Hello, everyone! Welcome to the 2nd part of this lil' 15-parter. If
you're still reading, then I must presume you got past Chapter 1, so you
deserve a hearty slap on the back. I'd be happy to do so, but you don't
know where I've been. Oh, yeah! I knew I was forgetting something!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling and it seems that she doesn't want to give it back any time soon. As said before, this story is a variation of The Goblet of Fire.
Well, enjoy!
Chapter 2- A Twist in Time
Gryffindor Common Room, November 24, 2000. 10:47 P.M.
The Gryffindor Common Room was a scene of mass celebration and many of the Gryffindors had a number of reasons to celebrate. The Gryffindors had watched their own Harry Potter pass the first task of the Triwizard Tournament with flying colors, despite the efforts of a fiercely protective Hungarian Horntail and the biased behavior of Igor Karkaroff. No one basked in the glow more than fourth-year Ronald Weasley, whom Harry had made up with soon after the dangerous task. He was giving a tremendously dramatic replay of his best friend's efforts to anyone who would pay attention to him. Meanwhile, Fred and George Weasley, Ron's twin older brothers, were looking for one of the few Gryffindors that had not fallen victim to one of their numerous pranks. In fact, there were only two students that weren't caught up in the celebration: the two students responsible for the victory itself, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.
Harry had his back to the entire party. He was sitting in an absurdly large armchair that he thought was far too comfortable. Except for the occasional chatting with Ron and a visit from Katie Bell, a teammate on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he had remained silent throughout the evening. He stared at the fire, the embers seeming to dance about in his emerald- green eyes, as he did some hard thinking. He silently fretted about the safety of his godfather, Sirius Black, who could be caught by the Ministry of Magic at any time only because he wanted to watch over Harry. Then there were the two Slytherins, Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape, two people who now seemed to go out of their way to make him feel miserable. He remembered the roar of the dragon and the awful sneer on Karkaroff's face when he stared at Harry shortly after the task.
And then there was Alastor Moody. Although Harry was appreciative of Moody's efforts in helping him for the fight against the dragon, he still his doubts about the old Auror. The horrid day in which he displayed the three unforgiven curses still remained very clear in his mind. Though Harry respected the man, Moody also, quite frankly, scared the shit out of him.
"Evening, Mr. Potter! Can I have your autograph?"
Harry couldn't figure out what was more amusing: the sheer idiocy of the notion (to him) or the person who requested it. She was a young lady with bushy, brown hair and deep, brown eyes. She was holding a rather large Arithmancy book in her deceptively strong arms as she waited for Harry to respond, a playful smile on her lips throughout it all.
"Afraid you'll have to get in line, Hermione." Harry said glumly.
"Oh, rubbish! I'll do what I want to do, thank you very much." Hermione said with an air of confidence as she took a seat on the floor near Harry's chair. She placed her book down with a thump and softly rubbed Harry's kneecaps with her small, but strong, hands. Harry gave a small grin at his friend's tender ministrations and abandoned the armchair to join his friend on the floor.
"What are you thinking about, Mr. Potter?" she asked.
"Quite a few things, actually. Sirius, Malfoy, Karkaroff. My mind's a mess right now."
"Go talk to Ron then. I always find that speaking with our dear friend will always make you feel better about your own intellectual acumen." Harry and Hermione chuckled as they watched Ron try to wrangle a date with Lavender Brown. Although they both sincerely cared for the boisterous redhead, they also knew that Ron could be better off with a little personal tact. As they watched Ron's eventual failure, Fred and George stopped by to say hello and offer Hermione a treacle tart. Hermione looked at them as if she thought they were insane.
"Come on, Hermione!" Fred said with a huge grin on his face. "We haven't done anything to them!"
"The fact that you've touched them is enough to tell me that they're not safe," Hermione said crossly as Harry looked on with a lopsided grin. Since the very first days of their time at Hogwarts, Hermione had acquired a reputation in the Gryffindor house for being a stick-in-the-mud. Although she and Harry had their occasional clashes during their first year, Harry was now one of the few Gryffindors who didn't hold it against her. Of course, the fact that Harry was strongly supportive of Hermione's reluctance to sample some of the Weasley's twins culinary delights didn't hurt either.
"Just where did you get this food, anyway?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing in a manner that was eerily similar to Minerva McGonagall.
"Don't worry, Mum," George said with an impish twinkle in his eyes, "we just got them from the house elves."
