Uncle
Summary: Every once in a while, there were a few students that made their place in his cold, dead, non-existent heart. And then, he would take a few requests, and ever-so-rarely, an order. And he would look out for their children too, even more rarely. With nobody else around, from that cold, dead, non-existent heart sprung a well of responsibility.
Disclaimer: NOT MEANT TO BE SENSIBLE. IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR BIG EMOTIONS, A LOT OF SENSE OR ANYTHING OF THAT SORT, TURN AWAY NOW. THIS IS THE POINT OF NO RETURN.
I know I am supposed to work, and when I have free time, I am supposed to complete my two current stories, but you can blame work stress for this one – The Temporal Penguin.
May 1978
Having just rigged a bunch of armoured knights to serenade, fight over and finally for one to ask for the hand of the fair maiden, Minerva McGonagall; having stolen all of Pomona Sprout's dragon dung reserves, transfigured it into a flying dragon that would periodically excrete over the trees and the plants and every flowering shrub as it progressively became small and breathe fire from both ends; having erected a charm on the entrance to the Great Hall so that once Dumbledore passed through it, he too would baulk at the psychedelic colours that his robes would flash, to avenge seven years of horrible sartorial choices that encouraged many a student to consider lobotomy; having cast a charm on the Slytherin tables to ensure that they would only understand each other if they hissed at each other, that is, having set in motion their cascaded farewell prank, the fearsome foursome, M/s Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, were seated in a classroom.
They were not alone – they were with their greatest ally, and truest friend, encouraging him as he wrote rude limericks on the Protean Charm enabled board with a chalk that screeched in an unholy manner with each motion, and suggesting a few limericks too. Both the words and the sound would be transmitted to the target classroom.
Their friend shed a nostalgic, mirthful ethereal tear, as he cackled with laughter. Such small children they were once, before the five had discovered each other. Never in his memory had any other students made him feel so proud, so, so proud, and wanted. He would miss them.
"I am going to miss this place," Moony wistfully remarked. "So many anguished shouts from so many who faced our pranks," he added with a sniff.
"Not even the Shrieking Shack has that kind of wails, and we would know," Sirius added sadly.
"Our Map, our creation, lost, but it bears testament to the fact that we became one with this place," Wormtail sighed. He became poetic when he had one firewhiskey too many.
"But more than that, we will miss you, mate," James addressed their friend.
Peeves the Poltergeist stopped writing, sniffed (of course with an exaggerated snot-bubble), "I never thought I would say it Potty, but I sure will miss your brand of naughty."
"Wow, you're really sad. That was horrible," Sirius idly remarked, flicking a rolled-up booger at the poltergeist, which promptly split around it and sealed back up just as quickly to show that it was lodged within him.
"Nobody appreciates a good laugh," Peeves bemoaned. "Now who will I have to share laughs with?"
It was a serious question. Peevsie was tied to the school. They had to look out for their friend. Then Moony had a bright idea.
"Peevsie, we might be gone, but one day, our spawn will come here. Our spawn, most likely disciplined by women like Lily, will come here. We need someone to look after them, to teach them our ways, especially if we are not there what with..." he trailed off, waving his hand vaguely to indicate the Dark Lord and his war. "Would you...?"
Peeves burst into boisterous tears and blew his nose and launched an ectoplasmic globule of snot at Sirius who dodged.
"My friends!" he cried. "My truest friends!" he exclaimed again. "I will never forget! Of course I will corrupt your hell-spawn!"
###
August 1980
Peeves looked upon the baby that James and Lily had brought to show off at Hogwarts. They had made Sirius the godfather of the little brat. Well Sirius couldn't be there all the time for it. And what use were babies? They were just whiny, crying, mewling puddles of flesh that were living dungbombs that needed to be tended to.
But when James, so very whipped, and so very gracious a husband, carefully suggested that his wife sit for a bit while he showed his son around, and instead brought the baby to be shown to Peeves, even the poltergeist was touched. Marriage certainly hadn't destroyed all the fun from James.
Peeves took one look at the thing and grinned in a hideously creepy manner, a manner designed to scare. He was sure that the baby would cry.
Instead, little Harry laughed.
Peevsie was astounded and his expression turned thoughtful.
Harry whined.
The poltergeist blew a raspberry.
The baby smiled again.
That happened once more, when he burst himself into smithereens (not that it would hurt him) with a startlingly loud bang and Harry decided that it was the most brilliant thing he had seen in his short life – till another slimy, colourful pop heralded Peeves' return and that became the most brilliant thing.
Peeves, the Hogwarts Poltergeist, looked at his friend proudly. "You have bred true, my friend," he declared.
"I know. I still find it astounding."
"That you now hold proof that Lily allowed you to touch her?" the poltergeist slyly asked.
"That too," agreed James. James turned thoughtful as the baby babbled and cooed. "Say, Peeves, I just meant to remind you..."
"Never fear, naughty Potty. Little Potty will be Pottier and naughtier. I solemnly swear that he shall be up to no good."
