Peter Pettigrew, the hated and much-despised Marauder. The disgraced, rejected Marauder. The Lost, unseen, forgotten and always overlooked marauder. The one none of the three expected would betray them. The most poignant, vivid and under-explored character in the HP universe at least in my eyes, for now. What if there had been more to him and his life than meets the eye? If none of the other Marauders expected his betrayal, maybe they had had good cause for such faith? After all, once faced with the surface facts, Wizarding English witches and wizards need little to turn on each other, from what we have read in canon. What if there was more to the story of Peter Pettigrew, just like there was more to the story of Sirius Black than what the wizarding world always believed? What if he had been as loyal a friend as they had believed him to be?

What if that poor sod couldn't escape his destiny but still had the fortitude to have made just one different choice after making the most horrendous mistake of his life? What if none of the others really knew or asked what happened to make Peter turn on his brothers?

Remus had seen a name on the map and instantly chosen to hear Black's tale out. Dumbledore had offered Snape, Black and even Lupin and Malfoy multiple second chances, in spite of their many failures, proven crimes and shown missteps. Why had they not shown the same compassion to Peter?

Harry had; its why he had insisted on capturing him alive, after all. So here is me taking a leaf out of Harry's book of ethics, taking that possibility and building a sandcastle with it.

Betas welcome. Anyone who wants to take this story and build upon it, please feel free to PM me here. Oooooh, and don't forget to give lots of big, fat and juicy reviews too. I just love those.

Toodles!


To say that Peter was stressed and unhappy would be a gross understatement.

The acceptance of this heavy responsibility of a momentous secret was possibly the worst turning point of his life. On some latent instinct, he knew there was nothing but trouble at the end of this road. He wasn't actually a death eater when he was chosen as the secret keeper. Frankly, he wasn't much of a member for the militant group called Order of the Phoenix either. If they wanted fighters, he was the last person anyone would or should think of. And he'd be the first to admit that, if only someone would pause long enough to admit it, listen, or even ask him whether he wanted to be smack dab in the middle of a war. He knew spells aplenty. And he had a modest amount of power to make his spells work. He wouldn't have become an animagus otherwise, even if he didn't really like the form they forced on him. But he didn't have the stomach for dirty fights, blood and gore.

It took only one active combat situation and seeing Dorcas Meadowes, a lovely lady he had gone on a date with on two wonderful nights, all ripped apart and scattered on the lawn of her own house when he realized that this was beyond his ken. It had been lucky that he had passed out; no Order Member who stood with him in that fight had survived that night. It was mighty lucky for him that the Death Eaters assumed he was dead before they cast the dark mark in the sky before they vanished in shadows. The Auror who revived him told him he was lucky to be alive, so he had taken that bit of advice to heart and stayed out of most fights afterwards. He didn't mind James' snickering, Siri's taunts or the sympathetic looks Mooney and Lily kept giving him.

Peter was not battle-hungry, sword totting hero in anybody's story, real or imaginary; he didn't care much for heroics anyway. Just struggling with the everyday adventure of living was a big deal for someone of his calibre and limited influence. Even his job in the ministry archives was utterly boring; the most terrifying challenge he faced at work every day was facing the pretty undersecretary of his department head without making an utter fool of himself every time. He was the lone Gryfindor coward and he had accepted that aspect of himself long ago. He was no fighter. Nor did he think he would be ideal for the responsibility of keeping the Potters' address Hidden. But there was no precedent of anyone ever listening to him. He did not feel honoured. He felt terrified; like there was a giant target painted on his head, and tracker-charmed to bring the terrible, red-eyed demon lord to come calling for the death of one insignificant, lousy wizard of no particular importance - Peter Pettigrew.

And Peter was afraid from the minute the terrible secret settled into his soul. He could feel it like a bone lodged in the throat. Hard to dislodge, hard to swallow, and harder still to simply endure. After a nerve-wracking month of waiting for the other shoe to drop, he finally had been cornered in the ministry hallways by Lucius Malfoy himself, and he knew they had sniffed his blood and the hunt for his head on a pike was on. It did not take him less than five minutes to write out a leave of absence, citing family emergency and run like the hounds of hell were after him.

As all good mice do, Peter ran back to his hidey-hole and hid, trembling all over, like an autumn leaf. He spent weeks hiding in his dingy little bachelor pad in the muggle seedy street off London, petrified at the idea of stepping out for milk or bread and getting hunted down like the miserable rat that he was. By the third week of hiding, he was already out of even the last hidden stash of rations and hungry enough to eat his own toes. He bitterly wondered why not a single so-called friend did not come calling or at least send a care package so he wouldn't starve. Was he any less loyal, this maddening hunger would have had him selling his soul for a warm meal.

But Peter steadfastly and stubbornly held on for another week, his hair falling out in clumps from the stress and starvation, his clothes needing constant shrinking charms. Past three days, he had been filling his stomach with Augmenti'ed water. His desperate Patronus begging Siri to buy him some groceries and food had gone by unanswered for more than a week now, and he was too afraid to go looking for news and too fond of his friends to think badly of them or imagine something dastardly happening to prevent them from answering his own distress calls. They hadn't answered his mirror calls in more than a month now. And hunger was slowly eating him alive. He longed for his mum's crumble cookies, ginger cinnamon bread rolls, grilled ham, meatloaves and the heady aromas of her speciality pottage stew.

Peter yearned with all his heart to simply go home and feel safe. How he missed a decent home-cooked and warm meal in his mother's cosy little kitchen! She looked like the witch she was, magically, but was too ill to go out and forage for groceries; that was always his job as her only son and family. How he missed her and yearned to check in on her. But fear prevailed for four more days of drinking nothing but Augmenti'ed water. He wondered why no one from the order or his friends had come looking for him. He wondered if they thought he was lying in some ditch, dead and abandoned, and already forgotten.

He was so hungry he was even dreaming of food. Three days before Halloween, he finally caved in for his cravings and decided to visit his widowed and ailing mum. If he was this hungry, she would probably be worse. So, gathering all the last drops of his Gryffindor courage, he dressed up, locked after himself, found a secluded turn of the stairs and quiet as he possibly could, apparated. The home looked warm and inviting and he quietly let himself in, pleased to be back home, only to be stunned and then revived into his worst nightmare coming true.

He was trussed up like a turkey on a grill and helplessly forced to watch as his mum was being ripped apart, inch painful inch, the whole nightmarish event like a bad drama controlled by Bellatrix and her gang. It went on for two dreadful hours before the crazy witch stiffened and announced that the summons had come. The two Pettigrews were portkeyed to Voldie's lair without a single care of the ailing, aged old witch. The next whole day all he heard was his mother screaming under Bellatrix Lestrange's wand and knife. All he knew was that the apocalypse had finally come for him. He screamed right along with her, and he whimpered when he could not hear her scream. He had emptied his bowels far more times than he cared to count, not that it mattered since they would only kill him anyway.

