HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY
Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.
UPDATED on January 14, 2016. See AN below.
CHAPTER 28: Meet Peter Pettigrew
8 November 1992
9:00 a.m.
Harry sat patiently while Poppy Pomfrey waved her wand over his head to perform a final diagnosis before his discharge.
"Well, Mr. Potter. Everything seems to be perfectly alright. That said, the brain is a tricky thing. I am 99.99% certain you are completely well, but it is still possible that you have suffered some sort of brain injury too subtle to show up in my diagnostic scans. If there is any damage at all, it will be to your temporal lobe, in that portion of your brain that handles speech and communication. Damage to that area sometimes results in communicative disorders, so if you find at any point that you are unable to understand something that someone else says, if you notice you are unable to remember words that you understood before yesterday, if you unintentionally substitute words in a random manner, or if you notice any other problems with communication, come see me immediately and we'll get you sent off to St. Mungo's for a more thorough examination and treatment regimen. However, that looks to be very, very unlikely based on what I've seen, so I see no reason not to release you at this time."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said. "Um, do I have any school clothes here?" His Quidditch uniform was gone, replaced by plain pajamas.
"Ah, yes. Your friends Mr. Zabini and Mr. Nott brought some of your school clothes last night. They're on the chair next to your bed. Oh, I almost forgot. Your glasses didn't survive the Bludger, I'm afraid. Too damaged even for a Reparo spell. So, I took the liberty of contacting Healer Tonks in Hogsmeade, and he sent you a new pair. They're on the night stand."
Harry turned and picked up the glasses. They were of the same style he'd been wearing since his first day in Diagon Alley – circular lenses with wire frames, just like his father and brother wore. James had bought him a new pair to replace the awful ones Petunia Dursley had gotten for him out of a bin for donated glasses. Harry suddenly considered how acquiring glasses like these represented a part of his initiation into the House of Potter."I wonder if Ted could send me a catalog so I can look for some different frames. It's high time I stop following their lead."
The boy had just finished getting dressed when he heard a familiar voice call his name. It was Hermione, and as he peered around the curtain, he was pleased to see Neville with her.
"Hermione! Neville! What brings my two favorite Gryffindors here? I was just about to leave for breakfast. I haven't eaten solid food since yesterday morning." Then, he noticed their serious expressions. "Uh-oh. I know that look. What's happened?"
"We thought we'd best come in and walk you to breakfast," said Neville. "And on the way, we'd fill you in on the insanity that hit Gryffindor Tower this morning."
"Oh, good grief. What now?" asked Harry.
"You may have forgotten," Hermione said, "but no one has turned in Jim's missing invisibility cloak, so today was the day the castle was to be searched." He hadn't forgotten – the only questionable materials he owned were two slightly controversial Occlumency books and a pensieve of mysterious provenance, all of which he'd sealed away in the Lair. "And for reasons which defy all sanity and sense, the Gryffindor male dorms were searched by Professor Snape and your father."
Harry stared at Hermione as if she'd just said the moon was on fire. "Whose stupid idea was that?" he exclaimed.
Neville responded. "Apparently, Snape insisted on being the one to search Gryffindor Tower because he's convinced that Jim still has the cloak but hid it in order to get you into trouble. When your father heard that, he pitched a fit and insisted on following Snape around to make sure he didn't plant contraband among Jim's things. He needn't have bothered. Jim was apparently capable of leaving his own contraband around to find."
"What was it? More dungbombs?" Harry said with a chuckle.
"I'm afraid it was a bit more serious than that, Harry," said Hermione. "Somehow, Jim got hold of a book that he was using to teach himself Occlumency. Unfortunately for him, Professor Snape recognized it. It was the book that was used to teach Occlumency to You-Know-Who's Death Eaters!"
Harry stared at his friends in astonishment for several seconds while he waited on the punchline to their joke before finally realizing that there wasn't one.
"Did ... did I get all the common sense when Jim and I were born?! Where did he even find this book?"
"We don't know," she continued. "Once Jim was informed of the book's true nature, he shut up and said he wouldn't say anything until he talked to someone named Peter Pettigrew. His lawyer, apparently."
"The Potter Family solicitor, actually," replied Harry. "He's also Jim's godfather. I've never liked him. He seems ... sketchy."
"Gram said the same thing after your birthday party," said Neville. "Well, she didn't actually say 'sketchy.' As I recall, she said she didn't think he was 'bona fide' and that something about him made her want to keep her wand at the ready. Anyway, when Jim said that he'd only talk to this Pettigrew bloke, your parents both hit the roof. We just wanted you to know what happened before you got some garbled account from the rumor mill later. I'm sure the Hufflepuffs will be certain Jim's a budding Dark Lord by suppertime."
Harry laughed at that, but Hermione chided him.
"This is serious, Harry. From what little we overheard from Professor Snape – who, I must say, seemed delighted to reveal all of this in front of the entire Gryffindor House! – it's likely that this book is responsible for a lot of Jim's behavior. It teaches you Occlumency, and rather quickly, it seems, but in the process, it reorders your thinking processes to make you more violent and less able to feel positive emotions like compassion or empathy. It's a big part of why You-Know-Who seemed to have an endless supply of deranged cannon fodder troops who would massacre a whole family of Muggles just for sport! Thank goodness Jim was found out before he went completely mental!"
Harry nodded. Privately, he suspected that the mysterious book's impact on Jim probably wasn't as great as Hermione had feared. Most likely, it had just taught him new and innovative ways to be a Git.
"Alright. That's enough about Jim. I'm sure the teachers here will get to the bottom of it and Dumbledore will get him whatever help he needs. In the meantime, I'm starving. So let's go grab some breakfast. Then, we'll catch up to Theo and Blaise, and you can fill me in on how things went with Hagrid."
The two Gryffindors nodded. After all, they did have a lot to discuss beyond Jim's current woes.
Meanwhile in the Headmaster's Office
The Headmaster's fireplace erupted into a brilliant green bonfire before an oddly dressed Peter Pettigrew stepped through into the office. Straightening up, the solicitor brushed Floo ash off his tweed jacket and the rather loud argyle sweater vest worn beneath it. His trousers (in a different tweed pattern) were buckled just below the knee to reveal knee-high argyle socks that matched his sweater vest. His shoes made a clattering sound on the stone floor due to metallic cleats on the soles, and a riding cap in a third tweed pattern rested on his head.
