The Devil's Dilemma

by Her Alter-Ego

One woman, two men. One, a Hero--the other, a Demon. Life as a teenage father isn't easy, Harry discovers. It's about to get a whole lot worse when his daughter is kidnapped and he discovers that his wife is in love with the unlikeliest of men.

1. Default Chapter

Prologue:

Harry peered into the bassinet and into the eyes of his tiny newborn daughter, Abigail Rose, or, as Sirius had nicknamed her for some unexplained reason, Abbey Road. He watched as the infant's crying ceased abruptly and her large blue eyes crossed for a fraction of a second as she worked to bring her daddy into view. Harry smiled tenderly at her as he reached into the bassinet to pick her up.

"How's my little girl tonight, huh?" he asked her in a soft, reassuring voice. "Someone's hungry and can't wait until morning?" He placed the baby against his bare chest and rubbed her tiny back with a slow circular motion. He sighed as she snuggled against him, her head resting in the crook of his neck as she molded her body to his in a way that only newborns can do.

Despite the fact that Abigail had occupied the nursery for nearly three weeks, Harry still marveled at how light and soft she was. Barely seven pounds now, Abigail was just a bit heavier than a Quaffle. She had an untidy mop of black hair, pink cheeks and rosebud lips that Harry forever felt the need to kiss. Her shoulders and back was still covered in the soft, downy hair-like substance that all babies were born with, making her seem that much more vulnerable. When she cried, his heart ached. When she was sleeping comfortably in his arms he felt more at peace with the world than he could imagine. He was to be the shaper of her dreams; the molder of her future; the one who would teach her right and wrong and the beater of potential boyfriends with a sharp stick.

"You're not going to have any boyfriends, are you, Abigail?" he asked. "You're going to stay here with me forever. I'm going to teach you about Quidditch and Fizzing Whizbees and why Professor Snape is a poncy git. You're not going to have time for pesky boys!" He lowered his head a bit and smelled her hair as he kissed the little swirl on the crown of her head. She smelled sweetly of baby shampoo and softness and sour milk "You're going to be daddy's little girl, right?"

Abigail said nothing.

Harry sat down in the large rocking chair next to the bassinet and picked up her bottle of formula. He adjusted Abigail's position a bit, so that her head was in the crook of his arm, her face to his. He placed the nipple of the bottle to the baby's lower lip and she eagerly began to suck. As he rocked her, the only sounds that were heard were the creak of the rocker and the sound of air bubbles in the bottle. Abigail's eyes were still trained on her father.

"I'm going to be a good daddy to you, Abigail. People say it can't be done; that I'm too young and immature to know what love really is. They say that your mummy and I made a huge mistake in making you and it's only a matter of time before we fail you. I promise I'm not going to let that happen, Abigail. As God as my witness, I'm going to do right by you and your mum." Harry continued to rock the little girl. Little by little his eyes began to feel very heavy. Soon, father and child were sound asleep in the rocking chair and all was at peace in the world…at least for the moment.

"The Devil's Dilemma"

Chapter One

"Wormtail in Wonderland"

Gather 'round my friends and let me weave you a tale,

A tale of romance and suspense--

A story of intrigue, of terror and betrayal,

And a plot twist to that's frankly-- intense!

A husband, a wife and their newborn daughter

Add a suitor who's not on the level…

And all of a sudden you have the ingredients,

For the tale of a Dilemma and a Devil…

-"One Woman, Two Men…" original poem by webba –

Business at the Wonderland Bar and Gentleman's Club (a Muggle establishment) was unusually slow for a Friday night. Despite the lousy weather and lack of a major sporting event on the television (factors which usually boded well for the prosperity of the establishment on any given night), the bar was very nearly empty. Those who depended on the male clientele for their paychecks were becoming worried at the lack of prospects.

"It looks like it's going to be slow tonight, Melissa," a lanky blond commented as she tugged at her turquoise midriff top with one hand.

"Always the way, Monique! You know, the nights I really need some good money it's always dead in here! My bloody landlord is threatening to change the locks on my flat if I don't pay the rent by the first," a brunette with brown doe eyes said in an exasperated voice. "Hey, what about him?" she asked, pointing to a small man sitting in a corner booth. "I didn't notice him sitting there before. He looks so sad…perhaps he needs cheering up!" She sat up a little straighter in her seat, hoping to get a better look at the potential prospect.

Monique followed Melissa's finger with her gaze and soon saw the man she was referring to. The man was quite short--not even five feet five inches tall, she suspected, and balding. He wore a slightly grubby light blue corduroy jacket and the most disconsolate expression she had ever seen. However, Monique knew the man well. When he was in a jovial mood, he could be quite an enjoyable trick to turn; but lately, he had been cruel and callous…and not to mention a little off in the head.

For one thing, he refused to take off his shirt during sex. Monique had learned not to question his motives behind that particular quirk the hard way: she once asked the obvious question and consequently was ravaged savagely by the man to the point where she was out of commission for three days! Wonderland's proprietor had suggested a lifetime ban, but the majority of the girls rejected the idea out of pure greed. This rather strange man paid too well to be expelled, in their opinion, and was, after all, a self-proclaimed war veteran. That fact would certainly explain his propensity for violent outbursts! The girls had certainly seen similar behaviors in other men and, after all, it had only happened the one time. Monique was not as willing to forgive and forget, as the other girls were wont to do: after all, it had been she that the man had attacked. Therefore, she was less than thrilled to see him back in the bar. "Oh, God, not him," Monique moaned as she smacked her forehead in anguish. "He's such a sleazy little rat-faced bastard!"

