Chapter 5: Mind thy Mind

Peter Pettigrew continued to wander the castle, visiting old passageways he remembered and, in more than one occasion, finding new shortcuts he'd never discovered as a student. He hadn't been able to find the Marauders Map in old Filch's office, and after a full day of searching in the storage rooms had returned empty handed to Harry's room. Either it had been destroyed, or a student somehow got hold of it.

The boy had taken him to an empty classroom and demanded to know what happened, he'd been angry but knowing Peter couldn't lie to a direct question, finally believed him. Peter had been relieved, he was already going to have to change his name from Wormtail to something else because of his missing appendage, he didn't want to risk losing more sensible body parts!

"Pinkie is better fitting now, I'll tell the brat to call me by my new Animagus name," he thought while crossing the empty hall leading to the Ravenclaw tower. The hamster began the tiring journey up another flight of steps, aiming for the small crevices that would grant him passage into the Claws' common room.

He remembered fondly of meeting regularly with Saturnina Oddfoot in his seventh year. She'd never been able to suss out how he managed to enter her common room, and they were an item for almost seven months, until he insisted she should join the Dark Lord with him. Oddly, she'd said almost the same words the Potter brat had spat at him in the middle of August.

"Your problem, Peter, is you can't live without someone telling you what to achieve, instead of choosing for yourself. You're brave and smart enough for a Gryffindor," Saturnina had said that night, "but you've got no sense of purpose."

Those were her last words to him, and a year later she'd been found dead along with her family. Of course Harry had been more direct, "You're a bloody slave, some guy shows a little power 'n you drop on your fuckin' knees 'cause you don't know what to do with your life!"

"I hate Potter!" thought Pinkie, formerly known as Wormtail. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!"

Squeezing through the crevice, the fat calico hamster pushed himself and, with a pop, landed inside Ravenclaw Tower. He had fourteen rooms to search in addition to the large common area, and knowing how protective these smart and snotty kids were with their books and personal knowledge, he'd be lucky to find a third of the trunks unlocked.

Five hours later, almost three in the morning, Peter had searched everything he could pry open, behind every painting and curtain, under every bed and table. No sign of the blasted map, but he did find lots of very interesting things. Who knew the Claws were such avid Playwizard collectors?

Peter the wizard couldn't make a sudden appearance inside the girls' dormitory, but he was dexterous enough as a rodent to push and roll reasonably sized objects and scrolls, like one he managed to read a bit detailing a necromantic ritual to increase one's memory by sucking the brains of a recently deceased human while offering your own blood to it in exchange. Problem was that sometimes the dead one could spring back to life for a moment and choke you to death; no matter how smart you might have become, an intelligent corpse is still a corpse.

He took care to pick only questionable items, so that whoever owned them couldn't make a fuss since he or she couldn't very well say "someone stole my killing deck of cards" when they would actually kill your opponent. That was a big no-no in Dumbledore's book, but he was sure Twitch would be able to appreciate them.

"Since when do I care what the whelp thinks," he grumbled while pacing the common room. He had to find a way to transport the pile of collected stuff, but how? Peter wondered if he could call that obese elf of Harry's and whispered its name.

About a minute later, Waxball popped close to him and snapped his fingers, disappearing along with all his booty. Peter shrugged and turned into Pinkie, waddling his way out of Ravenclaw domain and looking forward to some well-deserved long hours of sleep.


Harry had been knocked out of commission by Granger for his first Potions lesson, which not only had become a running joke but also fuelled rumours as diverse as The-Boy-Who-Lived being a squib, of a lover's spat between the snake and the lion, or that Harry Potter had been attacked by his own Head of House by casting the Imperius Curse on an unsuspecting first-year.

He really didn't care, all that mattered was that the collective image of the boy who saved wizardkind had been already dented and he'd be able to act as he pleased while the school tried to come to terms with the many different versions of him. The arrogant Lord from the Hogwarts Express had become a crazed Dark Wizard by first evening, turning into a Squib by next morning and then Boy-Wonder when he excelled in all his first lessons during the week.