"I do apologize for my attire, Headmaster," Peter said, "but I was just about to apparate up to Edinburgh for my weekly back nine at Muirfield when I got James's message."
The other witches and wizards present stared at the man in total confusion before Lily finally spoke up. "Golf. It's a Muggle sport. The course at Muirfield is rather prestigious, as I recall."
"Ah, of course. Golf!" exclaimed Dumbledore almost merrily. "Alastor Moody once mentioned it to me as the only leisure activity he actually found relaxing." There was an audible grumble from Snape in the background.
"You should try it, Albus," said Pettigrew amiably. "It's the easiest game in the world to play. You just hit a tiny ball with a long thin cudgel, and then you shout profanity as loudly as you can whenever it doesn't go exactly where you intended. 'A good walk spoiled' as the Muggle Gladstone once described it. But enough chit-chat. James rather excitedly said that you all needed me to give Jim some sort of talking to. So, I'd appreciate it if someone were to tell me what's going on with my godson."
And so James did with much swearing. Peter interrupted him with only a few questions, and his face never deviated from a state of placid calm. Snape studied the man carefully and cautiously but said nothing. Inwardly, he was intrigued. He'd barely interacted with Pettigrew at all in the fifteen years or so since graduation. The fact that the least prominent and capable of the Marauders had obtained a Law Mastery was surprising but not outrageous. The fact that Pettigrew had also become an Occlumens and a rather good one was, Snape thought, far more astonishing.
"Right, first things first," Pettigrew said. "Albus, might I trouble you for a quill, some ink and a piece of parchment." The Headmaster provided the requested items, and Peter quickly began drafting a short legal document, idly humming a tune as he went. Lily was pretty sure it was an old Rolling Stones tune, but she didn't remember which one. Unlike James, Peter had apparently not forgotten that summer in 1976 when Sirius convinced the other Marauders to "go Muggle" for a month. After a minute or so, Peter set the quill aside and blew on the document to dry it before handing it to James.
"This is a release for you and Lily to sign acknowledging that in this specific matter I am acting as Jim's legal representative exclusively, that my primary duty while representing Jim is to protect his interests, and that anything he says to me will be privileged and not something I can reveal to anyone else save by Jim's consent. Not even to you and Lily."
James suddenly looked angry, but Peter merely smiled. "You may recall, James, that I am also Jim's godfather, a role I take very seriously."
"I know that, Peter," Lord Potter said through gritted teeth, "but as your friend and your employer, I think I'm entitled to know what my son's been up to especially when he's accused of possible crimes relating to You-Know-Who!"
"I understand your position perfectly well, James," said Peter sagely. "If you are unhappy with signing this release, I will be more than happy to proceed without it. Just let me pop back to the office for a few hours so I can draft papers withdrawing as your solicitor, your Steward, and your Wizengamot Proxy, and then I can come back here and represent Jim on a pro bono basis."
"Dammit, Peter!"
"As I said, James," Pettigrew interrupted firmly, "I take my role as godfather very seriously."
James's face twisted into an angry mask for a few seconds before he surrendered. "Fine, Peter. Just give me the damned parchment to sign and then go talk some sense into my son."
Peter smiled happily as both Potters signed the release. Then, he turned to Dumbledore. "And now that that's settled, Albus, I should be very grateful if you could provide a room in which to meet with my client. Specifically, a room without any portraits in it. A broom cupboard or disused lavatory will suffice if there aren't any other rooms that meet that requirement."
McGonagall stiffened angrily at Pettigrew's insinuation, but Dumbledore merely chuckled. "As I recall, Peter, we do have a few private meeting rooms near the entrance to the dungeon set aside for just such privacy. The Slytherin alumni have been rather insistent about there being no portraits in those rooms since, well, since approximately the War of the Roses, I should think."
Pettigrew laughed cheerfully. "Why am I not surprised? Here's to our Slytherin friends and their endless but occasionally useful paranoia." He actually had the temerity to wink at Snape when he said that, which only made the Potions Master growl even louder.
The "Meeting Room"
9:30 a.m.
Jim was already waiting nervously in the room Dumbledore had set aside for his meeting with Pettigrew when the solicitor finally arrived.
"Na-ah!" Pettigrew exclaimed, holding up a hand to silence his godson before Jim could say a word. Then, he spent nearly a minute casting privacy and detection charms before putting his wand away and holding out his arms for the impatient boy. Jim practically ran into his godfather's embrace and immediately began sobbing.
"I'm ... s-so sorry, Uncle Pete. S'all my fault!" Then, the distraught boy began to weep into Peter's chest.
"Shh, stop that, Sport. You stop that this instant. It was my fool mistake, giving you that book without working harder to ensure its safety. You're not to blame when the people meant to protect you let you down." Peter stepped back. "Now, let me take a good look at you. How are you feeling? Has that blasted book harmed you at all?"
Jim took a deep breath and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "I don't think so. At least, not much. I've..." He looked away for a second in shame. "I've been taking lots of potions for headaches and upset stomachs, so there's that." Then, he looked back up at Pettigrew timidly. "And a lot of Calming Draughts. The book said that I should suppress my anger until I was ready to let it out. But that just made me feel angry all the time. Maybe I read it wrong."
"Hmph. Or maybe that's what the book was supposed to do." Peter said tiredly. "Keep you angry so that you couldn't think straight and then ... corrupt you." He blinked his eyes repeatedly and then made a show of wiping them with a handkerchief. "And I tell you once again," he said, choking back a sob, "how sorry I am that I ever laid eyes on it. Whatever it takes, I'll make it up to you." The two hugged once more before Peter got hold of his emotions. "But right now, we need to put that aside. Forget what's in the past, Sport. We need to start looking forward now and find you a way out of this mess."
Jim was silent for a few seconds. "What's going to happen to me, Uncle Pete?" he said quietly. "Will ... will I be ... expelled?"
