Disclaimer: I own nothing but Peter and Carolyn/Mary.
Although the holidays had gone smoothly, the return of the bulk of Hogwarts students made Peter's path rocky. His past did not assimilate well to the present. He sat just counting the minutes, the seconds, until March 22. It would not come. It would not come. If he had been a Muggle, he would have been diagnosed with clinical depression, maybe even so far as schizophrenia. Everyone who knew he existed and cared that he live was worried that he might once more slash his wrists and end all hope. He disagreed, on those few occasions he returned from his eerie, silent reveries. He said that he would not die now, because he had the most magnificent chance for revenge that there ever had been and ever would be. "They deserve to pay in blood," he growled on one of his worse days. "They deserve to suffer more than any mortal can imagine, for eternity, and that will not begin to pay for the crimes."
It seemed to Harry that Dumbledore was desperate to change Peter from his angry, vengeful self into someone, well, with no better word, someone good. He pleaded with the boy to recognize that murdering Voldemort and all connected with him was not the answer. It would not rid the world of evil.
"So what would you have me do, Dumbledore? Would you have me twiddle my thumbs as the death toll rises and watch because murdering the murderers is wrong?"
"No, but you must realize that it is not the solution to the problem. You will not undo their wrong."
"Their wrong is done. We cannot help those that have already gone. Do you think that I would not pay any price to undo.some things?" Peter still tiptoed around Lucy and Mary.
"No," Dumbledore replied softly, "but I do think you will act hastily and the world may wish that you chosen differently. You cannot act as other children. You cannot act as other wizards. You cannot even act as another human. In three months, if you are still breathing, the wave of your hand will create new constellations in the sky, rubbing your fingers will bring in the tide, and whistling will form tempests. What you will is what will happen. Peter, once you are great, there are none who can withstand you."
"So what are you saying?"
"Nothing except that you must take heed to do things for the greatest good and never do anything except what is right. You will change the world, whatever path you take. Change it for the better."
Peter suddenly realized what Dumbledore was saying. It was frightening. He wished he had not pieced it together. Change the world. It does not undo the wrong.
"Time. Am I the master of time?"
"Yes."
"Then I know what you ask of me, but I also know the repercussions of that action. How can you ask it? How?" Peter begged sadly. He tried to turns his thoughts from what Dumbledore wanted him to do, but he was unsuccessful.
Dumbledore would neither meet his gaze nor reply to his queries. Peter left the room slowly, pensive and quiet. He needed to think. Yes, his mind told him, of course you could do it, but you would never want to. Never. It's one thing to say it, one thing to try it, but to mean it and to take that step that will never let you come back; that's different. But Peter also knew that what Dumbledore would not come out and say was the best of plans for the rest of the world. "Why can't I ever do anything that will be the best for me?" Peter cried softly under the folds of the Invisibility Cloak.
He walked around aimlessly for hours that felt like minutes. His thoughts raged like tempests, out of control, rarely staying in the same place for two seconds. He couldn't concentrate on his mantras; he couldn't meditate. For the first time in his like he was not able to restrain his thoughts and emotions. Finally, after what the clock said was three hours, he sat down in the Great Hall for dinner, in a corner, without anyone taking notice of him. On his way, he snatched a chicken leg and a roll from the table. It was more than enough for his diet. Nevertheless, he would probably foist a few more morsels later that night. Why he even bothered to sit there and watch the real students eat, the people who belonged at Hogwarts, who were supposed to be there, was beyond him. It was fascinating to see how real children acted, he supposed, with their laughter and morbid complaining. He wondered often if he was insane, getting pleasure out of a world he could never take part in. But the answer was not to be found. Now, watching, he wondered something else. How many of these children had already been hurt by the Dark Lord? Many, and still many would be if he couldn't stop Voldemort. He began, in a flash of surprise, to understand how Dumbeldore could dare to suggest what he had.
And yet, he knew he could not do it.no, he would not do it. Staring out at the crowd he saw with a pang how many would benefit if he but had the courage. But he did not have it. He walked rather quickly out of the Great Hall and curled up in a corner in the empty headmaster's office, thinking for who knows how long. He did not even stop when Dumbldore came in, merely throwing the cloak over him as the grinding of the stairs and gargoyles announced his arrival.
Again, there was the sound of stone against stone. Peter looked up, wondering who would be visiting the headmaster, and whether he should announce his presense in case he heard something not meant for his ears.