All except Potions, which he was about to sit for the first time now. Harry was standing by the door when he saw Snape approaching, he took a few steps forward and bowed his head slightly.

"Professor, I'd like a minute of your time to apologize for missing your first lesson."

Snape sneered at him and clucked his tongue. "Your arrogance is abysmal, Potter. Do you believe yourself to be so important that I even noticed your absence?"

"As a matter of fact I do," Harry sneered back. "Would you have me believe the one who vanquished Voldemort is of no interest to you?"

The greasy-haired man stood taller and towered over Harry, who remained calm despite the urge to draw his sword. Or a stake, actually. After staring at each other for a few seconds, time enough for some of the kids inside to peek out and spread the news of the silent battle between Potter and Snape, the latter turned and walked into the classroom with large strides and a billowing cloak. Harry did the same, including the billowing, and drew a few snickers from the Gryffindors and even some Slytherins.

Finding a seat next to Millicent, who smiled warmly at him, he pulled his cauldron, book and potioneer kit from a pocket when Snape called for him.

"Potter! What do I get if I mix asphodel with wormwood?"

"I don't know."

Snape sneered. "Pity... Where do I find a bezoar, then?"

"I don't know," he answered again, amused by Granger's quivering hand on the air.

"How about if you tell me the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?

"I don't know."

"What do you know, Potter?"

"That you're familiar with snakes and skulls on your arms," he replied casually, making Snape lose his sneer. "That you've chosen to serve a vanquished power, or do you serve it still?"

Now the teacher had began to pale, which was quite dramatic given his already vampiric complexion.

"And that if you raise your wand, hand or voice against me I will declare a Blood Feud against you, allowing me to take necessary action to defend myself," Harry added, fingering the hilt of his sword under the table.

"Leave! Out of my classroom, now!"

It took Harry a phenomenal amount of self-control to stay his hand and not try to decapitate the branded overgrown bat. Besides, had no knowledge of the man's capabilities and like Schwarzherz always said, he mustn't engage an unknown enemy unless there's no other choice. With that determination, he arranged his things, winked at Greengrass and left the room.

"So much for Potions lessons," thought Harry as he walked out of the castle to sit under the morning sun, whistling for Ceasar to come to him. He had felt uneasy looking at Snape's cold black eyes, and his memory of Peter telling him all about the Death Eaters had suddenly sprung forth, almost involuntarily, something he would have to ask the Hadrians about.


Behind a cluttered desk, in the safety of the Headsmaster's Office, Dumbledore sat sucking on a tangerine licorice while pondering on a certain black-haired boy and his role in a certain prophecy. The fact Harry was alive gave him comfort, but at the same time, he was more of an equal to Voldemort than he would've liked him to be.

If he with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord had fallen prey to the dark, how were them to ever confront each other? Two Dark Lords ruling the word in tandem would be disastrous.

Harry Potter hadn't even purchased a wand, yet Dumbledore had seen him attending class with one. The aged wizard paused to review his memory; it couldn't be, but he remembered Harry using two, no three different wands already. Could it be possible? Or was he so senile that he couldn't even retain such important details as a wizard's wand in his mind?

Most unsettling was his reaction, his absolute defiance of authority when he smashed a window to exit the Great Hall because he wanted to leave. Harry had been reported as involved in a fist fight and supposedly traded spellfire against the youngest Weasley, a boy so good and gentle that could never have provoked anyone.

And worst of all, he'd assumed the role of Potter Head of Family, along with several titles of old that he could claim by blood and inheritance, if his sources were to be trusted.

His contemplations were interrupted by Snape knocking on his door. He allowed him to enter and was about to offer a lemon drop, the tangerine licorices being his own private delight, but the man seemed extremely agitated.

"He knows, Albus. He knows!"

"Thank you Severus, now tell me who, what and how, if you please?"

"Bloody fucking Potter, he knows I have the mark, and the unbelievable thing is, it was Pettigrew who told him!"

