Lost Eyes of Magic: Chapter 21

Shadows of Justice

Harry walked the winding halls of Hogwarts with a steady, measured pace, his mind singularly focused on his next destination. Draco Malfoy was nowhere in sight, having been sent off on a separate task, leaving Harry to handle this part of the plan alone.

As he approached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, he slowed, stopping just short of the portrait of the Fat Lady. He couldn't see her, of course, but he'd heard enough from other students to know this was the entrance.

He leaned casually against the wall, his head tilted slightly, listening intently for approaching footsteps. The quiet murmur of students from distant corridors reached his ears, but none close enough yet. His patience remained steady—he could wait.

He wasn't here by chance. There was a purpose to this. A goal.

The person he needed was inside that common room. And that person was Ronald Weasley.

Harry's jaw tightened slightly as he thought about the events leading him here. Ron's pet rat, Scabbers, was no ordinary animal. Harry had heard Ron mention countless times how long Scabbers had been in his family—over a decade. A rat living that long wasn't normal, and with Sirius's revelation, it all made horrifying sense.

Harry didn't have to wait long. Soon enough, the glow of a magical core approached, faint but steady as it moved closer. He tilted his head slightly, tracking the presence as it came to a stop in front of him. He didn't recognize the core—he'd never seen it before—but that didn't matter.

"What's a Slytherin doing lurking outside our house?" the student asked, their tone suspicious but not hostile.

Harry straightened, his expression neutral. "I need to speak to Ronald Weasley," he said plainly. "And as you can imagine, I can't exactly get inside to do that."

The student scoffed lightly. "What could you possibly need with a kid like Weasley?"

Harry didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached into his robe pocket and retrieved a small pouch, tossing it toward the student with a casual flick of his hand. The faint clink of coins rang out as the student caught it, their hand tightening instinctively around the bag.

"Does it really matter?" Harry asked, his voice steady, leaving no room for argument.

The student hesitated, weighing the pouch in their hand, before letting out a sigh. "Fine," they muttered. "Wait here. I'll get Weasley."

Harry nodded faintly, leaning back against the wall as the student disappeared through the portrait hole.

Harry waited in silence, leaning against the cold stone wall as the minutes stretched on. It wasn't long, though, before the obnoxiously familiar voice of Ronald Weasley broke through the quiet.

"What's this about, Potter?" Ron called out, his tone sharp and unamused as he stepped into view. "What's a Slytherin doing dragging me out of the common room?"

Harry straightened, his head tilting slightly in Ron's direction. He could see Ron's magical core clearly now—average, unremarkable, nothing that stood out. But that wasn't what drew Harry's focus.

What did was the faint light clinging to Ron, dimmer and smaller, but unmistakably a second magical core.

Harry's jaw tightened as he zeroed in on the faint glow. He didn't need to guess what it was. He knew. Peter Pettigrew.

That rat Ron always carried around, the one he treated like an old family heirloom—Scabbers. It wasn't just a rat. It was a man. A man who had betrayed Harry's parents, stolen Sirius's life, and robbed Harry of everything he held dear.

For years, Pettigrew had hidden in plain sight, nestled in Ron's pocket, pretending to be nothing more than a harmless pet. But now? Now Harry knew the truth, and the rat's time had run out.

Harry snickered, shaking his head slightly. "It's obvious you have a real hatred for Slytherin," he said, his tone light but edged with sarcasm. "But honestly, that's not important right now."

Ron scowled, his annoyance palpable, but Harry didn't give him a chance to respond.

"I have a proposition for you," Harry said, his voice steady, the faint smirk on his lips disappearing as his tone turned serious. "One that I think you'll want to hear."

Ron raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face. "A proposition?" he repeated, his voice dripping with doubt. "From you? Yeah, right."

Harry tilted his head slightly, his smirk returning just faintly. "Oh, trust me, Weasley," he said, his voice dropping to a quiet intensity. "This is something you don't want to ignore."

Ron crossed his arms tightly, his glare unwavering. "I'm not interested in anything a Slytherin gets up to," he spat. "I'm not in the habit of breaking rules or committing crimes, Potter."

Harry raised an eyebrow, his tone calm but tinged with amusement. "Who said anything about breaking crimes?" he replied evenly. "I honestly don't know why you have such a low opinion of Slytherin. Would you just hear me out for a second?"

Truthfully, Harry hadn't expected Ron to be so openly hostile. Granted, their only real interaction had been during the train ride in their first year—an awkward meeting that never went anywhere. After that, they'd gone their separate ways, and their paths had never really crossed again.

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry pressed on, cutting him off.

Thinking quickly, Harry forced himself to stay composed, crafting a story on the spot. "Alright," he said, his tone shifting to something more casual. "Here's the deal: I'm part of a group here at Hogwarts. A club of sorts."

Ron's frown deepened, his skepticism growing. "A club?" he repeated, clearly not convinced.

Harry nodded, leaning in slightly to make his story more compelling. "Yeah. We represent some of the more advanced and talented students at Hogwarts. We've been keeping an eye on people who show promise—people who could bring something unique to the table."

Ron blinked, his scowl faltering slightly, replaced with a flicker of confusion.

