Adrift in a World
Chapter 20: The Best Laid Plans...
"So, what was that one problem?"
Harry looked at Sirius curiously, who elaborated.
"Before Pettigrew interrupted, you were saying something about there being a problem with not letting people know who I am?"
"Oh, well, yes... about that," Harry said guiltily. "A couple people, beyond Pettigrew, of course, found out who I was. I decided to let them know, just in case something happened--"
Harry stopped at the sound of an angrily tapping foot, and looked up to see McGonagall and Snape with arms crossed and forbidding expressions on their faces. He accepted the interruption with a wry tone.
"Jack, meet Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape, the two people with the worst reactions to unsuspected news you'll ever meet."
"If I remember correctly, Collins, you set up an elaborate scenario that made us become trapped in your mind, and only told us your identity after we faced a Basilisk," Snape said bitingly, making Sirius look at Harry questioningly. Harry nodded, confirming that he had set up such a convoluted thing.
"Or, to be closer to the truth," the Potions Master continued, raising one eyebrow in a patent look of revenge, "I had to figure out who you were after you got amnesia from being poisoned by a Justern."
Harry's glare of imminent revenge zeroed in on Snape, who smirked in malicious glee, as Sirius zeroed a glare of reproach at Harry.
"A Justern?" He exclaimed in disbelief. "What the hell is a Justern?"
"Language, Mr. Black!" Minerva snapped, and Sirius swiveled in her direction, eyes wide.
"You--but--but I--"
"If Collins is Potter, and Black is Potter's godfather," Snape sneered, "then it's not exactly difficult to figure out."
"Greasy git," Sirius muttered, causing Snape's sneer to deepen.
"Ah, yes. Definitely Sirius Black."
"The name is Jack Grimsleigh, actually, and I would prefer for you to use it."
"And miss the ridiculous show when the emotional buffoons realize you are some long lost version of Black? As much as I would want to avoid the histrionics, I'm certain that you wouldn't want to put off the big reunion."
Harry's eyes glazed as he leaned up against a nearby wall, staring into space.
"Actually, my reluctance to have that scene occur is no doubt greater than yours," Sirius retorted, adopting the same sneering tone as Snape. "Hence me saying, and I repeat, my name is Jack Grimsleigh."
"I'm sure that you don't have any spell work on you to keep me from calling you so, and, of course, it would make others realize that Collins is not quite who he says he is..." Snape smirked cruelly. "All in all, it would suit my purposes rather well, to cause grief, and allow the Order to formulate better plans with the knowledge."
Harry's eyes refocused and narrowed at Snape, as well as watching Sirius to make sure there was no more violence then necessary.
Well, maybe not too much more than necessary.
Sirius stalked towards Snape angrily, wand out in a flash and mouth in a snarl.
"You seem to think that I will not ensure that you don't reveal my identity. You seem to think that I would allow you to threaten me or put me in the position of explaining my past to these versions of my friends. You also," Sirius said calculatingly, "seem to think me similar to the Sirius Black here, if I don't miss my guess."
His voice quieted, and his eyes hollowed, making him look, albeit healthier, no less frightening than he had the days after his escape from Azkaban.
"Let me assure you. I am not."
Not being able to help himself, Harry discreetly pointed his wand at the ceiling to make thunder roil and lightening crash, fitting to the current mood of enmity. Then, deciding to add to the theme, Harry illusioned Sirius's and Snape's clothes to be from the Victorian era, and their wands to fencing foils, that, with a second, wiser thought, he made rubber as opposed to any kind of metal. Completing the scene, he also illusioned McGonagall's robes into a Victorian-style dress of the extremely wealthy.
"You knave! You dog! What rights do you call upon to threaten myself so?" Snape thundered, before blinking in bemusement.
Lightening crashed.
McGonagall shrieked.
And the Great Hall doors slammed open.
"Oh dear," Dumbledore commented idly as he walked past with Filch. "I don't think I even want to know this time, though I must say, Minerva, after all these years of the staff trying to get you to let your hair down, I didn't expect an Elizabethan scene to accompany the occurrence. However," he waved his hand as Minerva gaped angrily at him, "as you were."