His poor mum! He wailed and begged and screamed and ranted, and cursed them for dragging innocents into this mess. At first, he had thought they would demand the secret of Potters' secret hideout, but they never asked; instead they tortured his mum right before his eyes. The bastards even ignored her advanced age as they took turns raping her, humiliating her, and shredding every last vestige of her dignity. And Peter got no respite, forced to watch it all. On and on it went until even in silence, he could only hear her eardrum-shattering shrieks, and there is no respite. The bastards don't even take a break as they squabbled for turns for a chance to inflict more and more damage until he couldn't bear even the sound of her panting from the relief of brief breaks. After 27 hours of Peter and his mother being tortured in turn, and finding it pointless to wonder why the order hadn't done more to protect or hide his mum better, he finally gave in and spilling all he knew. Voldemort and his cronies and thugs were turning out to be far too powerful for simple, weak wizards who barely scraped by.

Peter was a short man; short, chubby, weak chinned and mousy haired, with no notable features. He wasn't strong like his friends, but thanks to his powerful and influential friends, he knew more than a man like him ever aught to. Potter's Fidelis charmed address was the least of it. Absently he turned away from the indignity, humiliation and pain of receiving that ugly tattoo and noted the pity welling up in Narcissa Malfoy's eyes, and an oddly satisfied glint in the eyes of Sturgis Podmore, the Unspeakable and the true betrayer of the order.

That bastard actually grinned at him and discretely indicated his own clean forearms. It would be Peter's word against Podmore's and no one in this world set any store by Peter or his words. Not even those he called his best friends. Although Peter sincerely hoped that James would if only he survived. Lily would, he knew because she was just that smart enough to know the truth when she heard it. But Peter was bone tired. He couldn't think of the friends he betrayed, under pressure, or the little child he had loved like his own, since the first moment he held the green-eyed cherub.

He closed his eyes and tried to close his heart as well, but had to open his eyes again when he heard Bellatrix's mad cackle. Apparently, she wasn't done yet. A peek into the Dark One's face, and his strangely frightful red eyes and Peter knew that his misery wasn't over. They would not grant him the mercy of death. Not yet, anyway.

He watched almost catatonic with grief when that mad witch Bellatrix finally released his poor mum with a carelessly flung Avada Kedavra. Peter was too wrung out to even crawl up to her. She was gone, and what was left behind could hardly be the witch who baked cookies and told funny stories. It was just battered meat and bones. He just lay there, not noticing feet coming and going, or the long lapses of silence and isolation in between. He saw nothing of the blood that pooled around him or the feet that merely stepped wide over and above him. He did not hear the shouts or the loudness of the silence that floor. His ears were still ringing with the echoes of his mum's dying screams.

It took two days and some healing potions Narcissa kindly poured down his throat, along with some warm broth, before he realized that he was in Malfoy Manor. It took another half a day before he crawled out of the manor, out into the lawns and lay there exhausted from the effort and soaking in the icy cold cleansing showers that fell on him. Three more hours later, there was barely enough energy, coherence and cognizance that he quickly summoned the last of his reserves to disillusion himself and take off to the leaky cauldron. It was as far as he could go, without a wand or much energy to summon. He needed to get away and it was the first place that popped into his mind. He had no idea what day it was or how long he had spent being tortured and then flung aside.

And what awaited him at the popular pub at Diagon Alley's mouth was absolute horror.


It had been two days since the Dark Lord had been vanquished by Little Harry. Everyone believed Sirius Black was their Secret Keeper who betrayed them and turned them to the dark. No one remembered Peter. No surprise there. They were proclaiming Harry the Boy-Who-Lived because both James and Lily had died to the Dark Lord's wand. Harry was alive. Last of James and Lily was alive. Invisible as he was, he had no energy to spare for a jig his soul wanted to dance. Instead, he almost collapsed and leaned against the wall by the tables, where Hagrid was steadily getting drunk and holding court.

He listened carefully to Hagrid's blubbering as he drunkenly garbled on about dropping little Harry at Petunia's home in Little Whinging, Surrey. What was the idiot doing, proclaiming the address for all and sundry here in this public place? Dark Lord may be gone, for now at least, but there were maniacs like Bellatrix who carried his ugly tattoo like a badge of Honor. What was Dumbledore thinking, leaving James' precious little boy amidst useless muggles? In what world was it safe or sensible? Lily had never minced her words or her ire whenever she talked of the last of her own family; her magic-hating, spiteful hag of a sister.

Besides, what he himself remembered of Petunia and her fat walrus faced husband at the Potter-Evans wedding, had been ugly, bigoted and prone to violence. Harry needed more protection and security than he had right now. Harry probably needed protection from those vile muggles. Peter closed his eyes, sneaked a bite of rolls from the nearest table and leaned against the wall, chewing and thinking.

He was still contemplating his circumstance when he caught sight of Sirius lurking in the shadows, sniffing the air for him; the mad glint of utter insanity caused a ripple of fear to run down his flimsy spine. Sirius knew he was the secret keeper. Sirius probably blamed him for James and Lily's death. The look in the taller man's eyes told Peter he was not going to get a sympathetic ear or even common courtesy of listening to what Peter had to say. Sirius looked mad enough to simply rip him apart with bare hands. This didn't look good.

Peter only knew that he needed time and a safe hole to think things through, and regroup. His brain felt like mush. Chuck Gryffindor bravery; he apparated with a loud crack and not a moment too soon, because Sirius had already caught his scent in the dingy little pub. Peter hadn't really thought of where he was headed. He just picked the most random place he knew, that popped into his mindscape. He reappeared in a muggle street and frantically assessed his options, but the more he thought, the angrier he got. It was all Sirius' fault.

Sirius was the one who had the ball rolling, that led to this horrid situation. He had been the one to call it a grand prank and foist the secret-keeping duties on Peter. It had been his off-hand, careless remark that no one would suspect Peter so his mum didn't need guarding that caused her death, the horrid torture and the god awful mark on his hand. Every single woe in his life, he could lay it all at the feet of almighty Prank Lord Sirius-Gawd-awful stupid-mutt-Black. Fear was slowly getting replaced by the piled up anger, grief and anguish that had been building up for three days now.

As if summoned by the very thought of his name the man apparated less than twenty yards to where he stood. For the first time in his life, he felt the heady taste of rage. And a target for it all. Loudly, with all the anger and anguish he could summon, he used the last of his reserves to blast that mad glint off the mutt's eyes. But something went wrong. Black cast some sort of a shield and everything reflected and he barely ducked before the wall behind him exploded, and he transformed into his Wormtail form on the sheer instinct of self-preservation.

Wormtail slipped deeper into a side road and hoped with all his heart and tail that the strange thundering ringing echo would just stop. It was like the whole world had slowed down. Even his breathe and his heartbeat seemed painfully slow and hard. The world spun around him and darkness gathered behind his eyes. His ears were ringing for a long time after. The world felt huge as he scrambled and ducked and slithered past large human feet and loud human noises and hid himself in a hole in the wall.

Before he realized it, he blacked out, still very much in his animagus form.


