Harry Potter and the Heart of Darkness

Chapter 3: Musings

Beneath a jet-black blanket, a man stirred slightly, pulling the cover around himself and squeezing his eyes shut to block out the grey dawn light. Yes, if he did this, he could just barely discern through the curtain of his eyelashes the three people lying in beds beside him. Sirius Black, directly to his left, had somehow managed to flip himself around so that his still twitching feet were on his pillow and his head was under the covers at the foot of the bed. It was a wonder he hadn't suffocated himself during the night. In the bed beside Sirius's was Remus Lupin. By contrast, he lay quite still and his bed sheets were almost as straight and immaculate as if he'd not been sleeping there at all. Next to him at the end of the room was James Potter sprawled across a double bed, the sunlight from the window illuminating the pillow he'd pulled over his head to block out the light as he slept on. Very soon, Lily would be calling them all down for breakfast, and he'd be lost in the great rush to get to the table. As the man watched on, still in the haze of sleep, James shifted slightly and the pillow slipped to the side revealing his face. No, no, something was very wrong here...this wasn't James...James Potter did not have a scar on his forehead...

The somber grey light finally broke through his eyelids, and with a horrible groan, Peter Pettigrew sat up, now feeling fully the hard ground that had put a nasty crick in his back during the night and the flimsiness of the dark cloak he'd been using as a makeshift blanket. No, he really was all alone, sleeping in a chilly graveyard that was a far cry from the warm bed he had been imagining. Not a living soul was anywhere near him -- the only sleeping being done in this grisly place was the eternal sort. And -- he thought with a sigh of deep longing, there was little to no hope of him getting any sort of breakfast, least of all from Lily Potter's kitchen.

Peter hated being alone, as being alone was the perfect opportunity to think -something he didn't especially like to do. Every time he thought, he thought about his so-called friends, and how he had betrayed them all to Lord Voldemort. No, he didn't regret it now...but he despised the replay of the whole ugly scenario.

At first, he really hadn't wanted to bring any harm to anyone, and it had started out so innocently on his behalf. He thought he could play the double agent, he'd certainly been caught by the Dark Lord's supporters against his will...but instead of the horrific inquisition he'd expected, all the information that had been asked of him was so simple and so meaningless. 'What name are the Potters going to give their son?', 'What kind of Animagus are you?', 'How many times do you usually visit the Potters in a year?'. He'd insured his own safety by promising allegiance, and knew that the safety of the others too was at no risk. After all -- what kind of havoc could the Dark Lord wreak by knowing how many times James decided to invite Peter over for dinner or to hang out and watch a Quiddich match. But he'd had that safety stripped from him when the Potters had made him their Secret Keeper...and somehow Voldemort knew that. The Dark Mark that had surfaced on his arm shortly after pledging allegiance to Voldemort had started burning all the time. Aching at first, and gradually increasing in intensity until all his energies -- in fact his entire mind had been forced to focus into making it stop. That's why he had gone to Voldemort himself, and under promises of strict and horrible torture should he not comply, he had told them everything.

At the time, it wasn't bad. He felt quite good about it. No more pain, but more importantly his new Master had promised that he'd help Peter. Make him more powerful if he gave them the information. It was a good feeling -- to be able to be the powerful one. He'd always been the tagalong, the weak extra who had to be saved from bullies like Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy...the underachiever who needed all the help he could get in order just to make the animagus transformation to a mere rat -- the very best he could do. It was the Dark Lord's promise that even the likes of ultra-smart, top of the class Remus Lupin or powerful Sirius Black would not have dared stand up to Peter Pettigrew, the unquestionable servant of Lord Voldemort. How Voldemort knew these details of his friends, Peter never asked. He was too blinded by the very idea that for once, he would be the leader. And now he was. Sirius and Remus had -- only two years ago, proved their true colors...and had ended up as pawns in his...his Master's game.

That red-haired boy with whom he'd spent the last twelve years of his life had so ruthlessly handed him over to...them. You'd have thought he'd have a bit more respect for his oh-so-faithful pet. He used to have the utmost respect for Remus Lupin. He'd always considered his relationship with Hogwarts' top student the strongest. Remus had stayed by his side even when James and Sirius were at their most overzealous, plotting adventures far too dangerous for four boys of fifteen. He'd thought Lupin's supposed kindness was a mark of friendship, but now he knew better. If Remus had been a true friend, he would have saved Peter when he'd had the chance. He'd known his old friend Wormtail was alive -- the Marauders Map didn't lie -- and all he could do when they met face to face for the first time in years was question him like a thief -- high and mighty and holier-than-thou just because he had all the damn answers. Peter could see otherwise...Lupin was tired, zombie-like and tense as he stared at him darkly through his horribly shadowed eyes, bloodshot eyes. Probably had stayed up the whole night working out the puzzle. For all that even, he looked healthier than Peter did, the real insult. Remus Lupin...you'd imagine that after spending half his teenage years in the medical ward in danger of loosing his life due to the various kinds of stress werewolf transformations placed on his body...he'd be sympathetic towards Peter who'd spent several weeks starving in a milk jug. And in the end he'd gone to stand by bloody good ol' freaking Sirius Black instead, wand poised...he was going to help Black finish him off like some freakish beast. And if Remus actually believed that he would be some kind of hero by killing Wormtail, then the "beast" wanted to know where Lupin's sense of the ironic and curled up and died.

