"Not a good look, Pans," Blaise said when he got back to the Slytherin Common Room. "Drowned rat is not the new hot thing." Crabbe and Goyle snickered and jabbed one another in the ribs. He was so tired of them.
Pansy narrowed her eyes. "You're just jealous."
"Jealous?" Blaise made a show of raking his eyes over her. Her hair was still wet, and she had a blanket clutched around her shoulders. Since she could have had someone dry her hair with magic in a heartbeat – and warm her up too – he was sure she was playing her status as rescued beloved to the hilt. "Of what?"
"That someone would miss me if I were gone," Pansy said. Poison laced her smile, and she crinkled her nose as she added, "Not a thing you've ever experienced, is it?"
"He's too old," Blaise said. He wouldn't let her see any sort of a flinch, and it was always better to be on the offensive anyway. "It's creepy."
"Jealous," Pansy said smugly. "And I would have gotten you an autograph and everything."
"I wouldn't want one," Blaise said. He stomped off away from the Common Room and the knowing grins he could see on too many faces. He pulled out a pile of parchment and his quill because it wasn't true no one would miss him. It wasn't.
Sirius, he wrote, then paused. He almost crumpled the paper up and threw it away because it had probably been an empty offer, the sort of thing you said to be polite. He was probably being incredibly presumptuous and rude, and his mother would absolutely tell him not to believe people when they said things like this. You're so naïve, she'd said to him when he'd told her he'd had a nice time with Potter and Malfoy the night he'd spent there. Those boys aren't your friends.
Thinking about his mother made him start writing again. If you'd really let me come visit this summer, I'd like that. I wouldn't get in the way. I promise.
. . . . . . . . . .
"He won't get in the way?" Remus tossed the letter back to Sirius. "What the hell?"
"I should marry that woman just to get custody of her kid."
Remus snorted his opinion of that theoretical marriage, and Sirius glared. "What? I'd use Cissa's terrifying solicitor for the prenup. She wouldn't have any incentive to kill me off."
"She'd probably just give him to you," Remus said. "If you asked."
"I plan to have her give him to me all summer," Sirius said with a growl. All summer and, if he could swing it, all the school vacations too. Blaise shouldn't remind him so much of his younger brother. Merlin knew, Blaise Zabini looked nothing like Reg. Wrong height. Wrong coloring. Wrong everything. But the tension around the eyes was the same. The combination of defiance and half-cringing away from an unsaid word was the same.
The desperate need to be loved was the same.
"Have you mentioned this to Harry yet?" Remus asked. "Because I don't think he's going to be a fan."
Sirius' guilty look was a clear no.
. . . . . . . . . .
"Does anyone know where Scabbers is?" Ron asked. The other fourth-year boys shook their heads.
"Did he finally die?" Neville asked.
"God, Nev," Seamus said. "What a thing to say."
"Sorry," Nev muttered. "He's just looked mangy for a while, and I thought – "
"He's been missing for a while," Ron said, clearly unhappy. "I've looked everywhere, but I can't find him."
"Well, a rat can't have gotten far," Harry said, putting down the essay he was happy to avoid. "If we all search, we should be able to find him."
They looked for over an hour, but Scabbers was nowhere to be found.
. . . . . . . . . .
Minerva looked at the Gryffindor faces, all turned to her in polite inquiry, and she smothered her feeling of irritation. Damn Severus for catching Harry Potter sneaking off from the last Task, and damn him again for his snide little comment on how her lions didn't seem to have quite the school spirit. The worst part was, she didn't even blame them. This Tournament was about as exciting to watch as drying paint, and if she were a teenager, she'd probably sneak away too. After the Second Task, staff had found students in the kitchens, in the Quidditch storage sheds, and Merlin help her, striding toward the Forbidden Forest with a picnic basket.
If there was a picnic in that Forest, the spiders would be the ones doing the eating, and the students would be the lunch.
