1I'm about to give you a side of Peter Pettigrew you thought you'd never see. He's actually HUMAN!
I know, I know.
Scary, isn't it?
That a totally evil dude is human?
Frightens the shit out me (which is why it was so fun to write).
Chapter Five: Reflections
Peter Pettigrew had grown thin with worry.
Not that he was worried about his Lordship's plan. Everything was perfect. The Potter brat was exactly where he was needed. The Deatheaters were assembled. Draco Malfoy was preparing for his tests of membership.
But something unexpected had shown up.
And suddenly Peter Pettigrew was in fear of his life. The Dark Lord wasn't fond of surprises. Surprises often ended with a dead messenger. Normally, with such a message, Wormtail would have sent some lower minion that was easily expendable.
But this message required a softer touch, one that aforementioned lower minions lacked. So Wormtail was forced to attend to this matter himself. He smoothed at his crinkled robes outside the rooms that the Lord occupied. The wrinkles were beyond repair, but anything to keep from giving this message was employed.
Finally, he knocked on the door, and shuffled to the half crawl-half bow that everyone but the highest Deatheaters used in the presence of Lord Voldemort.
It swung open on it's own rusty hinges, squeaking ominously. Wormtail warily stepped in, eyes focused on the floor, and the thick snake tail swirling out of sight. The pattern begged the eye to follow, and he obliged, all the way to the satisfied head suspended in hair, on which the pale hand rested.
"Yes, Wormtail," snapped the Lord, shaken out of his reverie by the hunched figure. Although not his most imposing servant, Wormtail had a certain, aura, around him that spoke of servitude. It was an air most assumed in his presence.
Save that Potter bastard.
His entire plans for taking over the world, and purging it's blood, ruined by one child. A scrawny child at that. Harry Potter didn't even have the grace to be large, or imposing, with some sort of important feature.
Each year, the child was pulled out of his grasp. The sixth attempt had never occurred – Lord Voldemort was too busy planning to be dillydallying over some half-hearted assassination attempt. If Harry Potter had avoided death at one year of age, he certainly wasn't going to drop dead at sixteen.
But this was Potter's final year of Hogwarts. It was the beginning of the end. As surely as if it had been put in the prophecy, Voldemort knew that the seventh year would be his final chance. The second Potter was out of school grounds he would be swept up into Auror training – one of the most secretive processes in the world. It rivaled the election of the Pope.
No one knew where the training facility was, or what was in it. There was a series of tests involved in acceptance, and Voldemort had yet to slip in a spy. Potter would virtually die for the three years of his training. After that, well, his chances would be slim. Very slim.
About 1/2000 of an inch, slim.
So they had to strike now. Kill the Potter child before he became an Auror. And Lord Voldemort was perfecting the perfect plan. Everything fit perfectly. It was, essentially, an unbreakable scheme that had no way of failure.
"Um, my Lordship, there's been a slight, um, discovery in, in, in London. Something you, you, your Lordship might be interested in." Lord Voldemort was never fond of Wormtail's stuttering in his presence, and it was grating on his nerves.
"Spit it out, Wormtail."
"Well, um, Malfoy, I mean, Draco Malfoy has found out something, in, in, Diagon Alley. It's disturbing to the plan," stuttered Wormtail, still skirting around the subject. The man formerly known as Tom Riddle stifled a sigh, and petted the smooth head of the snake. It eyed Wormtail hungrily. It's master didn't allow it much human flesh, but she could tell that this one was annoying him.
"Would you like to lose another finger, Wormtail?" There was a hasty shake of the head, and dandruff floated to the ground. Voldemort wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Well then get on with it. Now."
"There's another Potter child."
There, it was out in the open. Wormtail bowed lower, so close he could have touched his head to the ground with a few more inches. The slithering sound of Voldemort's hand on his snake's head paused.
"What did you say?"
"There's another Potter child, Master. Form, formerly Hermione Granger." The name brought up images in his mind. Potter's year, bushy-haired. Infuriatingly good at magic. His source in Hogwarts told him she was Head Girl. But the pictures and information swam. How could there be another child?
"How could you have let this happen?" The voice was deceptively light, as if he was asking the time. Wormtail knew that voice. It was the voice he used before cursing someone into next week. Or Hell.
"I, I, I, didn't know about her, sir. No one did," he lied, stuttering over the unfamiliar words. The stuttering was normal, so Voldemort didn't take notice. A memory flitted into Peter Pettigrew's mind. Sort of like your life, flashing before your eyes before you die.
It was too bright, the maternity ward of St. Mungo's. All bright yellows and blues and picks and dancing teddy bears. James was pacing the length of the room, still worried from Lily's abrupt announcement in the middle of dinner that her water had broke.
Sirius, tie loosened, was sprawled in the hard, pink plastic chair, chin tucked to his chest, apparently asleep. As a present, for before the baby came, he had made James and Lily dinner, a marvelous affair with Grecian recipes and large amounts of wine for everyone except Lily, and James, who had only one glass.