Peter sighed. "I won't lie to you, Sport. Snape's pushing for it. He say's you're 'a danger to yourself and others.'" Jim made a face at the mention of Snape's name. "Of course, his personal biases are grounds for ignoring his input, but a bigger problem is McGonagall. She's been unhappy with you for a while. I think she regrets letting your Dad and the rest of us Marauders get away with too much back in our school days, and she's overcompensating now." Peter hesitated. "I think I've got Dumbledore talked out of expulsion or suspension, but I'm pretty sure it will be conditional on you getting regular counseling of some sort."
"Honestly, I don't have any problems with seeing a counselor or a mind healer or something like that. I want to. I've ... I've been kinda worried for the last week or so. Ever since ... that thing with Harry." Jim ran his fingers through his messy Potter hair as he thought back to his assault on his twin brother. "I know it was wrong. Not just wrong. It was ... horrible. But at the time, it just felt so..." He paused and looked away, unwilling to face his godfather.
"It felt so ... what?" Peter said kindly.
"Good. It felt ... good to let out all that anger." Jim turned back around, his face a mask of anguish. "But ... when it was over and I ... came back down ... I felt just sick. And then, I got so scared because ..." There was a sudden shudder in his voice. "Because I think if somebody hadn't pulled me off of Harry in time, I might have killed him." He shook his head. "Maybe I should just let them expel me. Maybe I am a danger to others."
"That is nonsense! Now you listen to me, Jim Potter! I have known you your entire life, and I will never accept the idea of you being a danger to yourself or anyone else. Well, at least not anyone who doesn't deserve it like You-Know-Who! You are idolized by the wizarding world for a reason. Now that doesn't mean that you won't face adversity or make mistakes. We all do. But I know you can overcome them. Just as I know you are meant for greatness." Pettigrew clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed as Jim relaxed and smiled at the praise, even though his eyes were still wet.
"Thanks, Uncle Pete," he said.
"Good. So, now that you're out of your funk," Peter said with a smile, "we need to start brainstorming for what to do next. As your godfather and solicitor, my immediate recommendation is total honesty. Let's just go back to Dumbledore, tell him that I foolishly gave you the book as a birthday present, and you've only been using it since then. I'll take full responsibility for your possession of it, and after that, I'm sure he'll be amenable to letting you off with a warning and some counseling."
"What!?" Jim exclaimed. "No, no, wait just a second! What happens to you if we do that?"
"That's not important, Jim."
"IT IS TO ME!" the boy shouted suddenly, his eyes flashing. "You're ... you're the only grown-up who's really been there for me the way I needed them to. Hell, aside from Ron, you're the only person in the world I trust completely. So tell me what's going to happen to you if we tell anyone that you gave me the book!"
Pettigrew sighed and looked down at the floor before speaking. "Best case scenario: Your parents are completely furious with me and cut me off from you, at least for a while. Worst case scenario: They have me prosecuted for giving a dark artifact to a minor. Disbarment plus three to five in Azkaban." Jim's face went white. "But I'm sure it won't come to that. James will forgive me ... in time."
"We can't take that chance. No, I'm not telling Dumbledore anything if there's a chance that I could lose you, and certainly not if you might get sent to Azkaban just for trying to help me!"
"Jim, I'm a Gryffindor like you. We do what's right, not what's easy, remember?"
"Yeah, but sometimes, what's right isn't obvious! I was the one who begged you for Occlumency training. And it was the right thing to do! It still is, even if we weren't smart in how we went about it. You shouldn't get punished because of that!"
"Jim, why is it so important that you learn Occlumency? And so especially important that you conceal it from Lily and James?"
Jim hesitated. "How good is your Occlumency? If I tell you a secret can you keep it no matter what?"
"I'm bound by Solicitor's Oath now, Sport, and I even got your mum and dad to sign a waiver acknowledging you as my primary client. Whatever we say in this room, there's no power in the wizarding world that can force it out of me without your consent." Which was not completely true, but close enough to not be a lie. "Now, what's so important that you need such secrecy?"
Jim sat down in a chair and stared into the nearby fireplace, as if drawing strength from the flames to unburden himself. "What do you know about prophecies? Specifically, prophecies about me?"
"What do you mean?" Peter said very softly.
Jim continued to stare into the fire. There was a tremor in his voice when he spoke. "Voldemort's not dead. And before long, he'll be coming after me."
Pettigrew was silent for a moment. Then, he moved over and took a seat opposite his godson. "Jim, Sport ... tell me everything," he said in his most serious voice.
And the boy did. He talked about his encounter with Voldemort the previous May, when the Dark Lord freely admitted that Severus Snape had brought him the first few lines of the Prophecy. And then, about how he overheard his parents arguing about the rest of the Prophecy which they knew but had concealed from him. That he didn't know the exact words, but that he supposedly had some "power the Dark Lord knew not" and that the two of them were destined to have a final confrontation from which only one would survive.
Pettigrew was silent until a nervous Jim finally looked up into his and was shocked to see that his godfather was almost crying. And yet, he wore a smile on his face, one showing pride in his young godson.
"Oh, Jim. My poor, brave soldier. To think you've had to shoulder this burden by yourself all these months. No wonder you've struggled with all these issues, feeling alone as you must have. And you were right. You must have Occlumency training! I understand that now. I understand, Jim, and I promise that I will never leave your side. Not until your conflict with You-Know-Who is ended."
Jim smiled back at his godfather and ducked his head bashfully at Pettigrew's words. After the last few weeks, it felt good to be reminded that there was someone reliable in his corner. "So what do we do? Can we get away with just, I dunno, lying about where I found the book?"
"Not easily, Sport. Even if Dumbledore doesn't insist on viewing your memories of where the book came from, there's every chance that Snape might try to legilimize you illegally. To be certain of concealing my involvement, we'd need to ..." Pettigrew stopped in mid-sentence and then closed his mouth.
"What?"
"Nothing. It's too risky. Forget I said anything."
"Uncle Pete!" said Jim urgently. "We're way past risky. Now tell me."
Pettigrew sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "Jim, how familiar are you with ... Memory Charms?"
The Hogwarts Library
10:30 a.m
"Twelve OWLs. Eight NEWTs, all Outstanding. Head Boy. An award for 'Special Services to the School.' This Tom Riddle character seems to have had it all." Harry had been reading from the Hogwarts Rolls for 1945 while Hermione, Neville, Blaise and Theo sat around their usual table.
