As Harry resumed classes the following week and settled back into the rhythm of lessons and homework, he continued to hear the whispering gossip of his peers all around him. At first he assumed they were still talking about his run-in with Pettigrew, but quickly realized he was not the topic of conversation for once. Everyone seemed to be buzzing about Neville Longbottom, and some incident that had transpired at Hogsmeade the previous Saturday.

He asked Hermione about it in the library one afternoon, as they worked together on Arithmancy homework. "Oh, that," she muttered, frowning at the memory. "A dementor wandered into the village and had to be chased off by some of the shopkeepers. We weren't in danger or anything, but Neville had a really bad reaction to it."

"Did he?" Harry grimaced.

"Yes; it was like the train all over again," Hermione sighed. "He collapsed and grabbed his head, screaming like he was being assaulted, right in the middle of the street. A bunch of people stared – it was awful."

"Blimey," Harry muttered. "Is he doing okay now?" He remembered seeing Neville in classes earlier that week, looking miserable and not participating in group activities.

"Dunno, he doesn't like talking about it," said Hermione. "I told him to ask Professor Potter for more training with the Patronus Charm, but he doesn't want to worry him after what happened with you and Pettigrew."

"Noble git," Harry chuckled. He remembered his own reluctance to accept help from others in the last timeline, and now that he was on the other side of it, he saw how stupid and self-defeating it was.

"Maybe you can help him?" Hermione said hopefully. "You can cast a Patronus. I bet if you worked with him, he might be able to get it."

"Yeah, maybe," Harry shrugged. In truth, he couldn't see a way to fit it into his busy schedule. He was still behind in class work and hadn't been able to access the Room of Requirement to use the Time-Turner safely. That wasn't even considering his quest to dig further into Pettigrew's past, as he knew Saul would be disappointed if he came to their next meeting over winter break with nothing.

He had ruled out broaching the topic with his father again, who clearly did not want to speak or even think about Pettigrew. He could ask his professors who had taught Pettigrew back in the day, but worried that news would get back around to Dumbledore and he would find himself under scrutiny from the headmaster once more. But the person he most wanted to talk to was Snape, who had apparently been closer to Pettigrew than Harry thought. Would he be willing to discuss this with Harry? He strongly doubted it, but it was worth a try.

He decided to make his move after an afternoon Potions class later that week, which had them all brewing an antidote for pimples. Snape had strolled past his station once, merely looking into Harry's cauldron and giving a curt nod before moving on. That was the highest praise he could ever hope to get from the professor.

Harry stayed behind as the class filtered out of the room and Snape began loading their samples into a box. "Excuse me, Professor?" he announced, approaching the desk.

"Potter," Snape said neutrally without looking up at him.

"I never got a chance to thank you," said Harry. "For saving my life, I mean. My mother said you put my body under stasis to keep me alive from the blast...I really appreciate that."

Snape did not react much to this. "Of course," he shrugged. "Only doing my job."

"I heard you ran off Pettigrew as well," Harry continued. "He must've been frightened to see you of all people show up."

Snape stiffened a bit. "I imagine the threat of being caught weighed more heavily on his decision to flee," he said. "Any teacher's presence would have had the same effect."

"But especially you, sir," Harry insisted. "You knew Pettigrew in school, didn't you? Were you friends with him?"

Snape, who had been ignoring Harry's gaze this whole time, suddenly snapped his focus onto the boy, glaring at him with those deep black eyes. "Who told you that?" he demanded. "Your father?"

"Erm...no, my mother," Harry lied, hoping the mention of Lily would soften Snape's anger. "She just said you spent time with him sometimes, that's all."

His gambit worked, and Snape's expression softened somewhat. His angry demeanor receded back to a veneer of cool calm. "I suppose we were casual acquaintances," he shrugged. "I would never have considered him a friend...not with the stunts his little crew of degenerates pulled."

