Chapter 7

I COMPLETELY FORGOT THIS STORY AFTER GETTING A NEW COMPUTER LAST YEAR. Now I have a bit of free time, I'm thinking of continuing it despite losing all my old notes.

Sorry about the update schedule.


Harry perched on top of an old oak tree, waiting patiently for his prey to return home. He was getting worried: it was two in the morning and Peter Pettigrew has yet to show.

The traitor lived in a simple little wooden cabin on the outskirt of Little Undermole, not too far from HogsmeadeVillage. Harry can't say the decrepit, tiny cabin was what he expected, not since he knew every other Death Eater tend to bury themselves in gaudy ostentation and unnecessary luxury.

All Death Eaters are equal, but some Death Eaters are more equal than others, noted Harry duly.

Harry's legs felt numb. He had been hiding in this exact spot since nine o'clock.

Something was … off.

Tom's intel said Pettigrew would be back by eleven and Tom's intel was never wrong. Plus, when Harry disabled the wards around Pettigrew's home, he found three inter-locking layers of complex magic, which was excessive for someone of Pettigrew's statute. Although Harry was sure he disabled them correctly, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

Harry adjusted his goggles. Its charmed lens allowed him to see in the dark. He fashioned it himself, out of silver frames and rose-tinted lens, after he read about night vision scopes the Muggles used in their wars. Although he would never admit it, Harry liked reading about Muggle inventions. Secretly, Harry fancied himself to be somewhat of an inventor. Tom would say he's just a boy playing with toys, but Harry knew Tom was secretly impressed.

That bastard was too proud to pay Harry a single compliment, ever.

Harry was vaguely aware of a familiar presence in the back of his mind, prodding at his Occlumency shield. It was Tom, calling him though their bond. The tattoo on his back turned warm, a slight warning, but Harry ignored it.

Tom wouldn't dare to contact him through some of his more ... forceful ways, given the spirit had no clue to Harry's current condition. Harry suspected that Tom wants him to return to Hogwarts, immediately, but Harry wasn't ready to give up yet. He had waited too long for this.

Finally, a movement caught Harry's attention.

A stocky man stumbled off a muddy path toward the cabin. His Death Eater mask dangling off his back as he fumbled with his keys. After a string of slurred curses, the man was able to pry open the door and went inside. Harry watched intently as the lights in Pettigrew's bedroom flickered, then turned off. The little wooden cabin returned to its dark and silent serenity.

Harry slid down the tree. His movement fluid and quiet like a cat. He tabbed the oak tree three times and activated the runes he previously set-up.

A silvery dome expelled from the oak canopy and encompassed the whole cabin. Harry's magic shimmered like a thin dome of glass, then it turned invisible. Its presence saturated the air, playfully tickling Harry's senses, as it heeded to his command: to block all noises and signal from entering or leaving the cabin.

Harry frowned. He wasn't satisfied with this piece of magic. But it'll have to suffice. After all, Harry had no time to set-up a full anti-apparition ward, one that would give him maximum control, not without risking the ministry detecting a huge, unfamiliar surge of magic in the area.

See, there was this one time Harry tried to invent a camouflaged ward, but end up abandoning it due to lack of equipment. If only Tom wasn't so against him taking the exams, then Harry can become a proper Ward Master and gain access to the esteemed research department of the Warden (or more specifically, the Guild of Warden Mastery and Curse Breaking, but that's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?).

Harry shrugged. Again, he checked his equipments.

The medallion lay hidden under his robe; its magic comforting against his chest, next to it, in the inner pocket, hid a set of silver daggers, each sharpened and ready to feast on blood. Harry fastened his cloak; its hood shadowed his face, making it obscure to all observers. The large, black cloak fluttered in the chilling winds; with his face masked beneath its shadow, Harry thought he looked quite appropriate for tonight's adventure.

Like Death without the scythe, he mused, happy Halloween.

Lastly, Harry pulled his father's invisibility cloak over him. Then, he was ready.

Harry entered Pettigrew's house, sliding in the shadows like an experienced predator. His dragon leather boots were charmed to be light and noiseless. And warm, to boost.

It was obvious Pettigrew lived alone; the man's house was crammed and messy. Empty liquor bottles and unmarked boxes littered the hallway, but Harry manoeuvred between them with ease. He made his way to the east side of the cabin.

Harry watched the fat man snore.

Standing beside Pettigrew's bed, Harry detected a strong stench of alcohol and sweat mingling in the air. Pettigrew hadn't change much from his memories, a little plumper and a little balder, but with the same recognizable, rat-like features. Harry felt the rage inside his chest rearing its ugly head and hissed something, sweet and incomprehensible, almost like Tom whispering in the back of his mind.

The hiss sounded angry and urgent. A familiar ringing sensation clouded Harry's mind.

Oh, wait, it is Tom.

Once again, the spirit was trying to push pass his Occlumency shield. The other's force was tearing through the lighting-shaped scar on his forehead and Harry had to grab onto the bed frame to steady himself.

Shit, not now, thought Harry.

