A/N: Thank you to reviewers auroraziazan, Bebop Valentine, Ice (indeed, but Remus is, after all, a teenage boy - as of the moment - and would probably be furious if he heard you say that), kateydidn't (so have you read the Katy books, as I assume from the name? excellent series and no one seems to be aware of its existence), LaurelRose, and Trinity Day.
Now review again on your knees thanking me for faithfully updating according to schedule even though it is - da dum da dum! - my birthday. Yes, that's right, and kind enough to format a new chapter anyway. My Hogwarts owl is four years late, but I'm still not giving up hope.
One last note concerning this chapter: I'm sticking to canon closely as possible, considering this has borrowed its whole theme from the books. However, even more tragic, in my eyes, than THE DEATH is that Harry's trip down Snape's memory lane revealed Peter to actually be as personality-less as a kid as all those teenybopper bad!fic insisted for years. That's quite sad. I've worked as much as I could with that characterisation.
But I refuse to keep that characterisation for most of my other fics.
(P.S. So I was wrong. Didn't update on my birthday, as ff.net wasn't working that day.)
IV - Pettigrew, Peter; Wednesday, 9:00
He could have saved at least some face had he remembered to knock, but neither did Pettigrew remember to do that.
'Erm,' he cut off, staring from Minerva to Niobe Newett, who was giving him a practiced derogatory once-over that she probably gave him at least twice a day. 'I th-thought it w-w-was m-my…'
'No, it's mine,' Newett told him coolly.
'Nine o'clock, Pettigrew.'
'Right.'
*
Niobe Newett had brought up a paradoxical intricacy in the requirements, and so before Pettigrew came back, Minerva had decided to hurry over to the staff room to examine the pamphlet for herself.
Unfortunately the room was not empty - Tacitus Thornton, Head of Slytherin, had moved one of the armchairs over to the window and was staring outside with the eerie expression that made him look so like a madman.
'Good morning, Professor McGonagall,' he greeted her without turning around. In addition to formal, his voice had grown much chillier than his norm.
'Professor Thornton, hello.' She made a point of bustling around, searching through a haphazard pile on the table, very noisily, to show that she was in a hurry and not up for one of his strange conversations. The ones that were part and parcel with his more insane moods.
'I've just about finished my fifth-years,' Thornton said conversationally. 'Just Miss Zambini to go.'
'Very nicely on schedule,' Minerva said crisply, somehow feeling insulted that she had three more on her hands, as if it were a race of some sort.
'Yes,' he said, tonelessly. 'I was just speaking with Severus Snape.'
'Oh, had you?' Minerva could not feign total disinterest. They all had a good idea that whatever Severus Snape was going to do, it wasn't something he was going to discuss with his Head of House. He was really quite brilliant in select subjects, and passed the others respectably. He was trouble waiting to happen, though, and the faculty had always held him in the corner of their eye. No child should know that amount of curses, and pandemonium always seemed to follow him, despite his apparent reserve.
'He says he intends to join the Potions Guild.' Thornton's voice held an unshed sigh, which was one of the more uncanny things about him. He continued in his same dreary tone: 'It's a cover, of course…'
Minerva felt chills crawling along her spine.
'… he will further his interest and knowledge in the Dark Arts, I know that well… he is my most promising student.' Thornton stood up soundlessly. 'Or would have been.'
She knew not what to say to that. With the pamphlet in hand, she was frozen to the spot. Thornton was still gazing out of the window, but his words seemed to find and cut her.
'I hate Voldemort,' he said, slowly yet with no apparent venom. 'Him and his ilk, the Rogue and the Death Eaters and Grindelwald and Voldemort. In one century they have suckled away everything good - and promising - and noble - and honourable - in Slytherin - and have inverted it for their own purposes.' A pause. 'Voldemort especially.' Another pause. 'I would so love to kill him,' he finished, longingly, dreamily.
You and so many others, Minerva reflected.