Harry knew Snape was referring to his father with the 'degenerates' comment, but did not rise to the obvious insult. "Did you know he was into the Dark Arts back then?" he asked innocently.

"He was far too much of a coward to engage with that arena while a student," said Snape. "When he turned to the Dark Lord's service, I know not."

"But you must have noticed when he did, right?" Harry inquired. "You were a part of Voldemort's circle yourself, weren't you?"

"Do not speak the Dark Lord's name to me!" Snape hissed angrily. "I have renounced those ties, as you very well know. And none of this concerns you in the slightest."

"I beg to differ," Harry challenged. "Pettigrew came after me, remember? I figure I ought to know what I'm up against."

"Pettigrew would not dare attack you in the castle again," Snape said. "You would do well to keep your head down and let the adults handle this, Potter. I imagine even your foolhardy father would tell you the same."

Once again, Harry swallowed his retort to the insult against James. "Sorry for imposing, Professor," he said with a small bow. "I was only curious." And he hastily left the room, simmering with frustration at the failed ploy.

Of course Snape wouldn't want to talk about it! If he had recruited Pettigrew to Voldemort's inner circle, he surely wouldn't admit it openly to Harry. And if he hadn't, he would likely seek to distance himself from the man anyway, wishing to leave those memories far behind him. Harry should have known this would come to a dead end.

But Harry was reminded of something else James had said to him: "They were all outsiders in their own unique ways." Perhaps Snape and Pettigrew hadn't bonded much with their fellow classmates, or even their teachers. But they might have sought solace and companionship in something else. Harry left the dungeons and headed up to the first floor. There was somebody he could talk to about this after all.

He reached the girls' bathroom on the first floor, and after pressing an ear to the door to ensure no students were inside, he pushed it open. "Myrtle?" he called out. "Myrtle, are you here?"

Moaning Myrtle drifted glumly out of a toilet, glaring when she saw who it was. "Oh, it's you," she huffed. "The boy who was spying on girls last year."

"That wasn't true," Harry defended himself. "I was defending them against Slytherin's monster."

Myrtle softened a bit at this. "I heard a rumor that the monster was slain," she said. "Do you know who killed it?"

"Remus Lupin killed it," said Harry. "He avenged your death."

Myrtle smiled at this news. "Remus was always a very kind boy," she said. "I'm glad to hear it."

"You knew Remus as a student?" asked Harry hopefully.

"Not well, but I heard him defending me in the halls when his friends made fun of me," said Myrtle. "Those awful Potter and Black boys." Harry felt a lurch of unpleasantness at this reminder of his father's past behavior, but quickly moved past it.

"What about their other friend?" he asked. "Peter Pettigrew. Did you ever know him?"

"The quiet one?" asked Myrtle. "Not really. He always seemed so very sad, though. I saw him when he came back as caretaker, too, and he always kept to himself. Has he made any friends since leaving?"

"I don't think so," Harry said, deciding not to get into Peter's more recent activities to alarm Myrtle. "What about Severus Snape and Lily Evans? Did you know them?"

A smile spread across Myrtle's face. "Lily Evans?" she asked excitedly. "What a lovely girl. She came in here sometimes and talked to me. Her friends Marlene and Dorcas didn't like me much, but she was always so kind."

"Did she ever talk about Severus or Peter?" asked Harry.

"Oh, yes," Myrtle said, and her expression dropped again. "She came in here crying in her fifth year, saying that the Snape boy had said awful things about her. He called her a...a…"

"A Mudblood, yeah, I know," Harry frowned. "Lily Evans is my mother."

"Ooh, she is?" Myrtle said, brightening again. "Do tell her to come and visit me sometime, will you?"

"I will," Harry nodded. "But what about Peter Pettigrew? Did she say anything about him?"

"Not really," Myrtle sighed. "I heard some other girls gossiping about him, though. They were laughing at him for embarrassing himself by asking out some older girl above his station. I don't remember who."

