Spoiler alert: Neither I, nor my comrades which cowrote this tale, are J. K. Rowling. I own nothing except too many books and a cat. He likes rats, too.
The Grim's Rat
Walls. Stone? Stone… stone, yes… stone. Stone that stretches in every direction. Stone surrounded by stone below and above. Stone on padded feet. Stone above matted hair. Stone on skin. Stone under skin. Stone melted into blood.
Stone. Stone. Stone. Stone. Stone. Stone. Stone. Stone.
So much stone.
Rough. So very rough. Not a smooth pebble to skip on the lake on a warm summer day, but stone. Jagged and jabbing stone. Scratches the unyielding flesh and leaves veins even in the darkest, strongest stone. Once sanguine veins replaced with the grating, prodding, bruising, aching bile that seeps into a soul of stone.
Cold. Can't get used to cold. How long? Days. Weeks. Maybe years. Must be ice by now. Sets into the bones, creeps through the muscles, and settles on flesh. Glaciers erode stone, but only in a matter of eons. Stone can withstand the cold, but does it ever really get used to it?
Well, I haven't.
No man ever really gets used to misery and so few have seen misery such as mine. Betrayed. Exiled. Deserted. Stoned to death. Left to rot in the dark. Dead. Dead. They are dead. Who… Who are dead? They are dead. So very dead. What were their names again?
They never fucking feed me in this place.
These walls are going to drive me mad. There are 226 stone blocks scraping at my sides. What are they made of? The walls. Stone? Stone… yes, stone… stone. The darkest stone that seeps into a once warm soul. Stone that stretches in every direction. Stone surrounded by stone below and above. Stone on padded paws-feet. I don't have paws anymore. I can't anymore. I am too weak. They devour the life out of you when the grey light wains away...
GODDAMNED RAT. Squeaks and squeals and disappears through the shadow of a crevice. You dare to weasel through my walls without giving me a chance to seize you? They never fucking feed me in this place. Get back here, you little bastard!
"Yes, cousin, the RAT! You'll never catch him if you don't keep quiet."
Fuck.
The bitch giggles through the stone. Always could laugh in the face of darkness, that one. Never quite had her head on straight.
"How many have you caught this month?"
Three.
"Better than last month. What do they taste like?"
I shrug: Better than gruel.
"Yes, well, I myself never much liked the taste of rat. Far too gamey. I much prefer the roaches."
You disgust me.
"Much more sport in ratting, though. Sneaking, treacherous little devils."
Goddamned rat.
His fat face was screwed up in concentration, and I groaned. Why could he not do the magic I had mastered weeks before? With only two nights before the full moon, he needed to learn quickly. There were others with us, I know. Two other boys.
I only see the rat.
Then the fat boy's nose began to twitch, first almost imperceptibly, then more dramatically. His nostrils turned pink and shrunk back into his face, which was shrunken too. His hair turned gray; for a minute he looked like some sort of grotesque man-baby. I laughed.
And then, he was a rat.
Come back here, little rat. I am going to grasp you in my claws and slowly draw you in opposite directions to feel the elasticity in your ligaments snap as you are torn and scattered. Place your joints in the corners of my jaws and feel the crunch as warm flesh enters my stomach for the first time in days. Listen to you screech in your torment. Bask as I feed off of the little heat left in this god forsaken cell. You will scream. You will writhe. You will feel pure agony. You will fucking beg for mercy. My god, how you will suffer, little rat.
As I have.
Though I doubt that I ever truly was happy at home, I was nowhere near as miserable as I thought I was. I had the rebellious, brooding nature of a teenager molded by parents who should have known better. So ungrateful. I had a variety of food within my belly. I had my friends. I had honor. I had trust. I had lov… I had… I had…. I had a room of my own, once. There was half-dressed woman permanently stuck to my wall to spite my mother. Now I just have-
Walls. Stone? Stone… yes… stone. Stone that stretches in every direction. Stone surrounded by stone below and above. Stone on padded feet. Stone above matted hair. Stone on skin. Stone under skin. Stone melted into blood.
Stone. Stone. Stone. Stone. Stone. Stone. Stone. Stone.
Well, at least I have my stone.
"And you have me, cousin."
A crazed howl strengthens in my gut and reverberates through the chords in my throat, lamenting my pitiful predicament. The outcry convulses what is left of body as I heave the air in and out of my lungs: And, yes, I have Bellatrix. I'm going to kill Bellatrix, too.