"I don't know about that," Melissa commented as she picked up her vodka and orange and downed it in rapid fashion. "Seems to me that, depending on whether or not you catch him in a good mood, he's rather a nice diversion from the rest of the tossers we usually get in here!" The vivacious brunette adjusted the strap on her tight-fitting silver sequined halter-top. "He pays extremely well, too, for the amount of time he's actually…you know…getting closer to God, so to speak!" She uncrossed her legs. "As far as customers go, he's one hell of a kisser!"

The girls around Melissa cupped their hands over their mouths and giggled knowingly. At one time or another, each and every one of them had had the experience of conducting business with "The Little Worm," as they referred to him.

"That's not in dispute! But, to be honest, the man creeps me out! He loves to role-play and some of his scenarios are rather bizarre," Monique said pointedly. "The last time I had the pleasure of entertaining him, he kept asking me, 'Who's your Dark Lord?' and wanting me to spank him! Honestly, it was weird… and don't get me started on that metal hand of his!"

The girls collapsed into raucous laughter at this statement. That metal hand was COLD! Still, according to the customer anyway, the prosthetic device was a souvenir of the 1991 altercation with Iraq and no one could make fun of that, at least to his face. He had done his duty for God and Country and a person had to admire that! Still, it didn't make the sensation of his metal fingers caressing their bodies any less strange.

Melissa pulled a lipstick out of her pocket and swiped some across her lips. "Then you don't mind if I go and strike up a conversation, then? I've got to pay the rent and my kid needs a new pair of shoes. Perhaps 'The Little Worm' is in a friendly type mood! Although," she added with a knowing smile, "we all know that there's not much that's "little" about him!" The girls seated around her nodded meaningfully.

"Go for it. Just don't ever say I didn't warn you," Monique answered in a dismissive voice as she scanned the crowd for a more pleasing prospect.

Melissa gave her friend a wink and a nod. "Warning noted, mate! Hey now, gals, watch and learn, 'cause there ain't a trick that I can't turn!" Melissa's seatmates tittered with laughter while Monique rolled her eyes and sighed.

Melissa shook her head at her picky co-worker as she stepped off her high barstool and sauntered through the crowd, her target clearly in her sights. Money was money, in her opinion; as long as the weirdo wasn't going to beat her up too badly, it was rather an easy way to keep her daughter in clothes. "The Little Worm" was sitting by himself in a corner of the bar nursing a bottle of Heineken. As she approached his table, he looked up and she gave him a thousand-watt smile as she winked suggestively at him. She leaned over the table and allowed the man a very nice look at her cleavage. As she gestured to the empty seat next to him, she said in a rather seductive voice, "Room for me, Wormie?"

"Not tonight, Melissa," Peter said in a flat voice. "I'm not feeling up to it." He went back to staring at his bottle of beer, his eyes downcast.

Melissa sat down anyway. "Poor little soldier," she purred in his ear, running fingers from one hand through his thin hair and placing a kiss on his cheek. "You look like you just lost your best friend, sweetie!"

"Like you c--care," Peter retorted without looking at her directly. He picked up his beer and took a large swig. He held the bottle up to the light and examined the contents: it was now practically empty and had only the tiniest dribble left. He slid it across the table, where it chinked against the other four bottles he had emptied in the last half-hour, two of went crashing to the floor. He regarded his curvaceous seatmate with the glassy expression of someone who had perhaps imbibed more than he should have in such a short amount of time. "Do you get paid to m--merely sit around and g--goldbrick?" he asked peevishly. "You c--could make yourself useful, Melissa, and g--get me another drink."

"Ooh," pouted Melissa, batting her eyelashes at Peter in a coquettish manner, "someone's in a bad mood!" She placed her left hand on his upper thigh. "You're too tense, Wormie. Why don't you and I go and blow off some steam?" she suggested, the hand on his inner thigh inching slowly upward until she found her intended target. "Hmmm?"

"I said NOT TONIGHT!" barked Peter, slapping her hand away.

Melissa sighed. The man was not feeling at all frisky tonight. Unless she could somehow cheer him up, it looked like her little girl would have to wait on those shoes after all. Any other prostitute might have given up at this point, but Melissa didn't know the meaning of failure. She was a woman who regularly got what she wanted and she was the first to admit that she liked a challenge. Her challenge tonight was a certain "Worm".

She raised one hand in the air and snapped her fingers. "Who do I have to kill to get a drink around here?" she called to the barman, who tossed her an unopened bottle of the swill. "Thanks, mate!" Melissa caught the bottle with an oft-practiced motion just before the projectile would have struck Peter squarely in the head. Peter, who did not drink very often and had become rather soused and bleary-eyed, was barely aware that he had been in any danger. He continued to mope. A dead rabbit lying on the side of the road on Easter morning would have been a cheerier sight.

"What's the matter?" asked Melissa, her bow of a mouth fixed in a frown. "Did you lose your girl or something?" She held up the bottle of Heineken and dangled it provocatively before his eyes.

"You m--might say that," Peter answered. He reached up to take the bottle from the woman. Before his fingers could wrap around the bottle, however, she pulled her tight shirt away from her body and placed the bottle inside it. It rested in an area that was going to be extremely difficult for Peter to gain access to without being completely obscene.

"Melissa," he said in a warning tone of voice, "Give me my bloody bottle n—n—now!"

"Come and get it, soldier!" The prostitute said with a shiver. Because of the temperature of the bottle, her skin had begun to break out in goose pimples; due to the extreme tightness of Melissa's top, it wasn't just her arms that were responding to the chill. Despite his low-spirited mood, Peter was impressed with the Melissa's tenacity and various other attributes. His eyes strayed from her face for a second or two.

