MeowthTL
patreon
HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 246
🕑 Added 2025-11-09 18:16:07 +0000 UTCChapter 246: Pettigrew, Open Your Rat Eyes and See Where You Are
Professor McGonagall was completely stunned.
She stared at the water screen.
She stared at the madman on it, a complete reversal of the confident, brash boy from her memories.
She suddenly let out a soft cry.
Her hand rose, trembling, to cover her mouth as her eyes rimmed red.
She could not bear to imagine it. If Sirius had not betrayed James and Lily, then during those long, punishing years in prison, how much torment had he suffered for nothing? With what kind of heart did he willingly remain in Azkaban?
Ministry of Magic, what exactly did you investigate back then?
Professor McGonagall tightened her grip on her wand. In her reddened eyes, anger flared like a blaze.
Inside the painting, faced with Sirius’s accusation, Pettigrew—completely submerged in the thought patterns and memories of the past—shrank back twice. In a strained, sullen voice, he said, “Y-you were too stupid to see it! I pledged myself to the great master long ago. That’s right. In your eyes, I was always just a timid, cowardly hanger-on.”
Sirius roared, “We always treated you like a brother!”
With a crack of force, Sirius flung a spell.
Magic collided and exploded violently.
The shockwave washed over Ethan, who was watching, and drove Harry stumbling back a few steps.
Harry’s eyes widened. “He’s strong.”
No wonder even battle-hardened Aurors feared Sirius so much.
Ethan glanced sideways at Harry. “Impressive, right? I could take him ten to one.”
Harry stared. Then forced a thin smile. “Amazing.”
Ethan’s eyes curved. Through the two dark eyeholes of the grinning demon mask, he regarded Harry. “So next time you charge into a brawl, think before you act.”
For example, when someone with no nose tempts you to go and rescue poor Sirius Black.
“This time, I’ll let you off, Gryffindor.”
Muffled by the mask, his voice lost some clarity. The gentle cadence sounded even stranger, edged with chill.
A bead of cold sweat slid down the Savior’s temple. Harry nodded stiffly. He felt certain that next time, he definitely would not be so reckless. Nor so trusting.
Harry raised his head. He clenched his fists and forced himself to watch the duel.
Spells flew like fireworks against the horizon.
But here, the two who were once as close as brothers fought to the death.
Bathed in magic’s glare, Sirius bared a twisted grin and laughed. “But you never expected it, did you? Voldemort suddenly died. He was defeated by my godson, a baby barely born, Harry Potter!”
Pettigrew’s face twitched twice. Shame and anger twisted his features. “The Dark Lord is too great to be killed by a mere infant! He is in hiding. He is waiting for the day of his return!”
Sirius’s voice turned to ice. “Then you won’t live to see it. Avada Kedavra!”
A terrible green light blasted straight from the tip of his wand, lighting his face with a manic, frozen pallor.
Harry’s chest clenched. In his mind flashed the cheerful, clever “Spotted Dog” from Hagrid’s Care of Magical Creatures class.
On the other side, Pettigrew, squarely targeted by the strongest of the Unforgivable Curses, curled his lips in a cold smile.
The master had already given him supreme power.
Pettigrew swung his wand with everything he had. The explosion that followed shook an entire city block.
Buildings collapsed in succession as Muggles screamed in panic.
Flames soared.
The ground shuddered.
When the wall of smoke finally thinned, only a single deep crater remained.
Sirius stood alone at its center.
His eyes were locked on a severed finger lying at his feet.
Pettigrew’s “remains.”
Harry held his breath. In his mind, he suddenly heard the voices from the Three Broomsticks.
Back then, vicious Sirius blew Pettigrew to pieces, leaving only a single finger.
That terrifying scene still gives me shivers to remember it now.
It was not Sirius who blew him up.
It was Pettigrew who blew himself up to frame Sirius.
And at the same time, he heartlessly murdered thirteen Muggles.
Even prepared as he was, Harry was struck silent by the shock of it.
He watched, dazed, as Hagrid hurried over, scooped up the protected baby, and mounted that flying motorbike that haunted Harry’s dreams, engines roaring.
Then the Aurors descended, a dark tide.
They asked nothing. They dragged the laughing Sirius away.
A total reversal.
Inside the canvas and out, everyone was stunned.
Worldviews were shattered.
At the Ministry of Magic, Fudge stared slack-jawed at the image of Sirius being hauled off. He felt the sting of countless eyes, like needles pricking his face.
Even if he had not been Minister at the time, those approvals had crossed his desk along with those of other departments. Now he sat in the big chair.
No. He could not sit and wait for death. He could not let his political enemies seize this as a weapon.
Fudge’s gaze hardened. He clenched his jaw and hurried to his office.
