Thank you for the reviews! That's quite a reception. I will try to get review responses up in my LJ by tomorrow.
I've looked forward to this chapter. The house of cards is falling fast now.
Chapter Two: The CartographerHarry listened as their mother read a book out to Connor, instructing him in history that he really should have learned last summer. He kept his eyes on his own book, one of the journals that Sirius had kept when he was still an Auror. It was "racy" reading, or at least Lily had said it was last year when Harry had asked if he could read it.
Now, he could read it, and no one seemed to notice or care. Lily or James could see the journal appearing to float off the shelf, and they would blink and frown before simply deciding that it was a sign of Connor's developing wandless magic. They were able to attribute just about any strange event around the house to Connor. The Fugitivus Animus spell was still in operation.
It didn't seem to work as well on Sirius, perhaps because he didn't visit Godric's Hollow as often. Sometimes Harry thought that his godfather could almost see him. He blinked and squinted often enough, as though he stared into the sun. But aside from a few whispered questions of "Harry?" that Harry could ignore easily, he never tried to do anything about it.
Remus was a different matter, since he hadn't been in the room when Harry cast the spell to darken his existence in Lily's, James's, and Sirius's minds. He could speak to Harry normally when he came over, leading to a delicate series of maneuvers on Harry's part to keep the werewolf from revealing the whole game. As it was, Remus had been getting more suspicious lately. Harry was just as glad that Remus would spend the rest of the summer at Hogwarts. The Wolfsbane Potion had finally been perfected, and Dumbledore had asked Remus to come and join the teaching staff as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor (Lockhart having been sacked with relatively little ceremony). Remus was there now, readying himself for the position and learning how to function while on the potion.
He had been here on their birthday, and had been the only one to see the gift Harry received from Draco Malfoy.
Harry felt himself relax as he thought of Draco, and leaned his head on his arm. He could rest. It wasn't as though Lily would flutter about him the way she used to, scolding him to study and exhorting him to think of what might happen to his brother if he didn't.
He paused, startled. I didn't know I remembered that.
And yet there the memory was, spread in front of him like a stained-glass butterfly. He had studied on his own, voraciously, striving always for some new bit of knowledge that might let him protect Connor. But when he flagged, Lily had encouraged him, sometimes guilted him, into it.
She should have done that to Connor instead. He's the one who's going to need the knowledge.
Harry drew in his breath as he felt the book he held began to chill beneath his fingers. Connor gave him a quick concerned glance across the room. Harry managed to hold his smile and nod at his twin until Connor turned back to his studying with their mother, reassured.
Harry took the journal quietly upstairs, to their bedroom. His web, or what remained of it, was satisfied as long as he remained in the same house as his brother. But when he felt his magic leaking around his control, then he had to get away from their parents. So far, he had nearly turned James's hand to ice, nearly broken Lily's arm, and nearly sent both of them tumbling to cracked skulls or worse when his magic froze some patch on the stairs. That last one distressed Harry particularly. It seemed that his power not only found some way around all the controls he tried to place on it, but could do so without his immediately sensing it. He had to check the steps several times a day now, to be sure that there wasn't some nasty, vicious trap there, courtesy of Harry Potter.
He ground his teeth as he completed his latest careful survey of the stairs and retreated to their bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. The guilt was lashing him now. Harry wished he could speak about it. He wrote to Snape, but that wasn't enough. Connor wouldn't understand. And Harry had to pick and choose what he wrote in his letters to Draco, since he could never be sure that Lucius wasn't reading his post.
He hesitated for a long moment, then charmed the door with Collorportus. Connor might come up and find it stuck, but that was better than him stepping into the storm of wild magic Harry suspected the room might become at any moment.
He bowed his head and wrapped his arms around it, breathing as deeply and evenly as he could. That wasn't either very deep or even. Pain woke in his mind as he tried to channel the emotions the way he always would have—either accepting them because they fit with what he expected to feel, or putting them into a box because he couldn't afford to feel them—and couldn't.
The webs of his mind were torn. He knew that. Sylarana, the Locusta snake who had helped him settle his emotions in the last few months before the end of second year, was dead. He knew that.
The webs of his mind were torn.
I cannot think the way I always thought.