"So, why did you lose your girl?" she asked as she rubbed his back with one hand. "Did you have a row with her?"

If only it were that easy. "She wouldn't leave her h--husband," he said sulkily. "I was s--so much better for her, but she didn't see it that way." He rubbed his eyes. "She meant everything to me."

"Girl didn't know what a good thing she had, if you ask me," said Melissa as she swung her legs into Wormtail's lap. "You're the perfect man, Wormie. All the girls here say so." She threw her hands into the air as she said this, emphasizing her point.

Wormtail placed one arm around Melissa's waist and pulled her into his lap so that she was straddling him. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He inclined his head in the direction of the lanky blond sitting next to the seat Melissa had occupied earlier. The woman wore a scowl on her face and jiggled one foot against her stool impatiently. Wormtail deduced that she was becoming irritated at the lack of prospects this evening. He knew her well; she disliked him intensely! "Even Monique?" Wormtail asked pointedly. "I don't think she l--likes me much!"

"Monique doesn't see you like I do, lover," she voiced. She giggled when Wormtail placed his human hand underneath her top and proceeded to search very slowly and methodically for the wayward bottle. His fingers lingered against her bare skin. Melissa kissed Peter softly. "So tell me, Wormie. What was she like?"

Peter sighed as his mind conjured up the image of the woman he loved: not too thin, not too chubby--the kind of woman that curved in all the right places, yet was solid enough so that you didn't think that by hugging her you might break her in half. Tessa was a bit taller than Peter normally liked his women (he was very short and didn't normally like women who towered over him, which ruled out a large segment of the female populous) but he didn't hold that against her. She had shoulder-length brown hair, eyes as blue as the midnight sky and a mouth that was perhaps too broad for her face, yet endearing just the same. She was not pretty in the sense that a supermodel was pretty: rather, her sense of humor, caring nature and ability to see the good in nearly everyone was her true beauty. She was the type of woman that caused Peter to fall to his knees and thank God that he was a man! However, because of what Peter had put her though over the past year, he knew that the woman hated him with a raw passion and always would.

"Tessa was amazing…is amazing. She's s--stubborn and feisty and funny and an excellent c—cook and…" he trailed off, "hopelessly in l--love with her h--husband." He held up the bottle and Melissa opened it for him by balancing the cap on the edge of the table and sweeping her hand sharply down. Peter downed it completely in a matter of seconds.

"Too bad," Melissa said, playing with a long strand of Peter's straw-colored hair. "Well, you know what they say, soldier. If you love someone, set her free. If she comes back to you, she's yours; but if she doesn't, she was never yours to begin with."

"You don't understand, Melissa!" Peter said, his voice rising quite a lot. "I—I can't stop thinking about h--her. She was the b--best thing that ever happened to m--me!"

"I'd say she was a grade-A arse, soldier, if she didn't want you!"

Peter's face became scarlet with anger. "DON'T YOU EVER CALL TESSA POTTER AN ARSE!" Peter shouted, shoving Melissa away roughly. She landed on the floor just outside the booth.

Melissa got up slowly, rubbing her backside as she did so. The establishment had grown remarkably silent--all eyes were focused on the little man and his companion. Wonderland's proprietor stuck his head out of his office to see what all the commotion was about. He flashed the hooker a questioning glance, which Melissa shrugged off.

"I'm sorry, Wormie," she said in a syrupy voice. "I'll go away now, if you want me to. I just saw that you looked really sad and I thought maybe I could help you forget about her, at least for awhile." She began to walk away, her round hips swaying temptingly. The music blared once again and the other customers turned their heads away and became focused once again on their various conversations and dealings.

As Peter watched Melissa sashay toward another prospect, he suddenly had a thought: Melissa wasn't exactly painful to look at. She was also a decent shag, and a willing one at that (admittedly for pay, but at this point he wasn't a man with a lot to lose in the way of dignity), and perhaps could indeed help him to forget the woman he truly longed for. Better yet…

"Melissa!" he cried. The girl turned around, her eyes wide and her smile wider.

"Yes?"

"I have a proposition for you." Peter beckoned her back to the table and patted the seat next to him. She rejoined him eagerly.

"What can I do for you tonight?" she asked, running a hand through her hair.

"I want you tonight, Melissa. How long are you available?"

"You've got me for the whole night if you want me, soldier!" said Melissa, mentally adding up the tab on eight hours' work.

"I will be r--requiring certain things for this night to p--proceed as I see fit," he said. "Can I call you Tessa?"

"If you've got the means, you can call me anything you want, Wormie!"

"Excellent. How much for the night?"

"It's going to be a big bill, Wormie. I won't have time to service anyone else, you know!" She paused, almost afraid to tell him what the charge would be. "Five hundred and fifty pounds."

Wormtail pulled eight hundred pounds out of the pocket of his Muggle jacket. He waved the money underneath a very surprised Melissa's nose, who was now thinking that not only would the Landlord get his rent, her kid would also have shoes and perhaps a new coat and some jeans to boot!

"Will this cover it?" Wormtail asked. He had no real concept of Muggle currency: to him it was just a bunch of paper notes with pictures of the Queen on them. He found the portraits to be quite amusing, as they did not move.

"Y--yes, soldier, that will cover the night in spades," the prostitute breathed. What kind of woman wouldn't want a man who had this kind of money to burn? She thought. She turned to her group of co-workers who were sitting at the bar and staring at Melissa with dropped jaws. Despite being thrown on her arse, they thought as one, she was going to turn her trick after all!