When he awakened hours later, he had no idea what had happened, where he was and where he would go from here. Quiet as the rodent he was in this form, he scurried out of the hole he had dozed off in, and found a dark discrete dead end of a street and transformed. casting the strongest muggle notice-me-not charms he could summon wandlessly, and then conjured a mirror to check his injuries.

Peter, the most fastidious and fussy marauder, was dirty, bloody, rank and looked very much like a vagabond. He winced, and then scrougified the dried blood and grime and cast some cleaning and refreshment charms. His old fastidiousness helped steady his shot nerves as he considered what to do. He was afraid to go home. His mum's screams still raw in his memories would drive him mad.

And He couldn't go to Hogwarts either. He had never entirely trusted Dumbledore and the next parental figure he could think of, Professor McGonagall was far too lost in the shadows of Dumbledore and his legend to be much help. He felt more lost than ever and desperately wished Remus had never gone to the continent for Order business or at least taken him along.

Once again, disillusioned and horribly afraid of what he would discover next, he nevertheless apparated to the Alley behind the Leaky, desperate for news. He discovered that when shocks are given one after the other, all one feels is numbness. Dead. He was declared Dead. Sirius was in Azkaban for his mistakes. No one expected to see him again. Where was he to go? What was he to do? After sitting disillusioned in the Autumnal showers behind the dustbin by the Archway, Peter Pettigrew made up his mind.

There was still one person who would need him. There was one life who he had given heart and soul and every intention to protect; having made up his mind, he carefully snuck a wand from a drunk Wizard's pocket and claimed it in the old ways. It would never be a perfect match but it worked more than well for him. Then he made a rather circuitous trip with far too many stops before he landed in Little Whinging, Surrey. It took him more time than he expected. More often than not, he was tortured even in the snatches of sleep he caught here and there, plagued by nightmares where he was right there, tortured into revealing the Potter's secret and forced by Imperio to watch them die.

James and Lily fell over and over until he had no idea if it had been all a nightmare or if it had really happened. He had no clear recall after watching his mum die. Everything that followed her death to the blasting of the muggle street, Padfoot glinting with madness and laughing like he really lost the plot, and the painful ringing in his ears was his only clear memories of his recent ...adventures? James would definitely call it that. Not would, would have. Gotta mind the tenses. James and Lily were no more alive, after all. Oh god! He turned and retched at the turn of his phrases and the real state of the situation. He wished he could undo all that at this point but wishes were neither horses nor shooting stars.

Peter felt like he too was going mad; even attempting to think past the grief hurt so horribly. Peter had a pathetically low threshold for pain. He had been weakened far too much, starving, with partially healed wounds, empty stomach and grief that struck him numb, dumb and disoriented and lost to memories and nightmares. The world stopped making sense when he walked into an ambush in his mum's old home.

Even in his animagus form, he wept silently and continuously as he scurried and moved, pulled forward by the invisible hands of instinct.


All sense of time and seasons were beginning to blur by the time his wand told him that his aim was close. In his Animagus form, he crossed the dangerous roads, lanes, house yards and sidewalks and a park and more house, diligently making his way to Petunia's house, ridden with guilt, grief and fatigue. It was a mad dash as if the whole universe would not allow him any respite until he arrived where he was meant to be.

Like a warm fire, the white Christmas was a wrong time for even a starved rat animagus to be wandering outside in the frozen ground and sleet. Climbing up the fence, he watched the kitchen where a family of three happily enjoyed an intimate Christmas dinner. He knew Harry was in there, but he was not at the table. The red haze of grief slowly receded as he considered the possibilities.

Peter was insignificant and he was long acquainted with that reality. He was not even the funny sidekick material in a good storyline. He was aware that he was not really a brave man like Padfoot but more reticent Slytherin in his approach to handling problems. He wasn't like Prongs, charging ahead purely on his faith in himself and his world view. Nor was he smart or brainy like Mooney. But his way was to think things through and look for alternatives to solve issues without dramatic confrontations or unnecessary violence.

He was true to his animagus form - a scavenging, fearful, restless rat. Vermin. So he watched and waited and took the first chance to sneak in. Once inside, he briefly relished in the warmth and scuttled into the nook behind the waste bucket by the door. A slice of half-eaten ham and crumbs of bread fell to the side and he waited and munched until he felt the lights go off. And even still, he waited a solid hour until the only sound seemed the rhythmic ticking of a mechanical clock in the house somewhere and the thundering of his heart.

Lighting up with a faint Lumos, he first rooted around in the kitchen for leftovers. There wasn't much but it assuaged the keen edge of weeks of starvation in him. He found a large bottle of cold milk in their cold storage box and poured out a glass and put the bottle back exactly as he found it all. Then he cast the search spell one last time and it led him straight to a set of cupboard doors bolted from the outside. A nifty little marauder spell allowed him to pass through the wood like he were a ghost. And his heart broke all over again.

There Little Harry was, ever so tiny, helpless and curled up like a kitten, dirty beyond all reason, and whimpering in his sleep. "Harry! Prongslet... Wake up darling ... Here.. drink this. " Green eyes wide open in disbelieving wonder tracked his movements. "Wummy?" And tiny body threw itself upon him and clinging to him desperately, the child finally cried in relief, after weeks of fear, confusion, pain and despair.

And new bonds were forged out of the broken remnants of the old shattered past. Wormtail lost his family, burnt his little world, got himself declared dead, and finally found his calling.


He watched over him like a hovering, uglier version of a fairy godmother, without the cute tutu, wings, sweet looks or any semblance of prettiness. Harry grew up far too much like him, scurrying around like an indentured servant or a starved slave, harassed and constantly on the edge during the days. And as soon as the household slept, he would shed the rat, and the man would emerge, heal his bruises, scrouge for food and medicines, talk to him, soothe and cuddle and love him as best as he could.

Gradually, he watched and learned the way of the muggle life, and where ever he could, he helped with food and clothes and comfort for the still grieving child, protecting him from the shadows. He determined that this would be their lives for the next ten years until Hogwarts Letter came. Wormtail planned and schemed and scouted the neighbourhood for all dangers and discovered the large horde of part kneazles and their owner, a squib spy who was willfully ignoring the clear and evident abuse of the most celebrated wizardling in England. At first, if only for a sparse few minutes, he wondered that perhaps she was too old or senior to see it clearly. Then it dawned on him that Dumbledore wasn't a stupid man. If he had planted Figg here, then either he knew her limitations or he didn't care deeply enough to plant a more efficient spy. In his place, he would have put Mooney here. Mooney would have cared for and protected Harry with his life. Figg was useless. Or willfully so. What if this abandonment had been deliberate? With Dumbledore, one could never be too sure. No, he would not trust Figg or Dumbles yet.

Peter decided that Harry would not have much truck with the wily old fleabag, Figg. Wormy was better than a batty old squib who couldn't see past her army of mewling menaces. He knew James. He knew Lily. And he knew their dreams and aspirations for their only son. And knowing them as well as he did, he could easily guess how they would have raised him, had he been made of sterner mettle. So, Wormy metaphorically girded his loins and got to work, parenting a grieving toddler and turning him into a fine, fine boy. Having made the humongous mistake that got them killed, this was the absolute least he could do for this child he was coming to love as his own.