Sylarana was dead.
One of the few people who understood me is gone.
None of that subdued the emotions he didn't know how to face, didn't know how to feel, guilt and anger at himself for feeling the guilt and guilt for the anger and anger for the guilt…
Harry let out a little sob. It had been a mistake to leave the Malfoys so early, he thought. He could have endured shortening sleep and less fulfilling meals for the sake of not seeing his parents every day and being faced with what they had done to him.
But why should I have to endure it? Why should I have to choose between suffering in body and suffering in mind? I never would have had to if my parents just hadn't placed this web in my mind.
But they did. And they had their reasons. They wanted to make me the perfect sacrifice. That was what I wanted to be. Why can't I accept that it worked out that way, and would have continued working that way if Sylarana hadn't died?
I wish she were still alive.
How could she leave me?
She didn't leave you, you idiot. She got killed saving your sorry life.
Harry scrambled off the bed and hurried across the room, aiming for a cupboard low on the wall behind Connor's bed. Whatever he tried to store in his own cupboard got moved there, Lily simply assuming that any belongings in this room were Connor's. Luckily, his brother had protested that he wanted the second bed to remain, or Lily would have Vanished that, so convinced was she that she had only one son.
Now he pulled out a smooth glass figurine wrapped in silver cloth, pried the cloth away, and held the figurine to his bare skin. He calmed almost at once. He breathed deeply, and moved back to his own bed, lying with the glass snake on his chest.
This was Draco's gift to him, sent inside a large box that it had taken three owls to carry; somehow, Draco had thought packing the snake in layers and layers of cloth was safer than just binding it tightly into a small package. The serpent was half-rearing, its mouth closed, eyes half-shut. It shone with shifting colors that Harry recognized as Draco's own emotions towards him; in that way, the gift mimicked the bottle he'd given Draco. The serpent had hardly stopped shining deep purple, the color of protectiveness, since Harry returned home.
That hadn't been all, though, as a letter packed deep in the box had revealed. If Harry touched the serpent and said, "Portus," it would act as a Portkey and take him to Malfoy Manor, inside and through all the wards on the house.
Harry could barely imagine how Draco had set that up. It had probably involved his mother, since Harry couldn't imagine it was something Lucius would agree to. But he was grateful Draco had. The promise of escape, the chance being there even if he could not grasp it, had returned him to a fragile pretense of sanity several times this summer.
Clutching the serpent, he drifted slowly off to sleep.
He woke to a knock on the door, and his brother's low voice. "Harry? Will you let me in? I have something to show you."
Harry blinked and fumbled with his glasses for a moment before remembering he'd fallen asleep with them on, rather than taking them off. He sat up, muttered, "Finite Incantatem," at the door, and then turned over, once again clutching the serpent close. It was faintly warm, as though it had lain in the sun. Harry knew it was Draco's magic making it so. He found it more and more difficult to let go of each time he touched it.
"Thanks, Harry," said Connor, behind him. He slipped in and stood by the bed until Harry tilted his head in acknowledgement. Then he whispered, "Here," and pressed a piece of folded parchment into Harry's hand.
"What is this?" Harry asked, unfolding the parchment. It was blank, but so old that Harry thought it must have been written on at one time or another. Why carry around an old piece of paper that didn't have at least a line of memorable poetry?
"Watch," said Connor, and held out his wand. He tapped the center of the parchment and said, in a clear, commanding voice that Harry had also heard him practicing with Lily, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Harry blinked in astonishment as the parchment abruptly swarmed with images, forming a picture of corridors, tunnels, and walls it took him only a moment to recognize.
Hogwarts.
Harry managed to swallow, and also to control the urge to throw the map away from him or clutch it close. "Thank you, Connor," he whispered. "What does it do?"
"Shows you people moving around the castle," Connor said promptly, indicating a dot on the map. Harry squinted at it and saw that it said Remus Lupin. He blinked. "You can tell if they're getting close to you, or if they're where they're supposed to be." He paused, and bit his lip. "Father made it, along with Remus and Sirius and—and Pettigrew."