"And recently," Harry continued, gesturing vaguely, "we've taken notice of you."

Ron's brow furrowed. "Me?" he asked, his voice tinged with both doubt and curiosity.

"Yes, you," Harry said, his voice firm, though he could barely keep the smirk off his face at the sheer absurdity of what he was saying. "We wanted to invite you to a dinner. A chance to meet some of the other members and, well… win you over to our side, so to speak."

Ron smirked, puffing out his chest slightly. "Well, it's about time someone appreciated me for how great I am," he said, his tone laced with self-satisfaction. "I've been waiting for something exactly like this."

Harry kept his expression neutral, though internally he rolled his eyes.

"But," Ron added, his smirk faltering slightly as he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "if this club is so prestigious, why didn't they just send a Gryffindor to talk to me? Surely you've got one, right? After all, everyone knows Gryffindor is the best house."

If Harry could have rolled his eyes, he would have, but instead, he merely shrugged his shoulders, masking his annoyance with a casual air. Ron's conceit and bigotry were grating, but Harry realized he could turn them to his advantage.

"Actually," Harry said smoothly, "that's exactly why they sent me. It's what the Slytherins in the group do. After all, being an errand boy isn't very fitting of a Gryffindor, now is it?"

Ron's expression shifted, his smirk widening as he nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that makes sense," he said, puffing his chest out slightly. "It's about time someone understood that. Fine, I'll hear this club out. What's their name again?"

Harry didn't hesitate for even a second, lying through his teeth as he said the first thing that came to mind. "The Hogwarts Elite Society," he said confidently, as though it were the most prestigious organization in the wizarding world.

Ron raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by the name. "Hogwarts Elite Society, huh? Sounds important," he said, nodding approvingly.

"It is," Harry replied firmly, keeping up the act with ease. "And we're quite pressed for time, so if you wouldn't mind following me, we can get started."

Ron hesitated for a brief moment, glancing back toward the common room, but his curiosity and ego won out. "Alright, Potter," he said, gesturing for Harry to lead the way. "Show me what this is all about."

As Harry walked through the darkened halls of Hogwarts, Ron trailing a few steps behind, he couldn't help but marvel at how easily the boy had been fooled. Ronald Weasley, he thought, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, you really are as thick as they come.

The two of them exited the castle, stepping into the cool night. The sky above was a vast expanse of stars, the chill in the air biting but refreshing. The faint rustling of leaves and the distant sounds of the Forbidden Forest filled the quiet as Harry led Ron further from the warmth and safety of the castle walls.

"How much further, Potter?" Ron asked, his voice tinged with suspicion now. His earlier bravado seemed to waver with each step, his unease growing more apparent the farther they went.

"Not much," Harry replied evenly, his tone giving nothing away.

He could feel Ron's apprehension like a weight in the air, each of the boy's hesitant steps betraying his increasing doubt. But Harry didn't slow. His focus remained on the task ahead, his mind turning over every detail of what needed to happen next.

And then, in the distance, another figure came into view. Standing tall and unbothered, the glow of his magical core unmistakable even in the dark, was Draco Malfoy.

Harry stopped a few paces from Draco, tilting his head slightly as if acknowledging him. Ron came to a halt behind Harry, his unease quickly turning into confusion and irritation.

"Malfoy?" Ron spat, his voice filled with contempt. "What the hell is he doing here?!"

Draco smirked, crossing his arms and tilting his head in amusement. "Good to see you too, Weasley," he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. "Though I must admit, I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome."

"Relax, Ron," Harry said coolly, not turning around to face him. "Draco's here because he's part of the plan."

"Plan?" Ron echoed, his voice rising slightly with indignation. "What plan? What the bloody hell is going on here, Potter?"

Ron's outrage boiled over, his face red as he pulled out his wand, pointing it directly at Harry. "I should've known better than to trust a slimy Slytherin like you!" he shouted, his voice trembling with anger.

Draco, quick as ever, had his wand out in a flash, stepping to Harry's side and aiming it at Ron. His smirk was gone, replaced with a cold, steely determination. "Put the wand down, Weasley," Draco said sharply, his voice low and menacing. "Before you do something you'll really regret."

"Not until you tell me why you dragged me all the way out here!" Ron shot back, his grip on his wand tightening as he glared at both Harry and Draco, suspicion and fear flashing in his eyes.

The tension hung heavy in the air, the crisp night amplifying every sound—the rustling of leaves, the faint breeze, the distant croak of a toad.

Then, Harry moved.

He turned around slowly, his head tilting just slightly, and the look on his face darkened like a storm rolling in. The air around him seemed to shift, the weight of his presence pressing down on Ron.

The hair on the back of Ron's neck stood up as a shiver ran down his spine. He didn't know why, but in that moment, he felt an overwhelming sense of danger radiating off Harry.

Harry's voice, when he finally spoke, was calm, quiet—but it carried a venom that made the words cut deep. "Honestly, Weasley?" he said, his tone devoid of any warmth. "I don't give a damn about you. I couldn't care less what happens to you."

Ron blinked, stunned silent for a moment, his anger momentarily eclipsed by the chill in Harry's voice.