Remus was alert for being intoxicated. Perhaps it was his werewolf blood, he had always managed to hold his liquor well, even when they were all at Hogwarts, sneaking Firewhiskies at the Hog's Head.
He was sitting next to Sirius, gazing into oblivion, as he often did. It seemed a talent, a part of him, that could always separate, and float off to some nether region where only he could reach. Peter envied him.
And there was Peter, nervously sitting in his own uncomfortable hospital chair. He was waiting until the brat was born, so he could call it in to the Lord. It made him uneasy, lying to his friends, even more now that a child was being brought into it all.
Oh sure, children were being born into the war every minute. But this was Lily and James' child. A baby Potter. Some innocent little thing that he would have to betray and eventually kill. It made him very, very uncomfortable.
James hit the wall and continued pacing. He had no idea what the baby would be, or if it was being born feet or head first. Lily had refused an ultrasound. They had all been there that day, watching the two feud..
"James, this is my child. I'll know if something is wrong. Women have survived centuries without knowing what sex their baby will be!" Her eyes had been flashing, a dangerous sign before she was pregnant and even more so now.
"Lily, you can't know everything!" James had exploded, pounding on the table. Lily had flinched and he softened slightly. "I'm worried about you. That's all."
"Oh, James," she sighed, "don't worry. There's something about being pregnant that gives me instincts. I'll know. I promise, if anything feels wrong, I'll go straight to St. Mungo's. Until then, I'm staying in the dark." She paused. "And so are you."
The conversation continued it's reel in James mind. What if something is wrong and she doesn't know it until now! To hell with motherly instincts! But James would have known if something was wrong with Lily. And if he knew Lily, then she would know their child.
"What do you wanna bet that it's gonna be a Harry James, not a Hermione Elizabeth?" asked Sirius, words barely slurred. They were all good at holding their liquor, Remus just better than the rest of them.
James and Lily had chosen two names, the first, Harry James, because they liked the initials HP, and James due to his father. Hermione Elizabeth was in respect of Lily's mother, who had recently died in a Deatheater attack, whose name was Elizabeth, and a large fan of Shakespeare. "I'll take you ten galleons that it's a girl, not a boy," tossed Remus. The two shook hands, and turned to look at James. Normally he would have been offended, but now he was too worried.
"JAMES! YOU BLOODY BASTARD!" shrieked a voice from inside the hospital room. All four men winced, and James stopped pacing for a moment. There were some hushing noises, and a silencing spell was cast from one of the nurses.
Sirius couldn't help it. He started laughing, light at first, but then it spread until his ribs hurt. Remus joined it, and so did Peter, until James was the only one silent. The three finally stopped, and looked at him. There was a pause, and then the four were hysterical again.
A crab-faced nurse shushed them from down the hall. They all eventually sobered to the occasional snicker. James finally took a seat in a yellow plastic chair obviously molded for a smaller body.
Silence and immobility finally reigned over the waiting room. There was seventeen minutes of it (Peter constantly checked his watch) until the door swung open behind them, and a very tired nurse appeared, with a small pink bundle in her arms. James stood instantly, and with a grumble Sirius began to fish out ten galleons.
"The other one, Harry, is in there with his mother," stated the nurse. Sirius paused in his fishing, and James, holding the tiny Hermione Elizabeth Potter, froze. Remus' eyes widened.
"Pardon?" breathed James. The nurse smiled at the confused looks on their faces.
"There were twins." Everyone looked at each other. Sure, Lily had been big. But not THAT big. James looked stunned, before a bright smile lit up his face. The nurse smiled again, and left through the glass doors.
"Anyone want to hold her? I want to see my son too." Peter was the closest, so he took the tiny bundle into his arms. She was so little, with a frosting of red curls on her head. The wide, hazel eyes looked up at him with total innocence.
He couldn't betray this child.
So he had told Voldemort that they had had a son. Once they died, Peter figured that the baby girl had been hustled off to some foster home, never to be heard of again. But then, right on time for the big plan, she had to pop up again.
The hazel eyes and pink blanket danced circles around his head. Voldemort, stunned, didn't stop his minion as he stumbled away from the room. Only the door slamming shut brought him out of his silence.
With a roar, Lord Voldemort swept out of his chair and threw the silver chalice on the table beside him deep into the fireplace. His red eyes glowed brighter than the embers that shot sparks at the contact. He turned to the large snake curled by his feet.
"Find her," he hissed at his snake. She looked back at him with eyes like onyx.
"Kill her and bring me back her wand."
Hermione had no idea she was being followed.
Packing her trunk at the Burrow, narrowly avoiding the constant volley of fashion magazines from Ginny, she didn't notice the small fly on the window that followed her from room to room.