"Not exactly as you were!" Harry cut in as the argument looked ready to continue. "Or the Permanent Mute curses come out."
Sirius opened his mouth to insult Snape one more time, but paused as McGonagall also joined in the threatening.
"You two! If you can't manage to behave like the grown human beings you are rumored to be--yes, the doubt applies to both of you--then I will ensure that you're not human in any aspect and Transfigure myself a new pair of beetles for the third years! Do we understand each other?"
Perhaps it was the stern tone she used, reminiscent of that used on first years that crept to Astronomy Towers with dragons in the middle of the night, but the two looked disinclined to argue.
"It's them, Headmaster!" Filch crowed maliciously. "Those two hooligans have kidnapped my Mrs. Norris... Who knows what condition she may be in! You must demand that they return her to me immediately--"
"For Merlin's sake," Harry grumbled to himself. "I suppose it's just as well that this world's Mrs. Norris was never Petrified, or I never would have heard the end of it..."
"Exactly," Sirius agreed as the caretaker's eyes bulged angrily at Harry's casual dismissal, as well as the mention of Mrs. Norris's possible petrification. "You would think that he would be used to people locking that thrice-cursed cat in suits of armor."
McGonagall closed her eyes in quiet irritation, while Snape's frown acquired a deeper edge as he tried to not smirk at Filch's howl of fury.
"Suits of armor? My precious cat?" Filch shouted in outrage, and Harry took a step backward, leaving Sirius in the forefront, as he watched the vein in Filch's forehead with wary curiosity. And here he had thought that that particular vein-pulsing, darkening-puce facial expression was only possible for those of the Dursley family...
"Now, now, Argus," Dumbledore said calmingly, "I'm sure that Mrs. Norris wasn't enclosed in any suits of armor..." Filch's hands spasmed, as if imagining clenching them around Harry's or Sirius's, or both, necks, "...isn't that right, Mr. Grimsleigh?"
"Of course, Professor," Sirius agreed immediately, if not quite innocently. "Not suits of armor involved at all..."
"Just a Stunner," Harry commented quietly.
"Yes, thank you, Chris," Sirius said wryly. "A Stunner...and a Disillusionment Charm," He added unwillingly.
"And a hex to turn her yellow."
"You know," Sirius said, turning around with his arms crossed, "it's a miracle you have ever gotten away with anything, the way you go on about it."
Harry shrugged unabashedly. "What's the point of hexing Mrs. Norris if you can't brag about it?"
"Getting away with it, perhaps?"
"Shut it, Snape."
McGonagall sniffed and looked at them all with a glower of annoyance. "Come, Argus," she said haughtily. "Let's go find Mrs. Norris before any other mischief is created. Albus, come along."
Dumbledore, who had been watching the ongoing show with a faint hint of amusement, sighed and followed the two. "I've yet to understand why everyone thinks I'm in charge, when there is so much evidence to the contrary..."
The three remaining wizards watched them trek towards Dumbledore's office, Filch verbally abusing Harry and Sirius as they went.
"We should have just locked Mrs. Norris in a suit of armor, Hermione or no," Sirius said regretfully.
"Says the one who won't be living in the castle for the next year," Harry pointed out, before turning to Snape. "Shouldn't you be leaving now?"
Snape glared at him in outrage. "If you think I'm going to follow after that merry band of cat-hunters, Potter, then--"
He broke off to glare at the hidden mark on his arm, and Harry looked at the front doors with interest, observing the crested bases of wards that Hermione had once spoken of at length to an unfortunate band of first years. He had never coordinated his scar hurting with a Dark Mark within the castle before. Apparently, there was some sort of delay from Voldemort to Death Eater enclosed in the castle wards...
The question was: would that short span of time prove ill for Hogwarts, or good?
"Well, go on, Snape," Harry shooed, annoying the Potions Master out of asking about Harry's seeming premonition. "I have to keep my mystique somehow, after all."
With a glare towards Harry and a sneer at Sirius, Severus swept off towards the dungeons, a calculating gleam in his eye.
"I don't trust him," Sirius said to Harry, arms crossed as they watched the Death Eater leave.