And why had Harry Potter had to get caught by Severus? It was untenable. The only salve to her pride was that thanks to the portraits, she knew Blaise Zabini had been just as absent from the festivities. Lions weren't the only ones who found staring at an empty lake too dull to bear.
Nevertheless, they were all going to bear it for the Third Task, so help her.
"It is incumbent upon us all to provide a united front," she said. "Which means I expect each and every last one of you to be in those stands cheering for the Hogwarts Champion, not doing research in the library." She let her gaze settle on Harry Potter, who beamed up at her with wide green eyes, wholly the face of innocence.
"I'm just very dedicated to my studies," he said.
"He is," chimed in Fred Weasley, much to Minerva's annoyance. When one Weasley twin spoke, the other wasn't far behind.
"A right grind," George said. "All work and no play is what we tell him, Professor, but he doesn't listen."
"You can be undedicated, Mr. Potter," she said. "Just for long enough to watch the Third Task. Then I will be pleased to see this newfound seriousness rear its head as you turn your attention to your Transfiguration homework."
He blanched a bit, which was gratifying. She'd have to remember to assign something particularly long to his class if he made the mistake of wandering off again.
"Maybe we could do a little friendly Quidditch," Oliver Wood said. "Just a little match to liven things up for the spectators."
"We could not," Minerva said, though she deeply sympathized with his wish for something – anything – to make this watchable. "I am sure the Champions will work with all due speed, and we will be back inside in no time at all."
"Can we at least bring a book?"
That was Hermione Granger, sounding glum. "Yes," Minerva said. "You may. However, unless you are specifically directed by a faculty member to go elsewhere, or need to go to the Infirmary, I expect every single Gryffindor to be in those stands." She took a moment to glare at the Weasley twins, then at Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. "Have I made myself clear?"
She had.
. . . . . . . . . .
Lucius gasped in the sort of pain Narcissa remembered all too well, and his hand flew to the faded Mark under his sleeve. He met her eyes. "I have to go," he whispered.
She didn't stop him.
Then she walked to the floo and called Sirius.
. . . . . . . . .
Harry was glumly dreading sitting in cold stands again and staring at nothing again, but he plodded out with the rest of his House. Neville had his hand in Ginny's, and Draco and Hermione had managed to scrounge up a basket of treats to feast on. Ron had a flask of what was surely trouble, but he couldn't think of anything worse than the sheer boredom of another one of these Tasks, especially when he'd been so close to being one of the Champions himself.
His sullen internal monologue was interrupted by Professor Moody. "Mr. Potter," the Defense teacher said. His magical eye rolled in its socket, and Harry tried not to stare.
"Can I help you, sir?" he asked.
"Oh, you absolutely can," Professor Moody said. His mouth twisted into what Harry supposed was meant to be a smile. It looked out of place and fled the professor's face as quickly as it had arrived. "I'm working on a bit of a personal project, and you are exactly the man I need to help me."
"Hermione's a bit more – "
"No." Moody's hand closed around his shoulder with a grip so tight Harry squirmed to get away. The old Auror must not know how strong he was because his grip hurt. He didn't seem to notice Harry's subtle attempt to pull away, either, because he didn't let go. "It has to be you."
"I… okay." Harry waved at Draco and Hermione, and they shrugged and went off to watch the event. Served him right for pretending he was interested in Hermione's research to get out of the last Task. Now he was going to be stuck helping an actual professor do some sort of actual tedious... Ugh. It was worse than detention. He was never going to pretend to be interested in extra schoolwork again.
Moody pulled him into a secondary corridor, then around a corner. This wasn't the way to his office, and Harry was resigning himself to the idea this project was going to be even less pleasant than looking things up when Moody let out a short bark of a laugh, and, without letting go of Harry's shoulder, pulled an old, torn glove from his pocket.
"What's that, professor?" Harry asked.