But, first:
The goddamned rat.
The rat transformed. It was human again, not a boy, but a plump, balding man with watery eyes, who looked fearfully from me to the other man. The other man was tall and thin, with pitch black, untidy hair, but his face is blurred in my memory. Try as I might, I can't clear it up.
He shook hands with the rat.
"Sirius has had an idea," he said to the rat, nodding his head in my direction. "Thinks it'll help keep us safe. If no one in the Order knows who our Secret Keeper is, whoever the rat is- the one who's leaking information to Voldemort- won't have the right information to give him. It's foolproof."
The rat gulped in fear at the sound of Voldemort's name. "So what do you need from me?" he asked through the wheeze in his voice.
I rolled my eyes at his lack of understanding. Did I always have to explain everything?
"You're going to be Secret Keeper," I told him, "Dumbledore offered to be Secret Keeper, but James has already told him it's going to be me. So everyone in the Order thinks I'm the Secret Keeper, but it's going to be you. All you have to do is lay low and be yourself, and I'll take all the heat, unable to give them any information, no matter how much they torture me."
The rat's watery eyes widened. He shuddered. "M-me? S-secret Keeper f-f-for James and Lily?"
"That's right," the other man replied. "I've run it by her and she approves. All that's left is for us to perform the charm, and then the three of us, Lily, Harry, and I, will be safe because you..."
A slit in the wall lets in the palest light on the rare occasion that it decides to break through. I used to feel engulfed by the darkness, but I have grown so accustomed to it that I can see the faint changes as the grey sun sinks over the clouded horizon. Night oozes through the walls and the cold…
The wretched cold gets worse as the darkness truly sets in. They breed in the night, when the weight of the stone blankets even the chattiest of relatives. I hate them. I fear them. I both hate that I fear them and am afraid to hate them. Like ravens looming over the slimiest of loots, they begin to feed in the night. Even the deepest of sleeps cannot provide an escape from the ice that glides through halls when the moon should shine through.
The screams of the others strengthen. Even Death Eaters are afraid of the dark. Especially the Death Eaters. As I slip further and further into the night, I feel the rough stone beneath my hands turn into the glaciers that I fear throughout the day. It bites my skin more sharply than the cursed, coarse stone ever could.
They are here…
They are always here…
I hear their dragging breaths, tasting the despair in the air.
They are hungry.
A silent howl brews in my belly and escapes a gaping mouth that has long forgotten what sound feels like.
I knew something was wrong the moment I arrived. It was Halloween night, but rather than being filled with the sounds of delighted kids rushing up and down the street, stuffing their faces with Chocolate Frogs and Fizzing Whizbees, Godric's Hollow was quiet. I leapt off my bike and broke into a run, deciding as I did that I would be faster as a dog, so I transformed and took off at top speed, a cold terror forming in my chest.
A confused crowd was gathered around the boundary of the magical protection the Fidelius Charm provided. Parents stood with their hands over their children's eyes, wanting to protect them from whatever was on the other side, but too eager to learn about the tragedy to leave. As I wove my way through the crowd, I heard snippets of their conversations.
"This is the Potter house, right? You-Know-Who must have-"
"Damn shame."
"But if they've been killed… The Dark Mark, where is it?"
"I wonder what's become of the cat…"
As I got closer to the house, my heart began to beat so fast I wasn't sure there were separate beats anymore; it could have been just a humming. Or maybe it had stopped. I ran faster.
The whispers were getting scarier.
"Did you see the thing that came out of the house?"
"Like wispy black smoke-"
"An evil cold-"
"Worse than a dementor's chill-"
"Was it really You-Know-Who?"
"But then, is he gone?"
I had reached the edge of the magical protection. I leapt over the hedge and into the yard, and what I saw made me skid to a halt.
The top right side of the Potter's cottage had been blown to bits, and pieces of rubble were scattered all over the yard. Voldemort had come. But… The Killing Curse usually left no mark and certainly wouldn't destroy a house; perhaps James and Lily had fought him off, destroying their house in the process, and were on the run.
That thought, that James and Lily were simply on the run, was my last, most desperate hope, and I clung to it as I transformed myself back into human form. I trekked slowly toward the house.
The front door was flung open wide, and the soft scent of treacle tart, Lily's specialty and James' favorite, wafted from the ruins. I could still hear the sounds of the people outside. Their collective voices grew louder in the confusion the longer I stood there, and few of the children started to cry.