"You never did," Harry reminded him.
"Neither did you."
"Things change."
((OoO))
"Jugson!" Voldemort barked as he entered the room, as he warded the room from any external spells. "How fares your information gathering?"
"Very well, my Lord," he replied, nodding respectfully as he stepped out from the circle of his fellow Death Eaters. "The addresses of all the Mudblood second and third years have been discovered, with only a few more of the fourth years to find. My team awaits your orders."
"Excellent," Voldemort said, and Jugson nearly sighed with relief behind his mask. "Hold off attack until you find the fifth years as well. Follow the OWL results if needed, but we must attack as many as possible to create fear amongst the Muggles against the Wizarding World." The Dark Lord turned to a Death Eater across the circle from Jugson, who had stepped back into place, already thinking of contacts that would assist, however unwillingly, in placing Finding Spells on OWL results.
"Severus Snape," Voldemort began, and Severus stepped forward. "Any news from Hogwarts?"
"Yes, My Lord," Snape said with respect before beginning his report. "Lucius Malfoy has indeed been captured by the Order--"
Hisses and mutters of outrage came from the surrounding Death Eaters, but Voldemort silenced them with a venomous look, motioning for Snape to continue.
"He is locked in Dumbledore's office, which his phoenix is guarding constantly, making the odds of rescue very low, My Lord."
Voldemort scowled, tightening his grip on his wand. "I do hope you have some good news, Severus."
"Yes," Snape said with certainty. "The potion the Portkeys were spelled in worked as planned. No one can get any information from Lucius unless they are already fairly certain of the answer. The most the Order can do is use him for confirmation, which is hardly what they expected."
"That will only work as a temporary solution, Snape," Voldemort said coldly. "You must find some means of removing him from that horrid castle without breaking your cover, or kill him. Now," Voldemort continued, eyes narrowing in anger," tell me about this Chris Collins that dared to defy me."
Severus sneered at the mention of the name. "His name--not--" Snape started coughing as Voldemort raised one eyebrow.
"What do you mean, Severus?" Voldemort demanded. "His name is not--?"
Snape choked, but managed to say, "--Nordusci--Char--"
"The Nordusci Charm?" The Dark Lord said slowly as he watched Snape struggle to say something else. "No, no, don't fight it Severus, no one truly knows what happens to someone who tries to defy that particular charm, and I would hate to lose my Potions Master."
"Yes, My Lord," Snape conceded, relieved. "There is more. Apparently Collins's godfather had fallen through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries of his original dimension. They were reunited at the Order meeting last night."
"Who is this second dimensional traveler?" Voldemort asked, his eyes sparking with interest. A single person falling into a new dimension was nearly unheard of, but two of such connection falling into the same new dimension...
"Jack Grimsleigh," Severus said with a smirk, and Voldemort started laughing, as well as many of the Death Eaters.
"Grimsleigh," Voldemort said with an amused shake of his head. "That poor, deluded Mudblood. He would be long dead for being such a thorn in my side if his efforts to retrieve his girlfriend weren't so amusing. Is he still trying to mount a rescue?"
"That is why he was at the Order meeting, My Lord," Snape replied, albeit a bit hesitantly now. "Collins apparently knew of your headquarters in his dimension, and received confirmation from Lucius. The Order plans to rescue all the hostages in three days time."
Voldemort's red eyes glimmered. "I am not thrilled that they know the location of my headquarters," he said softly, and Snape didn't dare to move, "but due to our other plans, it is not nearly as much of a loss as it otherwise could have been. Besides, what a wonderful opportunity to take measure of our enemies' skill..."
"Bellatrix," he snapped, and she stepped forward eagerly, "move Grimsleigh's prize into a relatively easy cell to find, and make sure she is capable of a little mobility. We wouldn't want this rescue mission to be too difficult, oh, no," and Voldemort smiled maliciously. "I am quite interested in meeting this 'Collins'."
((OoO))
Sirius watched the steadily flaming logs in the fireplace glimmer and flicker, morosely pondering his godson and the dimension he had left.
How could the world have gone so downhill, so fast? The major difference, he had to concede, was that Voldemort was trying to keep quiet before his ungraceful topple into this dimension, and that the dark wizard later started the war in earnest.