Speechless for several reasons, the first being Severus' lack of control and foul language, the most striking being that a wizard thought dead might be alive, Dumbledore blinked and sucked harder on his candy. "Take a seat, Severus, and explain," he indicated, already paling at the implications of this.

"The dunderhead came to class today, wanting to apologize for missing the first lesson and I tested his resolve. He insolently spoke back to me and I ... skimmed along the surface of his thoughts."

Dumbledore frowned but Snape continued to speak. "I saw Peter Pettigrew naming the inner circle of Death Eaters, all of them! Avery, Dolohov, Rosier, Malfoy, Lestrange, Rookwood, me! How the petty wizard ever found out so much I'll never understand, but the memory was real."

Snape finally sat down in front of the headmaster and continued to explain. "Potter's offspring has claimed his peerage as well, he became the Duke of Druidmoor, and you know as well as I who are the only wizards to observe the old titles."

"Regrettably, I do."

"I then wanted to try his knowledge, he failed to answer basic concepts of the art, and then he ... suggested ... I wore the Dark Mark and asked if I still served the Dark Lord."

"He announced it in front of the class?" Dumbledore asked, sagging on his seat.

"He did, but he did it the Slytherin way, in carefully chosen words and with just enough information to make it a threat of full exposure should I ever displease him." Snape said and then decided to voice his real concern. "Could the Dark Lord be alive still, Albus?"

Dumbledore knew Voldemort had to be alive somewhere, but Snape only knew the first lines of the prophecy, which only spoke of someone born with great power. Sighing, he reluctantly said yes. "I believe he is. However, Voldemort is cunning, and he would be moving his pawns from afar, never allowing them to see who the Master is."

"It would explain the reason Black is still in Azkaban," said Snape. "We should Legilimence the boy, the sooner the better."

"Alas, that I cannot do in good conscience, no matter how much I would like to know his past..."

Snape smiled behind a curtain of black hair. "And that begs the ultimate question, Albus. Wasn't Harry Potter safely hidden with his Muggle relatives?"

"Oh, mighty pile of hippogriff doo-doo," thought Dumbledore, choking on the last bit of licorice. "Indeed Severus, indeed..."

"Headmaster?" Snape asked with a raised eyebrow.

Dumbledore steeled himself and faced the Potions Professor squarely. "I made a terrible mistake, which I will atone for in due time... If that is all, Severus, I'm certain you have other matters to deal with besides Harry Potter."

With a slight bow, Snape left the office and headed for the dungeons, wondering which Master he should truly serve: the Dark Lord, Dumbledore, or both.


Peter sat on the empty school bench nursing a butterbeer and laughing at the face Snivellus must have made when Harry threatened him in front of all the first-years. It was almost midnight and the runt was still wide awake, finishing his fourth pint and snapping his fingers for the house-elf to bring him yet another.

"Snivellus was in the same year as me. He was a right git, always keeping his abnormally large nose in a book or meddling where he wasn't wanted."

"What 'bout you? Your nose ain't so good after I fix it wrong!" laughed Harry, sloshing some butterbeer on the table.

Touching his mangled nose with an index finger, Peter remained silent and finally asked something he'd been wanting to ask ever since meeting Potter's spawn. "Have you ever ... killed anyone, Twitch?"

The boy set his mug on the table and twirled it with both hands. "You gonna tell anyone 'bout it?"

"Not really. It's just a personal curiosity," the rat-man answered truthfully, since he had no other choice.

"A man you mean? 'Cause I've killed meself cats, dogs, chickens, you know, the lot..."

"Yes. A man, another human?"

With another large gulp of his drink, Harry fixed a dark gaze on Peter. "Aye. I've killed twice. First time was ... not my fault ... mostly. This bloke was gonna snuff me, 'n I just pushed the bloke somehow, I'd say t'was accident magic, he fell over the bridge 'n then on the rails below... I looked down, 'n his head was like, I dunno, bent the wrong way?"

"And the second time?" Peter insisted, feeling this wasn't a young boy's fancy tale but a real experience that he was retelling.

