KEYnote: 20k words (three chapters) will span less than forty-eight hours, starting from Harry getting up in the middle of the night from the nightmare.

P.S. Voldemort didn't kill James, it's not necromancy. It's a curse version of the potion Draught of Living Death.

Chapter 11 - Hell Nor Heaven

James Potter was dead, if Voldemort thought he could break Harry like this, he was dumber than he thought.

Harry realized he wouldn't be able to share this with Dumbledore.

Even if they were on better terms than they had been. Dumbledore might just start avoiding him again, thinking that Voldemort had found a way to gain back control.

But Harry's magic was growing. The Transfiguration books Dumbledore had been supplying him were downright addictive, and that type of magic.

Elemental, wandless; it had a lot more to do with Magical Creatures than the stuff they had been learning in their other classes.

It was like an entirely different world of magic. And Harry had asked Flitwick for some extra books on Charms that were more intricate work, but just as interesting.

He didn't want to lose that, for the Professors to worry Voldemort was going to take him over.

Voldemort's new tact with his father was disturbing on so many levels.

One, because Harry had seemed to merge with him almost as thoroughly as he had with Nagini last time around. Two because Voldemort had seemed to notice him truly.

And three, because it was a stupid plan, if Voldemort thought his greatest weakness was his long dead father, he was wrong.

Which just made everything more confusing.

Since his parents' graves had been desecrated and his father's body stolen, he hadn't been having true dreams, just flashes and emotions.

Voldemort had been deliberately trying to keep Harry out of his head and staying well away from Harry's in turn.

So why was this happening?

What he had mistaken as day dreams to torture him seemed like reality now.

And the man chained on his knees hadn't been Harry.

Even if they did look like practically twins, he had been older and his yes had been hazel.

Harry continued to pound on Snape's door.

The door opened, and a dour man glared down at him.

Harry spoke in a rush, "Please, Professor, can I speak with you?"

Snape sighed, "Very well."

Stepping back, he led Harry into his office. Snape seemed normal, if tired, until he glided into the side of his desk. He recovered impressively, but Harry knew exactly what innervation looked like.

"Take a seat, Potter."

Harry sat, "I'm coming to you because I don't know if anyone else would understand."

Snape sneered, "What wouldn't they understand?"

"How sadistic the Dark Lord is," Harry said, careful not to use Voldemort's name. "And as mad as he is, he isn't without his methods or reasons."

Snape stilled, regarding him warily, "And what exactly do you think confiding in me will achieve?"

Harry swallowed, "What I'm going to say next is going to make you really angry, but please, Professor, I wouldn't be coming to you if I had other options."

Snape considered it for a moment before saying, "Fine."

"I know you hate my father," Harry said in a rush.

Snape's face hardened, but he didn't interrupt.

"I know he's dead. I know it. Even if he didn't come out of V— the Dark Lord's wand showing his previous spells, like my— like Lily did, during the Tournament, I know he's dead. Sirius's is the closest thing I have to a father and we aren't…" Harry took a breath. "We don't know much about each other, not really."

"Is there a point to this?" Snape drawled.

"My father is dead."

Snape's jaw ticked, "I know."

"The thing is, I keep having these dreams—"

Snape scoffed and began to rise, ready to dismiss him.

"Please!" Harry begged. "I just need to tell someone. I swear I'll never speak of it again, I just— He's in my head, and I don't know what game he's at."

"Who's in your head?" Snape asked.

"V—" Harry bit his tongue before repeating, "The Dark Lord. He caught on, you see, to me getting glimpses through his eyes. Dumbledore realised it too, it's why he won't look at me. Because it goes both ways now. Please, Professor, just listen to what I've got to say, and I'll never mention it again."

Snape sunk back down into his seat and waved Harry ahead.

Harry let out a breath before saying, "If the Dark Lord wanted to hurt me, he could show me my friends being tortured, Sirius, even my mother. I nearly let myself get kissed in third years to hear her voice."

Snape paled, "What do you mean?"