"But that rat in your pocket?" Harry continued, his voice dropping even lower, filled with an edge that was almost predatory. "I can't say the same about him."

Ron's face twisted with confusion and disbelief as he clutched his pocket protectively. "Scabbers?" he repeated, his voice tinged with shock. "What could you possibly want with Scabbers? He's just a rat! He hasn't done anything to anyone!"

Draco raised an eyebrow, lowering his wand slightly as he glanced between Harry and Ron. "Wait a second," he drawled, his tone dripping with incredulity. "Are you serious? All this was about a rat?"

Harry remained silent for a long moment, his head tilting slightly as though considering his next words carefully. Then, his voice broke through the quiet, low and deliberate. "I wouldn't expect either of you to understand," he said coldly. "Not yet."

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry, his curiosity clearly piqued, but he didn't interrupt.

Harry's focus shifted back to Ron, his expression hardening further. "But soon enough, it'll all be clear. Well…" He smirked faintly, his voice darkening. "For you, Draco, at least. Ron, on the other hand…"

Harry took a step forward, his presence growing heavier, more ominous. Ron instinctively stepped back, clutching Scabbers tighter, his confusion morphing into panic.

"Well," Harry continued, his voice cold and unrelenting, "you won't be conscious for much longer."

Draco's smirk widened, his wand twitching in his hand as he watched Ron pale. The tension in the air was palpable, the weight of Harry's words sinking in as the pieces began to fall into place.

"Trust me, Weasley," Draco said, his voice mocking but with an edge of excitement. "You're going to want to sit this one out."

Hearing Harry's words seemed to push Ron over the edge. His face twisted with anger and panic as his wand jerked toward Harry, a spell firing from its tip.

Harry couldn't see the flash of magic, but he felt it—the sudden surge of energy in the air, the unmistakable pull of magic being cast. Acting on instinct, he snapped his wand up. "Protego!" he called, his shield springing to life just in time. The spell collided with it, sparking harmlessly off the shimmering barrier.

There was no hesitation. Harry's wand flicked outward, his voice cold and steady as he began casting.

Spell after spell shot from his wand, each one relentless and precise. Unlike Ron, who had cast a single, desperate spell, Harry didn't stop. His magic flowed like an unending stream, each incantation sharp and deliberate.

Ron tried to dodge, his feet stumbling on the uneven ground as he scrambled to avoid the onslaught. But Harry gave him no reprieve, each spell forcing Ron further off balance.

Finally, a stunning spell hit its mark. "Stupefy!" Harry's voice rang out, and the spell struck Ron squarely in the chest. The force sent him flying backward, landing hard on the ground a few feet away. He lay there, motionless, unconscious.

Harry didn't pause. His focus shifted immediately to the second magical core—the faint, flickering light clinging to Ron's pocket. The moment Scabbers began to move, Harry's wand snapped toward him.

"Stupefy!"

The spell hit its mark, striking the rat mid-scurry before it could escape. Scabbers froze, his small body jerking from the impact before collapsing onto the ground, lifelessly still.

Harry lowered his wand, his breathing steady but his grip tight. The tension in the air lingered as he stood there, unmoving, the faint glow of both magical cores now dimmed.

Draco let out a low whistle, stepping forward cautiously, his wand still raised but no longer aimed at anything. "Remind me not to get on your bad side, Potter," he drawled, though there was a sharp edge of respect in his tone.

Harry didn't respond immediately, his focus still on the unmoving bodies before him. "The rat," he said quietly, his voice cold. "Make sure he doesn't get away."

Draco nodded, a rare seriousness settling over him as he stepped closer, his wand pointed at the unconscious form of Scabbers. "On it."

Harry exhaled slowly, his mind already turning to the next steps. The rat was captured.

Draco, wand still trained on the unconscious rat, turned his head toward Harry, his expression a mix of curiosity and irritation. "Alright, Potter," he said sharply. "I've followed you this far, and I've gone along with your little game, but now you're going to have to explain what the hell this is all about."

Harry didn't respond immediately, his focus still on Ron's motionless body and the small, flickering magical core lying next to it.

Draco took a step closer, his tone firm but not hostile. "I know enough about you to know this isn't just about a rat. It's never just about something simple with you. But you haven't explained anything about this entire situation, and frankly, I'm getting tired of being in the dark."

Harry finally turned his head slightly in Draco's direction, his wand still loosely at his side. His expression was unreadable, but the weight of the moment hung heavy between them.

"You're right," Harry said at last, his voice quiet but carrying a certain edge. "This isn't just about a rat."

Draco arched an eyebrow, his frustration tempered by the clear gravity in Harry's voice.

"That 'rat'," Harry continued, his tone dropping colder, "isn't just a pet. He's an Animagus—a wizard who can transform into an animal. And not just any wizard." He paused, his jaw tightening. "He's Peter Pettigrew."

Draco's brow furrowed as he processed the name, recognition flickering in his eyes. "Pettigrew?" he repeated, his tone sharper now. "Wasn't he supposed to be—?"

"Dead?" Harry cut in bitterly. "Yeah. That's what everyone thinks. That's what he wants everyone to think. But he's not. He's been hiding in plain sight for years—living as a rat, escaping justice, while Sirius rotted in Azkaban for his crimes."