"Tha' one I stabbed meself, cut his bollocks right off, I did," the boy said and trembled a little, closing his eyes briefly and breathing deeply. "I don't wanna talk 'bout it. Finish up 'n turn, I'll put some water 'n cheese inside the cage Blubberball got for you..."

"The elf is named Waxball, he won't answer as Blubberball, Twitch!"

"I don't give a fuck, now turn!" Harry yelled.

Peter complied, feeling somewhat vindicated that the boy had enough pain stored to fuel a lifetime of torment. "It serves him right, for defying my Master. Then again, he didn't really, it was James and Lily who did... Merlin, I'm justifying my relationship with Harry bloody Potter!"

That reasoning led him to question his actions in the past month and a half. While it was true he couldn't easily escape, he might have found a way, but deep down the bottom of the potion cauldron, he'd had more fun and felt more alive with Twitch than he'd ever felt in all his years as a Weasley pet. It almost made him feel like a young Marauder again, before the darkness became so alluring, before the promise of power infinite and life eternal became his motivations instead of friendship and love.

Was Twitch headed down that same dark path? Or was he already there? The boy had no love for others, that much was clear, and he'd seen the drive to learn and push his magic to the extreme, aiming for infinite power. Could he achieve power to rival his Dark Lord? And if he did, would he be willing to share it?

No, the boy doesn't share, he trades and bargains, he offers that which he can later collect with interests and benefits. But then again, Peter was a follower, and beggars can't be choosers, they get whatever the Master throws at them. There was no leaving the service of a Dark Lord, however the question was, which Dark Lord would he continue to serve?


Ten days later the Marauders Map was still missing. Harry had ordered Pinkie to travel the dormitories and common rooms of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, while he kept an open eye for it in Slytherin; the search had become a treasure hunt, every time the rat face went out he'd find more and more interesting stuff. How could the Heads and Prefects allow such amount of potentially deadly objects and information laying around? Then he remembered that a wand was also a deadly weapon.

Speaking of which, he'd become top of his class in Transfiguration, Charms and D.A.D.A., much to the annoyance of several fellow housemates, all thanks to the variety his wands could provide. He still had no knowledge of the origin or even the cores inside his nine inch rosewood and thirteen inches long willow wands, but he suspected the eleven and a half inch yew from that long-dead Auror had some nasty beast bits inside. It took some time to find out which were better for which kind of magic, however by now he was so used to the feel of each, that he'd be able to pull the one he wanted with a twist of either wrist, according to his needs.

"This is impossible!" someone grunted from behind him.

Harry made his feather fly around one of the floating candles illuminating the classroom and then looked over his shoulder. A Hufflepuff boy wearing oversized clothes kept swishing and yelling the incantation, but the feather barely moved.

"How did you do it?"

"Why should I tell you?" Harry asked back, letting the feather fall on his desk.

"Fine..."

"Don't misunderstand me, I haven't denied you help yet. I only asked why."

The boy scrunched his face and bit one of his fingernails. "Because I have to learn!"

"Have to, or want to?" probed Harry, now turning fully on his seat.

"I have to, that's why I'm in school, isn't it?"

"Then no, I won't help you," he said and then charmed the feather to zoom high above, directing it to attack the other feathers below.

"Professor! Potter is messing with my feather!" yelled the annoying Malfoy kid, who still believed being openly hostile to anyone who doesn't follow his every whim was to his benefit. It would be interesting to wipe the floor with his smirking little mama's-boy face one of these days.

"Your grace, may I ask you to please keep your feather away from everyone else's?"

Satisfied by the formal and respectful phrasing, Harry nodded and answered in similar fashion. "You may, Charms Master Flitwick. I will do as you request."

The small being had treated him well ever since first lesson, but had never acknowledged his title before. What changed? Why did he recognize his ducal coronet now and not earlier? Harry hadn't felt the memory pulling sensation he'd had with Snape, which the Hadrians had explained as an effect of light mind-reading when not using the full power of Legilimency, the mind-reading art, so Flitwick must have learned that information by other means.

