Disclaimer: JK Rowling and I stitched up a deal on ownership rights of Harry Potter, which will take affect approximately seventy years after her death. Now, who knows how to make a Philosopher's Stone?
Chapter Three
Peter Pettigrew
I stared at the carefully arranged blood spatters still dripping down the dirt-caked, rust-brown brick wall outside of Borgin & Burke's in horror.
Harry Potter had left a message, and since I was the only one who fled, I was the only one left to take it to the Dark Lord. Dare I risk leaving this out of my report? No, as soon as I tell him the others are dead, he'll pull this out of my mind anyway. I quailed in apprehension at the thought of returning – I knew the Cruciatus was coming again, but it would be so much worse if I didn't hurry. I quickly waved my wand to vanish the blood.
It didn't work. "Evanesco!" I tried again to no avail. Crying out in desperation, I tried again and again, my panic growing with each incantation. "Scourgify! Tergeo! Aguamenti! Please!" Oh Merlin, he's going to kill me! I didn't want to go back, but I knew my punishment would just get worse and worse. With any luck, he'll come to dispel the blood himself and forget about me. Yes, please let it be so!
Clinging to that hope, with a trembling hand I pulled out my portkey and activated it once again. After feeling a familiar tug behind my navel and tumbling wildly through some sort of compressed space – I never understood Remus' explanation – I found myself sprawled on the dark, marble floor of a familiar and terrifying chamber. Heavy, dark green velvet curtains drooped slightly from their ties near the ceiling, and not for the first time I wished they reached the floor so I could hide behind them. But as always they only added color to the otherwise gray ceiling and walls – bland despite the carved, patterned half pillars littered with text I vaguely recognized as Runic in origin. Two heavy wooden doors, also intricately carved with runes, stood on opposite sides of the room. The one behind me was my only escape; the other, which supposedly led to a bedroom, held only a warning of death – a promise that I had no doubt would be carried out without hesitation. The only furniture in the room rested upon a raised marble dais: an ornate, silvery throne with an enormous snake wrapped around the legs, upon which sat the most powerful wizard who ever lived.
"Wormtail." The Dark Lord spoke slowly and softly, yet the voice terrified me as much as his mere presence. Being in the oppressive presence of the Dark Lord felt like having every shadow in the room attempting to squeeze the life out of me.
"My Lord," I began, unable to keep the trembling out of my voice, "the others are dead—" I didn't get to finish, because in that instant every nerve in my body exploded in fiery pain. No thoughts could penetrate it, only the instinctive desire to try and escape the pain, even though no movements helped. It was over an eternity later, at which point I became aware of my screaming and the puddle of urine beneath me. "I-I'm s-sorry, M-master," I forced out through the tremors that came from more than just fear this time. It's not really possible to get used to the debilitating aftershocks, but Death Eaters learn to answer the Dark Lord as soon as possible when he asks a question.
I wasn't really sorry about leaving the others to die, but I was sorry about a great many other things...things which I quickly push out of my mind in case the Dark Lord reads it. Luckily, the ambiguity of my apology is enough that my half-truth won't be detected. If that weren't the case, I would have been dead a long time ago.
Of course, the message I saw might spell my demise anyway. I wiped the spittle from my chin, then licked my lips to wet them again. "M-my lord, th-there's more."
The Dark Lord's glowing red eyes snapped up to glare at me. "Speak, Wormtail! You try my patience!"
"There was...a message, my lord. A message to you, left in blood. I-I tried to dispel it, but—"
"And what message did the boy leave?" He leaned forward interestedly and I winced internally.
Okay, it was probably external, too. Another dose of Cruciatus was a certainty if I read the message aloud. But perhaps he would go see it himself... "M-my lord, if you would accompany me to—"
White hot knives of pain plunged into my body over and over again. Some hours or seconds later, I found myself screaming my throat raw. Then I found myself reliving my trip back to Nocturne Alley, outside of Borgin and Burkes, gaping at the challenge Potter had left and then trying frantically to dispel it. I felt a stab of pain in my head before the Dark Lord returned my thoughts to me.
After that, luckily, his ire was directed elsewhere. He hissed at the snake, his face a rigid mask of barely contained rage. "Coward? COWARD? Come, Wormtail, we must teach this boy the meaning of cowardice!"
Before I could so much as think of a reply, he seized my robes and Disapparated. After the sensation of being squeezed through a straw I was once again dumped unceremoniously out of the traveling dimension, this time onto the dirt-caked flagstones of Nocturne Alley. We appeared with a loud crack, sending a decrepit old hag who had appeared to gawk at the message crashing into a wall.