Peter had the confidence and the brains to figure out a way out of even the direst of situations, given enough time. And in a strange, twisted way, hidden away in the muggle world, the two of them had time aplenty to work out a neat solution. In a matter of weeks, he found his strength again and began to apparate back and forth between Hogsmeade and Little Whinging, finally relishing his Animagus form. It was easy enough to sneak into school, Filch a bottomless bag, and sneak into the kitchens for supplies to keep his baby boy warm and well-fed. Till Harry turned three, he spent all his time trying to heal Harry's abuse wounds, comfort the child, and make sure he was well-fed, clean and healthy. He had taken to raiding Hogwarts for all he needed to fulfil his requirements for proper childcare, and he even sneaked food regularly from Hogwarts kitchen and retrieved the marauder's map from Filch's office. It belonged to Harry, by right, as the only child of all the marauders. And stealing, in this case, did not create even a single ripple in his fragile conscience.

He even stole healing and nutrient potions from the infirmary as well as and when he could, figuring that their world owed this child this much and ever so much more. As the resident medical expert of the Marauders, he had patched up more than one weird wound and healed more than one broken bone or bleeding gash. And knowing magical inoculations also helped. Harry would want for nothing as long as he was alive, and he was determined to be around as long as Harry would need him around. He became a fixture in the dark cupboard and managed to create a direct link from the cupboard to the attic where the Dursleys seldom turned up; it was way too high up for them. Up in the attic, they had the space to spread out, remain human, and rest, play, eat and even create a make-shift tub for quick sponge baths when Petunia decided the child didn't deserve toilet privileges. And eighteen months passed by before he felt confident enough to start teaching Harry to control his Magical core and his mind. More than a wand, a Wizard's mind was his true weapon; Peter knew that and did his best to impart the same lesson to Harry, knowing that Lily would have appreciated that very much. By the time Harry turned three, Peter slowly started a successful campaign to teach him magic and how to control his own accidental magical outbursts. And the lesser magic he displayed, the more tolerant the Dursleys became.

But Harry was still a child and probe to rambling uncomfortable truths as children are wont to do. So, in order to make sure that Harry never talked of Magic or Unca Peeta, he began to teach Harry the fine art of keeping his mouth shut, and cleverly evading and diverting conversations and even how to hide his thoughts and emotions. By now, Peter had become rather proficient in casting wandlessly and wordlessly, by the sheer virtue of dire need. Harry had been dumped in a muggle neighbourhood and he was aware that wander magical activities would be tracked in such areas. Anything wandless would only be considered accidental magics of the child. So he cleverly worked out how to cast Notice-me-not charms strong enough to last a while and keep Harry out of everyone's attention. With strong notice me not charms cast on the young child, they managed to have a fairly safe and quiet few years where Dursleys hadn't remembered or searched out for Harry in a long while. It was a happy coincidence of casting the charm that Petunia believed that Lily's brat had run away and she was well shot of him. None of the Dursleys thought too much over it and it turned into a welcome respite. And they learned to hide out in the attic or the cupboard and make a cosy nest in either place. Now that the Dursleys believed Harry gone, they no longer locked their fridge or Pantry and food and supplies became plentiful. With Peter around, it was easy to Filch a few of Dudley's clothes and shrink to make them fit Harry.

The two made a game of turning resourcefulness into a fine, fine art. Everything became a game and a chance to learn something cool. There was enough sawdust inside the cupboard that he could turn it into a slate-board for practising letters and numbers. He taught little Harry his name, his letters, and the elementary magical core exercises that every pureblood wizard raised in that world learned. And Harry turned out to be an information sponge much much more than Mooney or Lily had been.

Wormy imitated a mix between Mooney's love of learning, Paddy's bright curiosity, and Prongs' unswerving confidence and prowess in magic and Lily's reverence for all and sundry magical, teaching the child all he knew about magic in secret. And like a bright little sponge, between stolen food, summoned, transfigured and conjured clothes, pilfered milk, a cramped and crowded attic, and a dark, locked in a cupboard, Harry absorbed it all.

Together they even learned occlumency to control his emotions better. But Occlumency lessons that early had a heretofore unforeseen effect of leading Peter to accidentally stumble on to a dark Presence in Harry's mindscape.


Occlumency lessons were fun for all of a few months before Peter's arm began to ache in Harry's presence, like badly rotting tooth. With constant practice of the core exercises, they both had become excessively sensitive to all kinds of magic and magical residues. So they both felt the tiny ripples of darkness resonating between his ugly tattoo and the child's throbbing scar. Peter struggled to reason out why until he realized that only his left forearm and the ugly, horrid tattoo hurt. And Harry kept rubbing and scratching irritably at his scar. It spoke of dark magic in Harry's scar very early on. He thought and pondered and prodded and puzzled over that scar, careful to take out his concerns only when the child was fast asleep. Once or twice, he even risked pulling out his wand and casting diagnostic charms. Not that he could understand the results very well. He had to sneak into and Pomphrey's personal library to study some more. And the implications he finally could draw were frightening and to someone like him, earth-shattering.

The dark magic disturbed his own dark mark deeply and made Peter exceedingly suspicious and worried for Harry. He knew that he could perhaps easily sort it all out if he took Harry back to the magical world. But neither Harry nor he was ready or capable of protecting Harry from the numerous predators that roamed that world, specifically gunning for Harry. And Wormy had already proved that he was an abysmal failure as a warrior type guard.

So he opted to stay where they were and prepared Harry as best as he knew how; teaching him to be the best of all the marauders. Peter worked harder than he ever did in his entire life, learning harder than any Ravenclaw in order to teach it all to Harry, who he had already begun to sense was turning out to be magically nearly as Powerful as Dumbledore, if not more. What Peter never realized was that the core exercises they had begun to do near religiously every day for years now had broken past a few core bindings and magic drains and blocks. Harry had become more unfettered and free in magic than Dumbledore had planned him to be, thanks to Peter's diligence. He continued teaching Lily's skills with potions and Charms, James's effortless ease with transfiguration, Sirius's DADA talent and intimate knowledge of the Dark Arts, and Mooney's arithmancy and ancient Runes abilities. And because Harry's magical education began at the tender age of three, and nearly eight Years earlier than for anyone else, his core grew in leaps and bounds, faster, stronger and more powerful than most adults. From the age of three, Harry had been using resources that his Uncle Peter had sneaked out from the vast resources that the Hogwarts library provided. And they went through books faster than food, and copied more books, finding everything they could in the Room of Requirements, if nowhere else in the School or Diagon Alley.

And without really considering the consequences, he trained Harry to become an animagus. Much to their surprise, Harry had become a snow phoenix with white feathers that turn iridescent green or purple in some lights and golden eyes that look like a snitch at rest; later they discovered that Harry has more than one form and two of that are magical. Harry could also turn into a black-furred grim puppy with distinctly green eyes and a dark raven with the same flinty green eyes. Both the phoenix and the grim, they discovered, have the ability for shadow travel. And the third and last form of Harry's, a rather ordinary and mundane raven without no remarkable or discerning features, was a perfect undercover form. But as a Raven or the Grim or the Phoenix, Harry would gently carry Wormtail wherever he travelled to. It became all the more easier to move to and from Hogwarts. Elves never remarked on their presence, and Fawkes seemed to wish to help if the fact that his bonded wizard was still completely ignorant to the presence of the two frequent and uninvited guests at the school.