Wormtail reached back into the pocket of the Muggle jacket he wore. He pulled out a piece of black diaphanous material. He placed the item to his nose and inhaled deeply. Ah, he thought, her scent still lingers…just a hint of jasmine. That was Tessa's signature fragrance. With great reverence, he placed the treasure into Melissa's outstretched hand. She shook out the carefully folded item and discovered that it was a very lovely, very expensive piece of lingerie. Where would "The Worm" have come across such a beautiful item?

"Will you w--wear this for me?" Peter asked.

"I'll wear anything for you, you sexy stud!" Melissa kissed him deeply, her tongue searching out his. He responded eagerly, his anticipation of seeing someone wearing the lingerie he had stolen from Tessa's chest of drawers causing his arousal to spike to record levels. If he closed his eyes, it would be almost as if he really were making love to Tessa.

Peter broke the kiss. He grinned cryptically at Melissa, who, for the first time in her esteemed career, began to feel a little bit of anxiety. The man's smile was strange and didn't look entirely like that of a sane man, she thought. She pushed the feeling out of her mind with a slight shake of her head. She was going to make eight hundred pounds for just eight hours' work! That would teach Monique never to speak ill of the customers, she thought with a feeling of superiority.

"It's settled then," he intoned. Wormtail looked up to the bartender and raised his index finger in the air.

"Check, please!"

Lord Voldemort was deeply incensed: things were not going according to his ultimate design at all. He had been looking to rid the planet of the wizarding world's Golden Boy, Harry Potter, for years. Harry Potter was everything Voldemort was not: noble, honorable and an all-round do-gooder. His skill in defending the wizarding world, and all those who were staunch supporters of the Side of the Good, was truly legendary: there wasn't a wizard or witch alive who could boast the awesome powers he seemed to possess in the face of danger. Some in the wizarding world wondered where their lives might be if it were not for the young man, of which Voldemort was painfully aware. He was reminded of it each and every time he had faced his pubescent nemesis and emerged the loser; as long as Harry Potter remained alive, those who supported Good had very little to fear.

Voldemort often pondered what method he would have to employ to bring down Potter once and for all. He decided, rather sadistically, that playing on Harry's kindness and trusting nature would be the most effective route to take in accomplishing the boy wizard's undoing. The quandary was how to go about doing it. Harry was well protected while he was at his Aunt and Uncle's house and while he was at Hogwarts. As long as Harry was in the vicinity of both places, it seemed as though nothing bad could touch him.

As Voldemort pondered this point, an idea hit him like a brick to the head. There just might be a way to kill Potter after all! The idea was fiendishly simple: somehow get Harry out of Hogwarts, away from those who could protect him; then kill him, clean and quick. Then Voldemort would be free to wreak havoc on the wizarding world and those who supported tolerance and understanding.

The original idea had been simple enough, really. Any child should have been able to pull the plan off, he thought with a sneer: Peter Pettigrew and two of the Dark Lord's best Death Eaters were instructed to kidnap Michael and Sierra Laughlin, arguably the two best Aurors ever employed by the Ministry of Magic. The Laughlin's were to be held in Voldemort's dungeons until their twenty-eight year old daughter, Tessa, could pay their ransom. The "ransom" that Tessa would be required to pay was, in not so many words, twisted and perverse. It amounted to no less than a "Devil's Deal"; a deal that, even if successfully completed, would leave her "damned if she did and damned if she didn't". If she completed the deal, her parents were spared, but she would be seen as a traitor to the Side of the Good. If she failed to complete the deal, her parents would die and so would she.

Voldemort had long ago made it his business to understand how the human psyche worked, so it came as no surprise to him that Tessa would agree to the terms of his deal. She would be transformed by the Dark Lord into a sixteen-year old girl and forced to pose as an exchange student to gain access to Hogwarts and Harry. She was to seduce him out of the school and to a nearby glen, where she would deliver him to the Dark Lord.

Unfortunately for the Dark Lord, Tessa was a Ravenclaw by birth and clever as they come. She stole one of the legendary "Dumortierite Crystals" from Professor Trelawney's private stores and cast a spell upon it that would protect Harry from harm. By the time she arrived in the glen with Harry, she realized that, despite the huge age difference, she loved Harry deeply and gave herself to him completely. When the Dark Lord arrived to collect what he thought was rightfully his, Tessa reneged on the deal. This prompted Voldemort to summon Pettigrew; his second in command, and force him to murder her parents before her eyes. The Dark Lord instructed that Harry and Tessa be bound together and killed by the Death Eaters. However, the Dumortierite crystal, which had the power to repel spells thrown by large groups of those who wished someone ill, bounced the Avada Kedavra curses off the pair and back to the Death Eaters, killing several of them.

The Dark Lord paused in his immersion at this point and cursed aloud. The Laughlin bitch had proven herself a worthy adversary…nearly as resolute as Harry and quite powerful in her own right. Voldemort had misjudged the woman's skill, a mistake he would not make a second time…if indeed a second time should present itself to him.

In a stroke of luck for the Dark Lord, but unfortunately for the boy wizard and his paramour, Harry and Tessa's sexual union produced an unforeseen consequence: a pregnancy. As Voldemort guessed he would, Harry married Tessa to make an honest woman of her and Dumbledore hid the couple in a house far away.

Thinking that perhaps he could kidnap the child and use it as a bargaining chip for Harry, Voldemort instructed Peter Pettigrew to disguise himself as the charming Edward McMurray –the local handyman-- and to infiltrate the Potter's house and to gather information about the couple. Peter fell head over heels in love with Tessa and nearly destroyed the newlyweds' marriage because of his warped infatuation with the new Mrs. Potter.