'It's his fault… the source of everything that's tearing my House apart…'
'The prejudice, you mean?' Minerva was trying to break the heavy, unnatural atmosphere by her usual briskness. It failed.
'The prejudice.' His voice was not accusing; it was in the same tone as it had been throughout their conversation. 'It started ruining Severus Snape and now Voldemort himself will finish it… but Voldemort would never have been able to touch my student had not your students made him vulnerable first… had not Potter started the task.' This time he did sigh. 'But he did, and a great young mind will be blackened and destroyed by Voldemort's hand.' Thornton turned at last and nodded courteously at Minerva. 'Good day, Professor McGonagall,' he said in the same distant tone, and left.
She stared at the door he had exited through for some time before jumping and realising that it was five past nine.
*
Peter Pettigrew was always afflicted by a case of the world's worst luck. Magical talent could have compensated his faulty memory but it hadn't, and the absence of both could have been made up for my persistence, patience, and hard work - but neither did that crop up.
Unfortunately, Minerva's pity ended there. Because the latter three weren't gifts, they were acquired qualities. Black and Potter's tendency to skirt by and slack off seemed to have rubbed off greatly on Pettigrew, or perhaps Pettigrew had been like that to begin with. In any case, there was no reason why he couldn't at least apply himself to the theory part of exams - but he didn't do that much, either. Pettigrew was found studying the morning of exams. If he passed, that was good. If he didn't, he could cheat.
*
Minerva, indeed, found him waiting, standing awkwardly by the chair and visibly more nervous than any other student thus far - in that year, in, quite possibly, all of Minerva's ten years doing this. He was trembling.
'I'm quite sorry, Mr Pettigrew.' She sat down, putting Newett's pamphlet inside of one drawer.
'Q-Quite all right,' Pettigrew said with a shaky little laugh. 'I m-missed it once, and n-now y-y-you - we're even now.'
'That's so,' Minerva agreed, pleased to hear the attempt at humour. Pettigrew always reacted much more differently when separated from his cahoots; when forced to, he could be able and would stand on his own feet. It might've been better for him to not have met his roommates. 'Take a seat, why don't you. No point in wasting more time.' She started shuffling through her folders, putting away the records Newett and searching for the records Pettigrew. 'Now, have you given any thought to your future career?'
'E-Erm… yes. I mean, some… I haven't c-come up w-with much…'
Minerva was trying the old standby of pointing out his strong points. Problem being that Pettigrew didn't seem to have a strong point. His marks were dismal all around. She should've left off finding that pamphlet and dealing with the mad Thornton; she hadn't gotten around to looking through his reports… a note from Rara Avia of Ancient Runes caught her eye. She was only half paying attention to what Pettigrew was saying.
'… knew some contacts in the Ministry - '
'Here it seems you have a flair for Ancient Runes, Pettigrew,' Minerva cut in, torn in half by disbelief and excitement.
'W-Well - y-yes, some I guess, b-but when it comes to ex-exams I, I get too nervous and flunk t-them…'
'Yes, that's what Professor Avia says.'
'I un-understand it, though… it all makes a lot of s-s-sense… that and chess; I h-have useless t-talents…'
'Chess?' Minerva took off her reading glasses and examined him. 'You do well at chess, Pettigrew?'
Perhaps she shouldn't have sounded so sceptical - it was making Pettigrew all the more flustered, maybe even resentful, which was what he sounded when he replied, defiantly:
'Yes.' And then, 'Yes, I've never lost a game to anyone except my grandfather.'
Minerva was floored - but not in a bad way; no, not at all… why hadn't these gifts ever come to light before?
'You should concentrate on Ancient Runes, Pettigrew,' she said firmly, forgetting her planned lecture, the one so similar to the one she had thrown at Black. It had been effective on Black, too, even if he had only regarded it for a mere moment, but perhaps some encouragement would help Pettigrew just as much. 'Not many do well with that area, and the Ministry has a whole subdepartment for that study - '
'B-But I can never do the exams!' Pettigrew protested.
