Hi ! welcome to the second chapter of "Le Morte d'Harry Potter"!
I hope you enjoyed the first, but also hope to have presented in this one some of the ideas I have in store for you. There is more action in this one than in its predecessor, but the real deal will only kick in chapter three – which should be online next Wednesday. Until then, good reading, and don't forget to add your review! (besides, if you leave an idea in it, or an interesting comment…) ^^
Chapter 2; DEVILS AND DUST
Harry landed near Edinburgh, judging his best chance at being inconspicuous would be to fade in the Muggle word, turning his back on the wizarding population. From there he could take a train to London, where he would have to stop to Gringotts to collect some gold. The last trip to Hogsmeade had left him enough wizard coins, if barely, and he spill had some pounds he had been saving – not using would be more accurate. But he had to replenish his pockets, and to device a way to get to Gringotts unnoticed, should the need arise. If he wasn't prudent, the Daily Prophet's headline would get Death Eaters on his trail more quickly than if he had shown up in front of Voldemort's lair.
The train he took, one of the first departing to the capital, was boarded by high-spirited teens of his age, who looked like they had made a point of proving how exuberant teenagers on a trip for their first week of summer holidays can be. The worry-free banter flying between boys and girls made Harry smile. What wouldn't he give to be as insouciant as they were! Still, the verbal sparring about how the night's sleeping arrangements would be made allowed his mind to wander for a while, and he welcomed it. As the train travelled through the countryside, Harry relaxed completely, dozing on and off. He shook himself up when the train stopped at Birmingham, and made his way to his connection, pausing only to grab a cup of coffee and buy a newspaper. He had ben blissfully unaware of what had happened in the muggle world, and wanted to check it out.
Unfortunately, he was unable to do so because of the increased proximity of long, unrestrained giggles. Looking up from the paper, he saw that one band of girls, from the group who took the same train in Edinburgh, had moved to his wagon. There were also a couple of guys with them, but they seemed to be somehow subdued, and much grumpier than before. One of them, in particular, eyed Harry with a murderous glare that made him feel self-conscious. Shrugging it off, Harry went back to reading his article, until he was addressed directly by one of the girls.
"I wouldn't try the coffee if I were you. This brand doesn't seem to be able to make anything you can safely drink."
Startled, Harry raised his eyes to meet the speaker's. They belonged to a tall blonde who reminded him of Fleur or Gabrielle. She was sitting with her friends, who held their breath, waiting for Harry's reaction, while the boys, seating across the alley, looked gloomier than ever. Harry smiled, trying not to get involved with the group. He didn't want to lie to them, nor did he wish to start a fight with the boys.
"Thanks, but I think I have to, I had a rough night." He grinned apologetically, hopping the girl would not dig any further.
"Yeah, I can see that." The self-confident laugh quickly reduced his hopes. This girl was used to get her way with boys, he could see that. "Does your hair always behave that way, or were you late to catch the train this morning?"
Harry's hair was even more untidy than usual, due to the long trip he had made on his broom from Hogwarts to Edinburgh. Scratching his mind for a plausible answer, he passed his hand in his hair, trying to smooth it.
"I rode my bike to the train station, and I never liked to wear a helmet." Feeling he would not resist to more probing, he hurried to ask. "Where are you guys going?"
This time, it was another girl that answered, much to the annoyance of the blond. "We're staying a week in London, at Kate's father's place." Mimicking quotation marks, she followed. "It's going to be a perfect opportunity to cultivate ourselves, visiting the finest expositions of the hour, as well as the glorious remnants of our past." Pausing to wink at her friend, she turned back to Harry "At least that's what we are supposed to do." The hearty laugh they shared made Harry grin, again.
The blond girl pressed on again. "Do you want to join us?" Her position made it clear she meant much more than that, so Harry was relieved to answer earnestly.
"Thanks, but I can't. I've got an errand to run in London, but then I'm leaving to Wales, to spend some time at my parents'."
"Ah, too bad! Maybe another time?"