His eyes burned as digested everything that his godson had told him--sixteen-year-olds did not sacrifice themselves, for a girlfriend or otherwise, they did not throw themselves in the paths of a dark lord, they did not have to choose between killing innocent people and letting even more die.
Why was his godson forced to?
'Maybe,' he thought bitterly, 'if Dumbledore had bothered to tell Harry the prophecy, everything would have been different.'
Because that was it, he knew. He knew that Harry was moving desperately in the last year to make up for lost time, led by a guilty conscious that erroneously told him he was supposed to move sooner.
It was the same guilty, nervous energy that he, Sirius, had had upon escaping Azkaban. All the time lost, the feeling that he should have done much more than he had, the feeling that he had to rush through everything and get everything done to make up for years past.
But that had led him to the battle at the Ministry, the feeling that he shouldn't wait at Headquarters, despite whatever his common sense was telling him... Hadn't he missed enough battles? Shouldn't he make up for that?
Wasn't life short enough?
"There," Harry said, dropping his quill and turning away from his desk. "Now Hermione'll have proof that the Veil leads to alternate dimensions."
"Hermione?" Sirius asked in surprise. "You were writing to her? It's impossible to communicate with other dimensions..."
Harry waved away his questions as he tossed the letter into drawer already thickly layered with parchment. "Of course I was writing to Hermione. She'd kill me if she found out I went to an alternate dimension without writing down every little detail."
"But it's still impossible to--"
"Like being a werewolf Animagus?" Harry asked easily, magically locking down the desk. "I'll find a way eventually. Either that or I'll remember everything well enough to tell her after she dies."
A dark look skittered across his face. "Though, we will be having words if she dies before me..."
"But why Hermione?" Sirius asked. "Shouldn't you be writing love letters to Miss Lovegood?"
Harry scowled at him, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he tried not to grin. "You don't even want to know what happened the first time I tried to write her a love letter--"
"Oh, this'll be good..." Sirius drawled, settling back into his chair.
"Shut it. Have you ever realized that no Gryffindor can give good romantic advice?" Harry said in despair. "Not one of us!"
Sirius barked with laughter. "Why do you think your father had so much trouble? He kept taking advice from any guy he could find who would help him. He finally had to blackmail a Ravenclaw into giving him some pointers... Merlin knows the rest of us were having too much fun taking bets and generally meddling with the situation."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Bets? You people take bets on these kinds of things?"
Sirius decided denial was the better part of valor at this point.
"That's what the evil little sods were doing! What with Dean saying that the only spot in Hogwarts that wasn't patrolled at night was the dusty corridor with the statues of Lurham the Lewd and the seven-eyed wizard from France, and Seamus saying that girls hated being told they were intelligent, that it made them feel like they were being used..."
Biting his lip so as to not laugh, Sirius waved for Harry to continue.
"I always wondered how Dennis Creevey got his hands on a stock of Firewhiskey!" Harry exclaimed with an affronted look. "The little git was paid to turn my hair orange the day of the ball!"
"But happened with the letter?" Sirius asked, his voice a bit higher than usual to hide his amusement.
Harry sighed and slumped into his chair. "Kirke made me put a charm on this letter that he swore by, but wouldn't tell me what it did... I nearly nailed him to the Quidditch goal posts for Slytherins to practice with after Luna became worried that a French wizard named Frances Duprest was sending her love letters..."
Harry glared at Sirius, who was now shaking with contained laughter.
"Ginny overheard, of course, and ran off before I could explain anything...or kill Kirke," Harry said with a hopeful lilt at the second option. "She sent a Howler to him, scolding him for his 'depraved and illegal actions' against a fifteen-year-old. He sent back this official document by his lawyer, instructing us to cite the problem and hire an attorney..."
Harry ran his hand down his face in agitation.
Sirius howled with laughter.
"It's not funny!" Harry exclaimed, fighting a grin himself. "We almost had to go to court, and Ginny and Hermione blamed this whole thing on me. What I should have done was throw Kirke into the Forbidden Forest, beater or no."