"My worst memory," Harry explained, feeling a bit better about sharing something personal when last time around he saw Snape's personal memories, things he wasn't meant to see. "Is also the only memory I have of her. I remember her begging for my life. I remember him telling her to step aside, and her refusing him. I don't remember my father at all, but I remember her. I wish every day that she had stepped aside, but I'm glad I met the Dementors, I'm glad I remembered more than the sight of her falling and the green light that stuck with me when I was younger."

Snape stared at him like he had never seen him before, "I'm sorry."

Harry blinked, he hadn't expected condolences, "Thank you, but what I'm saying… well, I always wanted a father, I always wanted to know him, but I don't and he's not as real to me as Sirius is."

Snape's expression twisted, but he said, "Fathers are not all that they are cracked up to be."

Harry nodded, and took a shot in the dark. Slytherins and Gryffindors weren't typically friends, which implied that perhaps Snape had known his mother outside of school, "Have you ever met my aunt?"

Snape's eyes flashed but his answer was civil, "Yes."

"Well, she didn't marry up," Harry said sardonically.

Snape huffed, "I'm still waiting for the point of all this, Potter."

"The Dark Lord knows me," Harry said. "So why do I keep having nightmares about him torturing my birth father? What could it possibly gain him? I know better than to think I could save a man who's already dead."

Snape's scowl deepened and he asked slowly, "The Dark Lord has been showing you images of your father?"

"Do you know if he was ever captured?" Harry asked in a rush. "I always thought if he got my dad, he would just kill him. He was a pureblood and all, but the Potters aren't like the Malfoys. He wasn't an Auror, he wasn't really anyone but a pain in the ass working for Dumbledore."

"James Potter was never captured, and it is unlikely the Dark Lord would have wasted resources on trying to break him."

"What do you mean?"

Snape sighed, a pained expression crossing his face, "Because he was stubborn and powerful, and very proud. Sometimes that means they break easier. But your father had been in enough combat to prove he could take more than a few hits and keep going. Chances were high that, like the Longbottoms, his mind would have broken before his will. Despite what many think, torture is a poor way to obtain trustworthy information."

"So why does he keep showing me it?" Harry asked.

"To hurt you," Snape answered.

"Weren't you listening?" Harry asked, exasperated. "James Potter's screams are not the ones that would break me. I'm not going to go running to save the man who was supposed to save me. Sirius is different, I know him, and he's— well, he's not all there after Azkaban."

Snape arched a brow, "You see Black as a victim?"

Harry knew quite well their animosity and knew Dumbledore had held Sirius accountable for his own death in the Department of Mysteries. But Harry knew better, knew that Sirius could never be a replacement for his father. Sirius needed as much help as Harry did.

So he asked pointedly, "Would you trade places with him?"

Snape's expression remained unmoved, "Actions have consequences."

Harry's temper snapped, "Yeah, they do. And maybe Sirius almost got you killed as a kid, but unlike you, he didn't join a death cult. You might have changed sides, but Sirius was always fighting against the terrorists. And for some reason Dumbledore saved you from the jaws of the Ministry and let Sirius get a life sentence without a trial because of his name. So don't you dare sit there and act like you're better, like you have the moral high ground. Actions have consequences? I've been paying for the consequences of your generation's fuck ups my entire life, no action needed on my part."

Snape glared, "Watch your tone."

But he didn't kick him out so Harry continued.

"I keep seeing flashes of James being tortured, and it's not that I don't care, I do, but it's not as difficult as dreams he has shown me of Sirius, and the Dark Lord knows that. At first, I didn't even realise it wasn't me, like his sick fantasies of hurting me, because, well, it was like he didn't know I was there. Until tonight, it's only been flashes since I attacked him."

"And you didn't try attacking him this time?"

Harry scoffed, "No. Because last time he was in my head and I had the advantage. He knows more about the Mind Arts than I do, and he's him, so he would have If it's something I see that I can stop by tripping him up, maybe, but otherwise… I might have a low threshold, but bleeding my brains out my ears, if I don't know for sure that I would take him with me, is not how I want to go."

Snape tapped his fingers on the desk, "What do you want me to do?"

"You're friends with Lucius Malfoy, right? And you're Draco's godfather?"