She stopped as Harry jerked his head to the end of the wagon, where he could have sworn he had just heard a faint 'pop'. But he relaxed when he saw it was just one of the group's girls, coming back from the other wagon. Trying to dissipate any wrong feeling he might have created, he threw himself back to the conversation, discussing with the teenagers until they arrived at their terminus. He left them here, relieved not to have made any major slip, but worrying about his lack of improvisation. That may be something he'd want to look into, he thought, if he didn't want to call himself out if he ever used disguises.
The long trip from northern Scotland to London had taken the best part of the morning, leaving him facing the buzzing midday rush hours of the capital. Elbowing his way through the underground, he reached Diagon Alley just after stopping in the Leaky Cauldron to order a meal. Hiding his scar behind his hair, he chose a quiet spot in tom's pub to eat, trying to gauge how much people would recognize him without his scar. He wasn't satisfied with his sample, however, as very few wizards were there, and the tone was much more subdued than usual. Even Tom, the larger than life bartender, was sitting quietly on his own. It was the day after Dumbledore's burial, and the magical community was still mourning its hero. Sad as he was, Harry couldn't help but seeing the opportunity: if there were few people out there, that meant he could use the invisibility coat without worrying of bumping into someone.
Going out of the bar, he put it on, and raised his wand to recreate the archway. He was pleased to see only a few silhouettes in the street, and walked quietly to Gringotts. Once inside, he let it slip, revealing himself, before walking to the nearest goblin. He would have preferred to remain unnoticed, but he didn't dare sneaking into the goblin's realm, not trusting their reaction. He still had in mind the warning Hagrid had gave him while in first year. Coming in front of the counter, he waited until the goblin motioned him to come closer.
"I'm Mister Potter, I'd like to have access to my family vault."
He handed out his tiny gold key, and waited while the goblin examined it. Once he was finished, he gestured to another goblin, who took Harry to a small rail car, and from then on they rode in silence. They only stopped when they arrived in front of the massive door Harry recognised immediately. The goblin passed his fingers along invisible lines, used the key, and with the typical flash of green smoke, the door vanished, revealing the massive amount of gold the vault contained. Harry trailed inside, taking out a bag from his pocket, and proceeded to take as much gold as possible as fast as possible. This vault obsessed him, mocked him. How fair was it that of all the things he wanted from his parents, the only thing he had was gold?
Once he had finished replenishing his bag, Harry raised on his feet. More than six years after he had discovered it, he still hadn't managed to see the back wall of the vault, nor did he know the true extent of his fortune. On a spur of the moment inspiration, he turned to circle the biggest mound of gold. If he knew how much money he had, he could use it to finance the Order's activities! That way, they could buy off contacts at the ministry, pay off informants, and set up safe houses. The excitation at the prospect of spending this gold made him slip as he crossed the room, making him stop to steady himself. When he raised his head, he saw a large, ancient looking chest set against the wall. Turning to address the goblin, who was patiently waiting at the door, his back to him, Harry called him.
"Excuse me sir, but who else got here, besides me?"
The taciturn goblin answered immediately, not needing to consult the heavy book pinned to his belt.
"Not a single living soul since you were here with mister Rubbeus Hagrid, sir, and before that, no one since your parents. And, as far as I recall, no one except members of the Potter's bloodline has ever set foot in this vault. You come from an ancient family, Mister Potter, so you have one of the most secure vaults in all of Gringotts."
"There's a chest in the back, can I take it with me?" Harry felt self-conscious, asking this question, but the chest was held by a nest carved in the wall, and looked like it had been here for a long time.
"You can take anything here Mister Potter, as long as it belongs to you. There's no fee for that" baring his teeth, the goblin looked like he thought it should. Nevertheless, he kept talking, business-like. "Of course, should you prefer this removal not to be mentioned in our books, it is perfectly manageable, although there is a fee for that."
"Thanks."
Harry turned back again to the chest. It was taunting him, daring him to open it. His throat constricted, conflicted between the urge to open it, and the dread of what he could find. Maybe his parents had left him something before they died? They had known Voldemort was after them, maybe they had made arrangements. Casting a brief glance to the door, where the imperturbable goblin had resumed his guard, still facing outwards, he made sure he would be alone to open the chest.
