The decrepit old wooden board had been magically transfigured into a small boat, now speeding across the water. The crashing waves against its hull turned into a fine spray of foam.
"Professor, you finally found me! You have no idea what I've been through!"
Peter, sitting at the stern, stuffed a few biscuits into his mouth. He swallowed them with a gulp of juice, barely chewing, and reported in a muffled voice, "The Dementors were getting restless a while back. Azkaban was on high alert, and the Dementors weren't allowed near the prisoners. A sane Bellatrix Lestrange is impossible to approach, so it took me this long. Once I got the intel, I wanted to get it to you as quickly as possible, but the mist around Azkaban is so thick, and the currents are so strong... If it weren't for you, I would have been trapped at sea!"
Melvin couldn't be bothered with his blathering. The seas around Azkaban are known to have confusing mists and are covered with protective enchantments for miles, but they're meant to ward off Muggles. The fact that Peter, a wizard with a wand, almost got himself stranded was a mystery.
"Get to the point. What's the key to Bellatrix Lestrange's vault?"
"The vault key, yes, the vault key," Peter replied quickly. "Bellatrix's vault has two ways to open it. One is the vault key—she left one at the Lestrange ancestral home. The other is to personally go to Gringotts with her own wand."
"The key at the Lestrange home, Bellatrix's wand..."
The waves kept lapping against the boat, the sound was almost melodic. Melvin was deep in thought, and Peter didn't dare disturb him, carefully stuffing more biscuits into his mouth, afraid of making a sound. He occasionally glanced out of the corner of his eye at the long, thin white snake in the water. Yhorm was stretching and swimming freely, its white scales blending in with the white spray, submerging and re-emerging like a flickering ghost.
The Death Eaters' wands had been confiscated by the Ministry of Magic. While he didn't know their exact location, with some careful planning, he could get his hands on one. He knew how to deal with the Thief's Downfall and impersonating Bellatrix wasn't technically difficult... but dealing with the goblins at Gringotts might be. Bellatrix Lestrange was a notorious Death Eater; the news of her trial and sentencing was in every newspaper. Any wizard of a certain age knew that a certain Mrs. Lestrange was serving time in prison. It seemed a bit unrealistic to just pretend to be a high-profile convict and hope they didn't recognize her.
He would have to find a way to use the vault key from the Lestrange home and create a believable identity...
Melvin pushed the thoughts aside and glanced at Peter, who was now full and panting, seemingly off his guard. But a pair of shifty eyes were discreetly watching him.
He smiled and asked, "Peter, a core Death Eater, helpless after drinking Veritaserum, a rare chance to ask questions... and those are the only questions you asked?"
Cold sweat immediately broke out on Peter's forehead, and his voice trembled. "Y-yes, Professor. I only wanted to complete the task you gave me."
"Is that so? I thought you might seize the chance to ask about some deeper secrets."
"I don't know what you mean?" Peter managed a fake smile.
"For example, is Voldemort truly dead? Will he return? And if so, when?"
The young professor spoke slowly. With every question, Peter's face got paler. His shoulders trembled slightly, and he instinctively looked at the Ouroboros symbol on his arm, even suspecting that it could monitor his movements or even read his memories.
No, no, not even the Dark Lord could do that.
Peter tried to reassure himself. He looked away, and his eyes met Yhorm's, who had surfaced. He was instantly terrified. Those cold snake eyes seemed to stare right through his soul. The feeling of his deepest secret being completely exposed chilled him to the bone.
Just as he was about to lose it, Melvin's voice changed, and he asked a different question. "Peter, our deal is over. Have you thought about where you'll go next?"
"Well..." Peter was unsure how to answer.
As if he knew what Peter was thinking, Melvin let out a small laugh, his tone becoming gentle. "Don't worry, I'm a man of my word. You brought me the information, and I will keep your secret. I won't reveal your identity to anyone, and I certainly won't use this to force you to continue working for me."