"Alice Fawley?" Harry guessed.

"Yes, that was it!" Myrtle agreed. "She also seemed kind. I wonder whatever became of her?"

Harry declined to tell her the truth of Alice Longbottom's fate, not wishing to upset her further. "Thank you for the time, Myrtle," he said instead. "I'll send my mother Lily your regards."

And he left the bathroom, feeling once again that he hadn't learned much. Though now that he thought about it, it was rather odd that Peter would pledge his loyalty to the man who murdered the girl he loved. Perhaps the two were unrelated, and he'd gotten over Alice by the time she was killed. But Harry remembered the fondness with which Peter had spoken about Alice, the regret he harbored for their falling-out, and wondered if there was more to the story than he was picking up on.

As Harry walked down the corridor, he suddenly realized that he was quite alone. There were no teachers eyeing him from behind doors, no Mrs. Norris leering at him with her blood-red eyes. This could be a golden opportunity to get some quality time in the Room of Requirement...the way was blocked off, but he knew of at least one hidden passageway that could get him around the obstruction.

Harry stole through the castle, careful to avoid passing ghosts and sounds of footsteps in the distance. When he reached the foot of the Astronomy Tower, he located the portrait of Beedle the Bard and pulled it away from the wall, revealing the base of a spiral slide – similar to the one he'd taken Damian down elsewhere in the castle – and shut himself inside.

"Terrus steruntus," he muttered, pointing his wand at the smooth stone; it began to shift and reform itself into stairs, which he used to climb up several stories. He reached the top, blocked off by another portrait, and pushed it forward, stepping out onto the seventh floor, just around the corner from the Room of Requirement.

Harry noticed two things straight away. For one, the tower was much draftier than it normally was; despite the exterior having been rebuilt, remnants of the magical damage to the structure still remained. For another, he was face-to-face with Argus Filch, who was frozen mid-sweep of a broom, staring at the sudden appearance of a student.

"Student out of bounds!" he cackled with glee. "This tower's been closed off from students, boy!"

Harry groaned; of course he would be caught red-handed immediately. Filch grabbed him by the collar (an unnecessary touch, Harry felt) and dragged him all the way to the Defense classroom, marching Harry proudly into James' office.

"Caught your son in the Astronomy Tower, Potter!" Filch announced with a malevolent grin. "Past the barriers! That's a clear violation!"

James groaned at this news. "Dammit, Harry!" he said. "We've been over this – you're not to go up there any more!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Harry grumbled.

"You won't get very far with that attitude, boy!" Filch scoffed. "I reckon this calls for a detention!"

"Unfortunately, I quite agree," James said, crossing his arms and looking supremely disappointed with his son. "These rules are for your own safety, and you can't just treat them like they don't exist."

"What, like you never snuck out of bounds when you were a student?" Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"I didn't have a deranged murderer after me when I was a student!" James roared, standing from his seat to make his displeasure fully known. "That'll be ten points from Ravenclaw for your cheek, and if you push it, I'll tack on another detention."

Harry glared petulantly at his father. He couldn't dispute anything he was saying, but it didn't make the punishment feel any less unfair.

"It's been a while since the Trophy Room's had a nice deep cleaning," Filch said thoughtfully. "Perhaps an evening of manual labor might do the trick?"

"I think that's a splendid idea," James agreed. "I approve you to supervise it, Argus. And no magic allowed! Is that understood, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said glumly, knowing any further outbursts would only make his situation worse. He stomped out of the office and headed for the Great Hall to rejoin his classmates.

What was he expected to do, anyway? Should he simply give up on homework and let his grades suffer? Quit the Quidditch team to free up his afternoons? Saul would probably suggest both courses of action, but he still cared about his future in this timeline and wanted to do things the right way for once. He had a chance to have a normal Hogwarts experience for once, Dark Lord be damned. He hated the thought of flunking his third year the moment things got tough, but that was becoming a very real danger.