I didn't even stand up before the Dark Lord roared in anger at the words painted in blood. He jabbed his wand at the hag, who exploded into a bloody mist, spattering my face with stinking, acidic, dark red blood. As I furiously rubbed at my face to get rid of the gore, he waved his wand again and, after a moment, the blood on the walls shimmered and faded from view. In some small part of my brain buried under heaps of fear, I thought it quite ironic that Potter was the one who vandalized the wall with blood, and the Dark Lord was the one to clean it up.
Then, just as swiftly, he grabbed my arm and Disapparated once again. This time we appeared in an ash- and debris-littered alley within the ruins of Hogsmeade. I hated this sight. Sure, I'd helped reduce my temporary home in Ottery St. Catchpole to a similarly burnt husk of its former self, after Augustus Rookwood Polyjuiced into Arthur Weasley and killed the man's family. And yes, I had a hand in the destruction of several storefronts in Diagon Alley that I'd always enjoyed browsing...but the utter, widespread destruction here from our siege of Hogwarts just felt different. Voldemort had always spoke of improving the wizarding world, but Hogsmeade was always one of my favorite places in it. I suppressed a shiver at the thought that the two most frightening people he'd ever known were going to meet here, and the realization that I had no way of escape.
"Do you fear the boy, Wormtail?" The challenge in his voice made me cower. That he was waving his wand in deliberate movements without incantation certainly didn't help.
"N-not while you're here, master," I lied. He never seemed to catch lies as long as they glorified him in some way. Well, either that or he simply didn't care to punish us for it as long as we worshipped him. Either way, I'd be an idiot not to take advantage of that.
His eyes narrowed, and I feared he was going to choose this, of all times, to kill me for lying. "Hold out your arm."
I let out a breath of relief; even though this was going to hurt, more people meant more confusion. Of course, thanks to Potter's efforts, there were not that many Marked Death Eaters anymore; with the death of the last two Lestranges, the Dark Lord's entire Inner Circle was gone. Still, the thirty or so left Marked would serve to provide me more opportunities to escape, should it come to that.
His smile held no happiness as he jabbed his wand at my Dark Mark. The pain made me flinch slightly, but compared to the Cruciatus, this was nothing. "Fear not, for our final victory is at hand," he said triumphantly. He closed his eyes. "The boy is here. His eyes are closed, as always, but the boy is here, ready to beg for death."
His eyes are closed...as always? But how did the Dark Lord know that, and what did that mean? Icy fear gripped my heart even tighter. As it was I had to fight every urge to avoid transforming and running away to hide, but now, with confirmation of Potter's presence...
"Come, Wormtail, we mustn't keep him waiting."
He strode away toward the main thoroughfare, and after a few moments – with the understanding that I'd likely be tortured if I stayed rooted to the spot – I managed to follow.
"Hello, Tom," Potter's voice said, surprisingly clear and steady. He sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed with his wand laid across his lap. "I see you received my message."
I felt a spike of fear as the Dark Lord radiated fury at the insult, but to my surprise, he didn't act on it. "Hello, Harry," he replied instead after a moment, voice silky smooth and deadly. "Have you finally come to die?"
"You forget the prophecy," Potter countered, voice still unwavering, eyes still closed. "Neither can live while the other survives. How can I die when I haven't yet lived?"
The Dark Lord smiled cruelly, letting out a hiss as he did so. "How...poetic."
"I thought you might enjoy that," Potter said, smirking as if he wasn't worried at all. Then it struck me: he actually wasn't.
The Dark Lord's face tightened in fury, but still he kept his temper in check. Then he smiled again. "But forgive me, where are my manners? Perhaps you recall my servant, Peter Pettigrew?" If I'd had the ability to move, and he wouldn't kill me for trying, I would have attempted to duck behind the Dark Lord.
Potter's face twitched at that and I jumped, but thankfully he didn't move to curse me like I had expected.
The Dark Lord caught the twitch, though, and tried to needle him further. "Yes, you might recall being too weak to do what you should have done when you captured him, and paying the price ever since?" I could help but cringe in horror at the way the Dark Lord offered me as bait. I knew he only cared about how useful I was, but I also knew he was the only chance I had to live. "And now, all those you once cared for are dead. The impoverished blood traitors, the filthy mudblood – you remember her screams, don't you, Harry? The way she begged for you to forgive her for abandoning you? The way she insisted, as she lay there broken and dying, that you would save her? It was most amusing, I must say." His serpentine voice caressed the taunts obscenely.
In response, Potter stood and brushed off his tattered robes and lifted his face. I almost sighed in relief when his eyes were still closed. After all, if they were closed, they weren't glowing. "I suppose you accept my challenge, then."
"Ah yes, your challenge to a duel...how very amusing," the Dark Lord said mockingly. I thought very privately that he didn't seem so amused ten minutes ago. "I have brought my second. Where is the girl?" Potter didn't respond, which was met with high, cruel laughter. "Ah, you cannot trust her, yes? What a shame. Fear not, I will deal with her soon enough."
