Marvolio and Cynthia weren't nearly as optimistic as Tver. They'd each caught glimpses of Voldemort's plan last night and realized that even after failing once, the Dark Lord hadn't lost an ounce of cunning or strength. If anything, he'd become even more cautious.
With that in mind, both of them fell silent, deep in thought.
"You don't have to look so grim. The stronger the opponent gets, the more fun it is to bring them down," Tver said, teasing them when he saw their expressions.
"You're not worried?" Marvolio blinked.
"Worried about what? That he's getting stronger?" Tver looked at them with easy confidence.
"Marvolio, the stronger the opponent, the sweeter the reward when you beat him. Isn't that right?"
He set down his knife and fork, stood up, and shrugged into the coat hanging over the chair as he spoke.
"Besides, we've still got a little nail stuck in Voldemort's side. Last night, wasn't it because of him that we managed to ruin Voldemort's plan?"
"You mean Peter Pettigrew?" Cynthia stood up as well, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
"Exactly." Tver couldn't help the smile tugging at his mouth.
...
"Terrifying…"
Peter Pettigrew had no idea Tver had already set his sights on him. Even if he did know, it wouldn't change much.
He could barely handle the Dark Lord as it was.
Ever since Nagini was taken away, the Dark Lord's mood had been dreadful.
But after they successfully ambushed Barty Crouch and freed Barty Jr., the Dark Lord's spirits had visibly improved.
He even stopped insisting on drinking only milk, allowing other foods as substitutes. Peter's work became much easier, and he'd even had time to step outside and bask in the sun.
Then last night happened, and all of that vanished.
Barty Jr. was exposed. The Death Eaters they'd painstakingly gathered were arrested. Their biggest target, Potter, was rescued…
If it were Tver, he'd probably describe it with a perfectly fitting idiom: losing the lady and the soldiers.
And yet, deep down, Peter was actually rather pleased.
Even while hiding at the Dark Lord's side, he was starting to realize something: when a "good person" turned ruthless, there was no room left for ordinary villains.
In the last wizarding war, the Dark Lord had been able to rampage through the magical world largely because Dumbledore held back for fear of harming innocents.
But things were different now. From what Barty had revealed last night, Peter knew that this professor's methods would never be as soft as Dumbledore's.
Death Eaters who'd once escaped trial had either sworn themselves to the professor or been thrown into Azkaban.
No matter how Peter looked at it, the Dark Lord's odds were shrinking by the day.
So after the night was over, he'd even been thinking about doing more to earn the professor's favor.
Instead, the Dark Lord used the excuse that Peter had "slept in" and hit him with the Cruciatus Curse.
The Dark Lord drank the milk he'd been stockpiling, using what little strength he'd managed to gather to torture Peter.
And Barty Jr. stood off to the side, laughing at him like it was some kind of entertainment.
It was only just now that the Dark Lord finally allowed him out to collect milk.
At least the Dark Lord's power had weakened considerably…
Peter walked along a village path, rubbing at his chest as if the pain from the Cruciatus Curse still clung there.
"What are you thinking about, so absorbed?"
After confirming the area was safe, Tver and the others lifted the Disillusionment Charm and appeared beside him.
"?!"
Peter jolted, nearly jabbing his wand straight into them.
"P-Professor?!" he stammered, frantically scanning the area.
"Relax. This whole stretch has been shielded. Unless Voldemort recovers his strength, he won't be able to sense us," Tver said, grabbing Peter before he could back away.
"So. After last night, what did Voldemort do?"
Peter's face crumpled at once.
"It was awful… first thing this morning, the Dark Lord used the Cruciatus Curse on me. If he didn't still need me to fetch his milk, he probably wouldn't have let me out at all…"
He sniffled and poured out his grievances to Tver.
Tver watched him for a long moment and didn't see a single tear.
"That's it? He didn't say anything else? No plans, no discussions?"
"Huh?" Peter hesitantly raised his head, unsure whether he should keep playing the pitiful act.
"That was the Cruciatus Curse, you know…"
Marvolio lost his patience. With a ferocious look, he grabbed Peter by the collar and yanked him up until his feet were nearly half a foot off the ground.
"If you don't start talking properly, I'll let you taste my Cruciatus Curse!"
"I'll talk—I'll talk!" Peter panicked, kicking his legs as he hurried to speak, no longer daring to pretend.
"The Dark Lord didn't say much, but while I was under the Curse, I heard him and Barty Jr. talking about souls!"
"I didn't really understand it. The Dark Lord said there was something he could no longer sense and that it needed to be checked."
"But I did hear Barty Jr.'s assignment. The Dark Lord sent him to deal with Moody—the retired Auror, Moody!"
"And because of that, the inspection could only be done personally by the Dark Lord and me!"
Tver raised an eyebrow.
He was well aware of the plot where Barty Jr. replaced Moody.
But inspecting Horcruxes…
He looked at Peter with a faintly amused expression.
"W-what is it?" Peter swallowed hard as a sense of ill intent washed over him.
"Nothing," Tver said with a gentle smile. "Just a rather demanding task I want to give you."
"What kind of task?"
"Every place you go, you're to pay close attention to Voldemort's every move and report it all to Dawlish."
"No!"
Even Peter wasn't stupid enough to miss what that meant.
The more information he leaked, the more actions Tver would take, and the greater the chance that he himself would be exposed.
With the Dark Lord's suspicious nature, the slightest hint of something wrong would mean he'd be killed without mercy.
As for the Dark Lord being weakened…
Please. He wasn't that professor. Even a weakened Dark Lord could kill him effortlessly.
The more Peter thought about it, the more panicked he became.
Wasn't everything he'd done meant to keep himself alive?
If death was inevitable, of course he'd choose to die later rather than sooner.
"Sorry," Tver said flatly, his smile vanishing as if it had never existed. "This is a demand, not a request."
Peter trembled from head to toe. Despite the heat, cold sweat soaked him, his hands and feet icy.
What kind of world was this supposed to be? How was a traitor supposed to survive before anyone was satisfied?
"I'll die!" he shouted hoarsely, fists clenched tight, his face twisted with fear, anger, sorrow, and despair.
"Why is it that you people, born with everything, get to enjoy a perfect life as if it's only natural, while we useless ones have to suffer through such a miserable fate?!"
"Have you ever thought about this, Peter?" Tver suddenly said, lightly patting his shoulder.
"What you truly hate isn't fate itself, but the soul that kneels before it over and over again."
"Our success was never something we were simply handed. We've endured plenty of hardship too."
"The difference is that the strong stand back up every time they're knocked down."
"Peter, you still have the choice to stand up."
Peter stared blankly at Tver's resolute gaze, unable to say a word.
...
"Why are you back so late today?"
"I'm sorry, Master," Peter said ingratiatingly, holding up a jar.
"I thought there wasn't any left. I kept saving it bit by bit, and only then did I realize there was already so much."