Gathering my courage, I stepped across the threshold, gripping my wand tightly. I raised it slowly.
"Lumos," I whispered.
The light from my wand illuminated the hallway. I froze, and an anguished howl escaped my stone-still heart.
A body lay at my feet, glasses askew, untidy hair everywhere, eyes open, glassy, and unseeing. I was frozen with grief, turned into stone, and I could not look away. I glazed over, my eyes betraying tears as they helplessly fixed on the figure in front of me.
Dead. Dead. They are dead.
Because of my stupid idea.
And that goddamned rat.
The ground grumbles this morning. A foreign thud echoes strangely heavy footsteps. It's not one of them. It can't be one of them. This room is far too warm. The pattern begins at faint sludge, but builds in strength as the figure lumbers closer.
I know that feeling. A pleasant, familiar thump against a body that has been numb for far too long. Where do I know that feeling? I sit up and creak my bones to the cell bars. I push my nose through the iron and peek toward the sound. I see nothing, yet; only the silhouettes of two vastly different shapes push through the shadows.
Two forms trudge forward. One, a wizard. The other… familiar. It is taller than the wizard leading it. About eleven feet, I'd say. A mass of dark black billows from the top of its head. It follows without question. How could something so large be so gentle? The poor creature won't last long. I can't believe that I have lasted this long…
I inch away from the bars. Place my back against the stone. Slide to the cold floor. Feel the figures march through the gloom toward the empty cell across from mine, thudding with every step.
The bars open. One haunts through. The bars slam.
The small one walks away. The large one doesn't.
A soft wail begins and turns into a blubber.
"Dad! No! How could'e be dead? So soon after I've gone off ter Hogwarts-"
I am so rarely amazed anymore. The rugged tone carried an earthy warmth that I had forgotten in the darkness. A familiarity rushed through my mind and brought me… comfort. I know-knew-him.
Oh Hagrid, my gentle friend, what are you doing here?
A child's cry was ringing in my ears, and I realized suddenly that it was not coming from the crowd outside but from upstairs. Confused and still shaking with tears, I stepped carefully over James' body and made my way up the stairs.
I followed the sound of crying into the room on my left, and I had barely entered when I saw a mass of dark red hair at my feet. My heart stopped for the second time that day. Lily's green, almond-shaped eyes were stretched wide, and a single tear was still wet upon her cheek.
But there, in the crib behind Lily, miraculously still alive, his tiny face scarlet and soaked with tears, was my godson, wailing at the top of his lungs.
I practically launched myself over Lily's body and crossed the room to the boy in a single stride. I lifted him out of his crib and bounced him gently up and down.
"Harry, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I sobbed.
The baby's wails slowly subsided into soft whimpers and violent hiccups that shook his tiny frame. I lifted my face and stared into his tiny, tear-filled eyes. They were exactly like Lily's. I stroked the back of his tiny head, running my fingers through his messy hair. My soul lurched at the large gash on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt-
Suddenly, I heard a noise downstairs. My heart began to pound again. Had someone come back to finish the job? Perhaps the rat had come back to see that the deed was done.
Anger, red hot anger surged in my chest, and suddenly I was filled with frenzy. I hoped they had come back. I didn't care if it was Voldemort, or the rat, or some random Death Eater; I couldn't wait to get ahold of them. I was ready. I was going to murder anyone and everyone who was responsible for James' and Lily's deaths.
I placed Harry gently back in the crib and drew my wand. He watched me curiously for a second, still hiccupping softly, but the moment I turned my back and began to leave the room, he began to cry again. My hands shook violently, but I did not turn back. Downstairs, I heard a loud sob and a trumpet-like noise. This seemed odd. Surely a Death Eater would not be moved
to tears at the sight of James' dead body.
I crept downstairs, not daring to light my wand, and found a huge shadow standing over James' body. "Get away from him!" I yelled, raising my wand in preparation to curse whomever or whatever dared lay a hand on my best friend. My hands shook with violence. Fury overtook me. I would not let them defile James' body.
The giant figure leapt backward, and his hands shot skyward. One of them punched the ceiling. "I don' want any trouble!" he shouted.
I stopped and lit my wand. "Hagrid?"
He looked up at me, and I saw his face was red and blotchy and streaked with tears. "Sirius?" he gasped, looking up at me. "Sirius, what're yeh doin' here?"