"Right helpful, those elves," Fred said as he bent his knees and scrunched up his face. "Anything I can get for you, young master? Anything at all?" he said, impersonating one of Hogwarts' many elves. "I'd bet they'd fix me a roasted ham if I said as I was feeling peckish!"
Hermione's disgust of the treatment that house elves were given at Hogwarts was also well known throughout the Gryffindor common hall. Harry wholly believed that Hermione would have something to say to Fred's quite derogatory remarks. Instead, he was quite surprised to notice a gleam of inspiration in Hermione's chocolate-brown eyes.
This isn't good, Harry thought with a smile.
"Um, Fred. . ." Hermione said calmly, "just where are the kitchens?"
"Well, go down to the second basement, go to the third painting on the left and. . ." George abruptly paused, "are you still working on that SPEW thing?"
"It is not S.P.E.W!" Hermione whispered, her face scrunching up angrily, "it's the House-Elf Liberation Front! And no, I am not working on it, I just want to know where the kitchen is!"
"Whatever." Fred said with a dismissing wave of his hands. "Go down to the second basement, go to the third painting on the left and tickle the pear. It'll laugh and you'll go straight in."
"Want a treacle tart, Harry?" George asked.
"Thanks but no thanks, George." Harry replied.
"What did I tell you Fred, you dumb bloke," George said to his twin brother, "I told you this wasn't going to work!" Harry and Hermione watched on as Fred and George quickly walked away from them, arguing like angry geese.
"I think I'm going to get a little fresh air, Hermione." Harry said while rising to his feet and offering Hermione to help her up.
"Alright, Harry," Hermione said as she accepted Harry's offer, rising quickly to her feet. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"No. I'll be okay, just make sure Ron doesn't make a fool out of himself." Hermione snorted at that comment as she once again caught sight of Ron, who was now pestering his little sister, Ginny.
"I'll do what I can." Hermione said flatly, a wry smile on her face. "Just watch out for Filch and Snape."
"Of course," Harry said as he moved to the Boy's Dorm to grab his father's invisibility cloak. After carefully wrapping it around his body, Harry quietly moved through the common room, making certain not to startle anyone in the crowded area. Hermione awaited him at the portrait of the Fat Lady and opened the door for him and he made a swift exit from his own party with only one person knowing that he was gone.
Harry was always amazed with the sound of his bare feet tapping against the marble floors and lush carpeting of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. To Harry, Hogwarts was a place of both education and exploration, and he always enjoyed exploring the gigantic, dark hallways of the mysterious school. They were such a far cry from his cramped cupboard back at Privet Drive. From the moving stairways to the talking portraits to its many colorful residents, both living and posthumous, Harry simply couldn't get enough of the school and was making every effort to explore as much of it as he can, with or without Ron and Hermione. In this case, Harry wished to visit the owlery to check up on Hedwig, his snow-white owl that he received from Hagrid for his eleventh birthday.
As he slowly rounded the corner that led to the front doors of the school, Harry suddenly felt the need to run. He needed to get away. As his bare feet pounded on the padded carpeting of the great hall, Harry's mind drifted to many things. He thought of Peter Pettigrew, the man who sold out his parents to Voldemort. Then his mind's eye saw Severus Snape, the man who obviously had a past with Voldemort but Harry had no idea what it was. Then it was Voldemort. He could see the blood-red eyes, he could smell the fear of the wizards who dared to get in his way or the innocents who simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time, he could taste his desire to return to power, he could hear his icy laugh. . .
"WHOOF!"
It took a brief moment for Harry to register that he had run into something, mainly because his eyes told him that there seemed to be nothing to run into. As he tumbled to the ground, his light grip on his invisibility cloak snapped, causing his messy, black hair to pop up for anyone to see. He shook his head slowly, trying desperately to refocus his eyes and stand up. Once that was done, Harry was quite shocked to find another young man in a similar condition. The boy was running a hand through his unkempt, brown hair and his hazel eyes were looking directly back at Harry. He seemed to be just as tall as Ron, but his arms and legs seemed to give him a stockier form.
"Yowch! Didn't see that one coming," the stranger said, gingerly rubbing his forehead and lifting himself to his feet. "I knew I should have stayed in the common room to do this!"
Harry was still a little shell-shocked from the crash, so it took him quite a while longer to determine that something about this situation was a little weird. Finally, after a bit of internal questioning, his voice asked what his brain wanted to know.
"Were you just invisible?" Harry asked, his eyes wide.
"Yep," the brown-haired boy said with a roguish smile on his face.
"You don't have a cloak?" Harry asked while reaching backward to pick up his own cloak. At that question, the boy's smile grew even wider and his hazel eyes seemed to twinkle with excitement.
