"If Sirius hadn't been so foolish…"
Dylan suddenly recalled the prophecy Professor Trelawney had once made.
"Hmm, maybe it's just the power of fate at work."
What's done is done, and Dylan didn't want to dwell on it too much.
If Sirius hadn't trusted Peter Pettigrew, how would the story have unfolded? Who knows, maybe Voldemort would've already taken over the wizarding world by now.
Still, past events could serve as lessons for the future.
The whole mess with Sirius and the Fidelius Charm was proof enough: your secrets are best kept to yourself.
The moment you share them with someone else, you're opening the door to betrayal.
No matter how much you trust someone, their willingness to keep a secret doesn't guarantee they'll succeed.
You can never predict what foolish things the person holding your secret might do—or what weaknesses or leverage others might exploit.
When it comes to their most critical interests, or something even bigger than their own life, a secret becomes trivial.
Take Xenophilius Lovegood, Luna's father, for example.
When Luna was kidnapped, he was willing to stall Harry and his friends to save her, even if it meant luring Death Eaters to them.
Deep down, he knew that even if he delayed Harry, there was no guarantee Luna would be freed.
And, as it turned out, that's exactly what happened.
After Harry escaped, Xenophilius's house was destroyed, and he was captured too.
The only silver lining? He ended up imprisoned with Luna, which was probably the best news in that mess.
Or take Cho Chang.
When Umbridge was hunting for the secret base where Dumbledore's Army practiced defensive magic, she interrogated students.
She even used Veritaserum on Cho, forcing her to spill the D.A.'s secrets.
Though, according to the original story, it was Cho's friend Marietta who betrayed the D.A.
Cho, trying to protect her friend, clashed with Harry, and they eventually broke up.
The details might differ, but the outcome was the same.
You can never know what vulnerabilities the people you trust might have.
"Even the spell I created can only shield someone's thoughts from being probed and make them overlook the secrets I've entrusted to them. But it still can't guarantee they won't leak anything," Dylan mused.
Luckily, the secrets he'd shared—like the fact that he was raising a dragon—were insignificant compared to his true secrets.
Even if Hagrid or Ron accidentally let that slip, Dylan didn't think it would cause much trouble.
At worst, he'd admit his mistake, sweet-talk Dumbledore into letting him keep the dragon, and call it a day.
With Dumbledore's approval, it'd be as easy as when he asked Hagrid to get him a license to raise a Thestral.
Besides, secrets like that were hard to leak in the first place.
Who would even bother investigating whether he was raising a dragon? Or if he was hiding a Horcrux? Or if he'd kidnapped Lockhart, locked him up, and was using him as a guinea pig for all sorts of spells and experiments?
Who would ask? Who would care?
"Sadly, the only lesson wizards seem to learn from history is that they never learn from history," Dylan said with a slight shrug.
This didn't really concern him much.
He had his own vulnerabilities, though—his parents, for one.
If someone like Professor Snape were in danger, he'd probably be moved to act, too.
But Dylan figured if someone close to him got hurt because of him, he wouldn't lose his cool in a fit of rage.
Instead, he'd use every cruel trick he knew to make whoever dared touch his loved ones suffer.
In short, he'd avenge his friends and family.
"To prevent that from happening, I've taken plenty of precautions. Anyone who wants to get to my parents would have to go through me first."
And who could get past him so easily?
"I never imagined that filthy, despicable, shameful traitor would betray the Potters!"
At a nearby table, Hagrid's massive hand slammed down, rattling cups and plates.
A thunderous roar erupted from his throat, his bushy eyebrows knotted together, and his beard trembled with his quivering jaw.
The noisy chatter in the pub came to an abrupt halt.
A dozen pairs of eyes turned toward the three-meter-tall giant.
Hagrid clenched his fists on the table, his face twisted with fury.
"Quiet down!" Professor McGonagall frowned, speaking softly to Hagrid.
But Hagrid was still worked up. "I saw him!"
"I'm sure I was the last one to run into him before he killed them!"
"After James and Lily were murdered by that wretched scum, I went mad, pulling little Harry from the wreckage of that house—"
Hagrid's rough palm scraped across his stubbled face, his chest heaving with angry breaths.
"He was still wrapped in a blanket, a bloody gash on his forehead, the poor little thing. His parents gone, just a tiny kid shivering in my arms…"
Hagrid's voice choked. Just when McGonagall and the others thought he might cry, his shoulders slumped, and he blew his nose with a deafening honk.
McGonagall subtly shifted her chair away.
Professor Flitwick, sitting a bit farther off, and Fudge, like McGonagall, chimed in, "Hey, calm down…"
"Then Black showed up, riding that metal motorcycle—it could fly!"
"I never expected him to show up at a time like that. Now it's clear what he was up to!"
"Back then, I even thought he'd rushed over to help after hearing Voldemort was making a move!"
"When I saw that guy, his face was as pale as boiled potato peel, gray and bloodless."
Hagrid paused, his eyes widening as if recalling something, growing even more agitated.