Tessa gave birth early in June. Due to complications with the birth, she lost a lot of blood and would have surely died had Peter not rolled up his own sleeve and donated his blood to save her.

This last bit was what made Voldemort's blood boil the most: he had specifically instructed Wormtail to let the woman die. Tessa Potter was a hindrance to the Plan, he explained to the obsequious wizard, and had outlived her usefulness. However, his second in command now had feelings for the woman; unrequited, to be sure, but feelings nonetheless. Wormtail harbored the inane idea that Tessa might someday fall for him and leave Harry. Those feelings caused Wormtail to save Tessa's life.

With Tessa alive, the plan would be much harder to complete, thought Voldemort bitterly. Wormtail, being the insidious coward that he was, had failed to return to his Master's lair. No doubt the pathetic man is afraid of my wrath, Voldemort surmised. As well he should be. When I'm finished with him, he'll wish he had never been born! Voldemort's eyes were like two red flames as he thought of it. He'll be worse than dead.

If you were to peer over the gently rolling hills and through the trees surrounding the quiet, two-story house in the tiny village of Staplehurst, Kent, you would see nothing out of the ordinary. The off-white house with the weathered stone wall that surrounded it stood alone and unimpressive, a fledgling rose garden just outside the back door, and a gnarled old oak in the front garden. Truly, as houses and gardens go, the house was simply…normal.

It is often said that looks can be deceiving and, in the case of this particular house, a person would be correct in making such a declaration. As commonplace as the home may have been, the family who occupied it was extraordinary by contrast: this was the home of Harry and Tessa Potter and their brand-new baby daughter, Abigail Rose. To an ordinary Muggle, this information was also of little consequence, but to Those in the Know (and there were very few of these) the inhabitants of the house were truly remarkable. One had saved the wizarding world several times; one was on the run from the law, wanted for aiding the Side of Darkness; the third occupant was the couple's newborn daughter, barely three weeks old.

The milieu inside the Potter house was, in one word, chaotic. Despite the couple's fervent attempts to keep up with the chores around the house and the hardships that accompany a newborn child, they were only marginally successful. The baby was happy, but the house was a mess: dirty dishes filled the sink; dirty nappies filled the bin; dirty clothes filled the linen basket. Tessa was extremely weak and spent most of her time in bed or feeding Abigail. She was so weak that she could not perform the simplest charm. Harry's charms were nowhere near as good as Tessa's were and, as a result, the dishes merely piled up more, dirty nappies were placed in the large trash bin outside the back door (when Harry remembered to do it, of course) and Harry was wearing the same set of robes for the third straight day. None of this bothered Harry much; as long as he had his little girl, he could overlook any of the house's cosmetic imperfections!

"Are you certain that you're all right, Tessa?" Harry gazed at his wife lovingly. Every day since the morning that she had awakened from her coma, Harry wondered at how lucky he was to have two women in his life. Mother and infant were truly the center of his universe.

"I think I'm all right, Harry," Tessa answered her husband, with a small grimace of pain on her face. She struggled to sit in the beautiful large rocking chair that Dumbledore had given the couple some months ago. She held out her hands and awaited her baby.

"Here she is, all ready for mummy," Harry said lovingly as he gently placed the newborn in her mother's arms.

He still could not get over the fact that he was a father. Little Abigail had stolen his heart from the first time he saw her in the delivery room of the local hospital. Despite the pointed lecture his godfather Sirius had given to him weeks earlier about how terrible newborns looked, Harry could not fathom how anyone could have thought his daughter was less than beautiful. Ever since Tessa and the child had come home from the hospital, six days after Abigail had been born, Harry was reluctant to give the little girl to anyone else, preferring to hold her for hours and hours each day! However, he was sensible enough to realize that Abigail needed to be fed and Tessa would be required to hold her, at least for a while.

He bent over the figure of his little angel and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I expect to have her back after the feeding, Mrs. Potter. She and I have a date with the newest copy of Quidditch Affectionado. We're reading about the new Nimbus 2003's." Harry placed his finger close to his daughter's hand so that she could grab it. He never tired of the feeling of her tiny fingers wrapping around his. "We love the new Nimbuses, don't we, Abbey? Can you say 'Nimbus?' NIM-BUS!"

Tessa flashed Harry an irritated scowl. "I'm not going to have any success getting her to latch on with you distracting her like that! Goodness knows it's hard enough!" She looked at her daughter lovingly as she stroked the baby's soft pink cheek. "Hello, little one," Tessa said as she pulled back her dressing gown to allow the infant access to one breast. Abigail latched on with a little help from her mother and soon was busy nursing.

Tessa stared down at her precious little girl. She secretly thought that the child was going to have the look of Harry--her black hair was already unruly and stuck out everywhere, despite Tessa's best efforts to smooth it down. She also had Harry's long slender fingers. "My daughter isn't going to play such a rough sport! Abigail will learn to play the piano, and perhaps the viola." Tessa smiled wickedly as she added, "I'm going to teach her my secrets of Scrabble success, so that I can have a competent challenger for a change." Upon saying this, her eyes darkened a bit as she remembered that at one time, not so long ago, she actually had had one. She banished the thought from her mind as quickly as it came and flashed Harry a cynical smile.

"That, my love, was a low blow!" Harry exclaimed. "I've gotten a lot better at that game. The last time we played, you only won by 150 points!" He rubbed his wife's shoulders and kissed her cheek. "When you're finished feeding her, why don't you give her to me and go for a nap?" Harry asked good-naturedly. "She keeps you up at night with the feedings and I've noticed you're not sleeping that well," he added with a slight frown. That was the understatement of the year, Harry thought. At a time when she should be trying to get as much sleep as she could, Tessa was doing everything in her power to prevent it! "Do you need more of those little pink pills the hospital gave you to help you with that?" he asked gently.

