witch of the Cyril bloodline was Nogia Lestrange; last heard in 1927, unmarried, no children—don’t know if she’s dead.
“The last Rodolphus bloodline descendants are still alive: Rabastan and Rodolphus brothers, both Death Eaters, won’t leave Azkaban this lifetime.”
Melvin nodded thoughtfully: “Do you know where their manor is?”
“I think Cornwall?”
Old Tom scratched his head, “Not sure of the exact spot. These old pure-blood families’ manors are hidden, can’t be mapped; others need invitation or permission to enter.”
Melvin frowned slightly: “Sounds a bit troublesome…”
