Harry felt as though the castle itself were conspiring against him. The past two weeks at Hogwarts had been a blur of frustration and mounting tension for Harry. Every night, he'd stalked the corridors under his Invisibility Cloak, listening for the scuttling of rats in the shadows—hoping, each time, that it might be Peter Pettigrew. But luck had not been on his side.
Pettigrew, it seemed, had all but vanished. He'd stopped appearing in the Gryffindor common room altogether, no longer the trembling, weak little pet he'd been for years. Harry suspected he was hiding somewhere deep in the castle's nooks and crannies, too frightened by Sirius Black's attempted break-in to risk being seen. Fear, after all, was a strong motivator, and Peter Pettigrew was nothing if not a coward.
Harry's nights blurred together in a restless pattern: patrols through shadowed corridors, whispered conversations with the Fat Lady to confirm no sign of Peter at the common room door, and long hours studying by candlelight in the library. He'd hoped that with a bit of luck—and a lot of determination—he might catch Pettigrew unawares. But luck, it seemed, was in short supply.
During the day, things weren't much easier. Classes pressed on at a relentless pace, the professors determined to keep their students focused on their studies despite the fear and uncertainty that had gripped the school. Harry felt stretched thin, his mind constantly divided between his coursework, his training in fire magic—which was proving more difficult than he'd anticipated—and his plans to capture Pettigrew before it was too late. Each evening he returned to the dormitory exhausted, every muscle aching from the strain of chasing shadows.
Now, on yet another Hogsmeade weekend, Harry found himself wandering the castle's corridors rather than joining the crowds heading for Honeydukes and Zonko's. His mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of Peter Pettigrew and the weight of responsibilities he'd never asked for.
He had hoped the corridors' solitude might offer a few moments of quiet reflection, but instead, he felt an even deeper sense of restlessness. He paused by a tall window, staring out at the distant mountains, his thoughts swirling like smoke.
A sudden noise—a burst of laughter—echoed from around the corner, breaking the heavy silence. Harry turned, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand.
A moment later, Fred and George Weasley appeared, leaning against the wall with identical grins plastered across their faces. Fred had his arms folded, while George twirled something in his hand—a piece of parchment that looked suspiciously familiar.
"Skiving off the best part of the weekend, are we?" Fred teased. "We couldn't help but notice you've been a bit… tense lately."
George nodded, eyes twinkling. "Yeah, mate. You look like you're about to set the castle on fire—which, honestly, would be brilliant, but we'd prefer it if you at least visited Honeydukes first."
Harry tried to muster a smile, but it felt thin. "Not really in the mood, thanks."
Fred exchanged a glance with George. "Well, we thought you might say that," he said, and George held up the parchment with a flourish.
"Which is why we've decided to help you out." George unfolded it and tapped it with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The parchment shivered, lines spreading like ink in water, until the Marauder's Map revealed itself in all its shifting glory.
Harry's breath caught. The sight of the Map—his father's, Sirius's, Remus's—felt like a jolt of electricity.
Fred leaned in, his voice low. "This here's the Marauder's Map—the best way to sneak around Hogwarts, bar none."
George pointed to the shifting footprints and names. "It shows everyone in the castle—teachers, students, even Peeves. Handy, eh?"
Fred added, "If you're planning on doing any, ah, unauthorized exploring, this'll keep you one step ahead of Filch and his mangy cat."
Harry's fingers closed around the Map as George handed it over.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
But even as the words left his mouth, a flicker of suspicion crossed his mind. Fred and George Weasley weren't known for their generosity without a catch. Why were they giving him something so valuable—something that, in the wrong hands, could get them into serious trouble?
He looked up, his green eyes narrowed. "Why are you giving me this?" he asked, his voice low. "You two could get into a lot of trouble if this got caught."
Fred and George exchanged a glance, the same grin playing on both their faces. George shrugged.
"Think of it as a thank-you," he said. "For last year."
"Yeah," Fred added, his tone more serious than Harry had expected. "You saved Ginny. Mum still tears up every time she thinks about it. We might not always show it, but we're grateful, Harry. Really grateful."
Harry blinked, taken aback by their honesty. "Thanks," he said again, quieter this time.
Fred's grin returned. "Use it wisely, Potter. And maybe find yourself a Butterbeer while you're at it."
With that, the twins vanished around the corner, their laughter fading into the noise of the castle.
Harry looked down at the Map, the lines shifting and swirling. Pettigrew might have hidden well these past weeks, but with the Map, Harry had a new edge.
He would find him.
And this time, he wouldn't let him slip away.
He unfolded the Map more fully and held it at eye level, eyes scanning the twisting, living lines that snaked across the castle's layout. He could see countless dots, each with a name, moving from classroom to classroom, common room to common room. It was mesmerizing to watch—like peering into the very heart of Hogwarts itself.
His eyes flickered to the dot labeled "Albus Dumbledore," comfortably seated in his office. Even from here, Harry could almost imagine the old wizard behind his massive desk, perhaps reading or writing something of importance.
Carefully, Harry began to search the Map, his finger tracing corridors and staircases, eyes darting from one name to another. He checked the Gryffindor Tower first—no sign of Peter Pettigrew.
Then he scanned the dungeons—Slytherin's domain. Plenty of students and even Snape himself, but no Peter.
He moved on to the kitchens, the hospital wing, even the owlery—still nothing. The castle felt impossibly large as he combed through every floor, every nook and cranny.
Finally, on the third floor, his eyes caught on a small, trembling dot near the base of the West Tower. "Peter Pettigrew," it read in tiny, unmistakable letters.
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[A/N] - I hope you're all enjoying the story so far. I'd love to hear your thoughts—what's working for you, what's not, and what you'd like to see in future chapters. Your feedback means a lot and helps me make this story even better. Please let me know in the comments or drop a review!
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