Draco's eyes widened slightly, his smirk replaced by something closer to disbelief. "Sirius Black?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "Pettigrew betrayed my parents. He's the reason they're dead, and he framed Sirius for it."

Draco stared at him for a moment, his wand still pointed at the unconscious form of Scabbers. "You're telling me," Draco said slowly, "that this—" he gestured to the small, motionless rat—"is Peter Pettigrew? The wizard who got your parents killed?"

Harry's gaze hardened, his voice cold and unrelenting. "Yes."

Draco was silent for a moment before letting out a low whistle. "Well," he said, his tone shifting to something colder, "that's a hell of a secret to keep. No wonder you've been playing this close to the chest."

Harry's jaw tightened, his hand gripping his wand. "This isn't just a secret," he said, his voice quieter but no less intense. "This is justice. And I won't let him get away."

Draco's wand remained fixed on the unconscious rat, his gaze flicking to Harry. "So, what's next then?" he asked, his tone curious but still edged with caution. "Are we turning this rat in or something?"

Harry shook his head slowly, crouching down as he felt around the ground with his hand. His fingers brushed against something small and limp, and his grip tightened around it, lifting Pettigrew by the tail. The rat dangled lifelessly in Harry's grasp, but Harry wasn't about to take any chances.

Reaching into his robe, he pulled out a small vial of enchanted ink and quickly traced a series of precise tracking runes onto Pettigrew's tiny form. The runes glowed faintly for a moment before fading into the rat's fur, their magic anchoring to him. Harry wasn't about to let Pettigrew slip away—not this time.

Once the runes were in place, Harry carefully deposited the rat into his pocket, his movements deliberate and steady. He stood back up, brushing off his robes, his expression calm but with a sharp edge of determination.

"No," Harry said finally, turning to face Draco. "We're not turning him in."

Draco arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he studied Harry closely. "Then what exactly comes next, Potter?"

Harry smirked faintly, tilting his head toward Draco. "What comes next, Malfoy," he said, his voice low but steady, "is why I recruited you in the first place."

Draco's posture straightened slightly, his curiosity deepening. "Oh?"

Harry turned to Draco, his expression hard and resolute. "First," he began, his voice low and steady, "we're going to leave the Hogwarts wards. Once we're outside, you're going to contact your family—one way or another—and they're going to take us to Black Manor."

Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but Harry wasn't finished.

"Once we're there," Harry continued, his voice dropping even lower, "I'm going to get even with Peter Pettigrew for all the pain and anguish he's caused in my life. And after that? Sirius Black is going to swing by, and that will be the end of Peter Pettigrew."

Draco stared at him, his smirk completely wiped away and replaced with a look of shock. "Are you serious, Potter?" he asked incredulously, his voice rising slightly. "That's a serious crime! You could be thrown in Azkaban for something like that!"

Harry tilted his head slightly, his expression darkening as he regarded Draco with a mix of amusement and irritation. "What did you think we were going to do?" he asked coldly. "Sit around and have a tea party with him?"

Draco opened his mouth to respond but quickly shut it, clearly caught off guard by Harry's bluntness.

"You're either in, Malfoy, or you're out," Harry said, his voice unwavering.

Draco scowled, his frustration bubbling to the surface as he followed Harry. "Fine," he muttered, "but it still doesn't make sense. Why do you even need me for this, Potter? The Potters have their own manor, don't they? Why not just take him there? And what makes you think my family has access to Black Manor, anyway? In case you've forgotten, my last name is Malfoy, not Black."

Harry stopped in his tracks, letting out a slow, controlled breath before turning to face Draco. His tone was calm, but it carried an edge of irritation as he replied. "Because, Draco, I'm not going to commit a crime in my own home. That's the kind of thing that leaves evidence behind, and I'm not stupid enough to risk it."

Draco raised an eyebrow but stayed silent as Harry continued, his tone growing sharper. "As for Black Manor, your mother is Narcissa Black—she's part of the family bloodline. That's more than enough to gain us access."

Draco crossed his arms, his frustration flaring again. "So that's it?" he snapped. "You dragged me into this just to use my mother's name? To get access to the Black properties?"

Harry's gaze darkened, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "Let's get one thing straight, Malfoy. You're here because I need you. And if you've forgotten, I own you and your family. Or do I need to remind you of that?"

Draco's jaw tightened, his fists clenching as he met Harry's cold stare.

"So," Harry continued, his voice unrelenting, "you have two choices: fall in line and play your part, or deal with the consequences of defying me. It's your call."

Draco's glare didn't waver, but his voice dropped to a bitter mutter. "I never actually had a choice in this, did I?"

"No," Harry replied bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Draco let out a frustrated sigh, his hands falling to his sides as he gave a begrudging nod. "Fine," he muttered. "But you'd better know what you're doing, Potter."

Harry turned back toward the path, his expression unreadable. "I do," he said simply, his voice carrying an air of finality. "Now, let's keep moving. We've got work to do."

Draco followed silently, the tension between them thick, but the unspoken agreement now firmly in place. Whatever Harry's plan was, Draco was part of it—and there was no turning back.

