In the Gryffindor' dormitory, moonlight slanted in through the high windows, spreading a patch of silvery-white light across the floor.
The night breeze slipped in through the cracks in the window, causing the curtains to flutter gently.
The dormitory was quiet, with only a few even breaths rising and falling.
Ron's bed was by the window, the curtains half-drawn, revealing a small figure curled up on the sheets.
Peter was lying on the edge of the pillow, cradling a small tuft of tawny fur in his two front paws.
The fur was short, yellowish with a hint of gray, and appeared fine and dense in the moonlight, as if it had been combed from some kind of animal.
Peter gathered the tuft of fur with his two front paws, then tucked a few stray hairs one by one into the gap between the pillow and the sheet.
He did it very carefully, placing each hair in a different spot: some hidden under the pillow, some tucked into the folds of the blanket, and some simply scattered along the edge of the bed.
Peter knew perfectly well who someone would think of if they examined the hair closely.
It was Hermione's cat, Crookshanks.
That cat has been chasing him since the start of the school year. Every time they meet in the common room, the cat arches its back, bristles its fur, and stares intently at him with its yellow eyes, as if it knows something.
If one day he disappears, and there happens to be cat hair left on the bed, everyone will assume that Crookshanks has finally succeeded.
Ron might be sad for a while, or angrily complain about the cat, but no one would ever go looking for Scabbers again.
Peter finished, he tucked the last few strands of cat hair into a barely noticeable seam of the quilt.
Then he shifted back and sat on the edge of the pillow, his small, slightly red eyes looking at his work.
He let out a humane sigh of relief.
Then his gaze suddenly shifted towards the bedside table.
There was a book on it with a silhouette of a black dog printed on it.
The moonlight fell perfectly on the cover of the book, illuminating the dog's shadow clearly.
If it weren't for that book, he wouldn't have needed to run at all; he hadn't planned to leave so soon.
So what if Sirius Black escaped?
He knew twelve years ago that the man wouldn't stay on that island forever.
Peter remained calm after Black escaped.
On the contrary, he knew one thing very well—the most dangerous place is the safest place.
If he stayed with Ron, at Hogwarts, and under Dumbledore's nose, he would be safer than anywhere else.
Because the entire castle was protecting Harry Potter.
Even the Ministry of Magic sent Dementor to the outskirts of Hogwarts.
Dumbledore would personally keep an eye on every corner.
If Black wants to get close to Harry, he'll have to get past Dumbledore first, then the Dementor, and then the Order of the Phoenix.
All he had to do was become an ordinary mouse, lie in Ron's pocket, eat a few crumbs of bread each day, and wait quietly.
But the problem lies with that book.
Scabbers's gaze shifted from the book with the dark purple cover.
That book contains information about Marauder's Map.
Others might just find that part funny—a group of students made a map that shows everyone's location, which is pretty cool.
But when Peter saw that part, the whole mouse froze.
As one of the creators of Marauder's Map, he understood how it worked better than anyone else.
That map doesn't read your face, it reads your name.
Whether you are Animagus transformed into an animal, or you drink Polyjuice Potion and transform into someone else, the map will always show your real name.
Even if he were to turn into a mouse and curl up in Ron's pocket, his name would still appear on the map once it was activated.
Everyone who can see the map will see his name.
Perhaps no one notices, but it is a hidden danger that could be exposed at any time, like a knife hanging over one's head, not knowing when it will fall.
He absolutely cannot take that risk.
So he decided to leave.
Before anyone could react, before that map was unearthed.
Peter moved from the edge of the pillow to the edge of the bed, his tiny paws pawing at the warm sheets, making almost no sound.
He glanced back at Ron's sleeping face.
The boy turned over, buried his face in the pillow, mumbled something, and fell back into a deep sleep.
Peter turned around, jumped from the edge of the bed onto the chair next to it, and crawled along the wall towards the dormitory entrance.
There was a narrow gap under the door, just big enough for a mouse to pass through.
He squeezed his way out sideways and landed on the cold stone floor of the corridor.
The corridor was dark, with only a few oil lamps casting a faint light in the distance.
Peter moved close to the wall, his four paws digging into the cracks in the stone slabs, like a shadow sliding in the wind.
He walked through two corridors, turned a corner, and avoided a portrait of someone dozing off.
The old wizard in the painting leans back in an armchair by the fireplace, his hat askew, and his snoring makes the canvas tremble slightly.
Peter slipped past his feet, the old wizard rolled over, mumbled something like "Hmm, add some more firewood," and went back to sleep.
He finally squeezed out of the castle's outer wall, emerging from under a loose stone brick.
The air outside was cool, carrying the scent of earth and pine needles drifting from the direction of the Forbidden Forest.
The rain had stopped, and a deep blue dome of sky was revealed, with a few stars twinkling through gaps in the clouds.
Peter ran quickly along the stone path outside the castle, his paws splashing water as he stepped on the puddles.
He ran to a spot not far from the Forbidden Forest, where he slowed his pace.
A breeze blew from the direction of the Forbidden Forest, carrying the scent of leaves and damp moss, and coolly brushed against the dusty fur on his back.
It was quiet all around, with only the calls of a few unknown birds coming from the edge of the Forbidden Forest in the distance, and the soft sound of water coming from the direction of the Black Lake further away.
The night was soft, the air was fresh, and everything was so quiet it seemed to be celebrating his right decision.
Peter stopped and squatted down under a rock by the roadside, his small chest rising and falling slightly.
From now on, he will find a secluded corner to continue his life, waiting for the Wizarding World to forget all this mess.
He even squinted his eyes with a hint of contentment.
A breeze blew from the direction of the Forbidden Forest, carrying the scents of the distant lake and pine forest, so gentle that it caused its fur to flutter slightly.
Peter rubbed his nose with one of his front paws, as if wiping away some unseen mark.
Just then--
A sharp whistling sound came from the direction of Hogwarts Castle.