While focusing on Pettigrew, Harry pushed back on Tom attack, through their soul bond, as hard as he can. In front of him, Pettigrew murmured something in his sleep. The sound ignited Harry's temper; it flared and fuelled his magic, so strong and firm that Tom's voice faded away. Finally, all was quiet again.

Harry lowered his wand to Pettigrew's temple. The killing curse on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated.

NO...NO. That would be too easy.

Then, impulsively, Harry pulled down his cloak and removed his goggles. He tabbed the bed frame with his wand. Wooden vines sprouted from the wand's tip. It crept along the bed like an awkward snake and wrapped itself around the sleeping man.

"Hello, Peter," Harry leaned forward as Pettigrew jerked awake; his eyes droopy and unfocused.

Harry smiled mischievously, his voice warm and honeyed.

"Long time no see, old friend. Did you miss me?"

"JAMES?..." cried Pettigrew. "What?!… How?!…"

"Oh, just dropping by. You see, Peter, my dear friend, my best buddy, Lily and I miss you very much. We decided that…ah...the afterlife is simply too boring without you." Harry laughed in Pettigrew's face, as fear replaced drowsiness in those small, watery eyes. "But greetings first."

Harry jabbed his wand in Pettigrew's neck.

"Crucio."

Pettigrew screamed. His body writhed and shuddered violently, rocking back and forth against constrains of the wooden vines. The more Pettigrew struggled the more the vines tightened, until they cut into his soft flesh, almost strangling the man. The curse vibrated through Pettigrew, and Harry felt his own magic turn dark and sadistic, as it feasted on agony and turned even hungrier.

Harry tilted his head in fascination as Pettigrew screamed and squealed like a pig under slaughter. The mattress groaned under his weight, pitifully crying along with their master.

While Harry never found the torture curse to be one of his favourite spells (because the screams really bothers him), he could appreciate its application at the appropriate time. This... this man- this stinking, sleazy, loathsome coward- deserved to suffer everything Harry's parents have suffered- and suffer it a thousand times more.

But, first, Harry wanted some answers, so he stopped the spell. The screaming stopped; Pettigrew rocked back and forth against his constraints, sobbing like a giant baby. Tear and snort strained his face as the traitor mumbled incoherently to himself.

"Forgive me- James, James, what could I have done? The Dark Lord… you have no idea… he has weapons you can't imagine…. I was scared, James, I was never brave like you and Remus and Sirius. I never meant it to happen…. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me — He — he was taking over everywhere! Wh — what was there to be gained by refusing him?" *

"WHAT COULD HAVE YOU DONE?!" Harry roared with anger, "you should have died! You should have died rather than betray your friends, as they would have done for you! " *

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. He tilted Pettigrew head upward, forcing the other to meet his eye and asked,

"Explain something to me, Peter. Why did Voldemort come after me that night?"

Pettigrew shrunk under Harry's glare.

"TALK!" demanded Harry, his eyes bored into Pettigrew. He lowered his wand into Pettigrew's chest. "Unless you fancy another go—"

"NO… No more, please...Please...I'll tell you everything!" squealed Pettigrew. "The Death Eaters wanted Sirius, because...because Bellatrix believe he stole something from her. I don't know what- I only overheard something about Regulus and Gringotts- I know no more! I swear! They don't trust me, you see... "

"I'm sorry, James, I didn't know they would... I was just so scared, because once Sirius escaped to France, I thought y'all left with him. You and Lily and Harry... I never meant for it to happen... None of it... it's not my fault."

Harry stared down at the pathetic lump of a man crying in front of him. Pettigrew's mind was weakened by fear and clouded with pain, so Harry performed legilimency on him with ease. Harry sifted around shards of memories and feelings, then determined that Pettigrew was telling the truth. The man really knew very little about the inner workings of the Dark Lord's government.

The pure-bloods contemned him; the Death Eaters distrusted him; and the Dark Lord thought so little of Pettigrew that he wasn't even worthy as a pawn in the New Government. In the end, the rat had betrayed his friends — his only friends — for a life-time of laborious toil at the bottom of pure-blood society, a lonely existence, drowning himself in liquor and busy running from his past, hunted by fear and guilt.

Harry grimaced. Pettigrew's mind was not a pleasant place.

In truth, Harry didn't like to use legilimency, because, he feels, there was too much interpretation needed. The mind was not an open book, black words on white pages, clear and easy to understand. No, the mind was a maze: every memory tainted by feelings; every idea steeped with conformity; every thoughts blurred by the grander of self-delusion and deep dark desires. Trying to navigate though all that junk requires...certain skills and determination... and concentration on the part of the Legilimen.

Even most experienced Legilimens were cautious when entering another's mind. The mind-link was a two-way express, an unstable and unnatural bond between two people. Yes, it was a powerful tool, but a dangerous one as well. A momentary lapse in concentration, a weakness in one's Occlumency shield, could spell disaster— magical backlash may occur, causing immutable brain damage for both parties. After all, there were good reasons why Legilimency is considered one of the most treacherous Dark Arts.

