195: Chapter 195 Fragments of an Old Letter

"Stop reading!" Peter slammed himself against the bars of the cage, his voice distorting into a shrill screech as it was released. "I'll write a confession, I'll sign it, I'll put my fingerprint on it, anything—just don't put Lily's letter in front of me!"

Allen sat behind the desk in his study, with three torn letters pressed beneath thin, transparent barriers.

The morning light hadn't arrived yet; the curtains were only parted by a sliver. The watchers outside had changed shifts, but the desk lamp remained on, as if he had been writing Snape's essay all night.

The door knocker muttered in the hallway, "He fears the dead; it makes him seem more human than when he fears the living."

The family crest remained silent, merely magnifying the residual magic of the old letters onto the study wall.

The ink colors of the three letters were different, their paper sources were different, and their creases were different.

They had been torn, soaked, and hidden, yet they still dragged the names of those people back onto the table.

Allen looked at the first one first.

Lily's handwriting was steadier than James's. The left side of the torn page was missing a piece, the recipient's name had been torn off, and only a few lines remained legible.

"Peter is too nervous. I'm not sure he's suitable. James says this will allow Sirius Black to step out of everyone's line of sight, but I don't like putting pressure on someone who is always trembling."

"Dumbledore thinks that obvious people are actually more dangerous; Lord Voldemort will target Sirius Black first. But the matter of switching people is inherently unsettling."

"If we are wrong, what happens to Harry?"

Peter knelt in the cage, covering his ears with both hands, as if he could shove the words back into the paper this way.

Allen used a quill to write beside it: Lily questioned Peter's stability, knew of the replacement plan, Dumbledore suggested appearing as a background element.

The second letter was in James's handwriting. The ink was heavier, and in several places, it looked like the paper had been pierced while writing.

"Sirius Black thinks he is too obvious; switching to Peter is safer. He is willing to continue attracting attention out in the open, even intentionally letting people think the secret is still with him."

"Albus, I know you don't like us acting on our own, but this time your judgment aligns with Sirius Black's. Peter is timid, and precisely because he is timid, no one will think he would dare to take on the role of Secret-Keeper."

"Don't tell Remus for now. He has been suspected enough lately; adding another layer of Secret-Keeper changes will only cause chaos within our own ranks."

Allen stopped writing.

Lupin was unaware. Sirius Black voluntarily withdrew. Dumbledore knew of the inclination to switch. Peter was chosen, and the reason was surprisingly because he was "timid."

The door knocker cursed, "These clever people really know how to pick a sharp edge."

Peter looked up, tears and sweat smeared on his face. "I didn't want to take it! They made me take it! They said I was inconspicuous, said no one would check me. Once the Master asked, what else could I do? I would have died!"

The tip of the Void's tail rested on the cage.

Peter's sobbing cut off.

Allen looked at him. "You could have refused."

"Refuse whom? James? Sirius Black? Dumbledore? Or Lord Voldemort?" Peter gripped the bars, shaking uncontrollably. "I couldn't refuse any of them! You don't know what it feels like when they stand in front of you. One wants you to be a friend, one wants you to be a hero, one wants you to be a pawn, and one wants you to kneel and beg for your life."

Allen did not refute this, simply writing beside the confession: Peter claims duress; does not constitute exemption from liability.

Seeing that line, Peter seemed to have the last bit of strength drained from him, sliding down into the corner of the cage.

The third letter was the most damaged. The paper was thinner, the signature was missing, and there was only an imprint in the bottom right corner. After the family crest magnified it, it was clear that it wasn't the wax seal commonly used by the Order of the Phoenix, nor was it the Potter Family crest. It was closer to the paper used for internal memos within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

But only a few lines of content remained.

"Crouch will not ask again."

"The explosion site is enough to give the public an answer."

"Black has lost control of his emotions; no need for witnesses to appear in court."

"Pettigrew is dead; this point must be kept clean."

The study fell silent.

The door knocker didn't curse either.

Allen stared at the words "must be kept clean" for a long time. Then he spread out the list of Crouch's former subordinates, placing the one Zabini gave him, the public clippings from Nott, and the names Peter had written down together.

Three names overlapped.

Barty Crouch's former secretary, a clerk from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and an on-site transcriber for the Auror Office.

The family crest projected intersection lines. "The third letter is suspected to be from within the Ministry of Magic, dated within three days of Black's arrest. The author cannot be confirmed, but the paper matches the internal memos of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement from that year."

Allen wrote: Crouch rushed to close the case, the narrative of the scene was fixed, and the conclusion of Peter's death was actively cleaned up.

Peter suddenly let out a laugh, a sound uglier than crying. "They didn't want to ask. They just wanted a murderer. Sirius Black was so suitable—a member of the House of Black, bad-tempered, close to James, and the scene had exploded. Who would listen to a rat?"

Allen looked up. "Are you proud of yourself?"

Peter's laughter stopped.

"I survived." He buried his face in his knees. "I just survived."

"James and Lily did not."

Peter's shoulders twitched.

"Harry grew up at his aunt's house. Sirius Black went to Azkaban for twelve years. Lupin was suspected by friends, living on his Werewolf identity and poverty. You were a pet in the Weasley Family." Allen sealed the three torn letters back into the thin barriers one by one. "You lived very cheaply."

Peter didn't scream again. He rested his head against the bars, as if finally bent by those few torn letters.

The sound of owl wings flapping came from outside the window.

The family crest lit up. "A letter from Nott."

Allen didn't open the window immediately. The family crest first scanned the envelope, confirming there were no tracking charms, no reply charms, and no malicious magic, before letting the letter land on the table. There was only a very thin sheet of paper inside the envelope, with a summer reading list written on the surface.

"A History of Magical Law, Volume Three," page twelve.