'Oh, don't talk nonsense, Pettigrew - you'll have to learn to deal with a case of nerves the way all of us do…' Minerva was rather distracted, pulling out a spare sheet of parchment and unscrewing an inkstand. 'Don't you want to go on with that field?'
'W-Well, it's, it's a-as g-g-good as a-anything else…'
Minerva gritted her teeth, hating that attitude, but if Pettigrew couldn't pick anything just now, then she would for him. 'I want you to take the O.W.L. Arthimancy course as well.' (She had never remembered recommending so many O.W.L. courses in the same year before.)
'Arthimancy! Th-That's the, the h-hardest class - '
'Nonsense! Not for people whose minds work the way you do! There - now, let's look at what other classes you're passing in.'
'That's a sh-short list,' Pettigrew muttered despondently.
'You'd be doing very well at least on the theory if you only ever put any effort into things, something you've always seemed to think was beneath you,' snapped Minerva, looking over the list. 'Charms - yes, with some work I don't see why you can't get an "Exceeds Expectations" in Charms, same for Herbology. Potions, possibly… and if Professor Sinistra accepts you for her Advanced Astronomy I don't see any reason for you not to accept.'
'Th-That's six classes,' Pettigrew protested. 'If I o-only n-n-n-need th-the, the R-R-Run…' He never finished the sentence, quailed by the furious glare Minerva sent his way. She couldn't help it. Pettigrew always had a way of arousing her temper, and right now he was being frankly ridiculous.
'Most people try to take a class or two more than their requirements demand, particularly when the requirements are so few,' said Minerva. 'Do tell me what you intend to do rather than schoolwork the next two years and perhaps we'll work a compromise.'
He was silent.
'Of course you don't have to listen to me… wizards have long life expectancies, Pettigrew, and few stay in the same field their whole lives - '
'Long l-life expectancies,' snorted Pettigrew. 'I'm a wizard and a Gryffindor and You-K-Know-Who is o-out terrorising the country - I'll be d-dead f-five years after l-leaving sc-school…' In spite of his careless words, his bravado was straining. Death was not something Peter Pettigrew was embracing with open arms.
Pettigrew was a regular frame-full of bravado. Minerva supposed that children like Pettigrew needed bravado, even with protectors like his roommates. No doubt he had been the centre of a bully's attention more than once in his fifteen years. With his stringy blond hair, pouting lips, big pale blue eyes, and overweight frame, he looked as though someone had pre-ordered him from a cataloge: 'one schoolboy victim, yours for a reduced price during our not-so-exclusive holiday and everyday sale…'
That sort of position, especially when they were saved from their fate by a new and protective set of friends, might have encouraged some children to try all the harder. It hadn't Pettigrew, who simply hadn't a shred of Slytherin in him, a sad lack, for had he then he might have had the motivation to actually study and try. But perhaps if he realised that he could go far in ancient runes, then he would come around… Minerva hoped so.
She was also noting her ratio thus far. Ten children, eight already spoken with, and four had mentioned He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
'That's hardly a foregone conclusion,' Minerva retorted. 'In career consultations, we usually operate under the assumption that one will live long enough for the consultation to be of any use.'
Pettigrew flinched. He had a true fear of death - for himself, and possibly for others.
'I would have your mother look into her Ministry contacts and see what's open for you in this field, and to find their requirements,' Minerva continued. 'I don't know much of the field. However, you should try to achieve as many as possible.'
'A-All right,' replied a subdued Pettigrew.
'And I'm certain there will be an evening lecture concerning Ancient Runes, so you'd best attend and participate in that as well.'
Pettigrew nodded, twitching a little, a nervous tic, even though the interview was heading toward a conclusion and everyone was in one piece.
'Are there any other suggestions you would like to discuss?' Minerva inquired.
He shook his head, almost vehemently. He was eying the door. Minerva sighed inwardly. Her harshness had ruined the meeting; he was no longer thinking of his alive future but rather his dead one.