Harry nodded tightly. Connor's voice sank on the last name, as it had since they heard of Peter's escape from Azkaban. It was not right that his brother be so afraid. Harry almost wanted Peter to come to Godric's Hollow at that point. He could use his magic to kill him, or scare him badly enough that he would never consider coming after Connor and completing his Lord's dirty work.
"Why give it to me, though?" he asked, lifting his eyes and studying Connor's face intently.
"A few reasons," said Connor, and shifted his arm. Harry blinked again as it vanished. "First, I have this, and I thought you would want the map so that you could keep track of me." He swept something that sparkled faintly around himself with a flourish. "Father finally decided I was old enough for the Invisibility Cloak," he said, from the middle of the place where his face had abruptly disappeared, and then pulled the Cloak off again.
Harry nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said. He would be frantic if he couldn't find Connor when he believed his brother might be in danger, and especially frantic if the Cloak meant he might walk right past him. "And what was the other reason?"
"It's fantastically complex magic," said Connor. "Mum showed me a picture of what the spells looked like that Father and the others used to make the map—the Marauder's Map, that's what they call it—but I could hardly make them out, and there were dozens I didn't recognize." He paused, as though considering how to word what he needed to say next. Harry just watched him, clutching both map and serpent close. "I thought," Connor said slowly, "that you could use your magic to work on making a map like that, or at least analyzing this one. That would give it something to do. Something creative. You said you didn't want to do anything destructive." His eyes fastened on Harry's face again, as though he hoped that Harry hadn't changed his mind about wanting to destroy things.
Harry smiled. For the first time since he came home, it felt like he, himself, was behind the smile, and not some anonymous smiler. "Thank you, Connor," he whispered. "But how do I make the map vanish again? It might be important."
Connor tapped the map with his wand again, and said, "Mischief managed." The image of Hogwarts sank into the parchment and vanished.
"Thank you," Harry repeated. It was inadequate as an answer to what Connor had done for him, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.
Connor abruptly hugged him. Harry froze with astonishment, but his brother held the embrace until he reached up and wound his arms around Connor's shoulders in return. Then Connor backed off and peered at him.
"I hate to see you suffering," he said. "I know that I can't do anything about a lot of it, but I could do this. Promise me that you'll actually use the map and your magic, so that you won't go crazy or—or do anything else." He was trusting enough not to think that Harry would actually murder their parents, Harry supposed.
"Thank you, Connor," Harry whispered back. His voice came out steadier this time, and for the first time since he came home, he also got an absolutely genuine smile from his brother.
"Good," said Connor. "Now I have to study these books that Mum wants me to read. Do you know how many Goblin Wars there have been?"
"Seventeen," Harry said automatically.
Connor wrinkled his nose back at him. "Yes, you would," he said, but with no malice in his voice, and then went to his own cupboard to retrieve the books that Lily wanted him to look at.
Harry lay back on his bed and began studying the map. He already had several projects in mind, but he wasn't sure if they would work. When he let control of his own magic go enough to examine the spells on the map, he sighed in contentment. Yes, there was more than enough here to keep him busy.
Harry kicked the bed, then reminded himself to keep silent. Connor was sleeping, and Harry wasn't to keep him up simply because he had better things to do than sleep. He glanced from the Marauder's Map to the other, seemingly blank piece of parchment that he'd enchanted. Tonight was one of the last chances he'd have to make the test. Tomorrow they were going to Diagon Alley—Connor had finally managed to convince their parents that, yes, he needed to go there and purchase two of everything they'd need for the third year at Hogwarts, just in case something happened to his books or robes or cauldron—and in the days after that, Harry would prepare himself as best as he could for his sudden reintroduction to large groups of people, and what he would do when he saw Dumbledore again.
His breath became visible in front of him, and he heard Connor shiver and snuggle further under the blankets. He forced his anger away. Yes, his rage still burned cold at the thought of the Headmaster, but it was always doing that. He would just have to put up with it.
He made his mind bright and shiny and clear again, and then tapped the Marauder's Map and whispered, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." The map gleamed into place. Harry nodded, then touched his own parchment, let his breath out, and murmured, "I solemnly swear I will protect my brother."
And, for the first time, it worked, the lines that Harry wanted springing into place on his own parchment. Harry snorted and shook his head. All the work he'd done, trying to duplicate the spells in the Map just so that his own would function, and it turned out that the trigger phrase was the key. He had to have a phrase to bring up and hide his map that was like the phrases the Marauder's Map used.