He reported to the Trophy Room at seven o' clock that Saturday; Filch was waiting for him with a bucket and mop along with an assortment of other cleaning supplies. "I want this place spotless," Filch grinned malevolently. "Report back to my office when you finish, but if I find your work unsatisfactory, you will be kept another night to finish the job!"

"Understood," Harry said glumly, and he got to work. Truthfully, the manual labor didn't bother him so much; it was nothing compared to the grueling housework the Dursleys used to give him in his last timeline. It was the complete waste of time that annoyed him – a whole evening spent doing pointless chores that magic could perform in seconds. But the meaninglessness was the point, he knew, and it was meant to be unpleasant, so he gritted his teeth and got on with it.

As Harry worked around the sizable room with the mop and duster, an annoying rapping sound persisted from some unknown source. He didn't know if it was some clinking of pipes in the walls, or some other fixture in the castle rattling about, but it annoyed him to no end. Just as the noise was beginning to drive him mad, he located the source: a dusty cabinet in the far corner of the room, which looked like it hadn't been touched in ages.

Something fall over in there? Harry wondered as he approached the cabinet, throwing it open to see what was inside.

Out tumbled the dead body of Dahlia Potter, white as a sheet, staring lifelessly up at the sky.

Harry's blood ran cold as he stared down at his sister, frozen with horrified shock. God, please no, he thought in distress. How could this have happened? How did she wind up in here?

There was suddenly a loud CRACK, and another body appeared: that of his father, James, also lifeless and still, staring blankly to the heavens. Another CRACK heralded his mother's appearance beside her husband, just as pale and clearly departed from life.

Boggart, Harry realized with stupendous relief, fumbling for his wand. "R-riddikulus!" he stammered. The bodies suddenly strung themselves upright like puppets on a string, dancing jovially around the room. Harry didn't actually find the image that amusing; seeing his family dead and gone remained a blood-chilling sight. But fortunately the spell worked, and the boggart retreated back into the cabinet, shutting itself back inside with a slam.

Bloody hell, Harry thought, slumping to the ground and sinking his head into his hands. He'd never given much thought to what form his boggart might take in this timeline – he hadn't had any family to lose in his previous life. It made perfect sense that the thing he feared most was having them taken away from him again. He remained seated there until his limbs stopped trembling, then got to his feet to inform Filch about the finding.

But as he approached the caretaker's office, he realized this could be a good opportunity to help Neville with his dementor problem. He remembered how Lupin had helped him in his own third year, using the boggart to train him with the Patronus Charm. Harry was willing to bet that Neville's boggart would take the same form, and this could allow him to learn the spell without an actual dementor present.

Harry heard a distant crash in the distance as he neared the office, following shortly thereafter by a furious shout of "Peeves!" somewhere nearby. Filch was not in his office when Harry arrived, which was to be expected; he was likely preoccupied with whatever destruction the poltergeist had just caused.

Harry considered heading to his father's office next to inform him about the boggart, but stopped short. Filch's office remained open and unattended, and Harry had a brief opportunity to enter without interruption for several minutes. Struck by inspiration, he entered, and went straight for the filing cabinets which he knew contained student disciplinary records.

If Harry was feeling particularly devious, he might locate his own file (or that of his father's, maybe) and purge the records within as though they never existed. Instead, he flipped through names in the "P" section until he located Pettigrew, Peter. The folder bearing his name was stuffed with notes detailing Peter's various infractions and punishments over his Hogwarts years. Harry was relieved; he had wondered if perhaps Peter purged these records himself as caretaker, but it seemed he hadn't considered this course of action prior to his arrest.

Harry removed the folder and set it on Filch's desk, pointing his wand at it. "Proteus," he muttered; a copy of the folder sprang into being beside the original. The files inside the folder were blank, but that was fine – they didn't need to pass close scrutiny, just appear untouched at a glance. He placed the fake copy back in the cabinet and slammed it shut, stuffing the original down his trousers and exiting the office.

