SHAMELESS PLUG!

My first original novel, Strangers In Boston, is now available on Amazon under my pen name, T.S. Mann (get it?). It's free to Kindle Prime members and $4.99 to people who want to download the Ebook. Paperback copies are available for $12.99. Check it out, and if you like it, please leave a review. Basically, it's American Harry Potter. Except there's no school, no wands, and if you use magic improperly, it can drive you insane and possibly destroy the world. No pressure or anything.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled fanfic.

Harry Potter
and the Death Eater Menace

Harry Potter and all associate characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.

CHAPTER 37: What's Past Is Prologue (pt 2)

THE PAST
19 November 1975

Bane looked around the clearing carefully but saw no threats.

It was a cold November, and an early snow covered the grounds of Hogwarts. But the thick canopy in this part of the Forbidden Forest kept the floor mostly free of it even as it blocked out the light of the stars and even the full moon. The young Centaur had been charged with patrolling this part of the Forbidden Forest tonight, and while he shared his kind's skill with a bow and knowledge of the forest's dangers, boredom and mild curiosity had led him to wander outside the territory that had been warded for the Centaurs' protection. Or perhaps for the protection of others from the Centaurs – opinion was divided in the tribe as to who the real beneficiaries were.

Suddenly, there was commotion as some wild animal, at first unfamiliar to Bane, burst into the clearing. Bane gasped in shock when he recognized the beast as a werewolf! Instantly, he notched an arrow into his bow in what he knew was likely a futile gesture. Not only was a werewolf fast enough to evade an arrow, only a perfect shot right through the eye and into the brain would kill or even slow down a creature blessed with such regenerative powers. The werewolf snarled at Bane before dodging the Centaur's first arrow with ease. Quickly, Bane reached for another arrow even though it was already too late, for the monster had gone into a crouch and was ready to pounce.

But then, even as the werewolf leaped for Bane's throat, it was knocked aside by a new combatant. Despite himself, Bane gasped again, for the werewolf was joined by a Grim! The Centaur's heart grew cold at the sign of the death omen whose presence surely meant that his own doom was nigh. How odd that he'd seen nothing in the stars to warn him of his own grim fate tonight.

Bane's amazement only grew when the growling black mastiff interposed itself between him and the werewolf as if to protect him. Even more bizarrely, a magnificent stag, bigger than any that he'd ever seen in the forest, bounded into the clearing to join the black dog in his defense. The werewolf looked between the dog, the stag, and the Centaur who stood slack-jawed on the other side of them. And then, its hungry snarls turned into a petulant whine, as if the monster were throwing a childish tantrum at being denied its prey.

Only then did Bane notice the final absurdity. For perched on top of the stag, holding onto its antlers for dear life, was a rat. And even as it clutched the antlers tightly with four claws and a tail, the rat's attention was focused on the werewolf. It showed not a bit of fear. On the contrary, the rat chittered and squealed at the werewolf as if angrily remonstrating it for its rudeness in threatening the Centaur's life. The werewolf lowered its head in submission before turning to bound back into the forest the way it had come. The dog, the stag, and the rat all three turned to look at Bane – each demonstrating unmistakable intelligence with its expression – before following after the werewolf.

Bane exhaled slowly in relief before turning back towards the Centaurs' camp. The rest of the herd would need to know what he'd seen. But before he could move a single hoof, he halted in surprise at his last visitor of the evening. Floating in the air ahead of and above him, a man in black robes perched on a broomstick shimmered into view, the wand in his hand instantly marking him as a wizard. Bane snarled and reached for another arrow, but once again, he was too late.

"OBLIVIATE!"

Bane looked around the clearing carefully but saw no threats. He shook his head and resumed his patrol.

A few hours later …

The three Animagi carefully herded their werewolf friend towards the Whomping Willow. Under the effects of the latest version of Master Belby's Wolfsbane Potion, Remus was more docile than a normal werewolf, enough so that the stag, the dog, and the rat could deter him from attacking anyone or anything they encountered. Surprisingly to them all, it was Peter in his rat form who was most able to "reach" Remus while he was in his wild lupine state. None of the four could truly communicate in a human sense, but they all shared a rudimentary "animal tongue" that allowed limited communication between all animagi and (according to their Unspeakable tutors) most quasi-sentient animals. Peter, for whatever reason, was the one best able to communicate complex concepts and even orders while transformed. James had joked about taking his stag form at home over Christmas to see if he could communicate with his mother's pet kneazle, but their Animagery tutor's angry expression had put that idea out of his head.

In fact, at times, James was mildly jealous about how well Peter adapted to Animagery despite his initial embarrassment over such a small and seemingly weak form. James had struggled far longer than both Peter and Sirius in achieving the transformation, despite his natural skill at Transfiguration. And even after mastering his new form, he had the least direct influence over Remus during his Change. The werewolf treated the black dog as a fellow canine and a member of its pack, apparently, and it outright deferred to the rat for some odd reason. But while it would not attack the stag even though it was a prey animal, it was not nearly as respectful as James would have expected given the stag's place in noble heraldry and (James thought privately) his own undisputed status as the leader of their quartet. It was oddly uncomfortable to feel as though he were at the bottom of the pecking order instead of the top.

While the stag and the dog flanked the twitchy werewolf, the rat darted under the violent tree's branches and pressed the knot at the base. The tree went still, and the secret entryway revealed itself. Moments later, the trio had herded the werewolf back into the Shrieking Shack. Inside, the researchers of Project Romulus were waiting nervously behind their strongest shields, with several Patronuses already active to help the three Animagi as they shepherded their friend into the runic circle where a freshly slaughtered pig was waiting. Remus fell on the carcass with a hungry growl, and one of the Unspeakables called out an activation spell, causing the runic circle to flare to life. Only then, did the older wizards relax their defenses and the three boys return to their human forms.

While several of the Unspeakables began casting diagnostic Charms on Remus (who ignored them all to focus on rending the flesh from the pig), others escorted James, Sirius, and Peter to a separate room for a quick debriefing by Unspeakable Rookwood, their former DADA instructor. After the boys answered his questions, he left them alone to have a light snack.

"Man," Sirius muttered, "it's been years since we had him for DADA, and he still creeps me out."

"He's not so bad," Peter muttered while biting down on a scone.

"Pete, don't speak with your mouth full," James chided. "It's gross."

Sirius laughed. "Says the guy who chews his cud while in his Animagus form."

Potter sniffed. "Don't you start with me, Sirius Black. We've all seen how you lick yourself when you think none of us are watching."

All three boys laughed at that. Then, James changed the topic.

"Listen, I've been thinking. The Christmas Hols are coming up, and I was wondering if you two and Remus would like to come visit. My family has this big New Year's Eve party every year, but it's mostly old people and I'd like to have my friends there."

Sirius seemed thoughtful. "I'd love to, but my parents would never allow it." Then, he grinned. "So I guess I won't tell them!"

"Great!" James exclaimed. "How about you, Pete?"

Pettigrew looked doubtful. "I dunno what my Mum will say. I mean, she's … she's sick a lot. Besides, I don't have any formal robes."

"Aw, that's not a problem," James said easily. "I can order you a set. It won't cost hardly anything."

"… you don't need to … just buy me things, James," Peter said uncomfortably.

"Don't look a gift hippogriff in the mouth, Wormtail," Sirius interjected. "If someone offers you a gift, just accept it gracefully. Like I do. Speaking of which, I need dress robes too, Prongs."

Peter looked at Sirius in confusion. "… Worm … tail? And … Prongs?"

James sniffed. "Oh yeah. Sirius has decided that we need nicknames. Apparently, I'm Prongs, he's Padfoot, Remus is Moony, and you're Wormtail."

"Charming. Do I get a say in this? And is it a good idea to nickname Remus after the Moon?"

"No and why not, respectively," Sirius said smugly. "Honestly, after more than four years of disappearing on the night of each full moon, the only person who's even suspected that Remus was a werewolf was the Hellflower. And she only thought that because of Muggle superstitions that we quickly disabused her of. I think Moony's secret is safe no matter what we call him."

"Uh-huh," the newly christened Wormtail said dubiously. "And I'm guessing Hellflower is Lily Evan's new and undesired nickname."

Sirius smirked. "Actually, James came up with that one."

In response, Potter blushed. "Come on, Sir- er Padfoot. I was angry when I said that. She's not that bad."

"She hexed your underwear to feel like deep-heating ointment," Sirius replied with a smirk.

"To be fair, that was only after James hexed Snape's hair orange," Peter added.

"You mean, after Prongs hexed Snivellus's hair orange," Sirius replied.

"You are not going to let this nickname thing go, are you?" Peter asked with a sour expression.

"No, I will not, Wormtail. No. I. Will. Not."

"In that case … that's Mister Wormtail to you!"

The three boys laughed. If Wormtail's laughter was a bit more forced than the other two, neither noticed.

"Anyway, it's agreed," James said returning to the prior topic. "Next Hogsmeade weekend, we'll stop in at Gladrags and I'll buy new dress robes for Wormtail. And Rem- I mean, Moony too, if he needs them."

Peter looked as though he still wanted to object, but at James's determined expression, he nodded his head with resignation posing as gratitude. Then, the door opened, and Master Belby entered.

"Well, boys, it's time for you to head back to the castle. You need to get at least a few hours of sleep before the dawn."

As he spoke, he handed each of the three a glass vial. Through experience, the boys knew that the potion inside would make it impossible for anyone to detect that they'd been memory-charmed. It was standard procedure for the Unspeakables, apparently, but it was also necessary in this case because James (like most Heirs) carried a Remembrall. Sirius did not, but the Unspeakables knew his family well and suspected that he might be legilimized when at home.

At Belby's direction, the three Marauders followed him back out into the main room. By this point, "Moony" was fast asleep within the protective circle, the blood from his repast still staining his muzzle. As they congregated by the door leading to the tunnel and the Whomping Willow at the other end, Peter was the first to down his potion before Unspeakable Rookwood began altering his memories. When his work was complete, Peter (and the other two) would remember spending the night in the Forbidden Forest with Remus, keeping the werewolf out of trouble, but they would have no recollection of the Unspeakables' involvement or of what really went on in the Shrieking Shack.

