--1941--
"Happy Halloween, children!"
Surprise on the young faces; it even reached the old eyes. Professor Digory Kirke smiled. I do believe I've startled the legendary Kings and Queens of Narnia. What more could he ask for? They'd been given a second chance at childhood, but had forgotten how to live it. They just need a little help.
"Finola, you have really outdone yourself!" he praised. His housekeeper blushed at the compliment.
"Thank you, Professor."
"Well, dig in, dig in!" He seated himself grandly, and the children eagerly pulled up their chairs. "A veritable feast!"
And it was. He'd asked Finola to cook something special for them. Since the weather had palled, the children were able to go out less and less. They'd begun by spending hours – days, even – in the woods. The looming inability to do so for much longer was grating on them. Peter had told him of the castle, and the strange people they'd discovered there. And the war that world was waging; one which mirrored the war in their own.
It's not as if I can truly stop them from going.
But . . . he didn't have a good feeling about this. While they might be adults in young bodies, as far as this world knew, they were only children. And he had a responsibility to care for them – one placed upon him by Helen Pevensie. A woman he had never met. Their mother.
He looked around the room, noticed an absence. "Where's Susan?"
The eldest frowned. "She told me she was going to the library."
The Professor shook his head. "I was there all this afternoon, and I assure you, I was the only one there."
Peter looked to the others. "You haven't seen her?"
"No."
Lucy shook her head.
Peter's chair scraped back from the table.
"Peter?"
The boy stopped at the threshold, still buttoning his coat. "I'm sorry, Professor." An apology, but no compromise, in that voice. "I'm afraid Susan's gone out."
He looked to the dark windows, lashed by rain. In that? "Where?"
Peter's expression was grim. "The castle."
And to the young man there. Tom, his name was. Peter hadn't tried to hide his concern from the Professor.
"I'm worried," he admitted, back straight. The High King met his gaze levelly, but the fear was evident. "This boy – there is something wrong about him."
"He doesn't care for your sister as much as she believes him to?" Things like this – one could only treat them delicately. And ignore that although Susan might be 'older', this boy was in reality fourteen. Both of them.
"I believe he believes he cares for her."
"But?"
"Su's not one to lose her head over a suitor," Peter said frankly. "Outside of that - it's not a situation we're unfamiliar with. But she – clings to him, beyond reason. And beyond that –" He bit his tongue.
"Beyond that?"
A whisper. "I know evil, when I see it. When it smiles at me, and tries to soothe my fears with honeyed words." Blue eyes, troubled, caught his. "I cannot trust him.
"He's invited her – us – to the castle for the Halloween Feast next week. We're not going."
"And was the decision . . . unanimous?" He had to ask. Before the problem could spiral out of control.
"Not quite." Diplomacy, tempering the boy's blunt honesty.
Digory nodded. "Take the mare."
"You came!"
A brilliant smile, one that punched out his breath.
"Yes."
"Through all that?" Tom frowned at the rain. He knew she had a long way to travel, but he'd thought she would start out earlier, not get caught in it – "You're soaked."
Laughter, bright and wonderful. Like nothing he'd ever heard before in his life. "Just a bit."
"Here, let me help. You don't have magic, after all," he scolded lightly. A few spoken words, and dark hair curled invitingly over his fingers. The slender figure beneath the Muggle garments was no longer so fetchingly outlined – but Susan wasn't that kind of girl.
"Where's the rest of your family?" He looked around, trying to hide his irritation. Tom might hate them, but they were good for one thing; traveling so far alone was dangerous –
"They didn't want to come."
She said it lightly, but he couldn't believe his ears. "What?" Deep breath, to calm the rage. Hells with that. "Susan, I've told you what lives in the Forest! Didn't that lunk of a brother of yours think that you needed protection? You should not have traveled through the Forbidden Forest alone!" The thought of what might have happened to her, to his sweet, gentle Susan, made him shiver. He hated being afraid for her!
She stared at him, and he forced the scowl off his face. "They didn't want to come, Tom. I couldn't have come at all if I didn't sneak off on my own."
What! I should have known . . . "You – came by yourself?" It staggered him, that she would show such bravery. For me? "To see . . . me?"
He was rewarded with another beautiful laugh. "Of course I came to see you, Tom! There's no one else here I care about!" She wrinkled her nose at the storm. "Not enough to go through that, at any rate!"
But they were inside now, under the protection of Hogwarts' archways and slate roofs. Tom pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, gathering her close. "Wait until you see the Great Hall," he whispered.
He was able to see it again through her sparkling eyes, her soft "Oh!" of wonderment.
Gigantic pumpkins and streamers of orange and black festooned every corner. Enchantments in the shape of bats had her eyes wide, and he used the excuse to wrap his arms around her, and whisper protective words of reassurance. She smiled bravely back at him. "It's lovely."
"You're much lovelier."
Another laugh, and a delighted flush. "Tom!"
The food was excellent, and he and Susan sat together at the end of the Slytherin table. Speaking lightly of what they would do when the weather cleared, and other plans. For the future.
It couldn't last.
The spell was broken when they left the Great Hall, lingering far longer than anyone else. Long enough that Dumbledore, irritating as he was, came up to them with a smile and suggested that it was late, Susan really should be getting home now. Interfering fool.
Her brother, soaked and expressionless, was waiting. "You ran off without telling us where you were going."
She started, saw him. Paled. "I left a note -"
"To come and see him."
There was no accusation in her brother's voice that he could hear. But in the face of what he wasn't saying – Tom's fists clenched. Susan bristled.
"Peter, Tom's not like that! He's different!"
He was. He'd changed himself, for her. Because she deserves the best. And he could become it.