Then again, if Pettigrew were so certain that he was doomed, perhaps he would be quite willing to risk his life if any hope was promised that it would vanquish the dangers.
Minerva, of course, was thinking of Dumbledore's order.
TBC
Now review again on your knees thanking me for faithfully updating according to schedule even though it is - da dum da dum! - my birthday. Yes, that's right, and kind enough to format a new chapter anyway. My Hogwarts owl is four years late, but I'm still not giving up hope.
One last note concerning this chapter: I'm sticking to canon closely as possible, considering this has borrowed its whole theme from the books. However, even more tragic, in my eyes, than THE DEATH is that Harry's trip down Snape's memory lane revealed Peter to actually be as personality-less as a kid as all those teenybopper bad!fic insisted for years. That's quite sad. I've worked as much as I could with that characterisation.
But I refuse to keep that characterisation for most of my other fics.
(P.S. So I was wrong. Didn't update on my birthday, as ff.net wasn't working that day.)
IV - Pettigrew, Peter; Wednesday, 9:00
He could have saved at least some face had he remembered to knock, but neither did Pettigrew remember to do that.
'Erm,' he cut off, staring from Minerva to Niobe Newett, who was giving him a practiced derogatory once-over that she probably gave him at least twice a day. 'I th-thought it w-w-was m-my…'
'No, it's mine,' Newett told him coolly.
'Nine o'clock, Pettigrew.'
'Right.'
*
Niobe Newett had brought up a paradoxical intricacy in the requirements, and so before Pettigrew came back, Minerva had decided to hurry over to the staff room to examine the pamphlet for herself.
Unfortunately the room was not empty - Tacitus Thornton, Head of Slytherin, had moved one of the armchairs over to the window and was staring outside with the eerie expression that made him look so like a madman.
'Good morning, Professor McGonagall,' he greeted her without turning around. In addition to formal, his voice had grown much chillier than his norm.
'Professor Thornton, hello.' She made a point of bustling around, searching through a haphazard pile on the table, very noisily, to show that she was in a hurry and not up for one of his strange conversations. The ones that were part and parcel with his more insane moods.
'I've just about finished my fifth-years,' Thornton said conversationally. 'Just Miss Zambini to go.'
'Very nicely on schedule,' Minerva said crisply, somehow feeling insulted that she had three more on her hands, as if it were a race of some sort.
'Yes,' he said, tonelessly. 'I was just speaking with Severus Snape.'
'Oh, had you?' Minerva could not feign total disinterest. They all had a good idea that whatever Severus Snape was going to do, it wasn't something he was going to discuss with his Head of House. He was really quite brilliant in select subjects, and passed the others respectably. He was trouble waiting to happen, though, and the faculty had always held him in the corner of their eye. No child should know that amount of curses, and pandemonium always seemed to follow him, despite his apparent reserve.
'He says he intends to join the Potions Guild.' Thornton's voice held an unshed sigh, which was one of the more uncanny things about him. He continued in his same dreary tone: 'It's a cover, of course…'
Minerva felt chills crawling along her spine.
'… he will further his interest and knowledge in the Dark Arts, I know that well… he is my most promising student.' Thornton stood up soundlessly. 'Or would have been.'
She knew not what to say to that. With the pamphlet in hand, she was frozen to the spot. Thornton was still gazing out of the window, but his words seemed to find and cut her.
'I hate Voldemort,' he said, slowly yet with no apparent venom. 'Him and his ilk, the Rogue and the Death Eaters and Grindelwald and Voldemort. In one century they have suckled away everything good - and promising - and noble - and honourable - in Slytherin - and have inverted it for their own purposes.' A pause. 'Voldemort especially.' Another pause. 'I would so love to kill him,' he finished, longingly, dreamily.
You and so many others, Minerva reflected.
'It's his fault… the source of everything that's tearing my House apart…'
'The prejudice, you mean?' Minerva was trying to break the heavy, unnatural atmosphere by her usual briskness. It failed.