Only one pawn remained useful: John Dawlish, that Auror who believed in so-called justice and was absolutely loyal to him.
“Send him on an emergency mission immediately. Have him bring that wretched brat Ethan Vincent back.”
As long as Ethan’s mouth was stopped, Fudge would insist this was all Ethan’s trick. Pettigrew had been under the Imperius Curse. The public might not like it, but at least it would not threaten the Ministry’s credibility.
Given time, no one would remember what was true and what was false.
Just like Sirius.
Inside the painting, a smile lifted beneath Ethan’s demon mask.
Right now, the Minister was surely thinking about how to gag him, how to insist Pettigrew had been controlled by Imperius.
Unfortunately for him, Ethan would not give him a chance to turn the tables.
A sharp clap sounded.
Darkness fell in an instant.
Then a single pillar of light snapped on and pinned Peter Pettigrew in its center.
Like a stage announcing its lead, everything—every gaze, every shred of attention—converged on him.
Pettigrew ran for his life, gasping. He kept glancing back in panic, as if something hunted him. Blood poured from his right index finger as he clutched it and groaned in pain.
At last, he stopped. Slowly, he forced himself to calm down.
Baring his teeth, he cast a healing charm on himself, then slid weakly down the wall.
“I never thought the master would actually fail. What do I do now? No. If Sirius finds out I’m alive, he will come and kill me.”
Suddenly, Pettigrew’s eyes lit up with delight. “Of course. I can change into my Animagus form and hide until the great master returns.”
Hogwarts.
“Uh?” Ron Weasley frowned. For some reason, looking at the delighted Pettigrew and that all-too-familiar severed finger filled him with the worst premonition.
Two seconds later, it proved true.
On the water screen, Pettigrew’s body shrank sharply. Gray bristles sprouted all over him.
A heartbeat later, a fat gray rat squealed.
“Scabbers?!” Ron cried, voice cracking.
His shriek echoed through the Great Hall, ringing round and round.
A few seconds later, Ron’s face went scarlet.
Even in the heavy, solemn air, low laughter slipped out here and there.
Professor McGonagall arched a brow and shook her head helplessly.
“Unique tastes, mate,” Dean Thomas said with a sympathetic pat on Ron’s shoulder and a wry grin.
“Ahhhhh!” Ron squatted down and covered his face, desperate to sink into the floor.
“I even slept hugging it—him—urgh!”
The thought that for years he’d cuddled a reeking—
He would rather be reincarnated.
“Wait. I am not going to be treated as an accomplice, am I?”
He stared in horror, eyes wide. In the time it took to watch a film, he had become a criminal.
Dean cleared his throat. “Well, at least now the evidence is clear.”
If Pettigrew had a clear conscience, if he were truly the hero who dared face down a murderer, why hide for so many years in a shameful identity?
There was only one truth. He was the real traitor.
On the water screen, Pettigrew, apparently wanting to Apparate farther away, transformed back into human form. He seemed to decide he had gone far enough. Relief loosened him, and a nervous, unhinged laughter spilled out.
“Heh. Hehehe… hahaha!”
“Foolish, arrogant, naive Potters are finally dead!”
He threw his arms wide and laughed up at the sky, eyes bloodshot. The face, long read as timid and simple, was suddenly, with the help of others’ power, proud and full of itself.
In that moment, the motion yanked his sleeve back.
A black mark on his left forearm flashed into view.
A skull with a serpent emerging from its mouth.
For a heartbeat, the entire British magical world went silent.
People stared in horror at the symbol unseen for years. Buried memories rose like a tide.
“The Dark Mark,” came Professor Snape’s almost inaudible murmur through clenched teeth.
The sign of the Death Eaters.
He clutched his own left forearm and felt a burn.
Pettigrew noticed nothing. He was still drowning in the joy of finally taking revenge on the Potters who had looked down on him.
The next second, a clear voice sounded, cool and merciless.
“Wake up.”
A crisp snap.
It was as if the curtains of a stage dropped at once.
Pettigrew’s world spun and flipped. He crashed down onto a hard floor.
Warm orange light spread over him, making his squinting eyes ache after so long in the dark.
What happened?
He forced his eyes open.
Dead, silent faces filled his vision.
Students, professors, Aurors.
All of them stared straight at him. Shock had not yet left their eyes.
Memories returned in a rush. Pettigrew’s eyes grew wider and wider as he remembered everything.
“W-wait, I can explain—”
“Crucio!”
A ragged snarl exploded from the staff table.
Professor Snape’s robes surged like a black wave as his face contorted like an enraged demon.
From the tip of his wand, a blinding scarlet spark shot forth and streaked straight at Peter Pettigrew.
