Frank Thorsson hated Muggles more than everything else in the world. And if someone asked him for the reason behind his, all one would get as an answer was a disbelieving look or a good beating. Frank had never wasted more than a moment for such thoughts. They were muggles – wasn't that reason enough to hate them?
Everyone who knew him was aware of this and would have gleefully shared his view. All the bigger would the surprise be if they ever found out that the two-meter Swede with dirty blonde hair was living in Weizheim – a muggle-village like no other. Frank suspected that he probably was the first wizard to ever step foot into this hellhole.
But in a certain way, Frank was somewhat glad that nobody knew of his situation. He could vividly picture his comrades' gloating and schadenfreude behind his back, should they ever discover his whereabouts.
A slight grin appeared on Frank's face as he remembered that nobody would have the courage to voice his malicious joy to his face. Which probably had something to do with the certain mad look in his eyes he was so proud of and his trained body.
"Hello Mr. Winkelburg, nice to see you again. You know, I start to believe you are selling clocks in secret! Every Wednesday at point three he comes by, I said to my friends, and buys the same things as always. Like a freshly oiled clockwork!"
Frank sighted and the grin vanished. Somehow, the rather petite, brown-haired lady in her sixtieth who owned the shop was immune to his appearance and attitude. And every single week, she managed to make him livid. Sometimes he would almost prefer the Cruciatus to seeing her maddening happy face.
"You know, Mr. Winkelburg, if you want you can come over to coffee and tee on Saturday. Me and my girls would really appreciate your company. Do you like strawberry pie?"
His left eyebrow started twitching as the irritating woman rattled on about this and that without waiting for his answer and without caring about his lack of attention. Which was probably better. In Frank's eyes, the woman was worth as much as the contents of his shopping card. So about five knuts, if at all.
"Oh, a nice tatoo you got there, I haven't noticed it until know. Is that a… skull?" When he had reached for the butter his sleeve must have slid upwards, revealing the black ink on his left forearm. A skull with a snake protruding from it.
His entire pride.
And normally this discovery would have been her death sentence, because no muggle was worthy of seeing the dark mark. His fingers itched and he allowed himself to dream of killing the stupid woman: A wish with his wand, two delicious words and the fascinating green light would be enough to end her pitiful existence.
But he had his orders. Remain inconspicuous.
Instead he settled with a simple murmured "Obliviate" and the bewildered look on the woman's face. One could never be careful enough.
"Oh god, I've totally forgotten what I wanted to say! Ah well, couldn't have been important….Anyway, where was I… ah yes, my aunt Margarete, may god have mercy on her soul…"
Five minutes of senseless gibberish later he all but threw the money on the counter and left the shop in a hurry, not willing to let his nerves endure one more moment of this madness. She had probably told him her entire life's story!
The way home took about half an hour and drove Frank up the mountain on a narrow pathway. It had started raining about five minutes into the trip and thick drops of water were dropping on the ground, making it dangerously slippery. Which did not improve his mood. At least his charmed jacket kept him dry.
When he finally arrived at the wooden shack his daydreams about crying and screaming muggles – the shop owner in particular – came to an end when he wanted to unlock the door.
It was already open.
Frank cursed under his breath and drew his wand.
"Homenium revelio"
Yes, someone was here. He always locked the door with magic after leaving. Always. And since muggles wouldn't be able to open the door, a wizard must have done this. Damn! He cursed again. Frank had known for a long time that one day it had to come to this. After all, the son of the Dark Lord was living in this house.
Carefully he opened the door, a curse on the tip of his tongue and slowly moved forward. The lack of multiple spells flying towards him was probably a good sign. Aurors weren't known for being subtle. He let his gaze sweep across the room. Nothing. Everything was as he had left. A wave of his wand confirmed that he wasn't being deceived by magical barriers of disillusioned wizards. But the picture remained the same.
"Hello Frank" a squeaking voice spoke up behind him and Frank turned so fast he almost lost his equilibrium. Behind the table in the dining room was a small, plump man with watery eyes and a pointy nose. And chewed on his nails!
"Pettigrew!" Frank almost lowered his wand because finally he could talk to another Death Eater. But he quickly pulled himself together. Pettigrew was dead, he had read it himself in the Daily Prophet. So how could he be standing two meters in front of Frank, when he had been killed by Sirius Black. Unless…the rat hat found a way of surviving without Frank knowing about it. No big deal if one knew that the blonde Swede had severed all ties to the wizarding world. But luckily there were ways to find out the truth.
"What were the Dark Lord's last words to us all before anishing?" Pettgrew looked confused for a moment, but then seemed to grasp Frank's dilemma.
"He didn't address us all. He just left!" Franks lips quirked upwards and ten questions later his doubts were calmed and he lowered his wand.
"Finally done?" Pettigrew sighed and looked quite tired from the whole ordeal.
"I've been searching for you. For two whole days!" He went on chewing on his nails.
"Damn you, Pettigrew! Why did you come here of all the places?! You could lead Aurors directly to us!" after the initial relief, Frank was confronted with the whole reality of their situation. And the dangers that came with Pettigrew's unannounced presence here. If someone followed him…
"The Dark Lord sent me! He wants Lorcan to go to Hogwarts and make allies there!" Pettigrew squealed, not willing to wait any longer.
"It's finally time!"
"Wait, wait, slow down!" The Swede went over to the fridge, took out two bottles of beer and handed one of them to the Death Eater.
"Sit down and then start from the beginning. And don't leave out a single detail!" And so the obviously not dead Pettigrew spent the next two hours telling him everything that had happened during the last decade. Starting from how he had faked his death to the fact that the Dark Lord's son should attend Hogwarts.
"So in a nutshell: I should send Lorcan from Beauxbatons, a perfectly save place where no one suspects anything to Hogwarts? He would go into the same year as Harry Potter?! Under the eyes of Dumbledore?!" Pettigrew nodded and Frank ran his fingers through his hair. It all sounded so surreal, but if it was a dream, he didn't want to wake up. The thought of years of fleeing and hiding coming to an end and serving the Dark Lord again was too good to be true.
"Ok"