While Rookwood performed his alterations, Sirius's attention was drawn to a nearby table. On it rested a piece of old parchment, empty save for four dots that were labeled with the names of the four Marauders.

"What's this?" he asked a nearby researcher inquisitively. He (or she – it was impossible to identify the genders of any Unspeakables other than Rookwood) glanced at the parchment.

"It's something we came up with to help keep track of you boys while you're off gallivanting. There are warded areas all over the Forest designed to keep various beasties that don't get along very well from encroaching on each other's territories. The paper's charmed to interface with any nearby wards and use them as a tracker for your personal magical signatures."

Sirius nodded. "Was it hard to make?"

The researcher laughed. "Not for us, lad. But we are Unspeakables, after all." Then, s/he was called away by a colleague. Sirius looked around and saw that Rookwood was still working on adjusting Peter's memories and that everyone else's attention was still on Remus. A mischievous grin slid over his face, and he quickly snatched up the parchment before anyone could see and stuffed it into a pocket.

Thirty minutes later, the exhausted trio was carefully sneaking back into their dorm room under cover of James's Cloak of Invisibility. As Sirius was undressing, he was surprised to find a folded parchment in his pocket that he'd never seen before. He opened it up and his eyes widened.

"Hey guys, come check this out." Peter and James came over and looked at his discovery. The parchment was blank except for the words "ANALYZING WARD STRUCTURE" written in a Gothic script which soon faded away to be replaced with a single word: "INTERFACING." Then, that word also faded to be replaced by three tiny dots each labeled with one of their names.

"Cool!" James said. "How did you get it to do that?"

Sirius smiled. "I have absolutely no idea! But I can't wait to find out!"

PRESENT
The Office of the Hogwarts Caretaker
10:30 a.m.

With a confidence that he'd never once felt when he'd been a student sent to the Caretaker's Office for detention, Peter Pettigrew sauntered up to the office door and rapped sharply with his knuckles.

"Come in!" said a gruff voice from the inside. Pettigrew entered and took stock of the new Hogwarts Caretaker. He was much younger than Filch had been even when Peter had been a First Year. But his clothes were threadbare and worn, and his auburn hair and beard were both shaggy. Had James not revealed months earlier that the Caretaker was a wizard with exceptional skill at obscure defensive magic (and had Jim not revealed that he was the boy's Animagery tutor!), Peter would have assumed that he was a Squib, just like his predecessor.

The Caretaker froze in surprise at Peter's entrance before schooling his facial features into a sneer that Pettigrew found unconvincing.

"Can I help you?"

Peter stepped towards the desk. "I should hope so. My name is Peter Pettigrew. I am Jim Potter's godfather and also Seneschal and Solicitor for his House. Mr. Sturgeon, I presume?"

Sturgeon's lip curled up in an exaggerated sneer. "That's my name, Mr. Pettigrew. So what brings you to see me? Has the little whippersnapper been complaining about his detentions? You'll find I'm tough but fair. I've hardly ever had to get out the whips and chains."

Pettigrew crooked an eyebrow. "I would be surprised to learn you'd ever used whips and chains on the son of an Ancient and Noble House," he said curtly. "Especially considering the criminal penalties that might be imposed on someone who dared use corporal punishment against him without the proper authority."

He took a seat across from the other man. "No, sir. I am here because Jim informs me that you have been tutoring him in Animagery. I happen to know that Animagery is a very difficult and dangerous branch of transfigurative magic. I have not yet informed the boy's father – who is also the Chief Auror – because Jim told me this in confidence. But I certainly have questions about how a Caretaker can possibly be qualified to teach Animagery when he himself is not on the Animagus Registry. Are you an Animagus, sir?"

Sturgeon smiled. "No, sir. As a matter of fact, I am not. Though I can assure you I am … intimately familiar with the process." He tilted his head in a manner that Peter found oddly familiar. "Are you an Animagus, Mr. Pettigrew?"

Peter stiffened. "I am not the one holding myself out as an expert on the topic. I wish to know your credentials, sir. And if I am not satisfied with them, I warn you I will immediately take this matter up with your employer, Professor Dumbledore. And with the DMLE!"

Sturgeon stared at the other man before letting out a wry chuckle. "Wow. That was actually rather intimidating on your part. I'd have hardly recognized you from the shy boy I met on the train."

Peter furrowed his brow. "You and I were at Hogwarts together?" He asked in confusion.

Instead of answering, the Caretaker unlocked a drawer in his desk and withdrew a folded slip of parchment.

"My credentials, Mr. Pettigrew. I'm sure you'll find them in order."

With a dubious expression, Peter unfolded the paper and then read the contents. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and he looked up at the other man who was grinning infectiously at him.

"… Moony?!" he sputtered in shock and then delight.

Remus laughed. "Hello, old friend."

THE PAST
5 November 1976
Gryffindor Tower
The Sixth Year Boys' Dormitory
Just before dusk

"What do you mean you've sworn off pranks?!" Peter spat furiously. "You read the Daily Prophet! You know what those bastards did to Marlene's parents! Sirius won't even talk to us, he's so upset. He's been off by himself all day!"

"None of which has any bearing on whether we should hex a bunch of random Slytherins in retaliation," James answered calmly. "What happened to the McKinnons was awful, but we don't even know which Death Eaters were responsible, let alone whether any of them have any kids at Hogwarts. And even if we did, it would be wrong to target kids for what their parents might have done."

Peter stared at his friend dumbstruck. "Who are you and what have you done with James Potter?"

James sighed. "Wormtail, it's me, okay? I just … decided maybe its time to … I dunno … grow up a little?"

"Is this because of what Frank Longbottom said last June?" Peter asked. Then, his eyes narrowed. "Or is it because you're still trying to win Lily Evans' fickle heart?"

James's own eyes flashed. "Don't talk about her like that, Wormtail. And anyway, it's not like that. It's just … she said she'd go with me to Hogsmeade next weekend if I made it to that point without any pranks, okay? I only have a week to go, so I'm not going to blow things now by doing something stupid, no matter how much the slimy snakes might deserve it."

Peter was still amazed. "Wow. I honestly never believed you'd prioritize anyone on earth above Sirius Black."

"I'm not prioritizing anything, Wormy. I just …." James trailed off, as if unable to articulate his feelings. "I want to be with her, okay? More than any girl I've ever known. I can't explain it, but … Lily is everything to me. And if giving up juvenile pranks is what it takes, then that's what I'll do."

Peter said nothing. His expression was one of confusion, as if he couldn't quite grasp Potter's words.

James sighed deeply. "Look, we'll see how Hogsmeade goes. If it doesn't work out between us, maybe we can do something to the Slytherins next week. I'm sure Sirius will be back soon – we're supposed to head out to the Shrieking Shack around 10. We'll talk on the way."

But at that moment, Sirius Black himself dashed into the room with a terrified expression and waving the Marauders' Map wildly.

"Prongs! We gotta go after Snivellus! He's on his way to the tree now!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Pads," James said as he tried to calm his excitable best friend down. "What are you babbling now?"

Breathless and near tears, Sirius spoke. "I'm sorry! I was just so … angry! I know I shouldn't have done it! I just didn't think Snivellus would be so stupid!"

"SIRIUS!" James finally bellowed. "GET A GRIP! Now what the HELL are you on about?!"

Sirius took a deep breath. "I … I told Snivellus how to get past the Whomping Willow. I think he's on his way there now to catch Moony while he's transforming!"

James's eyes widened in horror, and he snatched the Map out of Sirius's hands and dashed out of the room. Sirius was just about to follow when he felt the sharp pain of suddenly-long fingernails digging into his shoulder. It was Wormtail, though for a moment, Sirius almost didn't recognize the other Marauder. His eyes blazed with a feral rage, and his teeth … when did they get so sharp and pointy?!

"YOU BASTARD!"

Peter slugged Sirius in the jaw as hard as he could, dislodging at least one of his teeth which flew across the room. Sirius went down, and a second later, Peter was on top of him, pounding on his head while screaming obscenities. By the time a few other Gryffindors had entered the room drawn by the noise and pulled Pettigrew away, Sirius was already unconscious.

Hours later, he was in the Infirmary nursing a nasty headache along with the annoying sensation of having teeth regrowing in his jaw when the Headmaster entered. Behind him followed the body of Severus Snape floating in the air. For one terrible second, Sirius thought the Slytherin was dead, but then, Snape twitched violently, and Sirius realized that he was in the grip of some sort of unconscious seizure. There were no signs of blood on him which was a relief. James Potter followed the Headmaster in and watched as Snape was maneuvered onto a bed where Madam Pomfrey began an examination.

The other Marauder refused to even glance in his direction.

"James …?" Sirius began, but the Headmaster flicked his wand towards him without even looking (though his anger was obvious). Instantly, Sirius was both silenced and deafened, unable to speak or to hear the brief conversation between Dumbledore and James. After a few seconds, James nodded to the Headmaster and headed for the door. But before he left, the young man who Sirius considered his only real brother finally turned towards him and gave him such a look! He'd never seen such fury from James Potter, certainly not directed towards him, and it made Sirius feel sick to think he'd betrayed the Marauders in such a manner.

After several minutes conferring with Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore came over and dispelled the noise-cancelling Charm that he'd placed on Sirius's bed. His eyes were not twinkling. The old man waited for several terrible seconds before speaking, as if struggling with the words to properly describe what had happened.

"I do not know what you intended to happen tonight, Mr. Black. I can only speculate, and then tell you what you need to be told and made to understand. Severus Snape, acting at your behest, bypassed the Whomping Willow, made his way down the passage, and opened the doorway to the Shrieking Shack, where he encountered Remus Lupin fully transformed into a werewolf. I do not know if it was your intention for Mr. Snape to be slain or simply bitten. If either of those completely foreseeable consequences of your foolish actions had occurred, Mr. Lupin would have a date sometime tomorrow with an executioner's ax while you would be turned over to the Aurors for a trial before the Wizengamot that would most likely result in a lengthy stay in Azkaban. That you are not facing such a fate – which by your actions you plainly deserve! – you may attribute to the fact that you did at least warn Mr. Potter of your foolishness and he arrived in time to save Mr. Snape's life."

Sirius licked his lips nervously.