"And what did Luna think of this situation?"
"Luna had a blast, thank Merlin," Harry said with remembered relief. "There were running stories in the Quibbler, she started selling spoof letters, and then we teamed up to give all of Gryffindor awful French accents. To this day," Harry said, shaking his head in wonder, "I have no idea what she did to make Duprest lay off."
"Harry," Sirius said as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, "you're such a Potter."
Said Potter almost voiced a complaint, but decided against it. "Wait until you meet the other two. I think they may be worse than me."
"The other two?" Sirius asked curiously. "James and Lily? What--"
Harry shook his head. "No, the other two."
Sirius mulled that over for a second before it dawned on him. "You have siblings?"
((OoO))
"Lily, dearest, the very love of my life--"
Harry frowned in his sleep as a very persistent voice pierced his slumber.
"Isn't our happy matrimony more meaningful than anything material?" The voice wheedled plaintively, becoming to Harry's groggy annoyance, louder.
"OW!"
Harry finally opened his eyes to see Sirius, reluctantly rising from a couch against the wall and trying in vain to keep his eyes open, shuffle towards the door, wand in hand.
"--but it screamed your name, Lily, and you were always saying you needed a new cloak... Where are we going?"
Closing his eyes again, Harry picked up his wand and pointed it in the direction of the door. "On the count of three, then?"
"And no mercy," Sirius grouched, never having been an early riser. "One--two--threee--"
Sirius lost the count as the door slammed open, surprising a yawn out of him.
Lily stopped short at seeing the two wands pointed at her head, before her easily overheard bad mood came to the fore once more.
"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped, "and put those down before you hurt someone."
In no mood to argue the point, Sirius pocketed his wand and started to walk drowsily back to the couch. "You know them, Chris," he said, "so you get to deal with them. Enjoy."
"Git," Harry muttered, as Lily tugged on Sirius' arm to stop his retreat.
"How old are you?" She asked him, and he blinked at her in bemusement.
"Shame on you for asking, Mrs. Potter," Harry said vengefully. "After all, a lady should never reveal their age."
He got a glare for his trouble before Sirius answered the question, now awake. "Thirty -eight. Why?"
"Good," she said with a decisive nod, pulling Sirius' arm around her waist. "You can be my ideal husband for the day."
Harry, also, was now wide awake.
"I can what?" Sirius said in surprise. "Won't your present husband take unkindly to this?"
"Until he redeems himself and can reclaim the title of ideal husband, I don't particularly care."
James gaped wordlessly throughout the entire thing, staring at his wife in dismay.
"Well, then, Mrs. Potter--"
"Lily, please."
This got a squawk of protest from the still frozen James.
"--Lily," Sirius said with an overdone flirtatious smile, Conjuring a rose, "may you have a very happy birthday."
Lily looked from Sirius, who was grinning sardonically at James, to Harry, who was laughing sardonically at the same target. She then eyed the last person in the room before turning to look back at Sirius.
"You're just as bad as Collins, Grimsleigh."
"That I am. Now, where'd you get such a lovely cloak?"
Lily frowned as she looked down at the pea-green, high-necked cloak with three inch thick padding, that, by consequence, made her look like she could float with no trouble and could beat Mary Poppins in a race, no umbrella required.
"Grimsleigh, you're fired."
((OoO))
He ran panting for the nearest unlocked door, heart racing, not even bothering to try and conceal himself or keep quiet. He strongly doubted that there was anyone within the building not aware of his general location. Stealth was no longer an option. His life depended on if he could reach the nearest Apparition zone before the Death Eaters could.
The dungeons had been close, he knew it. The hallway he was in was familiar to him, nearly as familiar as the dungeons themselves, though, in this dimension, he could have been near the roofs for all he knew. It had been after reaching the end of the hallway that he became confused, not knowing which way to turn, the two downward staircases seemingly interchangeable, both silent and dark.
Then he had seen the reflection of a Death Eater in the window across the hall, had seen the dark-robed figure momentarily freeze in surprise at seeing someone brazenly standing in the inner sanctum of the Dark Lord, and had bolted once the Death Eater raised some sort of alarm that brought several of his fellows flooding into the area.