But Tom could see the other boy didn't believe her. And that enraged him. "Do you think she would lie to you?" he hissed. Susan loved her brother. Why, he didn't know. But Tom wouldn't hurt him unless Peter gave him no other choice. He half-hoped the other boy would.
Peter's eyes narrowed. "Outside. Now." He looked at Susan. "We're leaving."
And his prayers were answered. "Gladly," Tom snarled. "But maybe you should let her decide where and when she goes!"
Blue eyes burned fire at him. Tom smirked.
"No, Peter!"
"Susan, stay back!"
"No, Susan!"
She rushed toward them anyway. The rain caught his hair, whipped into his eyes. He cried a frantic spell, to put a wall up and keep her away, keep her safe – but like her brothers and sister, his magic had no effect.
She threw herself between them. And was hit by a blow meant for him.
"Susan!"
"You will not touch her."
He'd – he'd – I wasn't going to hurt her! His enraged gaze locked on the other, but he was taken aback by the power of the fury that met him there. The blond boy lifted Susan onto the mare's back. "I'm taking her home."
Without a backward glance, he clucked to the horse. The storm swallowed them whole.
And he knew. He would never see her again.
Muggles. They brought nothing but pain. It filled his soul, burning; raging torrents of breath-stealing agony. Memories of torment in the orphanage, of family that disowned him, and now, the only person he would ever love – Who ever loved me!
She was torn from him. Forever.
I will destroy them all. He had no reason to hold back any longer, no reason to resist the temptation waiting in the night.Why should he keep to the path others walked, when it would not bring him Susan?
Tonight, Tom Riddle dies. And any love he might feel died with him. Tom Riddle was a fool, anyway. I am Lord Voldemort!
Alone but for the storm, he raised his head to the ravaging heavens. And in one last act of love and pain, Tom Marvolo Riddle howled out the death cry of the boy he had been.
--1993--
He had forgotten things, over the years. The transformations demanded much of him. Blood measured out in precious ruby drops, pounds of flesh seared from his body. The body that had been gone long enough for him to forget the familiarity of limbs, of walking upright. To know the slither of scales, as he had known the fit of his skin.
And pieces of his soul.
He had given it all.
And almost achieved everything.
But for the boy –
And he would give it all again, and more, for complete victory. I will have his body broken at my feet!
But for some reason, the image in his mind was not that of the messy-haired brat prophesied to be his end. Though that one was dead, and just didn't know it yet. The face was overlaid by a memory – a memory of blond hair, furious blue eyes. And a strange, shivering fear that wasn't – couldn't be! – his own. Impossible!
And then the memory was gone.
He prodded at the simple mind bolstering his. It was reduced to mere instinct, now, crumbling away under the burden of his soul. The last, remaining piece that contained all he was.
It was more than enough.
He had been reduced to this, living and feeding off others. It was disgusting, that he – Lord Voldemort! – should be no better than a mere parasite. But all he needed was one chance. Just one. And then . . . . Revenge was sweet sustenance, indeed.
A darting memory, of storm and pain. 'I will destroy them all!'
And he would – no matter if he could no longer remember why.
Forked tongue hissed, tasting the air. Familiar scents, lacking any sense of threat.
He probed again at the mind beneath his, pushing hard. Weakened, cracks spread across its surface. It gave, just a little. Hmmm. He would need a new host, soon.
Just one chance –
It would come to him. He knew it.
Until then . . .
No matter. There were plenty of snakes in the Forest.
"Good dog," Lucy breathed, gently pouring another warm pail of water over black fur. "Good dog. No one's going to hurt you. You'll feel much better when we're done."
He surveyed the quaking animal in the overlarge tub, and was only grateful that they didn't have to do this outside. The house-elves were enormously helpful, even if their servile attitudes made him cringe. "How did I get roped into this, again?" But he kept his voice low, not wanting to startle.
"Because Peter said that after two weeks, if the dog was recovered enough to stay inside, it was recovered enough to get clean. And because you laughed at the mess he made in Peter's room."
"Ah," Edmund murmured, tongue-in-cheek. "Soap?"
"I think we're going to have to cut some of these out," Lucy fussed. "I'll snip, you soap."
"Yes, My Lady."
A gentle wave traversed the tub. Hit the metal side, and splashed up into his face. Edmund spat, sputtered. Dog water! Ugh. Gross . . . Lucy!
He glared.
Lucy the Valiant laughed at him.
Shouldn't have tried, he sighed, working up a good lather in black fur. It only works when Peter does it.
But he let Lucy work with the dog, trying to ignore the constant shivering under his fingers. The room was very warm. Why so afraid? He didn't like having to watch any creature suffer. But there's nothing I can do about it. He needs time, to trust, to heal.
All animals were able to speak. The ones on Earth didn't do so as plainly as those in Narnia, but all that meant was that you had to learn how to listen.
"He was someone's once, Lu," Edmund murmured quietly. "He's such a good dog." I don't understand. How could someone – But he did understand. His lips tightened.
"I think he was mistreated, before his owners abandoned him." The soothing tone never faltered. "He's quiet, hasn't tried to bite."
"Well behaved," Edmund added. But if his spirit hasn't been crushed, it's only by the grace of Aslan.
Soft snipping, as Lucy turned her attention to the brambles lodged deeply into black fur. A quiet whine, so low it went almost unheard, as she touched the water-sleek neck.
Lucy frowned. Edmund watched warily, ready to move if the animal shied. He'd looked on in amazement the night his sister had coaxed the filthy, hesitant mutt through the portrait guarding the entrance to what he had privately named the Pevensie Tower. Some food, a few discreet pills - and once it was asleep, she'd thoroughly examined it for any sign of injury.
All she had found were scars.
