The dust of Cael's Ministry trial settled far faster than he had expected.
As was the way at Hogwarts, time rolled onward, indifferent to last week's headlines. Classes resumed. Students whispered for a few days, then, like bees drawn to fresher nectar, moved on. The drama faded. The Daily Prophet scandal lost its sting.
Then came a new incident — not involving the Ministry, nor ancient magical law, but one of far juicier and more immediate concern: a love triangle.
The story, as it bounced from table to table in the Great Hall, was that a seventh-year Hufflepuff — tall, curly-haired, and frustratingly handsome — had apparently been dating two girls at once: a Ravenclaw prefect and a Slytherin Beater. The moment the truth came out, all civility crumbled like wet parchment. Spells were flung, hair was grabbed, and pumpkin juice was weaponized.
By the end of the dinner hour, it was all anyone could talk about.
"They were screaming at each other in Latin and French," Seamus whispered in awe.
"Yeah, and someone said the Ravenclaw girl turned his bed sheets into thorns," said Ginny with a smirk. "Serves him right."
"Lucky Bastard," Fred muttered, shaking his head in admiration. "Banged two girls and lived to tell the tale."
The scandal was the talk of the school. Even the portraits seemed abuzz. It made Cael's courtroom appearance feel like a tale from the previous term.
Which was exactly how he liked it.
That evening, after dinner, Cael found himself sitting in the Gryffindor common room, legs folded near the fireplace . He watched Ron on the opposite sofa, cradling a thin, shivering Scabbers in his palms. The rat looked frail — almost skeletal — and Ron's worry showed.
"Don't know what's wrong with him," Ron muttered, rubbing Scabbers' ears gently. "He's gotten all thin. Was fine a few weeks ago…"
He kissed the rat lightly on the head and whispered, "You'll be alright, Scabbers. You've been with me too long, mate. What would I do without you?"
Hermione, seated nearby with a thick book on magical plant genetics, glanced up with a look of pure disgust.
"Honestly, Ron," she said with a grimace, "if you kiss that mangy rat one more time, its fur will change color from embarrassment. That thing's already gone grey."
Ron recoiled. "Oi! Don't talk about Scabbers like that! You better keep your monster in check. Crookshanks is the one who's probably scaring him half to death!"
Hermione slammed her book shut with a sharp thud and glared. "Crookshanks is not a monster. He's a perfectly intelligent, well-bred kneazle, and unlike your rat, he doesn't smell like a dustbin under a heat charm."
They were bickering now, their voices rising as they leaned over their respective armchairs. Harry, wisely, stayed out of it. Cael, however, kept his gaze on the rat in Ron's hands — small, twitchy, grey, with eyes that seemed too alert for its condition.
Too knowing.
Scabbers… no. Pettigrew.
Cael narrowed his eyes.
There it was again — that whisper of unease in the back of his mind. For days, he had dismissed it. But now, watching the way Scabbers trembled in Ron's grasp, avoiding the gaze of both Hermione and Crookshanks, the truth scratched louder.
Peter Pettigrew — the traitor. The coward. The man who betrayed the Potters… and the one responsible for everything that followed.
He's right here. In Ron's hands. A living Animagus.
His fingers itched. He could grab Scabbers now. Walk straight to Dumbledore's office. Reveal everything.
But…
The question loomed: What should I do?
He leaned back, sighed, and murmured in his mind, System? I need you. What do I do now? Do I take the rat to Dumbledore? McGonagall? Do I interrogate him myself? Or maybe… should I try to find Sirius Black and drag him to the Headmaster? What's the smartest move?
The System's response came in her usual sarcastic tone—a voice that was sharp, feminine, and far too pleased with itself.
"That would be the dumbest decision you've ever made."
Cael blinked. What? Why?
"Let's break it down, genius," the System said dryly. "If you reveal that the rat is Peter Pettigrew, sure—maybe Sirius Black's name gets cleared. Maybe. But don't expect justice to happen overnight. You think the Ministry will believe a student and a rodent?"
He's not just a rodent, Cael thought grimly. He's a living secret.
"Even if Sirius is innocent," the System continued, "James Potter would've spoken up long ago if he could. Don't expect happy endings. If Pettigrew is exposed, there's a high chance he gets killed before he ever reaches trial—either by Sirius, James, or the Ministry. He's a liability. They might silence him."
Cael frowned. "But wouldn't that be a good thing? He's a traitor."
"Maybe. But if he dies too early, you destroy a crucial event: the resurrection of Voldemort. Remember, it was Peter who revived him. Not Lucius, not Bellatrix. Peter. No Peter, no ritual. No ritual, no Voldemort… which might sound good, until you realize we don't know what the alternative looks like."
Cael looked over at Ron again, who was now feeding Scabbers a piece of toast.
He's been with Ron for two years. All this time…
The System seemed to hear his thoughts.
"Exactly. Peter's heard everything. Ron and Harry have no secrets from each other. That means Peter knows where Voldemort is. He knows Voldemort is alive. When the time comes, he'll run—not out of loyalty, but survival."
Cael rubbed his temples. "So there's no scenario where I change things?"
"Sure, if you want to screw the timeline up completely," the System said sweetly. "You could expose Peter. Maybe Voldemort never comes back. Maybe he does—only this time through a ritual involving dragon's blood and a dementor. You don't know. Magic adapts. And remember: you were never supposed to be here."
Cael narrowed his eyes. "So what do you suggest?"
"Let it play out," the System replied calmly. "Keep watching. Do not intervene unless absolutely necessary. The world is already shifting because of your presence. Be careful not to tip it too far."
Cael sighed and looked into the fire. "I suppose you're right."
"Of course I'm right," the System sniffed. "What did you think I was? Stupid?"
He chuckled. "No, no. I never said that."
"You implied it. Don't deny it. You called me useless the first time we met."
Cael raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry. I was overwhelmed."
"You better be, idiot."
Cael laughed under his breath.
And across the room, Scabbers squeaked softly in Ron's palm—unaware that his days in disguise were numbered.