"I came to check on-" I started, but I couldn't bring myself to say their names. I paused. "What are you doing here?"
"I've come for Harry," he replied. "Dumbledore sen' me." Grief-stricken though he sounded, I detected a faint note of pride in his voice.
"Let me take him," I said. "I'm his godfather."
Hagrid shook his bushy head. "I can'. Dumbledore said for me ter bring 'im ter his aunt an' uncle's."
"Not Lily's sister's?" I asked, dumbfounded. I had heard James talk about Lily's sister and her husband. That home was the last place James would want his son to grow up.
Hagrid nodded. "Says they're the on'y family he's got lef'. Dumbledore reckons he'll be safer there."
"He's got me," I growled. "I'm his godfather. Give him to me, Hagrid. I'll make sure-"
"No," Hagrid said firmly, his face determined. "I'm ter take 'im ter Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging." He placed one hand on the flowery, pink umbrella that was attached to his hip. "Dumbledore's orders."
I let out a small snort, though nothing was funny. "Oh, you're going to use magic on me, Hagrid?" I asked softly.
"I-I-" Hagrid blustered, taking his hand away from the umbrella. He struggled to find himself for a moment, then growled, "Dumbledore gave me a job, and I'm goin' ter do it. Yeh won' stop me, Sirius."
I glanced up the stairs, where I could still hear Harry crying and then turned back at Hagrid.
Dumbledore must have his reasons for wanting Harry to go to his aunt and uncle's, I thought, though I can't imagine what they'd be.
Besides, another, much more dangerous thought was stirring in my head, moving its way to the forefront of my mind and threatening to take over.
I nodded.
"Here," I said, reaching into my pocket and drawing out the keys to my motorcycle. I tossed them to Hagrid, who juggled them slightly, but managed to grab hold of them before they fell to the floor. "Keys to my motorbike," I informed him. "It's parked at the edge of the village just past Bathilda's place. It flies. Take Harry to Little Whinging on that- it'll be faster. I won't be needing it anymore."
I made my way down the rest of the stairs, stepped over James' body and around Hagrid, who stared at me, dumbstruck. I walked out of the open door and into the front yard, where I transformed back into a dog. Before I ran off, I looked around at all the people who were still crowded around the house and considered for a moment what they would find when they walked in. The moment Hagrid took Harry from the house, the charm would break completely, and they would find James and Lily Potter dead on the floor.
But for now I had one concern: find the one who had broken the charm in the first place- the one who had given James and Lily over to Lord Voldemort. I had to find the rat- Peter, Wormtail, whatever we called him. I needed to find the goddamned rat and kill him.
Dearest cousin has been awfully quiet over the past few days. More room for the sobs of a giant. Never thought that a person could miss her taunts. I'd much rather hear those than the misery of a friend. I ache with every wail and shrink into darkness when I feel his silence. I haven't the courage to talk to him. Ostracized as a traitorous murderer, I dare not speak to a once kind ally.
So I listen.
"I didn' do it. It's a ruddy Slytherin, I say. Don' know what it could be, but not Aragog. He's got a family ter feed. I's not me yer lookin' for. If he got Hermione, Harry's in trouble. Got ter get Harry safe…"
Harry? That baby, their baby, Lily and James' baby, is at Hogwarts, now? That mess of hair, those tear-filled eyes, can wield a wand, now? That doesn't sound right. He wasn't walking, yet. James was supposed to- well, I guess, now I was supposed to- Who took him to Ollivander's? He obviously can walk, but can he fly? James was a damn good flyer-
Cold. An intense cold that only exists in the terrors of the night bites at the skin and invades the remaining muscles that protect my heart. Two of them glide nearer. Hagrid quiets. The walls echo in the shadows. The stone… the stone… Stone? Stone, yes… stone. The stone remains cold as they feed off of the most innocent of victims.
I no longer appear to be the most nutritious meal.
He has to get out of here. He won't survive if he doesn't. The innocent dwindle more quickly than the guilty in Azkaban, only a slice of the cruelty within the shadows of the night. I should know.
A prisoner in my head for so long, I have never thought about escape before. I am surrounded by three walls of pure stone and one of iron bars. The ceiling and floor appears to be of the same stone. I haven't seen anything else in years. Crevices dapple the bottom of the walls, giving the rats enough room move in about of my little hell hole. A slit in the wall acts as a window to the grey storms and tumultuous sea. I can't squeeze through either of those, much less a giant.