Snape's brow arched, "You want me to spy for you?"

"I've seen things through his eyes before," Harry said. "Like at the Riddle House, but this is different. I'm telling you it's weird."

"Weird how?"

"The details, the frequency, the flashes in the daytime— the feelings of anger. When the first flashes came, James hands were… his fingers were bloodied like he tried tearing his way out of a room." Harry had done that once when the Dursleys had forgotten about him once over a weekend. He'd paid for it with more than just injured fingers when they had arrived back home. "And he keeps saying weird things. And the questions Vol- the Dark Lord are equally weird."

"What questions?" Snape asked, sounding annoyed at constantly having to prompt him. To his credit, it was two am.

"Stuff that is relevant now, but wouldn't have been during the first war. Yet, nothing about the current Order's whereabouts. The Dark Lord keeps asking questions about Sirius, things Wormtail wouldn't have known, and he keeps taunting James about Lily's death."

Snape shook his head, "Strange, I'll admit, but have you considered he's asking these things of James that he wants to get from you?"

He was already shaking his head, "But I don't know that much about Sirius, hell, I don't know anything at all about my mother. The Dark Lord described their wedding at one point."

"The Dark Lord attacked your parents during their wedding," Snape said. "That's where he killed Mr. and Mrs. Evans."

Harry threw up his hands, "I didn't know that! How could I have possibly known that? Even if someone had told me, that's not intimate enough for the Dark Lord to use against me."

"Why would the Dark Lord want to be intimate with you, Potter?" Snape asked, tone as dry as ever.

Harry fought not to roll his eyes, "Because he's an obsessive, sadistic maniac who would sooner give up his wand than ignore the slight of my having survived him. It somewhat works in my favour —that he wants to kill me slowly or use me to get at the Order— but eventually, he's just going to swat me. So what is the bloody point of him showing James being interrogated, when there are a dozen other targets he could hit to make me feel wretched?"

Snape rubbed his temple, "I am not so close with the Dark Lord to be his confidant."

"But surely you think it's odd too, right? Do you see his motive? What am I missing?"

"I don't know, Potter."

"James spat into the Dark Lord's face," Harry said, revealing the weirdest parts of this whole thing. "He hasn't cried once. Not under the torture curse or the Imperius, he's been talking circles around him under the Veritaserum. It's bloody impressive. The Dark Lord is so angry, and the only reason he hasn't lost it at James yet is because he knows he's suffering. James is acting like losing Lily and me are the worst possible things that could ever happen to him, the rest of the torture, it means nothing to him."

Snape was quiet for a long while, looking off into the distance as if trying to work it out like Harry had been trying to for a month.

Finally, the Professor said, "The Dark Lord is showing you a detailed vision—"

"Visions," Harry interrupted. "Plural and varied. James looks worse and worse each time but his fingers have healed, and he keeps getting sharper, like he's waking up."

"So he's showing you an unsuccessful prolonged interrogation?" Snape asked, unable to hide his surprise.

"Yes, and James has started asking questions of his own. He's figured out I'm alive, you see. The Dark Lord keeps dangling it in front of him. James doesn't know what year it is, where I am, or how old I am."

"I will admit," Snape said. "I cannot imagine what the Dark Lord hopes to achieve by showing you this. But you mentioned the Malfoys, why?"

"Because that's where they are," Harry said.

"How do you know?"

"Because I keep seeing both Lucius and Narcissa. And last time I checked, Mrs. Malfoy isn't a Death Eater, just a bitch."

Snape's mouth thinned, "And you would like me to investigate this?"

"Come on," Harry pleaded. "You're Draco's godfather and his Head of House. He's slipping up with being a Prefect, and Quidditch, and messing around with whatever Umbridge is trying to get him to do. I've been outperforming him in classes and I've been to the hospital wing at least once every week. I know how dangerous approaching the Dark Lord is, but couldn't you, like, peek in, under the pretence of talking to the Malfoys about Draco's grades?"

"You presume much," Snape said. "Lucius Malfoy is a proud man, my suggesting Draco is underperforming in his studies is cause for quite the upset."