"I don't want pills. I'm okay, Harry, really I am," Tessa said in a too-cheerful voice that failed to betray the black circles under her eyes, "I don't need any more sleep!" She continued to gaze at her child, making little cooing and clucking noises at Abigail while the newborn concentrated on dinner. "Besides," she added, still looking at the tiny baby in her arms, "why would a person want to sleep when they have this beautiful little face to gaze at?" Tessa's voice broke slightly at the end of the sentence.

Harry kneeled before her and patted her outer thigh. "Tessa, we both know that you need your rest. You just had a baby, sweetheart. I can take care of Abigail while you sleep. She's going to be safe with me!" Harry tried to reassure her. He joked, "I'm not going to fly around the yard with her!"

Tessa was adamant. She looked up at Harry with tired red eyes filled with tears. "Don't worry about me," she snapped. Harry shook his head and sighed at the woman's stubbornness. He turned away from her and left the room. As he made his way down the stairs to grab a snack, he thought, she looks like she's going to collapse. Why have her sleeping patterns become so erratic?

Harry first noticed the sleeping issues the very first night that he and Tessa had come home with the baby. Tessa constantly checked on the child that night. In Harry's opinion, this was probably natural; after all, she had been bound to the child for nine months…perhaps she was having some separation issues. However, when she discovered that the locks on the nursery windows were broken, Tessa was inconsolable for hours and cried copious tears, despite Harry's quick wand work and protestations that the locks were now fully functional. Harry did his best to comfort Tessa, but she wouldn't listen to him. As the nights passed, she eventually took to sitting by Abigail's cradle and watching the child while she slept instead of joining Harry in their four-poster bed. She'll be safer this way, Tessa explained to him. Safe from what? Harry pondered to himself. Nobody who could hurt us knows we're here.

Tessa was diligent to the point of obsession about making sure that the baby was well fed and comfortable. As a result, the woman rarely slept; when she did sleep, it was fitful and not very restful. The bags underneath her eyes were growing larger by the day and it truly worried Harry. Was she perhaps worried that she would lapse into another coma? Perhaps this was indeed the case, he surmised, as, when she did take some time to sleep, Tessa would set an alarm clock to wake herself up every half-hour. He attempted to encourage Tessa to take a Dreamless Sleeping draught so that she could have a peaceful slumber, but she merely told him that there was no scientific evidence that could prove that Dreamless Sleeping draughts would not transfer to Abigail through her milk and therefore staunchly refused them.

Something else bothered Harry as well. Nearly three weeks had passed since Tessa had awakened from her coma at St. Mary's, but she was not entirely well yet. She was weak and sore, which was to be expected, but she also seemed preoccupied with something, Harry thought…it could have been the baby, he guessed, but he had a nagging suspicion that it was something more. Was it the ring? She hadn't commented on the fact that it was back on her finger and Harry had been too nervous to bring it up. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the story behind it.

Tessa hadn't even mentioned Edward since she had asked about him at the hospital, which Harry thought odd. Surely she would have wanted a visit from the man who had saved her life? Tessa was jumpy too—she was startled at anything in the house that, to her, seemed out of place.

Tessa also cried a lot, now. Harry observed her crying when she thought he couldn't see; it was always over such silly things! She cried when Harry helped her over the threshold and into the house on her first day back; she cried the first time she stepped into the nursery and placed Abigail into her cradle for a nap; she cried when Harry had told her he needed to go to Hogwarts and finish his Potions final. This crying thing had annoyed Harry a little bit--surely she didn't expect him to miss his exams!

"Don't leave me alone, Harry!" Tessa pleaded. Her eyes were nearly wild with fright. "Please don't leave me alone." She clutched Abigail in her arms as she begged him to stay with her.

"Honey, what's the matter?" Harry asked. "You know I have to pass this exam before I'm allowed to complete my year. Dumbledore was good enough to get me an extension on my finals due to your condition and I need to finish now." He kissed her cheek and the top of Abigail's forehead. "I won't be gone long. Three or four hours, max!"

It had nearly killed him to listen to her desperate sobs as he left the house and prepared to Apparate to Hogwarts. He remembered that the doctors at St. Mary's had advised the couple that Tessa would be prone to tears for a while after the baby had been born. Was it normal for a woman to cry this much? Harry wondered. He began to seriously consider asking Sirius whether his mother had been the same way. He couldn't help but harbor the nagging suspicion that Tessa may be experiencing something beyond the normal "baby blues", but he also realized that Tessa would certainly never tell him if it were the case! Tessa was the type of woman who seemed to prefer to work out her own issues. More than once this foible had gotten her into trouble, however; Harry wished that she would open up to him, if for no other reason than to put her problems out into the open and not keep them bottled up inside. He had done everything he could think of to encourage her, but, as the saying went, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make her drink it.

"Can I bring you up a snack?" Harry called up the stairs. "Perhaps a glass of milk?"

"I'm fine!" Tessa answered.

Tessa sighed heavily as she watched her husband leave the room; his facial features were puzzled and his brow wrinkled with concern for her. What Harry did not know was that she was both afraid and mortified. She didn't want to ever tell Harry about what had happened during her coma at St. Mary's. She was ashamed to tell him that she had Dreamfasted with Peter Pettigrew. It had been an accident, really. She wasn't even aware that she had the ability to Dreamfast until Wormtail had alerted her to the fact. Unfortunately for Tessa, he was a Dreamfaster as well and seemed very keen on using the ability to his advantage.