But a emaciated dog could. I miss being a dog sometimes.
I brood in silence as they feed on Hagrid. I hate them. I cannot stop them. I cannot comfort him. No use in trying. I wait for them to bore and glide to some other hopeless fool. I wait. I wait. I wait longer than the… twelve? Twelve. For twelve years, I have waited to break from my own mind, from this cell, and the back of that rat.
I don't even know where he is. Where would I start? Where would I go after I brave the icy seas below the towers? He could be dead, for all I know. Revenge will never be mine. He will never scream. He will never writhe. He will never feel agony. He will never-
My jaw solidifies under the heat of my burning skin. The whites of my knuckles shake as I press them against my teeth. Rage rushes through my veins and pulsates the stiffened muscles that begin to feel life in them again. No, the goddamned rat will die, and he will die, screaming, begging for mercy, in my jowls. Dog or man, I will feel him break, both in mind and body, beneath my hands.
They have gone, now. Hagrid lumps in a corner, gaping at the walls. Whatever the gentle giant has been accused of, he is innocent of it. That is why they are drawn to him. They revel in it, surging toward the strongest emotions to filll their ever gurgling bellies. He doesn't deserve this. I didn't deserve this. I have to get out. I have to escape. I have to…
GODDAMNED RAT. I lunge at the little rodent that dared to sneak back into my cell. It squeals and squirms in my grasp, wiggling and gnawing for freedom. It struggles to get away, as if it has more important things to do. Huh, this is the first rat that graced these stone floors in years that appears to beg for mercy. Maybe, I just haven't noticed before. Maybe, every rat that I have devoured squeaks and squeals and screams in torment before it meets its doom. I might pity the little devil, imprisoned, and unable to escape the torturous death that awaits it. The rat's fear radiates through the palms of my hands as its little heart beats faster and faster beneath my grasp.
I snap its back.
First: Escape. Second: The goddamned rat.
I watch grey turn into black and the black turn into grey in an endless cycle of darkness as they feed on Hagrid. Between his moments of sleep and despair, he is known to blubber into the darkness. I hear about things, some pleasant, some not so pleasant. James and Lily are in his darkest nights, too. I ache with him, but I rejoice to hear their names and about their son. He seems to be a small James. Imagine that. The goddamned rat didn't destroy everything good in this world.
Try as I might, I cannot transform, yet, but I grow in strength everyday. As they turn their attention to the giant and away from me, Bellatrix speaks less. The cold bites less. The stone etches less. The hunger aches less.
But Hagrid, Hagrid becomes less warm. Stone seeps into his soul and the cold etches away at the massive heart that those monsters drug into this place. I hate that he becomes more quiet with each passing day. I hate that I gain my strength because of it.
One morning, they take him. After he has turned into ice and silence has dominated the cell, they snatch the giant and drive him down the corridor. The only sound is his feet on the stone. Not a peep out of him. No gwaffle. No crack of a smile. No jubilance. Just… silence. The stone echoes as he marches away. Its sorrowful groans weep with the loss of another victim. They will soon hunger again.
Lucky bastard. He's out. He's gone. He doesn't have to bear this anymore. He gets to live. The lucky bastard gets to live. He got out. He's free. And I'm-not. I'm not. I don't know how to feel. I didn't utter a word to him, but I miss the sound of his voice. Reminded me of a long lost life. Memories flooded my mind and thawed my soul. I will never forget what that did for me. I owe him my mind.
I have to find a way to keep it. I can't go back to being numb. I won't do it. I am going to get out of here, and I am going to get out of here somewhat sane. Counting the stone, wrestling with the past, fearing the night isn't going to help.
I focus the next month on catching rats and trying to transform again. I try not to dwell on the night during the day, but the night, the night is dark and full of terrors. Bellatrix has begun tormenting me again and the cold has begun to bite more. I ignore them. I have to get out of here. I have to kill the rat. Their taunts won't help me much.
On the darkest morning of the summer, I hear a click-clock come down the hall. It's not them. A wizard, probably. The clicks get louder. Must be a hoard of wizards. How many visitors am I going to get this season? So much movement over the past few months. This section of Azkaban must be popular. They can't know that I see clearer. I will be lost. I fold myself into my chest and stare at the floor. The stone haunts me. It's just rock.
