Chapter 317: Wade: Letting Peter Pettigrew “Resurrect”
Wade slept straight through until morning. When he opened his eyes, the unfamiliar surroundings made him briefly wonder if he’d somehow crossed over again. But then his Wand and Pencil Case lying beside him reminded him that this was no illusion—his identity remained unchanged. He was still Wade Gray.
Yet he couldn’t remember how he’d fallen asleep, nor why he’d left his precious Pencil Case so casually resting on the pillow.
He rubbed his temples, trying to piece together the fragmented remnants of memory. Slowly, the haze began to lift. A single sentence from Dumbledore echoed in his mind:
"Was it the Honeywine from the Three Broomsticks…? Be sure to pour me a glass."
Wade groaned, pressing his hands over his face.
Only for Dumbledore?
He’d assumed the drink had been meant for himself—just a sweet, honeyed Beverage. He hadn’t given it a second thought at the time. After all, in his worldview, adults simply didn’t serve full glasses of alcohol to minors.
Now, the rest of the night came back to him—well, at least what he thought was the rest. Or maybe it was just a dream he’d mistaken for memory.
With a flicker of hope, Wade opened the Closet Space. Inside, several Magic Puppet Pets scampered over, nuzzling his feet with affection. But one figure was missing.
The Bearded Man was gone.
The empty cell stared back at him, cold and hollow. Wade’s headache flared. That man had never been loyal to their group. His allegiance was to no one—only to the burning hatred within him toward whoever had destroyed his inner world.
Wade had kept him around, thinking there might still be some use. He’d even considered confessing part of the truth to Dumbledore, hoping for the Headmaster’s guidance. But he never imagined this kind of exposure.
Wade suppressed the Space with a heavy sigh, collapsing onto the bed. He didn’t feel like leaving the room at all.
One night had been more than enough for Dumbledore to extract every secret from the man’s mind.
Like, for example, how Wade’s Acromantula had viciously bitten off the Bushy-Browed Head’s ear.
At this moment, Wade could almost feel Dumbledore’s judgment. In the Headmaster’s eyes, he probably looked more like Voldemort than even the Dark Lord himself—more monstrous, more dangerous.
After all, Voldemort hadn’t become truly evil until later in school. At thirteen, he was still a model student—mischievous, perhaps, pulling pranks and gathering followers—but not yet a murderer. The deaths of Moaning Myrtle and his own uncle happened only in his fifth and sixth years.
Wade exhaled deeply, frowning, spinning the Pencil Case between his fingers. His thoughts were a jumbled mess.
If Dumbledore began treating him as a potential criminal, their current harmony would shatter. But the Headmaster would likely wait—observe. He always had the patience of a man who could afford to let time unfold.
Dumbledore hadn’t torn open the Pencil Case. He hadn’t dug into Wade’s secrets. He’d let him be.
That was enough to suggest Dumbledore wouldn’t turn on him immediately. But still, the unease lingered—tight and heavy in his chest.
When he first arrived at Hogwarts, Wade hadn’t believed Dumbledore was truly as noble and gentle as the books portrayed. He’d suspected the man was driven by conspiracy, that beneath his calm exterior lay a manipulative mind. But as time passed and their relationship grew more natural… the thought of a rift forming again made him feel sick.
Just then—BANG!—the bedroom door burst open.
“You’re awake, Wade!” Harry said brightly. “Hurry down—the school’s book shipment just arrived!”
He vanished as quickly as he’d come, and Wade heard the unmistakable thud-thud-thud of Harry sprinting down the stairs.
Wade sighed.
Harry had come all the way from the Dursleys’ so early in the morning…
Which made sense. Even though Sirius Black and Remus Lupin lived nearby, the Dursleys wouldn’t dare imprison Harry or kick him out. But Wade doubted they’d offer him a decent breakfast either.
When Wade finally reached the kitchen, he found Harry already seated at the table, talking to Remus Lupin.
“Aunt Maggie’s train arrives at ten,” Harry said. “She’s staying for a week. I asked Dumbledore—he said since I’ve already been living here for over a month, the magic has taken hold. I can stay here for the rest of the time.”
An old suitcase sat by the Living Room entrance—Harry’s belongings, clearly.
“Who’s this Aunt Maggie?” Sirius Black asked, spreading butter on a slice of bread. “What did she do to you?”
“She’s Vernon Dursley’s sister,” Harry said nervously. “She breeds dogs—lots of them. Just look at Vernon and Dudley. You can imagine what kind of person she is.”
He shuddered. “I’d rather have my arm broken again than spend even one second in her presence.”
Sirius Black nodded slowly. “I understand.”
“Sirius Black,” Wade stepped into the room, “how’s your investigation going?”
Sirius shook his head. “Nothing useful. They say the vampire Troke moved away years ago. No one’s been looking for him lately—except me.”
Dark circles under his eyes betrayed a sleepless night. He looked exhausted.
“Sirius Black,” Harry said gently, “how can one person’s effort match the entire Ministry of Magic and all their Aurors? You need to rest. I don’t know about the others, but Lockhart? He won’t be able to keep quiet. He’ll sign his name on every wall in sight.”
“Exactly,” Remus Lupin added. “If you don’t give yourself a break, I’m afraid you’ll collapse.”
Sirius gave a faint, crooked smile. “On the way back, I realized—even if Lockhart or Garr is exposed, we might never catch Peter Pettigrew.”
“Why not?” Harry asked.
“Three escaped together,” Sirius said. “That doesn’t mean they’ll stay together forever. Peter’s too cautious. He’d never stay with someone like Lockhart for long.”
Remus nodded in agreement, silently acknowledging the truth in that.
Wade tilted his head, curious. “If you know that… why keep chasing them?”
“Because,” Remus said thoughtfully, “Peter might have split from them—but he could still be watching. Observing. Waiting. He’d use the two as bait, drawing Ministry attention away from himself.”
“So finding them,” Sirius concluded, “means finding Peter. But we’ll have to be quieter. More careful.”
He took a sharp bite out of a roasted meat slice, his expression hard.
Wade, meanwhile, cut open his fried egg, lost in thought.
Maybe… I should just let Peter Pettigrew “resurrect” after all?
Then, right in front of Sirius Black, let him die again.
Otherwise… Sirius would never let go.
And Harry… and Remus too. Even if they didn’t show it, they couldn’t bear the thought of Peter Pettigrew living freely, untouched, forever.
(End of Chapter)
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