"Can't say I have," he said, as he procured an empty flask from a pocket in his robes. "I decided to test out my new invisibility potion. Guess I'll need to work on it a bit, don't you think?"
"But, aren't those potions illegal at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, a skeptical look on his face.
'Speaking as if you were just the picture of all innocence, Harry?' a little voice that sounded remarkably like Hermione said in his head.
"That's never stopped me before," the boy said shrugging his shoulders. "By the way, my name's Matt MacDougal," he said while extending his hand in an absurdly aggrandizing fashion.
"Harry Potter," he said, shaking Matt's hand calmly, acting as if two invisible people running into one another happened all the time. At the name, Matt's eyes flashed with recognition. Harry always hated it when this happens!
"Oh, so you're the guy who set off dungbombs in Draco Malfoy's cauldron before Potions in third year!" he said with a broad grin. "The originality of your work is simply awe-inspiring!" he said with great aplomb.
Harry's jaw felt like it almost hit the floor.
"Well," Harry said, an equally large grin creeping up on his face, "That's not what I'm usually remembered for doing, but thank you nonetheless."
"No problem," Matt said with an eager grin. Matt then began to stare with interest at Harry's invisibility cloak. "So this is an invisibility cloak, huh?" Matt asked, pointing to the silvery cloth. "I've never seen one myself before."
"Yes, it's my father's." Harry said. 'Why am I telling him this,' Harry thought. After all, the invisibility cloak was a secret that he had kept hidden from all but his closest friends. He just met this guy! "What house are you from?" he asked, eager to change the subject.
"Ravenclaw, fourth year," he said, "and you're a Gryffindor, right?"
Harry nodded. He was about to ask another question, but then he heard a sound that nearly froze his insides. It was the soft mewling that Harry knew all too well. His eyes grew as wide as saucers when he locked eyes with Filch's infamous partner-in-crime, Mrs. Norris. The cat's shining pale-green eyes seemed to be locked onto their conversation. She was sitting patiently on her hind legs, as though she was waiting patiently for something. Noticing Harry's distress, Matt looked behind him to find out what was causing the trouble, but then gave the Gryffindor a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry about her, Harry," Matt said with a confident air. "She's a friend of mine," he said as he turned to the little cat and whistled softly to her. Harry's eyes never left Mrs. Norris as she eagerly accepted Matt's invitation, walking briskly towards the mischievous Ravenclaw. Upon her arrival, Matt knelt back down to scratch Mrs. Norris behind her ears and back.
"She may seem mean at first," Matt said, as he continued petting the tiny cat, "but she's a sweetie at heart, aren't you little lady?" Mrs. Norris only gave a soft purr in reply. Continuing to scratch behind the cat's ears, Matt looked back to Harry.
"Well, it's always nice to meet a fellow night walker," Matt said with a grin, "I'll have to look you up tomorrow in the Great Hall. I plan on making a big entrance. Wanna have breakfast together?"
"All right," Harry said with a grin, still shocked (and a bit impressed) at Mrs. Norris quick compliance towards the young man. "I suppose I'll see you then, Matt," he said, once again extending his hand for Matt to shake. "And what do you mean by 'big entrance'?"
"You'll find out," Matt said, a mischievous grin on his face, "I think you'll enjoy it. See ya, night walker!"
Shaking his head, Harry donned his invincibility cloak as he watched the young man turn away and walk swiftly back to the Ravenclaw common room. Mrs. Norris, realizing that she would be petted no longer, gave a harsh glance in Harry's direction before returning to her never-ending search for juvenile troublemakers. Harry, on the other hand, stood rooted to the spot while he pondered over what the hell had just happened. After a bit of contemplation, Harry turned around and walked briskly back to the Gryffindor common room, his ideas of Voldemort and visiting Hedwig long forgotten.
Harry was also unaware that another figure had been a spectator to the conversation; a figure that did not make himself known until well after both Harry and Matt had fallen asleep. His long, white beard seemed to shine with the diffused moonlight coming through the windows of the Great Hall. He slowly walked toward the center of the Great Hall where the conversation between two complete strangers took place. He cocked his head to the left towards the Gryffindor common room and then turned to the right towards the Ravenclaw common room. He was the only person in Hogwarts who could grasp the magnitude of what had just occurred.
"Interesting," Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, said with a twinkle in his eyes.
Little Hangleton- One kilometer southeast of the Riddle home. November 24, 2000. 10:47 P.M.