The green bowler hat moves at the head, pointing at different things throughout the corridor. A frump sits underneath it. I don't like him. He has a plump belly. Ministry bastard. There appears to be a newspaper in his hand. I want it.
Excuse me.
The bastard ignores me.
"Excuse me."
Green bowler hat turns on his heels and blinks at me. He seems shocked that a prisoner said something halfway pleasant.
"Could I have your newspaper? I do miss the crossword. Gets rather boring in here."
He purses his lips. His eyes move to the paper. They dart to me. Then back to the paper. Then back to me. His face scrunches, and his lip twitches a little. I keep my face as stony as I can. Give me the paper, Ministry bastard.
He gives over the rumpled scroll. I snatch it greedily. Green bowler hat walks away with his nose up in the air. I flip to the front page.
THE GODDAMNED RAT
I had been searching for him for hours, checking every crevice and hidey-hole. The sun had risen when I found him hiding in a group of muggles staring confusedly at the sky. Some of them had telescopes and what looked like muggle omnioculars dangling from their necks. There he was, mingled right in with them, pretending to be mystified by the shooting stars that were blasting across the sky. "Look, there's another!" one shouted.
As they gazed skyward, I called his name.
"Wormtail!"
I could have killed him then and there, but the rage burned so deeply inside me that I knew I had to see his face as I did it. I needed him to know that I knew he'd sold out James and Lily. I needed to see the fear in his eyes. I needed to feel the life snuffed out of him the way it had been snuffed out of James and Lily. The coward. The sneak. The goddamned rat. He was hiding out among muggles. He didn't even have the gall to go back to the Death Eaters. I should have known.
He turned to look at me, his watery eyes full of fear. But I had underestimated him. He had a plan. "James and Lily, Sirius, how could you?" he whimpered.
Before I could stop myself, I laughed. I laughed a humorless, manic laugh that had never escaped my lips before. The laughter felt as empty as my heart. "Me?" I snarled, gaining control of myself and baring my teeth. I growl escaped my lips. "How dare you?" I raised my wand. "AVADA-"
The goddamned rat was quicker. Before I had even begun the curse, the street was illuminated by a bright green light, and the muggles behind him, some of them still gazing skyward, collapsed. With his wand behind his back, he had sent killing curses in every direction he could. Then he turned it on himself, and a single, pudgy finger fell to the ground, just before he shrunk toward the ground himself, sprouting grey hairs and a long pink tail. He transformed into a rat- a four-toed rat.
"KEDAVRA!" I bellowed, finishing the curse. I missed. My wand had been directed at a human, not an animal, and I missed the goddamned rat by inches. My curse collided with one of his, and together they shot toward the ground, exploding the entire street. The force caused me to stagger backwards.
I raised my wand to fire at Wormtail again, but he had scuttled off as I tried to regain my balance. I just barely caught a glimpse of his pink tail curled around the sewer as he disappeared into the drain.
Again, I heard an insane, humorless laughter come out of me. Mad with grief and overwhelmed by the absurdity of it all (James and I, outwitted by Peter Pettigrew, the worthless lump we had let tag along with us at school), I let the laughter consume me. I threw my head back, closed my eyes, and listened, as though an outsider, to my own madness.
I was still laughing like a maniac when they took me away.
THE GODDAMNED RAT
He's at Hogwarts. In the child's hand. On the front fucking page of the fucking paper. In the fucking picture. He's at fucking Hogwarts. The fucking rat. Alive. He's alive. At Hogwarts. He's at fucking Hogwarts.
I dig my teeth into my knuckles and choke back a crazed scream. I forgot how laughter can be so painful.
The goddamned rat.
He's at Hogwarts.
HE'S AT HOGWARTS.
As this knowledge radiates through my scattered brain, the rage inside of me builds, pulsating power and warmth. The soul sucking despair that I am surrounded by cannot penetrate me anymore. I need to escape this awful place and find the goddamned rat. As I sit there surrounded by the constant screams of hatred and insanity, for the first time in a while everything begins to seem clear.
But just as everything starts to seem clear, it all goes grey once more.
Think. Breathe. Do not allow yourself to fall into darkness.
Think of how Pettigrew betrayed Lily and James. You need to get to the rat. You need to get to the goddamned rat.
I have to keep my head on straight. I know where the rat is; how do I get to him?
