Hogwarts: I am Snape

Chapter 175 The Story of Wormtail (Part Two)

After finishing his story, James raised his bloodshot eyes and stared blankly at Peter Pettigrew.

After shifting his gaze from the ashen, trembling face of Wormtail, Snape turned to Sirius Black, whose chest was heaving.

“Sirius,” he asked, “is what James said true? Do you agree with everything he said?”

Sirius nodded slowly, his messy black hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.

The cabin fell into an even deeper silence than before, with only the occasional faint crackling sound from the fireplace, though the flame had somehow become weak.

The light and shadow danced on everyone's faces, reflecting disbelief, indignation, or a chilling cold.

“Peter…” Professor McGonagall’s disappointed voice rang out. She waved her wand at the insect’s tail, but did not continue.

Peter Pettigrew slumped in his chair, his face streaked with snot and tears. He struggled weakly, uttering broken, tearful sounds:
“Professor…I, a spy…absurd…he must be insane, it’s not true, I don’t know how he could say such…such a vicious thing…”

Professor Flitwick looked at the disheveled Peter, with a last shred of desire to verify his suspicions.

“Peter Pettigrew, why would you do this? Or…” he asked, “Do you have any other evidence to prove your innocence? Any evidence to refute Potter’s accusations?”

Pettigrew's mouth opened and closed a few times, as if he had lost the ability to speak. His terrified little eyes swept across the faces of the crowd, seeing only cold scrutiny, anger, and deep disappointment.

Snape took two steps forward, looking down at the insect tail.

“We can obtain the evidence ourselves.” He slowly drew his wand, pointing the tip at Peter, and commanded, “Lift your head and look me in the eyes.”

Peter Pettigrew, with a final plea, raised his head and gazed tearfully into Snape's dark eyes.

However, the moment his gaze met Snape's eyes, his pupils contracted sharply, then expanded rapidly like a punctured balloon, losing focus.

“Severus!” Professor McGonagall shouted, her voice filled with shock and a hint of disapproval, “This violates…”

But Snape didn't hear her voice. Peter's mental defenses were as fragile as paper in front of him, much weaker than he had expected.

He immersed himself in the depths of Peter's consciousness, digging into the memories in Wormtail's brain that were shrouded in layers of fear.

Time seemed to freeze. Everyone held their breath, watching Peter's body occasionally twitch unconsciously, and Snape's focused profile.

Finally, Snape's eyelids twitched. He withdrew his wand, the piercing light in his eyes fading, replaced by a flicker of understanding and disgust. He calmly looked away, no longer gazing at the soulless shell of a body.

"Do not--!"

Just as Snape finished Legilimency, Peter Pettigrew seemed to wake up from a nightmare, letting out a heart-wrenching scream.

He suddenly found strength and began to struggle violently, the ropes binding him digging into his flesh, causing the heavy chair to tip over.

With a muffled thud, he and the chair he was tied to crashed heavily onto the floor, face down with half of his body pinned down.

Wormtail completely collapsed. He lay sprawled on the ground like a worm, as if Snape's actions had sentenced him to death.

Driven by his last remaining survival instinct, he used his head and knees to push against the ground, desperately rubbing and twisting on the floor in an attempt to crawl forward.

As he crawled, he let out inhuman whimpers and moans, his violent movements leaving a wet trail on the floor.

The insect-tailed creature laboriously moved to Professor McGonagall's feet, strained to lift its head, and pressed its forehead against the floor, trying to catch a glimpse of the tip of Professor McGonagall's boots out of the corner of its eye.

“Professor McGonagall…Professor…” he called out humbly, “I am your student…a Gryffindor student…please…for your sake…”

Looking at the boy who was once her student, who once cheered for Gryffindor on the Quidditch pitch and timidly answered questions in class, now crawling on the ground like a filthy maggot, begging for his life in the most despicable way, a feeling of disgust welled up in Professor McGonagall's heart.

She abruptly took two large steps back, avoiding the insect's humble touch.

Peter's body convulsed violently a few times, as if he had been whipped hard by Professor McGonagall's retreating motion.

But he was unwilling to do so.

He let out a desperate wail, then unleashed astonishing power once more, twisting and rolling wildly on the ground before everyone's eyes.