If there was one thing that Peter Pettigrew knew about, it was death.
After all, he had quite a bit of experience within the field.
Two of his old friends, James and Lily Potter, had been killed by Voldemort because he was too damn weak. Peter himself was thought to be dead at the hands of another old friend, Sirius Black, who went to Azkaban for the crime. Peter's mother and father, distraught over his "death" died soon after. He had been to his own funeral and he saw the haunted eyes of another old friend, Remus Lupin. He looked as though he had lost everything he knew in a single night. As the years went on, he saw so many witches and wizards die due to either their own bravery, stupidity, greed, or a convoluted combination of the three. Now, over 13 years later after James and Lily's death, the event that sent his life upside down, he was currently working for an undead sorcerer and was preparing a funeral plot for a Muggle who, a short three months ago, was killed simply because he was doing his job.
'Yep,' Peter mused with a hard smile on his face, 'I know about death very well.'
Trying his best to avoid his own busy thoughts, he grunted with effort as he slowly pushed the wooden casket that held the body of Frank Bryce ('At least I know his name' Peter thought sardonically) toward the neatly made pit. All Peter knew about the man was that he had been there when Tom Riddle was born, and that's more information than he usually knew about the people he killed under Voldemort's service. Although he was hardly in the position, economically or physically, to create a lavish funeral for the man, Peter took some time to clean up the poor man and preparing the grave properly. The scent of formaldehyde was still quite strong in his head, much to his dismay.
'It's the least I could do,' he thought as he finally succeeded in lugging the heavy casket to the funeral plot and gently pushed it in. Then, after running his small hands through his thinning, brown-blond hair to be rid of the sweat pouring down his brow, Peter stood up slowly. Grabbing a rusty shovel he had found in Bryce's own tool shed, he began to dig. The cool, winter air seemed to strike at him viciously as he shoveled mound after mound of dirt onto the cracked casket. Once the plot was half- filled with harsh, black sediment, Peter stopped to think of something that Dumbledore once said to him. It was days before James and Lily's fatal encounter with Voldemort and the old wizard had stopped at his home to speak with him. Peter had just agreed to be James and Lily's "secret keeper," the first and best line of defense against Voldemort.
"I feel the strain that your heart and soul is undergoing, Peter," Dumbledore said, his bright eyes seemingly holding Peter in place. "However, you must always remember that in order to achieve our dreams, we must lose a bit of ourselves."
Peter laughed bitterly upon remembering the statement and the cruel irony held within it. Two of his dearest friends were dead, another one hated him while the other one wanted him dead. He had no friends, no family, and had nothing to call his own. His life was nothing more than feelings of fear, pain, self-pity, and nostalgia for a better time.
The end justifies the means?
Bullshit.
However, just as he had made a small grave for Frank Bryce, Peter Pettigrew had made his own place in the world, and he was determined to see that through. With that final thought, Peter gave a slight nod of courtesy to Frank Bryce's gravestone and began the slow walk back towards the Riddle house. His master would be waiting upon his arrival. For all his amazing gifts and capabilities, Voldemort would still need food and information. Information about Harry Potter.
Harry. . .
Peter had been there to watch the first task, to watch Harry take on the dragon. He truly had inherited his father's flying skills. As Harry tried to egg the fierce female dragon into the air, he could just imagine James looking with pride towards his son, wishing he could be up there. He imagined Lily, excited and panicky, praying that her little boy would be safe but silently cheering him on. Then there was Remus, hale and hearty as he could have ever hoped to be, not the pale and sickly soul that greeted him at the Shrieking Shack so many months ago. Then, there was he and Sirius, his godfather and his "uncle", cheering on Harry madly. Sirius would pour some popcorn on his head while Sirius thought he wasn't looking. James and Remus would laugh and Lily would give him a tender chuckle and rub her small hands through his sandy-blond hair.
They were together, as they should have been, a family until the end.
'A family,' Peter thought wistfully as he disappeared into the fog, leaving Frank Bryce to rest in peace.
Well, thank you for reading another installment of Harry Potter and the Scholar of Mystery. Just remember that reading is a good thing, but reading and reviewing is even better. I have nothing against flames either for that matter. Heaven knows I could do with a little constructive criticism. Oh, yeah, and here's the chapter three preview.
What exactly did Matthew mean by an interesting entrance? What do Peter Pettigrew and Voldemort have planned for Harry now that he passed the first task? And how are Matt and Hermione going to fit into it? Just what the hell makes Matt so special? Who really is the last of the Mohicans? How should I know! I'm just a writer. Anyway, find out the answers to some of these questions in the next installment of Harry Potter and the Scholar of Mystery: Strange Connections!
