Chapter Fourteen
Peter Pettigrew was not big fan of nature. The many years he had spent in Animagus form had seen to that. It was a real shame, Peter thought, that the thrill, the sense of wonder and awe, that feeling that you were one step closer to whatever or wherever it was all living this came from tended to wane when you were compelled to live as a rodent for more than a decade.
He had had his fill of living close to the earth, of hiding, scurrying and doing all manner of unattractive yet necessary, rat-like things in order to survive. These days, he liked to walk to get to wherever it was he was going. 'Scurrying' had long become a dirty word.
So he walked whenever possible. It was never a brisk, hurried, walk, but a slow, leisurely stride that to Peter's thinking, was quintessentially human. There were certain aspects of his rat self which had become permanent, however, much to his dismay. There was the slight rounding of his shoulders, the annoying nose-twitch he got whenever he was nervous, and the fact that his nails would never quite lose their yellow tinge or claw-like appearance.
These things he could live with.
What startled him now was the fact that the mere sight of Hogwarts Castle was making him hunch over, twitch like crazy and, to his dismay, scurry.
Old habits were hard to break, and it was apparent that school held too many memories. Peter found himself hurtling along the edge of the forest on feet that were much clumsier than those of his ratself. Transformation would have made things smoother, easier on the whole, but he was in a stubborn mood that evening.
He stumbled over a tree root. This was unavoidable seeing as he was travelling in near darkness. He would not use his wand to light the way until he was well and truly beyond any sign of human habitation. Peter's rat senses, always just on the periphery of his usual (and dull in comparison) human sense, rose to the fore. His nose picked up the distant scent of someone's barbequed dinner and his own stomach, not having experienced a decent feed in several days, began to groan in earnest.
The allotted meeting place remained exactly as Peter remembered it from so many years ago. It was a young Rowan, with small clusters of pretty white flowers and red berries that were a shade lighter than old blood. To the uninformed observer, it was a completely normal, innocuous looking member of the forest community.
But Peter was hardly uninformed, and knew the tree to be much more special. The Rowan had been one of Tom Riddle's earliest experiments. The tree was magical, of course. Peter's rat senses could detect that unmistakable taint coming from it, curling in the air like invisible smoke, keeping small, furry, forest inhabitants well away. It wasn't Dark or Light Magic, which had more of a bland, metallic scent to his nose, but a type of cloying, old magic smell that was difficult to describe.
The seed that spawned the tree had been sewn during an auspicious time in Tom Riddle's third year. There had been some Divination involved, plenty of chart consulting and very basic Arithmancy to select the ideal spot in the forest on the ideal day. If the fast-growing sapling had been a Herbology project, Riddle would have come away with full marks and then some.
The project soon turned more sinister, however, when Riddle began to nurture the young tree with regular offerings of his own blood, diligently dripped into the dirt at the base of the tree every so often. There were also charms, layers upon layers of simple but potent charms that had aged like vintage wine over the years.
In a way, the Rowan was as much Riddle's creature as Peter himself was.
It had taken them some real effort to activate the thing after so many years and Voldemort himself could not offer any assurance as to whether it would still work. The tree had been in magical hibernation for over four decades and had nearly sapped the strength of three grown men when their Master had repeated his old, childhood commands. Since then however, the tree had been happily fulfilling its purpose in a secluded, shady spot not two miles from where the castle stood.
So far so sneaky.
Anyone who carried the Dark Mark upon his or her person could linger beneath the welcoming camouflage of the tree's canopy without being discovered. A team of Aurors could walk past in broad daylight and see nothing more untoward than a rather young tree in a forest full of ancients.
The trick, of course, was firstly getting onto Hogwarts grounds undetected. The tree might have been a ten minute walk from the Quidditch pitch, but it was still within patrolling distance for an overenthusiastic Auror.
Having arrived at his destination, Peter finally felt confident enough to set the tip of his wand to a muted flare. He was startled to see that the Recruiter was already there.
The brat, in actual fact, was petting and cooing at the tree. And was it his morbid imagination or was that eerie creaking and wood-groaning noise evidence that the tree was actually leaning toward the child in delighted response?
"You're late, Wormtail," said the youth, whose face was caught in shaft of moonlight.
Peter's heart rate sped up slightly when he took in the very familiar and rather disturbing sight of Harry Potter. His green eyes were eerily illuminated by the yellow flare of Peter's own wand. The messy, black hair was as unruly as ever, the expressive Quidditch-roughened hands that were stroking the trunk of the Rowan as if it were an affectionate horse were a little larger and more robust than Peter last remembered.
"I trust you managed to leave the castle undetected?" Peter asked. There was a protocol for these types of meetings, whether the child liked to remember it or not.
"Considering that I haven't had any problems doing so this past year? Of course I left undetected." There was a note of annoyance there.
Peter's ire immediately spiked. He hated the Potter boy with a passion and generally didn't like to be reminded of this dislike. Also, after so many years spent in the crude custody of various Weasley children and hangars on, he was not particularly fond of teenagers either. Potter, in particular, represented everything that Peter had yearned to be when he was the boy's age. Hate and envy were becoming remarkably comfortable bedfellows, Peter realized.