Edmund had distracted Harry from her findings with conversation. The boy seemed to be doing well, despite the disaster of the first Quidditch match of the season. And the Dementors. The loss of his broomstick was hitting him hard, as it was one of the few things he'd ever owned. But only a few days later, the promise of lessons in magical defense against the cowled creatures had buoyed his spirits. Edmund had thanked Lupin for agreeing to it. Other than that, Harry'd never been to this part of the castle before, but as Hogwarts was huge, that wasn't so surprising.
"Switch sides?"
They were always careful of how they moved around the dog. If voices were too loud, movements too sudden, it would freeze, and begin to tremble, and bolt at the next motion or sound.
But slowly, surely, it was beginning to lose these reflexes. Beginning to trust. At least that they wouldn't hurt it.
"There," Lucy sighed. "A good rinse, now, and a drying, and we should be set."
The animal stood stock-still, head lowered, as it was doused once more. Resigned to getting soaked – Like I'm not already? He gave us no trouble. It was all Lucy . . . I should have known. Edmund gathered the animal up and out of the tub.
Towels warm from the hearth rubbed briskly over black fur, not giving the dog the chance to balk.
"There," his sister breathed, pleased.
Edmund blinked. The change from the mangy creature of before was stunning. The dog was still thin and haunted, but no longer tearfully gaunt.
A doggy sigh, then, and the animal roused. Lucy's eyes widened. "Take cover," she murmured, raising a towel in defense.
What?
Black fur flew, a few drops of water whipping through the air as the dog shook itself.
Edmund opened his eyes, felt his face pulled up into a grimace. "Better?"
A soft whuffle answered him.
Lucy grinned, translating. "Much better."
"Where are you off to, Harry?" Hermione, packing away her Muggle Studies homework. Ron would've traded with her in a heartbeat. Divination might be easy and a complete crock, but he bet that Muggle Studies this year was interesting. Mostly because of those Muggles.
But Hermione didn't think they were. He guessed she might have a point – regular Muggles weren't anywhere near as . . . well, normal as the Pevensies. Though that was weird too.
Harry slammed his books shut, dumping them in his bag. "Pevensie Tower," he shrugged.
Someone had started using the name for the area the Muggles were in when they weren't doing . . . whatever it was they were here to do. Aside from Lucy, helping Hagrid with Care of Magical Creatures. Ron had never really seen her brothers. Though he would treasure the story of how the older one had taken out Malfoy for, oh, the next five years or so.
"What for?" There was a trip to Hogsmeade coming up - the last for the year, as Christmas break was coming up soon – Oh. Oops. Bloody hell.
"Isn't that in the teacher's wing?"
Harry grinned at her. "Yes. But I'm helping Miss Pevensie with something. And her brothers are really nice."
"With what?"
"Jeez, Hermione." Ron couldn't help it. "Suspicious much?"
Hermione pinked.
It wasn't that she distrusted them, Ron knew. But she doesn't trust them, either. And knowing Hermione, she was on to something. But not necessarily something sinister. Though with our record –
"Look, Hermione, it's no big deal," Harry shrugged. "She found a stray dog in the Forbidden Forest, and is helping it get better. Its owner was probably a wizard, in Hogsmeade, and she asked me to help. It seems to like wizards more than Muggles. I'd take you and Ron to see it, but –"
"But?"
Ron rolled his eyes.
"But it's been mistreated," Harry said bluntly. "Miss Pevensie doesn't want to expose it to a lot of different people yet. It's well behaved, but still afraid of stuff like loud noises. She doesn't want to stress it."
"Oh. That makes sense."
"Of course it does, Hermione." You'd think she didn't have a pet of her own. Though that mad cat is more like a wild tiger than a pet. A mental check confirmed that he'd left Scabbers curled on his bed, safe in the boys' dormitory.
He narrowed his eyes at the two approaching figures. When Fred and George were skulking like that, something was about to bite someone, hard. It had better not be me . . . though there wasn't much he could do if it was. At least it won't be Ginny. Mum'll kill them. And after what she had gone through her first year – the whole family had spent last summer picking up the pieces. Fred and George included.
"Harry," Fred murmured, eyes darting around the common room. It was empty but for them. He and Hermione'd hung back a bit before getting ready to go to Hogsmeade.
But why are Fred and George still here?
"We've come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go," said Fred, with a mysterious wink. Ron caught the glance his brother gave him and Hermione, and had the sudden urge to bang his head on the table. Here it comes . . . "I guess there's no help for it," Fred sighed.
"Early Christmas present for you, Harry," George said. And he handed over a ratty bit of parchment that had definitely seen better days. "We wanted to wait until you were alone to give it to you -"
" – But then we figured you'd probably tell them anyway, so -"
"Happy Christmas, Harry!"
Clearly puzzled, Harry took it. I wouldn't.
"The secret to our success," George proclaimed fondly.
"And what does Harry need with a bit of old parchment?" Hermione was looking for the trick, too. At least I'm not the only one who thinks that's going to explode in our faces!
"A bit of old parchment!" Fred was wounded. And the twins proceeded to tell their tale of the acquisition of the Marauders' Map, complete with sound effects.
Ron stared. They've gotten good
"You're winding me up," Harry decided.
No, really?
"Oh, really?" George grinned. Ron's eyes widened. Oh, they can't possibly be –
A wand flicked out, touched paper. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Lines of ink spread out, and Ron peered over Harry's shoulder.
- telling the truth. Whoa!
Mssrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers
Are Proud to Present
The Marauder's Map
And every detail of Hogwarts castle, minute and perfect, was laid out on the paper in front of them. Ron goggled.
"Why didn't you ever tell me about this? I'm your brother!"
Fred shrugged. George smirked at him. Ron scowled. They are so dead. Just as soon as I figure out how. And how to keep them from retaliating. He hadn't lived with them this long to get killed in a prank war now. Unless they went out first.
Hermione's face was stern. "You're not going to use that, Harry!"
