The Lady's words were backed by the (grudging) agreement of a Fae ambassador: 'If you go to war with the humans now, your children will bear no little ones of their own. Wait.'"
-Sayern nar-Hazozh (History of the Treaty), translated circa 1952
"Why can't I kill him again?"
Those were not words people enjoyed hearing. Especially not when the words were spoken in a very familiar, very angry voice. Especially not when the person hearing them had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there or why the other person was within fifty feet of him instead of Azkaban where he belonged.
"You know why, Padfoot."
Hope blossomed for a single painful instant. Someone else was here. That meant he might escape!
Except that, judging from the fact that another human being and Padfoot were in the same room and not attempting to murder each other (or, more likely, the stranger was not attempting to murder Padfoot, who would have struck back in self-defense), then the unknown man knew exactly what had happened. He would have no interest in helping the traitor out. The hope shriveled and died, leaving sickly panic in its place. His former friend and one of Padfoot's new friends were here. They knew. They were angry.
"Enlighten me."
"If we kill him now, we can't use him to prove your innocence. Right, Peter?"
Wormtail's eyes, beady and rat-like, opened wide. "But Sirius isn't innocent!" he cried. He knew that this escape attempt was hopeless, that there was no way the stranger would believe him, but fear incited him to try anyways. "He killed Lily and James and those poor Muggles. He tried to kill me, too!"
The man, a handsome, dark-haired wizard about their own age, snorted. "Spare me the theatrics, traitor. I know exactly who you are and what you've done. The only question yet unanswered is how long we should keep you before handing your sorry carcass over to the dementors."
It took all of Wormtail's meager self-control to not wet himself. "What choice did I have?" he wailed. "It was them or me."
"Exactly," Sirius growled, a dog straining at the end of his leash. "Them or you, Pettigrew. That was your choice. Because of you-"
The other man raised his hand, tilted his head, and stared thoughtfully at the rat Animagus. Sirius fell silent while his friend stared. There was something familiar about the stranger's face, as though Pettigrew had met a distant relative but couldn't remember who that might be. Not that it mattered whose relative this might be- he was Sirius's friend, which made him Wormtail's enemy.
"Isn't Master going to introduce Master's friend?"
Peter whipped his head around so quickly that he nearly got whiplash. What was Kreacher the house-elf doing here? Last time he'd checked, the wretched creature (pun not intended) had loathed his mistress's son. Yet here he was, bouncing on his heels, enormous eyes alight with anticipation.
Sirius smiled, a feral bearing of teeth. "You're right, Kreacher. Wherever are my manners? Kreacher, Pollux, this is Petter Pettigrew, the treacherous rat who betrayed Lily and James Potter to their deaths, murdered twelve helpless Muggles, and got me sent to Azkaban. Peter, you already know Kreacher. Say hello now!"
"Hello," the house-elf cackled.
Wormtail gulped. "Hello," he whimpered. Had Kreacher really learned the art of torture at Walburga's feet, or was that just the younger Padfoot's idea of a joke? He didn't know.
"Our other guest is Pollux Ophion Riddle."
Spots erupted in Wormtail's gaze. Blood rushed from his head, leaving him dizzy and weak.
He might not have been in human form very often in the past few years, but that didn't mean he didn't hear things. He could read the paper, had read the paper. He knew the rumors about Pollux Ophion Riddle, the Dark Lord's only son.
Pollux Ophion Riddle, who was sitting right across from him with an amused, sardonic smile on his face.
Wormtail flung himself to the floor, kissed the hem of the disgusted wizard's robes. "Mercy!" he shrieked. "Have mercy, I beg of you! I'll do anything you ask, I'll-"
"Oh, for Morgana's sake," Sirius grumbled, drawing his wand.
The other Animagus's unconscious form collapsed atop Pollux's feet.
"Has he always been like this?" the Parselmouth demanded, scooting back from the drooling body.
"Unfortunately, yes."
Pollux snorted, wondering what in the world the other Marauders had ever seen in this sniveling little man. "Charming. But after that demonstration, I don't see much point in keeping him. Do you?"
Sirius considered. He glanced longingly at Wormtail's Stunned form, sighed. "Too much temptation. I'd hex him, I just know it." He sounded like a child whose favorite toy was being taken away. "And then I'd go overboard and kill him. Like you said, we need him alive."
"You sound so disappointed."
"I am."
There was nothing much that the other wizard could say to that, so he settled for going through with their plan.
When Pettigrew woke up, it was to find himself in a large glass cage in the middle of Diagon Alley. Witches and wizards gawked at him; children too young for Hogwarts whispered in their parents' ears. And there, leaning casually against the side of the container, was Riddle himself, humming an old tune as the crowd gathered closer.
A trio of wizards in Auror robes broke off from the crowd: a thick, rather dim-looking man, a trainee with pink hair, and a strong black warlock. Riddle turned. The black man stopped in mid-step. "You!"
