Authors Note: Hello again. Everyone needs to thank Thomas for his motivation in getting this one out finally. I'm still working on making Aretha Franklin go bald (don't ask)...This chapter is dedicated to him. Enjoy, and please review.

Expectations

Chapter 5

The next few weeks past relatively quickly for Harry, as the happiest times in ones life tend to do. Harry relished every moment he spent with Sirius and Remus at Mrs. Figg's place. It was fast becoming a second home, as the Burrow had in the previous summers.

For the first time since he had begun attending Hogwarts Harry was feeling a bit apprehensive about returning. Somewhere in his gut he knew this year would be unlike the rest. Maybe it was because of the events that brought the previous year to a close, or maybe it was just because he was growing older. Whatever it was, Harry just wished he could be the naive youth he once was, where his biggest hurdle was surviving a feeding with Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts or completing his divination homework in time for Quidditch practice. No. Those days would never return. Voldemort had put a stop to those carefree times for good.

Lying on his blue quilted bed Harry had to chuckle at how much his life had changed in the past four years. If somehow he could have known what was in store for him back when he was still being picked on by Dudley and his gang, would he have believed it? He wasn't sure if he believed it even now. Was this some glorious dream world in which he was living? If so, he never wanted to wake from it.

As Harry drifted off into a peaceful slumber, in the security of Mrs. Figg's spare bedroom, he was truly at ease with the world. Everything seemed right for now and that was enough for him. He would save the troubles of the wizarding world, his world, for another day, but for now his dreams were too precious to leave waiting any longer.

Though the house was silent, a slumber as welcomed as the one in which Harry was now engrossed, had not consumed everyone. Sirius lay awake upon his bed contemplating the same thoughts that had ravaged his mind for weeks. There were so many unanswered questions he wanted to know about Peter. It seamed every action of Peter's that he accounted for would only propose a new and more complicated one.

Did he have reasons for it all? Did I drive him to it? Maybe the pressure was too much. If only I would have done it myself. Sirius had thought, pushing all of the blame onto himself in the same manner as he did the small, fleece blanket now balled up at the foot of the bed.

He was growing accustom to taking the heat. For the past fourteen years he had made it habit to take responsibility for everything Peter did. It was he after all, who let Peter get away from accepting the consequences of his actions--not once, but twice now. If he couldn't get Peter to step up to the plate, then he would have to take it for him. It was after all, just as much his fault. All he could do, to in some way compensate for his failure to protect James and Lily, was to look after Harry, and make sure that Peter was dealt with, in whatever manner it turned out necessary.

These matters would have to wait for now, though, as fatigue finally caught up to him, causing an unsettling sleep, filled with the same dreams that haunted him night after night.

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Peter slowed his pace considerably after returning Draco into his fathers' custody. He did not wish to return to the presence of his master any sooner than necessary. In addition, it gave him time to think without Voldemort, or Tom, as he had again become accustom to being called.

No matter what he had taken to calling himself, or how much his physical appearance had changed since Peter had restored him to his body, he still had those blazing eyes. Every time Peter was in the same room as him he felt like he was being weighed, measured, and he didn't want anyone--let alone Tom--to see what reside within him. It was his worst fear that Tom would see past his timid facade, see the man he so desperately wanted to reveal.

It was true that Peter had been a coward during his seven years at Hogwarts, but in the time there after, when his friends had gained lives of their own, and had no time for him, he had been forced to get over that. That's where Tom came in. He fed upon this lack of independence. Peter was the kind of person to keep around, no matter if you could see their use at the time or not, and his relationship with James and Lily did eventually pay off.

Tom manipulated Peter to trust him--think him as a friend. He knew that putting up with Peter would eventually reveal the fruits of his labor. That's when Tom found out that Peter had become the Potters' Secret Keeper. It was just the edge he had needed in order to salvage what was left of his plan.

Peter still had nightmares about that night. The pleading look in James' eyes was very different from the one of admiration and trust that he had displayed just hours before. He hadn't had any idea what Peter had done. James was hurt. The inner conflict, the raging war within him, over what he should feel about his old friend, was visible in those green eyes as well. Peter would never be able to forget them, they were etched into his very being. And he could not forgive himself until he managed to do so. It was a permanent ache that he was well acquainted with after having felt it now, for a lengthy amount of time.

Deciding that Tom wouldn't miss him too much if he didn't return, Peter fled to his only solace: literature. He had read countless books on every subject you could think of. Fiction to non-fiction, action to romance; he loved it all. It took him away, to another place and another time. It was somewhere happy endings did exist, and people could change. He knew that such ideas were juvenile. That they shouldn't captivate his imagination in such ways, but he just couldn't help returning to them day after day, night after night. They were his only escape from a life he wasn't meant to live.

As the words began swirling together in an array of letters and punctuation marks Peter marked his spot with a small scrap of parchment. He knew that the place he was about to venture was filled with thoughts far less comforting. However, he could no longer hold back the weariness his body was feeling, and gave into a sleep filled with dreams very different from that of Harry's.

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Draco awoke still rather tired from the previous night. He had been pondering a life of servitude, under Tom into the weary morning hours and spent the rest of the night tossing and turning over the dreams that came along with such thoughts. Exhaustion, however, was a feeling Draco had grown accustomed to. Lucius had always arrived home late into the night, thus making the evening hours the only time Draco could spend with the man who meant the world to him.

He was nothing but a miniature Lucius in appearance, opinion, and action. That was whom he was groomed to be. He was to be his successor. Draco was to take over for his father and be Voldemort's right-hand man. That however wasn't who he wanted to be. He wasn't going to be a follower all his life. Draco was a natural born leader. He wanted to make something of himself, prove himself, not just to his father, not just to Tom, but to the world.

Draco didn't fancy a life as an evil mastermind. He didn't even really mind Muggle borns, but he had to keep face to his father. Lucius was old blood with old beliefs. Draco had great respect for the man or he would have changed his ways long ago.

"Let them be, just as you would an animal. They live their lives and we live ours," he once said to Draco. That was in general, his philosophy. Draco was convinced that every so-called evil thing, that his father had done, was all under the threat of what Tom would do to him. He was in over his head so to speak. Lucius was between a rock and a hard place. If he defied the Dark Lord there would be dire consequences. If he were to go to the Ministry about it, then he would be condemned to the same fate, due to his past involvement with Tom. Draco didn't want either.

He would find a way to get his father and him out of this mess, one way or another. These matters would have to be dealt with later though, as midday was approaching and Draco had to pick up his new school things from Diagon Alley with Crabbe and Goyle.

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Harry awoke bright and early and prepared to venture into Diagon Alley to meet Ron and Hermione whom had finally sent him letters apologizing profusely for not writing sooner. It seams that Ron's owl Pig had been injured trying to deliver a very large report on flying carpets for Percy. Hermione was miles away from the nearest wizards' settlement and Crookshanks couldn't deliver mail.

The three had made arrangements to meet up in Diagon Alley and pick up their school supplies, as school was starting in a little less than a week. Harry needed to restock his potion ingredients, pick up some new robes and books, and also pick up some money from his vault in Gringotts. Sirius had offered to go along but Harry turned down his offer. It wasn't because he didn't enjoy his company or that Ron and Hermione wouldn't be happy to see him, but Harry knew that for the past few weeks he had monopolized his time, causing Sirius to get no work done in the search for Peter. So with a heavy heart, he bid him goodbye and stepped into the fireplace shouting "Diagon Alley."

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Yeah, I know it was a very boring chapter, especially after having waited such a long time. I promise next will be better. It's been a long, and hectic month. Please reviews.