Harry rolled on his back, his Lumos spell illuminating the map's surface. It showed the house at Godric's Hollow and the area around it inside the isolation wards. He could see the dots labeled "Lily Potter" and "James Potter" inside their parents' bedroom. He carefully tore his eyes away from them. He could not afford to stare too long, or he would become violently angry. His rage was still the hardest of all his emotions to control. He was glad for the Fugitivus Animus spell right now, as there were times he thought he would have killed his parents if they had spoken to him.
There were the motionless dots labeled "Harry Potter" and "Connor Potter" in their bedroom, and a dot labeled "Sirius Black" in the guest bedroom downstairs. Harry nodded. Good. This works. And it means I ought to be able to create maps of other places. Wherever Connor might go, he needed to have a map that showed that place.
He was about to tap the parchment with his wand and whisper, "Guardianship achieved" to clean the image off when he saw another dot abruptly appear near the edges of the isolation wards. Harry paused and tilted the map back towards his Lumos. Had Remus come back from Hogwarts? He would watch the progress of the dot, if so, just to make absolutely sure his spells had worked.
But the dot was labeled "Peter Pettigrew."
Harry felt his breath coming short, and he sat up, staring at the map and trying to figure out if he was seeing it wrong. But no. The writing was clear, and did not waver as the dot moved across the grass towards the house.
How had Peter got through the wards? They were tuned to the Potter family and to Sirius and Remus only—
No, they aren't, Harry thought abruptly, remembering what James had said about them long ago. They're tuned to the Marauders. And Peter is still that.
Harry bared his teeth. He felt his magic rise around him, hissing through the familiar channels inside his body, glad to have a target it could use. He nodded, once, and then gathered up his map and headed for the door.
He could wake their parents or Sirius, he knew. They would be able to defend Connor. And Peter would run at the sight of them, as he wouldn't run at the sight of one boy wizard approaching him with just a wand.
Just a wand.
Harry felt his rage stretch lazy claws inside him, and smiled.
He stepped through the front door and shut it behind him. He could not see Peter yet, but he suspected it was just a matter of time. He leaned his back against the wall of the house and breathed deeply. It was a fine, clear night, with the nearly full moon hovering overhead, and a scent in the air like flowers, though Harry couldn't see any of them, either.
He kept his gaze trained ahead of himself, and saw the grass rustle and move to the side, along with a glimpse of his Lumos shining off a hairless tail.
"Show yourself, Pettigrew," he said calmly, and lifted his wand to point directly at Peter. Of course, if he was foolish enough to watch that instead of the wandless magic Harry could unleash to much more permanent destruction, that was his problem. "I know you're here."
He half-expected the rat to squeak and run, but it didn't happen. Instead, a moment passed, and then Peter Pettigrew transformed to human.
Harry bared his teeth again, wondering if Peter would think he was smiling. Again, if he does, that's his mistake.
He moved a step forward, feeling the dew-heavy grass soak his ankles, and studied Peter. For the most part, he matched the descriptions he'd heard Sirius and James give, their voices choked with grief and hatred.
Small…fat…always tagging behind us…had to have our help to learn the Animagus transformation…we felt sorry for him…watery eyes…he always looked away from someone who wanted to confront him about something he'd done…he was jealous of James…hated Sirius…foul traitor…Death Eater…should have known that if anyone was going to be a Death Eater, it would be him…
There were two things that were different about this Peter, though. Harry could see that he was thin, his clothes—which he'd probably stolen—hanging on him. Of course, he would have dropped weight after twelve years in Azkaban.
The other thing was his gaze. When he raised his head and met Harry's eyes, Harry actually recoiled a step. Peter's eyes were blue, and so piercing that Harry felt scraped to the bone by them.
He recovered himself quickly, of course. It wouldn't do to let Peter, Pettigrew, Wormtail, think he was weak and couldn't protect his brother. He held his wand out before him and waited for the first blast of magic.
Instead, Peter nodded and said, in a voice that reminded Harry of Lucius Malfoy's, "Harry."