Harry still remembered vividly the one time he tried to read Tom's mind. The agony he felt from Tom's Occlumency shield— red hot like his anger— burning on the inside of Harry's skull.

Physic pain I can handle, thought Harry, but the mind... the mind sure is a nasty place.

Finally, Harry's business was done.

"Goodbye," he said to Pettigrew.

Harry award the traitor one last disgusted look and lowered his wand again.

"NO! PLEASE! NO...James, Lily wouldn't have wanted me killed! Your wife... she would have spared me! She would have shown me mercy!" *

Harry paused. He could almost hear Tom's words in his head. Mercy to the enemy is cruelty to one's self.

Harry smiled a little, despite himself. Maybe Tom was right, about how killing will give Harry his peace of mind... Or maybe not, but it was the only thing Harry knew how to accomplish.

"NO! PLEASE!" yelled Pettigrew desperately; the traitor must have recognized the look in Harry's eyes. "I didn't — I didn't betray you, James. I never told them about Harry, about how you faked Harry's birthday! I swear on my magic, I didn't tell them... I didn't..."

Harry frowned, "What are you — "

But his question was cut off mid sentence, because, suddenly, unexpectedly, the door bell rang.

Both assassin and soon-to-be-victim froze, as the ringing sound cut into the night, clear and piercing like the chilling winds of autumn.


/PAST/

Little Harry was in deep trouble. Very much so.

You see, he lost his best friend. Yep, he lost Tom Riddle— not lost as in Tom died, but lost as in literally he can't find Tom.

It has been a week since his tenth birthday. And it has been a week since he last seen Tom Riddle and his diary. At first Harry just thought Tom was mad at him and avoided him on purpose. But, very soon, Harry realized Tom was actually gone and he started panicking.

Harry searched high and low for Tom Riddle's diary. He torn through his bedroom, Lucius' library, the basement lavatory (so literally everywhere) looking for the little black book. And found nothing.

Harry banged his head against the headboard, berating himself for fighting with Tom.

The last week has been unbearable. Lucius and Narcissa had left for vacation and Draco had been avoiding him for some reason, which leaves Harry alone in the large empty Manor, butting heads with their strict governess, Madam Rachman, on whether Harry should continue his French lessons.

Harry hadn't realized how much he depends on Tom's guidance until now. The more time Harry spent— alone—with his own thoughts, the more his fear and uncertainty came rolling back. Memories flooded Harry, almost drowning him with emotions, in feelings that Harry thought he had forgotten. Harry felt like he was six again, all alone in the world, living a lie among enemies who destroyed his life... living a past that he thought he had left behind.

Although his headaches were gone, Harry was having reoccurring nightmares so he couldn't sleep. Staring at ceiling in the dark, in the middle of the night, Harry couldn't help but wish for the sounds of Tom's voice, reassuring and confident, warm and quiet, telling Harry a story about a Wizarding Guild that defeated a werewolf colony, and whispering to Harry that he is safe, that he has a purpose in life, and that he has someone who can help.

A loud crackling noise appeared in mid-air. Harry rolled off his bed, just in time to avoid a soft body from landing on top of him.

"Dobby?" exclaimed Harry.

The grey-skinned house elf scurried up. In the dim moonlight, Harry could barely recognize the Malfoy house-elf as it turned those large, saucer-like eyes toward him. Dobby looked eccentric (well, more so than usually) as he was covered with goo and mud from head-to-toe, and its eyes were unfocused and distant, staring right through Harry.

"How terrible... How terrible...Find help... must find help." Dobby murmured to himself. The creature torn at his potato sac nervously, dropping mud onto Harry's bed.

"Dobby?" Harry tried again, tabbing Dobby's shoulder gently.

"Master Harry!" yapped Dobby, as if noticing Harry for the first time.

"Oh, Master Harry... Master Harry... Master Harry." he said, frantic in its breathing. "You must help! Dobby was ordered ... get Master Harry... Help ... Get Master Harry... Help Madam Rachman. "

"Calm down, Dobby." Harry tried to hold onto the nervous creature, and wiped some mud from Dobby's face. He grasped in horror.

"Dobby?! Is... is this blood?"

Harry's touch seemed to snap Dobby out of his stupor. He leaped into action.

Dobby nodded. "Blood. Yes...Not Dobby's... Must follow orders, sorry, Master Harry."

Then Dobby grabbed Harry's arm, instantly, with a harsh tag behind his navel, Harry felt the familiar sensation of apparition as they both disappeared from the Malfoy Manor.


Author's rambling:

* Adapted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

Special thanks to my reviewers—EMERALD69, dead feather, jeanne anne, EdenAthene, Guest, Midnightblue20, SkylerxXxSetsuna, korolo, quenofthieves, BloodyRose90, patricia. pc, twilightobsession20, HandK, J.F.C , OlivineWK, Kitty20.

I'm so rusty... My writing is progressing at the speed of 1/infinity (unit: words/day). I haven't read a novel in half a year (read some quality non-fics though) and I got to say...that means I have no inspiration. Anyone wanna recommend some new releases for me?