Harry huffed, "I don't think Draco should be worried about his father anymore, not with his new house guests. How old were you when the Dark Lord poached you? How long do you think it will take before the Dark Lord brands him just to keep the Malfoy fortune in his hands?"

Snape stared at him, "Many will join the Dark Lord because they believe it to be the safer option."

"Then I pity them," Harry said coldly. "Because I've seen first and second hand what the Dark Lord does to those closest to him. Frankly, I know Grindelwald was worse, smarter, and had greater ambitions than conquering a school, but I think I would have rather worked for him than Tom Riddle. According to the textbooks, at least, Grindelwald actually lifted his people up to positions of power. Tom's just looking to make everyone into his personal slaves."

Snape stared at him, "You are quite possibly the only man on Earth bold enough to say something that—"

Words seemed to fail him.

Harry smirked, "Yeah, well, Grindelwald took over most of the continent, and Voldemort was undone by going after a baby and still thinks he's a god among men. Forgive me if I fail to be impressed."

Snape sighed, "I will visit the Malfoys."

"Thank you, Sir," Harry said, sincerely.

"I will also tell everything you have told me to Dumbledore."

A small spike of worry ran through him, but even if Snape did tell him, Dumbledore was different this year.

So Harry shrugged, "Whatever, just don't let him talk you out of it."

Maybe drinking made Snape kinder because all he said in turn was, without tangible malice, "Good night, Mr. Potter."

"Good night, Professor Snape," Harry said more cordially than he ever had to this particular professor.

Severus had the delight of waking the Headmaster up at three am in the morning. And while he hadn't planned to share the latter with him, he decided it was easier than trying to explain all that had happened.

Albus looked fifty years old after he read Lily's words as well as the ritual she had used and the one he had unknowingly activated.

"I did not think she would use these rituals. There are reasons it is not taught. The blood ward I meant to activate would have kept Harry safe and would have alerted me to any harm done to him."

"Instead, it was a magic that wove fate around to ensure the boy could never be removed from his home until he came of age."

Albus shuttered, "Magic that old… it connects to arcane magic that I… I would never willingly have invoked it."

"Because it held power over you," Severus said, knowingly. "And it changed the fates of many who it would have touched. Minerva, as James's godmother, would have taken the boy in with Malcolm. Perhaps Black would have a trial before that. Perhaps Pettigrew wouldn't have escaped the night Lupin conveniently forgot to take his potion."

Albus slumped in his seat, "The Dursley's son, Harry's cousin, was removed from Petunia and her husband's custody. They were sent to prison."

Severus blinked, he hadn't realised it had been that bad, but then again, muggle laws had improved rapidly from those he had lived with growing up.

Albus rubbed his face, "Had Petunia but loved him…"

Severs snorted, "Well here's a lesson to you all then, family does not equate to love. You think you would be old enough to know that by now."

Albus flinched but did not refute the point.

"Potter came to me tonight, he has been having dreams about his father being tortured by the Dark Lord."

Albus raised a brow, "It makes sense given their graves."

"Yes, however, Potter claims the Dark Lord knows him better than to use his father to be the one to hurt him. He thinks he residing at the Malfoy Manor and would like me to spy for him."

At his tone, Albus asked, "I thought you had grown to like Harry?"

"Respect and like are two different things, Headmaster."

Albus huffed a laugh.

"You think that's funny?"

He shook his head, "No, I fear that the reverse is true of Harry's feelings for me, if he asked for your help and not mine."

Severus spoke without thinking and immediately regretted the pain that glimmered back in those blue eyes, "Smart of him, seeing as you cursed him with magic so dark it required a human sacrifice. By accident."

Albus bowed his head in acknowledgement, "I would ask that you do check. Even though James is dead, I'm not sure what magic he is playing with. But involving the dead is never good."

Severus nodded, "Very well."

He hesitated but departed as Albus gazed out his darkened windows, lost in thought.

Harry was glad that the Patil twins had taken a shine to Luna. Padma and Luna in particular. Despite being from the same house, it wasn't abnormal that except through Harry and the UB Club, Padma wouldn't have become friends with Luna because they weren't in the same year.