Potter tilted his head as if listening to something. Then he smirked. "It seems like you needed more than just a second, Tom. Some of your followers have arrived back there." He jerked his head toward the alley in which we'd appeared.
The Dark Lord laughed. "You didn't think I'd kill you without an audience, did you? Oh, but have no fear, they will only bear witness to your death."
Potter smirked back, then nodded. Why the hell was he so confident? "Very well. I'm afraid it's been some time since we last dueled – I believe that was when I killed Nagini, right? Anyway, you'll have to remind me of the proceedings. I believe you usually use the Cruciatus on me while I'm unarmed to weaken me first, right? Wouldn't want to face me at full strength, would you, Tom?"
The already palpable tension rolling off the Dark Lord finally snapped. "CRUCIO!"
Instinctively I fell to the ground as though it was aimed at me. A moment later, still curled up in the fetal position, I thought it odd that there were no screams. I looked over to Potter, but he merely stood there, still with a smirk on his face. It took me a moment to note that his eyes were open, but I felt none of the fear...
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," a voice next to me taunted slowly. I turned my head and my jaw dropped. "So predictable." An Invisibility Cloak fell to the ground around a second Harry Potter's feet. He stood astride a sleek, cherry-colored broom. His eyes glowed, his voice rasped, his presence exuded the very same terror of the Dark Lord. And he held two wands; one being the wand once held by Albus Dumbledore and, moments earlier, the Dark Lord. "Your final insult was bringing the rat. Mine is this kitchen knife." The Dark Lord – no, the man I'd sold myself to all those years ago – fell to his knees with a knife jutting out from the back of his neck. He didn't make so much as a gurgle. Potter raised his voice. "Behold, your so-called Dark Lord, brought low once by an infant, and now again by a Muggle knife." He looked back down upon the fallen man and spoke with as much disdain as Lucius Malfoy or James Potter could have mustered at their best. "Begone, wraith! None of these men here will revive you ever again." Potter raised both wands, then leaned in to speak quietly. "I've been saving something for you, Tom. Avada Kedavra!"
The thick green flash of light arced out from his wand, point blank, and enveloped the Dark Lord's body in a sizzling display of dark power that rivaled anything I'd ever witnessed, save the resurrection ritual. He slumped almost immediately, but Potter levitated the body, and without a word the Dark Lord's head exploded. It never touched the boy – no, the man – who looked so much like James yet inspired only terror instead of jealousy. Bits of bone and blood shot back in the other direction, and my head turned just in time to see the group of less than thirty Death Eaters receive a shower of gore. I bent over and vomited every bit of food in my body, and I heard others do the same.
By the time I'd recovered, Potter had let the rest of the body drop to the ground, and an inky black mist rose from it. Before it had fully emerged, it started...screaming, for lack of a better word. It wasn't audible, I don't think, but the ethereal, phantom screech vibrated and shook my entire being. It stretched—no, it was dragged toward Potter, who walked right up to meet it. Another Blasting Curse filtered right through the mist and the Dark Lord's torso exploded in much the same way as his head. That appeared to jar the rest of the black mist loose, and it shot toward Potter, striking him square in the face. He staggered a moment, but then breathed deeply until the black mist was entirely absorbed.
Then he turned at looked right at me.
I couldn't move. I couldn't think. The square was completely quiet; not even the late summer wind stirred the leaves in the forest surrounding us. Potter had destroyed the Dark Lord without even trying! I watched transfixed, hardly noticing the Dark Lord's former body crumble into dust. What was that mist, and more importantly, how the bloody hell was I going to get away from here? The urge to transform and hide was stronger than ever, but Potter would be expecting that. Before I could think of a different plan to escape, Potter turned away from me walked slowly toward the other group, leaving both his Cloak and the broom just a few feet away. When I was sure he couldn't see me out of the corner of his eye, I began sidling over to the broom.
"Not another step, rat," Potter's voice came from behind me. I froze, cursing myself for forgetting the other Potter. It must be the girl using Polyjuice, I assumed now. I wondered if perhaps I could... "Petrificus Totalus," the voice said, as if reading my thoughts. My arms and legs snapped together, and I started to fall backward. I struggled to break my fall, but it was no use; I mentally prepared myself to hit the ground, but to my surprise I was held upright. "Oh, you won't want to miss this. Besides, Harry's got something extra special planned for you."
I wanted to beg the girl in Potter's body for my life, but with my jaw held firmly shut, I couldn't get out more than a squeak.