Peter nicknamed his little boy's first animagus form Snitch and added his name to the Marauders Map, to Harry's delight and pride. Over the years under his tutelage, Harry was growing up to be more cunning, sly, sneaky, ambitious and very enthusiastic about learning all he could to protect himself above all else. Uncle Pete was someone he understood very well, even if they were fundamentally very different personalities. Harry was definitely braver than Peter but knew enough about Peter to feel only pity, empathy and forgiveness. For, Peter had never once, considered lying about the past or hiding the exact truth of his deeds and failures. But Hecate bless the dear child, he never judged his uncle. And frankly, he saw far more clearly and dispassionately that Uncle Peter did, less emotionally invested in the situation as the older wizard was. Lilly and James were interesting details but nearly forgotten in the child's mind. He felt no attachment past a normal curiosity and awareness that they were all family and thus, to be loved. He did not wallow in guilt as Peter did. He, instead, understood exactly what happened the night his parents were killed, why they were killed, that Voldie isn't really dead, and that Dumbledore isn't to be entirely trusted, and that Siri his own Godfather had put grief and pride before him. He knew that Weasley family is vassal to Dumbledore and that Snape was an ex Death Eater and Dumbledore's devoted spy much more than he could be Lily's friend. He knew many political and pureblood culture quirks. Peter had gotten him many books on that. He knew he has untold fortunes inside Gringotts but also that it was presently all controlled by Dumbledore. That last bit he resented, not really understanding why they had to live like vagabonds and scavengers when they had so much wealth at their disposal.

When Harry turned seven, Peter finally decided to take him to Diagon Alley, and Gringotts and they parleyed to ally with the Goblins, given Harry's wealth and political power and status. Peter got them to offer Harry the complete checkup and to release his remaining core bindings and unlock his bound magical gifts. That is when they discovered that Peter was right to get suspicious about Harry's dark scar. But it was lucky that they were in Goblin Nation and those critters knew well enough to deal with the issue of soul shards and possessions easily enough. It was a much relieved Peter who guided Harry into assigning the soul hunt as a Cursebreaker contract for the Goblin Nation. And they worked a mini-miracle fast. They extracted the soul shard from Harry's scar and turned it into a magical compass of a sort, and they used it to detect others. Harry's parsel magic gifts were then used to extricate the ring buried in the shack, and Peter in his rat form sneaked in and steals out the diary from the Malfoy Manor, and the diadem from Hogwarts. It astounded him that neither place had been warded to keep uninvited or undeclared animagus visitors out. Their loss, Peter shrugged, as he went about filching what he intended to extract from the two places.

Since Harry was the heir to Black fortune and his Godfather the Lord apparent of Blacks was incarcerated, it was only a technical loophole, but enough that Harry was allowed to ascend the lordship. And with his permission, the Goblins accessed the last two Horcruxes, the one in Black family vault and one in the Black family Townhouse. According to Goblins, there was only one piece of the dark Lord's soul left now, and they traced it to somewhere in Romania. It was too far geographically to suss out the exact coordinates for apparition or portkeys. And guessing that that last bit would be the actual Lord Voldie Shorts, Harry and Peter decided that it's safer to allow the Goblins to hunt the Dark Lord's remaining wraith. Neither felt brave or prepared enough to deal directly with something so dark and deadly.

So now that Harry had signed a contract with the Goblin Curse breakers team, they were eager to send out a mini-army to hunt and kill the last bit of the evil spirit and collect their pay. The Goblin manager had been a bit frustrated to have been outfoxed into giving up claims on the artefacts that Voldie had defiled. They had foolishly assumed that Voldie would place his soul in innocuous items no one else would covet or steal. How were they to know that the form lard was more prideful an idiot than sensible!? By the contract, all pieces of enchanted jewellery used to house Horcruxes were to be cleansed and returned to Harry and completely owned by Black Family for all time according to the blasted contract. They could not claim it back even if they wished to claim it's goblin origins. So the Goblins let it drop. But that line of thought opened up another avenue. They tested Harry for other possibilities for vaults, inheritances and gifts to claim and managed to find a suitable identity for Peter and Harry to adapt. Now that Voldie issue was adequately addressed, Harry Potter and Peter Pettigrew could disappear from England and they could take off on a well deserved fresh start. So they set to work on the parchment-work for a new name and Identities for both of them.

From the Potter Vaults, they uncovered a vial of Lily and Dorea Potter's stasis'ated Blood samples. It gave them an idea. Peter decided to use Lily's blood and undergo a blood ritual. It worked to turn him into a female, green-eyed, red-haired and looking years younger than twenty-nine but not very classically pretty like Lily. She now looked almost like a red-haired, green-eyed Petunia with a much pleasanter disposition. And using Dorea's vial of Blood, Harry also underwent a similar ritual, with the added bonus of Sirius's blood stored in stasis in the convicted man's personal vault along with blood donated by six other witches and wizards to confuse magical tracing. That convoluted and winded process had the lucky but unforeseen benefit of having activated some magical gifts like mage sight and metamorphic magics in him as well as opening more lost vaults.

With the help of the goblins, they were careful to build up the identity of a cousin of Lily Evans from Canada and her son. The lingering resemblance actually helped to establish the identity very convincingly. Muggle and magical identity papers were organised. Harry and Peter changed their names and identities to Patricia Rose Pickering nee Evans and her son Hadrian Johnathan Pickering. All of Harry's assets except the deeds to the house in Godric's Hollow and a minimal trust vault were then transferred to their new names and the newly converted Pickering Vault. And the house in Godric's Hollow, the house in Privet Drive, and Harry's Potter Heir trust vault were locked up beyond the reach of anyone except him, for any transactions. When the manager pointed out that Potter Cottage had been the favourite haunt of scavengers and trophy collectors, the newly minted Pickerings allowed Goblins to use their magic to recall all true belongings of all their lines to return to the Pickering Vault, no matter where the things were stolen too and stashed.

They returned home to Privet Drive on the sly and secretly charmed the Dursleys into taking a three week holiday elsewhere. That would not make it suspicious if Harry was not observed to be in Privet Drive for the three weeks they would need to disappear. Pickerings were already aware that Dumbledore had used Harry's blood to charge the trackers he kept in his office. Then, as soon as the Dursleys left, Patricia and Hadrian were swift to follow and initially stayed two nights in a posh hotel in London, just revelling in the luxury, after years of penny-pinching lives of vagabonds. Then, feeling rested and free, they decided to travel by Goblin made Portkey to Prince Edward Island, Canada, and from there, on to a magical Island close by, unknown to muggles. They purchased a small cottage there, warded it thoroughly with help from Goblins. They then memory charmed the islanders into believing that the Pickerings have always lived in the Pickering Cottage in Wisteria Lane in the Gryff Isles as it's called by the local magical residents, due to a small colony of Hippogryphs living in the cliffs.