See you next time!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling and it seems that she doesn't want to give it back any time soon. As said before, this story is a variation of The Goblet of Fire.
Well, enjoy!
Chapter 2- A Twist in Time
Gryffindor Common Room, November 24, 2000. 10:47 P.M.
The Gryffindor Common Room was a scene of mass celebration and many of the Gryffindors had a number of reasons to celebrate. The Gryffindors had watched their own Harry Potter pass the first task of the Triwizard Tournament with flying colors, despite the efforts of a fiercely protective Hungarian Horntail and the biased behavior of Igor Karkaroff. No one basked in the glow more than fourth-year Ronald Weasley, whom Harry had made up with soon after the dangerous task. He was giving a tremendously dramatic replay of his best friend's efforts to anyone who would pay attention to him. Meanwhile, Fred and George Weasley, Ron's twin older brothers, were looking for one of the few Gryffindors that had not fallen victim to one of their numerous pranks. In fact, there were only two students that weren't caught up in the celebration: the two students responsible for the victory itself, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.
Harry had his back to the entire party. He was sitting in an absurdly large armchair that he thought was far too comfortable. Except for the occasional chatting with Ron and a visit from Katie Bell, a teammate on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he had remained silent throughout the evening. He stared at the fire, the embers seeming to dance about in his emerald- green eyes, as he did some hard thinking. He silently fretted about the safety of his godfather, Sirius Black, who could be caught by the Ministry of Magic at any time only because he wanted to watch over Harry. Then there were the two Slytherins, Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape, two people who now seemed to go out of their way to make him feel miserable. He remembered the roar of the dragon and the awful sneer on Karkaroff's face when he stared at Harry shortly after the task.
And then there was Alastor Moody. Although Harry was appreciative of Moody's efforts in helping him for the fight against the dragon, he still his doubts about the old Auror. The horrid day in which he displayed the three unforgiven curses still remained very clear in his mind. Though Harry respected the man, Moody also, quite frankly, scared the shit out of him.
"Evening, Mr. Potter! Can I have your autograph?"
Harry couldn't figure out what was more amusing: the sheer idiocy of the notion (to him) or the person who requested it. She was a young lady with bushy, brown hair and deep, brown eyes. She was holding a rather large Arithmancy book in her deceptively strong arms as she waited for Harry to respond, a playful smile on her lips throughout it all.
"Afraid you'll have to get in line, Hermione." Harry said glumly.
"Oh, rubbish! I'll do what I want to do, thank you very much." Hermione said with an air of confidence as she took a seat on the floor near Harry's chair. She placed her book down with a thump and softly rubbed Harry's kneecaps with her small, but strong, hands. Harry gave a small grin at his friend's tender ministrations and abandoned the armchair to join his friend on the floor.
"What are you thinking about, Mr. Potter?" she asked.
"Quite a few things, actually. Sirius, Malfoy, Karkaroff. My mind's a mess right now."
"Go talk to Ron then. I always find that speaking with our dear friend will always make you feel better about your own intellectual acumen." Harry and Hermione chuckled as they watched Ron try to wrangle a date with Lavender Brown. Although they both sincerely cared for the boisterous redhead, they also knew that Ron could be better off with a little personal tact. As they watched Ron's eventual failure, Fred and George stopped by to say hello and offer Hermione a treacle tart. Hermione looked at them as if she thought they were insane.
"Come on, Hermione!" Fred said with a huge grin on his face. "We haven't done anything to them!"
"The fact that you've touched them is enough to tell me that they're not safe," Hermione said crossly as Harry looked on with a lopsided grin. Since the very first days of their time at Hogwarts, Hermione had acquired a reputation in the Gryffindor house for being a stick-in-the-mud. Although she and Harry had their occasional clashes during their first year, Harry was now one of the few Gryffindors who didn't hold it against her. Of course, the fact that Harry was strongly supportive of Hermione's reluctance to sample some of the Weasley's twins culinary delights didn't hurt either.
"Just where did you get this food, anyway?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing in a manner that was eerily similar to Minerva McGonagall.
"Don't worry, Mum," George said with an impish twinkle in his eyes, "we just got them from the house elves."
"Right helpful, those elves," Fred said as he bent his knees and scrunched up his face. "Anything I can get for you, young master? Anything at all?" he said, impersonating one of Hogwarts' many elves. "I'd bet they'd fix me a roasted ham if I said as I was feeling peckish!"