"You may also attribute to undeserved good fortune the fact that I am limited in how harshly I am allowed to punish you without having to inform the Board of Governors of the reason for the punishment which, of course, would risk exposure of Mr. Lupin's condition. You will serve one month of detention with Mr. Filch. Let me assure you, Mr. Black, it physically pains me that I cannot dole out a harsher punishment for what, from all appearances, was a deliberate and premeditated murder attempt!"

The old man took a step closer, and Sirius blanched at the cold harsh gaze of the Defeater of Grindelwald.

"Mr. Snape has … sworn an oath, after a fashion. He will not reveal the truth of what happened tonight, nor of Mr. Lupin's unfortunate condition. And you, Sirius Black, will do nothing to him… ever. Your time as a "merry prankster" is at an end. Any harmful or embarrassing spells deployed against Severus Snape, or indeed any other student, will be punished as harshly as the school's by-laws allow, up to and including expulsion. Are we quite clear?"

Sirius nodded dumbly. Dumbledore turned and headed for the door. Just before he could leave, Sirius called out to him.

"Sir, if he's not really hurt… if Remus didn't even touch him …. Why is Sniv …. Why is Snape unconscious? And why is he shaking like that?"

Dumbledore turned back to study the unconscious Slytherin once more. He stared at the boy for a long time before answering.

"Wolf-fear," he finally said. "Mr. Snape … Mr. Snape was exposed to wolf-fear. And I am afraid he will never be rid of it."

THE PRESENT
The Hogwarts Infirmary
14 February 1994
11:30 a.m.

The Headmaster had been in his office reviewing proposed Wizengamot bills and trying to distract himself from worry over his Potions Master when a shining silver nightingale appeared on his desk. It was Madam Pomfrey's Patronus.

"Headmaster," it said. "Severus is awake."

The old man nodded solemnly and then made his way down to the Infirmary. At a glance from him, the matron withdrew to her office without a word. There was no one else present, but Dumbledore still surrounded Snape's bed and the chair he'd conjured near it with the strongest privacy Charms he knew. Snape was awake, and the paleness that resulted from his former condition was offset by the fire in his eyes. He said nothing at first, but his fury was evident. Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

"I understand from Mr. Potter – your Mr. Potter, obviously – that you have … recalled previously forgotten details about the incident in the Shrieking Shack."

Snape snorted. "Details? Only the most important detail, Dumbledore! That the incident that has plagued my mind for almost fourteen years is an utter fabrication." He glowered at the older man before speaking in a low angry voice.

"I have done everything you have asked of me. I risked my life as a spy in the heart of the Dark Lord's inner circle. I have borne the indignities of teaching incompetent dunderheaded children for over a decade. I have sworn, at risk to my own life, to protect the spawn of the man I hate above all others over a completely fictitious life debt!"

He took a long deep breath. "So here is what is going to happen now, Albus Dumbledore. You will tell me the truth! You will tell me everything about what really happened in the Shrieking Shack in 1976! Or I swear to you I will leave this castle today as your sworn enemy!"

Dumbledore sat in silence as Snape finished his tirade.

"Well?!" Snape snapped. "What do you have to say for yourself?!"

The old man drew a deep slow breath.

"Seventeen eager violinists…" he began slowly.

Snape face twisted in confusion. "… what?"

"… erupted righteously …" Dumbledore continued.

"Are you having a stroke or something?"

"… until sunset."

Snape opened his mouth to shout at the man for spouting nonsense. But then, he paused suddenly, blinked his eyes repeatedly, and he slowly closed his mouth.

"Oh," he finally said. "I see."

THE PAST
5 November 1976

Young Severus Snape stood transfixed at the sight before him. "Remus Lupin – a werewolf?" he thought wildly. "And the subject of strange experiments conducted under the auspices of the Headmaster himself? What was going on here?"

His paralysis was ended rudely when James Potter burst through the still-open doorway and almost knocked him down.

"SNAPE! Dammit man, are you trying to get … yourself … killed?!" Potter trailed off as he looked around the room, seemingly just as confused as Snape. "Headmaster? What's going on…."

"Jealous Aardvarks Make Elegant Soups," Rookwood interrupted sharply.

"… here … oh." Potter's confused babbling trailed off as his memories of Project Romulus were restored. "Sorry, everybody. I tried to head Snivellus off but he was too fast for me."

"Never mind that, Potter," Belby said. "How did this young man get past the Whomping Willow in the first place?"

"Sirius." "Black." Potter and Snape spoke simultaneously and then turned and glared angrily at one another. Then, the two boys (and several of the adults) were startled when the werewolf barked out a laugh.

Moments later, a group consisting of the two boys and about half of the adult wizards were crowded into the nearby conference room. Dumbledore, Croaker, Belby, and Rookwood were among the group. At Dumbledore's direction, both Snape and Potter explained what had happened, and Potter paled at the old man's expression.

"Professor Dumbledore," Potter began, "I know you're angry at Sirius for this. So am I, in all honesty. But … no one got hurt or anything."

"That is not the point, Mr. Potter. Under the influence of the false memories Mr. Black carried, he believed that Mr. Snape would be intruding on an unrestrained and uncontrolled werewolf with potentially lethal results." Dumbledore's face hardened. "And possibly with lethal intentions."

Potter shook his head. "No, no, he came to me in a panic. He never believed that Sniv … I mean, that Snape would actually come down here until he saw it on …."

Potter's voice trailed off uncertainly.

"On what, Mr. Potter?"

James paused in apparent agony before he finally reached into a pocket and withdrew the Marauder's Map. He hadn't had the time to close it properly, and when he unfolded it, the Map still showed the Hogwarts interior and the multitude of names on it, most now in their individual dorms.

"… the hell?" Croaker muttered. "Where did you get this?" he asked.

"We made it," James said proudly. "I mean, that is … well, I think the parchment originally came from here and Sirius pinched it one night as we were being memory charmed before leaving. We found it when we got back to the dorm. At first, it only showed the Marauders on it, but after a few months of research, we figured out how to modify the Charms already on the parchment so that they could interface with the Hogwarts wards and identify everyone who was in the castle or on the grounds."

He grinned proudly. "We even figured out how to use the Homunculus Charm to put copies of ourselves into it. Isn't that right, guys?"

The last question was directed towards the Map itself, and the diagram of the castle faded away to be replaced by an ornate script.

"Mr. Prongs is appalled that James Potter would reveal the secrets of the Marauder's Map to whoever the blazes he's babbling to. Is it Snivellus? Mr. Prongs thinks he smells something foul nearby!"

Beside him, Snape growled angrily as the parchment was soon covered by a stream of vulgarities from all four "Marauders" that insulted everything about him from his hygiene to his political views to the size of his nose. It didn't help that several of the Unspeakables were visibly impressed by the four Gryffindors' ability to expand the obscure but basically simple Charm they had originally placed on a plain scrap of parchment into the sophisticated magical item before them. Potter puffed up with pride at the recognition, while Snape ground his teeth in response.

Dumbledore was also unamused. "Turn it off, Mr. Potter. I assume there is a mechanism for doing so."

"Oh, yeah, I mean … yes sir!" Potter tapped the Map with his wand. "Mischief managed," he said, and the writing faded to leave a blank parchment. Potter's proud expression faltered when Dumbledore took the parchment, folded it, and placed it in his own pocket.

"But Professor …!"

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore interrupted firmly. "While I applaud your ingenuity and that of your friends in enchanting this item, it clearly represents an appalling breach of the privacy of your fellow students. I cannot allow it to remain in your possession."

The Gryffindor was aghast, and beside him, Snape fought unsuccessfully to keep a smirk off his own face. Dumbledore turned to Rookwood.

"Augustus, when Mr. Potter leaves here tonight and you alter his memories, please include some plausible scenario in which he is discovered with the Map by someone on the Hogwarts staff who then confiscates it."

Rookwood nodded. "And what about the other one?" he asked nodding towards Snape.

"Well," said Croaker, "unlike the three Gryffindors when they slipped past our obviously inadequate defenses, this little idiot has only known about our activities for less than half an hour. Surely, Albus, you will concede that Obliviation is acceptable in this instance. After all, we only need to tweak his memories of discovering us. We leave everything else intact but insert a memory of young Potter here intervening before he made it into the Shrieking Shack."

Snape sneered at the reference to him as being a "little idiot," but his expression quickly changed to one of horror at the thought of Obliviation. "Headmaster, please! You cannot …."

"Be at ease, Mr. Snape," Albus said reassuringly before turning to glower at Croaker. "My opposition to involuntary memory Charms is as strong as ever, Saul. Indeed, as you may recall, you had to overcome my opposition to voluntary obliviations of minors where Potter, Black, and Pettigrew were concerned."

This whole time, Rookwood had been studying Snape speculatively, and he finally spoke.

"Besides, Saul, there's a further complication – young Master Snape has at least rudimentary Occlumency shields. Probably a natural Occlumens, as I suspected when I had him as a student. There might well be complications if I try to Obliviate him and he fights back psychically."

"And how, exactly, did you learn that one of your students was a natural Occlumens, Augustus?" Albus said in a cold voice. "Or perhaps I should ask instead, just how many of my students did you illegally legilimize during your year as a teacher in my school?"

Rookwood merely gave an amiable smile, as if he had no idea what the Headmaster was talking about. Then, Belby spoke up for the very first time.

"Well, if we can't use standard Obliviation on the lad – and I agree with Albus that we shouldn't – is there any sort of deal we can offer him so he consents to a Memory Lock like the others? Maybe he wants to be an Animagus too … or something along those lines."

Potter looked mortally offended at the idea of Severus Snape joining the Marauders in their monthly Animagus adventures, but Snape himself gasped, his eyes widening in recognition.

"You … you are Damocles Belby!" he exclaimed. The Potions Master crooked an eyebrow.

"I am indeed. You know of me, young man?"

Snape scoffed. "Know of you?! You are only the preeminent Potions Master in Western Europe! I remember your picture in the Daily Prophet when you were awarded your third Silver Cauldron Award!"

Rookwood snorted. "It appears you have a fan, Belby."

Damocles studied the boy more closely. "Hang on a moment … Snape … Snape… Severus Snape? I think Horace Slughorn might have mentioned you in a letter. One of his more promising students."