A short, brown-haired girl hobbled in on a crutch as fast as a normal child would have walked. Her face was grimy and her clothes were torn, but the dirt hid a perfectly healthy, well-fed face and the clothes were new underneath.
"Professor Dumbledore," she cried grandly in an odd sort of accent, "I hear rumor that you are acquainted with one of my colleagues!"
"Your colleague?" the headmaster repeated confusedly.
"That's what I said, was it not? So, are the rumors true? 'Cause if they are I have a message for you to pass on to him, lessen he can come 'imself."
"Well, who is your colleague?"
"Don't know what you call him. But there be not many in my particular profession. Iffen you know one, it's probably him."
"Then, what is your 'profession?'" Dumbledore asked.
"Of late, I s'pose it's a bit changed, but we used to be little spies and ghosts. Got any of them lying around?"
Peter, at this point, finally got over his shock and stood up, letting the Cloak fall to the ground. "You're alive?" he asked incredulously.
"Aye, there 'e is. Miss me greatly? I'm awful sorry you haven't seen me sooner. I've got no excuse except that I wasn't the position to help. I'm glad to see you alive, but how you did it, I'll never know."
"Same to you." The girl's swagger and mask allowed Peter to remember his own. "You got a lot of explaining to do, though," he continued, "those aren't rags you're wearing."
"No, they aren't. I'll explain later, when the tapestries are clean."
It was a code that translated to "When no one else is listening."
Dumbledore stared unbelievingly at the two, but they ignored him. "So," the girl asked slyly, "What's your name? Your real name?"
Peter said nothing, but a bit of one of his strange smiles played across his lips. The girl laughed hard, and a bit triumphantly, "I win! Ten thousand Galleons to me!"
"Win what?" Peter asked, not remembering.
"I guessed your name! Peter was the most ironic, or maybe the second most, but the first most was too presumptuous, even for you," the girl replied without hesitation and quite gleefully.
"Yes, well, I am glad my name isn't Tom."
"So, I win then. Ten thousand galleons!"
"Yeah, congratulations, don't get to excited. It's not the end of the world."
"Unfortunately," she replied with that same sort of humor that Peter all too often expressed.
This was, apparently, a bit too much for Dumbledore, who stepped in, clearly annoyed. "Peter, would you like to explain?"
The girl doubled over into a new fit of laughter.
"Would you quit it with the 'would you like.' junk?" Peter asked exasperatedly. "Either way, I'm going to do it, so why don't you just tell me to do it in the first place? It seems like it would save a lot of people time and effort."
Dumbledore gave one of his usual silences for a reply. Peter groaned; the girl rolled her eyes. They started to leave, both covering themselves in the Cloak.
"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked again, this time not quite so patiently.
"What's this, Pip-, I mean Peter? You haven't told anyone about me? I'm hurt. At any rate, I think I can explain rapidly. My name is Carolyn McKinnon; you might also know me as Mary Lennox, etc. Peter and I are very good friends, have been, will be; you know the drill. Do I need further explanation; seeing no objections, I am leaving with my friend now."
"Carolyn McKinnon?" Peter looked at her quizzically.
"Don't call me Carolyn that was girl I never was. Call me Mary, like you used to."
And they left, leaving Dumbledore to figure out the rest for himself.
The girl, of course, was the other surviving Lost Child. The one Peter had called Mary. Here she was, alive and just as swaggering, just as full of herself, and just as defiant as she had ever been. She was the female Artful Dodger.
"So," Peter asked as they walked through nearly empty corridors, "Where have you been?"
"Here, there, and everywhere," she replied lithely. "Mostly, I've been seeing the sights in America, hanging with tour groups. Forgive me if my demeanor seems American at times. You know I am far too good at assimilation."
"McKinnon," Peter switched subjects, satisfied, "I know that name. Where from?"
"My parents were killed by Voldemort. They were one of the great families he brought down. I still don't know why I wasn't killed on the spot, but I wasn't killed later because the Death-Eaters were afraid I'd pull a Harry on them and, you know, mak'em lose their power. You figure out why yet?"
Peter nodded and briefed her on his situation. Then, he told her what his mind was still having trouble swallowing. "Dumbledore has a plan in mind. He's like Lucy; he doesn't want anymore death than necessary, and he very much believes that we are born to make our own destinies."
"So what does he want you to do?"