"'Course he is, Hermione," George said briskly. "That's why we gave it to him. Don't forget to wipe it when you're done, Harry -"
" – Or anyone can read it," Fred said warningly.
"Just tap it again and say 'Mischief managed!' And it'll go blank."
"So, young Harry," said Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, "mind you behave yourself."
"See you in Honeydukes," George said, winking.
"You can't possibly be thinking of going!" Hermione barely waited for the portrait-hole to swing closed behind his brothers.
"Oh, come on, Harry! Look! Some of the tunnels lead out of Hogwarts, right into Hogsmeade!"
And if he was Harry – I'd do it. Definitely!
But his best friend was looking very uncomfortable, and he tapped the paper with his wand. "Mischief managed."
Inked lines disappeared, and Ron blinked. "But Harry -"
"I can't." Harry looked so miserable, Ron didn't push him. "I made a promise."
Hermione looked relieved.
"All right," Ron said. Having Hermione around was great, really, but sometimes she could be so – well. "We'll bring you loads of stuff, from Zonko's, and some butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta's, and everything."
"It's not so bad," said Harry. He stuffed the parchment into his pocket. "I gotta go."
"Bye, Harry," said Hermione quietly. "See you later."
"Bye."
"Happy Christmas, Lucy, Edmund."
"Happy Christmas, Peter! Happy Christmas, Ed!"
"Happy Christmas," Edmund agreed.
Still in their pyjamas, the three Pevensies had gathered in their common room. The dog lay by the fire, which he'd just fanned to life.
The house-elves had decorated in here, a little, but Peter had firmly insisted that they not put up a tree. The Pevensies had their own Christmas tradition to uphold.
But there was food, waiting for them. Hot cereal, pastries, juice and fruit. Something for the dog, as well. Though only remnants and plates were left. It was just about time.
"What do you think?" Peter asked, looking to his brother and sister. "Get ready to go?"
Lucy scrambled to her feet as Edmund nodded.
Moments later, they were all dressed and hurrying into their winter clothes.
"Peter?"
He hadn't heard Edmund sound so hesitant in quite awhile. "Yeah, Ed?"
"I'd like to invite some of the children to come with us."
"I think it's a great idea." And he did. "We'll stop by the common rooms on our way out, then."
Brown eyes shone. "Thanks, Peter."
He shook his head. "It's a wonderful idea, Edmund." He grabbed his scarf, and looked to Lucy. "Ready?"
She had coaxed the dog into a collar she had found somewhere. Hogsmeade, probably. Running her fingers through his coat, she nodded. They hadn't been sure if the animal had enough fat stores to weather a long stay outdoors, but it had been eating voraciously. Lu gave it several small meals a day, and the dog was steadily putting back weight.
"Yes, I think so."
"Right then. Lu, go to Gryffindor. Ed, check out the Slytherin common room? I'll go to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Meet you in the courtyard in half an hour. That should give them enough time to get ready, if they want to come."
When he met up with them in the courtyard some time later, he had with him one first-year and two sixth-year Hufflepuffs, and three sisters from Ravenclaw, of various years.
Behind Lucy, Harry grinned at him, then turned to mutter to his friends. Peter raised a brow. And only one Slytherin. Well, ten children shouldn't be too much for them to keep track of.
Twelve children, he corrected himself, dodging a snowball. Edmund smirked at him. And one dog. Which, he smiled to see, had jumped happily up on Harry, and was wagging its tail.
He cleared his throat, and waited. To his surprise, all eyes turned his way. That was easier than I thought it would be. "Happy Christmas," he smiled.
"Happy Christmas!" A joyous roar reached him.
"My family and I have a bit of a tradition for this time of year. We're happy that you decided to join us." He grinned, but grew serious. "We're going to take you on a pretty long walk, and it will be off school grounds. Don't worry – we won't be going anywhere near Dementors, or the Forbidden Forest, though it may look that way. So if you've changed your mind, that's fine. No one here has to come. If you want to go back inside, just let us know now."
He looked around, and though a few of the younger ones looked to the older children, no one went back to the castle.
"Nice try, Peter, but you're not getting rid of us," Edmund joked. He lobbed a snowball at his brother. The children laughed as Peter ducked, slipped, and landed in a snowdrift.
"Revenge will be mine," he threatened, working his way out. Cold! Yikes!
"Save it for someone who's scared of you, Peter," Edmund stuck out his tongue. Just in time to catch a snowball.
Lucy grinned at them both. "Save it, o brothers mine. We have somewhere to be."
"Later," Peter promised.
"You're on!"
Their sister shut them up the surest way she knew. "Ding-dong merrily on high, in heav'n the bells are ringing! Ding-dong verily the sky, is riv'n with angels singing!"
Trading smiles, Peter and Edmund joined in on the 'Gloria'.
" – Hosannah in excelsis!"
A few new voices, wavering, added themselves the second round. Peter smiled at Hermione, Harry, and the few others familiar with the Muggle carol.
"E'en so here below, below, let steeple bells be rungen! And io, io, io, by priest and people sungen!"
Harmony bounced off the stone walls behind them, echoing out onto the snow-covered lawns of Hogwarts. Voices threaded music and words together, cocooning them all in the glorious sound.
"That's pretty," commented one of the Ravenclaws when the carol drew to a close.
"That's only the beginning," Edmund grinned. "What Christmas music do wizards sing?"
An hour and a half of trading carols and traditions brought them to the grove, deep within the forest, that the Pevensies had chosen for this year. Boisterous laughter rang through snow-covered pines, accompanied by a few happy barks.
Peter smiled. Yes. This was a wonderful idea, Ed.
And he took Lucy's small satchel from her. "All right there, Lu?" He and Edmund were carrying emergency supplies. But Lucy always carried the parts of their tradition they couldn't find or make from the forest.