The chair that was pressing down on him was finally thrown off by his struggle and crashed onto the floor next to him.

This position allowed him to lie on his side and see Sirius's face a few steps away.

“Sirius,” he cried, “it’s me, Bigfoot, your friend… Wormtail…we’re best friends…”

Sirius responded by jerking forward and spitting hard in his direction.

"Pooh!"

Spit landed on Peter's dirty cheek.

He flinched, as if he had been burned, and let out a short whimper.

But he did not give up. His gaze, which had been wandering in despair, finally landed on Moody, who was standing to the side.

“Brave Auror…righteous warrior…” Peter’s voice was filled with obsequiousness and pleading, “You won’t let them do this to me…please…hand me over to the Ministry of Magic…to be judged according to wizarding laws…”

Moody ignored Peter, turning his alchemical eye to the back of his mind.

“Severus,” he said, “what did you see in his head that made him so terrified?”

Snape did not answer Moody immediately. He turned expressionlessly, walked to the side of the cabin, opened an old oak cabinet that he had brought from Hogwarts, and took out a stone basin with mysterious runes engraved on its edge.

He carried it to the center of the cabin, summoned a low stool, and placed it steadily on it.

Then, he pulled his wand from his robes and gently pressed the tip against his temple. As the wand drew, a long, mother-of-pearl-like silver thread was slowly pulled out.

He carefully added the strand of silver thread into the swirling silver substance in the stone basin.

The silver threads merged into it, creating a ripple. The substance in the basin spun faster, and the light became even brighter.

“The truth is right here,” Snape said, raising his head and inviting the others to see it.

No one objected.

Finally, Professor McGonagall took a deep breath, stepped forward first, bent down, and immersed her face in the swirling silver halo...

A powerful suction force pulled them together, and they spun rapidly downwards in the cold darkness, falling into another pitch-black expanse.

The surroundings were eerily silent, with only intermittent sobs of fear coming from the darkness.

After an unknown amount of time, a piercing creak broke the silence. Above the darkness, a heavy wooden door was pulled open.

The dim, flickering light pierced the darkness, shining directly down and causing the people, who had adjusted to the darkness, to instinctively squint.

A tall, slender figure dressed in a black robe descended the creaking ladder, holding a wand that emitted a faint glow.

By the dim light, Snape and the others could barely make out their surroundings: it was a damp and cold underground cell, with water droplets condensing on the rough stone walls, dirty straw scattered on the ground, and several ragged prisoners huddled in a corner.

Peter Pettigrew, meanwhile, huddled in a corner not far from them, his back against the wall, curled up in a ball, his eyes unfocused.

The Death Eater, his face grim, walked straight up to Peter and, without a word, pointed his wand at him: "Yugardim Leviosa!"

Peter screamed in terror, his body floating uncontrollably, pulled by an invisible force, swaying and drifting toward the ladder.

The Death Eaters followed him indifferently; Snape and the others followed closely behind.

After passing through a narrow ladder and a dusty corridor, the Death Eaters led Peter Pettigrew to a relatively spacious hall.

Although it was better than the dungeon, it was still dilapidated, with dusty furniture and faded tapestries hanging on the walls.

The Death Eater waved his wand again, dispelling the levitation spell, and Peter fell to the floor with a thud, groaning in pain.

The insect's tail finally recovered, and the intense fear made it scream desperately:

"Giben! Giben! What are you going to do to me? I'm not a Mudblood... I'm really not a Mudblood... My mother is... Please let me go!"

“Shut up!” Gibbon, a Death Eater, interrupted him impatiently, a cruel smile on his face.

“Peter Pettigrew?” He looked down at Peter, who was trembling on the ground. “The famous young master Potter’s sidekick?” He crouched down, the tip of his wand almost poking Wormtail’s nose. “What a pity, the Potters did not accept their master’s generous offer.”

"You're really unlucky, Little Petrel. Blame it on your ungrateful friend and your filthy blood!"

Gibbon grinned maliciously, straightened up, and raised his wand.

"No! Don't kill me! Please don't!" Peter cried out in a heart-wrenching wail, covering his head and face with his hands.