The dark brown of the wood was carved exquisitely, giving the chest's surface a rune-like aspect. The edges were reinforced with night blue metal, and united on the front side, in a silver swirl. At the swirl centre was a small square whose flat surface, absolutely spotless, stood up. A sharp, razor-looking edge made the top of the square. Mesmerized, Harry passed his hand on the chest, looking for any lock. There was none. His attention drawn back to the silver square, Harry tried probing it, or pushing it aside to reveal a concealed lock, but failed. As he pressed once more his hand on the top of the square, he cut himself on the edge. The surprise made him swear, and he brought his injured finger to his mouth. He stopped halfway, as the swirl's tendrils were slowly filling up with his blood. He hadn't cut himself that much, so the chest must be augmenting magically his blood. Harry frowned, unsure of what to do next.
The chest hummed softly, while some sound – almost like heavy metal rods moving and clattering – could be heard faintly. After a few second, it stopped, and Harry, holding his breath, moved his hand again. Before he could touch it, the chest opened, revealing a yellowish envelope, made of parchment, posed on top of seven silver handles – the three lined on the right echoed the three on the left, while the centre was held by the bigger one. The letter read:
To Harry James Potter
With a shacking hand, Harry took it. Taking in a deep breath, he broke the seal, a stylized hammer in a circle of flames, and began to read the letter.
Dear Harry,
If you read this letter, it means we are not here to tell its content by ourselves, and for that we are sorry. Sorry that you had to grow up with someone else, someone not from your family – although, if things go according to plan, you would have grown up with Sirius, which means you would have been raised by someone exactly like James, only fluffier and less good at flying. He had probably spent his time telling you stories about the Marauder's pranks, but the plan was to have Remus rein him in a little, so that you would not be ignorant of anything besides practical jokes. Say hello to Moony and Padfoot for us, please. And to Peter, we hope he gained some assurance with the years.
This letter was not meant only to pass greeting from beyond, Harry. We write this letter as you are playing with your first birthday's presents (you seem to particularly like the green snake we got you, which worries James – he says he won't have a Slytherin of a son, but don't worry, we love you too much not to let you live your life. Besides, you love charming snakes, just as much as you charm pretty much everybody: Sirius has taken to calling you 'womaniser', and the brat is particularly happy with himself). We know Voldemort is after us, as we did anything we could to stop him – we know Sirius will bathe you in stories of Lily's "amazing little spell work" at Ironbridge Gorge – so he must have gotten his way. We know you'll be seeking revenge, but we implore you, don't do it until you're ready.
If you want to train, go see Alastor 'Mad-eye' Moody. He'll be willing to, if he's still around, more so than Dumbledore, who will try to protect you. Respect Albus, even if his opinion and yours differ – he was the man that trained us and let us in the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius can teach you a few tricks that can be deadly surprising to Death Eaters, but if you want to really be ready and stand a chance, look into the chest we put this letter in.
This chest has been into the Potter family for as long as we were around, and it even existed before, when it wasn't our surname. Only blood relatives of the original maker can open it, which is why you had to offer some to open it. But you'll only have to do it once, as the chest will attune to your magical signature from then on: simply pass your hand in front of the Eye – the silver swirl on the front side. The seven silver handles open a different compartment, magically augmented and separated from the others. You can put almost anything in it – although if you have to keep a live animal inside, choose the ones of the right side, the left one are too small to leave them enough space. The far left handle reveals a notebook, which contains every use of the chest we've been able to uncover, but we suspect there are much more. You'll get the instructions for using the central handle in it.
There are weapons in the chest, as well as the way to create more. We cannot tell more, in case this letter is intercepted as we bring it to Gringotts, but look out in the notebook.
If all these horrors of the past are behind you as you grow up, then we'll rest in peace. Have fun at Hogwarts, and try to study from time to time. We love you, now and always, and will always be with you not matter what.
