Chapter 277: The Three
On the azure sea, several sharks rolled and fought over scraps of food, churning the water into foamy waves. The fishermen leaned against the railing, grinning as they guessed which unlucky fish had become the sharks’ meal.
They didn’t sense it—behind them, in the cabin, two pairs of eyes were wide with panic.
Wade had returned to his Falcon form. After circling the sky for a while, watching Peter Pettigrew’s body being torn apart and devoured by the sharks, he finally exhaled in relief. Then he turned and flew toward the Hogwarts Express.
Peter Pettigrew—Wade felt nothing but contempt for him, yet he also feared him deeply.
During the Wizard War, both sides had their spies. Voldemort’s agent was, of course, Professor Snape. But on the Phoenix Society’s side, the mole was Peter Pettigrew.
Before Voldemort’s downfall, Pettigrew had secretly passed intelligence for over a year—without ever being exposed. The closest friends he’d ever had trusted him completely. Even Dumbledore had never suspected him—just as Voldemort had never imagined Snape had betrayed him.
But Peter never expected his chosen master would be killed by an infant, forcing him to fake his death and hide for over a decade as a rat.
Later, when Pettigrew was forced into the open, he managed to locate the hidden Voldemort and help restore him—setting off the Second Wizarding War.
That was why Wade could never allow Pettigrew to escape. He wouldn’t give him a second chance.
Beforehand, he’d prepared for murder.
But fortune favored him. The sea was nature’s grave. After Wade inflicted wounds severe enough, the sharks took the body—dragging it down into the dark depths.
The Falcon shot through clouds and mist once more, finally slipping through the train window and landing back inside the compartment just before the train pulled into the station.
“Whoosh!”
A gust of wind seemed to surge through the compartment. Michael squinted, brushing his hair back, then blinked in surprise.
There, standing before him, was someone new.
Wade’s clothes were disheveled, soaked through, his eyebrows and hair heavy with mist.
“You fell into the sea?” Michael asked, stunned.
Wade smiled. “Pretty much.”
He whispered a few incantations. His clothes and hair dried instantly—though still wrinkled. He didn’t care.
“What happened?” Theo asked, pausing. “If it’s inconvenient, we can just forget it.”
“Not really,” Wade said, sinking into a seat. He gulped down a whole bottle of water, then paused thoughtfully. “You’ll probably see it in the newspaper soon—Peter Pettigrew escaped.”
“What?” All three stared, startled.
They remembered the man who’d once been their classmate’s pet.
“Happened this morning?” Liam asked.
“Yeah,” Wade said. “I left a tracking signal on him. As soon as he ran, I knew.”
“So…” Theo swallowed hard. “You just… went…?”
“Relax,” Wade said calmly. “I didn’t kill him.”
—Not with my own hands.
“But he’ll never show up again,” Wade added.
The others stared at him, stunned, as if they’d suddenly stopped understanding English.
“Train approaching Darren Station, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Please gather your belongings…”
The train’s intercom crackled.
They looked out the window. The train slowed. On the platform, parents waited to greet their children. Some eager students leaned halfway out the window, waving frantically.
Wade spotted the Gray family. Standing beside them was a man with a grotesque face, leaning on a cane, one strange eye rolling slowly.
Wade couldn’t help but smile.
Peace was the most precious thing ordinary people could have.
Without peace, everything else—no matter how grand—could vanish like smoke in a storm.
…
On the filthy fishing boat, the fishermen lay sprawled on the deck, fast asleep.
Two men crawled out from the cabin and leaned over the railing, staring down at the sea.
They saw nothing.
Not only had Peter Pettigrew been swallowed by the deep… even if he’d somehow survived, the boat had already sailed several miles away.
“You… did you see that?” one stammered.
“Of course I did!” the other snapped, annoyed. He fumbled for a cheap cigarette he’d found in the cabin, but his hand trembled so badly he couldn’t light it. He grabbed his right hand with his left, then turned to look at his companion.
The setting sun painted their faces red.
If not for that light, they might have seen—each other’s faces were pale, ashen with terror.
One had golden hair, handsome even in his exhaustion and disarray—a fallen prince, in appearance.
It was Gilderoy Lockhart, recently imprisoned in Azkaban.
Beside him stood a man with sunken eyes, emaciated, long tangled hair, blackened nails, and skin caked with years of grime. He looked exactly like Sirius Black must have when he’d first been pulled from Azkaban.
They were partners in escape—two prisoners who’d broken out together.
Azkaban had always been a natural prison. No one had ever escaped before.
Not long ago, Lockhart had been sentenced. Ministry officials had escorted him to the prison.
But they’d underestimated his magical skill—though, on the surface, he seemed like a fool. And truly, he was.
Yet, despite his weakness, one spell he’d mastered with flawless precision: the Forgetting Charm.
Previously, he’d needed a wand to cast it. But after his wand was broken and he’d endured years of Dementor-induced torment in Azkaban, something within him had awakened—a fierce will he’d never shown before.
He’d learned, through sheer will, to cast the charm without a wand.
Azkaban wasn’t guarded solely by Dementors. There were also Ministry officials who patrolled the halls, watching over lesser criminals and those under interrogation.
Lockhart used the moment to cast the charm on one of them, stole his wand and the key to his cell.
Then, he helped Peter Pettigrew escape.
They had a grand plan after breaking out…
But fate was cruel. Before they even reached land, one of them died.
“Garr,” Lockhart whispered, voice trembling. “Did you see who killed Peter Pettigrew?”
(End of Chapter)
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