"Yes," she smiled, looking to see the ten children merrily involved in a snowball fight throughout the clearing. She raised her voice. "We're stopping here. Don't leave the clearing!"
"Yes, Miss Pevensie!"
He grinned.
But the mock-battle dissolved on its own, as curiosity overcame various members of each side.
"Peter? What's that?"
Have you truly never seen something like this before, Harry? "Would you like to help?" he asked the teenager. The black dog had left off playing in the snow, sticking close to the teen's side.
At the nod, he handed over one end of the string of cranberries, and indicated the tall, bushy pine that had been singled out by Ed and Lu. "This one, I think."
Soon, Ron and Hermione and the Slytherin – a fifth-year named Cecily – were winding strands of popcorn and cranberries as high as they could reach.
"Pinecones!" Edmund announced, returning triumphantly from his foray into the forest with the Ravenclaw sisters. The young Hufflepuff, Derek, was clinging to his back like a monkey.
And in no time, the tree was decorated. Not glitteringly magnificent like the trees in the Great Hall, but beautiful in its own way. And that was more than enough.
"We have just enough," Lucy murmured. And each child received a white candle. The three Pevensies only needed one, anyway.
Peter looked at the young faces. "Where we're from," he began quietly, "All life is precious – especially life that we take for granted. So we do not cut down trees at Christmastime. Instead, we come to the forest, and bedeck one tree, in observance of the holiday. It is our gift to the woods, and the creatures in it."
"When we – returned to England," Edmund picked up the thread, "We were your age. The people were at war, and there were shortages. For several years, there were no Christmas trees in London."
"On Christmas Eve, we would light a candle for our loved ones," Lucy explained. For Father, in the trenches. For the Professor, and the Macready. For Tumnus, and Phillip, for our people and our friends. For Aslan. "To remind ourselves of what we had been given." She smiled, and the gentle expression reminded him of their sister. Susan. They had been lighting candles for her for – don't think of it. "We would be honored if you would join us. But if you're not comfortable, or don't wish to take part, that's fine."
From the interested gazes, Peter doubted that.
Fire flared against his fingers.
"Susan," Lucy murmured, as Edmund set the candle firmly in the snow.
Susan. He wrapped an arm around his little sister where she leant between them. Aslan, watch over her. Until I can take up my duty to my family once more – please, Alsan. Protect her.
But the tradition wasn't over yet.
"'Twas in the moon of wintertime, when all the birds had fled,
That God the Lord of all the Earth sent Angel choirs instead.
Before their light the stars grew dim, and wandering hunters heard the hymn -
Jesus, your King, is born! Jesus is born! In excelsis gloria!"
The youngest child came forward first. Then Harry and the dog, and Hermione, and Ron. One by one, lit candles joined the lone wick burning in the cold. The song ended, Lucy's clear voice fading into the afternoon.
In its wake came a haunting sound, beautifully, painfully familiar. Edmund.
Where he had acquired the duduk, Peter had the feeling he'd never know. But it was the one instrument they'd found on this earth whose music reminded them of home. And as he added his voice to that of his sister, it felt like home.
I wonder where they went.
Edmund had gotten Albus' permission for the short trip without going into specifics.
I doubt they'd tell me, at that.
Oh, Peter hadn't let the disagreement between them stand for long. But it was made very clear that he had broken trust with them, and had yet to earn it back. Under his beard, he grimaced.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but Albus had become very aware that they were not the individuals he remembered from fifty years ago. Those children had been just as changed by time as he – only it barely shows.
Something to keep in mind.
I overstepped my bounds.
But the children had come back happy, and thoughtful, and looking at the Great Hall's Christmas decorations with new eyes. Bringing the Pevensies here was the right decision.
Especially since he'd heard more disturbing news about the increased activities of the Death Eaters in recent weeks. Rumors weren't enough to go on last year. But now, there've been sightings. And it won't be long before they grow bold enough to attack –
The only place for Voldemort to go, after his ignominous defeat two years ago, was the Forbidden Forest. He was certain of it. It is the only place he can truly hide. And he is trapped there, for now.
Hagrid told him of the many dead snakes he encountered, and Dumbledore was very aware of Voldemort's affinity for serpents. A Parseltongue. The situation seemed clear enough, but it was only in stasis. And with the break-out – and subsequent disappearance – of Sirius Black . . . Voldemort's most faithful servant is free to seek him out. If he has not already discovered him.
But the Dementors knew their orders concerning Black. And he had heard nothing. And for today, it is Christmas.
More students than he expected had stayed this Christmas. Usually there are only a few, but perhaps our guests have something to do with that. One of the two first-years here was a Muggle-born from a broken home, who had been working with Edmund and his sister since the beginning of the year. Most of the others knew the Pevensies a little more than in passing, with the exception of the one Slytherin.
"Sibyll, this is a pleasant surprise!" He pushed himself out of his chair. The Pevensies were exchanging curious looks as the glitteringly green, sequined dress glided toward them.
"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster." He smiled into his beard at the misty, vague response. "And to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness. . . ."
"Certainly, certainly. Let me draw you up a chair - "
Some small magic later, he managed to head off the impending argument between Minerva and Sibyll. There was good reason why the two avoided one another.
"But where is dear Professor Lupin?"
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Pevensies exchange glances. So he told you? Good. I'm glad for you, Remus. The man had been shattered by the destruction of his childhood friendships. It was past time for healing.
"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," he indicated that they should start serving themselves. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."
He saw Hermione's eyes narrow. Swallowed a spoonful of soup. Clever girl. I should probably speak with her -
Ah, thank you, Lucy. She ensnared Minerva in conversation, heading off any incipient battles between the two professors. And there are many of those. It is Christmas, after all. And incidentally leaving Peter at the mercy of Sibyll's attention.