And anyway, couldn't he see that Sirius was nothing now? Nothing more than a horror-movie corpse, nothing worth protecting or aiding, not even a shadow of what he'd once been and never would be again. Sirius had always been a brute, a tease, pounding on his friends and enemies alike. The envious bastard...always so ready to join the fight, if only just to satisfy his male ego. Although at death's door, the man constantly suffered some kind of freakish bloodlust that even Remus in werewolf form couldn't match. Even now, Peter couldn't help but shudder when he thought of that angered, jealous and hungry look in Black's malevolently shining eyes...the gaunt, skeletal evil smile (that Azkaban had produced) as though he were intending to devour Peter whole on sight, if this was the only way he could get rid of him. And he would have enjoyed it...such was Sirius' disgusting sense of humor. Probably told that bloody cat to try and do the same.

And thus, the last memory of Peter's so-called friends was a cold, murderous, unsurpassable wall...but he had the last laugh. As though a half-wasted Werewolf however intelligent, or mere Dementor fodder could have stopped the Dark Lord. Worse delusions of grandeur those two had never had, even in their school days. You'd think they'd have learned. James -- their own leader -- he'd tried to stop Voldemort, and the only place it had gotten him was 50-feet under. Wormtail smiled cruelly.

"Hey, can you hear me down there James?" He gave the open tombstone he'd been leaning against a hearty slap with his powerful magic hand, as though it were an old friend. The tombstone said nothing except the words 'James Potter, 1968 -- 1990' that were chipped in elegant script into it's marble surface. "It's too bad it had to end this way old buddy..." scathing -- with just a hint of sarcasm. "I don't suppose I'll ever see you again. We both tried for power, and look who actually got it..."

Ah yes, his crowning achievement. For once, he'd not given them the chance to keep them down. Sure it had been difficult, when Lord Voldemort had failed to kill Harry, but now...ah, now the tables had turned, hadn't they. James was gone for good, Sirius was running from Azkaban, and Lupin was in disgrace...it was funny...he wasn't really the weakest after all. He'd been the only one of the Marauders to truly survive. All because of Lord Voldemort.
Yes, Lord Voldemort. That was what he was here for wasn't it. Lord Voldemort needed to feed. He'd been here last night, and he'd fallen asleep. Panic stricken, cursing himself for his own fatigue (and lack of a working wristwatch), Peter grabbed the large and bulging bag that lay at his feet near the freshly dug-up grave he'd slept next to...and indeed, had been talking rather companionably to mere moments before. Late though he was, he never forgot to take a moment and enjoy the feeling of his powerful new hand. He never got tired of it, the Master had rewarded him well, just as he'd promised. He'd made him stronger.

But with time, Peter wouldn't have to spend long nights in graveyards, chop off extremities or dig up the bodies of old er...friends in order to help sustain his Master. The new plan...why...Lord Voldemort had not even told his Death Eaters of the plan yet...but it was brilliant...brilliant, and it's information entrusted to Wormtail. With Lord Voldemort, Wormtail was never the second choice.

"Come on James..." Peter whispered, swinging the bag over his shoulder and trudging out of the cemetery. "You can still help our Master...even in death see...Master's decided to give you a second chance. Treating you quite politely I might add. Inviting you to dinner and all..." Peter gave a short, high-pitched laugh. It was hard not to feel quite so somber and thoughtful outside of the harsh gray light and silence of the graveyard.

But still, the rain came down.

***

Despite the rain, the streets of Diagon Alley were bustling as usual. Harry, Ron, Fred and George were not the only students out to get their Hogwarts things this Friday. They waved at a few people they knew on their way to Flourish and Blott's before meeting up with Hermione who was standing just outside the store underneath a big black umbrella and already carrying plenty of books.

"Hello Hermione!" Harry said, spotting her and dashing over with Ron at his heels

"Couldn't wait could you?" Ron asked, eying the bags of books.

Hermione shook her head and opened the door to the shop. "Come inside, you're both getting soaked! I can help you get yours!"

Ron and Harry started at different ends of the shop, occasionally passing one another to point out where particular volumes were located. Hermione dashed between both of them, handing out her own advice. It was only a matter of minutes before they both arrived at the counter, clutching their stacks of books.

"Hey!" said Harry suddenly, watching Ron put his books on the counter to wait, for Fred, George and Ginny to arrive with their stuff. "How come you have more books than I do?"

"Guess I forgot to tell you. Dad reckons I should take Muggle Studies. Says it's very important for Wizzarding families to understand about Muggles, especially in these times."