Hermione's disgust of the treatment that house elves were given at Hogwarts was also well known throughout the Gryffindor common hall. Harry wholly believed that Hermione would have something to say to Fred's quite derogatory remarks. Instead, he was quite surprised to notice a gleam of inspiration in Hermione's chocolate-brown eyes.
This isn't good, Harry thought with a smile.
"Um, Fred. . ." Hermione said calmly, "just where are the kitchens?"
"Well, go down to the second basement, go to the third painting on the left and. . ." George abruptly paused, "are you still working on that SPEW thing?"
"It is not S.P.E.W!" Hermione whispered, her face scrunching up angrily, "it's the House-Elf Liberation Front! And no, I am not working on it, I just want to know where the kitchen is!"
"Whatever." Fred said with a dismissing wave of his hands. "Go down to the second basement, go to the third painting on the left and tickle the pear. It'll laugh and you'll go straight in."
"Want a treacle tart, Harry?" George asked.
"Thanks but no thanks, George." Harry replied.
"What did I tell you Fred, you dumb bloke," George said to his twin brother, "I told you this wasn't going to work!" Harry and Hermione watched on as Fred and George quickly walked away from them, arguing like angry geese.
"I think I'm going to get a little fresh air, Hermione." Harry said while rising to his feet and offering Hermione to help her up.
"Alright, Harry," Hermione said as she accepted Harry's offer, rising quickly to her feet. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"No. I'll be okay, just make sure Ron doesn't make a fool out of himself." Hermione snorted at that comment as she once again caught sight of Ron, who was now pestering his little sister, Ginny.
"I'll do what I can." Hermione said flatly, a wry smile on her face. "Just watch out for Filch and Snape."
"Of course," Harry said as he moved to the Boy's Dorm to grab his father's invisibility cloak. After carefully wrapping it around his body, Harry quietly moved through the common room, making certain not to startle anyone in the crowded area. Hermione awaited him at the portrait of the Fat Lady and opened the door for him and he made a swift exit from his own party with only one person knowing that he was gone.
Harry was always amazed with the sound of his bare feet tapping against the marble floors and lush carpeting of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. To Harry, Hogwarts was a place of both education and exploration, and he always enjoyed exploring the gigantic, dark hallways of the mysterious school. They were such a far cry from his cramped cupboard back at Privet Drive. From the moving stairways to the talking portraits to its many colorful residents, both living and posthumous, Harry simply couldn't get enough of the school and was making every effort to explore as much of it as he can, with or without Ron and Hermione. In this case, Harry wished to visit the owlery to check up on Hedwig, his snow-white owl that he received from Hagrid for his eleventh birthday.
As he slowly rounded the corner that led to the front doors of the school, Harry suddenly felt the need to run. He needed to get away. As his bare feet pounded on the padded carpeting of the great hall, Harry's mind drifted to many things. He thought of Peter Pettigrew, the man who sold out his parents to Voldemort. Then his mind's eye saw Severus Snape, the man who obviously had a past with Voldemort but Harry had no idea what it was. Then it was Voldemort. He could see the blood-red eyes, he could smell the fear of the wizards who dared to get in his way or the innocents who simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time, he could taste his desire to return to power, he could hear his icy laugh. . .
"WHOOF!"
It took a brief moment for Harry to register that he had run into something, mainly because his eyes told him that there seemed to be nothing to run into. As he tumbled to the ground, his light grip on his invisibility cloak snapped, causing his messy, black hair to pop up for anyone to see. He shook his head slowly, trying desperately to refocus his eyes and stand up. Once that was done, Harry was quite shocked to find another young man in a similar condition. The boy was running a hand through his unkempt, brown hair and his hazel eyes were looking directly back at Harry. He seemed to be just as tall as Ron, but his arms and legs seemed to give him a stockier form.
"Yowch! Didn't see that one coming," the stranger said, gingerly rubbing his forehead and lifting himself to his feet. "I knew I should have stayed in the common room to do this!"
Harry was still a little shell-shocked from the crash, so it took him quite a while longer to determine that something about this situation was a little weird. Finally, after a bit of internal questioning, his voice asked what his brain wanted to know.
"Were you just invisible?" Harry asked, his eyes wide.
"Yep," the brown-haired boy said with a roguish smile on his face.
"You don't have a cloak?" Harry asked while reaching backward to pick up his own cloak. At that question, the boy's smile grew even wider and his hazel eyes seemed to twinkle with excitement.