He reached for the doorknob and threw himself against the door, hoping that he was near the outside, only to rear back in pained surprise as the door shocked him and the doorknob changed itself into a reaching black claw hat held fast to his wrist.
He sent spell after spell towards the doorknob, now, trying desperately to get free, as Death Eaters swarmed around him and the shadow of a giant hand loomed over him before collapsing on him, squeezing his lungs until he couldn't breathe anymore...
Snape dropped the small wooden figure that Harry had been directing onto the table, away from the 3-D model of Voldemort's family mansion.
"That was horrendous, Collins. You could have at least not stood in the middle of the hallway, in plain sight."
"Because there are so many places to duck for cover in a hallway?" Harry retorted sarcastically, and Snape sneered at him. "I don't recall you doing any better. In fact, I recall you doing worse..."
"Followers of the Dark Lord would not blast holes through walls just to apprehend a trespasser that can just as easily be caught without destroying their headquarters--"
"That path is far too risky," Moody interrupted with finality. "Collins is right, Snape. No way to make that journey without detection."
"And do you have a brilliant plan in mind?" Snape asked bitingly.
"I don't need to have a plan to see a bad one. That hallway has no cover whatsoever. It's a deathtrap."
"What about an Invisibility Cloak?" Sirius interrupted with impatience. "Unless Voldemort can see through it..."
"He can," Harry, Snape, and Moody said at once, before turning and trading irritable glares.
"In any case," Snape continued with an air of condescension," unless you' happen to be one of the rare few that possesses such a Cloak, the point is moot."
"Because Moody, Dumbledore, and Potter don't have any, right?" Harry asked sarcastically. "However, if the main problem is getting in, not getting out..."
Moody shot a look at Harry, easily grasping his meaning. "You, of all people, should know better than that."
"It would work, wouldn't it?" Harry continued, leaving Sirius and Snape to wonder if there was some strange vernacular of the paranoid that they could not yet grasp.
"It's not worth the risk," Moody responded flatly.
"I'm flattered," Harry said dryly. "But there is less risk than anything other situation. It would hours for it to even be a lethal situation."
Moody quieted thoughtfully at that. "True, Collins. But that doesn't rule out insanity or non-lethal attacks, meaning it's still not worth the risk."
"I'm not insane yet," Harry pointed out. "And my versions had much more reason to want me so."
"Dumbledore won't agree."
Harry smiled grimly. "I don't hear any disapproval from you in that statement. Plus, it's Dumbledore. Of course he wouldn't approve. However, he no doubt realized the validity of this plan, and also knew that we would consider the possibility."
Eye swinging to survey the entirety of the Great Hall, Moody still looked doubtful.
"I don't think there'd be any other way. Besides, I have to meet them all at some point," Harry finished with wry humor, finally getting a nod of agreement from the old Auror.
"If you're certain, Collins. You'd certainly not be going into the situation with your eyes closed. However," Moody nodded his head in Sirius's direction, "I can't see everyone agreeing with this plan."
The Animagus narrowed his eyes. "And what plan is this, exactly?"
Harry shrugged his shoulders defiantly in response to Moody's question, ignoring Sirius's at the moment. "They'll just have to deal with it."
It could have been Harry's imagination, but it seemed that Moody now looked at him with a faint touch of respect in his eyes. "You're an idiot, Collins."
Harry waved the comment away. "So I've been told."
"What foolhardy plan are you two hatching?" Snape bit out. Sirius nodded, seconding the Potions Master's lack of comprehension.
"The main problem with this situation," Harry began carefully, "is entrance into the stronghold and the dungeons themselves, regardless of floor plans or maps. So, if we can manage to get someone within the building, getting out should be minor in comparison."
He paused to think of the best way to voice the plan.
"Obviously," Harry continued as Snape waved impatiently, "this person can't be Snape, as his position would be compromised and he'd become a greasy spot on the floor. Erm, no offense meant, of course."
Snape curled his lip in a sneer of disgust.
Anyway," he said hurriedly, "we obviously can't send someone to try to enter, because, however stealthy the person might be, they'll get caught as soon as they walk past the doors. That leaves having someone enter with the Death Eater's knowledge and sanction."