But now that they were, Luna sometimes got dragged away to do the mysterious girl things that girls giggled about and Harry couldn't fathom.

He wasn't sure what those things might include, aside from knowing that the result was many the sly looks and peels of giggles that seemed to trail behind them at his expense.

Even Daphne was in on it.

Theo sighed as they watched them go, "Girls."

Ron shook his head as he watched Hermonie, Ginny, and Amelia who had broken off in another direction of Hogsmeade, engrossed in their own secret feminine discussions.

"Come on," Harry said. "There's something I need to pick up."

"What, exactly?" Ron asked, doing his best to ignore Theo who tagged along.

Aside from Harry, Theo was the best in the school for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and thus had become Harry's primary partner for demonstrations. They had also begun a sort of comradery that was almost like having another friend.

Harry could say, while he was doing much better with being friendly to people and more open, Parvati was the only other person outside of Luna to who he had grown close enough to use the term friend outside of Hermione and the Weasleys.

Part of that was because Harry kept too many secrets to really be himself with people, and two, he almost always had a headache. And while, aside from last night, he couldn't really remember much from his dreams, he wasn't sleeping well of late.

Voldemort was growing more incensed it seemed over each passing day.

It wasn't that Harry wanted Bellatrix and the Death Eaters to escape, but Harry almost hoped Voldemort would do it sooner just to lighten the bastard's mood a bit to lay off the pain in Harry's head.

He was doing the best he could to put the image and sensations of his father being tortured beneath his hands out of his mind, knowing it would be a day or two before Snape could think up an excuse and be allowed into the Malfoy Manor long enough to snoop.

"What are we doing here?" Ron moaned as Harry reached for the door of a tiny jewellery and knick-knack shop. It sold gifts as well as crystals and mineral-based potion ingredients.

Theo scoffed, "Luna, obviously."

"But why?" Ron asked.

"Because he likes her," Theo answered as they followed Harry through the tight aisles and display boxes.

Ron nearly tripped over a hat rack, "Is that why Ginny has been sooo…"

Harry glanced back at him, "Hermione says it's because they are in the same year."

Ron nodded sagely, "We are neighbours with the Lovegoods."

"Well, she's going to have to get over it, besides, I don't even know if Luna feels the same."

Theo snorted, "Come on, mate. Surely you've realised half the school is in love with you. Between your growth spurt and the UB, you're all the girls, and some of the boys talk about. The whole riding in on a Hippogryph into the school and back talking Umbridge has only made that many more sketches that more interesting."
"Sketches?" Ron asked, giving Theo a strange look.

"Course," Theo said. "Flitwick's Art Club tripled in size after Harry joined."

Harry rolled his eyes, "That's great and all, but Luna isn't everyone else."

"True," Theo conceded without malice.

Ron sighed, "I don't even understand the conversations you two have."

"That's because non-human magic is an entirely different subject matter than the majority of what we are learning," Theo said.

"We've also been studying Magi-Veterinary Medicine and healing, sooo," Harry trailed off with a smirk at Ron's look of disgust at not only more school work but something that fundamentally messy.

Gryffindors joked that Neville's love of Herbology had been out done, exploding cacti and all.

"Good thing you're famous," Ron said. "Or you would be the lamest person ever."

"I think him being famous makes his dorkiness more endearing," Theo said as if this was a serious discussion or they were commenting on a wild animal's behaviour.

Harry flipped them both off.

The witch at the counter cleared her throat with a glare.

Harry turned his full attention to her, "Hello, I was looking for a silver chain and blank pendant I can set with a chair."

The witch nodded, pulling out an array of options.

At the end of Harry being pickier than he would have been in a Quidditch supply shop, he exited with a small bag. He folded it carefully and stored it in his satchel he had empty for just this purpose. It was kind of cool to learn that two pieces were actually made by Malcolm McGonagal.

"What are you going to do with a plain chain and blank pendant?" Ron asked.

"I already have the four other charms ready and I have the Charmed design already figured out and worked through."

"Really," Ron said. "You're worse than Hermione now."

Harry shrugged, "Life is too short to give a shit about what other people think of me."