Love, your parents
Lily and James
Ps; Sirius just asked if your animagus form is a cute little rabbit, 'a raving beast of seduction'. Show him what you can do for us, okay? Cheers
PPs; Harry, I have a sister, a muggle, who lives in London. She's married to an Edmond Dursley. I know Sirius doesn't like her much, but she's my only family, and she might want to talk to her nephew. Go see her and give her my best please. Love, Lily.
Harry was overwhelmed by emotions. Reading this letter, he was reminded of how much his parents had been passionately alive, living happily with their friends, and of how little he knew about them and their life together. Seeing the names of Sirius and Remus come up had also moved him deeply; the Marauders had been close even after leaving Hogwarts. The injustice of the separation, forced by Dumbledore, brought tears of rage to his eyes, even if he knew the old man had had his reasons for doing so. And to see Pettigrew's name in this letter, where his parents didn't know he was going to be the traitor that sold then to their death! Once again, fury flared through Harry's chest, overtaking his senses for a brief instant.
Opening the left handle, he discovered a great many parchments, seemingly thrown in without care or ordering. On top of it was a unremarkable volume, whose title read
Of the working of the chest of Balliol the Elder,
And other uses discovered by his progeny
Harry took the book with him, caressing the leather cover which bore the same seal as his parent's letter. He closed the chest, and tried to move it away from its alcove, but the chest wouldn't budge. Taking his wand, Harry tried to levitate it away, but that also failed. At a loss, he turned to the goblin for help, only to find his eyes tracking him.
"No wizard magic can be performed inside Gringotts, Mister Potter. That is why it is so safe from thieves."
"I could use your help, if you please, then. I'm taking this chest with me, as well as the gold in this satchel."
Harry stepped back as the goblin merely snapped his fingers, levitating effortlessly the chest out of his bay in the wall. Turning to get back to the rail car, he waited for Harry, who was still lost in his thoughts, then closed the vault behind them. Harry was reflecting on what he had just saw; apparently, Goblin's magic was wordless and wandless. How such a feat could be accomplished astonished him.
"As I understood, Mister would like to be able to transport this chest on his own, and intruders deceived about the nature of this latter object?" Harry acquiesced with a nod, and the goblin, suddenly smiling, motioned him to the car. "Right this way then, Mister."
Without ever changing its way or taking any route but the one they came by, the trolley climbed to the surface, through the caves. But when they arrived, they didn't stopped in the marble hall Harry had come to expect, but in very different room, where the only furniture was a long wooden table, set between the railway and an discrete apparition spot. The goblin stopped the car, and put the chest on the table.
"Now, Mister Potter, I see hear a remarkable family heirloom, of the finest magical sort, and an esteemed customer leaving with it. Gringotts and all associated goblins would be happy to forget it leaved our vault for the modest sum of one hundred galleons. Payable now."
Harry, having no choice but to do as said, removed the gold coins from his bags, and gave it to a very euphoric goblin.
"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Potter."
"About that, is there a way to withdraw money or to access my vault without coming to Diagon Alley?"
"It is perfectly possible to do so without setting foot in Diagon Alley, sir, but impossible without coming into Gringotts. What you can do, is to stop by any of our local branches, where you'll find an apparition spot that is designed to lead you in a personal, inviolable apparition chamber, just like this one. From here you can conduct any financial operation of your liking, before leaving back to the place where you left from, incognito. Everything is made to accommodate our customers, as long" the goblin bared his teeth at the last part "as wizards do not try to double-cross us." The threat of his last statement was hardly concealed, reminding Harry that wizard-goblins wars were not history for everybody.
Thanking the goblin, Harry shrank the chest into his backpack, relieved to see that his magic was working again in the chamber, and then stepped in the apparition circle.
Half a second later, he materialized in the Leaky Cauldron, where he booked a room for the night, and went straight to it, intending to read the notebook and explore the chest before leaving to Godric's Hollow next morning.