"The only problem with that being immediate death by the hands of the Death Eaters," Snape said slowly, as if Harry were an exceptionally dim centaur.
"Which isn't a problem if only Voldemort can kill me."
((OoO))
"You know what we need?" Peter asked idly, casting a final touch to the Portkey before setting it down. He and Emmeline had been set the task of gathering together the pre-conceived charms. Though the Weasley twins and Prewitt brothers specialized in this area, Peter and Emmeline's enchantments had a preferred air of stability about them.
Though, in Peter's mind, this was rather unwise of them, disregarding a past Marauder so. He did, however, consider Order work off-limits, resigning himself to the rather mundane task of creating Portkeys, a draining and tedious process.
"And what is that?" Emmeline responded wryly. "Wormholes? Self-charming Portkeys?"
"Well, yes," Peter conceded, "though I was thinking more along the lines of, oh, I don't know... a location maybe."
Collins-- 'No, 'Harry',' Peter reminded himself-- had been unable to tell them a definite location of Riddle's Headquarters, only able to describe basic landmarks around the area, landmarks that could have described a hundred places in the country. Harry had put a stationary image of the location in Dumbledore's pensieve for them to use as a destination for the Portkeys. This picture had been more useful than Snape, who responded bitingly to inquiries, rather tersely informing the two that Death Eaters did not know more than the name of the house.
Instead of Apparating to a location, Snape had condescended to inform them in the past years, servants of Voldemort simply Apparated to the source of the Dark Mark. To Peter, who had studied the theory of Apparating quite thoroughly, this seemed rather woolly.
However, he wasn't the expert on Death Eaters, and was in no hurry to become such.
He shuddered at thought of the heinous crimes his counterpart must have committed. Not only the acts Harry had described in malicious detail, but the ones his over-active mind produced in his shame and horror of being in any way connected to the atrocities done by Voldemort and his followers. Was he responsible for the penance of his other self, if it was not truly he who was the Death Eater?
Were they even the same person, the same soul, or were they completely separate entities?
It had been a curiosity, a theoretical question sitting in the back of his mind since he had first heard the irrefutable proof that there were other dimensions, but now it seemed to be of vital importance.
Was he damned by the actions of another Peter Pettigrew? Coming from a thoroughly religious setting, the uncertainty set him on edge -- if his DNA, his family, his history, and even his Animagus form were shared with presumably multiple inter-dimensional Peters, then wouldn't his soul be, as well?
Or did the creation of individual spirits supersede that of universes?
He wondered if Harry had the same questions running through his mind like a worrisome ticker-tape, then wondered if the teenager had even considered them. After all, no Harry Potter existed in this dimension, hadn't for sixteen or so years, not until this new one had appeared.
And how much of a soul could that other version of Peter have had if he had betrayed his friends?
That in itself was a mystery that had kept him awake into the long hours of the night. What could he have done to make Harry hate him so much? Harry said that he had only discovered Peter's crimes a few years ago, meaning that they had happened much earlier... but what? And, surely, if Peter had betrayed them, James, Sirius, or Remus would have explained the whole thing to Harry at an early age.
Unless... unless...
Peter's mind reeled.
Harry had said that he didn't want to get to know the Potters while the war continued, and had asked for some Potter stories... were they dead? Had Peter killed them? No...
No.It all clicked in his mind. He had betrayed Lily and James to Voldemort, who killed them.
He wavered, his knees barely able to keep him standing upright as he imagined the scene in his mind. They would have been under the Fidelius, of course. If the prophecy applied in Harry's dimension, there was no reason for that to be any different. But Sirius was the Secret Keeper, in this dimension, in any case.
There was no possible way for someone not the Secret Keeper to bring someone to the house. Even Portkeys had to be created by one.
Oh, God--had he tortured Sirius into giving up Lily and James's address? Or had he told Voldemort that Sirius was the Secret Keeper, leaving the Dark wizard to make Sirius suffer?
Peter had seen how stubborn Sirius could be firsthand. It wouldn't have been short.
His knees gave up on supporting him as a bad job, and he collapsed, filled with agonizing thoughts about what his counterpart must have done...