If I can slip past them as the dog, I will also be slim enough to slide through the bars directly behind them. Where will I swim to? What direction do the new prisoners fly in from?
Thoughts muddle as the unhappiness threatens to engulf me. But it is no match for the fire still kindling inside of me. During the night, prisoners have been flown in through the south gate. That must be the direction for the closest body of land.
So I wait.
The grey light fades. The screams begin. They are scattered at first, but as night falls and the dementors feed, there is nothing but howls, screams, and shrieks so constant, so permeating that one is indiscernible from another. They are terrified and terrifying.
But the rat.
When night is darkest and the screams are loudest, I transform. I look down at black paws I have not seen in more than a decade, and I see that my claws have grown formidably long. I can feel where patches of my fur have matted together. I paw at the ground, whimpering; although I am less complex as a dog, I still sense the despair. My sense of smell is more keen in my doglike state, and my nostrils are overwhelmed by a stench that seems beyond anything humans are capable of producing. But just beyond that, I smell the salty air of the sea pounding against the rocks below. It smells like freedom.
This is it. Emaciated as I am, I slip easily through the bars that have confined me for so many years and sneak by them as they glide down the halls. One of their cold cloaks brushes over my body as I got closer. They cannot feel me. I bolt, picking up speed, silently galloping through the corridor, unnoticed. I reach the end of this putrid prison. Without a second thought, I plunge headfirst into the icy black water.
I smack the water, feeling a splintering pain course through my body as the surface tension snaps around me. The depths break my body into a shock, but not my spirit, too warm now to succumb to cold. I brave the riptide of the waves, for what seems like hours, my energy slowly depleting, each breath, each stroke becoming more of a struggle. The icy water cannot keep me awake any longer.
Darkness engulfs me, pulling me under.
I blink into consciousness, disillusioned by my surroundings. I look around, but the stone scrapes my lids as my eyes come to focus with the sun shining directly into them. I shake off my distorted vision. Where the hell am I? As I lug my head up, a figure creeps toward me, and without a second's hesitation, I bolt. Damned legs lose their feeling. I try my hardest to keep my balance. I feel my fur clump together. I dare to glance down and I see blood covering my back thighs.
As I hastily run from the dog catcher, I dodge and dip out of the way of muggles and other objects. Then I see it: my getaway. A fence stands only twenty feet away and if I can muster up enough energy, I will be able to make it. As I approach the fence, the dog catcher is right on my tail. With all my might, I thrust myself into the air.
I'm free. I'm finally free.
I find myself alone on a deserted street. I transform from dog to man and find that my entire chest and face have been lacerated from my dive.
I collapse on the ground and begin to evaluate my situation. With my mind still in a dense fog, I know I must find chocolate, the only substance that could help me shake off the constant chills and unhappiness still racing through my body. I quickly transform back into the bloodied dog and quietly make my way into whatever town I have landed in. Finally I find what I need: a candy shop.
Lucky for me, the doors are propped open.
Without hesitation, I speed into the candy store, grab the first chocolate bar I see, and bolt. Just as I zoom out the door, the muggles realize what has happened, but no one calls after me or attempts to chase me down. After all what are they really going to do with a bloody, chocolate-thieving dog? I make my way down the street and spot an empty trash can that has been tipped over in an alley. I make refuge there.
I lie there devouring the chocolate bar, struggling to tell the difference between the wrapper and the chocolate. I do not care; with every bite my mind becomes clearer.
The memories start to flood back.
The other boys- they were James and Remus, and their heads were tossed back casually, roaring with laughter...
James' living face, so alive with mischief, smiled at Lily, who crossed the lawn, looking radiant. James tousled his already unkempt hair and winked in her direction…
They handed over an infant boy to me; he was a pink blob with a mass of black hair that slept peacefully in my arms. "You'll be godfather?" James asked...
Harry. What's become of Harry?
As I sit there panting, fur stuck together by blood and grime, I see something out of the corner of my eye. Liquid flows from a stick into a cup- a wand! Its owner is sitting across the street at a coffee shop.
I need that wand. I desperately need to repair the massive gashes on my body; the cuts are starting to fester.
And the rat- I need to kill the rat.
And Harry- where is Harry?
I wait patiently, eyeing the man's body language. He seems not be too concerned about the security of his wand, so I slowly approach him. With laser-like focus on his pocket, I dart for the wand right as he takes a sip of his coffee. I secure my jaws around it. He doesn't even notice. I make a break for it before he can even notice that I'm there.