As far as he understood that night, before tiredness finally won, was that part of the chest behaved just like any magically enlarged trunk, or like the one Moody possessed, which revealed a different compartment depending on which lock was pulled. The central handle, however, was the masterpiece of the chest, the joy and pride of his creator. This Balliol, who must have live more than a thousand years ago judging by his archaic English, had designed it to work just like the Chamber of Requirements in Hogwarts. The endless possibilities it opened were somehow diminished by the warning Harry had read in the notebook: according to its authors, the magic needed to operate it was not of the wizarding kind. Try as he might, Harry drifted off at this point of his readings, and couldn't get all of it before the night took him.
In the still sleeping village of Godric's Hollow, a hooded figure suddenly appeared, out of thin air, with the very first light of the sunrise. The silhouette made its way to the centre of the village, as if unsure of its way. Casting back its hood, Harry stood in front of the main plaza's fountain, trying to get a grip on his storming emotions. The village looked like a regular, muggle one, and Harry didn't know where his parents' house was, nor if there still was something at all. Fervently hopping a museum of some kind hadn't been built, not willing to deal with a Creevey-like frenzy right now, he checked a map of the village. There was nothing on it betraying the magical world, and the only thing he learnt that the village was apparently a prized spot for outdoor activities throughout the region, many parking lots being reserved to tourists.
Advising the nearby cliffs, he decided to go there until he found a way to his parents' place. As he left the village, coming near the edge of the land, he saw a large grove, from which strange looking masts rose, carrying things that looked suspiciously like baskets. Hope flaring, Harry ran to the small forest, relieved to see some trace of his world still left in the village he was born. But when he entered the playing field, he understood no one had been here in a long time. The weed had grown wild, and some of the goals were bent, aiming to the sea, as if torn by a furious wind. Absent-minded, Harry let his gaze trail in that direction, only to find the ruins of a house, blown from the inside.
Heading to the house, Harry started running as he crossed the field. The house's walls were scorched, as if long flames had burnt them down. Only the exterior wall stood up, and then only halfway to the first floor, which could only be guessed to have ever existed thanks to a destroyed staircase in the back of the house. Harry passed around the house, making for where the door used to be. The outside paint of the wall was still white here, and the only thing lying on the pathway that linked the house to the nearby road was a bronze plaque, nailed to the floor, on which Harry read the following words.
Here lived the Potters
James, Lily and Harry
They were attacked and murdered by Voldemort,
In his last crime before he was banished by the Boy Who Lived
May they rest in peace in a world ridden of Evil by their sacrifice.
Harry brushed his fingertips on the plaque, closing his eyes to pay his respects. Rising on his feet once again, he gazed at the house, looking at it with new eyes. He tried hard to summon any souvenir he had of his life here, but he was bound to fail, the only thing brought up were his parents' dying cries. Shaking his head, he passed the commemorative plaque and entered his house. The place reeked of death, and nothing here indicated it was once a happy place. Harry felt like he was the ghost, wandering in a universe that wasn't his. As he drew closer to the centre of the house, he noticed two marble stone that had escaped him previously. Unable to utter a sound, Harry walked to his parents' grave. He was glad they had been buried in the place they had lived together, isolated from the madness of the world, and that no one had desecrated the spot since.
Kneeling, Harry cleaned the surface of the stone, removing the dust and the lime that had crawled on it. To the left, his mother. To the right, his father. Their stones were barely separated, and Harry knew, somehow, that they had been buried together by their friends. Sorrow filled Harry, and, yet, it was balanced by the letter he had read the day before, and was still present to his mind. They had been happy, and that was more than he could ask for. He missed them so much, though, that he couldn't contain a single tear from rolling. He let it slip, coming down his cheek, until it feel on the earth at his feet.
Harry thought of his tribute to Dumbledore, when he had conjured, somehow, a flash of light to honour his fallen headmaster. He wanted to do something for his parents, something special that would have meanings for the three of them. And then, he remembered what Dumbledore himself had told him, the night he saved Sirius from the dememtors. "Do you think the dead we love ever truly leave us? Your father is alive in you, Harry. Prongs rode again last night."
Drawing his wand, Harry spoke, his voice high and loud.
"Expecto Patronum!"