"Peter?" Emmeline exclaimed, rushing forward in concern. "Are you alright? What's wr--"
The door burst open, and Fabian Prewitt stuck his head into the room. "Collins and Grimsleigh are holding a full-out battle by the lake! They're both yelling enough to put a drunk general to shame! Hurry up if you want good odds. Moody's book-keeping, and offering five to one on Collins!"
With a last pocket jingle and a grin, Fabian disappeared back down the hallway. Peter and Emmeline shared a look a second long, then dashed after him, Emmeline only resisting the urge to bring her purse along with her when Peter scalded her with a brief scornful look.
((OoO))
"--SUICIDAL--TOO YOUNG--"
"--NO CHOICE--COMPLETELY LOGICAL--"
"--IDIOTIC--"
"--INNOCENT LIVES--"
"--MUST HAVE DAMAGED YOUR HEAD--"
"--PROPHECY--WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT--"
"--NONE OF YOUR MOTHER'S COMMON SENSE--"
"--BETTER ME DEAD THAN HER--"
"--ALREADY DEAD--WASTING HER SACRIFICE--"
"--MOST ABLE--CAN'T KILL ME--"
James shuffled uneasily as walked towards his wife. "What's going on? Gideon told me to come down here."
Lily jerked her head at the two arguing figures by the lake, both pacing in agitation and waving their arms angrily as they made their points. "Collins voiced the plan that he be bait for the Death Eaters, so he would be easily admitted into their stronghold and the dungeons. Grimsleigh...was less than chuffed with the idea."
"That's brilliant," James breathed, the problems with rescuing any Death Eater prisoner disappearing before his mind's eye. "Mad and stupid, don't get me wrong," James reassured Lily, who had looked at him with angry shock, "but brilliant. Dumbledore'll never let him do it, though."
"Quite the contrary," Albus said from behind him, causing James to jump. "It's the only plan that would have any chance at success."
"But that's insane, Albus! He's barely seventeen... how could you--"
Dumbledore raised a hand to stop James's protests. "I know. But I fear Mr. Collins would go through with this plan even if the Order refused to cooperate. I'd much rather he have our support than nothing."
"I hope he knows what he's doing," Remus commented softly, and Black nodded with him.
"Me, too," Mundungus Fletcher said, one pocket clanking suspiciously. "After all, I have ten galleons riding on him winning this argument."
"Fletcher!" McGonagall swooped down furiously, voice lined with disapproval. "How completely--"
"A galleon on Collins," Snape interrupted, giving the voiced amount to Moody, who nodded and hobbled off to avoid Minerva's glare.
"I'm not changing my mind on this!" Sirius yelled, as he and Harry neared the castle. "I refuse to let you-"
"What are you going to do, Jack?" Harry shouted in return, eyes narrowed. "Call it all off?"
"If that's what it takes!"
"And leave Patricia to die in some far-off hellhole?"
Sirius froze. "Low blow, Chris."
"I know," Harry sighed. "Sorry. But this is the best way of rescuing her. They can't kill me, and anything they do can be reversed. The same story doesn't apply to anyone else."
They both turned towards the castle, momentarily surprised to see the entirety of the Order watching them with baited expressions.
"What?" Sirius barked crossly, and a couple people shifted uneasily.
"So, er... Collins..." Fabian Prewitt spoke up. "Did you win the argument?"
Harry answered firmly before Sirius could say anything. "Yes."
Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"
Fabian gave him a jaunty salute and turned to a smug-looking Moody. "Well, let's see those pay-outs..."
Harry gaped at them before adopting a scornful look. "People always betting on me--ridiculous..."
He edged past the now talking group of people and disappeared from sight in the Entrance Hall.
Sirius, making sure Harry had left, walked over to Lily. "Potter, you're one of the Charms professors, right?"
"Yes," she answered slowly, unsure of what Grimsleigh wanted, the dark look in his eyes unnerving her.
"Tell me everything you know about the Transfero Stimuli Curse."
"What?" She asked in confusion. That spell was theoretical, with unknown side-effects at best, death or insanity at worst. "Why?"
"Now."