Hermione nodded over his shoulder. "I agree. Why, Muggles are very important to the Wizzarding society. I found that out in Third Year when I was taking it myself. They..."

"Oh so now you're important Granger" came a drawl to her right. "Imagine that...the filthy Mudblood thinking she's important."

All three of them wheeled around at the same time. They didn't have to of course, they knew that there was only one person who would speak in such a manner to Hermione. Draco Malfoy, his immaculate pale hair and expensive robes gleaming in the torchlight of the bookshop stood, smirking wickedly and flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle, who almost never left his side.

"Bugger off Malfoy" Ron muttered. "Why don't you go..."

"RON!" Hermione and Harry exclaimed at the same time.

"...a Hippogriff. What?"

Draco tsked. "All this profanity from someone who wants to become a Muggle loving fool like his old man...Dear me..."

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered ruthlessly, and began to crack their knuckles and ball their fists menacingly as Ron pulled out his wand. Hermione however shrugged and said coolly "Better to be a muggle loving fool or a Mudblood, than a spoiled rich pansy brat who can't go anywhere without his big, huge goon squad to compensate for what he doesn't have." She swept out of the shop with books in hand, leaving all five boys to drop their jaws in astonishment. Draco turned to Crabbe and Goyle, muttered something Harry and Ron couldn't catch before the three of them paid for their books and left without another word. For a moment, Harry thought they'd try to go after Hermione, but she ducked back into the shop unharmed a moment later.

"Brilliant! You come out with some great stuff every so once in awhile." Ron said, grinning proudly.

"What's Brilliant?" Fred asked, suddenly appearing behind them.

"Yeah, tell us!" George added, coming in from their right. Harry explained all about Hermione's magnificent comeback for Draco, much to the amusement of the twins. Both of them made a big show of patting a flushed Hermione on the back, and shaking her hand like she'd just won them the world Quiddich Cup.

After the books had been paid for, they visited the apothecary for Potions ingredients, the magical creature shop so Hermione could buy cat food for Crookshanks (Harry was also certain that he'd seen Fred and George heading into "Madam Maulkin's Robes for All Occasions" at this point), and then, right before Lunch they visited a strange shop where a grizzled old witch with an eye patch over one eye sold them a variety of the oddest Defense against the Dark Arts equipment they'd ever had -- garlic, vials of phoenix tears, sharp wooden stakes and a variety of silver pendants.

Now, the three of them sat at a table in a restaurant, just having recapped the finer points of a particularly pleasant afternoon. Harry had never been happier -- his friends always had a way of making even the most unpleasant situations enjoyable. His fears about Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Snape were all but pushed to the back of his mind as Ron, in all his glory gave a rather melodramatic performance of how this years' ill-fated professor would be a Veela, giving top marks to the class's best-looking males.

Hermione didn't seem to find Ron's impressions of Veela dance-induced wildly hormonal males as funny as Harry did though "Oh...can't you get your mind off that blonde hussy? Honestly Ron!"

"I wasn't thinking about Fleur!" Ron protested rather testily. "I was only making a joke...something you don't seem to be capable of doing."

Sensing an argument coming, Harry changed the topic rather abruptly. "Err...let's not think about what could go wrong with Defense against the Dark Arts this year shall we? Err...Ron, do you think Fred or George will want to be Captain of the Gryffindor Quiddich team this year, now that we've not got Wood?"

Ron calmed visibly. "I don't know..." he said slowly "...but I'd sure like to try out for the team this year myself!"

"Cool! That'd be great -- we'd always be able to practice together!"

"Ohhh..." Hermione groaned "I was hoping you two would be able to help me out!"

"With what?" Ron asked. "Homework? Since when have you ever needed our help with that?"

"Not with my homework...with the essay!"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't an essay a lot like homework?"

Not surprisingly, Hermione's expression became rather exasperated. "Oh come on now. All these years, and you still haven't read "Hogwarts, A History"?"

Harry figured answering that one would probably be a bad idea.

Hermione sniffed, looking as smug as she always did when she knew something they didn't. "Well, if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you. You'll find out at the sorting feast I suppose."

"Wait a minute," Ron sat up a little, looking pleased. "I'll bet this is that big Prefect meeting after dinner! You're a Prefect aren't you!"

It was Hermione's turn to look surprised. "Well...no, that wasn't what I was talking about...but how did you know about that?"

Ron's face had taken on the same smug look that Hermione had worn just a moment ago. "Harry and I are prefects too." He handed over the badges. "What Prefect are you?"

"International Relations." She replied. "It's a new Prefect position this year. Professor Dumbledore feels it's important for someone to be up to maintaining relationships between the other schools, and keeping an eye on what's going on in the Wizzarding World. I renewed my subscription to the Daily Prophet right away when I got word."

"And you're dating someone from Durmstrang...guess that helps." Ron mumbled, but Hermione didn't hear.

"This'll be a great year!" she said, fixing them all at the table with a beaming smile.

Harry couldn't help but agree. It was going to be a great year.