Perhaps some of the answers he sought about Peter's past could be found within…

Harry ended up not informing anybody about the boggart, figuring that the thick layer of dust over the cabinet meant that nobody frequented that area of the hall anyway. He did locate a tattered tarp in a closet and threw it over the cabinet, and even cast a light notice-me-not charm on it to further decrease the odds of some unsuspecting student having as horrific a discovery as he had.

As expected, however, he didn't find the time to invite Neville to a tutoring session as December wound to a close. He was finally getting a handle on his mountain of homework, but Roger was ramping up Quidditch practices as promised and midterms continued to loom large over everyone. Harry spent nearly all of his free time in the library with Hermione, hanging onto her every explanation about Arithmancy while desperately trying not to fall asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Multi-tasking became a must, and Harry found small ways to sprinkle in usage of the Time-Turner to buy himself a crucial hour or two. He made use of empty classrooms to travel back and get a couple hours of work done, making sure to leave before his past self arrived. He snuck out after a Dueling Club meeting and traveled back, knowing that his dorm mates' presence in the Great Hall would ensure an empty dorm to catch a few hours of extra sleep. He even agreed to an extra training session with the Quidditch team that occurred during a Care of Magical Creatures lesson, knowing he could easily turn himself back after class and head straight to the pitch to do both.

Midterms thankfully weren't too bad for the most part. It was the quantity of exams he had to take that was the issue, moreso than the difficulty level. He skated through the majority of them – Defense, Charms, Transfiguration, and the like – without difficulty. Some gave him minor problems, like History of Magic and Ancient Runes, mostly due to the breadth of memorization required. A few were downright dreadful...Arithmancy somehow still managed to elude his understanding without Hermione hovering over his shoulder explaining everything, while Divination remained as impenetrable a subject as ever, forcing him to invent wild tales of his own death for every prediction demanded of him.

At long last, the time came to board the Hogwarts Express and head home. Harry joined the queue of students in the Entrance Hall waiting for a carriage, and to his surprise, spotted Damian Dursley lurking among them. "Not staying at Hogwarts over break, Damian?" Harry asked, walking over to his cousin.

"Why would I?" Damian asked, frowning. "I'm going home, duh!"

"Oh," said Harry surprised. "I just thought...well, never mind."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Think my folks don't want me no more, just cause I'm a 'freak' or summat?" he demanded. "Shows what you know, Potter. Now beat it, will ya?"

Harry sighed and left Damian alone. Frankly, that was exactly what he'd assumed about Vernon and Petunia...they'd never once asked Harry to return home for the holidays. Perhaps being their direct kin had softened their stance on magic a bit, but it still seemed rather out of character for them. He put it out of his mind, thinking ahead to a luxurious Christmas break as he joined his classmates for the train ride.

But his thoughts immediately returned to the Dursleys when they pulled into King's Cross Station and Harry and Dahlia searched the platform for their mother. They spotted her near the gateway, and Harry's stomach gave a small lurch of displeasure at the sight of his Aunt Petunia standing uncomfortably beside her sister. It was one thing reflecting back on his relatives and quite another coming face to face with them, as a flood of unpleasant memories about his abusive childhood rushed in.

Petunia gave Harry and Dahlia a small smile as they approached, a clearly-unnatural gesture that looked more like a grimace. "This must be Dahlia, then?" she said, assessing her young niece. "What a beautiful young woman you've grown to be. And is that little Harry? My, you've grown since I last saw you."

"Hello, Aunt Petunia," Harry said dully, forcing himself to be polite. Dahlia merely nodded, clearly harboring unpleasant memories of her own from her past visits to Privet Drive.

"I hope you've been watching over your cousin Damian," said Lily. "He must have been so pleased to have relatives to rely on at school."

