Hermione's Death
PART TWO – THE FIGHT
Summary:
Hermione died saving Harry's life in the face of Voldemort. He and Ron feel empty and alone, especially as Hermione was Harry's girlfriend. Everything he does reminds him of her. And Voldemort's getting stronger every day...
Hermione's dead, Cassandra is beautiful but evil, and Harry is deeply confused. Now all he has to do is let Cassandra lead him to Voldemort…
Disclaimer: I own only a few characters; I don't own the setting or anything like that. Most of this story (most, not all!) is down to that genius JK Rowling. Please, read on, and enjoy…oh, and review. All constructive criticisms very welcome. But please, no flames.
Author's Note: Hey guys! Hope you're still enjoying this story. Please review; I love getting feedback. Sorry this chapter's a bit short (as are a lot my chapters!), but I'll put the next chapter up soon I promise. Ok, I'll stop rambling now and let you read it! Review please!! ~rowanx
A man was pacing up and down a library. At least, it certainly looked like a library. There were rows and rows of shelves in this large room of endless amounts of dusty volumes. There was a clearing in the middle of all these shelves where there was a table with two chairs either side of it. The man called out for his servant a third time and when he did not come to him, the man pushed the ancient table over, shedding it to pieces. He sat down in one the wooden chairs frowning. Where was that fool of a boy he called his servant?
He heard a door creak open slowly. It was coming from the right of him. The man did not hesitate. From a secret inside pocket of his long black cloak he got out a wooden stick and pointed at the direction he had heard the creak. He angrily muttered an incomprehensible word and moved his stick to the opposite end of the room. With the stick flung the person at the door. This person, or child, it seemed, for he was rather small, hit against the opposite wall with a thud and slithered to the ground.
The man stood and slowly walked over to the shuddering figure by the wall. "You are late," the man said simply. "Do not let it happen again, for I am in no mood." He walked back to his chair and sat once more. The child by the wall was no child. His name was Peter Pettigrew, and a servant of this cruel, bad-tempered man. He was a man in his mid-thirties and was withered and thin. From the amount of curses and punishments he had received from his master his body had seemed to refuse to continue to grow, and so Peter was but half of his masters size who by law should have been too old to punish him with such strength. But his master was strong, he was very strong; and for this man strength brought him great power and authority.
Peter saw his master as a tyrant; nothing better and everything worse. He wished he didn't serve him, but he had no choice. He was still young; he had many years left in the world, and he did not want to die. Peter suffered day by day. He brought pain to others so that he may live still, and he felt horrible for it. But there was nothing he could do. He was a coward, and a simple person. He was no hero. Not like that Harry Potter boy.
Peter had a strange admiration for the boy his master desperately wanted dead. He had killed the boy's father purposely, and had the chance to kill the boy's mother by pure luck. But when he had tried to kill the boy himself, it had drained him of all power. He had even passed some of that power along to the boy himself, and when Peter was alone sometimes, he sniggered to himself thinking that his master had only made the boy stronger.
And why was Harry Potter the thing that ruled Peter's life? The boy who haunted Peter every day and every sleepless night? Peter had once been good friends with the boy's father. Then by his own weakness and cowardice he had betrayed two of his best friends; Lily and James Potter. He had betrayed them to their deaths.
Peter shuddered as these haunting memories came back to him as he lay crouched by the wall waiting to be called over by his master. The other two of the gang Sirius and Remus; he'd have to be careful, for they more than anyone, more than the boy himself, wanted revenge on Peter. They had sworn never to tell Voldemort where Lily and James were. Well, only Sirius knew, until that fool Dumbledore had suggested they make Peter the secret keeper instead of Sirius. Peter still didn't quite understand that. They said that it would be less obvious that Peter was the secret keeper, because Sirius was James' best friend, and best man at his and Lily's wedding. But surely they knew that Peter was a coward? He had gone around with Sirius and James and Remus because they were everything he wasn't. They were brave, they were noble, and they were strong. Peter was a weakling and a coward. He still didn't understand why they had been friends with him. Maybe it was simply because there was good in the world. They had been his friend because they had believed in him. They had believed he was as good as they were, even if he wasn't as brave or strong.