"Not to mention," he thought to himself, "Prince of Slytherin during his last two years despite the handicap of falling somewhere between Muggle-born and Half-Blood and growing up without parents in a Depression-era Muggle orphanage."
"So why have we never heard of him before now," asked Neville. "With grades like that, you'd expect him to be a Minister of Magic or something."
"Oh hardly," said Blaise with a wave of his hand. "The Ministers of Magic have pretty much been a string of mediocrities for the last century at least. The Wizengamot has generally managed to keep all the actually clever and competent people out of that position rather than risk the Ancient and Noble Houses losing power. Ironically, the most competent one might well have been Hagrid's friend Nobby Leach, the first and so far only Muggle-born Minister for Magic ... well, until his tragic and not-at-all-mysterious death from an 'undisclosed illness.' All that aside, I agree that someone with this kind of academic record should have made a splash somewhere, but I couldn't find anything out about Tom Riddle after his graduation."
Harry nodded and privately resolved to ask the Hydra later that evening. "Let's set that aside for now. What have we learned from the ghost of Myrtle Warren?"
"Surprisingly little," said Hermione. "Susan, Padma and I went to see her last night after supper. All we could get out of her was that on the night she died she'd been hiding in the girls' lavatory because someone named Olive Hornsby had been teasing her. She remembered hearing a boy's voice and a grinding sound, followed by some kind of hissing noise. Then, she came out of the stall... and died. Also something about 'big yellow eyes.' On the whole, it was not a helpful interview."
Harry thought for a moment and scratched his head. Then, annoyed with himself, he carefully patted his hair back into place. "What about the other petrification victims? They were all eventually de-petrified. What did they remember about how they got that way?" Everyone looked thoughtful, as it was not a question any of them had considered.
"Can we get into touch with them?" asked Neville. "I know Nobby Leach died back in the 50's. What about the rest?"
Unfortunately, a review of the names Hagrid provided for the other petrified Muggle-born students revealed that all of them had died under tragic circumstances prior to 1960, a fact that Harry found highly suspicious. But before he could comment on the fact, Harry noticed an unexpected visitor to the Library: James Potter, who was looking over at him expectantly. Excusing himself from his friends, Harry walked over to where his father waited by the door.
"Can I help you with something?" he asked amiably.
James sighed. "Harry, I know I'm not supposed to be around you unless Snape is here, but ... well, I wanted to know how you were and ... frankly, now is not a good time for Snape and I to be in the same room together. Can we just ... talk for two minutes without getting lawyers involved?
"I suppose so," said Harry guardedly. "Depending on the topics, of course."
"So ... how are you? No lingering effects from that Bludger? I took a few in my day. I remember what they feel like."
Harry stared for just a few minutes as if searching for some hidden meaning behind the question. "I'm fine. No lasting effects. Madame Pomfrey does good work."
"That she does. That she does. And I want you to know that we're still investigating who was responsible for this attack and the earlier ones. We'll get whoever is responsible."
"Glad to hear it," Harry replied tersely.
James swallowed. "Your flying was incredible. Reminds me of ... me from back during my school days."
"Well, I'm sure that's where I get it from," Harry said as he tried and failed to keep any frostiness out of his voice. "I mean it has to be genetic because you certainly never taught me to fly a broom," he thought briefly before clamping down with his Occlumency. There was nothing to be gained from being openly bitter to the man's face. At least, not at the moment.
"I'm ... sorry Lily and I didn't get to see you while you were in the Infirmary," the boy's father continued. "Madame Pomfrey had already put you under before we could make it up there."
"That's alright. I quite understand," said Harry who knew that the Potters had nearly forty minutes to reach the Infirmary before the mediwitch gave him the Sleeping Potion that put him under. "Any luck finding the cloak? I, uh, heard about what happened with Jim. Bad business, that."
"Yes," James said after an embarrassed cough. "Very bad. Anyway, the other professors completed a search while your mother and I went to the Headmaster's Office to talk about ... all that. Apparently, there's no sign of the cloak anywhere in the castle."
"I wasn't there when the Slytherin dungeons were searched. I hope nothing ... inappropriate was found."
"No, no," James answered quickly as if to reassure Harry. "As far as I've been told, you and your House were perfectly clean."
"That's good to know," Harry replied blandly, while trying to figure out how to get out of this deeply uncomfortable situation. It was bizarre to Harry that he found his conversation with Voldemort from the previous May to be less awkward than the current one with his own father. Mercifully, the Head Girl entered the Library just then to inform James that he was wanted back in the Headmaster's Office. He turned back to Harry.
"Well, I need to head off. Apparently, Peter's finally gotten some answers about what Jim's been up to."
"I quite understand," Harry said once again. "Priorities and all that."
James paused, unsure of whether Harry was being sarcastic or not. Then, he nodded his head and left the Library. Harry returned to his friends.
"You alright?" asked Neville.
"Of course," Harry replied calmly. "Why wouldn't I be? Now, back to business. Were there any teachers here in 1943 who are still on staff today?"
The Headmaster's Office
11:15 a.m.
"Borgin & Burkes?! That's where he got the book?!" James exclaimed angrily. After almost two hours spent with Jim in the meeting room, Peter had returned to the Headmaster's office to inform the Potters and Dumbledore of what he'd learned.
"Yes," Peter said easily. "As you know, James, there was a Floo mishap on the day that Jim went to Diagon Alley to pick up his school supplies, and by happenstance, he was kicked out of the fireplace at Borgin & Burkes. Almost immediately, Lucius Malfoy and his precocious little tyke showed up, and Jim was forced to hide to avoid discovery."
"I know all that," Potter said irritably.
"Naturally, but I wanted to be sure the Headmaster and the professors were up to speed. Anyway, what you obviously did not know was that before Jim managed to escape Borgin & Burkes, he noticed a small book on a shelf with a tag identifying it as a rare Occlumency text book. As he has had a very strong interest in learning that art, he succumbed to temptation and pinched it."
Snape snorted. "Shoplifting from Knockturn Alley. Such a fine example the boy's setting for his peers."
"That will do, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Peter, has Jim explained to you what's behind his sudden and intense interest in Occlumency?"
"Oh yes." The solicitor replied easily. "Originally, it was because he'd learned that there was a True Prophecy about him and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and you said you wouldn't reveal its contents to him in its entirety until he was able to defend his memories."