"It's not enough to kill him now, Mary. It isn't. The damage is done. Two generations are virtually destroyed, if not physically, mentally. There are so many dead. And so many more touched by those deaths. Stopping more from happening does not ease the pain of those who will never know their families."
"What are you getting at?"
"Dumbledore wants me to go back in time and kill Voldemort when he was still Tom Riddle, before he found the Chamber, before he made his blasphemous nickname."
"He said this to you?"
"No, but he might as well have."
"So do it! Make it all right! There is no reason why you shouldn't! It's perfect; we can all be happy. We can do it again, and this time be children."
"No, you don't understand the ramifications of me changing the world that way. Dumbledore does not only want Voldemort dead before he can perpetrate his crimes, but he wants.I don't know how to say it. If Voldemort is not around to do those things that he has done, then I will not be."
"What do you mean you won't be?"
"I am alive because Voldemort wanted me to be. My parents would not have had me if Voldemort had not willed it. By destroying Voldemort as a child, I destroy myself. I do not exist in a world without the Dark Lord."
Mary put her hands to her mouth. "No," she cried. "I won't let you. You have to live; you can't destroy yourself."
"Maybe I can. We've said it before. What have we got to live for? There's nothing."
"There wasn't anything. But now, now there's everything. I've had a year and a half free. You've had barely a week. The world is glorious. Come see all the magic that isn't encompassed in wands and potions. Stand on the cliffs of Maine, see the Taj Mahal, Peter. You can't commit suicide now, when you're so close."
"How is it fair that I live when people like Lily Potter are dead? How do we get away with being happy when there are so many who cannot be because of something that we could fix? Anyway, Dumbledore doesn't trust me. He thinks absolute power will corrupt me. What if it does, Carolyn? I will be the unstoppable evil."
"But you're good."
"Now, for now, I am. But what happens when the Dark Lord is gone. Is there any guarantee I'll continue to be this blissful little angel you have colored me to be? Dumbledore won't say it, but he views me as just as large of a threat as Voldemort is."
"That's ridiculous! You are less likely to turn evil than Harry Potter is!" Carolyn cried.
"No, I am less likely to turn Death-Eater," Peter corrected. "But they aren't the only evil entities in this world. I could change, even if I wanted to be good. What I want will be done, and that is far too dangerous a power for anyone to possess. Dumbledore already allowed one student to destroy the world. He can't let another."
"Live your life, then do this foul deed at the end."
"I have to do it while I still have the desire and the courage, Carolyn. I want to die now. What if that stops?"
Carolyn nodded slowly. She, as Peter, had come to the same conclusion. There was no other way.
"What if the world is better off now? What other ramifications could occur by this?"
"Then, Mary, the new world must fix them."
Mary started to cry softly.
"What is the matter?"
"If the world changes so that this reality is no more, then you will die with no tears shed and there will be beautiful eulogies for Riddle. Let me grieve now."
Peter did not reply. His head was too full of other thoughts to worry about the oddities of his only friend. Before this conversation he had been sure that he would not kill Riddle-as-a-child. Now, he was sure he would. Fear crept in him. Someone else might have been afraid at the thought of wiping himself out of existence. Peter wasn't. After all, the idea that he had made it this long was a bit mind-boggling. He had called for the Reaper too many times to feel anything when his time had come.
He was still insanely scared though. The world might be bad now, but there was still hope. What if Voldemort wasn't the worst thing possible? He started as a human, which meant that, somehow, he was conquerable. The Dark Lord wasn't the only source of evil in the world; everyone knew that. He was just the dominant one. What if his absence left the door open for someone else? Predicting the future was bad enough, but predicting alternate realities seemed virtually impossible. Still, why should he care? Maybe Riddle's death would spark the end of the world. It wasn't like he would be around to see it.
But he saw Mary, still sobbing as if he was lying in state, and knew. The reason death did not scare him was that he did not care half so much for himself as he did for her, and the other half dozen people he had ever cared about. That was how he had lived through Voldemort's torture. Voldemort hadn't understood that his callousness could be anything other than self-preservation. But something had happened to Peter as a child. He never had control of his own life. Self-preservation was impossible. The only kind of living he could do was vicarious. Since before his memory, it had been more important that people like Mary survived.
He could die. He was okay with that. Mary couldn't though. Mary had to survive, had to be, in the end, all right.
He held her until she stopped crying, like a brother, nothing more. That's what they were, a pair of siblings tossed against unbeatable odds.
And they had beaten them. For now.
