Chapter 253. Dumbledore's Suspicion
"Merlin's beard!" Peter yelped, scrambling to his feet, his eyes going wide. "You… you… what are you doing here?"
"Happy Christmas, Peter," said Lupin with a gentle smile.
Peter's face twitched a few times despite himself.
Seeing that no one made a move, he rubbed his hands together awkwardly. "Oh… oh… I'm just so surprised."
"A little surprise, Peter." Dumbledore smiled and gave his wand a light wave; in an instant, the table was laden with food. "I asked the House-elves to prepare a bit extra."
Peter clearly let out a sigh of relief at the sight.
Adrian Wesson found it quietly amusing.
Peter must have been scared half to death by this "surprise."
He could more or less imagine how Peter felt now.
As the true betrayer, he was doomed to live in endless fear and torment. And that fear and torment
would never cease until the truth was exposed.
Peter did not immediately tuck into the fine food, but instead looked at Dumbledore, voice trembling. "Professor, S—Sirius Black… any news yet?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
Peter's eyes dimmed. He feared both Black being captured and exposing the truth, and Black turning up to take revenge.
In short, neither outcome was good for him.
"Don't worry, Peter," Professor McGonagall said kindly. "Aurors are stationed at Hogwarts now; it's very safe here."
"I… I mean…" Peter twisted his fingers, speaking weakly, "perhaps I should leave Britain? Then Black certainly wouldn't be able to catch me."
Dumbledore's blue eyes narrowed slightly. "A sound idea, Peter. But I still think you should stay at Hogwarts. Hogwarts is absolutely the safest place for you."
"Al… all right." Peter's voice grew smaller and smaller, and his eyes began to dart about.
"We'll protect you, Peter. No one else knows you're hiding here, and Black won't find you." Lupin patted his shoulder, then handed him a plate of sausages. "Trust us, all right?"
Taking the sausages, Peter answered in a voice that was almost a sob, "Thank you, Remus…"
Adrian Wesson understood then.
Peter seemed keen to leave Hogwarts, but Dumbledore had not agreed.
In a sense, Dumbledore had put Peter under a kind of house arrest.
Seizing the moment while everyone's eyes were on Peter, Adrian leaned to Dumbledore's ear and whispered, "You think there's something off about Peter, don't you?"
Dumbledore glanced at Adrian and said, as if offhand, "Lately I've noticed a few details I'd never paid attention to before."
"And so?" Adrian pressed.
Dumbledore smiled faintly and did not answer, merely shook his head.
Even so, Adrian more or less understood what Dumbledore meant.
He looked at Peter and could almost see a large "danger" sign hovering over his head.
Soon it was time to break up.
To be honest, it was not a cheerful Christmas dinner, because Peter had been on edge the whole time and had hardly eaten a bite.
After a short while, they left Peter's hiding place.
Watching the wooden door vanish back into the wall, Adrian felt a little wistful; he had never noticed a concealed room here.
It seemed the secrets of the Hogwarts castle could never be fully explored.
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall left first.
In the corridor, for a moment only Adrian and Lupin remained.
Lupin gazed at the darkening sky outside the window and let out a slow sigh. "When will this business finally end?"
As Peter's friend, he was undoubtedly the one most concerned about him.
"I think it'll be soon," Adrian replied casually. "Black won't keep hiding. He'll show himself to us at the right moment."
"Let's hope so," said Lupin.
As they parted, Adrian handed Lupin a small vial in which dark-gold liquid swirled.
"This is…"
"The third version of the Purification Potion," Adrian explained. "Drink it at the next full moon."
Lupin accepted the potion at once, then said, "The current potion is already perfect enough. I can control myself now."
"Not enough," Adrian shook his head slightly. "Control isn't our final goal; mastery is."
"All right, you're right," said Lupin.
Since Adrian wanted to continue the research, he would cooperate actively.
Perhaps one day, they could completely resolve the werewolf genes in his body.
Lupin had no other ambition; he only wanted to live as a normal person.
On Boxing Day, the holiday continued.
Harry was in the courtyard with Ron, fussing over the Firebolt—Ron had coveted the best broom in the world for quite some time.
According to school rules, students were not allowed to fly on broomsticks on the grounds without permission.
But it was the holidays now; there wouldn't be any professors to discipline them.
"The Firebolt is incredibly fast," Harry warned as Ron swung a leg over the broom. "You've got to hold the handle tight. This isn't like the brooms we use in Flying class."
"All right, I get it," Ron's eyes shone with barely contained excitement. "This is no problem for—"
Before he could finish, there was a sharp whoosh of air.
With a scream, Ron shot straight up into the sky.
"Careful!!!"
Harry shouted from below.
He was terrified Ron would suddenly plummet head-first to the ground; getting hurt would be one thing—nothing must happen to his Firebolt…
Fortunately, Ron's flying wasn't bad. After a brief moment of adjustment, he just about managed to control the Firebolt's direction.
He wobbled through a crooked circle in the air, red hair whipping in the cold wind, a grin of excitement breaking across his face.
"Bril—liant—!" he yelled.
Just then, a window on the third floor of the castle flew open, and someone they very much did not want to see appeared.
Filch stuck his head out and bellowed furiously, "You two! What do you think you're doing!?"
Seeing this, Ron thought, This is bad, and, not very deftly, brought the Firebolt down beside Harry.
"Run!"
Harry snatched up the Firebolt and dragged Ron off in the other direction.
After several minutes of flat-out sprinting, the two of them ducked into an empty classroom.
Because of the exertion, Gulu—who had been tucked in Harry's hair—woke up and began to wriggle restlessly.
"We should be safe now," Ron said, dropping into a chair and clutching his chest.
Harry nodded in agreement.
Filch was nothing like the other professors—he never listened to reason—but as long as they weren't caught on the spot, they were in the clear.
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