At the same time, Gibbon's incantation was about to be uttered:

"Avada——"

However, his voice was interrupted by Peter's desperate, piercing scream.

"Lord Voldemort!"

The name instantly choked Gibbon. He froze on the spot, his arm holding the wand trembling in mid-air, the cruel smile on his face replaced by terror, his eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

Peter Pettigrew, the Gryffindor known for his cowardice, unleashed a courage unlike any he had ever possessed, almost tragically brave, like a cornered beast. He had never been so courageous in his life, though this courage stemmed from his fear of death.

"Lord Voldemort!" he sobbed, tears and snot streaming down his face, yet he continued to scream resolutely, "Lord Voldemort, I have important news to tell you! Important news!"

"Shut up!" Gibbon snapped out of his shock and jumped up. "You damned idiot! Are you trying to kill us both?" He looked around in fear.

With a few popping sounds, several figures dressed in black hooded robes appeared in the shadows of the dilapidated hall, surrounding Gibbon and Peter on the ground.

The leader, a tall and burly Death Eater, pulled back his hood, revealing a rugged and fierce face.

“Gibbon?” he demanded gruffly. “What are you doing?” His wand was already pointed at the terrified Gibbon.

Gibbon was terrified and pointed at Peter, stammering, "Lord Yaxley, it wasn't me, it was him!"

“Peter Pettigrew, that lowly insect! He called out his master’s name! He said… he said he had important information to tell his master!”

Yaxley's fierce eyes immediately turned to Peter on the ground.

He strode forward and roughly pulled Peter up from the ground, lifting him off the ground like a chick.

Yaxley's face was almost pressed against Peter's pale face, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"You?" Yax gripped Peter's neck tightly and asked fiercely, "You want to see the master?"

Peter was being choked so badly he could barely breathe, but he knew this was his only chance. He shouted with difficulty and at breakneck speed:

"I want to see the Dark Lord! I want to join you!"

"I know information that will be of great value to the master—a secret about the Potter family!"

“You’d better have something that your master can hear! Otherwise…” A cruel glint flashed in Yaxley’s eyes.

He squinted, staring intently at Peter, and said nothing more, but tightened his grip on Peter's collar.

The insect tail felt a sharp pain in its throat, and its brain was dizzy from lack of oxygen.

Just then, Yaxley swiftly raised his free hand and pointed his wand at Pettigrew's forehead: "Leechence!"

Peter's eyes became empty and unfocused, just as they had when he faced Snape not long ago, though this time it took longer.

Time passed by minute by minute.

Yaxley's brow furrowed deeper and deeper, and his expression gradually shifted from initial doubt to a hint of surprise.

A moment later, he withdrew his wand and released his grip on Peter's collar. Peter collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

Yaxley stared grimly at the lowly traitor on the ground, his face twitching as he assessed the authenticity and value of the memories he had just forcibly extracted.

Finally, he made a decision.

“Hmph,” Yaxley sneered, roughly lifting Peter up again. “Consider yourself lucky, Little Pettigrew. You’d better pray your news is important enough for your master to see you personally!”

Before he finished speaking, he grabbed Gibbon's arm with his other hand and spun him around abruptly.

When the scene came into focus again, Yaxley, along with Wormtail and Gibbon, stopped in front of a heavy wooden door leading to another room.

After hesitating for a few seconds, he turned the bronze handle, leaving Gibbon outside and carrying the insect's tail inside.

Behind the door is a luxuriously decorated living room.

Intricately patterned curtains hung on the walls, and outside the huge French windows was a neatly manicured courtyard; but at this moment the curtains were half-drawn, and the light in the room mainly came from a marble fireplace that occupied an entire wall; the fireplace was burning fiercely, but under the refraction of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, it cast cold spots of light.

Beneath everyone's feet was a thick, soft, dark carpet that made no sound when stepped on.

Looking down the carpet to the other end, there was a slightly raised platform with a cold, hard-lined armchair on it. The high back of the chair almost blended into the dark shadows above.

At that moment, a figure was sitting in that high-backed chair.

He lowered his head slightly, seemingly deep in thought, or perhaps simply gazing indifferently down below.

Yaxley gently placed Peter on the thick carpet, bowing deeply with humility.
"Owner……"

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(End of this chapter)