Tessa's mind flashed back to the dream...she saw Wormtail standing in the nude before her,proudly displaying The Full Monty, and shuddered. She had fought to avert her eyes, but the situation was like a bad car accident: she knew that she shouldn't look, but she just couldn't help it. Now the image was burned into her brain like a ghastly brand. What can I do to get that picture out of my head? She thought desperately. I can't Obliviate myself! She sighed as she tried unsuccessfully to forget about it.

Even scarier than the vision of Wormtail in the buff were the jarring words he had spoken to her during her coma:

"This is my dream, and I summoned you! You won't be able to leave until I say you may or either you or I awaken, therefore breaking the bond!"

As a result, Tessa was now petrified to go to sleep. She didn't want to risk the possibility of being summoned by Wormtail for another Dreamfasting session. He had displayed in the coma-induced vision that he had the power to coerce her into doing things that she would normally never do using merely his will. During her coma, he had somehow placed the idea into her brain that he was "all that" and devilishly alluring and that she must kiss him, so she had, despite the fact that she hated him with the intensity of a thousand suns.

As if that were not bad enough, much as she was loathed to admit it, she had rather enjoyed the kiss; she had honestly felt that the Earth moved beneath her in that moment and this concept shamed her more than anything else could. Before things had gotten way, way out of hand, Tessa had somehow managed to wake herself up. However, she didn't know if she would have the strength to get away from him again, ergo her reluctance to sleep. If she didn't sleep, she reasoned, she couldn't dream; if she couldn't dream, the rat couldn't get to her: she would be safe from possible attack.

Unfortunately, she felt that she couldn't tell Harry about the dream: he might not understand the circumstances. If Harry found out that she had kissed Peter, whether she was manipulated or not, Tessa was convinced that he would most probably leave her for good. She didn't want to anger him again, like she had last Valentine's Day; she had shared one other kiss with Peter, albeit while he was in handyman form and she didn't know who he really was. She hadn't asked for that particular kiss either, but Harry had become angrier with her than she ever thought a person could get and she didn't want a repeat performance.

As the newborn nursed contentedly, Tessa looked around the nursery, her exhausted blue eyes surveying every inch of the room. In another time, in another situation, it would have been a comforting place to be: the walls were painted a pale pink and a darling border of multicolored ducks graced the room. A white cradle stood in the corner, next to a beautiful dressing table stacked high with nappies and extra clothing for Abigail. It looked, for all intents and purposes, to be a sweet little nursery for a sweet little girl.

But Wormtail had decorated the room; Wormtail had selected the border; he had put the cradle together; he had painted the walls; he knew every inch of the house because he had been working there for months. He had come, unwanted, into Harry and Tessa's lives, and had the power to continue infiltration. Everywhere she looked in the house, she could see him--almost feel his presence, despite the fact that he had not entered the house in weeks…that she knew of. Oh my God! She thought. What if he's in rat form and scurrying around the house right now? Despite Harry's adamant statements in the hospital that he had "given Edward what he deserved", Tessa was fearful. It would have been completely out of character for Wormtail or Voldemort to give up on something they wanted so quickly…

Tessa stopped rocking in the chair. She disengaged herself from the tiny child and placed her in the cradle. Little Abigail, who was not finished eating, was, quite frankly, not amused. The newborn let out a shriek of protest and waved her arms as her mother stepped away from the cradle. Tessa's hand flew to her mouth and she stumbled out of the room and across the hallway. She reached the toilet and began to vomit violently. She did not stop until only dry heaves escaped her. Once finished, Tessa sat on the floor and rocked back and forth, the cries of her baby girl falling on deaf ears.

Harry heard the commotion and raced up the stairs as fast as he could. He burst through the lavatory door and saw Tessa on the floor. She was muttering to herself about locks and protective wards and other things that Harry could not discern. Nearly forty-eight hours of sleep deprivation was rapidly rendering Tessa irrational, Harry thought.

Tears coursed down Tessa's cheeks as she looked up at Harry. Harry crouched next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Tessa, what's the matter? Are you ill? Do you need me to take you back to the hospital?" Tessa struggled to stand. Harry got back to his feet and held his hands out to her. She took them gratefully in her own and Harry pulled her up.

Once she was on her feet, she attempted a stab at lightness at the strange situation: "You must think I'm a sandwich short of a picnic… sitting here on the bathroom floor, babbling like a lunatic!" She flashed a quick smile.

Harry was not amused. "I'm taking you to bed now," he stated firmly. "You're scaring me."

"I don't want to go to sleep!" Tessa sobbed as she clutched Harry by the arms. Her wild eyes searched his for some semblance of understanding. Finding none, she buried her face in his chest. "Please, Harry, just leave me alone. I'll be all right…I promise you that I will be all right."

"You need to talk to someone, Tessa. Preferably me! I don't know how much longer I--"

She shook her head. "I'm fine, Harry! Just baby blues," she tried to speak convincingly. She met his eyes, afraid of what she might see. Does he see the guilt on my face? Do I wear my shame like a scarlet letter around my neck? Unconsciously, Tessa's hand reached up to her throat at the thought.

Harry's heart was heavy with concern for his wife. "I don't believe you," Harry said in a firm voice. "You're going to go to bed right now and, with God as my witness, you're going to sleep through the entire night. I'll get up with Abigail, but you need your rest!"

"No!" shouted Tessa. "I need to watch her!"

"You have tried my patience once too many times, Tessa!" Harry cried. "If you don't go to bed RIGHT NOW, I am going to stun you myself and force you to drink a sleeping draught!"

"You wouldn't!" hissed Tessa, her face mutinous.