They didn't forget to go to the Main Island and charm a few regular shops with the same memory charms and even open up a few shopping credit accounts in a few select shops; with Hadrian watching and learning the Marauder style of Cover-Your-Arse, Patricia even built up a meticulous and rather credible credit history that runs to years, just to be thorough - this was always Peter's marauder speciality, although the other three never really noticed or valued his contributions. He was the details man, Sirius was the ideas man, James was the Prowess man, and Remus had been the knowledge man along with Lily, in the later years. They had planned for a marauders map but the cartography had been done by Peter. They had planned many pranks but had always needed Peter to sneak in and lay the traps or spy on Snivelus and any such schemes. He had not fought too hard to protect anyone because he knew that if he died, they would not even grieve him too long.

It infuriated Hadrian each time he heard mum (as he had taken to calling Patricia since the ritual) speak with such depression about the so-called friends. He vowed to do better by his own friends and never support bigots or snobs or know-it-all bookworms. And Mum Patricia simply laughed and hugged him close, snapping out of her funk in the face of Hadrian's fierce devotion. A fortnight had gone by since they had arrived in Canada. Thanks to their clever memory charms of neighbours, it was as though this was truly home, and they had lived there all their lives.

Patricia was glad to not spend nearly all her time as a rat. Hadrian was happy to live outside a cupboard and not hide and sneak and feel like a house-elf in his own home. He could be himself and not be ashamed to show affection to his mum for the fear of being discovered. Harry Potter was watched, tracked and spied upon. But thank heavens that Hadrian Pickering was not that important to anyone. So he played, learned, made friends, flew his new broom around and came to love quadpot nearly as much as quidditch and gobstones. He and his mum had even picked up the Canadian twang and slang in their English and with the help of a language potion from the goblins, became fluent as natives in French as well. Two weeks flew by as if they were years on fast forward.

Two short weeks was a big time for the two Pickerings, especially Lady Pickering. Patricia was a lot more happier as a striking and petite young witch of some means than as a weak, short, dowdy and ugly half-blood wizard of no consequence, overshadowed by powerful friends who had little regard or respect for their lesser friend. Patricia Pickering was cute, meticulously groomed, had a lovely, gorgeous son, and a pristine reputation as a shy, quiet widow with a penchant for charity, fine clothes and pretty jewellery. After years of hiding and endless loops of fear, this freedom was exhilarating to them both. But they were careful to maintain the details of their identities.

The story they spread was that Johnathan Charles Pickering was a wizard who had sometimes moonlighted as a hit-wizard for hire, and died in the blood supremacy war in England in one of the rare few times it had spilled over to the colonies while he had been undercover in the Bahamas, working as a bodyguard for a muggle politician. He was believed to have died less than six months into their marriage, just around the time when Patricia had discovered that she was expecting.

Hadrian and the goblin manager had snickered at Patricia's dime-store novel imagination and laughingly pointed out that she must have crushed really badly on James Potter because all the names had matched the true initials. She simply blew a wet raspberry and continued to work on credible portraits, wedding photos and proof for their backstory; it was what she did best, work on the details.

In an unbelievable coincidence, and in the final turn of the third week of their life in PEI, the Dursleys visited the island and literally and figuratively bumped into Patricia and Hadrian. One thing led to another and Petunia became fast friends with Patricia; she confided that her no-good sister had left behind an equally freakish son that she was loathed to take care of. Patricia gracefully offered to take the boy in, seeing how she had a son the same age. They agreed and made plans for the Pickering family to join the Dursleys back to England and fob off the Potter Freak once and for all. For some strange reason, the Dursleys believed that Harry had been left with Mrs Figg. Hadrian assumed that either his mum or the goblins must have charmed them to think so. But this once, magic hadn't been involved. It had been merely an explanation that Petunia's mind had supplied to ignore the twinge of the guilt of having forgotten the orphaned nephew living in her house over the years. It was far easier to pretend that she had fobbed him off on the neighbours than admit that she had forgotten a helpless kid on her watch.

On returning home to England and Privet Drive, Petunia was astonished to find her house invaded by witches and wizards. Dumbledore was also there, much to their collective fear and discomfort. Patricia and Hadrian tried to blend into the background and slip out at an opportune moment, but that was never meant to be. They were stopped and questioned by the DMLE. They considered themselves lucky that the headmaster did not bother to read their minds but instead read Petunia and finding her meeting the Pickerings very plausible. All of the wizarding world had turned on its head in a tizzy because Harry potter was outed as missing and the ministry sponsored museum in Godric's hollow had vanished.

And although Dumbledore hadn't confessed as much to anyone, all the books, the invisibility cloak, the elder wand, the Pensieve, even the golden throne in the great hall, and many artefacts that once belonged to the Potters had vanished from his office. The only thing the Goblins would confess was that little Lord Potter had come, proven his identity, claimed his assets, and purchased anonymity. The Boy-Who-Lived was alive, healthy, and unwilling to want anything to do with Wizarding England and had gone searching for greener pastures.

It was claimed that he was angered that the wizarding public first rendered him an orphan, then threw him into an abusive muggle home, forgot him completely, jailed his innocent Godfather without even a trial, harassed his godmother into a magical coma, his godbrother then abandoned to be mocked and harassed into believing that he was a squib, and then they had all rubbed the insult in when not even folks who claimed to be close friends with his parents ever bothered to enquire after him.

The written statement from the hero, as given by the Goblins caused a mass uproar in wizarding England. The blame game that ensued created chaos of epic proportions. Everyone passing the buck, the pointing fingers finally landed on Hagrid who often and loudly claimed that he had taken Harry Potter from the ruins of Godric's Hollow from his godfather and delivered the babe to his muggle relatives. Some were also quick to accuse the participant guilt of Professor McGonagall who witnessed it all and never checked on the child or protested that placement. But the biggest target of public ire and their latest scapegoat came to finally point fingers at the headmaster, the chief warlock and the supreme mugwump too-many-names Dumbledore who had decided and controlled everything that resulted in England losing their beloved saviour. And since he was a half-blood, he could not escape veritaserum interrogation either.

Dumbledore putting blood wards and mail wards on Harry Potter came to light as did his role in jailing Harry's Godfather, and the prophecy regarding Voldemort and Harry Potter. Along with it came the suspicions that maybe the dark lord wasn't as gone as they believed. The Malfoys were the first to run into hiding following that speculation. Many exonerated death eaters are quickly arrested, tried, and thrown through the veil, in order to lure their Savior back into their fold. The more offensive ones were kissed publicly in a gladiator-style showing. Others were stripped of their magic. Fenrir Greyback and his ilk were finally hunted down and killed. Severus Snape was, despite being exonerated as a spy in the previous war, often attacked every time he stepped out from Hogwarts; he had taken to hiding in the school and going out only glamoured.