"The House of Black Genealogy: Public Edition," page forty-seven.

"Excerpts of Old Trial Procedures," page six.

According to the agreement, only the second noun counted as the main text.

History of Law, Black, Trial.

Nott was telling him that the directory at home could match the old trial records of the Black case, but he couldn't retrieve the originals yet.

There was an indentation on the back of the paper. Allen used Spatial Displacement to look at it, and a short line of text emerged.

"Father asked me why I am suddenly concerned about twelve years ago. I replied, 'An essay.'"

Allen placed the letter next to the old case files. "The Nott lead has moved."

The door knocker tsked. "You kids use essays dirtier than Ministry of Magic official documents."

Allen picked up his pen to reply. On the surface, he wrote suggestions for the reading list; on the hidden layer, he wrote only one sentence: Don't touch the originals, look for gaps in the directory pages.

The second owl arrived immediately after; it was from Zabini.

The letter wrote about the weather.

"London is sunny today, with fog in the afternoon. Mother says the lemon cake is selling fast, but no one touches the raisins. Someone mentioned the Quidditch World Cup tickets, thinking the Ministry of Magic will use the tournament to restore its reputation. The pudding hasn't gone bad."

Allen flattened the letter.

Sunny, the Board of Governors is currently quiet. Fog, news of the Order of the Phoenix or Sirius Black. Lemon cake, the Order of the Phoenix was mentioned. No one touches the raisins, Crouch has not yet become a topic. The pudding hasn't gone bad, no one mentioned Allen.

The Quidditch World Cup was starting to enter the pure-blood social scene.

The third letter was a bit late; the Malfoy Family's owl flew very steadily, with the manor's mark on its leg band. Draco's handwriting was heavier than usual.

"The White Peacock is sleeping very early. The White Peacock lost a feather. People in the garden are talking about fireworks; Father says this year is not suitable for getting close to places that are too noisy, but Mother says someone must attend the scene. The homework is annoying, especially the Dementor one."

After reading it, Allen placed the letter under the Lucius lead.

The White Peacock sleeping early means the letter was likely not checked. Losing a feather, Lucius is irritable. Fireworks, Quidditch World Cup. Lucius doesn't want to get close, Narcissa thinks attendance is mandatory. The Dementor sentence is likely Draco complaining about having to write a report.

The door knocker asked, "The Malfoy Family is going to the Quidditch World Cup?"

"Possibly."

"What about you?"

Allen didn't answer. He looked at the old letters on the table; the Quidditch World Cup and the Sirius Black case were drawing closer on the same summer map. Pure-blood families, the Ministry of Magic, foreign Wizards, former Death Eaters—everyone would appear at the tournament venue. If Lord Voldemort's former subordinates wanted to confirm if each other were still alive, that was a more respectable market than Knockturn Alley.

The family crest suddenly warned, "The external observer shift change is twelve minutes early."

Allen put away the three new letters, keeping the study lights unchanged. He walked to the window and looked out through the gap in the curtains. The person on the second floor of the empty house opposite had left. The Witch at the street corner hadn't changed; the newcomer was a hunched old Wizard leaning on a cane.

The Flame affinity residue was heavier.

"Order of the Phoenix," the door knocker cursed under its breath.

Allen returned to the desk, closed the old case files, but didn't seal them shut. He took a new sheet of paper and wrote down his judgments.

1. The chain of evidence for Sirius Black's innocence is beginning to form. The core consists of the three torn letters, Peter as a living witness, the old seal, the code page, and the Nott directory lead.

2. Dumbledore knew about the change of Secret-Keeper, but not necessarily that Peter had defected. Crouch's closing of the case involved active compression of the investigation.

3. The extent of Mundungus Fletcher's knowledge needs verification. The Order of the Phoenix's surveillance of Potter Manor may be related to the three lines of Sirius Black, Harry, and Allen.

4. The Quidditch World Cup will become a shared arena for the pure-blood circle and the Ministry of Magic; Lucius may be forced to attend.

Peter looked up, his voice hoarse. "When are you going to let me out to testify?"

Allen blew the paper dry. "When you can cause the most trouble by going out."

Peter opened his mouth, but couldn't get the last word out.

The Void pushed the cage back to the edge of the space. Beside the ebony box, the cracked pocket watch suddenly chimed softly.

It wasn't a burst of blue light, just a short tick of the hand.

Allen's hand froze.

The family crest lit up immediately. "The cracked pocket watch is responding to the time node of the old case. No external time regression. Recommendation: Do not touch."

The door knocker immediately followed up, "Dumbledore said, sleep first. Although I don't like listening to him, this sentence is useful."

Allen looked at the ebony box. After a few breaths, he thickened the spatial barrier above the lid of the box.

"Sleep first."

The door knocker acted as if it had finally won for once. "I recorded it."

"Delete it."

"Not deleting it."

Allen ignored it. He sealed the three torn letters into the third layer of the barrier, isolated the old seal, and made a copy of the code page for the family crest to compare. Then he extinguished the real lamp on the desk, leaving only a fake shadow to continue writing the essay.

The Order of the Phoenix watchers outside thought the person in the study was still staying up late.

The real Allen entered the Portable Space and closed his eyes, leaning against the coiled body of the Void. Peter curled up in the cage, facing the direction of the old letters, looking as if he were buried by the dust from twelve years ago.

The ebony box quieted down. The old storage area in the Dungeon didn't urge him anymore either.

But at the top of the files, the new goals were already written.

Summer vacation, chain of evidence for the old case. Quidditch World Cup, pure-blood arena. cracked pocket watch, no response for now.

Before sleep fell, Allen added a sentence in his heart.

"Everyone is waiting for Sirius Black to speak. But the rat that really should be speaking is in my hands."