In a softer voice, the professor asked him to stay behind for a minute after class and then continued to teach the combined Hufflepuff and Slytherin pupils.

"Thank you for gifting me an extended audience, your grace. Shall we be seated?"

"We shall, professor."

"I see Dumbledore has taught you well all these years," said the squeaky professor while sitting on top of a book pile, making him level with Harry.

"Excuse me?" he asked, unable to stop his indignant reply because he was truly surprised that Dumbledore was taking credit for teaching him.

"After an unscheduled staff meeting, Headmaster Dumbledore announced your grace's peerage and confirmed what we had heard as rumours among the school body. We assumed he was protecting you and that his continuous involvement might explain the advanced magic control displayed."

Harry knew that Dumbledore had no observance of peers and titles, for he was no gentleman and Greengrass had gone so far as to let it slide that the headmaster was deemed objectionable for membership at Skullsnatchers and the sponsor, a Mr Althair Doge, had been blackballed as a result of his insistence. It must have been Snape who told him! Harry gulped, wondering how many memories he stole from his mind.

"Professor, while I am grateful for your acknowledgement of one of my titles," Flitwick lifting an eyebrow at this, "I have no allegiance to Headmaster Dumbledore, nor is he responsible for my apparent mastery of first year magic. I chose to study ahead and achieve my maximum potential, to become that which is expected of the one who vanquished Voldemort."

Flitwick squeaked and fell off his enhanced seating. "And what exactly is expected of your grace? Some expect greatness and guidance, others might expect ... evil deeds from you. A few within this very castle might expect you to be a failure as a wizard, I regret to say."

"That, Professor Flitwick, is for me to decide," he answered with a calculating look at the small man on the floor. "It isn't my place to say it but you're very smart, professor. You are the first to ask how I have become proficient at low-level magic instead of assuming it was only natural for the Boy-Who-Lived."

"A habit of old times, I'm afraid. After so many years in the duelling circuit, it became second nature to analyse other wizards."

Now it was Harry's turn to lift his eyebrows. He knew Schwarzherz had been Teutonic Champion seven times and reached the final duel twice in the International Duelling Cup. "Have you traded spells and swords with Herr Schwarzherz, by any chance?"

"Indeed, I have!" said Flitwick and he climbed back on his seat. "An extremely dangerous and evil wizard, he had no mercy for those he considered too weak to reach their maximum potential... Maximum-- Great Grottar, your grace is an apprentice to Black Heart!"

The Charms Master squeaked again and fell over the back of his chair, and Harry had to fight the laughs, managing to contain himself by biting his knuckles. Flitwick was going to share that morsel of information and he was sure fear of retribution by a former Duelling Champion for attacking his apprentice would stop Snape from reading his mind, perhaps even stop him being an insufferable git.


Sunday morning was a lazy day, even for Slytherins. Harry peeked out his alcove and saw everyone else's closed although it was almost ten in the morning! He called for Waxball and received the daily report on Peter's whereabouts, took the Sunday Times the house-elf was ordered to pilfer from the nearest Muggle news-stand and checked the week's mail that had arrived at his home in Knockturn Alley.

"Damn owl-marketers... Trash. Trash. Free samples, huh? Trash," he continued sorting through the mass owl catalogues wizard companies delivered indiscriminately all over the magical communities and paused upon an odd envelope. It had a leathery feel to it, no address and only an embossed seal on the back: an octagonal shape with several symbols on each side.

"Fuck!" whispered Harry, realizing what the octagon was. "What does Greengrass want with me now?"

He opened the envelope carefully and dropped the contents on his desk, right over his History of Magic essay. A missive written in heavy parchment fluttered down and a small gemstone bounced on the surface and rolled down to the floor. With a sigh, he unfolded the letter.

"Ah... What? Why the fuck don't they write in the Queen's bloody English?!" he ranted, looking up and down the letter written in strange characters.