Dumbledore finally lost his position in wizengamot, ICW and Hogwarts. McGonagall retired in protest, and as the next senior-most staff, Professor Flitwick was offered the headmaster's position. Snape was finally fired for his poor teaching skills, as were Trelawnley for her Sherry addictions, Burbage for her inadequacy and Binns for his expiry. The revived and refreshed Hogwarts Governors board under Madame Marchbanks, Professor Flitwick, and Madam Longbottom flourished and proved to be a blessing for the school itself. New subjects were offered and school wards were updated. Patricia Pickering, blessed to be at the right place at the right time, in the WEA to register as a Charms, Transfiguration and Runes Mistress, was offered a teaching post in Hogwarts to teach Transfiguration when they learn that both she and her son have animagus forms. Her alternate form of a hamster and his mundane raven forms were politely registered with the British ministry and her skill in teaching this complex magic to her very young seven-year-old son cemented the offer to legitimise her mastery certificate in the subjects of her choice and a teaching offer. She accepted on the condition that her son Hadrian be allowed to stay with her. And thus Patricia and Hadrian came to Hogwarts nearly four years earlier than they planned. As of this far, and as far as the Pickerings were considered, life was good at last.

During the summer, in preparation of her role as a professor at her alma mater, she bonded with headmaster Flitwick over long academic talks and accepted an unofficial apprenticeship in Charms under his tutelage, despite gaining certification at the Ministry already. They gradually began to spend the summer holidays resetting the school wards and systems and grow close as a favourite grandfather and niece. As a result, Hadrian gained a free reign in the school. With urging from Patricia, Flitwick finally remembered to follow up on Sirius Black and arranged for his release. The hearing and his release was yet another furore in the wizarding public and Sirius was forced to hide behind family wards in his Dementor ravaged condition.

A month of healing later, however, Sirius Black was out and about, making a right nuisance of himself hunting for his godson, searching for Lord Black who had taken over from him. Connecting the two incidents, he had to guess, wondering if Harry Potter was now under the protection of Lord Black. And he crossed paths with the lovely Lady Pickering at Hogwarts sooner than she liked. She had not yet been prepared to meet her oldest friend. He had, however, specifically come to meet and thank Professor Pickering for pushing for his exoneration and exit from Azkaban. Hadrian found it hilarious that Sirius was besotted with his mum, who the Grimm Marauder considered his saviour, and expressed his gratitude by flirting madly with a thoroughly disgruntled and frustrated Patricia, who herself was finding herself increasingly embarrassed and shocked. But the mother and son had a long and heartfelt talk in the privacy of the Room of Requirements until they decided that as long as Sirius remained involved with the Order of the Phoenix and consequently, Dumbledore, they could not afford to reveal their identities to either Sirius or Remus. Her confusion and emotional upheaval worsened as she began to fall for Sirius's persistent attentions. It was months of confusions, emotional upheaval and many many talks with Hadrian and Flitwick before she could even tolerate his relentless flirting.

So finally Hadrian and Patricia decided to do something to put an end to her misery. Sirius's persistence was long past amusing and treading dangerous territory now. They sussed out a plan to first extract an oath and then reveal some truths about Hadrian's origins to Sirius; if things go bad then they would wipe his memories and cut all ties. But first, they had to take Professor Flitwick into their confidence. And he turned out to be vastly different as a mentor from Dumbledore's grandfatherly mien. His Goblin lineage probably had something to do with his ruthlessly practical nature, but whatever the reason, he understood. They were simply glad of that. He listened, understood and did not condemn Pat for her choices and circumstances, but instead lauded her persistence and cleverness in doing what needed to be done, never mind her nearly insurmountable restrictions. Patricia had been rendered speechless; praise and acceptance had been the last thing she had expected from her mentor and boss.

The mother and son did also feel less guilty and much more relaxed when Flitwick willingly offered a wizard's oath to keep their secrets to death and beyond. Thus armed and ready, with a very devoted personal house-elf they acquired in their corner, they invited Sirius to dinner and then drugged and tied him up. Then they managed to enervate Sirius and finally decided to reveal Harry Potter. Flitwick watched carefully, keeping guard and guiding the conversation along. Thus far, they had no problems. Hopefully, it would continue to be so.

Although initially angry and bewildered, Harry's ire at how easily his oath sworn godfather had forgotten about him and chased after someone who he instantly dismissed as a betrayer, finally penetrated his addled brains. He understood that he had no standing room to complain from when was forced to shamefacedly listen as Pat and Hadrian talked of his life growing up with Dursleys, Mrs Figg spying and reporting everything to a scheming Dumbledore. Harry's question that if Dumbledore was the head of the order, why was a spy not discovered earlier? Why was the secret keeper not protected?

After all, Peter had spilled his guts only after having watched the death eaters torture his mother for more than three hours. Sturgis Podmore still walked scot-free and unmarked. And worst of all, if Dumbledore knew someone had overheard a prophesy, why was that person not caught, restrained, questioned properly, or at the very least, his memory not wiped? Why did Dumbledore want Potters and Longbottoms not residing in their family manors where blood wards were a thousand times stronger from centuries? And why had Dumbledore never given a trial to Sirius Black, despite being chief warlock at that time?

The more Hadrian and Pat talked, the sadder Pat became and more introspective Sirius became. Finally, he admitted that he had gotten hoodwinked by the pristine reputation of the ex-headmaster. Now that he was calmer, Hadrian demanded that he swear an unbreakable vow to Hadrian, bound by Headmaster Flitwick, to protect his family and his secrets before he would reveal anything else or trust him long enough to take Sirius home to meet his family. Sirius eagerly agreed and swore an airtight oath without a single thought to the consequences. He really was an impulsive, thoughtless and reckless bastard.

Then Patricia revealed the true identity of Lord Black, Peter Pettigrew's role in Harry's life and finally Pat's real identity. Contrary to their initial fears, Sirius laughed uproariously, incredibly amused by Pat's marauder prank on the whole world. In a spectacularly cheesy turn of events, Sirius knelt before her, in an exaggerated and poncy bow and declared that he adored her cleverness; he still wanted to kiss the stuffing out of Pat, now that he realized he had already spent seven years sharing a dorm with her in her previous avatar. Growing serious, he admitted that he admired Peter's brand of courage, not the blind, reckless version he and James had. And the duo kissed, long, hard and deep, grossing Harry out, completely. Flitwick was only amused and politely averted his eyes.

Sirius talked about his secrets. The reasons why he had not trusted himself to be the secret keeper, and the reasons why none of the marauders thought to check up on Peter or provide appropriate security for his mum. Everything was being tightly engineered by Dumbledore and egged on by Podmore as Dumbledore's dirty deeds man. Sirius suspected Dumbledore wanted the confrontation between Voldemort and the Potters. And Podmore could not be allowed to escape scot-free either. So the whole group sat together to plan something to take care of Podmore; they could not take the proper legal channel because all of the memories of Podmore as an unofficial and unmarked Death Eater was all obtained as Peter. It was Hadrian who pointed out that there was a third person who Sirius could influence, masquerading as Lord Black in his stead. So Narcissa was approached and the memories extracted and presented to Amelia Bones in exchange for amnesty for herself and her son, and a chance to reabsorb into Black Family. It took less than three hours for Podmore's arrest, trial and sentence through the veil. That was the last loose end neatly wrapped. The Pickerings could finally relax and be at peace.