Belby addressed Albus. "Every year, Horace keeps me updated on his NEWTs Potions class and any students who he thinks might be apprentice material. Usually, he only sends me one promising candidate every three or four years, but last summer, he said there were two rising 6th Years to whom I should extend a preliminary invitation. Severus Snape and some Muggleborn named Lily Evans."

Then, the potioneer turned back to Snape. "I take it you are this Potions prodigy Horace was referring to?"

"I am Severus Snape, sir. And I am in Sixth Year NEWTs Potions under Professor Slughorn along with Lily Evans."

Belby studied the boy with greater interest and his eyes narrowed. "Tell me, Mr. Snape, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

The boy scoffed dismissively at the ease of the question. "The first stage of the formula for Draught of Living Death, of course."

"And from there?"

"Stir clockwise twice. Then add one sloth brain and followed by Sopophorous bean juice."

"How many beans?" Belby interrupted.

Snape hesitated. "Libatious Borage says twelve in Advanced Potion-Making, but … I believe the brewing process would be quicker and more stable with thirteen."

"Do you indeed?" Belby said sardonically, as if amused by the boy's arrogance. "Any other changes to this formula that's been tried and true for six centuries?"

Snape's face flushed at the implied rebuke, but then he rallied and continued more confidently. "Yes. I have found that the Sopophorous bean releases its juice more efficiently if crushed with a silver dagger rather than cut. Also, during the final step, I have found it better to stir anticlockwise seven times as recommended but then to add one final clockwise stir before bottling."

"… found it better?" Belby asked slowly. "You have successfully brewed Draught of Living Death? Not just brewed but also improved its formula? As a Sixth Year student?"

Snape lifted his chin almost defiantly. "As a Third Year, Master Belby." Then, he hesitated with a slight grimace. "In the interest of full disclosure, however, I should confess that Lily Evans and I worked on that potion together, and we were both able to brew it successfully during the same private session."

Potter glared at Snape after his mention of Lily Evans and his reminder that Snape was once closer to her than he had ever been … and after tonight would probably ever be. For his part, Belby simply stared at Snape impassively. Of the others in the room, only Dumbledore was knowledgeable enough to be suitably impressed by what Snape had said. Finally, Belby pulled out his wand and summoned a notebook from another room. He flipped to a particular page before turning the book around so Severus could see it.

"What do you make of this formula, Mr. Snape?"

Severus read over the ingredients and blanched. "Well, I certainly wouldn't want to be the one to drink it. There are multiple deadly poisons without any counteracting reagents. Other than murdering a large group of people, I can't see what this could be … used … for…."

His voice trailed off and the studied the potions formula more closely. His eyes widened and he glanced over at the wall that separated them all from the main room and the werewolf contained within it.

"You … this potion is intended for treatment of lycanthropy, isn't it?"

A murmur of surprise passed over the adults in the room.

"How the devil could you deduce that just from a list of ingredients?!" Croaker exclaimed.

"Well, for starters – there is a fairly docile werewolf in the next room who addressed me personally when I came in," Snape said archly, his customary prickliness reasserting itself as his fear lessened. "Furthermore, while the primary ingredient is aconite, it also incorporates selenium, mercury, and powdered moonseed. Paracelsus suggested that those four materials would likely form the basis of any possible cure for lycanthropy in 1539, but he died before he could begin any formal experimentation."

At that, Belby's stern expression melted into a grin. "Ten points for Slytherin if I were a Professor and allowed to give them. Alrighty then. Here is my proposal to you, Mr. Snape. You graduate in June of 1978. Normally, I would select my next apprentice in the summer of 1977 for a three-year program, but I can come up with a good reason to put it off for a year. I'll just open up the selection process to 1977 and 1978 graduates. I will guarantee you get an invitation to apply for an apprenticeship with me conditional on three things. One, that you graduate with good grades overall and with no disciplinary issues. Two, that you pull an O on your Potions NEWTs and at least an EE on Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology."

Belby took a deep breath. "And Three, you freely consent to allowing Rookwood here to use the False Memory Charm on you to block off your memories of what you've seen tonight."

Snape's eyes widened, but then his face grew dark. "I do not wish to claim an apprenticeship, even one as prestigious as a Belby apprenticeship, simply as a bribe! If I am to become your apprentice … or anyone's apprentice, I will have the job on my own merits!"

Belby laughed. "Oh, no fear there, Mr. Snape. I am not offering you an apprenticeship! I'm just guaranteeing you get in the door. The selection process takes three months, and to actually become my apprentice, you will have to beat out the top Potions students from Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, Ilvermorny, Castelobruxo, and Koldovstoretz and from two years' worth of candidates instead of just one. That is what I am offering you, Mr. Snape. A foot in the door."

Snape said nothing, though his face clearly showed his yearning for the opportunity and his complete confidence that he could win the apprenticeship even if Merlin himself showed up to also apply for it. But then, he closed his eyes as some new thought entered his head. After several seconds of thought, he opened his eyes once more with new purpose.

"I have a condition," he said.

Rookwood sneered. "'A condition,' he says. The boy is even more arrogant than when he was my student!"

"Hush, Gus," Croaker said. "What is your condition, young man?"

Snape ignored them both to focus his attention back on Master Belby. "If I do this, you will make an offer to apply after graduation both to myself … and to Lily Evans, assuming she also meets your first two requirements."

Potter's head snapped towards his rival in shock. "Why would you possibly want Lily to be in competition against you?! What – do you want the satisfaction of defeating a Mudblood who's been your rival since you started school?!"

"Mister Potter!" Albus exclaimed angrily.

"I do not have to explain my motivations to the likes of you, Potter!" Snape spat.

"Perhaps," Belby said. "But you will explain them to me, Mr. Snape. Why are you asking for Miss Evans to receive such treatment?"

Snape stared at his idol sullenly for several seconds before answering. "Because … she is as good as me. I am not willing to concede that she is better at Potions than I am. But she is as good as me. And I will not claim an apprenticeship that she might well earn on the merits through a personal advantage that she could not possibly have."

James stared at his rival in amazement, almost speechless at Snape's gallantry towards Lily Evans even after the events of the previous Spring that had broken them apart. It was practically Gryffindorish! For a moment, he considered trying to be the bigger man for once and speak to Lily on Snape's behalf to try and reconcile them. Then, he grimaced as he realized that would not, could not, happen simply because they both would soon lose all memory of this entire conversation.

The deliberations continued for a few more minutes as the Unspeakables finalized their "arrangement" with Snape, specifically the substance of his altered memories (which would also be copied into James's memories when he left as well). Rookwood argued that it would not do for James to simply catch Snape before he made it into the Shack, or else Snape would not believe that Lupin was a werewolf and he might try to come back again.

Instead, the Unspeakable maintained that, within the false memory, Snape would have to actually see the transformed werewolf and then see James Potter defend him against it. The subconscious sense of obligation he would then feel towards Potter, combined with a subliminal suggestion that a life debt might be in play would justify Snape's internalized belief that he was bound against revealing Lupin's status as a werewolf.

"I do not owe James Potter a life debt!" Snape spat angrily. "He did nothing to save me, not that I even needed saving in the first place!"

"We are all well aware of the truth of what has happened, Mr. Snape," Rookwood snapped. "But Project Romulus is an extremely important mission whose secrecy must be preserved. And so, you will accept these altered memories of James Potter saving your life and the subsequent rationalization that you must tell no one about it. There is a Greater Good at stake, young man."

Snape nodded, though he was still clearly unhappy about the matter.

"Good," Rookwood continued. "Now, an important question. Just how strong is your Occlumency?"

The young Slytherin thought about the question. "I … do not know. I have a natural resistance to mind-reading, but it's all instinctual. I only learned of Occlumency, and my natural aptitude for it, just two years ago. I would estimate that I'm a Level 3 or close to it."

"Why is this important, Gus?" Saul Croker asked. "The boy is consenting to memory modification so his Occlumency rating shouldn't matter."

"It matters because if the boy gains a memory of encountering a werewolf, but has no memory of wolf-fear, the memory won't even be believable to him let alone anyone else who sees it in the future. However, if he is truly a Level 3 Occlumens, I can use Legilimency to incorporate a controlled memory of experiencing wolf-fear within the matrix of the false memory without actually damaging his mind. He will simply believe that he encountered a werewolf but that his own mental shields protected him."

Rookwood sneered at Snape contemptuously. "I imagine it will make him even more arrogant."

"Mr. Snape…" Dumbledore began.

"It's alright, Headmaster. Professor Rookwood is probably right. I know enough about werewolves from my DADA studies to be suspicious of any memory of encountering one without feeling the accompanying terror. But I really am a good Occlumens for my age if I do say so myself. I believe I can resist the wolf-fear and experience the memory as the Professor claims."

With intense reluctance, Dumbledore acquiesced to Snape's confident words. Now quite tired from the evening's exertions, Dumbledore left the meeting room along with Belby and most of the Unspeakables, leaving only Rookwood and an assistant to Memory Charm Potter and Snape. Still, the old wizard found the entire deception distasteful and did not wish to be a part of it even as a witness. Instead, he made his way over to where the transformed Remus Lupin sat within his protective circle.

"How are you feeling, Remus?" he asked slowly and cautiously.

"Tired … hed hurtz, feel … foggy," the werewolf growled. He sniffed the air a few times. "Kin still smell Sniv…lus. Makin' m'hungry."

Albus swallowed. "He'll be leaving soon." He paused to gather his words. "Earlier, you … laughed upon hearing how Mr. Snape came to be here. Why? Was it … something to do with the thought of … hurting him?"

The shaggy wolfman shook his head quickly. "No, no hurt Sniv…lus. Jus' funny. Sniv…lus 'n Prongs talkin' at once. More alike den know."

Dumbledore smiled. His greatest fear for the last 5+ years had been the thought of the werewolf breaking containment and harming a student or some other innocent. His second greatest fear was that through some terrible misstep, the potions and spells Remus had been subjected to as part of Project Romulus would cause him to lose whatever strange X-factor allowed the boy to retain his sanity and morality despite twelve years of Emeric Belasco's damnable curse.

Dumbledore's reverie was shattered by the sound of a boy's screams coming from the meeting room. Dumbledore practically ran back into the room to see two Unspeakables holding Snape down on the floor while Rookwood tried to force his eyes open. But that proved impossible, so Unspeakable Croaker pulled his wand and stunned the boy into sleep. James Potter, who had already been memory charmed and left in a light trance, sat on a chair in the corner, oblivious to what had been taking place.