"Can't say I have," he said, as he procured an empty flask from a pocket in his robes. "I decided to test out my new invisibility potion. Guess I'll need to work on it a bit, don't you think?"
"But, aren't those potions illegal at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, a skeptical look on his face.
'Speaking as if you were just the picture of all innocence, Harry?' a little voice that sounded remarkably like Hermione said in his head.
"That's never stopped me before," the boy said shrugging his shoulders. "By the way, my name's Matt MacDougal," he said while extending his hand in an absurdly aggrandizing fashion.
"Harry Potter," he said, shaking Matt's hand calmly, acting as if two invisible people running into one another happened all the time. At the name, Matt's eyes flashed with recognition. Harry always hated it when this happens!
"Oh, so you're the guy who set off dungbombs in Draco Malfoy's cauldron before Potions in third year!" he said with a broad grin. "The originality of your work is simply awe-inspiring!" he said with great aplomb.
Harry's jaw felt like it almost hit the floor.
"Well," Harry said, an equally large grin creeping up on his face, "That's not what I'm usually remembered for doing, but thank you nonetheless."
"No problem," Matt said with an eager grin. Matt then began to stare with interest at Harry's invisibility cloak. "So this is an invisibility cloak, huh?" Matt asked, pointing to the silvery cloth. "I've never seen one myself before."
"Yes, it's my father's." Harry said. 'Why am I telling him this,' Harry thought. After all, the invisibility cloak was a secret that he had kept hidden from all but his closest friends. He just met this guy! "What house are you from?" he asked, eager to change the subject.
"Ravenclaw, fourth year," he said, "and you're a Gryffindor, right?"
Harry nodded. He was about to ask another question, but then he heard a sound that nearly froze his insides. It was the soft mewling that Harry knew all too well. His eyes grew as wide as saucers when he locked eyes with Filch's infamous partner-in-crime, Mrs. Norris. The cat's shining pale-green eyes seemed to be locked onto their conversation. She was sitting patiently on her hind legs, as though she was waiting patiently for something. Noticing Harry's distress, Matt looked behind him to find out what was causing the trouble, but then gave the Gryffindor a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry about her, Harry," Matt said with a confident air. "She's a friend of mine," he said as he turned to the little cat and whistled softly to her. Harry's eyes never left Mrs. Norris as she eagerly accepted Matt's invitation, walking briskly towards the mischievous Ravenclaw. Upon her arrival, Matt knelt back down to scratch Mrs. Norris behind her ears and back.
"She may seem mean at first," Matt said, as he continued petting the tiny cat, "but she's a sweetie at heart, aren't you little lady?" Mrs. Norris only gave a soft purr in reply. Continuing to scratch behind the cat's ears, Matt looked back to Harry.
"Well, it's always nice to meet a fellow night walker," Matt said with a grin, "I'll have to look you up tomorrow in the Great Hall. I plan on making a big entrance. Wanna have breakfast together?"
"All right," Harry said with a grin, still shocked (and a bit impressed) at Mrs. Norris quick compliance towards the young man. "I suppose I'll see you then, Matt," he said, once again extending his hand for Matt to shake. "And what do you mean by 'big entrance'?"
"You'll find out," Matt said, a mischievous grin on his face, "I think you'll enjoy it. See ya, night walker!"
Shaking his head, Harry donned his invincibility cloak as he watched the young man turn away and walk swiftly back to the Ravenclaw common room. Mrs. Norris, realizing that she would be petted no longer, gave a harsh glance in Harry's direction before returning to her never-ending search for juvenile troublemakers. Harry, on the other hand, stood rooted to the spot while he pondered over what the hell had just happened. After a bit of contemplation, Harry turned around and walked briskly back to the Gryffindor common room, his ideas of Voldemort and visiting Hedwig long forgotten.
Harry was also unaware that another figure had been a spectator to the conversation; a figure that did not make himself known until well after both Harry and Matt had fallen asleep. His long, white beard seemed to shine with the diffused moonlight coming through the windows of the Great Hall. He slowly walked toward the center of the Great Hall where the conversation between two complete strangers took place. He cocked his head to the left towards the Gryffindor common room and then turned to the right towards the Ravenclaw common room. He was the only person in Hogwarts who could grasp the magnitude of what had just occurred.
"Interesting," Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, said with a twinkle in his eyes.
Little Hangleton- One kilometer southeast of the Riddle home. November 24, 2000. 10:47 P.M.
If there was one thing that Peter Pettigrew knew about, it was death.
After all, he had quite a bit of experience within the field.