"Yeah, a bit," Harry shrugged. Damian came shuffling up the platform soon after, barely giving his cousins a glance before hugging his mother and beckoning towards the exit. Harry watched them go, noticing the loving touch of Petunia's hand upon her son's shoulder, a vague sense of jealousy and resentment creeping into him. She never cared enough to enter Platform 9 ¾ to pick ME up…

But he had no grounds to feel neglected as he returned to Godric's Hollow and Lily doted on her two returning children (and husband). They insisted on keeping everyone close out of caution, but did make occasional family outings into town to celebrate the holiday season. Harry had never attended a Muggle church service before, but was swept up in the festive energy and singing choirs spreading cheer and goodwill throughout the village. He could see why so many wizarding families had chosen to live here, despite the sizable population of non-magicals.

Sirius came by for Christmas dinner as per tradition, and while Lupin was dearly missed, he did send a lovely letter home talking about his travels. He was currently in the Italian countryside, touring the local wizarding AND Muggle populations there and generally enjoying life. Harry was pleased to hear that one of his favorite people had finally shed the stigma and guilt of his affliction and was now enjoying life to the fullest.

Harry also had a planned meeting with Saul Croaker before returning to school, accompanying his father to the Ministry (who wanted to check in with the Auror Office he'd gone on hiatus from). He insisted once again on making his own way to level nine, finding Saul as usual near the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. The man beckoned Harry inside and closed the door, Muffling it and settling into his chair with a heavy sigh.

"No more run-ins with the rat, I take it?" he asked.

"Nope," Harry shook his head. "I imagine he'll be more careful next time when trying to break into the castle."

"Perhaps," Saul shrugged. "We haven't ruled out temporary insanity as a motivating factor yet."

"I strongly doubt that," Harry scoffed. "He was only in Azkaban for less than a year."

"You mustn't dismiss any potential outcome outright," Saul said warningly. "We must be very precise in our observations and presumptions about him in order to glean meaning from his actions."

"Fine," Harry huffed. "Any luck with Riddle?"

"Not much, I'm sorry to say," Saul frowned. "I tracked down a few of the Muggles he lived with as an orphan, and they all refused to speak about him. Slammed the front door in my face, in some cases."

"Doesn't surprise me much," said Harry. "Who would want to talk about Voldemort?"

"Foolish boy," Saul chastised him. "None of those Muggles know that Tom Riddle became such a monster! Hell, very few witches and wizards are aware of that fact, either. These people's only knowledge of the name is who he was up until the age of eleven. The fact that they would be so standoffish despite this is extremely alarming."

"So what do we do about it?" Harry asked. "Force them to talk?"

"As I said, I am not in the business of forceful coercion," said Saul. "At least not until our situation becomes more dire. I will continue my interview attempts until such leads are exhausted, at which point we may move on to wizarding contacts."

"What kind of contacts?" asked Harry.

"Hogwarts classmates," said Saul. "He attended from 1937 to 1945, which gives us plenty of candidates to ask about his school years. Anyone who may have come into contact with him may have valuable information: who his friends were, what teachers he was friendly with, and so on."

"He was not friendly with Dumbledore, that's for sure," Harry grinned. "He told me himself: Dumbledore was the only professor who didn't buy into his sweet-talk act."

"I doubt he was the only one in the school who saw through it," Saul retorted. "Perhaps he was the only one brave enough to show it. But if my Muggle contacts thus far are any indication, I have no doubt that a teenage Tom Riddle drew plenty of negative attention from his peers."

"Unless he cleaned his act up," Harry pointed out. "Got better at hiding his nastiness at Hogwarts."

"Such nastiness cannot be fully contained," said Saul. "There are always signs. And figuring out how they manifested themselves could prove crucial in our journey."

"Remind me why this matters so much?" asked Harry. "Do we really need to know who Riddle was chummy with in school to defeat him?"