.
a/n: Please just put up with me for now.and please review!
Although the holidays had gone smoothly, the return of the bulk of Hogwarts students made Peter's path rocky. His past did not assimilate well to the present. He sat just counting the minutes, the seconds, until March 22. It would not come. It would not come. If he had been a Muggle, he would have been diagnosed with clinical depression, maybe even so far as schizophrenia. Everyone who knew he existed and cared that he live was worried that he might once more slash his wrists and end all hope. He disagreed, on those few occasions he returned from his eerie, silent reveries. He said that he would not die now, because he had the most magnificent chance for revenge that there ever had been and ever would be. "They deserve to pay in blood," he growled on one of his worse days. "They deserve to suffer more than any mortal can imagine, for eternity, and that will not begin to pay for the crimes."
It seemed to Harry that Dumbledore was desperate to change Peter from his angry, vengeful self into someone, well, with no better word, someone good. He pleaded with the boy to recognize that murdering Voldemort and all connected with him was not the answer. It would not rid the world of evil.
"So what would you have me do, Dumbledore? Would you have me twiddle my thumbs as the death toll rises and watch because murdering the murderers is wrong?"
"No, but you must realize that it is not the solution to the problem. You will not undo their wrong."
"Their wrong is done. We cannot help those that have already gone. Do you think that I would not pay any price to undo.some things?" Peter still tiptoed around Lucy and Mary.
"No," Dumbledore replied softly, "but I do think you will act hastily and the world may wish that you chosen differently. You cannot act as other children. You cannot act as other wizards. You cannot even act as another human. In three months, if you are still breathing, the wave of your hand will create new constellations in the sky, rubbing your fingers will bring in the tide, and whistling will form tempests. What you will is what will happen. Peter, once you are great, there are none who can withstand you."
"So what are you saying?"
"Nothing except that you must take heed to do things for the greatest good and never do anything except what is right. You will change the world, whatever path you take. Change it for the better."
Peter suddenly realized what Dumbledore was saying. It was frightening. He wished he had not pieced it together. Change the world. It does not undo the wrong.
"Time. Am I the master of time?"
"Yes."
"Then I know what you ask of me, but I also know the repercussions of that action. How can you ask it? How?" Peter begged sadly. He tried to turns his thoughts from what Dumbledore wanted him to do, but he was unsuccessful.
Dumbledore would neither meet his gaze nor reply to his queries. Peter left the room slowly, pensive and quiet. He needed to think. Yes, his mind told him, of course you could do it, but you would never want to. Never. It's one thing to say it, one thing to try it, but to mean it and to take that step that will never let you come back; that's different. But Peter also knew that what Dumbledore would not come out and say was the best of plans for the rest of the world. "Why can't I ever do anything that will be the best for me?" Peter cried softly under the folds of the Invisibility Cloak.
He walked around aimlessly for hours that felt like minutes. His thoughts raged like tempests, out of control, rarely staying in the same place for two seconds. He couldn't concentrate on his mantras; he couldn't meditate. For the first time in his like he was not able to restrain his thoughts and emotions. Finally, after what the clock said was three hours, he sat down in the Great Hall for dinner, in a corner, without anyone taking notice of him. On his way, he snatched a chicken leg and a roll from the table. It was more than enough for his diet. Nevertheless, he would probably foist a few more morsels later that night. Why he even bothered to sit there and watch the real students eat, the people who belonged at Hogwarts, who were supposed to be there, was beyond him. It was fascinating to see how real children acted, he supposed, with their laughter and morbid complaining. He wondered often if he was insane, getting pleasure out of a world he could never take part in. But the answer was not to be found. Now, watching, he wondered something else. How many of these children had already been hurt by the Dark Lord? Many, and still many would be if he couldn't stop Voldemort. He began, in a flash of surprise, to understand how Dumbeldore could dare to suggest what he had.
And yet, he knew he could not do it.no, he would not do it. Staring out at the crowd he saw with a pang how many would benefit if he but had the courage. But he did not have it. He walked rather quickly out of the Great Hall and curled up in a corner in the empty headmaster's office, thinking for who knows how long. He did not even stop when Dumbldore came in, merely throwing the cloak over him as the grinding of the stairs and gargoyles announced his arrival.
Again, there was the sound of stone against stone. Peter looked up, wondering who would be visiting the headmaster, and whether he should announce his presense in case he heard something not meant for his ears.