Throwing the parchment over his bed and choosing his clothes for the day, Harry failed to see the gemstone bursting into black smokeless fire to form a humanoid shape with a toothy grin and large, pure black eyes and a white turban on top. The form began trailing him and vanished in the blink of an eye as soon as the boy pulled the curtains open to leave for a bath, brunch and a bit of time-off with Caesar by the lake.

Harry felt the strange sensation of being followed, but every time he looked over his shoulder he failed to see anyone. He reached the Great Hall and sat at the almost empty table, pulled a couple of sandwiches from a tray, but still kept looking around every couple of bites.

Finishing his goblet quickly, he dropped his half-eaten meal and bolted out of the hall, shaking his shoulders and rubbing his arms to get rid of the goosebumps, whistling for Caesar while jumping down the marble steps of the main door of the castle.

"Someone's walkin' over my effin' grave!" complained Harry, who was looking suspiciously at a group of Gryffindors coming from the Quidditch pitch. He double checked the brooms they carried, making sure they weren't pitches and forks.

Suddenly Caesar spread his wings and took flight, almost pushing harry to the ground, and headed for a round wooden hut on the edge of the forest. He followed his companion and saw the gyrfalcon diving behind the hut, only to fly up again, carrying a limp ferret on his talons.

Cautiously, he rounded the hut and saw a well kept orchard with citrus trees, patches of cabbages, pumpkins and other vegetables neatly lined and tended for. Next to a battered fence stood a barrel of dead ferrets, freshly killed by the look of them, and the largest man Harry had ever seen in his life sat on a huge chair, his feet over a pile of logs and munching on some big cakes while sipping tea from a delicate cup.

"Hullo there, can I help yeh, young 'un?" the man boomed, and Harry remembered the voice from Hogsmeade Station calling for first years.

"Good morning. I would like to apologize for my falcon, he seems to be fond of your ... bucketful of dead rodents?"

"Aye, tha' falcon 's been munching on them ferrets since term started. Dun worry 'bout it--" turning to watch him, the man suddenly stopped and dropped his teacup. "Galloping gorgons! Harry, is that yeh?"

"I'm sorry, do I know you sir?" asked Harry while he repaired the man's cup. Spilled tea was gone, unfortunately.

"'Course I do! I haven't seen yeh since you was a wee little lad. So sad 'bout yer mum 'n da... I delivered yeh ter Dumbledore meself after what happened."

"Did you now?" Harry said with clenched teeth. He wanted to kill the huge bastard, same as Dumbledore, but keeping his vagabond Muggle past a secret was important to fuel the initial destruction of the myth surrounding him. Harry had to cement an idea of power and tradition going back his entire life after the defeat of Voldemort instead a single month.

The papers Cheatham and Roben had procured for him included a transfer of guardianship dated Christmas week of 1981 naming H.J. Plotslip as his legal guardian. The rest of the parchment was obscured permanently and then added to his file as if Dumbledore himself had sealed them, and the wizard had been a known world explorer, which would explain Harry's disappearance from Magical Britain for so long.

He wondered if this man knew why Dumbledore got rid of him as a baby. "So you delivered me to the headmaster. What happened after that?"

"Er... What d'yeh mean Harry? Dumbledore left you with yer aunt 'n uncle, of course, the ones yeh've been living with?"

He was almost there, all he needed now was a name to go with the real obscured transfer of guardianship he had at the Ministry. "I'm sorry, I forgot to ask your name?"

"Name's Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' the Keys at Hogwarts," he said and offered a big hand for Harry to shake, who took it with both of his.

"Harry Potter, but perhaps I should have taken my uncle's name..."

"Dursley? Nah, yeh're looking too much like James, with Lily's eyes. Yer aunt Petunia oughta tell yeh lots 'bout yer mum, don't she?" Hagrid said with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Aunt Petunia married my uncle about the same time as my mother, did she not?" asked Harry, trying to extract more information. After this he would have to ask the Hadrians to search the Muggle world and he'd have plenty of leverage against the headmaster.

"Sumtime later, I remember Lily saying she didn't like Vernon, that she oughta choose better for an Evans."