Two of his old friends, James and Lily Potter, had been killed by Voldemort because he was too damn weak. Peter himself was thought to be dead at the hands of another old friend, Sirius Black, who went to Azkaban for the crime. Peter's mother and father, distraught over his "death" died soon after. He had been to his own funeral and he saw the haunted eyes of another old friend, Remus Lupin. He looked as though he had lost everything he knew in a single night. As the years went on, he saw so many witches and wizards die due to either their own bravery, stupidity, greed, or a convoluted combination of the three. Now, over 13 years later after James and Lily's death, the event that sent his life upside down, he was currently working for an undead sorcerer and was preparing a funeral plot for a Muggle who, a short three months ago, was killed simply because he was doing his job.
'Yep,' Peter mused with a hard smile on his face, 'I know about death very well.'
Trying his best to avoid his own busy thoughts, he grunted with effort as he slowly pushed the wooden casket that held the body of Frank Bryce ('At least I know his name' Peter thought sardonically) toward the neatly made pit. All Peter knew about the man was that he had been there when Tom Riddle was born, and that's more information than he usually knew about the people he killed under Voldemort's service. Although he was hardly in the position, economically or physically, to create a lavish funeral for the man, Peter took some time to clean up the poor man and preparing the grave properly. The scent of formaldehyde was still quite strong in his head, much to his dismay.
'It's the least I could do,' he thought as he finally succeeded in lugging the heavy casket to the funeral plot and gently pushed it in. Then, after running his small hands through his thinning, brown-blond hair to be rid of the sweat pouring down his brow, Peter stood up slowly. Grabbing a rusty shovel he had found in Bryce's own tool shed, he began to dig. The cool, winter air seemed to strike at him viciously as he shoveled mound after mound of dirt onto the cracked casket. Once the plot was half- filled with harsh, black sediment, Peter stopped to think of something that Dumbledore once said to him. It was days before James and Lily's fatal encounter with Voldemort and the old wizard had stopped at his home to speak with him. Peter had just agreed to be James and Lily's "secret keeper," the first and best line of defense against Voldemort.
"I feel the strain that your heart and soul is undergoing, Peter," Dumbledore said, his bright eyes seemingly holding Peter in place. "However, you must always remember that in order to achieve our dreams, we must lose a bit of ourselves."
Peter laughed bitterly upon remembering the statement and the cruel irony held within it. Two of his dearest friends were dead, another one hated him while the other one wanted him dead. He had no friends, no family, and had nothing to call his own. His life was nothing more than feelings of fear, pain, self-pity, and nostalgia for a better time.
The end justifies the means?
Bullshit.
However, just as he had made a small grave for Frank Bryce, Peter Pettigrew had made his own place in the world, and he was determined to see that through. With that final thought, Peter gave a slight nod of courtesy to Frank Bryce's gravestone and began the slow walk back towards the Riddle house. His master would be waiting upon his arrival. For all his amazing gifts and capabilities, Voldemort would still need food and information. Information about Harry Potter.
Harry. . .
Peter had been there to watch the first task, to watch Harry take on the dragon. He truly had inherited his father's flying skills. As Harry tried to egg the fierce female dragon into the air, he could just imagine James looking with pride towards his son, wishing he could be up there. He imagined Lily, excited and panicky, praying that her little boy would be safe but silently cheering him on. Then there was Remus, hale and hearty as he could have ever hoped to be, not the pale and sickly soul that greeted him at the Shrieking Shack so many months ago. Then, there was he and Sirius, his godfather and his "uncle", cheering on Harry madly. Sirius would pour some popcorn on his head while Sirius thought he wasn't looking. James and Remus would laugh and Lily would give him a tender chuckle and rub her small hands through his sandy-blond hair.
They were together, as they should have been, a family until the end.
'A family,' Peter thought wistfully as he disappeared into the fog, leaving Frank Bryce to rest in peace.
Well, thank you for reading another installment of Harry Potter and the Scholar of Mystery. Just remember that reading is a good thing, but reading and reviewing is even better. I have nothing against flames either for that matter. Heaven knows I could do with a little constructive criticism. Oh, yeah, and here's the chapter three preview.
What exactly did Matthew mean by an interesting entrance? What do Peter Pettigrew and Voldemort have planned for Harry now that he passed the first task? And how are Matt and Hermione going to fit into it? Just what the hell makes Matt so special? Who really is the last of the Mohicans? How should I know! I'm just a writer. Anyway, find out the answers to some of these questions in the next installment of Harry Potter and the Scholar of Mystery: Strange Connections!
See you next time!