Hogwarts: From Little Wizard to White Lord

Peter neither agreed nor refused Dumbledore's invitation.

He couldn't help but wonder was this old man trying to guide him in some subtle way?

After all, Dumbledore had something of a reputation for meddling.

And yet… he didn't want to pass up the chance to spend more time with Newt Scamander.

An expert of rare knowledge and experience when it came to magical creatures, Newt had already helped Peter expand his understanding far beyond textbook pages. That kind of access was invaluable.

In a way, Peter thought with amusement, he was also a magical creature himself well, at least a magical materials expert.

The fur of the Demiguise. The explosive horn fluid of the Erumpent. The blood of a Fire Dragon. The pouch of a Niffler...

He had studied all of these as potion ingredients, down to their magical attributes and boiling points but until now, he'd never actually seen the living beasts they came from.

And the deeper he delved into the art of magical extraction, the more questions arose.

What did these materials look like when they were alive?

How were magical properties born in these creatures?

That, in turn, led to an even deeper question one that made his scalp tingle with both awe and excitement:

How did the first wizard come to be?

Were magical creatures the original source of magic?

And if so if we were to dissect them and study the interaction between their physiology and magic, might we uncover the fundamental secrets of the magical world?

Just the thought of it made Peter's heart beat faster.

By the time he returned to the Slytherin common room, he was practically buzzing. He pulled out his diary and spent the rest of the evening feverishly recording every thought, observation, and wild hypothesis from the day.

The scent of knowledge, the pursuit of truth it's intoxicating.

I'm sure Mr. Scamander would support my curiosity... right?

Far away in Dorset, Newt Scamander was preparing fresh fruit for the unicorn herd in the basement when he suddenly let out a loud sneeze.

"Achoo!"

"Strange... am I catching a cold?" he muttered, sniffling slightly.

Tina, who was stacking hay in the corner, gave him a flat look.

"Maybe Dumbledore's talking about you again."

Whether or not Newt had a cold remained to be seen.

But back at Hogwarts, a genuine flu swept through the castle the next morning.

By breakfast, a long line of miserable-looking students had gathered on the second floor, noses red, eyes watery, and faces flushed.

Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey, seasoned and unshakable, had seen it all before. She calmly prepared a massive cauldron of Pepperup Potion a tried-and-true remedy for magical influenza.

Of course, like most potions, its side effects were... unique.

It made your ears steam.

So when Peter entered the Great Hall the next day, he was greeted by a surreal sight

Hundreds of little heads bubbling with wisps of white smoke like a battalion of enchanted kettles.

The long house tables of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin were blanketed in rising mist, giving the whole room the feel of a bustling wizard sauna.

Fred and George Weasley, naturally, were in heaven.

They danced through the fog like ringmasters, using their wands to shape the steam into miniature dragons, floating teacups, and a disturbingly accurate steam version of Snape with bunny ears.

Even the teachers weren't spared.

At the staff table, Professor Flitwick's long, pointed ears undoubtedly a goblin inheritance let out loud, whistling puffs as smoke escaped through their tips in rhythmic bursts.

It was chaos.

It was comedy.

It was Hogwarts.

"That's very funny, Filius!" Dumbledore called out cheerfully, clapping with delight.

Then he raised a cup of Pepperup Potion to his lips, took a hearty sip and immediately had to cover his mouth as steam poured from his ears. He chuckled and tried to mimic Flitwick's high-pitched whistle.

Unfortunately for Snape, who was seated between them, this meant trouble.

Thick clouds of steam rolled over his head, completely obscuring his face. Only his dark, glowering eyes remained visible burning like cursed coals from the fog.

They fixed on Dumbledore with the intensity of a Basilisk's stare.

If looks could kill, the Great Hall would have lost a headmaster that morning.

Meanwhile, Peter had arrived at the Gryffindor table.

Harry and Ron were doubled over, trying and failing to suppress their laughter.

"Look at him!" Ron snorted, eyes darting toward Snape. "He's about ready to eat Dumbledore alive."

"Shame the flu didn't get that miserable old bat," he muttered.

Just then, he noticed Peter sitting down across from him.

Peter didn't bother with a greeting.

Instead, he pointed directly at Ron's chest and said, "Turner, get Banban for me."

"Meow !"