###
He heard things about James and Peter dying and of Sirius' arrest in November 1981. The castle was treated to some of the most vicious pranks for the rest of the academic year.
It wasn't until 1989 when he made some new friends. Fred and George were so like the Marauders, that he just couldn't help it. For a dead man-turned-poltergeist, who turned into a ghost because he feared being forgotten as he was ignored in life, Peeves had a whole eternity to recapture lost chances of being remembered. After he got the blame for a prank they pulled, and both the blame being transferred and the prank itself were successful, they caught his attention. And he tested them for a whole year, before he got them into trouble with Filch, and led them to the Marauders' Map. Being trapped in an inflatable balloon was a wonderful response.
###
1st September, 1991
He was coming to Hogwarts. The hell-spawn of Potty was coming to Hogwarts. It was time for the ghost who'd been tied to the castle to start his work, as James had trusted him to do. Hopefully Loony Moony had done some work otherwise he would have to undo a lot of good habits, a lot of innocence and whatever other things that go into making a mature young man.
But when he turned up to see the nice little baby that had grown into the runt, Peeves was flabbergasted, irritated and disgusted. Not that it was the kid's fault. Someone had made the runt so fearful and innocent, Peeves was astounded that Harry had made into Gryffindor at all.
"Obeying prefects?" murmured Peeves to himself. "This must be remedied." It must be considered that such words were too large for Peeves' dictionary, but for the remaining shred of the sanity of this chronicler, they are used. Rude limericks, Peeves' standard thought patterns, are a gift that this chronicler doesn't have – and they are a bit too rude to convey to innocent listening ears, or reading eyes. That's an insult by the way, and if you haven't taken umbrage at being called innocent yet, then may the Heavens help you, for there is no hope.
So, insults aside, (hopefully you are at least a little irritated by now, if nothing else) Peeves was perturbed. So perturbed was he, in fact, that the walking sticks, stolen from the various professors slipped. At least they were falling on the Prefect. What in the name of the Founders had the Weasels been smoking when they birthed this stick-in-the-mud? Peeves quickly acted as if he was pelting Prefect Percy with the sticks before dropping the rest on Fatty Fatbottom. No. Longbottom; or whatever the hell the kid's name was. Fatty Fatbottom sounded better though.
Peeves, rightly, was furious. And he was worried that the kid would be further destroyed by the little witch spouting about Hogwarts: A History. He stewed for a whole week, only setting off Myrtle for sustenance, and otherwise had such a bad week that he was rude to the Baron and didn't bother to apologise.
He ended up just going through the motions of being Peeves for a month.
In the end, the little brat did it. He broke the rules – and bloody well got placed on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a first year for that. He was listening even after the Batty Catty Mango Mall drove him from the room. But the motivation was all wrong. Nothing wrong with taking a Malfoy down several pegs, but he did some stupid noble shite to help a friend instead of pranking him? Gods above, the kid needed help. And Peeves had to step in.
"Potty!" he cackled as Harry made to leave, hounding him away from the route that would take him straight back to the Gryffindor common room like a good little kid.
"Oh no," Harry muttered resignedly.
"Tell me Potter, you rotter, why is my good friend's brat such an uppity straight-laced twat?"
"My parents were your friends?"
"Just your father, your mum would curse me rather, for she was an irritating swot, loving rules like a damn bureau-bot."
Horrible rhymes were among Peeves' many skills. As was making up words like bureau-bot.
"Hey, watch it," Harry retorted angrily.
"Calm it Potty. She was good fun on some days, but she was an evil, evil, rule-loving, prank-not-pulling, overly caring, cautious about offending, standing up for the oppressed sort of grown woman that the kid called James had the monumental misjudgement to fall in love with. But let's keep that aside. I met you when you were a wiggling puddle of flesh, and loved loud noises, fun as we called it and everything. What happened? Was Loony Moony too disciplined?"
"Who's Loony Moony?"
"You don't know?" Peeves demanded in a truly horrified tone. "Maybe you know him as Remus?" If the answer was yes, he was pranking the hell out of Moony the first chance he got.
"Er...sorry, no."
Peeves let out a loud, wet noise that many people, including Harry would have mistaken for a fart, but in reality was a wail of dismay.
Peeves was dead. He had no beating heart. He had no pulse, and lived for nothing more than fun and mischief and tormenting the denizens of Hogwarts. Yet, every once in a while, there were a few students that made their place in his cold, dead, non-existent heart. And then, he would take a few requests, and ever-so-rarely, an order. And he would look out for their children too, even more rarely. With nobody else around, from that cold, dead, non-existent heart sprung a well of responsibility.
This was that moment.
"Alright, Potty, old Peevsie is going to do what your daddy told me to, if this happened and you were too good. The son of my living brother, in such a horrid spot of bother," he wailed.
"You were like brothers? What are you, some sort of dead Uncle?"
"Uncle?" frowned Peeves. "To quick to respect anyone, another problem, but not number one." He shook his wispy head. "I am just Peeves. And I am going to do what James trusted me to do. I am going to protect you from the greatest ailment in the world, boy."
"What is that?"
"Maturity."