'The prejudice.' His voice was not accusing; it was in the same tone as it had been throughout their conversation. 'It started ruining Severus Snape and now Voldemort himself will finish it… but Voldemort would never have been able to touch my student had not your students made him vulnerable first… had not Potter started the task.' This time he did sigh. 'But he did, and a great young mind will be blackened and destroyed by Voldemort's hand.' Thornton turned at last and nodded courteously at Minerva. 'Good day, Professor McGonagall,' he said in the same distant tone, and left.
She stared at the door he had exited through for some time before jumping and realising that it was five past nine.
*
Peter Pettigrew was always afflicted by a case of the world's worst luck. Magical talent could have compensated his faulty memory but it hadn't, and the absence of both could have been made up for my persistence, patience, and hard work - but neither did that crop up.
Unfortunately, Minerva's pity ended there. Because the latter three weren't gifts, they were acquired qualities. Black and Potter's tendency to skirt by and slack off seemed to have rubbed off greatly on Pettigrew, or perhaps Pettigrew had been like that to begin with. In any case, there was no reason why he couldn't at least apply himself to the theory part of exams - but he didn't do that much, either. Pettigrew was found studying the morning of exams. If he passed, that was good. If he didn't, he could cheat.
*
Minerva, indeed, found him waiting, standing awkwardly by the chair and visibly more nervous than any other student thus far - in that year, in, quite possibly, all of Minerva's ten years doing this. He was trembling.
'I'm quite sorry, Mr Pettigrew.' She sat down, putting Newett's pamphlet inside of one drawer.
'Q-Quite all right,' Pettigrew said with a shaky little laugh. 'I m-missed it once, and n-now y-y-you - we're even now.'
'That's so,' Minerva agreed, pleased to hear the attempt at humour. Pettigrew always reacted much more differently when separated from his cahoots; when forced to, he could be able and would stand on his own feet. It might've been better for him to not have met his roommates. 'Take a seat, why don't you. No point in wasting more time.' She started shuffling through her folders, putting away the records Newett and searching for the records Pettigrew. 'Now, have you given any thought to your future career?'
'E-Erm… yes. I mean, some… I haven't c-come up w-with much…'
Minerva was trying the old standby of pointing out his strong points. Problem being that Pettigrew didn't seem to have a strong point. His marks were dismal all around. She should've left off finding that pamphlet and dealing with the mad Thornton; she hadn't gotten around to looking through his reports… a note from Rara Avia of Ancient Runes caught her eye. She was only half paying attention to what Pettigrew was saying.
'… knew some contacts in the Ministry - '
'Here it seems you have a flair for Ancient Runes, Pettigrew,' Minerva cut in, torn in half by disbelief and excitement.
'W-Well - y-yes, some I guess, b-but when it comes to ex-exams I, I get too nervous and flunk t-them…'
'Yes, that's what Professor Avia says.'
'I un-understand it, though… it all makes a lot of s-s-sense… that and chess; I h-have useless t-talents…'
'Chess?' Minerva took off her reading glasses and examined him. 'You do well at chess, Pettigrew?'
Perhaps she shouldn't have sounded so sceptical - it was making Pettigrew all the more flustered, maybe even resentful, which was what he sounded when he replied, defiantly:
'Yes.' And then, 'Yes, I've never lost a game to anyone except my grandfather.'
Minerva was floored - but not in a bad way; no, not at all… why hadn't these gifts ever come to light before?
'You should concentrate on Ancient Runes, Pettigrew,' she said firmly, forgetting her planned lecture, the one so similar to the one she had thrown at Black. It had been effective on Black, too, even if he had only regarded it for a mere moment, but perhaps some encouragement would help Pettigrew just as much. 'Not many do well with that area, and the Ministry has a whole subdepartment for that study - '
'B-But I can never do the exams!' Pettigrew protested.
'Oh, don't talk nonsense, Pettigrew - you'll have to learn to deal with a case of nerves the way all of us do…' Minerva was rather distracted, pulling out a spare sheet of parchment and unscrewing an inkstand. 'Don't you want to go on with that field?'