The real, black mist-infused Potter still walked toward the Death Eaters, who backed away uncertainly. "Hold!" Potter's voice held the unmistakable air of command, and I wasn't the only one who noticed. "You saw my soul enter the boy's body. Did you think Lord Voldemort would die from the mere destruction of my body? I am immortal!" Then he laughed, a high, cruel laugh that I'd only heard from one man.
If my jaw wasn't frozen, it would have dropped. Several Death Eaters dropped to their knees, and the others quickly followed.
"This is my body for now, unfortunately," Potter continued, switching his moods as quickly as the Dark Lord had. "But I require a new wand, for neither his nor mine are responding very well to me." He stared at the group, who still hadn't moved or spoken. "I said, I require a new wand!"
Over two dozen wands were quickly proffered to the newly formed Dark Lord...which meant a few Death Eaters were not quick enough. One died instantly in much the same condition as the previous Dark Lord's body, and two other slow ones who had the misfortune of being next to each other bled out in a matter of seconds from being nearly sliced in half.
"I had to ask twice," Potter said slowly, and I could almost feel the glare from across the square. "I trust I won't have to do that again."
The hissing in his voice was unmistakable...it had to be the Dark Lord in control! What was the girl doing? Couldn't she see? Didn't she understand that she was going to die...that we were going to die if she didn't get us out of here? I fought against my invisible restraints even harder, but it was like trying to push through solid stone. I watched as Potter Summoned each of the wands without even giving them a second glance, let alone a wave to test them out.
"Now," he said slowly, walking to the rear of the still prostrate group, "this is my final order to you...die." I watched in horror as massive Cutting Curses ravaged the group, severing heads and limbs without even slowing down. Several of them finally realized what was happening and tried to run, but Potter picked them off first in a massacre just as brutal, just as gruesome as any I'd ever witnessed at the hand of the Dark Lord. Some small piece of me thought that hopefully some of those with the Mark didn't answer the summons, but then I realized it didn't matter. This was not the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was dead, and within a matter of seconds, every single Marked Death Eater joined him.
Except me.
The blood-soaked form of Harry Potter approached me, every bit the Dark Lord's equal when it came to intimidation. I couldn't hide my face from the terrible, Killing Curse green eyes that pierced my very soul, taunting me with all my failures and weaknesses. I should be angry, but I can't muster anything aside from pure, unadulterated fear.
"Release the rat," Potter said when he reached me.
The girl behind me must have complied, because I immediately fell to the ground with a cry of surprise. I felt like retching; even though I'd seen and heard worse, I'd never had so little hope of survival. I shook so badly that I couldn't get up. All I wanted to do was escape, but I couldn't form anything resembling a feasible plan to do so.
"Surprised, rat?" The scorn in his voice made me flinch. "You thought your pathetic half-blood master was in control, didn't you?"
I nodded quickly, a whimper escaping me as I cast about for a way out of it. He was too powerful to escape now, even if I transformed, but he once released me when I begged. I didn't have much hope, but I thought that was still my best shot. "Harry..."
All of the air in my lungs forcibly left my body when he buried his foot in my stomach. "You don't get to call me that."
Doubled over, I dry-heaved and gasped desperately for air. "Please..." I managed to get out.
"You betrayed my parents," he said acidly.
"I didn't want to! I never wanted to—"
Potter cut me off with a laugh. "Do you know what that mist was, rat? It was Tom's soul. He can see everything you do and hear everything we say...at least, he could if he was not screaming."
The blood drained from my face.
He laughed cruelly once again. "Yes, you don't know who to simper and grovel to, do you? Well, I have a gift for you that might help you choose."
To my horror, he opened his mouth and the same black mist started seeping out from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, and I felt the same echo of a scream. The black mist shot toward me, snapping my head back and wracking my entire body and soul with a burning pain. I thought I was screaming, but I couldn't tell if that was me or the Dark Lord's soul, or both.
"You know what will hurt more than a Killing Curse, Tom?" Potter's voice cut through my pain, like he was speaking directly into my head.
I felt the Dark Lord's presence, but something was terribly wrong with it. He felt weak, frightened. I could feel him trying to make me move, but it felt like no more than an itch, and my body wouldn't respond anyway.
It didn't help that Potter's vicious smirk and burning green eyes were aimed right at me. "Two Killing Curses. Avada Kedavra!"
I saw a flash of green, heard a horrible scream, and the Dark Lord's presence was blasted from my mind. Then, just as quickly, all the pain disappeared.
A/N:
Since this story follows canon up through part of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Harry knew what it was like to be possessed by Voldemort. So let's just say he hypothesized what might happen, and it...uh, "worked out."
I would explain more, but there's an epilogue coming that might answer (and raise) some of the questions you might have, so I'll address them in the final A/N.
Also, this story already has more hits and favs than Harry Silvertongue, which is pretty cool.
Review!