Peter felt that this professor wasn't a good person and his words weren't entirely trustworthy. After a moment, he said, "I'm going to settle down in a remote village, live a quiet life, and never leave again."
"A stranger settling in a village, and an older one at that, will have a hard time finding a job, won't they? No work means no money, and life will be difficult..." Melvin said, as if genuinely concerned. "How about this? I'll give you a sum of Galleons before you go. It won't last a lifetime, but it'll get you through the first few months."
"Th-thank you," Peter stammered.
Now he was truly confused. Could this professor—who had illegally imprisoned him, was skilled in the Dark Arts, and was a master of threats and manipulation—actually be a good person?
"Don't thank me. It's a small thing." Melvin's tone became more relaxed, almost casual. "I've actually researched wizard seclusion. It used to be easier. Muggle identities were simple to forge, and no one checked them. Muggle money could be faked with a Transfiguration spell. Now it's a lot more complicated. All forms of transportation require ID checks, and Muggles don't use cash much anymore; it's all cheques, credit cards, and vouchers. They're all connected online, so forging them is easily found out."
Coming from a professor of Muggle Studies, this sounded extremely convincing. "While you can get out of trouble with a Confundus Charm or the Imperius Curse, too many anomalies could draw the attention of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You know how much they care about the Statute of Secrecy."
Peter looked at him and said feebly, "I was planning to hide out in a wizarding village."
"That's gotten difficult, too."
"Huh?"
Melvin sighed, his expression complex. "You've chosen a bad time. A little while ago, a senior Ministry official drafted the 'Anti-Werewolf Act,' which requires werewolves to register. Of course, the werewolves refused and are now running around to avoid being caught. So, people in wizarding communities are extremely cautious of strange wizards moving in. They're very particular about identity. If no one can vouch for you, they'll call in the Aurors for a check."
Peter swallowed hard, finding it difficult to breathe. His identity was a secret, but a well-known one. As the late Order of Merlin, Second Class recipient, any simple check by the Aurors would show something was wrong. Muggle towns were dangerous, and wizarding villages would draw the Aurors' attention. Would he have to stay a rat forever?
"Professor Rawent, what... what am I supposed to do?" Peter asked, his voice choked, sounding incredibly pathetic.
"I think you should stay as a rat," Melvin said sincerely. "Just find a shop to hide in. Make sure the owner is a calm person. Some wizards have short tempers and will pull out their wands the second they see a rat."
Peter's face fell. This wasn't the answer he wanted.
"A wizarding pub is probably best. They have good intelligence. The wizarding world hasn't been peaceful these last two years. Last year, Voldemort's wraith caused a whole mess. He could come back at any time, so you need to be aware."
"..."
Peter shuddered with fear, remembering the questions he'd asked Bellatrix Lestrange. The mist on the sea seemed to be clearing. Yhorm glided through the waves, circling the boat. Amidst the splashing water, Peter came to a conclusion after some careful thought.
"Professor, what do you think about me going back to Hogwarts and hiding with that Weasley boy again?"
Melvin feigned surprise and considered the idea. "Hogwarts is indeed the safest place. There's plenty of food, no Auror checks, and it's a good way to gather information."
Hearing the affirming answer, Peter became a bit unsure.
Melvin waved a hand. "Don't worry about me. I can make an Unbreakable Vow that I won't reveal your identity to a third party. Likewise, I hope you won't reveal what I'm about to do."
A sudden thought occurred to Peter, and he instantly understood the young professor's true intentions. The professor didn't want him out of his sight or control because he was wary of Peter exposing his plan to acquire a certain vault! This realization made Peter feel at ease and added a measure of trust. The previous advice now made sense; in a way, they both had leverage over each other.
As long as he didn't reveal the professor's plan, the professor would keep his Animagus form a secret!
"I understand, Professor Rawent!"
...
In a deserted alley on Charing Cross Road, the air slightly twisted, as if scorched by an invisible fire. When it reached a certain limit, it tore open with a vibrating hum.