"Originally?"
"Yes..." Pettigrew hesitated. "No offense to the esteemed professors, but are Minerva and Severus aware of the full Prophecy? If not, it might be advisable for them to step outside for a while."
"Peter, surely you don't expect us to reveal the Prophecy to you just because you're Jim's legal adviser?"
"Oh that ship's already sailed, Albus. I know what Jim has already told me, and he learned most of the Prophecy last summer."
"WHAT?!" James bellowed.
"Really, James, if you and Lily were so bent on keeping the information from the boy, it would have behooved you to have not gotten into a shouting match about the topic over the kitchen table on his first night back."
Snape rolled his eyes contemptuously but refrained from commenting. Lily pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "He's known ... since May! No wonder he's acted the way he has. The physical training. The extra tutoring with an emphasis on defense. And, of course, a strong interest in Occlumency. But why didn't he tell us?"
Peter took a deep breath as if he didn't want to upset the Potters. "Because ... he was afraid that you might have him Obliviated." James and Lily both gasped at the insinuation. "He believed that you might have at least considered that option rather than allow him to retain such dangerous knowledge. After what happened between him and You-Know-Who last year, he is utterly terrified of endangering his friends by acting out of ignorance again, but at the same time, he's equally terrified of someone reading what he knows of the Prophecy in his thoughts and delivering that information to You-Know-Who. Hence, Occlumency. And when he basically tripped over what appeared at first glance to simply be a standard Occlumency primer, it must have seemed like Providence."
By that point, Snape was beginning to feel nauseous. "Do you require my presence any further, Headmaster? I imagine Lord Potter won't want me here for any detailed discussion of the Prophecy. And since I can see how this is all going to play out, I have no desire to waste any more time waiting on the denouement."
"And what is that supposed to mean, Snape?" said James in annoyance.
"It means that you've finally constructed a plausible interpretation of events which allows the Golden Child to pretend he's been a hero, albeit a 'misguided one,' this whole time. And moreover, an interpretation which also conveniently omits the fact that he's a thief and a violent thug who was on his way to becoming a psychopath when 'the Greasy Dungeon Bat' intervened to save him from himself."
"Spare me your sanctimony, Sni... Snape. Your hatred for my son has been obvious since his first day at school."
"No more obvious, Potter, than your own hatred for your other son. Or did you think your feeble efforts at rapprochement were fooling anyone?"
"Enough!" said Dumbledore forcefully. "We are not here to talk about Harry."
"Of course not," spat Snape. "Preserving both the reputation and tender feelings of the Boy-Who-Lived is paramount. Harry's just the one someone is trying to kill!"
A silence fell on the room. Jim and Lily looked abashed, while Peter studied his fingernails as if debating whether it was time for a manicure.
"Severus," Dumbledore said tiredly. "We know Harry's life is in danger, although we have no way of determining who is responsible or why he is being targeted or indeed anything other than the fact that a rogue house elf is somehow being used as an assassin. As soon as we've resolved this issue with Jim, James and I will move on to the question of what protections can be afforded Harry and how the investigation into the attacks against him should be pursued."
"And will anyone else from the Auror Corps be privy to that conversation? Since, after all, Lord Potter has a rather obvious conflict of interest?"
"You think it's me?" said James in amazement. "You think I'm trying to kill Harry?"
"Of course not, that would be silly of me," Snape replied silkily. "It's not as though you've treated the boy appallingly since he was a year old and more recently have publicly stated a desire to replace him as Heir with your other son, the Death Eater trainee. I can't imagine what I was thinking."
James shot up out of his chair, but before he could act, Dumbledore actually fired off a firecracker from his wand to get everyone's attention. "Enough, both of you. For now, I think Peter might have the right idea. We will need to discuss the Prophecy and what young Jim knows about it before we can attend to anything else. Severus, Minerva, perhaps it would be a good idea if you stepped out. I'll send for you if I need you."
With a sneer, Snape departed, followed by McGonagall. Once outside, she called out to the Potions Master.
"Severus, would you perhaps be interested in coming by my office. I could use a cup of tea. And some conversation."
"I doubt I would be a good conversationalist at the moment, Deputy Headmistress."
"I think that might depend on the topic. I think you might have much to say about ... the propriety of James Potter leading the investigation into these attacks on Harry. Perhaps you and I could explore ... some alternative approaches."
Snape stopped and considered his fellow professor. "You would ... explore such alternative approaches behind the Headmaster's back?"
"I believe the Headmaster is genuinely concerned for young Harry. But I also believe that Jim Potter's status as the Boy-Who-Lived and the role he will inevitably play in the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sometimes blind him to his duties as Headmaster for all of Hogwarts' students. Much as the fight against Voldemort blinded him ... and me to the need for fairness to all our students when you were a student here."
Snape sighed. "I forgave you for that years ago, Minerva." Then, he smirked. "Mind you, I did notice your failure to carry out your threat to turn James into a mouse and feed him to Mrs. Norris after he called me Snivellus this morning."
She scoffed. "Well, obviously, I wouldn't have done it in front of everybody! Besides, Mrs. Norris is indisposed at the moment."
He chuckled darkly as the two made their way to her office.
The "Meeting Room"
4:00 p.m.
Harry Potter,
I would be extremely grateful if you would do me the courtesy of meeting with me for a brief exchange of ideas in the Small Conference Room on the 1st Floor just to the left of the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. I give you my Solicitor's Oath that I will work no ill upon you nor perform any magic against you without your express consent during our meeting. I await you at four o'clock.
Sincerely,
Peter Pettigrew, Esq.
Harry stopped to reread the note that one of the Gryffindors had delivered to him in the Library. He was reasonably confident that Pettigrew's oath (even if casually given in a note like this) would prevent him from any harmful action, but he was still cautious. And so he'd informed both Neville and Blaise of his meeting and told them to send the cavalry if he didn't contact them by 4:30 and to check him thoroughly for "weird behavior" even after. Thus prepared, Harry opened the door and stepped into the room where Pettigrew was sitting on the opposite side of a small table still in his golf tweeds. There was a empty chair across from the solicitor waiting for him.
"Ah, Harry. Thank you so much for coming. And for being so punctual as well! A rare and valuable character trait that will serve you well as you grow older."