"What the devil has been going on in here, Gus?" Croaker said angrily. The other man shook his head ruefully and displayed a terrible regret.

"I'm sorry, Saul, Albus. I did my best to contain things but … I'm afraid Mr. Snape's Occlumency shields were nowhere near as well-developed as he'd claimed. I had the false memories in place, but when I tried to add a layer for the wolf-fear, he panicked and started fighting me. The wolf-fear memory got away from me. It's lodged deep in his psyche now. It's as real to Snape as if he actually had encountered a feral werewolf."

Albus pushed past Rookwood and knelt on the floor next to the stricken boy. He gently opened up Snape's eyes and peered into them. Croaker shook his head.

"What a cock-up," he sighed in frustration. "It's okay, Gus. I'm sure you did your best." He turned to the Headmaster. "How does it look, Albus? Will he recover?"

Dumbledore withdrew from his mental scan. "It's too soon to tell," he said without looking up at the others. "We'll need to get him to Madam Pomfrey, I suppose." Damocles Belby was aghast at the news of such a promising young student suffering what was often a debilitating mental illness.

At Croaker's direction, several of the still-anonymous Unspeakables levitated the unconscious Snape out of the room, followed by the still somnambulant James Potter. Once back in the main room, the werewolf gave out a low soft moan at the sight of the injured Snape, while Belby accosted Rookwood for more information.

No one noticed Dumbledore discreetly pulling out his wand.

"Come now, Gus," said Belby plaintively. "There must be some sort of treatment to help cure wolf-fear!"

"I am sorry, Damocles," Rookwood said placatingly. "Truly sorry. But there is no known psychic healing technique that can outright cure wolf-fear. Still, for the first time since this project began, we now have a test subject for research into that area. With luck, perhaps Severus Snape himself will actually help us in…."

"DEPULSO!"

Dumbledore's Banishing Spell struck Rookwood squarely in the back with enough force to send him somersaulting into the far wall. He followed that with an Expelliarmus and an Incarcerous before any of the Unspeakables could even react.

"I am well aware of the bonds of loyalty which connect the Unspeakables to one another," he said with a disturbing mildness. "But I urge you all to refrain from drawing your wand against me. Or else I might quite forget myself and relieve you of it … along with whichever extremity happens to be holding it."

His voice remained genial and mild, but it was laced with steel and reverberated with raw magical power that reminded everyone present that this was the Defeater of Grindelwald. In his runic circle, the werewolf hunkered down and whimpered fearfully, its ears pulled back tightly against its head in submission.

Bound on the floor, Rookwood could barely move enough to shake his head in an effort to clear it after the brutal impact.

"Albus! Have you … gone … mad?!" he stammered.

"Your mental powers are phenomenal, Augustus Rookwood," Albus said authoritatively while ignoring the man's question. "But in your eagerness to violate Mr. Snape, you grew careless. You focused all your will on a Legilimency attack but in the process allowed your own Occlumency shields to weaken. While you were looking into Severus Snape's eyes, he was looking into yours! And when I watched the attack through his memory of it, I could see through your eyes to the secrets that lay bare within!"

"What secrets, Albus?" Belby asked fearfully. Albus did not look at the Potions Master. He kept his glare firmly on the truculent Rookwood.

"Why, merely that what just happened to Mr. Snape was no accident or mistake. Unspeakable Rookwood intentionally forced his way through the boy's Occlumency shields for the deliberate goal of infecting him with severe and chronic wolf-fear!"

Gasps and murmurs fluttered throughout the room as the various researchers absorbed this accusation. Even Croaker was appalled.

"Gus! … Rookwood! Is … is this true?!"

Rookwood glared back defiantly. "It was just as I said. We have a test subject now. Lupin is in his Sixth Year at Hogwarts, and the time in which we can research all the elements of lycanthropy is drawing to a close. And yet we have still investigated nothing pertaining to wolf-fear, one of the most important aspects of the Change! So yes! When confronted with an unpopular Halfblood who I happen to know has been recently orphaned, I seized the opportunity to use him as a test subject who might be the key to saving hundreds of other wizards suffering from wolf-fear. It was for The Greater Good!"

At those words, genial elderly Albus Dumbledore snarled in anger.

"Do not speak those words to me, Augustus Rookwood. Let no one here dare to speak to me about The Greater Good! Not when I, alone among us all, saw firsthand what horrors were wrought by those same words when carved INTO THE VERY GATES OF NURMENGARD!"

Those watching Dumbledore fearfully gasped at the reference to the terrible fortress-prison in which (it was said) the Dark Lord Grindelwald himself was, to this day, the only inmate.

"As I said, Augustus Rookwood, I could see the secrets behind your Occlumency. You did not infect Severus Snape with wolf-fear in hopes of finding a cure for it. You infected him with wolf-fear because your goal is to weaponize it! You wanted to research how best to psychically insert memories of wolf-fear into people who had never even been near a werewolf. You wanted to shape wolf-fear into just another psychic arrow in your personal Legilimency quiver!"

At that, Croaker turned to his fellow Unspeakable with an expression of horror and contempt.

"Enough, Albus," he said calmly but firmly. "We will take Augustus Rookwood back to the Department of Mysteries. We have the means there to discover the truth no matter how potent his Occlumency is."

"Take him then," Dumbledore said coldly. "But he will have nothing to do with this project, even assuming I allow this project to continue any farther."

"Rest easy on that, my friend," Croaker said. "If your accusations are proven true, there will be quite a lot of Unspeakable projects with which Rookwood will have no further involvement … or memory."

At that, Rookwood's eyes widened in horror. "NO! Damn you, Croaker! NO! My oaths are unbroken. You will not block my memories over this greasy, egotistical Half-blood child! You would not dare! You would …!"

"STUPEFY!" Belby intoned angrily, and Rookwood said nothing more.

With the battle over before anyone else knew it had even begun, Albus turned towards the battered form of Severus Snape, unconscious yet still twitching madly from the lupine nightmares that had been inflicted upon it. Albus closed his eyes.

"Never again," he said softly to no one but himself.

PRESENT
The Hogwarts Infirmary

"And that, as they say, was that," Albus concluded. "At least as far as Project Romulus was concerned. Most of the project was shut down, although Damocles continued to work towards a cure until Remus graduated and left Hogwarts. He quickly became a spy within the Scandinavian werewolf packs for the Order of the Phoenix, so working with Belby became logistically impossible, especially after you became his newest apprentice."

"The rest of the team was reassigned to other areas of research. Rookwood was severely reprimanded and reduced to the lowest level of DOM security, with decades worth of obscure magic and sensitive information locked away seemingly forever. It was eventually a factor in his decision to turn traitor. Apparently, Lord Voldemort offered to restore those lost memories after the conquest of Britain and with it, presumably, the Department of Mysteries. And so, Sirius Black's 'little prank' led to a dangerous man and a powerful wizard becoming a Death Eater."

"He wasn't the only," Snape mumbled.

"Severus, you have long ago earned redemption for taking the Dark Mark. You would not be here talking with me today if that were not so."

Snape looked at him angrily. "I know that!" he snapped. "I understand your actions, Albus, and you were not so much to blame as I had first suspected. Still, you were the Headmaster! You had a duty of care towards your students. Even the Slytherin ones!"

Snape closed his eyes to center himself and regain his calm before resuming. "Understand. From my perspective derived from those false memories, Sirius Black tried to murder me by sending me after Lupin. Potter saved me, but I believed that it was only to protect Lupin and Black and himself. I was always incensed over the so-called life debt because I felt no sense of obligation to him, but I was too afraid of the penalties for denying a life debt to risk it. But worst of all, you punished Black with nothing more than detention! I know why now, but at the time, I thought it was nothing more than a biased Gryffindor teacher favoring spoiled Gryffindor hooligans over the slimy Slytherin snake. I hated you for it. And years later, when I heard the Prophecy…."

Albus looked stricken. "You went to Voldemort ... because of your hatred … of me?"

"No, Albus. I went to Voldemort because I was afraid of you."

The old man was speechless. Snape rolled his eyes.

"My mistakes were my own, Albus. Kindly don't seize upon them as a basis for self-destructive martyrdom. But yes. My initial decision to join the Death Eaters was motivated in part by my fear that you would Obliviate me or worse to preserve the secret of the Prophecy. It was not until the Dark Lord announced his belief that the Prophecy referred to an unborn child, and most likely the unborn child of Lily Potter, that I overcame my fear and disdain for you and offered myself into your service."

Albus said nothing at first. He remembered that night well. And to his shame, he remembered how judgmental he'd been to Snape. "You disgust me," he'd said in anger, long before he fully understood the risks the young man had taken and would take in pursuit of redemption.

"What happened with the Wolfsbane Potion?" Snape asked, changing the subject. "Obviously, Master Belby never perfected a cure, and I don't recall him researching anything like it when I studied under him."

"Damocles continued to work on it until Project Romulus was shut down completely after Remus's graduation. At that point, the DOM declared the potion Unspeakable. No version of it had ever protected against the degeneration into homicidal madness that afflicts all werewolves other than Remus. It could only provide a human intelligence for the werewolf's transformed body, and so the risk of the potion falling into the hands of someone like Fenrir Greyback was too great to justify continuing research outside the controlled environment here at Hogwarts. Damocles returned to his laboratory and began his oversight of your Potions Mastery."

The old man paused. "I wish you to know, when Damocles sent me the Wolfsbane Potion formula just a few months before his passing, he also sent a letter to be given to you in the event your memories were ever recovered. It's in a safe in my office. I don't know its contents, but I can guess. As he said at the time, the events in the Shrieking Shack got your foot in the door, but your selection as his apprentice was entirely merit-based. Ironically, the only candidate to seriously challenge you was Lily, but she withdrew from consideration after accepting James's marriage proposal."

Albus leaned forward. "Severus, Damocles Belby considered you the finest potioneer he'd ever mentored. And also the only one of his students who he thought might one day surpass him."

Snape nodded slowly. "And that, I suppose, was why you tasked me with brewing the Unspeakable Wolfsbane Potion. For Remus Lupin, I assume. After enjoying the pleasures of the Far East in mystical Shamballa, he has returned to Britain, no doubt to protect the Boy-Who-Lived. Is he close at hand?"