POP!
A figure appeared out of thin air. He looked at the familiar street and quickly walked half a block, spotting the Leaky Cauldron sign.
It was a weekday, so business wasn't bustling, but it wasn't empty either. The customers were few but steady. A few old witches sat in a corner, chatting quietly, while some wizards were gathered in front of a mirror, watching a Quidditch match and cheering or cursing. It looked like a training match from Scotland.
The pub was as dark and messy as ever, the tables and chairs covered in a thick layer of grime. Only the bar was relatively clean, with a few wizards gathered around it, chatting with the bald, shrivelled-walnut-looking old wizard.
"Hey! Professor Rawent, want a drink?"
The bald pub owner's eyes lit up. He immediately raised his glass and called out. As soon as the young professor walked in, old Tom had spotted him.
Melvin smiled. "Are you paying?"
"If it's for Professor Rawent, it would be my honor to offer a free drink!"
Old Tom grinned, already bringing over a butterbeer. He guessed the professor might have other things to do, so he didn't bring out a stronger drink like whiskey or vodka.
"How's business lately?" Melvin asked, taking the butterbeer.
Old Tom sat down opposite him. "Not bad. The family mirrors haven't affected business as much as we thought they would. Some wizards prefer watching nature shows and the news at home, but others would rather come to the pub to watch exciting matches and shout with other fans. Losing feels better that way."
Melvin turned to look at the crowd watching the match. The wizards were split into two factions, which was obvious from their expressions when a goal was scored. For exciting, crucial goals, some would even stand up and buy drinks for everyone.
He lowered his voice and asked, "Old Tom, be honest with me. You're not doing any betting, are you?"
"Professor, we're a respectable pub! We don't do things like that!" Old Tom grumbled, but he lowered his voice for the next part. "I heard they're doing that in Knockturn Alley. After the Ministry's crackdown last summer, a lot of wizards with shady pasts had to pay huge fines, so they're all looking for a way to make it back fast."
Melvin was a bit surprised. "The mirrors can't stream live, can they? How do they bet on matches that have already happened?"
"As long as the people betting don't know the results, it's fine. They use magical contracts and Unbreakable Vows... The rules seem fair enough." Old Tom wasn't sure.
Melvin nodded, not asking for more details. Betting in Knockturn Alley meant that cheating was a form of skill, and those who participated were doing so willingly. When the magic mirror was fully rolled out, it would have both good and bad effects. The Magic Mirror Club couldn't plan for everything; the right choice was to let the wizards explore on their own. It was a lot like Professor McGonagall's plan to connect the Floo Network on weekends; Melvin could probably predict the outcome, but they had to try it out.
He kept turning the glass in his hand, chatting with old Tom, and after another cheer from the fans, Melvin asked, as if an afterthought, "Old Tom, do you know the Lestrange family?"
"Lestrange?"
Old Tom smacked his lips, recalling. "The Lestrange from the Sacred 28? Just like the Blacks and the Gaunts, they were obsessed with the Dark Arts, which made the family more and more extreme. They believed in pure-blood supremacy, hated Muggles, and then married their cousins until the family started to decline. I remember they had three branches. The last witch from the Corvus line, Leta Lestrange, went to France with the Scamander brothers and died at the hands of the Obscurials. The last witch from the Cyril line was Norjiah Lestrange. The last I heard of her was in 1927. She never married or had children, so I don't know if she's dead or not. The last branch, the Rodolphus line, is still alive—the brothers Rabastan and Rodolphus, both Death Eaters. They'll never leave Azkaban."
Melvin nodded thoughtfully. "Do you know where their ancestral home is?"
"I think it's in Cornwall?" Old Tom scratched his head. "I don't know the exact location. Those old pure-blood family estates are all hidden. You can't put them on a map. Others can only enter if they've been invited or have permission."
Melvin frowned slightly. "Sounds a bit complicated."