A short, brown-haired girl hobbled in on a crutch as fast as a normal child would have walked. Her face was grimy and her clothes were torn, but the dirt hid a perfectly healthy, well-fed face and the clothes were new underneath.
"Professor Dumbledore," she cried grandly in an odd sort of accent, "I hear rumor that you are acquainted with one of my colleagues!"
"Your colleague?" the headmaster repeated confusedly.
"That's what I said, was it not? So, are the rumors true? 'Cause if they are I have a message for you to pass on to him, lessen he can come 'imself."
"Well, who is your colleague?"
"Don't know what you call him. But there be not many in my particular profession. Iffen you know one, it's probably him."
"Then, what is your 'profession?'" Dumbledore asked.
"Of late, I s'pose it's a bit changed, but we used to be little spies and ghosts. Got any of them lying around?"
Peter, at this point, finally got over his shock and stood up, letting the Cloak fall to the ground. "You're alive?" he asked incredulously.
"Aye, there 'e is. Miss me greatly? I'm awful sorry you haven't seen me sooner. I've got no excuse except that I wasn't the position to help. I'm glad to see you alive, but how you did it, I'll never know."
"Same to you." The girl's swagger and mask allowed Peter to remember his own. "You got a lot of explaining to do, though," he continued, "those aren't rags you're wearing."
"No, they aren't. I'll explain later, when the tapestries are clean."
It was a code that translated to "When no one else is listening."
Dumbledore stared unbelievingly at the two, but they ignored him. "So," the girl asked slyly, "What's your name? Your real name?"
Peter said nothing, but a bit of one of his strange smiles played across his lips. The girl laughed hard, and a bit triumphantly, "I win! Ten thousand Galleons to me!"
"Win what?" Peter asked, not remembering.
"I guessed your name! Peter was the most ironic, or maybe the second most, but the first most was too presumptuous, even for you," the girl replied without hesitation and quite gleefully.
"Yes, well, I am glad my name isn't Tom."
"So, I win then. Ten thousand galleons!"
"Yeah, congratulations, don't get to excited. It's not the end of the world."
"Unfortunately," she replied with that same sort of humor that Peter all too often expressed.
This was, apparently, a bit too much for Dumbledore, who stepped in, clearly annoyed. "Peter, would you like to explain?"
The girl doubled over into a new fit of laughter.
"Would you quit it with the 'would you like.' junk?" Peter asked exasperatedly. "Either way, I'm going to do it, so why don't you just tell me to do it in the first place? It seems like it would save a lot of people time and effort."
Dumbledore gave one of his usual silences for a reply. Peter groaned; the girl rolled her eyes. They started to leave, both covering themselves in the Cloak.
"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked again, this time not quite so patiently.
"What's this, Pip-, I mean Peter? You haven't told anyone about me? I'm hurt. At any rate, I think I can explain rapidly. My name is Carolyn McKinnon; you might also know me as Mary Lennox, etc. Peter and I are very good friends, have been, will be; you know the drill. Do I need further explanation; seeing no objections, I am leaving with my friend now."
"Carolyn McKinnon?" Peter looked at her quizzically.
"Don't call me Carolyn that was girl I never was. Call me Mary, like you used to."
And they left, leaving Dumbledore to figure out the rest for himself.
The girl, of course, was the other surviving Lost Child. The one Peter had called Mary. Here she was, alive and just as swaggering, just as full of herself, and just as defiant as she had ever been. She was the female Artful Dodger.
"So," Peter asked as they walked through nearly empty corridors, "Where have you been?"
"Here, there, and everywhere," she replied lithely. "Mostly, I've been seeing the sights in America, hanging with tour groups. Forgive me if my demeanor seems American at times. You know I am far too good at assimilation."
"McKinnon," Peter switched subjects, satisfied, "I know that name. Where from?"
"My parents were killed by Voldemort. They were one of the great families he brought down. I still don't know why I wasn't killed on the spot, but I wasn't killed later because the Death-Eaters were afraid I'd pull a Harry on them and, you know, mak'em lose their power. You figure out why yet?"
Peter nodded and briefed her on his situation. Then, he told her what his mind was still having trouble swallowing. "Dumbledore has a plan in mind. He's like Lucy; he doesn't want anymore death than necessary, and he very much believes that we are born to make our own destinies."
"So what does he want you to do?"
"It's not enough to kill him now, Mary. It isn't. The damage is done. Two generations are virtually destroyed, if not physically, mentally. There are so many dead. And so many more touched by those deaths. Stopping more from happening does not ease the pain of those who will never know their families."