"Wormtail," said Harry. The nickname didn't make Peter flinch, though. He just went on watching. His hands were frozen near his sides, and Harry supposed that was another way that he had changed in the last twelve years. Before, as Sirius had emphasized when describing Peter, he would always have fidgeted and washed his hands together, resembling the way a rat washed its paws.
"Do you know why I came here?" Peter asked, finally, when they had passed some minutes in silence.
"To kill Connor," said Harry. "The way that you tried to when you betrayed him to Voldemort." He ignored Peter's flinch at the Dark Lord's name. Snape was the same way, and even Draco. They all preferred calling him by his title. Harry thought that was silly. "It won't work. I'm going to stand in your way, and I'm going to kill you if you try to touch him." He brought his magic up, swirling and roaring, cold music that frosted the grass around him and broke the air into small pieces.
Peter shook his head. "That's not the reason I escaped," he said. "I didn't come here for him."
"For whom, then?" Harry curled his lip and took a step forward. He felt strong, powerful, ready to strike in a way he hadn't all summer. This was an enemy. Harry was justified in whatever he did to him. This was the kind of battle that Lily had specifically trained him for, the kind where Connor's inherent innocence and compassion might blind him and make him leave the enemy alive. Where justice had to take place, rather than mercy, Harry could become the executioner.
"For you," said Peter. He tilted his head to the side. "I thought, when I saw the announcement in the newspapers about the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived going to the Malfoys' for the summer, that something like this might have happened. And I see that it has." His voice was deep with a sadness Harry did not understand. "I knew—well, I should have known, after that night when V-Voldemort attacked, but I couldn't remember for the longest time, you see."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Harry asked as calmly as he could. His wand wasn't trembling. His magic was, ready to lunge and strike. Harry didn't know if he could control it much longer, and neither was he sure that he wanted to. Peter would, of course, lie, or else he would have gone insane after twelve years in Azkaban. No one stayed sane that long there.
Of course, no one's ever escaped from the prison before, either, Harry thought, and went on listening.
Peter let out a breath, then another, and then said, "Harry, I betrayed your parents on Dumbledore's orders."
Harry shook his head at once. "No," he said. "That's not true. You were a Death Eater. Let me see your left arm."
Peter pushed the sleeve of his stolen robe up at once, and Harry saw the dark gleam of the skull and snake. He hissed, one hand rising to his forehead, where his scar had abruptly blazed with pain.
"See," Harry said with gritted teeth through the agony. "You're a Death Eater. You served Voldemort."
"I became a Death Eater because Dumbledore asked me to," said Peter, his eyes unearthly. "The Dark Lord approached me because he believed I would be jealous, being in my friends' shadows all the time. When I went to Dumbledore, he saw it as the perfect opportunity to have a spy. Snape hadn't turned his back on the Dark Lord then. And then, when I had the chance to become Lily and James's Secret Keeper, Dumbledore said I had to take it. He explained about the prophecy to me. And he explained about something else to me, too. That was the real reason he wanted me to become everything I did, to betray your parents and go to Azkaban. I was a sacrifice, Harry, even as you were—"
Harry abruptly went to his knees, crying out in pain. The phoenix light and song had blazed up in his mind again, as though the crippled web sensed an enemy and was fighting frantically to involve itself in one last battle.
Peter was speaking, but Harry couldn't hear him beyond the pressure of the fire. Then a hand touched his shoulder, and Peter's voice cut off, and Harry felt the agony steadily retreat. He took a deep breath and stood.
He leaped backward when he saw that Peter was the one who had touched him, and pointed his wand at him again. Peter lifted his hands and backed away.
"I should have known that would happen," Peter breathed. "It was the web, wasn't it? The phoenix web? I just broke free of mine a few months ago, and that's why I was able to escape—"
Harry's vision flashed gold again. "Stop," he managed to say through a clenched jaw.
"My apologies," said Peter softly. "I can't tell you everything you need to know, Harry, because the web will prevent you from listening if I do. But I'll find a way to help you break it. I swear I'll find a way to help you break it. That was the reason I escaped when I did. I could have rotted and died in Azkaban, or just run away. Merlin knows I've paid all my debts to them." His eyes shone viciously as he said that, and Harry had the feeling he was seeing the Death Eater. "But if you were suffering from this too, then I wanted to help you. As one sacrifice to another—twelve years is enough, I think. You don't have to listen to them anymore, Harry."