"The Dark Lord sends his regrets at the unfortunate incident in the forest," Peter repeated the line as per his Master's instructions. The brat snorted. "So he should. Fancy giving me a tainted wand to use! I trust the persons responsible for stealing a marked wand in the first place have been punished? I can't see our Master being forgiving in this instance. To see the Dark Mark sullied by the symbol of the Malfoy cowards…"
"Those responsible have been reprimanded, yes," Peter replied, agreeing that the pair of Death Eaters who had been responsible for the bungled theft had indeed been massive idiots. The two foolish men were prime examples of why new blood was so badly needed within Voldermort's ranks.
They had been charged with the task of securing disused wands by any means necessary. The dingy, Ministry warehouse had seemed like a soft target, to anyone with porridge for brains, that was. It had been a bother that Ollivander had decided to so conveniently go missing. Orphaned wands were notoriously difficult to come by.
Second-hand wands were now governed by such strict regulations that it had seemed easier to simply steal a wand rather than create a possible paper trail. With the new Minister for Magic sanctioning ad-hoc Prior Incantatum, it paid to be overly cautious about what you used your own wand for.
In any case, they had indeed been fortunate that the Aurors had not got much further with wand-marking charms than the Dark Lord himself. What the Aurors had managed to do was ensure that the stolen wand smartly advertised its whereabouts every time a Dark spell was used.
That the wand in question had actually belonged to Lucius Malfoy was irony with a capital 'I'. This fact was not lost on any of them. It was either irony or fate, and the latter was not a word one mentioned in front of Voldemort if one valued the continuing use of one's tongue.
If Malfoy was aware of what had occurred, no doubt the traitor would be rolling with laughter.
So far, their little Recruiter had done very well in covering any inadvertent tracks after the unfortunate Dark Mark incident. There would be no more room for mistakes. Not with only a week left before the current batch of Death Eater candidates were too far away to influence.
"Are we still to proceed as usual then?" asked the brat, who was still wearing Potter's likeness. "I gather that is why our Master has arranged this meeting?"
Peter did not skirt around the issue. "There were concerns about your ability to continue with the plan given the...heightened Auror presence around the castle."
The green eyes narrowed. "That whole business with the Mark transforming into Lucius' damnable dragon has worked to our advantage, Pettigrew. Not only has it had the desired effect on people, but all eyes are firmly fixed on Draco now." The child gave him a cat-like smile. "Half the school still thinks he had something to do with it. The other half pities him."
"A fortunate distraction," Peter began, "but I was still sent to make certain that you remain above suspicion. Our recruitment effort would be severely jeapordised if you were to be compromised." The child grinned. "Why Wormy, I didn't know you cared. Our Master's recruitment effort will run smoothly, I assure you. Tell him not to worry. He has me, after all, and we both know I'm the real prize."
That was partially true. Their side could use a few more monsters-in-the-making like the one standing before Peter.
There was also the fact that Metamorhmagi were priceless.
Peter handed the brat a small cloth sack. "Here are the portkeys, as arranged. There are three in total taken from the Ministry." Faced with the child's uneasy look at mention of more Ministry artifacts, Peter was quick to reassure.
"These have been checked thoroughly and then checked again. All the portkeys were found to be completely unmarked."
Now looking pleased, the brat dug further into the bag. "Excellent! I like it when you bring me toys, Wormy."
"They're Death Portals. Suspended in Dragon's blood." He grimaced slightly when the brat made a show of throwing one of the Death Portals in the air, and then catching it.
"I don't need to remind you to take extra care with those!"
The brat merely smirked and then held up to the moonlight, the aforementioned Death Portal. It was a glass ball roughly the size of an orange. Sloshing around within the ball was dark, viscous liquid – Dragon's blood. A silver coin floated inside.
There was a soft sigh of aesthetic appreciation. "Beautiful. We've only ever read about these, of course. To actually hold one in my hand is something else..."
"There is one more thing," Peter added. To his relief, his young companion put the deadly portkey safely back into the sack.
"Yes?"
"Our Master would like a gift, if you can manage it. Your future within the New Order will be further confirmed if you can deliver Lucius's son to us, alive."
Peter was not prepared for the sudden show of fury. "There is nothing, nothing that Draco Malfoy can provide our Master that I cannot! What that traitor's spawn can do, I can and will do better. Surely our Master doesn't still plan on bringing him to our side!"
"Our Master's purpose is not your concern. Had he chosen to enlighten you, you would know." Peter could not resist adding a dose of smugness. The humiliation he felt over Voldemort entrusting the recruitment to a whelp half Peter's age had been only partially tempered by massive relief.
He envied the child, but only just.
The brat still looked sceptical. "Why not go for Potter? I could get close enough to make an attempt." The face of Harry Potter, with its angular jaw and notable cheekbones seemed to shimmer and ripple, like the surface of a disturbed pond. In its place was the heart-shaped face with heavily lashed, dark eyes and a small, slightly pouting, rose bud mouth.
Peter stared at Hermione Granger, realizing that Potter was not the only one who had done a great deal of growing up in the past two years.
"You will leave Potter alone for now. We have other plans for him."
The child nodded. "I like this new, improved Dark Lord. That whole 'get Potter' obsession was not at all attractive. The world is more than just one boy."
Peter happened to agree wholeheartedly.