"What are you getting at?"
"Dumbledore wants me to go back in time and kill Voldemort when he was still Tom Riddle, before he found the Chamber, before he made his blasphemous nickname."
"He said this to you?"
"No, but he might as well have."
"So do it! Make it all right! There is no reason why you shouldn't! It's perfect; we can all be happy. We can do it again, and this time be children."
"No, you don't understand the ramifications of me changing the world that way. Dumbledore does not only want Voldemort dead before he can perpetrate his crimes, but he wants.I don't know how to say it. If Voldemort is not around to do those things that he has done, then I will not be."
"What do you mean you won't be?"
"I am alive because Voldemort wanted me to be. My parents would not have had me if Voldemort had not willed it. By destroying Voldemort as a child, I destroy myself. I do not exist in a world without the Dark Lord."
Mary put her hands to her mouth. "No," she cried. "I won't let you. You have to live; you can't destroy yourself."
"Maybe I can. We've said it before. What have we got to live for? There's nothing."
"There wasn't anything. But now, now there's everything. I've had a year and a half free. You've had barely a week. The world is glorious. Come see all the magic that isn't encompassed in wands and potions. Stand on the cliffs of Maine, see the Taj Mahal, Peter. You can't commit suicide now, when you're so close."
"How is it fair that I live when people like Lily Potter are dead? How do we get away with being happy when there are so many who cannot be because of something that we could fix? Anyway, Dumbledore doesn't trust me. He thinks absolute power will corrupt me. What if it does, Carolyn? I will be the unstoppable evil."
"But you're good."
"Now, for now, I am. But what happens when the Dark Lord is gone. Is there any guarantee I'll continue to be this blissful little angel you have colored me to be? Dumbledore won't say it, but he views me as just as large of a threat as Voldemort is."
"That's ridiculous! You are less likely to turn evil than Harry Potter is!" Carolyn cried.
"No, I am less likely to turn Death-Eater," Peter corrected. "But they aren't the only evil entities in this world. I could change, even if I wanted to be good. What I want will be done, and that is far too dangerous a power for anyone to possess. Dumbledore already allowed one student to destroy the world. He can't let another."
"Live your life, then do this foul deed at the end."
"I have to do it while I still have the desire and the courage, Carolyn. I want to die now. What if that stops?"
Carolyn nodded slowly. She, as Peter, had come to the same conclusion. There was no other way.
"What if the world is better off now? What other ramifications could occur by this?"
"Then, Mary, the new world must fix them."
Mary started to cry softly.
"What is the matter?"
"If the world changes so that this reality is no more, then you will die with no tears shed and there will be beautiful eulogies for Riddle. Let me grieve now."
Peter did not reply. His head was too full of other thoughts to worry about the oddities of his only friend. Before this conversation he had been sure that he would not kill Riddle-as-a-child. Now, he was sure he would. Fear crept in him. Someone else might have been afraid at the thought of wiping himself out of existence. Peter wasn't. After all, the idea that he had made it this long was a bit mind-boggling. He had called for the Reaper too many times to feel anything when his time had come.
He was still insanely scared though. The world might be bad now, but there was still hope. What if Voldemort wasn't the worst thing possible? He started as a human, which meant that, somehow, he was conquerable. The Dark Lord wasn't the only source of evil in the world; everyone knew that. He was just the dominant one. What if his absence left the door open for someone else? Predicting the future was bad enough, but predicting alternate realities seemed virtually impossible. Still, why should he care? Maybe Riddle's death would spark the end of the world. It wasn't like he would be around to see it.
But he saw Mary, still sobbing as if he was lying in state, and knew. The reason death did not scare him was that he did not care half so much for himself as he did for her, and the other half dozen people he had ever cared about. That was how he had lived through Voldemort's torture. Voldemort hadn't understood that his callousness could be anything other than self-preservation. But something had happened to Peter as a child. He never had control of his own life. Self-preservation was impossible. The only kind of living he could do was vicarious. Since before his memory, it had been more important that people like Mary survived.
He could die. He was okay with that. Mary couldn't though. Mary had to survive, had to be, in the end, all right.
He held her until she stopped crying, like a brother, nothing more. That's what they were, a pair of siblings tossed against unbeatable odds.
And they had beaten them. For now.
.
a/n: Please just put up with me for now.and please review!