(Scene Break)

After leaving the safety of Hogwarts' wards, Harry and Draco had traveled to Hogsmeade, the nearest place with a Floo Network. From there, Draco brought Harry to Malfoy Manor, where they sought out Narcissa and explained the situation. To Harry's surprise, Narcissa had been compliant, agreeing to take them to Black Manor without hesitation. Luckily, Lucius Malfoy was not home, sparing them the complication of his interference.

The Black Manor rose before them like a specter of the past, its once-proud visage reduced to a haunting shell of what it had once been. The massive, wrought-iron gates creaked loudly as they swung open, their hinges stiff from years of disuse. Beyond them, a gravel path overgrown with weeds led to the grand entrance, its heavy wooden doors framed by decayed stonework and ivy that snaked up the walls like lifeless veins.

The air was heavy, cold, and suffused with an eerie stillness. Even the stars above seemed muted, their faint light barely illuminating the towering, decrepit structure.

Standing at the gates with Harry and Draco was Narcissa Malfoy. Her presence was as cold as the night air, her figure cloaked in an elegant but subdued set of robes that seemed to absorb the dim light around them. Her expression was unreadable, but Harry didn't need to see her face to understand the turmoil within her. Her magical core pulsed faintly, like a heart weighed down by years of sorrow and regret.

"Is this it?" Harry asked quietly, tilting his head slightly toward her.

Narcissa's voice, when it came, was soft but tinged with bitterness. "Yes," she said, her gaze fixed on the looming manor. "This is Black Manor, the ancestral home of my family."

The words carried an undeniable weight, and Harry could feel the anguish in her tone.

"I had hoped," she continued after a pause, her voice trembling just slightly, "that I would never have to see this Merlin-forsaken place again."

Harry was silent for a moment, the cold wind brushing against his face as he processed her words. He stepped closer to her, his movements deliberate, and placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice steady and sincere. "I didn't mean to dredge up old wounds. That wasn't my intention."

Narcissa glanced at him, her expression flickering with something unspoken.

Harry continued, his voice softening. "And I'm sorry you've been dragged into this. None of this should have been your burden—not the pain of this place, not the shame of a husband who doesn't deserve you. For what it's worth, I can feel who you are, Narcissa. As a person."

Her brow furrowed slightly, her lips parting as if to speak, but Harry pressed on. "It's a… gift, of sorts. I can feel people—their true selves. And it saddens me to know that someone with such a kind heart has been beaten down so much by this world."

For a moment, the cold air and oppressive weight of the manor seemed to still. Narcissa's posture softened, her magical core flickering faintly in response to Harry's words.

"Thank you," she said finally, her voice almost a whisper. There was no sarcasm, no pretense—only the quiet sincerity of a woman who hadn't heard such words in a very long time.

Harry nodded, his grip on her shoulder light but grounding. "You don't deserve this place's shadow hanging over you," he said softly.

Draco, who had been standing a few paces away, watched the exchange silently, his face unreadable. When Harry stepped back, he turned toward the manor, his expression hardening.

"Let's go," Harry said firmly, his voice cutting through the silence.

The three of them made their way toward the grand entrance, the decayed remnants of the Black family legacy towering over them. As they crossed the threshold, the air grew colder, almost biting, and the scent of mildew and decay wafted through the space.

Inside, the grand hall was a shadow of its former glory. High, arching ceilings were shrouded in darkness, the once-luxurious chandeliers covered in cobwebs. Tattered drapes hung limply over tall, grimy windows, and the stone floors echoed faintly under their footsteps. Portraits of Black family ancestors lined the walls, their painted eyes following the group's every move with a haunting intensity.

A massive hearth stood at the end of the hall, its cold, empty fireplace framed by the Black family motto, Toujours Pur. The words seemed to mock the space, a bitter reminder of the family's twisted ideals and the destruction those beliefs had wrought.

Narcissa paused near the center of the hall, her eyes scanning the room with an expression that betrayed her inner turmoil.

"This place…" she began, her voice trailing off.

Harry, standing beside her, didn't press her to continue. He could feel the weight of her pain, her regret, and her resentment toward this house and everything it represented.

The manor stood as a testament to the decay of the Black family's legacy—a haunting backdrop for what was to come. And Harry knew, as he glanced toward the faint magical core in his pocket, that this place would bear witness to the justice that had been too long delayed.

Narcissa's lips parted as though she was about to continue, but instead, she shook her head, her gaze dropping for a moment. "The dungeons are underground," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "It should come as no surprise, but the Black family was no stranger to… unwilling guests. We can take Peter there. There's no chance of escape for him."

Harry nodded, his expression resolute. "Good," he said. "Lead the way."

He hesitated for a moment, his tone softening slightly as he added, "And once again, I'm sorry for dragging you into this. You didn't deserve any of this—not the burden of this house, not the choices others have forced upon you."

Narcissa glanced at him, her composure slipping just enough to show a flicker of gratitude, but she quickly masked it.

"For what it's worth," Harry continued, his voice quieter now, "I know what it's like to have a place you never want to step foot in again. You're not alone in that."