Turner, who hadn't had a proper toy in days, leapt eagerly onto the table and pounced.

Ron's face went white.

"Don't let him get Scabbers! Stupid cat get off me help!"

In a matter of seconds, Ron was on the floor, yelping helplessly as Turner wrapped his paws around Ron's shoulders and tried to paw his shirt open like a present. From the way Ron covered his pockets and squirmed, it wasn't hard to guess where he'd hidden his pet rat.

Harry, who had just taken a sip of pumpkin juice, wisely said nothing.

Whew. That could have been him.

Hermione, meanwhile, looked like a human steamer.

Wisps of white vapor spiraled up from her ears and coiled in her frizzy hair, giving the illusion that her head might actually be boiling.

But being Hermione, she carried on unfazed.

She walked right over to Peter, holding a massive tome in her arms, and politely asked, "Can I ask you something about this Transfiguration theory?"

Peter set down his fork and gave her his full attention.

Hermione had also caught the flu, but her academic spirit burned brighter than ever. After receiving one answer, she followed it with another question, then another.

Peter didn't mind.

His natural aptitude for Transfiguration was slightly better than hers, and he'd advanced quickly with the help of Professor McGonagall's private Transfiguration Club. He enjoyed these discussions and he had always been patient with her.

Especially when she looked so determined, clutching that book like a lifeline.

"...In Transfiguration," Peter explained, "willpower is extremely important, Hermione. Well, actually any successful spell requires strong and focused emotion."

"That doesn't mean you need to be perfectly calm. That would actually work against you."

"You only need a limited form of mental clarity. Let's say you're trying to turn a button into a beetle. Sure, it helps to visualize the structure of both objects, but the real key is wanting to succeed. Not passively wanting but obsessively, insistently, almost desperately. You have to repeat the desire to transform it, over and over, like your will is forcing the magic into reality."

Hermione nodded, her eyes shining with understanding.

Peter leaned back slightly as he spoke.

Magic in this world wasn't cold or mechanical. It wasn't like a mathematical equation or a potion recipe.

It was emotion.

It was will.

It was desire made manifest.

That made it unpredictable but also beautiful.

Even mad dark wizards could cast spells, because their emotions were intense enough to break through the rules.

As long as nothing blocked the flow of that emotion, the magic would answer.

Still, Peter couldn't help but believe that behind all the chaos, there had to be something more.

Some deeper structure.

Some law waiting to be discovered.

And that alongside potions was the second great research goal he had quietly set for himself years ago.

To uncover the hidden logic behind the madness.

To understand magic not just as power...

...but as truth.

The nature and laws of magic…

Peter lingered on the thought.

It was a grand topic maybe too grand. Too abstract. Too far removed from what a typical first-year should be pondering.

But that had never stopped him before.

Of course, Hermione had no idea that Peter was contemplating such things. The earnest, book-loving girl had more immediate concerns namely, her grades.

At the end of her string of questions, she hugged her thick Transfiguration textbook and looked at him with hopeful eyes.

"The exams are coming soon, and I still feel like I have a lot of weaknesses. Peter, could I study with you more often?"

Before Peter could reply, Harry who had been listening in awkward silence finally spoke up.

"Exams? Already? Isn't it a bit early for that?"

Hermione spun on him with a look of disbelief.

"Early? Harry, we've already been at Hogwarts for several weeks. If you take away weekends and sleeping hours, just how much study time do we really have left?"

And with that, she launched into a rapid-fire calculation that made Harry's head spin.

By the time she was done, he looked as though she'd physically aged him ten years.

Suddenly, every second of leisure he'd enjoyed so far felt like a wasted century.

He finished the rest of his breakfast in a daze.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Harry was still recovering from Hermione's lecture when Ron stomped in behind him his robes dusty, his face grumpy, and a cage clutched in his hands.

Inside it, Scabbers looked like he'd just been through a hurricane.

Ron locked the cage carefully and glared down at the trembling rat.

"Bloody Peter. Bloody Turner. They've terrified Scabbers so badly his fur's falling out again. My poor little guy's going to drop dead from stress one of these days."

Then, after a moment, Ron scratched his head and frowned.

"...Why am I not that mad about it anymore?"

It hit him with a twinge of sadness.

Somehow, he was starting to get used to being bullied by Peter and by that smug black-and-white cat of his.