Bingo! Vernon and Petunia Dursley, nee Evans. If they weren't dead already, they'd wish they were by the time he confronted them. Unless someone had kidnapped him from them by no fault of their own, which wasn't very likely, but with his wonky luck one never knew.


That same evening found Peter helping Harry's house-elf to sort all the dark and questionable items he'd collected in his rounds. There was a pile for porn and sexual magic that he considered the boy to be much too young to see, a pile for cursed objects and a pile for books and scrolls on harmful magic.

He flipped through the July issue of Playwizard and wondered how much longer Snivellus the greasy git was going to withhold retaliation before goading all the first-year snakes into making Twitch's life miserable. It was going to be fun watching the runt suffering the brunt of Slytherin attacks, and more interesting to see how he reacts.

Looking up from his place on the floor, Peter saw the boy watching over them while drinking his ever-present mug of butterbeer, but he seemed to be worried about something and kept looking everywhere around the room.

"You feeling all right Twitch? You're more ... twitchy ... than ever," Peter asked after the boy looked over his shoulder and under the table for the tenth time.

"Bloody peachy... It's just-- There's this weird feeling of being watched that won't go away!"

The empty classroom they were using was close enough to the dungeons and had the strategic advantage of having two doors leading to separate corridors. It was an advantage in situations when, exactly as was happening now, footsteps announced an unwelcome late-night wanderer. Waxball popped away with everything while Harry slowly made his way to the other doorway and Peter turned into Pinkie, hiding in the shadows.

"Shite! Someone's locked the door!" Peter heard the boy whisper.

Slowly, the opposite classroom door opened and a pale man with a crooked nose, cold dark eyes and a black curtain of hair stepped inside and smirked. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. What a ... pity ... to find you here, Potter. Breaking curfew, and do I smell butterbeer in your breath?"

Pinkie narrowed his eyes and scooted closer to the open door, still hidden but able to hear every word. Snivellus continued to advance on Harry but the boy didn't even flinch, he even went as a far as to properly greet the git!

"Good evening professor. Have you been looking long for me?"

"Do not flatter yourself, silly boy. Now look at me when I speak!"

Snape was advancing on Harry, and Pinkie wondered if the man knew of his Master's fate and was actually working on his orders. Dared he revel himself to Severus Snape, traitor among traitors? He wasn't sure it was prudent, for all he knew the man had sold every Death Eater he knew of to escape Azkaban.

"Why should I? Why would I allow you to perform Legilimency on me without my consent?"

A look of surprise flashed on Snape's face but disappeared in a tenth of a second. The git was a Legilimens? And how in Merlin's name did the boy know about that? "Damn those Hadrians, they probably told him all about the Mind Arts," thought Pinkie while he wiped his whiskers.

"You arrogant fool, if you had an ounce of discipline you would not broadcast your mind louder than the WWN!" said Snape, who then hardened his eyes. "Something has changed, however, has it not? Look at me, child!" he insisted, trying to find direct eye contact with the boy.

With a squeak, Pinkie crawled back against the wall. He saw the hardening in Harry's face, and he knew what it meant, having been on the receiving end of those burning eyes ever since he met him in a filthy Muggle building. In a swift, almost inhuman move, Harry had unsheathed his longsword and pressed the tip under Snape's chin.

"Mind your own mind, professor!" he spoke softly at his Head of House while his eyes glowed green.


Notes:

1.- As far as I know, in a gentlemen's club a person can only become a member by invitation or recommendation. That invitation doesn't guarantee your acceptance into the club, however, since the applicant is then evaluated and granted membership or deemed objectionable, at which point the sponsor (the person who invited or recommended) should desist. If he doesn't desist, he can be blackballed, meaning he loses his membership as well.
2.- Think of Grottar as one of the old goblin kings, revered by his strength and cunning.
3.- Much like an animagus keeps his clothes after turning into an animal, a colour-dyed animal can keep its tinge after endless transformations unless it gets washed while in animal form. That being said, Pinkie a.k.a. Wormtail a.k.a. Scabbers will only lose his calico coat if someone cleans him.