Albus nodded slowly. "He is. Do you … wish to meet with him?" he asked almost hopefully.

"No!" Snape spat. "I … I see nothing positive to gain from meeting him in person. I will continue to brew the Wolfsbane Potion. Indeed, I will improve upon it if I can. But not for Lupin's sake, nor even for yours. It was Damocles Belby who was my true mentor, the man who took a chance on me when I thought I had nothing to offer the world. I will honor him by continuing his work, and if it is possible so to do, someday, I will cure lycanthropy."

Albus beamed, and his eyes twinkled madly. The Slytherin noticed and sneered at him.

"Unless, of course, you insist on getting mawkish about what I just said. In which case, I shall likely forget myself and poison Lupin to death during the next full moon!"

Meanwhile, in the Caretaker's Office…

It had been over an hour since Remus revealed the astonishing Secret that he and the odd new Caretaker, Malachi Sturgeon, were one and the same. Remus regaled his oldest friend with a description of his time in Shamballa and how he had returned to Hogwarts under a Fidelius both to protect Jim Potter from Sirius Black and to continue his training. Said training had progressed to Animagery lessons, apparently, and Remus was full of pride as he revealed that Jim would be taking the Animagus Potion the very next time there was a thunderstorm. Peter was delighted at the news and amazed at how quickly his godson had progressed in what had taken the Marauders several years, but Remus suddenly became pensive.

"Peter," he began. "Our time together as Marauders. What do you … remember about it?"

"What do you mean?" Peter asked cautiously.

"When you and James … and Sirius … were studying to become Animagi, do … do your memories of those days … make sense to you?"

Peter's face looked grave. "You mean … do I know my memories have been altered?" Remus's eyes widened as Pettigrew continued. "I've had Occlumency training as part of my Law Mastery. Can't be a good solicitor if you're revealing your client's secrets every time you look a Legilimens in the eye, after all. I've pieced together some details. Enough, I think. Someone, the Unspeakables I reckon, was experimenting on you. And we got drawn into it somehow and were taught Animagery by them so that we could help shepherd Moony and keep him out of trouble during the full moon."

It was a lie, albeit convincingly and earnestly told. Gus could not give the pass phrase to restore Peter's memories of Project Romulus because he himself had been Obliviated of the knowledge. But the Unspeakable-turned-Death Eater knew enough to give Peter a capsule summary after the younger man had been recruited into Mr. Nemo's cell. Peter had laughed uproariously when he realized that Sirius and James, who were both so proud of becoming "illegal Animagi" at such a young age, had actually received the best tutoring in the subject that could be had within the British Isles. Even the Marauder's Map had apparently been an indirect product of the Unspeakables.

"That's … the short version of it," Remus said slowly. "I don't think I can reveal much more than that, though there's not much more to tell anyway. If it makes you feel better, you all did freely consent to the memory alterations. I also know the true details about The Prank … or at least, what I was told after waking up the next morning. Snape knew the truth as well but then agreed to having his own memories altered."

Peter laughed ruefully. "In other words, he's probably hated you ever since even though you were perhaps the least culpable person involved in that whole sorry affair." He thought for a moment and then laughed even louder. "And I guess I knocked out two of Padfoot's teeth for nothing!"

"Not nothing, Peter. He deserved it, and I have never forgotten how you stood up to him on my behalf. If we'd all listened to you about Sirius back then, I think we'd have all been better off for it. When the bastard sent Snape to me, he surely expected the Monster to kill him. With the memory locks in place, he could not have known that I was in complete control of myself the whole time."

Peter did a double take. "… you were?!"

He looked dazed at the implications of that detail. "Remus, my friend, do you mean to say that … that whatever was really going on and whoever was responsible for it … that they succeeded in curing lycanthropy?!"

Remus chuckled. "Alas, no. All they ever achieved was a potion – one incredibly difficult and expensive to brew – that allowed me to retain most of my human intelligence while transformed. But it did nothing to cure the insanity that eventually claims all other werewolves except for myself. And so, the … researchers hid the potion and its formula away forever. Well, not quite forever."

Remus looked almost smug. "I guess it's good to have friends in high places."

"Dumbledore," Peter said softly. "He brought you back to Hogwarts to look out for Jim and offered you access to this miracle potion for the duration."

Remus nodded. "I actually contacted him first. I was surprised to learn that he actually possessed a copy of the formula for the Wolfsbane Potion, but he did, and he promised to provide it for me during my stay."

"The Wolfsbane Potion?! What a dull name, though appropriate I suppose. Who's brewing it for you if it's that hard?"

The werewolf grinned. "Guess!"

Peter stared at him in confusion for a moment. Then, his eyes widened comically. "Get out! Not … Snivellus?!" Remus nodded.

"I suppose I should ask you to refrain from calling him that given how I'm the beneficiary of his talents. Then again, from what I was told, I still assume his plan back in the day was to expose me as a werewolf and get me kicked out of Hogwarts … or worse." His face darkened. "And … Mary MacDonald was a friend."

Peter own face darkened as well at that memory. Even though they served the same master, Pettigrew had never regretted that anonymous tip of his that landed Mulciber in Azkaban. Thankfully, the swine was still there, having not been rescued by whoever the hell had freed Sirius Black and the others.

"Does he know that he's helping you?" Peter asked out of curiosity. "Your little Fidelius trick certainly fooled me, after all."

"He didn't before today," Remus answered pensively. "He apparently suffered some sort of psychic trauma happen last night and now remembers the truth about The Prank. Albus was … undecided about what to tell him about everything else."

"I swear, Remus, if that … Death Eater denies you this potion out of spite…!"

Remus shrugged. "We'll see what happens. He's actually been … professional, if not actually nice, to Malachi Sturgeon. I've no idea how he would react to learning that my true identity was hidden behind a Fidelius."

Peter shoved his anger back down. Everyone who had ever crossed him and his real friends would get what they deserved eventually, but that was the future. Right now, he had other concerns.

"So, who does know the truth of your identity?" he asked.

"Albus, of course. He's the Secret Keeper. Jim and Lily both know. Harry knows my real name is Remus Lupin but not about," Remus sniffed disdainfully, "my furry little problem, as James used to call it."

"And Prongs himself doesn't know the truth?" Peter said with some surprise.

Remus's sneer was enough to tell Peter that the werewolf had still not forgiven James for what had happened back in 1981.

"So anyway," Peter said, changing the subject. "When's the next full moon? And does anyone stay with you for it?"

"Next week. And Albus will be there, as he insists on doing every month. But the following full moon is March 27, and he'll be gone that weekend for some big ICW meeting in Paris." He met Peter's gaze and knew instantly that the animagus had taken his meaning.

"So, would Mr. Wormtail like to come down to the Shrieking Shack next month and join Mr. Moony for the evening?" he asked.

"Why Mr. Moony!" Wormtail answered with a toothy grin. "I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

And Peter Pettigrew left the Caretaker's office happier than he'd been in quite a while. Almost deliriously happy.

Elsewhere in the castle, Harry Potter studied the Marauder's Map intently as the dot bearing Pettigrew's name left the Caretaker's Office.

THE PAST
A private booth at the Leaky Cauldron
17 January 1980
4:00 p.m.

As Albus Dumbledore gaped in amazement, the visibly intoxicated Sybil Trelawney slipped into a trance and uttered a True Prophecy that would reshape Wizarding Britain, while outside the door, a future Death Eater listened attentively.

But all that was happening at the Hogs Head Inn in Hogsmeade. And the events in that other bar were not immediately relevant to the two young men sitting at that exact same moment in the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley, one of whom was very distraught.

"Calm down, Peter," James Potter said soothingly as he refilled Peter's glass of firewhiskey. While he still viewed Pettigrew as a close friend, he'd never been the most courageous of the Marauders in James's opinion. The two had not actually spoken since James and Lily's wedding due to the demands of James's Auror training, so he had no idea why Peter was so shaken and, in fact, tear-stricken.

"It's my Mum," he sobbed after downing another shot. "She's … she's down with mumblemumps."

James fought down the urge to laugh. Mumblemumps was generally considered a children's disease, though occasionally some adults caught it. Although it occasionally caused dangerous respiratory and heart problems in older patients, it usually ran its course harmlessly with a week or so of bed rest. The biggest danger was embarrassment as the illness caused its victims to become prone to blurting out embarrassing secrets and be unable to lie, as if given a heavily watered-down dose of Veritaserum (a potion which was, in fact, reverse-engineered centuries earlier from research into this condition).

"Peter, mumblemumps isn't serious at all. She'll probably be fine in a week or two. And if not, just take her to St. Mungo's. Certainly, it's nothing compared to all the other times she's been sick over the years…."

To James's shock, Peter slammed his hand on the table angrily.

"My mother has never been sick!" he snarled. "Earlier today, she had an episode where she blurted out the truth! All those years … she was never really sick! She just …." He paused, overcome, and rubbed his hands over his face.

"She just wanted the attention."

James stared at Peter in confusion and shock. Courageous or not, Peter had always been devoted to his mother and spent most of their school years in a state of constant agitation over her health issues. He'd invited Peter to Potter Manor many times, but the boy had never stayed for more than an afternoon because "you know, Mum's sick and she might need me."

"Her own parents died during her last year of Hogwarts," Peter continued. "Then, my father died while I was three and left her a poor widow with a toddler to raise alone. There were no other Pettigrews, and the few surviving Gamps wanted nothing to do with her. So she … she decided that if she acted sick all the time, she could use guilt to stop me from ever going away." His face darkened.

"No, from ever getting away!" he spat furiously.

"Peter, I … I don't know what to say!"

"There's more," the young man, now barely twenty, said. "I … I have a vault. All those years struggling to survive on her widow's dowry and …."

He fixed James with a pleading desperate gaze. "I have an appointment tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. at Gringotts. They've confirmed the vault's existence and that I can claim it. But …." He shook his head pitifully. "I don't know what's in there, James! I don't know if I can …."

