Due to an accident in the spell-casting class earlier that day, the afternoon flying lessons had been canceled.
Although Seamus's flashing spell had nearly worn off, some young wizards were still experiencing blurred vision. Naturally, that made flying lessons unsafe.
This unexpected turn of events gave the first-year students a free afternoon to relax.
After lunch, David made his way over to the Gryffindor table, greeted the twins, and sat down next to Hermione.
"Why are you here instead of sitting with your senior sister?" Hermione asked, swallowing a mouthful of food and shooting David a slightly annoyed glance.
David blinked, confused. "Why would I go sit with her?"
Hermione huffed, setting down her fork. "Haven't you been eating with her for the past couple of days? Talking and laughing together?"
She realized her words sounded a bit too pointed but, having already started, she couldn't back down now.
"I'm in Ravenclaw. What's wrong with eating with fellow Ravenclaw students?" David replied defensively. It was fine to joke around with his roommates, but he didn't want Hermione misunderstanding his intentions.
"No... I guess there's nothing wrong with it," Hermione muttered, her voice lacking confidence. She wanted to argue but couldn't think of a solid reason.
David smirked. "Then why did you make such a fuss about it? You even cried when we first met."
At the reminder, Hermione's mood darkened. He could joke around with his senior sister, but when it came to her, all he did was make her cry?
"I just wanted you to realize there are people better than you. If you understand that, you'll work harder and become even better in the future," David said, assuming the tone of a wise mentor.
Hermione frowned, considering his words. "That does make sense… but then why did you have to call me 'big front teeth'?"
David shrugged. "Because it's true, isn't it?"
Hermione stiffened. As the daughter of two dentists, she was extra conscious about her teeth. While she took good care of them, her front teeth were slightly larger than average, something she hated people pointing out.
David grinned. "Besides, now you'll never forget me. That nickname will stick in your mind forever!"
Hermione fell into deep thought. A moment later, she let out a reluctant chuckle, which surprised even her.
Meanwhile, David had started chatting with Harry and Ronald—though mostly with Ronald.
"David, did you know? Scabbers has been in my family for years," Ronald said, holding his pet rat up with a dramatic expression.
David gave a nonchalant shrug. "So? I'm willing to pay for it. You should at least consider the offer."
Ronald looked torn. "Three Sickles a day, you said? That adds up…"
David nodded. "Think about it. A brand-new wand costs seven Galleons. An owl? That's at least twenty Galleons. Don't you want those things?"
Ronald hesitated. His family had a lot of kids, which meant he rarely got new things. His books, wand, and robes were all hand-me-downs. Did he want new stuff? Of course.
"But Scabbers has been with me for ten years," Ronald argued. "He even sleeps in my bed! He's practically my little brother."
David rolled his eyes. "Come on, I've already promised not to hurt him. You'll get him back safe and sound. This is practically free money!"
Ronald still looked conflicted.
David sighed. "Look, I'll sweeten the deal. Two Galleons a week."
That got Ronald's attention. Two whole Galleons? At eleven years old, that was more money than he could save in a year!
The deal was struck. David would pay Ronald two Galleons per week to rent Scabbers.
Ronald, suddenly eager to secure the money, rushed up to the Gryffindor dormitory to retrieve the rat. He returned shortly, carefully placing Scabbers in David's hands, as if afraid his friend would change his mind.
Scabbers, a small, scruffy-looking rat, squirmed in his grasp.
David smirked. He knew that in Diagon Alley, a single Galleon could buy a whole cage of rats. Ordinary ones, at least. But Scabbers wasn't just any rat.
"Alright then, I'll return him next week." David gave Ronald a nod before heading off with Scabbers safely tucked into a small cage.
"Be careful with him," Ronald called after him. "I don't know what kind of experiments you're planning, but he's ten years old! Don't be too rough on him."
David waved off the concern without looking back.
Ronald watched him go with mild guilt. He did care about Scabbers—sort of. But in the face of two shiny gold Galleons? Well… maybe not that much.
If David had offered just a little more, Ronald might've considered selling Scabbers outright.
David made his way up to the eighth floor and entered the Room of Requirement.
The moment they stepped inside, Scabbers started squirming wildly, his tiny paws scratching frantically at the bars of his cage.
David smirked. "Oh? Seems like you already know where you are."
Scabbers let out a frantic squeak.
When Ronald had handed him over, the rat had already sensed something was off. But what could a little rodent do against fate?
David casually dumped Scabbers out of the cage. The rat immediately bolted toward the nearest shadowed corner.
With a flick of his wand, David cast a spell.
"Crucio!"
Scabbers let out an ear-piercing screech and collapsed, writhing in agony. His tiny body convulsed, twitching uncontrollably on the cold stone floor.
Despite his pain, one thought echoed in his mind: A first-year student knows the Cruciatus Curse?!
David watched, unimpressed. "You're taking this better than I expected."
He flicked his wand again.
"Crucio!"
This time, Scabbers' squeals grew louder. Foam bubbled at the corners of his tiny mouth, and his body spasmed violently.
Then, the magic took effect.
A ripple of change ran through Scabbers' form. His tiny limbs stretched unnaturally, his fur receded, and his shape twisted. Within seconds, where the rat had been moments ago, a short, fat, balding man now lay gasping on the ground.
Peter Pettigrew.
The middle-aged wizard wheezed, clutching at his chest, his small, watery eyes darting around in terror. His gray, thinning hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, and his dirty, ragged clothes clung to his trembling body.
He looked exactly like what he had been for the past twelve years—a filthy little rat.
And right now, he was in serious trouble.
David crossed his arms, watching as Pettigrew struggled weakly to sit up.
"Not doing so well, are you?" David mused.
Pettigrew opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out—just a choked whimper.
David smirked. "Relax. This is just the beginning."
End of Chapter 35
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