Narcissa's gaze lingered on him for a moment before she turned, her expression composed once more. "This way," she said, her voice calm but carrying the faintest tremor. She began to walk, leading them down a dimly lit corridor toward the dark secrets hidden beneath Black Manor.

Harry followed, his resolve firm as the weight of what was to come settled heavily on his shoulders.

As they made their way down the dimly lit corridors toward the dungeons, the air grew colder, the oppressive weight of Black Manor pressing in around them. Harry broke the silence, his tone casual but carrying an undertone of curiosity.

"I have to say, Narcissa," he began, "I'm surprised by how compliant you've been through all of this."

Narcissa glanced at him briefly, her expression calm but distant. "Make no mistake, Mr. Potter," she said evenly, her voice carrying an icy edge. "I do this for my son."

Harry tilted his head slightly, waiting for her to continue.

"My husband," she went on, her tone cooling further, "while loyal to him, I do this with no concern in mind for him. He made his choices long ago, and he can live with the consequences." She paused, her voice softening ever so slightly as she added, "But my son? Despite his actions, his behavior… I would move a mountain for him."

Harry hummed thoughtfully, the flicker of emotion in her voice not lost on him. "I see," he said, his tone quieter now.

He turned his head slightly, directing his next words to Draco, who was walking just behind them. "You hear that, Malfoy?" Harry said, his voice sharp but not unkind. "Stop causing your mother so much anguish. I've heard with my own ears how much she loves you and what she's willing to do for you. Stop taking advantage of that."

Draco stiffened slightly, his gaze flicking between his mother and Harry.

Harry continued, his voice steady but carrying an edge of sorrow. "Not everyone gets to know a mother's love. Don't take it for granted."

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and unspoken. Narcissa's steps didn't falter, but her magical core flickered faintly in response, betraying the emotions she didn't let show.

Draco's jaw tightened, his face unreadable as he followed them in silence, his mind clearly turning over Harry's words. The quiet stretched between them as they descended deeper into the manor, the atmosphere growing colder with every step.

Narcissa broke the silence, her voice calm but carrying a note of curiosity. "For someone who can't see, you seem awfully aware of your surroundings," she remarked, glancing at Harry out of the corner of her eye.

Harry chuckled softly, the sound light but carrying a depth of resilience. "Let's just say," he began, his tone casual but tinged with pride, "that I had to find a way to see the world in my own way."

Narcissa's expression flickered with the faintest hint of intrigue, though she said nothing as Harry continued.

"I'll never get to see anything a day in my life," Harry said, his voice growing quieter but losing none of its resolve. "But I won't let that stop me. I've made my peace with it, and I've found a way to move forward."

Narcissa studied him for a moment, her footsteps echoing softly in the silence. "That," she said finally, her voice almost soft, "is a strength not many possess."

Harry shrugged lightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You do what you have to," he replied simply.

Draco, walking a few steps behind, cast a glance at Harry, his expression hard to read. For once, he chose to remain silent, though the subtle furrow of his brow suggested he was turning Harry's words over in his mind.

They descended the winding staircase, the air growing colder and heavier with each step. The dim light of flickering sconces cast long, eerie shadows across the stone walls, the oppressive atmosphere pressing in on them. As they reached the bottom, the Black dungeons stretched out before them—a series of iron-barred cells shrouded in dampness and decay.

Narcissa stepped forward, her movements steady and purposeful, and led them to one of the many cells. She reached for the rusted iron gate, the hinges creaking loudly as it swung open. The sound echoed through the silent space, sending a faint chill up Harry's spine.

The smell of rusted iron, mildew, and damp stone filled Harry's senses, an unpleasant mix that made him grimace slightly. From somewhere deep within the dungeons came the faint sound of dripping water, adding to the dismal ambiance.

As the gate clanged fully open, the clattering sound of chains reverberated from inside the cell. Narcissa gestured to the thick, heavy restraints hanging from the wall. "These are enchanted chains," she said, her voice steady but laced with disdain. "Once he's bound with these, his magic will be sealed off entirely. He won't be able to access it—not even to turn into his Animagus form."

Harry nodded, the weight of her words grounding him. "Good," he said simply.

He reached into his pocket, feeling the limp, unconscious form of the rat. Pulling it out, he held it for a moment before setting it down on the cold, damp floor of the cell. The faint glow of the rat's magical core flickered weakly, a reminder of its true nature.

Harry's wand flicked with precision, his voice cutting through the heavy air of the dungeons. "Revelio!"

The spell struck the limp form of the rat, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, the creature's small body began to twitch violently, its shape shifting and contorting as the magic took hold.

The rat's fur melted away, its limbs stretching and reshaping until, in its place, lay the unconscious form of Peter Pettigrew.

The man was short and balding, his sallow skin pale and damp with sweat. His face was round and rodent-like, with a pinched nose and thin lips that gave him the look of perpetual cowardice. His clothes were ragged and ill-fitting, adding to the pathetic image he presented sprawled on the cold, damp floor of the cell.

Harry stared down at him, his grip on his wand tightening. Even unconscious, Pettigrew radiated an air of weakness and deceit that made Harry's stomach churn. This was the man who had betrayed his parents, who had stolen Sirius's freedom, and who had hidden in plain sight for over a decade.