"You wished to see me, Mr. Pettigrew."
"Oh please, call me Peter. We're practically family even if you've been regrettably estranged for far too long."
Harry nodded guardedly and walked to the table. Immediately, he noticed that Pettigrew's wand was sitting on the table at a 45-degree angle with the tip pointed away from him.
"I asked you here, Harry," the man said, "to present to you what we in the Magical Lawyering trade refer to as a Confidential Offer. If you agree to hear what I have to say, then you will be not be able to repeat it to anyone save your own oathbound solicitors, who themselves will be bound not to reveal it to anyone else. This is a common practice in wizarding legal services. In fact, as a concept, it is quite common in Muggle legal affairs though, of course, their confidential offers aren't protected by magic. It's a useful technique when two opposing sides realize that they both have much to lose from continued disagreement and so both seek out what's called a negotiated settlement."
"Why aren't James and Lily here?" Harry said.
"Because frankly, there's no need for them to be here or even to know about this meeting. I'm not just the Potters' solicitor, Harry. I'm also their Steward and Proxy. That gives me both the power and the obligation to handle affairs that are best left outside the standard purview of a Wizengamot Lord and his Lady. I'm sure you understand."
Harry nodded. "You make sure James's hands stay clean."
Peter nodded. "Crudely put, but essentially accurate. With that in mind, if you'd like to hear what I have to say – with no obligations on your part save discretion, I assure you – simply place your wand across mine."
Harry studied Pettigrew for several seconds trying to appraise the other man. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he popped his wand and laid it perpendicular across Pettigrew's before taking the seat opposite from him. Pettigrew smiled with what most people would have described as warmth and charm. The word Harry would have used was predatory. For his own part, Harry immediately felt a faint trace of magic very similar to a secrecy oath the second his wand touched the other wizard's but otherwise nothing unexpected happened.
"Thank you for indulging me, Harry. Now before I get to the actual offer, I want to make one thing perfectly clear: Your father loves you. I know you think that's impossible in light of the awful life his choices have forced upon you, but I promise you that it's true. If things had played out differently, I truly believe James would be thrilled to have you as his Heir, even in place of Jim. Indeed, it might be to the benefit of the Boy-Who-Lived to have an older brother who could look after family affairs and free him up to pursue his destiny."
"You know," said Harry, "I said nearly the exact same thing on the first day I met Jim. Before I got Sorted and the whole family turned against me."
"Yes, well, as we both know, things did not play out differently. You were Sorted into Slytherin. And James is very, very against the idea of a Slytherin becoming Lord Potter. To the point of it being non-negotiable, I'm afraid."
"Well, I don't presume to know as much about the law as you, Mr. Pettigrew..."
"Peter, please."
Harry paused for a second. "Honestly, I think I prefer 'Mr. Pettigrew.' Keeps things at arm's length. Anyway, from what meager studies I've made ... I don't see that there's very much James can do about my eventually becoming Lord Potter."
Peter smiled indulgently. "Well, Harry, there is one thing he can do: live. After all, James was only twenty when you were born. Barring illness, accident and the odd Death Eater attack, James can conceivably live for well over a century or more before you might even have a chance to inherit his estate. And in the meantime, well, he's obligated to see to your education, but not necessarily here at Hogwarts. You know, a Half-Blood like yourself might find things a bit more challenging at Durmstrang."
Harry was silent, and so Pettigrew continued.
"Not to mention the authority he's allowed to exercise over your marital choices. For example, James is completely within his rights to sign you up to a marriage contract that's beneficial to the family ... even if your partner is, say, twenty years older than you and of a decidedly disagreeable disposition. Now to be honest, neither of those options are on the table ... yet. But you'll be fifteen before we know it, and as your transition to Heir Apparent draws near, I suspect he'll be a good bit more desperate. Not to mention, a good bit more ... amenable to advice from me that he wouldn't be ready for today."
"Undoubtedly," said Harry with only a little tightness in his voice. "But I believe you described this as a Confidential Settlement Offer, not a Confidential Threaten Harry Session. I haven't heard any offers yet."
"Straight and to the point. I like that. If you become Heir Apparent, the Potter Family Trust is obligated to pay you a bare minimum monthly stipend roughly equivalent in today's money to the salary of a junior Ministry clerk in a mid-level department. You won't starve, and if you also have gainful employment, you'll live quite comfortably, if not in luxury. But you won't be able to touch the bulk of the estate while James is alive, which in light of your respective ages, will likely be most of your life. As an alternative to a lifetime of middle class drudgery and strife followed by a decade or two of wealth when you're too old to enjoy it, I offer you the following: a lump sum payment of 2 million galleons, plus the deed to any one Potter estate of your choice other than Potter Manor, plus an ironclad guarantee that James will pay for whatever education you choose and that he will not interfere in your marital choices. In exchange, all you have to do is decline the status of Heir Apparent and disclaim the Potter Wizengamot Seat."
Harry was silent for several seconds. "It's an ... interesting offer, Mr. Pettigrew. But I'm curious. If I disclaim the Potter Seat, what happens to it if my dear brother Jim isn't around to claim it. I mean, being the Boy-Who-Lived is a pretty stressful and fairly dangerous job from what I've seen. Anything could happen to him before he graduates. Well, if he graduates. I mean, my little brother isn't even halfway through his Second Year, and there's already talk of expulsion. Maybe he's the one you should be looking at transferring to Durmstrang. In fact, once the Hogwarts parents find out about his experiences with the Death Eater training regimen, he may be forced to leave even before he's expelled."
Pettigrew scowled for barely a second before relaxing back into his usual amiable smile. "Oh, I'm not worried about that, Harry. I'm sure this misunderstanding about the Occlumency book will be cleared up in the press without any injury to Jim's reputation."
Harry sniffed. "Oh, of course. I'd forgotten about that. I suppose your press secretary is rewriting history as we speak."
"Press ... secretary?" Peter asked as if unfamiliar with the term.
"No? I guess that means Rita Skeeter doesn't have any official title within your organization."
Peter's eyebrows rose, and then he smiled even more broadly. It was surprisingly much more genuine than the smiles he'd been gifting Harry since this meeting started. "Harry knows I've got something on Rita," he thought to himself with quiet amusement, "and he's confident enough that he doesn't care if I know that he knows. This is actually kind of fun."