Instead, she focused on not blushing every time she was in the presence of Oliver Wood, and keeping Ginny out of her school things. The latest angle of the youngest Weasley was that Hermione didn't need as many books, and could use the space for some of Ginny's cosmetics.
"You need to use green eye shadow! Black eyeliner! It'll bring out your eyes and make then seem green and gold. HERMIONE! Listen to me! If you want Oliver Wood to notice you, try some make-up on! It can't HURT!" It was the same thing, over and over, until Hermione was almost screaming. She finally gave up and slipped outdoors. If Ginny put all of Boots into her trunk, she didn't care.
She stood in the field just beyond the Burrow, and breathed in the fresh air. There was time enough that night to pack. Maybe teach Ginny another Evanescence song. Ginny's voice was amazing, but she would only sing for Hermione. It was a phenomenon, since she had only known Hermione five years.
There were a lot of things about Ginny that only Hermione knew. Her voice was just one. Like her affinity for eating Bertie's Beans in alphabetical order. Or the scrapbook that she kept of models in Witch Weekly or Enchanted. Or that she had one of Draco Malfoy's socks.
Hermione didn't even want to know how she had gotten it.
Ginny's crush on Draco Malfoy baffled Hermione. She had told Ginny that he was an egotistical, chauvinistic, stuck-up, inbred, evil, piggy, bastard son of a bitch.
"Yes," sighed Ginny. "But he's a hot egotistical, chauvinistic, stuck-up, inbred, evil, piggy, bastard son of a bitch." That was when Hermione had given up. But Ginny had quickly added, "I wouldn't date him though."
That made it all better, then.
Hermione plopped onto the grassy hill, spread out into the form of a starfish. The sun shone down on her stomach, and her face warmed. She closed her eyes, and thought of the year to come.
But it continuously floated away. Her mind returned to that moment in Possets, when she had appeared in the red and black lace, and the look on Oliver's face. Like he actually liked what he saw. For Hermione, who was only seventeen, that look on a twenty-one year-old Quidditch star's face equaled that she looked good.
But all the thoughts about why he did were irrelevant. He did it, and that was all that mattered. Hermione felt the corner of her lips tug into a smile. In her mind, she twirled in the dress, her hair falling down over her shoulders, and Oliver Wood stood in the background, watching.
She didn't see the dark figure, the onyx-eyed snake of Lord Voldemort, slither closer.
Opening her eyes for a moment, Hermione found the sun blocked by a large figure with hair that fell around his face, and a burr.
"Hello," said Oliver evenly. He sat next to her, and she sat up, trying to discreetly rub the grass off the back of her shirt. As befitting a gentleman, he pretended not to notice.
"Hello," she replied, and as a small silence followed, Hermione despaired at the instantly failing conversation. She wracked her brain for any possible topics. She despised Quidditch. He loved it. She loved books, he didn't. School!
"What's with the position at Hogwarts?" she asked, hoping to sound nonchalant. It came out a little accusatory. Mentally, Hermione smacked herself on the head, and wished herself an ostrich.
"Oh, well, Puddlemere's manager just quit, and we're switching owners, so however disastrous the results, we're taking the season off." Hermione raised an eyebrow, but he didn't notice. His entire concentration was fixed on the blade of grass in his hands.
"I don't know much about Quidditch, but, wow . . ." Oliver nodded slightly, and he looked up at her. She was facing away, towards the sun, and he was the highlights on her fair skin, and how her eyelashes looked like black lace.
On impulse, Oliver leaned across and touched her cheek. She jerked away, and turned to look at him. He felt like chopping off his own hand. Her beautiful eyes were wide, and doe-like. There was just the beginning of anger in there.
Oliver personally felt like avoiding it (he had, after all, seen Hermione in a temper once) and made to stand. Her limbs feeling like they were no longer attached, Hermione reached across to stop him.
The two froze to look at her hand on his wrist, keeping him from standing. Then his gaze floated up to her face. Their eyes locked like a steel bar. Hermione's breath floated out between then, a small cloud.
And once again, Harry burst into the scene.
Oliver jumped back, and Hermione's lock on his arm flung her back, down the hill. With an 'umph' she landed on her back, down twelve feet.
Well, I'm certainly graceful, she thought, and stood. The snake, eyeing her chance, lunged forward, for an ankle. She may not get a shot like this again. The fangs sunk into Hermione's left ankle.
Oliver and Harry watched, stunned, as Hermione collapsed at the bottom of the hill, the poison spreading quickly. In a minute and a half, it would reach her heart, stopping the vital organ instantly.
Well? What'd you thing? Love it? Hate it? Find a new side of Peter Pettigrew you thought you'd never see?
I know, I know, I've made him human.
It's so much easier to hate them when they aren't human.
Sssssoooooooooooo . . . .
Now that we've passed the preliminaries, will you send me reviews telling me I'm a total bitch, and have to update soon?
I LOOOOVE those reviews. They just brighten up my day.