Harry shook his head. "I don't believe you," he whispered.
"Of course you don't," said Peter gently. "Not yet."
"No, I mean—I mean I won't believe you," Harry said, bringing his wand up. It wavered. He despised himself for his weakness, but he couldn't seem to stop it. "Why would you agree to go along with that, if it really happened?"
"Because Dumbledore is persuasive," said Peter, shrugging. "And for other reasons that I can't tell you yet without causing your web to cause you pain."
"But my parents never knew—"
"Yes, they did," said Peter quietly. "They knew, and—"
"Harry!"
Harry spun around abruptly. Sirius was rushing out of the house, his head low to the ground and his body already rippling with the first signs of his Animagus transformation. His next cry was as much a bark as a shout. "Wormtail!"
By the time Harry turned around again, Peter had transformed and was running. He scurried across the ground, aiming for the edge of the wards. In a few moments, Sirius, now a large black dog, had caught up with him, but though his head dipped several times and then rose again, he seemed to miss Peter each time. Harry watched, his head aching and his wand still shaking in his head. He noticed it, and forced his fingers to steady.
Sirius came back in a few moments, his growl rumbling up from his throat. Harry didn't have to look at his jaws to know that he hadn't caught Peter. He swallowed, unsure what to feel.
"I betrayed your parents on Dumbledore's orders."
That couldn't be true. It wasn't true. It had to not be true.
"Are you all right, Harry?"
Harry looked up into Sirius's face as he transformed again. The Fugitivus Animus spell didn't seem to be working any more, if the way that his godfather's eyes were fastened on him was any indication. "You can see me?"
Sirius gave him a puzzled glance. "Of course. Why?"
Harry shook his head. The spell never had worked as well on Sirius. He supposed he would just have to put up with it. "Nothing," he said. "And yes, I'm fine. I just came out to get some air, and he was there."
"Talking nonsense, I bet," Sirius muttered. "Trying to get you to join up with the Death Eaters, was he?"
"He told me some things—"
Sirius tensed like a twig about to snap. Harry wondered why.
"But it was all nonsense," Harry assured him quickly. "I didn't believe him."
Sirius let out a loud breath and hugged him. "Thank Merlin for that," he said. "Now, come back inside. I'm going to wake up your fool of a father and tell him to adjust the wards."
Harry nodded and fell into step beside Sirius, letting his godfather lead him back to his bedroom. He deliberately didn't think about anything until he was back under the covers, with Connor snoring heavily, reassuringly, across the room.
"It was the web, wasn't it? The phoenix web? I just broke free of mine a few months ago…"
That was the thing that troubled Harry the most, and on two accounts. First, he wondered if a phoenix web—if that was what it was—placed in someone's mind could cause that person to lie his way through the Veritaserum the Aurors would have used when they tried Peter. After all, if someone under the web believed what he was saying were true, the Veritaserum would find only truth.
And the second thing…
Harry rolled over and punched his pillow. You know that what he said wasn't true. Go to sleep, damn you.
And the second thing…
Harry buried his face under the blankets, but his thoughts would not stop racing.
Harry was trying to get used to thinking of himself as a sacrifice again, the way he had unquestioningly before the damage that Tom Riddle and Sylarana's death had inflicted on his mind. He had chosen it. He had trained for it. It was what he was. Eventually, he would have to reconcile himself to that, rage at his parents and Dumbledore or not. What he had learned about his own mind and magic did nothing to diminish Connor's need for protection.
But what if they had sacrificed other people, too? What if Peter had spent twelve years in Azkaban, scorned by his friends, as a living sacrifice? What if Harry wasn't the only person Dumbledore had manipulated?
He was not sure how he felt about that.
Golden light roared across his eyelids, and Harry turned his attention away from the thoughts. He had to rest, had to relax, or his head would hurt.
And besides, Sirius was right and what Peter had said was nonsense, designed to trick Harry and lure him away from his brother's side.
Just nonsense, Harry repeated to himself until he fell asleep. Just nonsense, all of it.