"Now, Harry, whatever makes you think I have even the slightest influence over someone like Rita Skeeter?" he said aloud in an amused voice.
"Well, for starters, there's the fact that she all but accused me of attacking Jim's Birthday fete with that cursed train when we now know that I was the intended target the whole time. One of three attempts on my life since July, in fact. Since we're just talking, do you know anything about that, Mr. Pettigrew?"
The older man didn't respond. He simply reached over and slid his own wand out from under Harry's and put it into his pocket. Immediately, the boy retrieved his own wand. "I think we've reached the limits of negotiation today, Harry, so it's best we stop before someone says something too ... provocative." With that Pettigrew rose and stepped around the table before looking down at Harry.
"I've made my offer, Harry. I do hope you will give it serious consideration."
"I'll consider it. And the spirit in which it was offered."
Peter nodded and then headed towards the door before stopping halfway and turning back.
"You know, I must say – I really do regret that circumstances have forced us into an antagonistic posture. I haven't danced like this in years. Most wizards aren't clever enough to keep up with the rhythm." And with that, Peter Pettigrew walked out of the room, idly whistling an old Muggle tune as he left.
The Prince's Lair
5:30 p.m.
Harry stalked into the Lair wearing an unusually cold expression with a concerned Blaise and Theo close behind. Marcus was already there studying.
"Come on, Harry," said Blaise. "Spill it. Something happened during your meeting with Pettigrew that has you upset."
"I'm fine," said Harry tersely.
Blaise and Theo looked at each other uneasily. "Okay, see, that's bad," said Theo.
Harry did a double-take. "How is it bad to say that I'm fine?"
Blaise spoke up. "It's bad because you're near the transition point from a Second Level Occlumens to a Third Level. That's a dangerous point in any wizard's psychic development because the natural instinct will be to block out all unpleasant emotions and suppress bad feelings, and you don't have enough experience as an Occlumens to know when your shields are in danger of buckling."
Harry rolled his eyes. "And exactly what distress should I be worried about when I just told you I'm fine?"
Theo held up a hand and started counting off fingers. "A near death experience yesterday. An overnight hospital stay while you were recovering from a concussion and under the influence of mind-altering potions. An encounter with your estranged father that left you visibly upset despite your best efforts to hide it. And a 30-minute meeting with your father's creepy lawyer that you won't tell us about. Have I left anything out?"
He sighed in frustration. "Guys. I can't tell you about my meeting with Pettigrew, okay? Draw whatever conclusions from that you want."
"Translation: You met with Peter Pettigrew under a secrecy vow," Blaise said sourly. "This just keeps getting better all the time."
"What do you guys want from me?"
"We want you to go someplace quiet for at least an hour, clear your mind and center yourself," said Theo. "That's not too much to ask for. Right now before something else happens to stress you out further."
Harry raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. If it will make you two happy. Just give me five minutes to talk to the Hydra about Tom Riddle. I've been trying to get to this all day, alright?"
The other two boys acquiesced. At the far end of the table, Marcus Flint watched the whole exchange with a bemused expression. Harry turned towards the Hydra Throne and hissed at it in Parseltongue (an act which never failed to send shivers down Flint's back), presumably inquiring about the elusive Tom Marvolo Riddle.
The Hydra didn't respond.
After a few seconds, Harry hissed at it again. And then a third time with more urgency. At that point, Theo and Blaise started to become alarmed, and even Flint was concerned. Now visibly panicked, Harry started hissing angrily at the other chairs in the Lair, but the brass adder finials on the chair backs ignored him just as resolutely as the Hydra. Theo grabbed Harry by the shoulder, and the boy turned to him and started hissing incoherently.
"English, Harry! I don't speak Parseltongue! English!"
Harry was now shaking all over and breathing quickly. "The snakes ... won't answer me ... they won't..." Then, his eyes widened in horror as Madame Pomfrey's words from that morning came rushing back to him.
If there is any damage at all, it will be to your temporal lobe, in that portion of your brain that handles speech and communication... if you're unable to understand something that someone else says ... to remember words that you understood before yesterday ... any other problems with communication...
"P-Parseltongue!" he gasped. "The concussion! Brain damage. My Parseltongue's gone!"
And with that last unpleasant shock, Harry Potter went into a seizure.
With a yelp, Flint jumped out of his chair to catch Harry before he could fall to the ground.
"Shit! He's buckling! Hold him, Flint!" yelled Blaise.
"We need a Calming Draught! Who in the dorm has one?!" Theo exclaimed.
"In my room!" Flint said while gently lowering the convulsing Harry to the ground and trying to hold him steady. "Under the bed in a wooden box there are some Calming Draughts. Password to get in is ouroboros." As Theo darted out of the Lair, he turned his attention to Blaise. "What the hell's wrong with him?!"
"His Occlumency shields are buckling. Too many stressful events all happening at once and he hasn't been keeping up with his meditation exercises like he should. His emotional shields are collapsing, and all of the sudden, he's feeling ... everything! Harry! HARRY!" Blaise yelled directly into Harry's face and then slapped him hard across the cheek. "Listen to my voice! Remember your training! Get into the White Crystal Room! Forget everything but my voice and the White Crystal Room!"
Harry didn't respond to anything Blaise said. The boy grimaced in frustration. "Dammit, Harry! Hold his head steady, Flint." Then, Blaise put a hand on each side of Harry's head and pried the boy's eyelids open with his fingers, staring deep into Harry's green eyes. "LEGILIMENS," he whispered. At that, Harry went rigid, and Blaise leaned forward, unblinking, until their foreheads touched. Then, Blaise let out a hiss of sudden intense pain as their minds joined and he started shouldering the burden of Harry's raging emotions until his friend could gain control of himself.
Finally, Harry's seizure subsided just as Theo ran back into the room carrying Flint's stash of mildly illegal potions. Immediately, he pulled out one, yanked off the stopper and poured the contents down Harry's throat as Blaise slowly released his grip and stood up.
"Give him another," Zabini ordered. "He needs to rest and recover before he can meditate usefully." Theo hesitated for just a second before pulling out another vial as instructed and pouring it down Harry's throat. Harry's eyes fluttered as he struggled to stay awake. Then, for just a second, his brow furrowed, and he looked up at Blaise in bleary confusion.