Narcissa stepped closer, her voice calm but firm. "We should bind him now before he wakes. The chains will ensure he cannot escape."

Harry nodded, his voice cold. "Do it."

Narcissa moved with practiced efficiency, taking the enchanted chains from the wall and securing them around Pettigrew's wrists and ankles. The metal glowed faintly as the enchantments activated, sealing off his magic entirely.

"He won't be able to use magic now," Narcissa said, stepping back. "Not even to transform."

With Pettigrew securely chained, his magic sealed and his escape impossible, Harry's grip on his wand tightened. The moment had come.

"Good," Harry said coldly, his voice cutting through the damp stillness of the dungeon. "Then it's time."

He flicked his wand sharply, casting the spell to reverse the stunning charm. A faint shimmer of magic flowed toward Pettigrew, and a moment later, the man jolted awake with a sharp gasp.

Pettigrew's head shot up, his watery eyes darting frantically around the cell. His nose twitched nervously, the rodent-like motion so natural. He took in his surroundings, the cold stone walls, and the iron bars of the cell, before his gaze landed on the figures standing before him.

His entire body tensed, and he scrambled backward in a blind panic, the sound of the enchanted chains clattering against the stone as he tried to run. The restraints held firm, yanking him back and keeping him firmly in place.

Harry took a step closer, his wand pointed directly at Pettigrew, his expression as cold as the air around them. He could see the man's magical core flickering erratically, the fear radiating from it so palpable that it seemed to saturate the room.

Pettigrew's wide, watery eyes flicked toward him, his voice shaking as he stammered, "P-Potter… please… you don't understand—"

"Shut up," Harry snapped, his tone sharp and unyielding. His presence loomed over Pettigrew, the weight of his anger and determination pressing down like a physical force.

Pettigrew flinched, his breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps as he glanced frantically between Narcissa, Draco, and Harry. He tugged at the chains again, as if hoping against hope that they might give way, but the enchanted restraints held firm.

Harry's lips curled into a grim smirk, his voice low and laced with venom. "You're scared," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Good. You should be."

The fear in Pettigrew's magical core spiked, flickering like a candle about to be snuffed out. Harry could feel it—raw, desperate, and utterly pathetic.

"But don't worry," Harry continued, his tone darkening. "This is only the beginning, Pettigrew. You've got a lot to answer for."

The man's trembling intensified, his panic written across every line of his face as he realized there would be no escape, no salvation. This was the end of the line.

Pettigrew's trembling hands reached out pleadingly, his voice a pitiful whimper as he begged. "Harry, please, you don't understand—I had to! I had no choice! Please, you have to believe me—"

Before he could say more, Harry's wand shot out, his voice cold and unwavering as he cut him off.

"Cruciatus."

The word echoed through the dungeon, chilling in its finality.

To Narcissa and Draco's utter shock, the spell struck Pettigrew squarely, and his entire body convulsed unnaturally, as though every nerve in his body had been set alight. His mouth opened in a silent scream before the sound erupted—a gut-wrenching, piercing cry that reverberated off the cold stone walls.

Pettigrew's limbs twisted and jerked, his body thrashing against the enchanted chains that held him in place. The sheer agony was written across his face, his watery eyes wide with terror as the spell consumed him.

Draco flinched, taking an instinctive step back, his eyes wide with a mix of horror and disbelief. Narcissa stiffened, her hand twitching as though she might intervene, but she remained rooted in place, her expression unreadable though her magical core flickered faintly with unease.

Harry's face remained impassive, his grip on his wand steady. He held the spell for only a few seconds, but to Pettigrew, it must have felt like an eternity.

When Harry finally lowered his wand, the curse lifted, and Pettigrew's body slumped to the cold stone floor like a discarded rag doll. His breathing came in short, sharp gasps as he scurried as far away from Harry as the chains would allow, his limbs trembling violently.

His watery eyes darted up to Harry, wide with terror, as if he were staring at a monster. "P-please," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "P-please… don't…"

Harry's wand lowered slightly, his free hand sweeping out in a flash. The back of his hand connected with Pettigrew's face, the sharp crack of the slap echoing through the dungeon. Pettigrew's head snapped to the side, a pathetic whimper escaping his lips as he cowered under Harry's wrath.

Without hesitation, Harry grabbed the pudgy man by the neck, his grip firm and unyielding. Pettigrew's frantic hands clawed weakly at Harry's wrist, but the chains held him in place, leaving him with no leverage to resist.

Harry jerked Pettigrew's face upward, forcing the man to meet his gaze. Though Harry couldn't see, his unseeing eyes bore into Pettigrew with a force that felt as if he could see straight into the man's soul.

"Look at me!" Harry bellowed, his voice reverberating through the cold stone walls.

Pettigrew flinched, his watery eyes wide with terror as they locked onto Harry's. His lips trembled, a half-formed plea for mercy dying in his throat.

"Look me in the eyes you are responsible for!" Harry continued, his voice a mix of raw fury and anguish. His grip tightened slightly, shaking Pettigrew to emphasize every word.

"You don't get to beg!" Harry yelled, his tone sharp and unrelenting. "Not after everything you've done!"