"We need to determine where this timeline diverged from your own," said Saul. "Why the Dark Lord went after the Longbottoms instead of the Potters. That could provide insight into why you are here, and what must be done to counteract him in the future."

"And I don't suppose there's any way I could learn the contents of that prophecy?" Harry asked with a sigh. "Or must I continue on in the dark?"

"The prophecy whose existence I cannot confirm to you?" Saul asked with a wry grin. "The alleged prophecy that does not bear your name upon it? No, you may not. The only way you could obtain such knowledge is by asking the prophecy-maker or receiver directly."

"Could Neville come and hear it himself?" Harry asked.

"If he could get to it, yes," said Saul. "But it is not public record, and he could not request access to it via conventional means. He would have to illegally enter the Hall of Prophecy in order to take it from the shelf, and the Ministry wouldn't allow that."

"But you're Head Unspeakable," Harry pointed out. "Surely you could allow it?"

"I could open the door for him, but would be breaking my oaths to do so," Saul shook his head. "No, it is an impossibility. I'm amazed you and your friends managed it in your last timeline, but it seems someone had cleared the way ahead for you already."

That much was true...Malfoy and the other Death Eaters had already breached the Department of Mysteries and ensured they met no resistance en route to the prophecy. "Right, then," Harry sighed. "Anything I can do at Hogwarts to aid your research?"

"Nothing that wouldn't tip off the staff, I fear," said Saul. "All of his scholastic accomplishments are public record, so there's nothing in the castle we could use, aside from first-hand experience of the teachers who knew him."

"And ghosts," Harry pointed out. "All of them were present when Riddle was a student. Hell, he even created one of them."

"Ask them if you like," Saul shrugged. "They aren't technically under the Headmaster's authority, though they may choose to volunteer information to Dumbledore if you are not subtle enough. And I'm sorry to say that you don't strike me as the subtle type."

"Trust me, the Sorting Hat made that abundantly clear," Harry chuckled. "I certainly mucked it up with my dad when I brought up Pettigrew. He got angry and defensive when I asked questions about him turning to the Dark Lord."

"Of course he did," Saul scoffed. "Nobody wants to talk about their old classmate that went Dark, much less a close friend."

"He did mention that Pettigrew was acquaintances with Severus Snape, though," said Harry. "I thought maybe that was his introduction to Voldemort."

"That seems plausible," Saul nodded. "I don't suppose we can prove it, though, as I'm guessing Snape wouldn't acknowledge such a thing."

"He didn't," Harry admitted. "Though he implied that Pettigrew went Dark after school, during the war. I would guess he was already a part of the Order by then."

"The what?"

"Order of the Phoenix," Harry explained. "Dumbledore's secret society. They coordinated efforts against Voldemort when the Ministry wouldn't."

"That explains some things," Saul muttered. "I often wondered who was out there fending off Death Eaters from their raids, because the Aurors certainly didn't want to get involved."

"I learned a little bit from Moaning Myrtle, as well," Harry went on. "She overheard some gossip about Peter – girls were laughing at him for asking out Alice Fawley, later Longbottom."

"That's something," Saul mused. "He loved the woman his master murdered in cold blood...quite the curiosity."

"I also found this," said Harry, reaching into his robes and pulling out Peter's case file. "His disciplinary record. Nicked it from the caretaker's office."

Saul flipped through the file, semi-interested. "I take it you already browsed through this?" he asked.

"Most of it is for sneaking out with my dad and his friends," said Harry. "But there are a few isolated incidents worth looking into. Check out November 18, 1977."

Saul flipped through the pages until he located the correct date. "November 18, P. Pettigrew given detention for hexingE. Vance in the corridors,"he read aloud. "Who's this Vance?"

"Emmeline Vance," said Harry. "Another Order member; I met her in my last timeline. Dunno why they would come to blows if they were supposedly on the same side. Unless Pettigrew already had plans of turning Dark?"