Peter sobbed again. "James, I know we haven't spent much time together since graduation. And maybe it's my fault." He knew that it wasn't but ignored that. "I know how busy you are with Auror training and with settling your parent's estate and with the wedding and, well, dueling You-Know-Who in the middle of a Quidditch match. But …. James, will you please come with me to Gringotts? I'd call on Remus, but he's off on the continent doing stuff for Dumbledore and … I think I really need a friend with me."

James's mouth opened as he tried to think of an excuse. He wanted to be there for Peter, but he really did have a lot going on at the moment. But the misery on Wormtail's face overcame his resistance.

"Okay," he finally said. "I'll be there. And I'll call Sirius too. After you check out this vault, we can all go grab lunch and catch up on old times."

Then, he noticed something in Peter's expression that brought him up short. "It's … not a problem to bring Sirius, is it?"

"No," Peter lied with a smile. "Of course not."

The next morning…

To Peter's total non-surprise, Sirius did not even try to contain his annoyance at having to get up so early on his account. "Early" in this case meant 90 minutes late, as James and Sirius had gone out drinking the night before. James, at least, was cleaned up and fully alert (most likely Lily's doing), but Sirius seemed to have staggered out of bed and Apparated straight to the bank, pausing only long enough to throw on some wrinkled clothes and don some black sunglasses that he kept in place even while walking around in the dark underground tunnels. He'd actually thrown up on the wild cart-ride down to the vault. The goblin was not amused.

The mood did not improve when said goblin announced that the terms of the vault's acquisition specified that only Peter could go inside. He could remove whatever he wanted, but neither James no Sirius could enter the vault alongside him.

"Well why the hell didn't you mention that before we got in that damnable cart?!" Sirius yelled before wincing in pain from his hangover.

"Because none of you wizards asked," the goblin said blandly.

James put his hands up to stop the brewing argument. "It's alright! Everybody, it's alright. Peter, I'm sorry, but it looks like you'll have to go in alone. But I promise, Sirius and I will be waiting. As will this charming goblin, I suppose." The creature sneered at Potter.

"Just go in and do what you need to do. Come back out here if you need to take a break and tell us what you've found. Whenever you're done, we'll go get some lunch and talk about it."

Peter nodded dumbly and walked through the heavy doors into the vault beyond. James couldn't see anything inside except for an inky blackness. Standard Gringotts privacy wards, he assumed.

"I am not staying down here all day, James," Sirius said firmly.

James did not respond to that comment. Instead, he changed the subject and lured his best friend into a protracted debate about the current Quiddith rankings. That kept them both occupied for nearly 45 minutes before a bored Sirius finally called out.

"Wormtail! Get your wormy tail moving! I'm ready to get out of here!"

"Sirius," James chided. "Calm down. I told you what he's going through."

"Yes, you did," Black snapped back. "And I'm not impressed. Has his mother ever Crucio'd him? No? Then, sorry, I am not impressed."

"Padfoot …."

"Come on, James. I know he was your 'pet project' all through school, but with everything going on in the world, we don't have time for weaklings we can't count on when things get tough. No matter how much it puffed up your ego to have someone like him to follow you around and suck up to you all the time and reluctantly (but not too reluctantly) accept expensive gifts you gave him."

"That's not fair, Sirius," James began, but Black cut him off.

"The hell it's not, Prongs. Friends grow apart after graduation. It just happens. But sometimes, what happens instead is … you outgrow your friends. You are a Lord of the Wizengamot. We are both on our way to becoming Aurors. What place does Peter Pettigrew have in our lives beyond what you want to foist on him out of pity?"

James looked away in silence. They both completely ignored the goblin who seemed as bored with their interpersonal issues as with everything else about them.

"Honestly," James finally said. "I'm beginning to think you're just still holding a grudge from that time he knocked your teeth out."

Sirius snorted. "Please. He got lucky with a cheap shot. If he wants to start anything like that again, I'll kick his doughy, oversized posterior."

Despite himself, James laughed, as did Sirius. And over the sound of their own laughter, neither heard the sound of tiny padded feet scuttling away from the doorway. If the goblin heard it, he made no indication.

Less than a minute later, Peter came back outside.

"Finally!" Sirius exclaimed. "Are we done here?"

"You two are, at least," Peter said with exaggerated good cheer. "There's a lot of stuff in here. Nothing looks particularly valuable. Maybe a few hundred spare galleons, which is better than nothing. But no fortunes or artifacts. However, there are some personal effects handed down from my father's forebears. Journals and whatnot. Which means I can finally learn something about the Pettigrew side of the family."

"Sounds thrilling," Sirius drawled. James elbowed him sharply. Surprisingly, Peter smiled at the jab.

"Look, I'm grateful, more grateful than I can say, that you two came with me today. But there's no sense in you two staying any longer. I want to stick around and start going through some of this junk. But you two are busy men, and you can't come into the vault to help anyway. Why don't you both head on to lunch! James, I'll give you a Floo call next week, okay?"

"Well," James began uncertainly. "If you're sure…."

"He's sure!" Sirius said as he headed back towards the cart. "Come on, Prongs! Smell ya later, Wormtail!"

With exaggerated gallantry, he opened the door so James could get in first.

"Sirius!" Peter suddenly yelled out. The other Marauder turned back to him.

"Thank you," he said with genuine sincerity. Sirius blinked in puzzlement.

"What for?" he asked.

Peter stared at the two Marauders as if etching this moment into his memory forever.

"For your friendship," he finally said.

Sirius furrowed his brow at that and then shrugged before climbing into the cart. James, meanwhile, smiled back at Pettigrew and yelled back a reminder to call him later. Then, he gave a jaunty wave.

Peter simply raised his right hand and then slowly wriggled the fingers in a wave, still grinning with exaggerated cheer. As the cart took off, the smile melted away as if it had never been there at all. He turned and walked back into the vault without a backwards glance.

Once inside, he flicked his wand, and the doors closed and locked behind him. He slowly made his way back through the vault he'd only begun to explore. To one side were several chests, brimming with galleons. Probably not enough to truly impress Potter or Black, but certainly enough to have elevated Peter to their social circle if he'd had access to them back in the day. Nearby were several shelves full of ancient books. He'd not spent too much time with those – a few had leather covers that might have been bound in human skin, and he worried that they might be cursed against theft. He'd know their secrets soon though.

He moved on. Up ahead was a table filled with antique (but still functional) potions equipment including a silver cauldron, which Peter knew was needed only for the most difficult and dangerous potions. Another bookshelf was nearby. It seemed to be full of nothing but highly advanced potions texts, mostly in foreign tongues he did not speak. There was also a small wooden chest on a small table. He recognized it as an Amaranthine Coffer, a very expensive magical object that could keep potions and other perishable items (including magical items of limited duration) in stasis potentially forever. He opened the chest to find several racks of carefully labeled vials inside. As he looked through them idly, one vial containing a clear liquid caught his eye. He read the label carefully and then slid the vial inside his coat pocket.

On the far side of the vault, Peter found his destination. With another flick of his wand and a mumbled incantation, he conjured a chair to sit on. Dropping down onto it in a state of mental exhaustion mixed with a strange and terrible hyperactivity, Peter raised his head.

High above was an ancient family crest mounted onto the vault wall, one weathered by centuries but undamaged and unbowed. Indeed, given its pedigree and what it had likely been through, Peter suspected that the crest might be indestructible to have survived this long. The escutcheon bore a white wolf rearing on its hind legs against a crimson background. Bisecting the wolf diagonally was a golden stripe, and on it, the image of black wand. It was a strange wand, not straight and smooth like Peter's own. Rather, there odd bumps regularly spaced along its length, largest at the base and growing smaller towards the tip. Above the wolf was a simple Latin motto: "Solum Potentia."

Below the crest was a large magical portrait depicting an older man with white hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes shone with a powerful intensity and a strange gleam as he looked down at Peter with intense interest. Peter's friends might have described it as "rat-like" for they had seen a similar gleam in his own eyes. Not often, though it would be seen more in the days to come.

In the background of the painting behind the man was a depiction of the same ancient crest that was hung above the painting in real life, demonstrating the connection between the two. The man himself wore a jet-black uniform with silvery buttons that hinted at Muggle design. It had white lightning bolt emblems on the collar, and skulls on the buttons. Most people would have called it sinister. Peter would have described it as alluring. There were medals on the man's chest that identified him as a high-ranking military officer of considerable importance. On his arm was a red armband marked with a black and white symbol: a circle contained within a triangle and bisected by a vertical line.

The Deathly Hallows.

"They're gone, Grandfather," Peter said to the man in the portrait. "No one will bother us now."

He stared up expectantly at the portrait of his father's father. Gustav Kleinwuchs. The Butcher of Silesia. Der Todeswolf. The Left Hand of Grindelwald.

Or George Pettigrew, as it had said on the forged documents that got the man and his only surviving son into Britain in 1946.

"Tell me more," Peter asked almost hungrily. "Tell me … everything."

That night at the Pettigrew residence…

It was dark when Peter returned to the cottage in Upper Appleby that he'd shared with his mother, Edwina Pettigrew, for nearly his entire life. Almost instantly as he entered, he could hear the woman calling for him.

"Peter! Peter! Is that you? I hope so! To think of it, leaving an old dying woman all alone all day! Do you not love me at all?!"

Peter sighed and closed his eyes. The "old dying woman" had just turned forty-nine a few months earlier. She'd been twenty-nine when she married Martin Pettigrew, older than the typical "blushing bride" in Wizarding Britain, but hardly a spinster. And as for dying ….

He made his way to her bedroom and knocked gently before entering.

"It's me, Mother. Peter. Of course, I love you. I just had business to take care of. And besides, you needed rest more than me pestering you."

Edwina clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Leaving me all alone! I could have starved to death and no one would have cared!"

Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes. His mother had been overweight for as long as he could remember, and the dirty dishes and empty delivery cartons from the nearby wizarding pub indicated that she had not suffered very much from hunger while he was gone.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked gently.

"Oh, very well," she grumbled. "But be careful! You don't want to drop the teapot and shatter it again like that one time!"

"That was in 1972, Mother. Just the one time."

The witch wrinkled her nose. "Well, you're probably due for another bout of clumsiness."

He did not rise to the comment. Instead, he quietly left the room and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Ten minutes later, he returned to his mother's room with a tea tray and two cups. Edwina Pettigrew took her tea with milk and two sugars. Peter Pettigrew took his plain. Tonight, anyway.