Peter shed a tear for his old friends, and a tear for the good that had once been in him. His master turned his head round sharply from his chair to look directly at Peter. "Are you crying, snivelling servant?"
"Yes, master," Peter admitted.
"Why? Stop it at once!"
"It is only from the pain you so kindly put upon me," Peter lied, knowing this would make him happy.
His master merely grunted, showing a rare sign of approval. "Come here."
Peter got his feet quickly and went to his master's side. He did not dare look into the face of his master. There was too much evil in his face, it hurt him to see it. These days he did not dare look upon himself even, in mirrors. He was too afraid to see the same evil, the same malice, in his own appearance.
"What news of Cassandra?" asked the man.
Peter bit his lip. "Um…n-none, master…"
"None!" Peter's master rose to stand on his feet, towering above Peter like a father to his son, only with bitterness instead of tenderness. "What do you mean none?! I told her to report in with you twice a week! How long has it been, servant?"
"Um…t…t-two w-weeks, sir…"
The master yelled aloud in rage. Peter cowered back, shielding his face with an arm. But nothing happened. Slowly, Peter recoiled his arm to see his master standing still, staring ahead of him, frowning deep in thought. Slowly he sat back down. "Am-Am I not to be p-punished, sir?" Peter asked quietly.
"No, I am too tired," replied his master simply. Peter lay his arm back down by his side in relief.
The man sitting in the chair said something then in a different language. Just a few words sounding like hisses. Peter knew it well; he was speaking in parseltongue, talking aloud to himself, so Peter could not understand the nature of his plans. He looked then to Peter, with a strange glint in his eye.
"Pettigrew…" he started slowly. Peter's eyes widened. He called him by his name. This could not be good. "I've got a job for you." His master smiled a cruel smile down on Peter, showing lots of teeth.
"No, master, please, I beg of you…" Peter pleaded in a whisper, but his master either didn't hear him or pretended not to.
"I want you to go to Hogwarts. Go to Hogwarts, find Cassandra, keep an eye on her. Do you understand?"
Peter knew that now the job had been assigned to him, he could not argue. He nodded slowly. His master sat back in his chair. "Good. She is dear to me, of course. But I don't trust anyone, as well you should know."
Peter nodded. "Yes master. Do...do you wish me to go this week?" He hoped he would have at least some time to prepare.
His master shook his head. Peter sighed in relief. He would have more time then to get ready for it. "I want you to go now." Peter opened his eyes wide in alarm.
"Now? But master, I…"
"Do you question me?!" his master raged loudly.
"N-n-no master…"
"Do you disobey me?!"
"No – no of course not, master…"
"Then go!" The man pointed his arm to the door in anger. "Go, and do not return until you have some information that I want!"
Peter practically ran to the door. "Oh, and Peter?" Peter shuddered at his master speaking his name and slowly turned. "I do expect you to return. You cannot run from me Peter…"
"No – no, why…why would I want to, master?" Peter said through clenched teeth.
His master grunted. "Yes. You may be my servant, but I am still Lord Voldemort, and I will have obedience, I will have power."
Peter bowed then scuttled out, glad to be out of the tensed room. As soon as the door had shut behind him, Voldemort smiled and a figure stepped out from behind a shelf. "Stupid fool," said the figure.
Voldemort rose and turned. The figure stepped out into the light. He was as tall as Lord Voldemort, and had the same evil features about his face. He had white hair and an evil grin. "So you mean to go through with your plan I see?"
Voldemort laughed aloud and clapped a hand on the figure's shoulder. The two laughed together maliciously as a certain rat was running down some stairs and out through a gap in the front door.