That evening, the Hufflepuff common room hosted a birthday party in Hermione Granger's honor. Besides the birthday girl herself and a great many Hufflepuffs, two Gryffindors were also in attendance: Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.
Richie had ordered ten cakes—large ones, enough to feed everyone. Arthur Weasley had sent them to Hogwarts after magically shrinking them for transport.
The children enthusiastically descended upon the sweets, while tea and cocoa flowed freely. Many of the guests had never even spoken to Hermione before, yet they nevertheless offered her warm birthday wishes with genuine enthusiasm.
Ron Weasley was positively beaming. He eagerly shared his news with anyone willing to listen, eventually making his way to Grosvenor.
"Richi, I don't think I told you yet. I made the Gryffindor Quidditch team! I'm the new Seeker! I've got the best broom on the team, and I've been flying with my brothers since I was little. Wood definitely made the right choice."
"Congratulations, Ron," Richard replied politely. "I hope you achieve all the success in the game you've been hoping for."
"Richi, you'll come to the first match, won't you?" Ron asked.
"Perhaps. I won't make any promises," Richard answered diplomatically. "Ron, you know I don't care much for Quidditch—or for most sports, really. A fencing tournament, on the other hand, I'd gladly attend."
"Oh, come on..." Ron drawled, wrinkling his nose. "That's just Muggles waving bits of metal around. What's so interesting about that?"
Richi could easily have replied in kind—that Quidditch was nothing more than people risking their lives by chasing a ball around on broomsticks—but good manners got the better of him. Instead, he merely smiled politely and steered the conversation elsewhere.
"Ron, how are your observations of Lockhart progressing?"
"Well..." Ron needed a moment to adjust to the abrupt change of subject. "He's incredibly suspicious! Lockhart talks as if he's the greatest wizard alive, but when it comes to actually doing something... We've never once seen him cast so much as a single spell. It's weird..."
"Hmm..." Richard rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So you've noticed it as well. The longer I observe Lockhart, the more convinced I become that he's either hopelessly incompetent—or, more astonishingly, an ordinary man with no magical ability at all.
"But that can't be right. I made some inquiries. Lockhart attended Hogwarts and was sorted into Ravenclaw. Afterward, he worked for a time in the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement as a Memory Charm specialist. So he most certainly can perform magic.
"Which leaves only one conclusion: he's deliberately pretending to be something he isn't. The question is... why? Why would a grown man deliberately make himself look like a clown? Without a doubt, teenage girls fall head over heels for the image he's created and accept the performance at face value. But no one else should be fooled by it..."
"My mum absolutely worships Lockhart," Ron muttered darkly. "You should've seen the crowd of witches the day he was signing autographs—there were people everywhere! Loads of them believe every word he says. I just don't get why he says one thing and does the exact opposite..."
As Ron helped himself to yet another enormous slice of cake and attempted to force it into an already overfilled stomach, Harry quietly beckoned Richard aside.
"Richi," he whispered, "the rat!"
"Who's a rat?" Richard asked, frowning.
"Pettigrew's the rat!"
"Harry, you already told me that on the train."
"I did, but..." Harry looked like a conspirator in a spy novel. Leaning close to Richard's ear, he whispered loudly, "Percy Weasley has a rat!"
Richard shrugged. "That's certainly original, but hardly remarkable."
"That's what I thought too. But just in case, I asked Ron about it. He told me the rat's been Percy's pet for twelve years! Rats don't live that long. At first I figured it must be some magical breed of rat, but Ron said it's an ordinary one. And I got a good look at our prefect's rat—it was missing a toe on one of its paws!"
Deep furrows appeared between Richard's brows as he considered the information.
"So..." he said slowly. "Let's sum this up. Twelve years ago, during his confrontation with Black, Pettigrew cut off one of his own fingers and transformed himself into a rat. Around that very same time, Percy Weasley acquired a pet rat missing a toe. A forepaw?!"
"Yes!" Harry nodded emphatically.
"So," Richard continued, thinking aloud in a hushed voice, "his supposedly ordinary pet is missing a toe from one of its forepaws... and this supposedly ordinary rat has lived an extraordinarily long life—roughly four times the normal lifespan of its species..."
"It's Peter Pettigrew!" Harry whispered with absolute conviction.
"Let's assume you're right. But then why would he spend all this time living as an animal? Harry, it doesn't make sense. He's a wizard. He could easily have gone abroad, changed his name, forged new papers, altered his appearance. Instead, he stayed in the body of a rat and settled down with a wizarding family. That's completely irrational."
"Maybe he just went mad," Harry suggested.
"I've no doubt he did. Spending years trapped in an animal's body can't possibly be good for anyone's mind. Even so, Harry, why choose to live with a wizarding family?"
Harry absently scratched the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
(End of Chapter)
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