They drank in silence for several minutes, the witch in her bed, bundled up in a nightgown, shawl, and goffered cap more appropriate to a witch forty years her senior. Peter sat in a chair next to the bed.

"You look better this evening, Mother. Has your fever gone down?"

Edwina grimaced slightly as she took a sip of tea. "Perhaps. Though I feel worse than ever." She took another sip. "Where did you go that had you gone all day?"

"Gringotts," he said without taking his eyes off the woman. "I went to see Father's vault."

The woman gasped and nearly dropped the cup.

"Careful, Mother. Don't spill your tea."

Something in Peter's tone caused Edwina to look at him almost fearfully.

"H-h-how did you know about the vault?"

He took another sip before answering. "Why, you told me of course! You had an episode yesterday while in the throes of your terrible illness and blurted out that Father had left a vault when he died."

"Did I?" she replied nervously. "I don't remember. What did you find there? I was not allowed after Martin died. It was for Pettigrew men only, I suppose."

"Not true," Peter thought. "Martin Pettigrew's daughter would have been allowed to enter. Only those who marry into the family are excluded. Like you."

"There wasn't much worth mentioning," he said aloud. "Though there was a portrait of Grandfather there. He was very informative."

At that remark, Edwina's nervousness blossomed into terror. She took another deep sip of tea, though it sloshed out onto the saucer due to her trembling when she put the cup down.

"Mother, I've had a very trying day." He chuckled. "Come to think of it, I've had a very trying … life. So, I would be very grateful if you would answer one simple yes or no question for me."

She nodded silently.

"Okay, here goes. Did you kill my father?"

"Y-y-y-yes," she stammered, seemingly shocked at hearing her own reply.

Peter smiled warmly. "Good. That wasn't so hard, was it? Next question: Why did you kill my father?"

Edwina swallowed painfully. "Because it was him or me. Your grandfather died when you were only two, but he'd been in decline for years. Injuries from the war, he'd said." She barked out a laugh. "Only he never said whose side he was on!"

Peter said nothing. He just looked at his mother expectantly.

"Martin thought I was out shopping, but I got home early. He was in his father's room. They were talking." Her eyes flashed. "I heard everything! Your father never loved me. He only married me because he thought my family was rich. That and because he thought I was so sickly, I'd die soon. Die and leave him all my money and you to raise."

She leaned towards Peter with a wild look in her eyes. "In fact, they had both expected me to die during childbirth! How does that make you feel, Peter, to know that your father sired you to use as a murder weapon against your own mother?!"

He just looked at her without reaction. "I'm not sure, Mother. I imagine I'll spend some time later examining my feelings on the topic. So, Father and Grandfather knew you were a Gamp and, what, thought they could reactivate the seat before it was extinguished?"

"They thought so anyway," she spat. "But Martin misunderstood how the Gamp Charter worked. To claim the Gamp Lordship, one can be male or female. You can even have a different last name. But you must have two wizarding parents and four wizarding grandparents, the minimum standard of Purebloodedness."

Peter's forehead wrinkled. "But … I do have four wizarding grandparents."

Edwina cackled almost drunkenly. "That's the funny part. You know who your grandfather really is, don't you?" Peter nodded slowly.

"Well, your father's parents were both Purebloods. But when Gustav brought his son to Great Britain under an assumed name, the forged papers he acquired said that he was a Half-blood and that Martin's dead mother was a Muggle! And because of that forgery, Gustav had no proof of Martin's Pureblood heritage or yours! To think, one of Grindelwald's top supporters, living in Britain disguised as a blood-traitor with a Half-blood son!"

She laughed again but then shook her head as if dizzy. Before she could think about it too much, Peter spoke again.

"So, to recap: Father married you because he thought you were a sickly rich heiress when in fact you were neither."

Edwina glared at her son. "I heard them talking. About you. About me. Even as your grandfather was on his death bed, he was still scheming. Martin would make sure that you were 'trained in the family's ways' and see that you married a true Pureblood. Then, your child would become the future Lord or Lady Gamp, and a descendent of the Butcher of Silesia would sit on the Wizengamot!"

She sniffed disdainfully. "Of course, I would have to be 'put out of the way first,' lest I interfere with their plans for you! But I showed them, didn't I. I showed them both!"

Peter's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Both?!

"Please proceed, Mother. Tell me everything."

"Your grandfather was already dying, but I sped things along. I may not have gotten an O on my Potions NEWTs, but I did pass them. He always kept a glass of water on his bedside table in case he woke up thirsty in the night. A few drops of Essence of Foxglove added to it and he was dead before morning. But I couldn't poison Martin. He wasn't an old man weak from war injuries, and poisons can be traced!"

Pettigrew nodded for her to continue.

"Martin was working towards a Potions Mastery at the time and was working on the side in an apothecary's shop in Little Appleby. Since he couldn't go directly to the Wizengamot, he'd planned to become a Healer eventually. I visited him in the shop one day with you along in your pram. I knew what I had to do."

She reached out with her hand, but Peter made no move to take it. "I had to kill him. Or else he'd have killed me! But more than that, I had to kill him so that he didn't raise you to become a monster like him and his father! It was all for you, Peter! You must believe me!"

"I believe you, Mother," he lied with perfect sincerity. "I know how much you loved your son. What did you do next?"

"I got him to talk about what he was working on. Then, I went home and researched it. A few days later, I returned with you. And while he was playing with you, showing his little boy around the shop, I … I sabotaged the potion so that it would explode violently on the last step. Later that night, the Aurors came to tell me that there had been an accident and Martin was dead. I cried like I was supposed to, even though I wanted to laugh. But most of all, I was so relieved. A mass murderer and his aspiring murder son, both sent to hell where they would never harm anyone else again."

Peter sat quietly as he absorbed her answers. "And then, you set yourself to raising me. You know … the way you did."

She shook her head and started to weep. "I know you think I'm a terrible mother for the way I raised you, Peter, but it was for your own good. I couldn't let you grow up like Martin wanted – to grow up evil! Power only leads to corruption. I had to keep you weak so you would stay good!"

"There is no good, Mother," he said calmly. "There is no evil. There is only Power."

She stared at him quizzically as if unable to understand his words. Then, her eyes widened as she realized not only what he said, but what she had been saying. With a sob, she threw her cup across the room. It shattered against the wall.

"What was in that tea?!" she shouted.

"It was only tea, Mother," Peter replied reassuringly. "I sat here and drank it alongside you. I did not put anything at all in your tea."

Edwina closed her eyes and sighed in relief. Peter finished the last of his own tea before setting the cup aside.

"The milk, on the other hand? That had a wee bit of Veritaserum in it. Not even a full drop, but with the mumblemumps, enough to get you to answer my questions. Oh, and roughly half a Calming Draught. You seem tense and anxious. I wanted to help you get some rest."

The witch's eyes shot open and she glared at her son in betrayal.

"Peter, how could you?! In my condition, Veritaserum could kill me! Are you so ungrateful that you would poison your own mother?!"

He reached over and took her hand in his own and then began patting it gently with his other hand to calm her nerves.

"Of course not, Mother. As I said, it was not even a full drop. I would never hurt you that way. Not ever. You're my mother. And while I'm … disappointed to learn what you did to my father and my grandfather, I understand it was done out of love. You killed them both because you love me. And after everything you've done for me, after how you raised me alone, struggling through poverty and with your … condition, I would never poison you. Please, believe that."

Edwina put her other hand over Peter's, clasping it tightly.

"Oh, Peter, I do love you. And I'm proud of what a fine loving son you've grown up to be."

They said nothing else. They simply held each other hands until, finally, the Calming Draught kicked in and Edwina Pettigrew drifted off to sleep. Peter gently brushed the fringe of her hair aside before leaning over to kiss the sleeping woman on the forehead.

And then, he grabbed the woman's pillow, yanked it out violently from under her head, and slammed it onto her face. She woke up instantly and started pulling at his hands with her own to no avail.

"I would never poison you, Mother," he said impassively. "Poisons can be traced."

After a moment or so, her struggles grew weaker and weaker until they ceased altogether. He held the pillow in place for a while longer to be sure before pulling it away. Edwina Pettigrew was dead, but her eyes were still open, still glaring up at Peter as if in accusation.

He reached out carefully with his hand and closed those judging eyes. They had no power to instill guilt within him anymore. Then, a movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to turn towards the far wall. It was his own reflection in the mirror atop her vanity table that had caught his attention, and he was startled by his own appearance. His eyes gleamed with a terrible rat-like intensity and his face was lit up by an infectious grin of manic joy. The joy that only comes from true freedom.

Peter Pettigrew had never felt so alive.

AN1: SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: As noted in the Author Notes for the last chapter, I will be taking a brief hiatus from posting here. Chapter 121 of POS will not appear before Jan 1. This is for 2 reasons. First, I have decided to use NaMoWriMo as an opportunity to get Strangers In Dallas, the sequel to Strangers In Boston done. Or at the very least, well begun. Second, believe it or not, we are rather near the end of Year 3, about 5-6 more chapters, I think. However, because of the nature of several of those chapters, I need to have them all done before I start publishing them. I can't explain why without spoilers. You'll understand, I hope, when they appear. So, expect Chapter 121 on January 1st. Or maybe a few days thereafter, depending on how good a time I have on New Year's the bright side, the rest of DEM should follow very quickly thereafter.

Discord followers will still get access to advance previews of 121 and subsequent chapters with the understanding that some of the published "chunks" as I like to call them may not be in the write order when previewed. I thank you all for your patience.

AN2: Speaking of which, check out the Sinister Man's web presence on the POS wiki, the POS TV Tropes page, and my Discord server (through which you can see advance previews of this story as it is begin written). Also, the Sinister Man would be profoundly grateful if you checked out my P*****n page and supported my original fiction. Patronage is not necessary to get the free POS previews via Discord.

AN3 (What the Sinister Man is reading): Regrettably, nothing new on the HP front. I'm pretty much buried under work and SID.

AN4: Special thanks to my Discord editors: Adam Sitrich, feauxen, General Burns, HeidiWolf, INSTICNT_Klutz, Luc, Mr. Gift, nik, Prince of Conspiracy, ProgKingHughesker, Sielk, and Tesselacta.