"Ah, yes. And who might you be? You are far too old to be a student here."
"My name is Peter Pevensie, Professor. I'm -"
"Ah, yes," she interrupted. "My Inner Eye tells me that you are not a wizard – a Muggle? Most unusual, here at Hogwarts. But then, are you here for a more hidden reason?"
"Actually, no." Political smoothness, in that voice. A lie. Peter dislikes telling them. But Lucy and Edmund were too busy dealing with his Transfiguration and Potions teachers, respectively, to come to his aid. "The Headmaster requested that my family and I attend Hogwarts this semester, to expand the Muggle Studies Program."
Sibyll tutted morosely. "But then, the Inner Eye is rarely mistaken. I foresee a great many unusual occurrences looming on the future . . ."
Peter stared.
A whisper, down the table. "What is she smoking?"
Several nearby students – just the Muggle-borns, he noticed – snorted into their tripe.
A thump.
"Edmund!"
"Ah, Sibyll," Dumbledore let Peter off the hook. The eldest Pevensie glared at his younger brother. "I wonder if you could tell me the state of the tower? Filch has said that you were having problems with a few of the heat-spells?"
"Hi!"
Tail wagging, the black dog jumped up on him as Edmund let him through the portrait.
"How are you, Harry?"
He managed a small smile. "I'm okay." He saw that Edmund was wearing shoes, and a sweater. "Where are you going?"
Edmund smiled. "Just going to see Professor Lupin. Go right on in, Peter's in the common room."
Peter looked up from where he was sprawled on the couch. "What's wrong, Harry?"
He rubbed his hands in black fur. A warm lick to his hand gave him courage. Peter made room on the couch, putting aside Hogwarts, A History.
"I thought only Hermione had ever read that," he said after a bit.
Peter laughed. "No. I'd actually just gotten through the section on the Chamber of Secrets." Amiable blue eyes glanced at the text. "I'd say they need to update that in the next edition. At least, from what I've heard from Ginny."
Harry perked up, still rubbing black fur. "You know Ginny Weasley?"
Peter shrugged. "A little. She went through a lot, last year. Edmund and Lucy are trying to help."
"Oh."
Black fur pressed against his leg, a doggy muzzle resting on his knee. Pale eyes captured his.
"What's bothering you, Harry?"
He didn't take his eyes from the dog. He told Peter about Dementor lessons with Professor Lupin. About managing to get hold of a replacement broom for the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw, practicing so hard. Winning was the best thing that's happened lately. About the blow-up between Hermione and Ron, about Crookshanks and Scabbers. And Hagrid's advice.
"He's certainly right," Peter said quietly. "People can be a bit stupid about their pets. That sounds like a right mess, Harry."
"I know," he groaned, slumping against the couch. The dog whined, a little, pressed closer. He rubbed its fur, grateful for the unconditional comfort. "What can I do about it?"
Peter grimaced. "The hardest thing anyone has to learn, Harry, is when they have to step back, and not get involved."
"What?!" He sat bolt upright. The dog yelped, and he relaxed his grip on black fur, immediately remorseful. A few moments of whispered apologies were rewarded with another soft lick.
"I know it goes against everything you are to ignore when someone you care for is hurting," Peter said gently. Blue eyes were distant. "And I know it's difficult. But aside from talking to Ron, and making sure you don't neglect your friendship with Hermione, there's little you can do."
I wish that didn't make so much sense.
"Unfortunately, it's up to them to sort this out. The only thing you can do is be the best friend you can, to both of them, until they do."
The dog whoofed. Harry blinked. "Yeah," he said slowly. "But I don't like it."
"Nor should you," said Peter firmly.
And to the last thing that was troubling him. He reached into his pocket, where he'd been keeping Fred and George's 'gift' to him – the one he hadn't used yet.
"What's that?" Peter had his head to the side, and was staring at the parchment. "There's something – a bit odd about it."
"The Marauder's Map," Harry said wearily. Another mess that I don't know what to do about. I wish I could – but I promised Lucy that – He'd promised her that when he had the free time, like during the Hogsmeade trips, he would come and help her take care of the dog. And he didn't regret it, not once. He just wished that he could go to Hogsmeade, sometime. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
Peter raised a brow at the incantation. "Well."
Harry blushed.
Peter smiled, and one blue eye winked at him before turning to the parchment. "Well, that's something," he said quietly. "May I?"
Harry handed over the Map, turning his head as the portrait hole opened. "Peter, I've brought Remus -"
The room exploded into chaos. Between one blink and the next, Harry found himself yanked off the couch, thrust behind Edmund. The portrait snapped shut, both Edmund and Peter dropping into a familiar fighting stance.
"Remus, where?"
"Professor Lupin, what -"
"That," Lupin said tightly, wand aimed at black fur, "is not a dog."
Harry looked at the Marauder's Map. Himself, Lupin – and strangely, neither Peter nor Edmund showed up. But someone else did. Not the dog, as yet lacking a name.
Sirius Black.
Why?
How was easy enough. The Pevensies were good people, and for all their exposure to the Wizarding world, there was a lot they didn't know about magic.
Time to get some answers.
"Sirius." His throat was tight. For all his talks with Edmund and Peter, the pain hadn't gone away. 'Twelve years' worth of pain isn't going to just disappear,' Peter told him. 'It can't. It's got nowhere to go. But it will find a way out, eventually.' "Don't make me force you to change form."
Remus could do it – they all could.
And the black-furred creature at the other end of the wand . . . rippled.
"So that's where my shirt went," Edmund muttered. But his voice was cold.
The man who appeared in its place was cleaner than the prisoner who had escaped Azkaban. Thin, but not much more so than he had always been. Muggle clothes hung off a frame that was just starting to put back muscle. His hair was shaggy, but shorter than it had been – he'd cut it himself. Light blue eyes blinked out of a pale, clean-shaven face.