Sirius and Pat started dating officially, and Sirius joined Hogwarts as the DADA professor. They brought in Mooney as well, as the chief of security and resident creature specialist, as well as CoMC professor, even if they never revealed the pasts of Lady Pickering or her son. None of the Marauders willingly associated with the ex-headmaster, Dumbledore or offered to assist him in hunting for Harry Potter either. Once again, Mooney was satisfied to hear assurances from Padfoot that the Prongslet was safe and happy. Instead, Sirius offered an interview to the Daily Prophet where he read out a letter he received from his godson, begging to be left alone since the child only wanted to grow up in peace and relative obscurity. He professed that he would respect his godson's wishes and prefer to correspond, via the goblins, if that was all he could get. He urged that the public allow their hero this much deserved and well-earned reprieve as well. And the public was guilted into compliance.

So life in wizarding England once again settled back to normal. Every few months, a letter from Harry Potter, addressed to the Wizarding England would make it's way to the Daily Prophet, via Sirius Black, guiding the public into progress, justice, truth and honour. Every chance he got, Dumbledore was still prophesying doom and gloom and the return of the Dark Wizard Voldemort. He was being pointedly ignored, and soon enough, Fudge and his pink toad joined him in misery, being caught accepting bribes and voted out of their offices and powers.

They were drained dry with fines and jail time, as were many others who supported the dark wizard Voldemort. Amelia Bones took over the ministry and turned it on its head. Anyone caught in any crime scene was now subject to veritaserum questioning, no exceptions. And many criminal rings were exposed and ended. Criminals caught and tried were either in Azkaban, or kissed or thrown into the veil after being heavily fined. There was no longer the option of two hundred million chances for redemption now that Dumbledore was persona non grata at the Ministry. It was no longer profitable to live a life of crime in Wizarding England.

The funds extracted from the condemned and veiled criminals were redirected back to the Ministry's coffers and used in strengthening the DMLE first, and then later securing purely wizarding settlements that could be better protected. And soon enough, all of Godric's Hollow, Mould-On-the-Wold, Ottery , Ballycastle, Chudleigh, Caerphilly Street, Falmouth, Wimbourne, Tutshill, Wigtown and Portreigh-burgh were rebuilt into magical settlements and mini-townships that were completely sealed off from Muggle access. And Amelia Bones' Ministry held a tight leash over each township.

Only Diagon Alley remained open to muggles and muggle-born students. With Harry Potter funding, a primary school was opened in London, for magical children as young as four years old, by the time Young Mr Pickering turned ten. When he was eleven, they celebrated his birthday with the marriage of Sirius Black to the pretty young widow and popular new Hogwarts Professor of Transfiguration, Patricia Pickering. It was the romance of the century and the wedding of the decade, which was heavily gossiped about and extensively covered by the media. The adoption of young Mr Pickering by Sirius Black was much cooed over. His strange and eclectic mix of abilities were never made public though; the Pickering-Blacks turned out to be fiercely private and secretive even if they turned out to be the current media darlings.

And in appreciation, as a wedding gift, Harry Potter gifted his godfather with the proxy for his Potter, Peverell, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin seats, as well as the Black lordship, and nudged him into taking charge of the wizengamot and reviewing the old and archaic laws. When it came out that their hero was the true owner of Hogwarts the public celebrated for a whole week straight. It was a mad time to be out in the streets. And it was even madder to be around anyone who was Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Delores Umbridge, or Cornelius Fudge. Their bitterness was like a thick fog in the air around them. But the rest of the Wizarding community celebrated the uncrowned King Potter.

In that impetus, Harry cleverly introduced the Hogwarts College for higher studies and pushed for Undergraduate internships as well as Postgraduate Masteries to be tied to a muggle subject and offered at Hogwarts for students who passed NEWTs as well as GCSE baccalaureate exams. Harry Potter wanted an educational revolution and so, one letter to the public and he got what he wanted.

The new minister Bones and Chief Warlock Black coordinated with the Muggle British Minister and the Queen, and arranged for accreditation and eligibility of these courses in a tie-up with the Muggle University of Oxford, and registered Hogwarts as a legitimate British University sponsored by the Throne. The subjects were renamed Quantum Engineering (Magical building, construction and maintenance), Defensive Strategies (BattleMagics, duelling, Physical combat, Warding and Curse Breaking), Technomancy (for enchanting), Ancient Languages (runes and other magical languages), Advanced Quantum Math(Arithmancy), Metaphysics (Transfiguration and Charms), Botany (Herbology), Magi-Zoology, National Defense Administration (DADA), Law & Order, and Advanced Quantum Chemistry (Potions) being offered in Hogwarts College for Higher education.

The new college hired Professor McGonagall, Professor Severus Snape, and many others of international renown, irrespective of their race, lineage or blood status. And students from the world over began to flock to the new centre of learning, seeking admissions and paying heavily for the privilege of learning here. Headmaster Flitwick was in charge of the primary school, the high school and the higher education college wings but each was in turn micro-managed by a deputy. The Hogwarts campus easily accommodated enough and more students.

Another letter from Harry Potter, Lord Hogwarts, had old families pouring in with contributions in rare books, tomes, old copies of school books and assignments and notes, and even the British Ministry and DoM contributed heavily. Every publisher the world over offered at least five to fifty copies of their best sellers in self-updating versions for a mention in print and a personalized letter from Harry Potter. Hadrian sniggered at their brown-nosing but happily obliged. He would reap benefits because he would be joining Hogwarts himself in a year's time.


The three Fates sighed in satisfaction for the boy who fulfilled his destiny. Wizarding world would be safer by the time Hadrian became a student at Hogwarts. But this time, there would be Flamels teaching, not hiding their famous stone, the Basilisk would still remain fast asleep in enchantment in the bowels of Hogwarts. And there would be no crazy, life-threatening adventures or tests, no escaped prisoners, or crazed werewolves, no dark lord to resurrect, no blood quills, and no war for child soldiers. Cedric Diggory would graduate from Hogwarts to become one of the most popular and fairest Ministers of Wizarding Britain, bringing them to incredible heights. By the time Hadrian Pickering would graduate from Hogwarts University, and propose to Susan Bones, Dumbledore would have become a forgotten footnote in annals of history and a weird, batty old wizard who tended his brother's incredibly dirty and dingy bar called Hogshead in the village of Hogsmeade. Even old Abe could not stand the mad ramblings of Albie and had taken to silence him permanently.

By the time Mrs and Mr Pickering had their third child, Professor Pickering-Black had become the most celebrated Hogwarts Deputy headmistress who revolutionised education in Wizarding England. And Sirius would often remark to her that Chinese culture did not vilify Rats.

And the two centuries that followed, the golden era of Wizarding Britain, when Harry Potter was the uncrowned, unseen King and unknown to anyone as raised by a fugitive Rat, was proof that Rats don't always make bad companions.