"Or perhaps he had a problem with women," Saul suggested.

"I hardly think her gender factors into this—" Harry began.

"These things are not frivolous, Harry!" Saul insisted. "What have we learned so far? That Pettigrew was rejected by a woman, laughed at by women for it, and even attacked a woman in his seventh year. He never married and by all accounts lived his life alone, despite these intense feelings of desire he once harbored. We are trying to build a psychological profile of this man – to gain insight into how he views the world – and we must take all of these factors as potentially significant!"

"You think Pettigrew joined Voldemort because he hates women?" Harry frowned.

"Why not?" said Saul. "People have joined up with violent causes for much less personal reasons. Racial bias, nationalistic pride, political leanings – all of these factors dictate the way people live their lives."

"But how does this help us figure out what he's up to at Hogwarts?" asked Harry. "If he hated women so much, wouldn't he go after Dahlia instead of me?"

"We still don't know that he was after you at all," Saul pointed out. "You said yourself that it was sheer accident that you ran into one another. Perhaps he was on his way elsewhere, and you happened to get in his way."

Harry pondered this. "We were in the Astronomy Tower," he said. "My father and I found evidence that he entered through a secret passage on the third floor, near the Grand Staircase. He must have had a reason for going all the way up there."

"And notice that he did not choose to go to Ravenclaw Tower," said Saul. "Or the Great Hall, where most would expect a student to be during the Halloween Feast."

"That's true," Harry admitted. "When Sirius Black broke into Hogwarts in my last timeline, he tried to get into the Gryffindor common room. At the time I thought he was after me, but Pettigrew was disguised as my friend Ron's rat, and Sirius knew it."

"We are narrowing down the possibilities," Saul remarked. "It may seem like we are still in the dark, but trust me, every bit of information helps us pinpoint his motives. Keep digging, and we may just be able to prevent him from getting whatever it is he's after."

They continued discussing Peter Pettigrew and Tom Riddle for a while, though not much more of substance was achieved. They resolved to meet again over spring break in three months' time, with Saul tentatively agreeing to let Harry come along if he found another promising Muggle lead. Harry shook Saul's hand and stood to exit the room and locate his father.

"One last question, actually," said Harry, turning back to Saul. "My Patronus is different from my last timeline. What could that mean?"

"You have a corporeal Patronus?" Saul asked, raising his eyebrows. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's rare, but not unheard of for a Patronus to change form. It usually follows a time of emotional upheaval, or a drastic lifestyle shift. I would imagine both scenarios apply to you."

"It used to be a stag, like my father's," said Harry. "But now it's a thestral. Is that bad?"

Saul actually laughed at this. "Considering you died, I'd say it makes a lot of sense," he chuckled. "You have a very unique relationship with Death, Harry Potter. It seems you even spoke to him, her, or it. I'm not surprised that has manifested itself in your Patronus."

"But you don't think it's an omen?"

"I tend to avoid such frivolous superstitions," Saul shrugged. "Most wizards fear death; I study it for a living. If anything, I would take it as a sign that you have a healthy relationship with your own mortality."

"I don't intend to die again this time," Harry retorted. "Or let anyone around me die, for that matter."

"Make no mistake, Harry, we all die," said Saul. "Some men, like Tom Riddle, may attempt to alter that fact, but it is unavoidable."

"You know what I mean," Harry grumbled.

"No, I think it is you who doesn't know what I mean," Saul smiled. "You intend on fighting a war against a Dark Lord, and yet you stubbornly continue to treat death as an unacceptable outcome. War is death, Harry. You'd do well to learn from your past and accept that you may lose people you care about."

Harry thought back to his boggart appearing in the Trophy Room – the bodies of his family members dancing around him like morbid marionettes, mocking him for his failure to save them. He would do anything to avoid such a fate coming to fruition. But perhaps Saul had a point: his current actions were leading him down a path that made such an outcome not just a possibility, but a probability.