"Remus."
A voice out of the past.
Pale eyes turned to the boy behind him.
"Leave Harry out of this," he snarled.
"Remus." A pained whisper. Sirius was always a good actor. Had to have been, to have betrayed them. Black seemed to brace himself, and met his gaze without flinching. "It's not what you think."
"It's not?" He took a calming breath, but couldn't stop shaking from rage. How dare he. . . . "Because I think that you turned Lily and James over to Voldemort to die. I think you gave Harry over to him, that you killed Peter Pettigrew when he chased you down -"
"No."
He opened his mouth –
"No spells." Peter, with a carefully expressionless face and a white-knuckled grip on his brother's arm. Edmund looked ready to jump on Sirius, and his face was drawn with rage. "Edmund," he murmured. The man didn't take his eyes off them. "Lock the portrait. No one comes in or out."
The dark haired man moved to the entrance, not only murmuring a word to the portrait, but physically blocking it. From his expression, the only way anyone would pass would be through him.
"You killed my parents."
Remus winced at the thin voice. Harry had his own wand out, and trained on Black. "You were their best friend, and you killed them!"
Black stood firm, but pure agony flared in pale eyes. "No," he murmured. More loudly, "No. I didn't."
Remus snorted.
The eyes found his. The same blue from memory, though pain had replaced the laughter he was accustomed to seeing there. He could find no trace of madness, try as he might.
"I did not betray James and Lily."
"Really?" Remus sneered. "Then who - "
"Peter."
The honesty stole his thoughts, stole whatever he had been about to say. He looked, but he couldn't see the lie. Only emptiness, and soul-crushing pain under thin defiance. But that doesn't make any sense! Unless –
"You . . . switched?" he murmured. Awful realization engulfed him. "Without telling me?"
Sirius looked away. Swallowed hard. Nodded. "We thought – I thought it was the perfect plan . . . a bluff . . . Voldemort was sure to come after me, would never dream they'd use Peter as Secret-Keeper."
Oh my God.
Memories raced through his brain, tinged with this speck of knowledge – and events long past shone in different light.
And everything he'd thought he'd known about the last thirteen years came crashing in. "Because you thought I was the spy." How am I so calm? But he was freezing.
Pale eyes closed. "Forgive me, Remus."
And he knew. The truth? Somehow he was sitting on the couch, his wand eased from shaking fingers. Someone was speaking to Harry, guiding the boy next to him. Sirius slumped on the hearth, back to the wall. Pale eyes were distant, focused inward.
"Why come here?" Peter Pevensie, who had collected their wands and was holding them, out of everyone's reach. Just in case.
"Pettigrew," Sirius said wearily. "He's here." And a much-folded, bedraggled scrap of newspaper was passed to him. A picture, of the boy Ron Weasley's family. And his pet rat, clutching Ron's shoulder and squeaking in distress. Scabbers. Peter.
"What?" Harry's voice was harsh. Of all the people here, he deserved an explanation the most. "Who's Pettigrew?"
"Remus?" Pale eyes, from one he'd thought lost forever, pleaded with him.
A tired knowledge lived deep in those eyes. Oh, Sirius! His best friend – a man he had hated beyond endurance, for over a decade – had lived a hell deeper than words.
He nodded, and they slipped shut in relief. "All of this starts," he relaxed fisted hands, "with my becoming a werewolf."
Harry jerked.
"None of this could have happened if I hadn't been bitten . . . and if I hadn't been so foolhardy . . . ."
Four boys, the best of friends. Brothers. Willing to do anything for one another – live, risk it all, even die, for each other. And when they'd discovered he was a werewolf, they didn't stop until they could help. Not by curing, or ameliorating, his curse. But just by being there.
"They all became Animagi. Your father, Harry, was a stag. Sirius, as you know, can take the shape of a dog. Peter was, appropriately, a rat." He paused. "We called ourselves the Marauders."
A green gaze turned to the Map. Lily's eyes, shining out of James' face. He was truly an echo of his parents.
"Illegal, yes," Remus nodded. "But for years, there were three unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts."
And he thought he might have figured most of it out. "So when your parents needed a Secret-Keeper, everyone knew it would be Sirius."
The convict focused on them. "I convinced Lily and James to use Pettigrew. They never would have done it if I hadn't suggested it. But I thought I could draw attention away from them, and Peter." Black hair shook slowly. "The day – after – "
"You chased Peter down."
A tired nod. "I was the only one who knew that they'd switched. But when I caught up to him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I'd betrayed Lily and James. Then he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back, killed everyone within twenty feet of himself – and cut off his own finger before running down into the sewer with all the other rats."
"The biggest bit of Pettigrew they found was his finger." He zeroed in on the convict. "Faking his own death, and pinning it all on you." God. But one thing still didn't make sense to Remus, gnawing at his senses. "But in the trial -"
Sirius stared at him. "What trial?"
"Yours." Remus didn't like the bitterness that appeared in pale eyes.
"There was none." Pale eyes blinked listlessly. "Aurors and Hit Wizards showed up quite quickly to arrest me. I had a fair idea of the procedure, my rights – none of it held. They wanted a confession, not justice." Sirius shrugged. "I couldn't give them what they wanted, so they moved to more . . . direct methods. But the truth wasn't going to change."
Horror filled him. "But surely -"
"With Voldemort's defeat by Harry, Fudge wanted to say the war was over for good. By locking away the monster that handed over the Potters to the Dark Lord, he could do that. The Ministry had what it needed – a scapegoat. With my family, my history, it was easy to make it look like I'd been a traitor since before the beginning. Little things like right and wrong got pushed to the wayside."