'W-Well, it's, it's a-as g-g-good as a-anything else…'
Minerva gritted her teeth, hating that attitude, but if Pettigrew couldn't pick anything just now, then she would for him. 'I want you to take the O.W.L. Arthimancy course as well.' (She had never remembered recommending so many O.W.L. courses in the same year before.)
'Arthimancy! Th-That's the, the h-hardest class - '
'Nonsense! Not for people whose minds work the way you do! There - now, let's look at what other classes you're passing in.'
'That's a sh-short list,' Pettigrew muttered despondently.
'You'd be doing very well at least on the theory if you only ever put any effort into things, something you've always seemed to think was beneath you,' snapped Minerva, looking over the list. 'Charms - yes, with some work I don't see why you can't get an "Exceeds Expectations" in Charms, same for Herbology. Potions, possibly… and if Professor Sinistra accepts you for her Advanced Astronomy I don't see any reason for you not to accept.'
'Th-That's six classes,' Pettigrew protested. 'If I o-only n-n-n-need th-the, the R-R-Run…' He never finished the sentence, quailed by the furious glare Minerva sent his way. She couldn't help it. Pettigrew always had a way of arousing her temper, and right now he was being frankly ridiculous.
'Most people try to take a class or two more than their requirements demand, particularly when the requirements are so few,' said Minerva. 'Do tell me what you intend to do rather than schoolwork the next two years and perhaps we'll work a compromise.'
He was silent.
'Of course you don't have to listen to me… wizards have long life expectancies, Pettigrew, and few stay in the same field their whole lives - '
'Long l-life expectancies,' snorted Pettigrew. 'I'm a wizard and a Gryffindor and You-K-Know-Who is o-out terrorising the country - I'll be d-dead f-five years after l-leaving sc-school…' In spite of his careless words, his bravado was straining. Death was not something Peter Pettigrew was embracing with open arms.
Pettigrew was a regular frame-full of bravado. Minerva supposed that children like Pettigrew needed bravado, even with protectors like his roommates. No doubt he had been the centre of a bully's attention more than once in his fifteen years. With his stringy blond hair, pouting lips, big pale blue eyes, and overweight frame, he looked as though someone had pre-ordered him from a cataloge: 'one schoolboy victim, yours for a reduced price during our not-so-exclusive holiday and everyday sale…'
That sort of position, especially when they were saved from their fate by a new and protective set of friends, might have encouraged some children to try all the harder. It hadn't Pettigrew, who simply hadn't a shred of Slytherin in him, a sad lack, for had he then he might have had the motivation to actually study and try. But perhaps if he realised that he could go far in ancient runes, then he would come around… Minerva hoped so.
She was also noting her ratio thus far. Ten children, eight already spoken with, and four had mentioned He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
'That's hardly a foregone conclusion,' Minerva retorted. 'In career consultations, we usually operate under the assumption that one will live long enough for the consultation to be of any use.'
Pettigrew flinched. He had a true fear of death - for himself, and possibly for others.
'I would have your mother look into her Ministry contacts and see what's open for you in this field, and to find their requirements,' Minerva continued. 'I don't know much of the field. However, you should try to achieve as many as possible.'
'A-All right,' replied a subdued Pettigrew.
'And I'm certain there will be an evening lecture concerning Ancient Runes, so you'd best attend and participate in that as well.'
Pettigrew nodded, twitching a little, a nervous tic, even though the interview was heading toward a conclusion and everyone was in one piece.
'Are there any other suggestions you would like to discuss?' Minerva inquired.
He shook his head, almost vehemently. He was eying the door. Minerva sighed inwardly. Her harshness had ruined the meeting; he was no longer thinking of his alive future but rather his dead one.
Then again, if Pettigrew were so certain that he was doomed, perhaps he would be quite willing to risk his life if any hope was promised that it would vanquish the dangers.
Minerva, of course, was thinking of Dumbledore's order.
TBC
