Hogwarts: From Little Wizard to White Lord

Once the others had gone, the oak door to the headmaster's office closed with a heavy thud. Dumbledore clapped his hands softly, and a silent, wandless spell swept through the room.

The portraits on the walls, which had been chattering away, fell instantly silent. They closed their eyes and froze, as if all magic had been drained from them in a single breath.

Peter regarded Dumbledore steadily, and the headmaster met his gaze in turn.

After a long moment, Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Peter, I must admit, your strength has truly surprised me. I "

Peter cut him off. "I thought you kept me here because you were going to explain something to me."

Dumbledore said nothing.

"Explain why the Philosopher's Stone is at Hogwarts. Why someone is trying to steal it. Why it's hidden so carelessly on the fourth floor. And why…" Peter's voice sharpened, his stare hardening. "…the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor you hired tried to cast a Killing Curse on his own students. Why you ordered the traces of battle on the fourth floor erased. Why you told us not to let Professor McGonagall know. What exactly are you planning, Albus?"

For Peter, the confrontation with Voldemort had been entirely unexpected.

Originally, his plan had been simple follow Quirrell and see if the man could slip past the three-headed dog, Fluffy, to reach the Philosopher's Stone.

After all, Peter had already seen the Mirror of Erised in Dumbledore's office.

He knew the headmaster hadn't yet placed the Stone in the mirror. Once it was hidden there, Peter doubted he'd ever have the chance to get near it again.

Even though Dumbledore might have chosen another hiding place, Peter hadn't minded letting Quirrell and Voldemort clear the path so he could confirm it for himself.

But then the accident happened…

He hadn't expected that his and Ron's absence would prompt Harry and Hermione to go looking for them on their own.

That alone might have been a small miscalculation until, on the way to the headmaster's office, while helping to steady Harry, the boy whispered to him:

"Peter… I think… I think I could hear that man in black's thoughts. Not all the time just in flashes. But I knew exactly how furious he was when you hurt him. And… Hermione and I went to the fourth floor… probably because of him…"

Harry had wanted to ask if Peter thought he'd been under some sort of dark enchantment.

He didn't notice the flicker in Peter's expression.

The true problem wasn't that Harry and Hermione had acted on their own it was that Harry had somehow received Voldemort's thoughts.

That was not the shocking part. The real concern was that, only a month earlier, Peter had tested it himself and found that the connection between Harry and the Horcrux had not yet been established.

In the original timeline, the link had only grown stronger as Voldemort regained strength and the other Horcruxes were destroyed.

So why had it suddenly appeared now?

Peter's thoughts turned to the one force in this world that truly unsettled him fate.

It was the one power he could neither fully understand nor control… but the one he respected, and coveted, the most.

And now, this unexpected turn had convinced him that he might need to abandon his earlier plan to remain at the fringes of the storm between the Chosen One and the Dark Lord and instead take a more active hand.

At that moment, facing Dumbledore, Peter decided to take the initiative.

His barrage of questions clearly caught the headmaster off guard. Dumbledore's blue eyes sharpened, their light intensifying. "Did you discover his identity? Did you see him? Did Harry see him?"

Peter's mental defenses remained firmly in place. Looking straight into Dumbledore's eyes, he let a cold smirk tug at his lips. "No. But the stench of garlic that clings to him well, that's something I doubt I'll ever forget." Then he tilted his head in feigned suspicion. "You mentioned Harry. Is all of this connected to him?"

Dumbledore didn't answer.

His Legilimency probed, but found nothing unusual only the anger and suspicion of a sharp-minded young wizard.

And beneath that… a relentless desire for the truth.

If the person standing before him had been an adult, Dumbledore could have used intimidation.

If it had been a naïve boy like Ron (Ron: "Oi!") he could have brushed it off with eccentric nonsense.

But after several encounters with Peter, Dumbledore knew better than to take him lightly. After a long pause, he sighed. "It's a long story, Peter. I can tell you… but I expect you to keep it to yourself."

"Don't worry. My lips are sealed."

Peter's expression was impassive. He'd kept certain secrets for eleven years who had ever seen him tell a soul?

…

Snape could not recall how he made it back to his office.

His mind was in chaos.

Old memories crept in like a parasite gnawing at bone.

The familiar, comforting scent of medicinal herbs, which normally soothed him, did nothing tonight. Instead, images flared unbidden.

Many years ago he and a green-eyed girl lying together by the pond, willow leaves drifting around them like tiny, circling birds.

Ten years ago that same green-eyed woman lying lifeless amidst the ruins of the Potters' home. He had cradled her cold body, weeping in silence.

He had thought it ended there.

Though Dumbledore had always insisted the man who killed her was not truly gone, Snape had dismissed it as the fanciful paranoia of an aging wizard.

But today… today he had felt it. The foul, unmistakable magic of his former master.

Boom!

Lost in thought, he didn't even notice what ingredients he had been adding. The cauldron before him flared violently, and the precious batch of the Draught of Living Death was ruined.

He simply stared at the mess, unmoving until a blue, translucent phoenix glided in through the open window, alighting on his shoulder to murmur softly in his ear.

The message from the Patronus swept away his grief and dread in an instant, leaving only burning anger.

Without hesitation, Snape strode to the headmaster's office, threw the door open, and barked in a voice cold and biting:

"Dumbledore, great white wizard was ruining my life not enough? Now you're dragging Peter into this as well? What's your game? Training a more obedient hound for our so-called savior? Or perhaps grooming another double agent?"

Inside, the portraits remained motionless with their eyes shut, and the entire office seemed shrouded in deathly silence.

Dumbledore stood beside the Pensieve, his gaze distant, as though his thoughts were far away. Snape's sharp words pulled him back, and he turned with a weary, almost rueful smile.

"Severus, you've spent more time with him than I have. You know perfectly well how clever he is."

Snape's lip curled into a sneer. "So… you've told him your plan, then? And what are you using his friendship with Ron Weasley and Harry to mould the Boy Who Lived into your weapon? After all these years, you truly haven't changed."

But instead of looking offended, Dumbledore's expression only grew more resigned.

After a pause, he said quietly, "No. He offered to help me train Harry."

Snape's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "…What utter nonsense are you talking about?"

Dumbledore met his glare without flinching. "He said it was… a deal."