Theo let out a startled laugh that he turned into a cough as they entered the Three Broomsticks.

"'Arry?"

Harry turned round to the blonde approaching him. "Fleur?"

Ron and Theo froze on either side of him.

"Can I speak to you?" she asked. Glancing at the two other boys, she asked, "Privately?"

"Sure," he agreed readily, a bit confused as this hadn't happened last time.

Then again, Harry probably had detention this time last year, or at least was making up homework because of said detentions.

He followed Fleur to the back table, her cloak turning from a white that complimented her fair complexion to black, so despite her beauty, she blended in better.

"I'm sorry," she apologised. "You're the only other person I really know dans England et…" She looked away.

Concerned, Harry asked, "What is it?"

She sighed, staring down at her hands, "It's Bill."

Harry stiffened.

He liked Bill, he really did, but that didn't mean he would spurn someone asking for help. "Are you alright? Has he hurt you?"

She shook her head, her gaze raising to meet his, "Non, non, mais… But— He's changed. Since joining the Order, I mean. He's gotten… paranoid. Et je ne sais pas… I don't know what to think."

That her French was mixing in —seemingly unintentionally— warned him to the depth of her worry.

"If he's threatening you, if you feel you're endangered," Harry said immediately. "Then I can help you find somewhere else to go if you are living with him."

"Non, it's not that. It's…" She sighed, "'Arry, he speaks about you, a lot."

"What, exactly?" he asked.

"The papers, and after Order meetings… Arry, whatever the Dark Lord is doing, you should be worried about it. Things are not well," she said.

"But he's not hurting you?" Harry said, ignoring the concern for his own well being.

He was in danger and water was wet, that was not new information to him.

"Non," she said. "I promise, it's not that. He's just been… well, he's such a relaxed person, but when it comes to you… Whatever the Order isn't telling us, it involves you."

Harry took her hand from across the table and squeezed, "Thank you, Fleur. But I'll be alright. I've been applying myself this year and I've been getting extra training. I'm as safe as I'm going to get."

She nodded, opened her mouth, then shut it, then shook her head, all before saying, "Alright, I just… I had to tell you. Please be careful."

Harry nodded, "Thanks, Fleur."

She stood, "Stay safe."

"You too," he said, standing up and then adding, "Say hello to your sister for me."

Fleur flashed him a real smile then. "I will. Au revoir, mon ami."

"Au revoir," he repeated.

Theo and Ron peeked out behind a booth as she exited out into the cold November day.

"What was that?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, "I'm not sure, but I think you should write to Bill and make sure he's alright. That was… strange."

"What did she say?" Theo asked.

"That I was in danger," Harry said.

Theo snorted, "No shit."

Conversation altered when Daphne and Astoria slid into the rounded booth with them, chatting merrily about pranks George and Fred had played on Umbridge.

Lockhart had given them ideas on some of the things they could get away with, and as Hagrid was back yet there was no one to blame.

Umbridge hadn't been able to catch wind of Harry or Luna spending the majority of their time in the Forbidden Forest while not at the UB Club, Art Club, or library.

The day passed, and all the while Harry tried to shrug off the headache burning inside his head.

Voldemort had spoken in length about Harry, and from his words, Harry was either elven or thirty.

Or dead.

Because Voldemort had offered no tangible proof that he was.

The monster crooned in his ear after knitting James back together that he was going to be fed food from an old friend.

James wasn't able to decider those words, merely marvelled at his hand being cuffed in front of him, not behind, until he heard that snivelling voice.

"Ja-James?"

His gaze snapped upward at the vermin inching into his cell.

Peter Pettigrew had not aged well, his insides finally matching his outsides.

When they were younger, Peter had had golden blonde and crystal blue eyes. His face had been round in the cheeks but he was handsome in his own way.

Sirius had joked he had looked a bit like a cherub.

Peter had been the sort of boy who wasn't particularly good at anything, nor particularly bad at anything.

He had doting parents.

His best attribute had his willingness to do anything for a friend, even when he was afraid.

Things had changed after Hogwarts.