Pettigrew's panicked gasps filled the space, his fear palpable as his mind scrambled for a way to escape. But there was no escape—Harry made sure of that.

Draco stood frozen nearby, his expression one of shock and unease. Even he couldn't find a snide comment or mocking quip to fill the tense air.

Harry's grip on Pettigrew didn't falter, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl as he leaned closer. "You betrayed my parents. You framed Sirius. You've caused so much pain to so many people. And now… now you're going to answer for it."

Pettigrew whimpered, his voice weak and trembling. "P-please… Harry…"

"Don't," Harry snapped, his voice cold as ice. "You lost the right to 'please' a long time ago."

The room fell into heavy silence, the weight of Harry's fury pressing down on everyone present as Pettigrew's shallow, panicked breaths filled the air.

Harry threw Pettigrew back to the ground with a forceful shove, the pathetic man collapsing into a trembling heap on the cold stone floor. Pettigrew whimpered, curling into himself, his shivers rattling the enchanted chains as he stared up at Harry with wide, terrified eyes.

Harry turned away sharply, taking a few measured steps toward the opposite wall. His chest rose and fell with the effort of containing the insurmountable rage boiling within him. He forced himself to take slow, steady breaths. The cold, damp air of the dungeon filled his lungs as he fought to regain control.

After a moment, Harry spoke, his voice calmer but still carrying the edge of his fury. "Narcissa. Draco." He didn't turn to face them, his gaze fixed somewhere in the void before him. "You can leave the room now. Go home. You're no longer needed."

Draco stiffened, his eyes darting between Harry's back and Pettigrew's trembling form on the floor. "What?" Draco asked, his voice laced with confusion and unease. "Potter, you can't just—"

"Draco," Narcissa's voice interrupted, sharp and firm. She stepped forward, placing a hand on her son's arm. The look in her eyes silenced him immediately.

"Mother—" Draco began, but she cut him off again, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"We're leaving. Now." Narcissa said with finality.

Draco hesitated, glancing at Harry again, but Narcissa's grip on his arm tightened. "Draco," she said softly, her voice tinged with quiet understanding. "If Mr. Potter is telling us to leave, it's because he doesn't want you to see what comes next."

Draco's mouth opened as though to protest, but the weight of his mother's words—and the cold, unyielding resolve in Harry's demeanor—stilled him. Narcissa turned to Harry, her voice composed but carrying a hint of respect. "Thank you for allowing us to leave," she said simply. "Good luck, Mr. Potter."

Without waiting for a response, Narcissa began guiding Draco toward the exit. "Come, Draco," she said, her tone brooking no argument.

Draco gave Harry one last glance, his face conflicted, before allowing himself to be pulled toward the staircase. "Fine," he muttered under his breath. "Just don't get yourself killed, Potter."

The sound of their footsteps receded as Narcissa and Draco climbed the staircase, the iron gate clanging shut behind them.

Harry stood in silence for a moment, the heavy atmosphere of the dungeon settling over him once more. He took another steadying breath, his focus narrowing as he turned back toward Pettigrew, who still lay quivering on the ground.

The rat's time had run out.

As the sound of Narcissa and Draco's footsteps faded into the distance and the iron gate clanged shut, the dungeon fell into an eerie silence. The oppressive atmosphere thickened, the air cold and suffocating as Harry turned back toward Pettigrew.

His face was shadowed, the dim light barely catching the edges of his features. Whatever internal battle he had been fighting moments ago was over—and the darkness had won. His eyes, though unseeing, seemed to pierce through the space, the intensity of his presence alone enough to make Pettigrew shrink back further into the corner of the cell.

Harry's voice cut through the silence, low and almost inhuman in its coldness. "This can go one of two ways, Pettigrew."

Pettigrew whimpered, his chained hands trembling as his watery eyes darted around the cell, searching for some impossible escape.

Harry took a slow, deliberate step closer, his wand still in hand, his every movement exuding controlled menace. "The first way," he continued, his tone almost mocking in its calmness, "is that you comply. You spill your guts—metaphorically, of course. Tell me everything I want to know, and you get away with only some pain."

Pettigrew's lip quivered, his breath hitching as he cowered against the stone wall.

Harry's head tilted slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper, but it carried with it the weight of a threat so chilling that Pettigrew flinched. "Or," Harry said, his words slow and deliberate, "we take the second option."

He took another step forward, the sound of his footsteps echoing ominously in the stillness. "In which you don't comply, and you spill your actual guts all over this floor."

Pettigrew let out a panicked squeak, his body shaking violently as Harry leaned down slightly, his tone laced with venom.

"And in the end," Harry added, his voice ice-cold, "you'll still tell me what I want to know."

The trembling man on the floor looked up at Harry, his watery eyes filled with terror. Pettigrew's entire magical core flickered erratically, its weak light dimming further under the oppressive weight of Harry's fury.

"Your choice, Peter," Harry said softly, his voice unnervingly calm. "But let me be very clear—you don't walk out of this dungeon until I get everything I need."

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Pettigrew's shallow, panicked breaths as he stared up at the shadowed figure of the boy he had once betrayed, now transformed into his judge, jury, and executioner.

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