The silver mist coming from his wand quickly solidified in a majestic stag, who bowed once to Harry, before walking slowly to Jame's resting place. It brought its muzzle to it, breathing at the base of the tomb. The stag then looked at Harry, and motioned Lily's grave, before looking at Harry, as if expecting him to catch up.
"I…I can't. I can't change my patronus just like that…And you'll disappear…"
Undaunted, the stag made the same move again. The stillness of the place, unperturbed, was only broken by Harry's erratic breathing. The stag was still staring at him. Inspiring deeply, Harry grounded his feet on the floor, pushing aside the dust. Squaring his shoulders, he looked straight at his mother's name, carved on the marble. He summoned everything that reminded him of her, her voice, her photograph, and let it spin in his head. Sensing the right moment approaching, he stopped breathing, raised his wand to the sky, and look directly at the stag, as if to make him witness. He didn't spoke the incantation aloud, relying on his feelings alone. If his mother was still here with him, like his father was, he didn't need a spell to summon her.
This time, he felt the magic racing through his arm, originating from his chest and crawling to his wand. Willing it to succeed, to morph into his mother, Harry closed his eyes, concentrating on the process. Only when he felt it was done did he open his eyes again. In front of his, a joyful silver doe was playing in the grass. Nonplussed, Harry watched the stag bouncing around, welcoming the doe, brushing his neck against hers. They came back to the spot where Harry was watching them, gaping.
"Mom?...Is that you?"
The doe inclined her head once, then raised it slowly, as if burdened by sadness. Understanding, Harry caressed her head, and nodded to the stag, before turning to the grave. His parents were dead, and weren't coming back as ghost. Still, he found comfort in the fact that so long after their deaths, they were still with him, somehow watching over him.
Suddenly, both patronuses turned their head to the road, behind Harry. Noticing it, Harry turned slowly, gauging their reaction. They were defiant, the stag's feet anchored to the ground, defending his home, while the doe was crouching, as if ready to spring, charging the intruder. Harry, wand still in his hand, crouched too, before addressing the trespasser.
"Who's here? Show yourself!" Nothing but the silence answered him. Nodding to the doe, Harry let her run to the road, where she charged the person hiding behind the low wall that enclosed the property.
"Hey, lower your wand, Harry! I don't want to hurt you!"
As soon as the voice rose in the air, Harry's fury flared so quickly he almost had to fight back the urge to growl. Wormtail! The rat had the nerve to come to him here, of all place! The traitor, the very man because of whom his parents laid in the earth right next to him! The fury was replaced by fierce joy, for today he would finally avenge them.
"Come, coward! Come, and at last face somebody in duel! Come, if you dare!" Shouting, Harry drew closer to the wall, intending to bust out the Death Eater.
"Harry no! I don't want to hurt you!" The man's squeal came from behind the wall, where he was trying to escape to the doe. Harry called her back – it was his job to finish the traitor off. Seeing an opening, Wormtail passed half of his head up the wall. The man had distinctively lost weight since the last time Harry had seen him, and looked unhealthy, as if eaten alive by fear and resentment.
"I want to talk to you. You let me, you'll learn what you want; you don't, and I press this" he drew his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark. "and a lot of my friends pop up! Now, will you…"
He was cut off as Harry, driven crazy by his taunts, had blast part of the wall.
"I will kill you, Wormtail! I will kill you for what you did to my parents and to Sirius! What could you possibly have to say that would hold any interest for me? Reducto!" Another part of the wall was blown in a loud crack.
"Snape! I want to talk about Snape!"
Harry mind's raced. Wormtail had struck at the only thing that could force Harry to pause to listen to him. Cautious not to lower his wand, Harry gestured his two patronus to stand guard on each side of the road, in case anyone was attracted by the noise of the incoming duel.
"Spit it out! What do you have to say about Snape?"
"He has risen high in the Dark Lord's esteem since he killed Dumbledore…"
A snarl came to Harry's lips before he could help it. Hearing Wormtail speaking of it as it was nothing ironed his resolve to deal with the wicked man. He would make him pay for that too. But Pettigrew seemed to understand his thinking.