"That, you stupid boy, is a portkey," Moody said, and then it activated, and before Harry could scream for help, he was sucked into nothing and spit out into a graveyard. Moody had let him go, and Harry immediately scrambled to his feet and drew his wand. A half-dozen men tackled him, and he bit one hard enough to elicit a muffled curse, and landed the heel of his foot solidly into the balls of another, knocking him out of the fight. Still, it was six grown men fighting to subdue one boy, and in a wink, they tied him up and set him at the base of one gravestone. One of them took out a knife and made a cruel slash against his arm. Blood welled up, and the bastard caught it in a thin, glass vial.
"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."
He stepped back, and the air seemed to wait.
"Fuck you," Harry said into that pause. He strained at the ropes holding his wrists, and the coarse fibers rubbed against his skin but didn't let go. "Fuck all of you. You fucking arseholes. You don't know who you're messing with. My guardian is Sirius Black. My mum is – "
"Dead," said a high voice. It giggled, and that giggle was the sound of death and hatred and madness. Harry pulled at his ropes again. He'd have torn his hands off to get away from that voice, but he was well and truly bound, and it went on. "Betrayed by her own secret keeper, my faithful servant. Peter, introduce yourself."
"Fuck you," Harry said again.
A nervous man in a brocade frock coat meant for a much larger stomach bowed toward Harry. His head was less balding than patchy, and his narrow eyes darted from one place to another as if looking for a way to escape.
"Peter, didn't you go to this boy's christening?" the giggler asked. "You must be so happy to see him again. Well, see him in this form." That seemed to make the mad speaker convulse in mirth, and his laughter was high and horrible and went on and on.
"What the fuck?" Harry asked. The men surrounding him were of no help. They were all in dark robes with glittering silver masks hiding their faces. "What the fuck?" he asked again. This couldn't be real. He'd been about to go to a boring school assembly. Draco had cake. He yanked at his wrists again, and the rope caught on a bit of the stone. He dragged it across the rough spot again, then again. Maybe he could free himself that way, though what he'd do against so many he didn't know.
"Peter," the voice said. "I told you to introduce yourself. Why haven't you obeyed my command?"
As Harry watched, a wet darkness began to spread in Peter's crotch, and the man bowed again. "Peter Pettigrew," he said with a stammer. "I knew your parents."
The sharp scent of urine was unmistakable.
"Fuck you," said Harry. He scraped the rope again. "You fucking fucker." He knew who Peter Pettigrew was. Peter Pettigrew was dead, died the same night as his parents, lost and mourned by both his fathers. Sirius had wept for this man. "Your friends missed you," he said. He wanted to say the cruelest things he could. Rage burned up in him, hot and bitter and choking. "They thought you were dead."
"It would have been better for you to have been dead."
Harry whipped his head to the right. Sirius Black was unmistakable. His eyes were harder than Harry had ever seen them, and the wand held in his hand not with lazy amusement but with purpose and fury. Remus was at his side. His wand was held with a bit of languid ease, but Harry knew that was only to let him whip it from one target to the next.
It was easy to forget his fathers had fought in a war. Easy to forget anyone who'd survived had been more than good at dueling.
A flick of Remus' wand and Harry's bonds fell away. "Accio wand," Remus said, and Harry reached up and grabbed his own wand as it flew from where he'd dropped it towards Remus' hand.
"As much as I'd love to stay and party," Sirius said, "I think I'll be getting my godson home." He flicked his wand at Peter Pettigrew, and the man staggered backward, his hand flying to his shoulder. Blood welled forth. Peter stared at the red on his hand, then at Sirius.
"Padfoot?" he asked.
"Next time I see you, Peter, I'll aim for your throat," Sirius said.
The giggle came again. It made Harry's skull vibrate and his teeth hurt, and he edged closer to Remus. "I don't think your old friends like you, Peter," the giggler said. "How fortunate you are that you shall always have a home with me."
It was only the briefest of moments before Remus grabbed Harry's arm and apparated them both away, but the echo of both the laughter and the stark terror and loss on Peter Pettigrew's face seemed to go on and on.