Sirius and James had held off from finding employment to join the Order. Unlike Frank and Alice, they didn't have time to go through Auror training.

Lily had sold healing potions, brewing double to sell to St. Mungo's and to give to anyone who might need them.

They had been, essentially, living off their inheritances.

As a werewolf working against Voldemort, Remus had been living with Sirius because employment might have been a death sentence.

Peter —despite working for the Order— wasn't a fighter and thus wasn't entrusted with much responsibility. After school, he had still been living with his parents who ridiculed him for being unemployed. Employment being rough in the best of times when the highest N.E.W.T. score he received was an E Transfiguration, and only two other Acceptable scores in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology, Peter had found it difficult to find anyone interested in hiring him.

Harder still had been holding a job.

James had not realized how much his one-time friend had coasted by, only ever putting effort into appearances. Outside school, where his schedule was not organised for him and he saw his friends mostly at Order meetings, James had failed to see the changes in his friend.

Failed to see that his gifts to Lily, of flowers and sweets, were a way to buy her affections while he avoided Harry at all costs.

Failed to notice Peter at all when James had been so wrapped up with his family, Sirius fawning over the baby, and Remus trying to swallow his self-loathing to accept that when Lily invited him over for every dinner she expected him to show up.

Her passive-aggressive shoving of leftovers at him anytime (which was most of the time) he failed to show, had not gotten it through the werewolf's thick head that they wanted him around.

In all the drama, none of them noticed that their most 'dependable' friend had migrated to 'greener' pastors.

James didn't think it was ambition on Peter's part, it was just another bid to follow the tide.

To coast by with minimal effort.

Which is why he wasn't a Slytherin. He wasn't ambitious so much as he wanted to take the easy road.

He wasn't loyal enough to be a Hufflepuff, nor driven enough by learning to be a Ravenclaw.

A Gryffindor by default.

"James?" Peter said, taking another cautious step forward, the silverware rattling on the tray.

Stupid boy.

Stupid, ugly, ingrate barely fit to be called a man.

Barely fit to be a rat, a field mouse's life was worth more than him.

James watched him, looking for the wrongness in him that he had failed to spot in eleven years of friendship.

His nose and teeth had grown, his ears larger with grey hairs.

Animagi weren't supposed to look like their animal form while human, unless you skipped a step, unless you let the magic do the work and thus leaving yourself vulnerable to the animal mind taking on a life of its own.

Not that this was an excuse or explanation for his actions.

No, animals weren't inherently evil, not even snakes.

No, evil came from humans.

Maybe Peter was perverted, maybe there were many secrets he kept from his friends because there were parts of him that had seen the crimes of the Death Eaters, seen them humiliate, torture, and kill entire families and thought it funny.

Thought it was something valid to be a part of.

In some ways, James had more pity for Snape than Peter.

Snape had been immersed in the bullshit at school, initiated young, practically groomed to join the terrorists.

But Peter?

Peter had been a part of the resistance and had betrayed everyone and all trace of morality.

He had known better, and chosen evil.

"James, do you remember me?" Peter asked after swallowing hard.

James felt his chest tremble with a growl that he didn't let pass his lips. He sat very still. Telling himself that he couldn't do anything rash.

Voldemort was buggered in the head but Peter wouldn't be able to lie to James again, not that he knew to look for deceit.

"I brought food, I can feed you, but if you can—" he cut himself off coming to the line that was just beyond James's leash.

If he could make himself move fast enough, he might be able to kick him.

Peter sat on the floor across from him, sliding the tray noisily across the dungeon floor that was stained with James's blood.

Soup and a spoon.

Hopefully, it was scalding hot for his purposes.

They sat in the quiet and James watched in grim satisfaction as Peter began to sweat.

He looked a bit like a mouldy pastry.

"Eat," Peter finally commanded.

"Lily is dead because of you," James stated.

Peter's eyes went wide, his lower lip trembling

Disgusting.

"And my son—"

"He's alive!" Peter exclaimed, looking like he was having a nervous breakdown as he waved his hands about, one of them metal.

Curious.

"Did your master tell you to say that?" James asked coldy, refusing to let any of his own emotions show.