"Try me!" Harry retorted as he reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. He trained it directly on his wife. His hand was steadier than Tessa had ever seen it. He means business, she grumbled to herself. If he only understood what potentially lies beyond my consciousness he'd try and force Pepper up potion into me, I would wager.

Tessa read Harry's resolute expression and sighed in defeat. "Fine, I will go to bed," she said in a sulky voice. "But you're to wake me up in half an hour," she warned. She brushed past Harry, her nose in the air and her steps a bit harder against the floor than was really necessary. A moment or two later the door to the master bedroom closed with a slam.

Harry had not moved from his spot in the bathroom. "Course I will," Harry said, crossing his fingers behind his back. Forgive me, hon, but you need the rest. I don't know why you don't trust me with the baby, but you're going to get some quality sleep!" He shook his head in aggravation and walked out of the bathroom.

He turned in the direction of the nursery and stepped to Abigail's cradle. The baby was still crying; her back was arched and her face was beetroot-red; her little were hands balled into tight fists. Harry bent over and carefully picked the little girl up, being careful to support her head. He placed the child over his shoulder and rubbed her little back. Presently, she stopped crying and snuggled against him.

"It's going to be just you and me tonight, Abbey Road," he whispered as he carried her out of the room and into the hallway. "How's about you and I go downstairs and see what we can conjure up for a snack? I think I saw a bottle of formula in the refrigerator with your name on it!"

Abbey sighed contentedly.

"Finally," Harry muttered, only half-joking, "a woman who isn't hard to please!"

Voldemort stepped away from his crystal Orb, which sat on top of an ornate, impressive looking container. The Orb glowed amber in the dimness of the room, the shifting smoke in its depths eerily beautiful and hypnotic in its movements. The time had arrived, he thought with a twisted grin, for some action. It was time for his second in command to return to his Master's service.

"Lucius!" he called out in a dreadful voice, "I require your assistance!"

Lucius Malfoy approached the altar. "What do you need from me, Master?" he asked as he genuflected before the Dark Lord.

"You are going to find our errant second in command and bring him back here. How dare he disobey me and then have the audacity to not return?" The Dark Lord's unusually high voice was nearly reedy with anger.

"Why would you even want him back, my Lord? He is incompetent…a waste of pure wizarding blood, if you ask me."

"Wormtail has a power that none of you other pathetic lackeys possess!" cried Voldemort, his eyes glittering with malice. "He is a Dreamfaster…and I shall make certain that he puts his one talent to good use!"

Lucius was impressed. Dreamfasting was indeed a rare gift. Such a shame, he thought, that the gift should reside in a man so utterly wretched as Peter Pettigrew. "Where would I go to find him, Master?"

As he pulled out his yew and phoenix feather wand, Voldemort gave the tall blond wizard a truncated grin and waved the magical item slowly over the Orb. "Aparecium Wormtail!" The Orb slowly spun on its invisible axis, its red center pulsating with a steady oscillation. The smoke cleared and slowly Wormtail came into view. He was lying in a very large bed, laughing; his eyes were screwed shut and his hands were clenching the bed sheets. A buxom brunette, whose hands were busy underneath the duvet, accompanied him. It did not take a rocket scientist to establish what was going on.

"Egad," Lucius said as a sickened expression crossed his handsome features. "I just ate, My Lord!" He averted his eyes from the scene.

The Dark Lord shot Malfoy a scathing look that would have rendered almost any wizard speechless. Lucius quickly composed himself and forced his eyes back to the Orb. The couple was now kissing, their hands all over each other. Lucius silently thanked the stars that, while the Orb would show things, it did not allow the watcher to hear things. Had it been different, Lucius probably would have become physically ill.

"I see that Wormtail is at the moment…occupied," Voldemort hissed, absolutely no humor in his voice. His eyes peered closely into the ball. "To the unpracticed eye, one merely sees the obvious, Lucius. I, thankfully, have the intelligence to look beyond the mundane: something you evidently do not possess. If you focus your attention on the bedside table, a matchbook with the name of the establishment is clearly in view: 'Wonderland Gentleman's Club'." He raised his head and met Lucius' cold gray eyes. The Dark Lord stepped away from the Orb and walked slowly around it, so that he stood directly in front of the Death Eater, his evil eyes never wandering from those of Lucius.

"Wormtail has disobeyed me and needs to be punished. Do you know where this club is located?"

"I do, sir," answered Lucius, reddening slightly at the admission. "It is an upscale Muggle establishment that caters to men of extravagant means. I believe it's located in the Diamond district of London, your Lordship."

"You will go there tonight and bring him back here. Take Crabbe and Goyle with you. They need to blow off a little steam. If Wormtail does not come along willingly, do whatever it takes to bring him back here alive. "

"And healthy, Your Lordship?"

"I said alive. Read into that whatever you like, my slippery friend."

Lucius smiled wickedly as he clasped his hands together and bowed low to his Master. "It shall be my utmost pleasure to serve you, My Lord."

As Lucius bowed and exited the room, Voldemort's eyes focused back on the crystal ball. He muttered an incantation and the smoke shifted. When the smoke cleared, a two-story house could be seen. In one upstairs window, The Dark Lord could make out a shape of a tired young man carrying a tiny baby.

"Enjoy the child while you can, Harry. She will not be yours for long…."

Thanks for reading chapter one of "The Devil's Dilemma." I am going to try and post regularly…every two weeks. Could be more time, could be less…I have a very busy schedule. If you have not read "The Devil's Deal" I would recommend it because it is the prequel to this story and also explains in a little more depth why every character is acting as they are. -webba