"What's a Deathly Hallow?" he asked with a thick voice before lapsing into unconsciousness. Marcus and Theo turned to look at Blaise.
"I have absolutely no idea why he asked me that," Blaise said firmly. "No idea whatsoever."
Peter Pettigrew's Flat
7:00 p.m.
When Peter stepped out of the fireplace into his flat, he was still humming idly. Overall, it had been a productive day. He knew he'd have to dance a merry jig indeed to get his godson out of trouble while also concealing his role in getting the boy into trouble in the first place, but that part had gone off without a hitch. He'd also made his first volley towards removing Harry Potter as an obstacle to his plans. Well, his first volley not involving an assassination attempt, anyway, but that had really been more of a feint than a volley. He also didn't seriously expect Harry to accept a mere two million galleons, either. He was sure the boy had some knowledge of the Potter family's net worth, but two million was a good opening bid. More importantly, he'd taken the boy's measure and felt better prepared about moving against him going forward. Harry Potter would be a challenge, but of a sort that Pettigrew rarely had the chance to enjoy.
But the true source of the solicitor's good humor came from one thing: the Prophecy. Amazing that when he woke up this morning, Peter Pettigrew had no clue that the Prophecy which had led to his Lord's defeat would simply fall into his lap. Granted, he'd had to swear an Unbreakable Vow to Dumbledore over the matter before the old man would reveal the exact wording, but there were ways around that. The Headmaster was a brilliant man and a powerful wizard, but he'd have been hopeless as a solicitor if today's demonstration of his oath-drafting skills was any indication.
After pouring himself a glass of Firewhiskey and shedding the jacket and golf cleats he'd been wearing all day, Peter made his way to his study. From a shelf, he pulled out a vintage gramophone LP and gingerly placed the vinyl disc onto an antique Victrola player which had been spelled to play Muggle records with a higher audio quality than the best modern Muggle stereo systems. As the unearthly sound of primal drums and animal-like cries began to fill the study, Peter sat down in his easy chair and propped his feet up on a leather ottoman, wriggling his toes inside his argyle golfing socks and thinking back to a conversation from so many years before.
"Explain yourssself, Mr. Norvegicusss," the Dark Lord said in his sibilant voice. "You have brought me the meansss to penetrate the Fideliusss that protectsss the Potter family, yet you now urge me to ssstay my hand. Why?"
"Because I sense an opportunity, my lord. The Prophecy, what we know of it, foretells of a child with the power to vanquish you but not necessarily of one who is fated to do so. Absent a guaranteed destiny that he is meant to oppose you, it is possible that the child can be turned to your service. A dark apprentice to serve as your right hand. If nothing else, it might be wise to take the child for study rather than risk triggering Fate's instrument."
The Dark Lord hesitated, and for a moment, Peter wondered whether he was about to be rewarded for his insight or tortured for his temerity. Voldemort did neither.
"Your wordsss have wisssdom, but when confronted with a True Prophecy, I choossse to leave nothing to chance. I will go thisss night to Godric'sss Hollow and end thisss threat to my new regime. And you, Mr. Norvegicusss, will accompany me."
Peter "Mr. Norvegicus" Pettigrew bowed his head obediently. Time would tell whether he was right or not.
And he had been right. He knew that now. By trying to slay Jim Potter in his crib, Voldemort had both destroyed his own physical form and marked Jim as his equal, instilling in the boy a power beyond even Voldemort's comprehension.
"And either must die at the hand of the other ... for neither can live while the other survives."
Pettigrew snickered. Jim Potter was his to shape as he wanted. When the Dark Lord returned, he would gift the boy to his master in exchange for an even higher place in Voldemort's council. Unless, of course, Peter could both identify and help his godson to master the mysterious power that the Dark Lord knew not, in which case Jim would the instrument of Voldemort's destruction and the means by which Pettigrew supplanted his old master.
In the background, the record played on, the singer's gruff voice intruding over the drums. It was in 1976 that Sirius Black introduced a shy and sheltered Peter Pettigrew to Muggle rock 'n' roll, but even then, this particular song spoke to him in a way he couldn't fully comprehend. Not until years later, when events led him to realize his destiny and to finally understand why an old Rolling Stones tune felt like his own personal anthem. Peter began to sing along happily if somewhat tunelessly.
"Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste."
And we're back with a vengeance. The next chapter will be posted on January 15, 2016. "Escalation of Hostilities," in which Harry struggles with the fallout from his Parseltongue-Occlumency breakdown, Hermione makes a surprising admission, and the Secret Enemy strikes with chilling efficiency. Also, nargles!
1. Special Thanks to follower "Dame-Amaryllis" for setting up a TV Tropes page for HP&POS. It's under the "Want of a Nail" section of the HP recommendations if there are any Tropers reading this who want to leave a review.
2. This is an absurdly long update (over 10k words) because there wasn't a good place to cut it and still end on a dramatically tense moment. Also, I'm aware of concerns about the pacing of The Secret Enemy and didn't want spend a fourth chapter on the events of a single weekend in November.
3. Speaking of which, I finally figured out why the pacing seems so slow. I consulted the calendar for Chamber of Secrets at the Harry Potter Lexicon and was startled to realize that everything important prior to the final confrontation with Tom Riddle and the Basilisk happens during first term. Except for Polyjuice shenanigans, Hermione spending a month as a cat-girl, dwarves on Valentines Day, and various seemingly pointless petrifications by a villain with no apparent plan at all (most of which won't happen in this story), NOTHING of any consequence happens between Christmas day and May 8th! I will be adding a few events not in the books, but it now seems possible that I may be done with Secret Enemy within 10 or so chapters (i.e by the end of February).
4. This chapter was updated on January 14, 2016 to correct two mistakes pointed out by alert reader "badgerlady," who noted one typo and one interesting detail about British parliamentary procedure. Apparently, to "table" something means the exact opposite to Brits as it does to American. Learn something new every day. Also, I changed the description for the next chapter which, for various reasons will not cover the Dueling Club meeting. That has been pushed back to Chapter 31 because (a) I wasn't done with it and (b) I am not getting into the habit of 13,000+ word updates.