Peter craved attention, good or bad, he craved it.

Nothing had ever gotten to Peter like a cold word.

Lily said they should be gentler with him.

James on the other hand wanted to do to Peter everything that had been done to his own person in this accursed dungeon.

"No. No, no," Peter began to babble. "He lived, he's the Boy Who Lived. He survived the Killing Curse and defeated the Dark Lord, for a time anyway. He's amazing."

James's gut twisted.

Harry is alive.

Also, Peter was a bloody moron, how thick did you have to be to think the baby killed the mass murderer?

It seemed the baby theory was more plausible than the Gryffindor's Golden Couple turning to the Dark Arts to protect their son.

Clearly, no one knew shit about what lionesses were capable of protecting their cubs.

Or Griffins for that matter.

"He saved my life."

James's attention snapped back to Peter, "What?"

"Harry, he saved my life. He's a good boy."

James's every hair stood on end at the way Peter said, good boy.

Ittookhurculean effort not to lash out in that moment. Instead, James forced himself to ask, "Saved you from what?"

"Sirius. But Harry forgave me. James, Sirius was going to kill me."

James blinked, thinking that was the most reasonable and logical thing Peter had said so far.

It was a good thing his life had been spared until now, James could avenge his family himself.

"Where is Harry?" James asked.

Peter's mood seemed to have brightened, the fear flaking off of him as if he thought all was forgiven.

Stupid.

There wasn't a word strong enough to describe that level of stupidity.

"He's at Hogwarts! He looks just like you and he's very brave," Peter said with admiration and envy.

James wanted to kill him slowly, the muggle way.

"How old is he?" he asked, cutting off his blabbering.

"Fifteen. He's in the fifth year," he said like an over eager puppy.

James said nothing, wanting to hear more about his son, but not from Peter.

Peter deflated in the silence. "I've missed you, James. I knew you would understand, that you would forgive me."

James stopped breathing as he fought himself not to gag or breathe fire.

Peter looked down, "I mean, I'm sorr—"

James dropped to his back, kicking his legs out, ignoring the taut chain holding him at the neck.

Peter screamed as hot soup splashed into his face.

James transformed his lower half into the buck's form, kicking rapidly with his cloven hooves.

Peter's screams were ear piercing.

James transformed back, snagging one of the traitor's legs between his own like he had when wrestling with Sirius.

He pushed back on the floor toward the wall, dragging Peter with him.

Within the distance that the iron collar allowed him.

Peter remembered his true nature and shifted.

Expecting it, James scooped the tiny rat bastard and immediately threw him against the wall so he couldn't be bitten.

Peter transformed back, scrambling against the stones, blood trailing from his mouth.

James pinned him, knees into ribs.

Peter's face paled.

Broken ribs.

James pressed down harder, hoping the fucker would drown in his own blood.

"Please," Peter begged, breath wheezing out of him, voice thready. "I'm not strong like you."

"We would have died for you. We would have protected you. I hope you've suffered. I hope you've lived every day of your life afraid of what Sirius or Voldemort would do to you. And when you get to your final destination, I hope Lucifer himself lances you on a spike as carrion crows pick away at your worthless soul for the rest of eternity."

Peter coughed blood, eyes bulging as James pressed down further.

It was not a pretty sight, but it was nothing to the nightmare of waking beside Lily's corpse.

The sound of the door of his cell creaking made James jerk and he lifted his weight and jammed back down, hard.

Blood spurted from Peter's lips in a soundless cry.

Peter was summoned out from beneath James.

He screamed rage, more animal than human, a sound that started in his core and ripped from in wordless exclamation.

"Eternal damnation! Do you hear me, Worm!? That's your prize! There is no forgiveness for what you've done!"

Lucius Malfoy spared a moment to banish the mess off his dungeon floor before exiting, Peter's floating form before him.

James thought it was too much to hope that had succeeded in killing him.

But it didn't matter.

Harry was alive.

Alive.

At Hogwarts.

Neither Hell nor Heaven would keep them apart much longer.

AN: Long chapter! Thoughts, mongooses, or feedback, pretty please?