A hissed breath from behind. Remus started – he had forgotten the Pevensies.
They locked an innocent man in Azkaban for life – if Sirius hadn't – "How did you escape?" But he thought he had some idea. "Padfoot?"
Sirius shivered. Laughed, a low, broken sound. "It's been a long time since I've heard that name."
And he was sitting by his friend's side, with no idea of how he'd gotten there, only that pack-hurt was so thick in the air he was choking on it.
"I knew I was innocent." Muffled words against his shoulder. "It wasn't a happy thought, so the Dementors couldn't suck it out of me. It helped me stay sane, helped me keep my powers. So I could turn into a dog, when things got too bad. Fudge came to inspect Azkaban, and I saw that picture . . . it lit a fire in my head. So when I got the chance to escape . . . I was thin, thin enough to slip through the bars. Dementors can't see, so they couldn't tell anything more than that my emotions were . . . less complex, as a dog. They only thought I was losing my mind, like the rest . . . . I swam to shore as a dog, made my way to Hogwarts. I was staying in the Forest."
Starving, Remus thought.
Sirius' eyes were dark. "I was . . . very weak. I couldn't hunt – not well enough to catch anything. Someone left out food – the Care of Magical Creatures class?" He shook his head. "I ran when she saw me, I think. But -" he licked dry lips. "I think I knew I was starving. It was – getting hard to move, to do anything but sleep. Harder to wake up."
"God, Padfoot." He squeezed a thin shoulder. A moment of indecision later, Sirius relaxed into his grip.
"But when I checked, the next day, just in case – there was food again. So I kept going back. And one day, I saw Harry there – I didn't believe it." He looked up, then, beyond Remus, to the two brothers still standing between them and the door. "And then I had the chance to get inside – it was cold, winter was coming . . . I'm sorry. I won't say I didn't know what I was doing. I did. Things are . . . different, in dog form. But I thought I might have a chance to get inside, get to Pettigrew. Before they caught me."
At the thought, Remus balked. No! Sirius was not going back to that horrible place!
The two Pevensies exchanged a speaking glance; what might have passed between them, Remus couldn't guess at.
Edmund sat next to Harry, whose green eyes were dull in a pale face.
"Are you alright, Harry?"
"Scabbers – Pettigrew is dead," he said dully.
Sirius jerked as if hit.
"What?"
At the sharpness in his voice, Harry looked to Remus. His eyes slid away, to fix on Black. "I'm sorry," he managed, voice trembling. "Crookshanks – my friend Hermione's cat – ate him."
Sirius seemed to lose all energy. Pale eyes slipped closed, and Remus was very aware of each breath that lifted the thin chest. As if the next might be the last . . . Fists clenched, then opened. And when Sirius' eyes blinked open, there was a dead emptiness residing there that shattered his heart.
"How do you know?" Peter, voice thoughtful. He came forward from the door, and handed them back their wands.
A memory of something slightly out of place rose up. Ron and Hermione, at desks on either side of Harry in his class, not speaking to one another. Well. It does make sense. Little Peter was always quite good at sowing discord. "I assume this is why your friends Ron and Hermione are so angry at one another?"
Harry nodded unsteadily. "Yeah. There was blood, on the bed where Ron left him, and some orange cat hairs. Crookshanks must've gotten out of the girls' dormitory, and gotten to him."
"So you never saw the body?" Peter, blue eyes intent, one hand on a blond-bearded chin.
Remus wondered at his line of questioning. What does he think he's going to find?
"No. Why?" Harry managed to ask.
Peter shook his head. "I'm a criminal profiler." From their puzzled expressions, Peter smiled wryly. "I work with the British Muggle government. Basically, what we do is use a criminal's past actions to try to figure out how they think. So that the authorities can deal with them effectively, and perhaps to try to predict what they'll do."
"That all sounds a bit . . . woolly."
Edmund laughed.
Peter gave his brother a look. "It is, to a certain extent," he admitted. "But it's also a good way to classify and deal with certain types of criminals."
"But how is that going to do anything?" Remus wanted to know.
Peter took a deep breath. "Granted, I don't know very much about this Pettigrew," he said slowly. "From what I gather, he's a bit of the timid, cowardly sort?"
Remus nodded. "Peter was always hanging around someone stronger than he was. In our school days, that was Sirius, James, and me." He shook his head. "He was small for his age, and pretty awful at most magic, as well. I have no idea how he got into Gryffindor, the way he would cower sometimes."
"He spent twelve years hiding from the world as a rat," Sirius said. His face was set. Remus looked at him worriedly. He's not alright, for all he tries to look it. Thirteen years of separation couldn't erase over a decade of friendship. I can still read you, Sirius. Even through that front you put up to fool the world. "In Azkaban – a lot of Voldemort's supporters are very angry with him. They think the traitor double-crossed them; after all, it was on Peter's word that Voldemort went to find Lily and James, and met his downfall there. If he'd showed his face in the Wizarding world, it would prove the story that put me away to be a lie. And it would have set him up to get taken out by all Voldemort's supporters who are still free, pretending they've seen the error of their ways. . . ."
"And he faked his death before," the blond man murmured. "Well."
"Peter?" Edmund, looking to his older brother.
What pieces do they have that we don't?
"I can't be certain." Warning, in every line of his body. 'Don't get your hopes up', was what he really meant. "But just from what you've told me – government training is very thorough. And part of that – well, rumors of one's death can be greatly exaggerated." Another look to his brother that Remus couldn't understand. "I don't believe in death unless I see the body," he said bluntly. Edmund flinched. "Given what I know of Pettigrew – he's faked his death once, an innocent was blamed for it, and it worked – he was able to slink away from any danger. Odds are, he's done it again." Peter walked over to Harry, held out a hand. "Can I see the Marauder's Map?"