"I was out of my mind! I actually comforted that despicable traitor! He'd just killed them, and I comforted him!!"
McGonagall frowned again. "Hagrid! How many people do you want to hear this? Please, stop shouting!"
But it was no use.
Maybe it was the couple of drinks or the memories flooding back, but Hagrid was too caught up in his emotions.
No matter what McGonagall said, he didn't listen, continuing to rant, slamming and pounding the table, recounting the past in a booming voice.
His voice was so loud, Dylan half-joked to himself that even Cedric, on a date with some girl at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, could probably hear Hagrid's shouting.
Luckily, the young witches and wizards who'd been sipping non-alcoholic butterbeer in the pub had scurried off after spotting McGonagall and the others enter, intimidated by the professors' usual authority.
That left mostly a handful of idle adult wizards in the pub, who listened to Hagrid's story with keen interest.
Dylan, Harry, and the others could hear every word clearly.
Hagrid spilled everything he knew about what happened back then, down to how he followed Dumbledore's orders to take Harry to his aunt's house and how he got Black's flying motorcycle.
He laid it all out, crystal clear.
Eventually, McGonagall gave up and cast a Muffliato charm around their table.
"Why'd they go quiet?" Harry poked his head out, frowning.
Dylan blinked. Because they're about to get to the juicy stuff, obviously.
"Dylan, is there a way we can keep listening to the professors?" Harry asked urgently, his eyes fixed on Dylan.
This was about his parents. He needed to know more.
Dylan blinked again. "If you're that determined… why not just throw on your Invisibility Cloak and sneak over to listen?"
Harry froze, then realized that was actually a solid plan.
"Excuse me," Harry said, squeezing past the others.
Dylan flicked his wand, casting a silencing charm on Harry's feet so his footsteps wouldn't give him away.
"Thanks!" Harry hurried off.
Across the table, Ron looked antsy. "What's the deal? Why'd they cut us off like that?"
Dylan rolled his eyes. "What do you think?"
Hermione tugged at her sleeve but stayed quiet. Harry was already over there; he'd tell them whatever he heard when he got back.
Harry slipped past the boundary of McGonagall's Muffliato charm and crept close to the professors' table.
Just then, they were discussing how Sirius Black had finally been caught.
And Harry heard a name that left him dizzy with confusion.
Peter Pettigrew?!
"Peter died so heroically," Fudge said softly, with a wistful sigh.
"The Muggle witnesses said Peter managed to intercept Black as he tried to escape."
"He was crying, demanding to know how Sirius could've done it. James and Lily, of all people!"
McGonagall's nose reddened. "And then Sirius pulled out his wand and blasted Peter to pieces before he could even fight back!"
She felt guilty. Why had she been so hard on Peter back then?
But more than that, she blamed herself for not being stricter with him. If Peter had been stronger than Sirius, maybe he wouldn't have died at Black's hands.
"Such a foolish boy. He knew he couldn't win a duel with Black… why didn't he leave it to the Ministry?"
Flitwick sighed. "Chasing down the killer alone, risking his life for James and Lily's deaths—he was a true friend to the Potters. I wonder if James had made him the Secret Keeper, things might've turned out better."
Listening to the professors' account, Harry felt his scalp crawl.
Peter Pettigrew?
After hearing such a moving story, he should feel touched that his parents had such a loyal friend.
But…
"What about the name I saw on the Marauder's Map yesterday? Could it just be someone with the same name?"
No way!
He'd seen that name practically overlapping with Ron's!
Sure, there were other names crowded around, but thinking back, Harry felt a chill run down his spine, his heart pounding with dread.
"There's a guy who's been dead for over a decade next to Ron?"
Could it be a ghost?
Harry's mind was spinning, unable to make sense of it.
He didn't know if the professors' "truth" was real or not.
His parents had been betrayed by their best friend.
And the one who revealed it, Peter Pettigrew, had been torn apart by the killer's spell.
So why was he now appearing near Ron?
Harry was tempted to rip off the cloak and demand answers from McGonagall.
But he held back.
There were too many questions.
And he wasn't sure if what the professors and Fudge were saying was true.
It seemed like they'd just met up to chat during the holidays.
After their talk, they left.
Of course, Dylan knew their gathering wasn't just about spilling secrets for Harry's benefit.
McGonagall likely had Dumbledore's instructions to feel out Fudge, maybe about those Dementors.
"So, what'd you hear?" Ron asked eagerly as Harry returned to their table.
"…"
Harry's brows were knitted tightly, his face dazed.
He barely registered Ron's words, only saw his mouth moving.
His mind was buzzing with noise.
"I think we should head back," Dylan said, nearly done with his butterbeer.
Ron and Hermione were almost finished, too.
Harry still had half a glass, but he clearly wasn't in the mood to drink anymore.
"Uh, yeah, probably," Ron said, noticing Harry ignoring him. He gave an awkward smile, not daring to ask more.
He exchanged a glance with Hermione.
Seeing that even Dylan wasn't pressing Harry, Hermione didn't push either.
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