Down yet another alleyway, I transform back into a human. I am still covered in blood. I point my wand at my chest and mutter "Vulnera sanentur." The blood clears from my chest and the cuts repair themselves. I repeat this up and down my body until there is nothing left but fresh, pink skin.
As I clutch the wand in my hand, my body fully restored, I feel a sudden rush of hot adrenaline flow through my veins. I am free.
"Expecto patronum!" I shout, thinking of James, Lily, and Harry. Sweet Harry, and that picture of him riding around on his new broom. As that thought flows through me, out of the wand emerges a huge, silver dog. It gambols away from me.
I have escaped the bitter darkness. The dementors will never control me again.
I know I need to find the rat, but another thought has taken hold of me. Harry, that little baby boy will be nearly thirteen now. I know where he is; Hagrid told me the address that night. Privet Drive. Privet Drive. Privet Drive. Concentrating as hard as I can, I turn on my heel, and suddenly my surroundings disappear. I am being squeezed through a tube, unable to draw air.
It is pitch black with only a few street lamps illuminating the entire block. I transform quickly into my dog form. It is not safe to appear myself anymore; they are bound to have noticed my escape by now.
Sure enough, as I amble down the street, I see my own face blaring back at me from a large box. Wow, I've made the muggle news. Mother would be proud. I suppress a growl.
It was Privet Drive, I am sure. But what was the number?
4.
As soon as I think it, a large, square house, hardly different from those surrounding it, a number 4 perched neatly on its door, comes into view.
There. He is there.
I duck behind a large tree in a small wooded area across the way from the house and wait. He will have to come outside and show himself eventually, right?
I lay my head in my paws and stare longingly at the plain number 4 on the door of the house, an aching I have not felt in years clawing at my chest. The feeling is not like the despair I felt in Azkaban, meaningless and hopeless; it is one of knowing that I have spent twelve years without my best friend and that his son, my godson, is just beyond that door. All that is left of my best friend, living, breathing proof of James and Lily's love, is in there. It almost hurts to think about it.
Is he happy there, as James was in his own home, which was the most delightful place I have ever been besides Hogwarts? He is, after all, with family, and Dumbledore thought it would be best for him to stay with these muggles rather than with me. I bite back a growl at the thought. But then, Dumbledore, like the rest of the Wizarding World, thinks me a murderer.
I find myself again wondering if the boy is happy. Blood means nothing, I know, for before I went to Azkaban, my own home, with my pureblood-loving, spiteful, Slytherin parents, was the most terrible place I could imagine.
Harry was such a happy baby, I recall, thinking back to the picture Lily enclosed in her last letter to me just before she died. The little boy, already with hair and a face like James' laughed as he rode his toy broomstick.
But I cannot not imagine that there are many moments like that for Harry in this plain, most unmagical house. I long to burst through the door and steal Harry away.
As I lie imagining this, the door really does burst open, and out stalks a scrawny boy with unruly jet black hair and glasses, dragging behind him a trunk that is almost the same size as him.
James!
James took off at a brisk, angry pace, his wand gripped so tightly in his hand I thought he might break it. He did not see me as I crouched in the shadows. Perhaps I would wait for him to transform and then leap on him as a dog, as I had done so many times.
I stepped out from behind the trees and began to pursue my friend, hardly able to contain my excitement. My tongue lolled from my mouth and I panted heavily. I felt my tail wag uncontrollably behind me.
Then James came to a stop and lit his wand, turning quickly to look me square in the face. I leaned back onto my hind legs and prepared to jump, to cover him in wet dog kisses, just like he hated, and my eyes met his.
But the eyes do not belong to James.
They are Lily's.
And I remember.
The boy staggers backwards, landing almost comically on his behind, wand still outstretched and illuminated, terror etched on his face. I slink backwards, ashamed that I have forgotten myself and that I have hurt Harry, without meaning to, again.
As I take off running back toward the trees, I hear a loud BANG! I turn to see a large, three-decker bus appear in the street. Its conductor stepps off and exchanges a few words with Harry, but I am too far away to hear.
I watch the boy be helped to his feet, climb aboard the Knight Bus, and disappear from sight, feeling, once again a deep, sad longing in my chest. This time, I let out a small, puplike whimper before I turn and run into the woods, determined, now more than ever, to find the rat and set things right.