"Ahah, Harry, none of that!" his silver hand drew closer to his tattoo on his left forearm. "Lest I call my friends!"
"Quit calling them your 'friends'. They're not, and I know you'd rather not call them and explain why you were here!"
"I'm here on the Dark Lord's order! He values my advice, and only tasks me with missions of the outmost importance!" Wormtail, however taunting his words were, had paled considerably. "He charged me with following you! I took the same train as you from Edinburgh to London, but apparated when you said you were coming here."
It was Harry's turn to pale, remembering how he had indeed heard the distinctive 'pop' of apparition, but dismissed him. Mentally scolding himself, he turned his attention to his enemy.
"All right, I'll listen to you. What do you have to say?"
Wormtail, reassured but the way thing seemed to be heading, stood fully up, although he remained behind the wall. Not pretending to pay any attention to what he was doing, Harry moved on, a few steps to the right.
"So, as I was saying, Snape…is – er, the new favourite of the Dark Lord. Not even Lucius, after his failure at the Ministry, can pretend to the same place."
Still quiet, Harry moved to his right again. He silently asked the stag for help, and the patronus crossed quickly the road, as if oblivious to the human's conversation, but his movement alone had distracted Peter, who nervously glanced to it, while Harry seized the opportunity to trade softly, again a few steps to the right. Just a few more steps and he would have a clear shot at the Death Eater. Just as Peter frowned, Harry hurried to distract him.
"So you want me to take care of him for you, is that it?" Wanting for the answer, Harry froze on the spot. If it hadn't worked and Wormtail had noticed, he was a sitting target, out in the open, in case the death eater called for backup.
"Why, yes. It would only be expected by the Dark Lord, and I would be clear of all suspicion."
Harry paused. If he could obtain Snape's location this way, he could deal with him much sooner than expected, and Dumbledore's death would be repaid in kind. Bowing his head, he circled, lost in his thoughts. Two steps on the left, he paused to look at his parents' grave. Four steps on the right, he turned to face Wormtail. There! He had his shot! Now, all it would take would be a little more patience, and then retribution would come.
"Okay, tell me where he is, and I will catch him."
Peter Pettigrew smiled, obviously relived.
"I don't know where he is every day, but the mission the Dark Lord has entrusted him with," The venom in his voice has almost palpable, making him pause to spit on the ground. "takes him to Stonehenge. There is something there the Dark Lord wants to be removed, to better protect it. Snapes takes a team of five to investigate it, he was there all of last week, but to no avail. He's bound to go back, the Dark Lord made it very clear he won't accept fail…"
"Stupefy!"
As the red flash caught him square into the chest, he tripped behind, falling into the mud, an expression of disbelief on his face. But then again, Pettigrew had never been a fighter, and Harry was driven by rage and loss, adding considerable power to his already valuable duelling reflexes. He ran to the fallen form, jumping over the edge of the wall. The stag and the doe came by him, their blank faces expressing nothing. Conjuring ropes, Harry tied Pettigrew tightly, not caring much about being gentle. His parents would finally be avenged, and Sirius' name cleared completely. He would see to it.
Harry walked to his parents' grave. Picking up the few weeds that had unfolded back to cover it, he made sure the house was undisturbed by the brief fight. He took in everything he could, trying to stored away each little detail, not wanting to forget anything. He glanced at the Quidditch field, whishing he had grown up here, playing with his father, Ron, Ginny and all his friends and family. The patronuses came by him, each one on a different side. They tried to brush him with their head, but their ghostly form passed through him, and when Harry tried to caress them back, they disappeared, leaving only a glittering mist in their wake. The haze surrounded him for a brief instant, and then it too vanished as the wind flew. Harry was left alone with the stupefied form of Petter Pettigrew.
As he left Godric's Hollow, his resolve hardened, Harry prepared to apparate to the Ministry of Magic to drop Pettigrew there. It would be his last stop on the road. He was going hunting Horcruxes.
There was just a hitch to this plan: to be sure Wormtail was going to be taken care of, Harry had to let him in the right hands. Which meant he had to contact Arthur Weasley. Which meant he had to involve Ginny…