Riddle bowed. "It's a long story, Auror Shacklebolt," he said apologetically. "Suffice to say that I was saving the world, or at least a part of it. And as for compensation…." He withdrew a sack from his robes. Wormtail heard metal clink together as Pollux handed it over to the bemused Auror. "The legally required fine. And interest." He gestured at Wormtail. "One Peter Pettigrew, Death Eater, the reason that the Boy-Who-Lived is an orphan, a cowardly traitor who murdered twelve Muggles and sent an innocent man to Azkaban in his stead."
Gasps echoed around the plaza. Several bystanders stepped back, shielded their children.
"I've taken the liberty of dosing him with Veritaserum," Riddle continued, ignoring the peanut gallery. "And you can all see the lovely Dark Mark on his arm."
"Your father's mark," the thick Auror snapped.
Riddle's eyes flashed. "That thing is not my father. As I've repeatedly told the wizarding public, I chose this name and even this appearance to spite Voldemort."
The bystanders gasped again. A child began to cry. Several witches covered their little ones' ears, their faces white.
"But," Riddle sighed, "you probably don't believe me. I suppose there's nothing I can do to change that." He seemed quite put out by that.
"You were saying that this man is a Death Eater?" the pink-haired trainee asked, nodding at the petrified Pettigrew.
"Indeed." Riddle bowed to her, an elegant, courtly gesture. "Though as I said, he is dosed with Veritaserum. I'm sure he'd love to elaborate on all his crimes, wouldn't you, Peter?" He rose, turned. Eyes harder than diamonds hammered into the rat's soul. "Tell us how you framed Sirius Black by murdering twelve innocents."
Pettigrew had never been brave. He had only gone into Gryffindor because the hat didn't know where else to put him and had hoped that living in the house of courage and honor would teach him a lesson (it hadn't). He didn't even try to fight the potion within him, choosing instead to reveal the horrible details to the stunned, silent people. When he had finished his first tale, the story of destruction and manslaughter, the white-faced Auror whose name he still didn't know asked why he'd felt the need to get Sirius Black out of the way. That, of course, led to the sorry tale of Lily and James Potter, of the desperate Fidelius Charm Dumbledore had cast upon their home.
When he finished his story, Pollux Riddle was gone. Few noticed, though. Their attention was fixed on the rat, the filthy traitor, who had made Mark Potter an orphan.
Shacklebolt, Dawlish, and Trainee Tonks exchanged nervous glances. They had carried out the preliminary interrogation here mostly because Pollux had started it, but also to satisfy their own burning curiosity; unprofessional perhaps, yes, but quite human. Now they were beginning to regret their decision. It looked like a mob was forming. Better get Pettigrew to a holding cell quickly, then.
Harry Potter, returned to his own form and hiding under his famous Disillusionment Charm, grinned. Let's see Dumbledore try to cover this one up, shall we? If nothing else, it would be entertaining to see him try. News of this incident would spread, and the public would howl for Pettigrew's blood.
Smiling in an expression identical to that of his alter ego, the boy spun on his heel, Disapparated with a crack. He reappeared in the Forbidden Forest, not that far from Hagrid's hut. Fortunately, the gentle half-giant wasn't nearby; he was probably inside eating lunch. If he was, he had the right idea. Harry was rather hungry himself. The Parselmouth removed his Disillusionment, trotted into the castle.
Neither Blaise nor Daphne was waiting for him at the Slytherin table. He wasn't surprised. They liked to eat lunch late on weekends. Hermione was gone as well, which did surprise him. She preferred to eat earlier than their Slytherin friends. Only Neville was present, absorbed in a book at the Gryffindor table, just a few seats away from Harry's brother.
Marvelous.
Harry still didn't know what to do about Mark. On the one hand, they were brothers, twins even. Brothers stuck together through thick and thin. Just as importantly, Dumbledore had had a hand in separating them; staying apart was playing right into his hands, which Harry did not want to do. But on the other hand, Mark had been a bit of a prat since he'd arrived at Hogwarts. Growing drunk on fame, he had become slightly paranoid of anyone and anything that might harm his reputation- including his pale, too-solemn Slytherin brother. There was more to their split than that- Dumbledore had somehow convinced Poppy Pomfrey that Harry had never visited his twin in the Hospital Wing (as if!), Mark had tried to murder Saysa, his new friends were gits, Snape had gleefully favored the one twin while reviling the other (at least while Mark was around. When he was absent, though, the greasy git had suffered his wrath upon Harry too), and Mark had written a load of utter tripe in his bestselling 'autobiography.'
The point was, their relationship was complicated, and Harry had no intention of forcing a confrontation with Mark unless it was on his terms and he had some hope of, if not reconciling them, then at least not making things worse.
So the question became, could he get Neville's attention without attracting Mark's? Harry briefly considered Summoning the older boy's book but quickly discarded the notion. No need for anyone to become aware that he knew such advanced magic.
A scowl fixed itself on Harry's face. What was he, a coward? Not at all. So there was no way he'd let fear of a confrontation, however potentially painful, keep him away from his friend. Shoulders squared, he approached the Gryffindor table.
Dean Thomas, one of Mark's buddies, was the first to notice Harry's arrival. He jutted the younger Potter in the side, gestured wordlessly. Harry's jaw tightened but he ignored them. He had to focus on Neville that was all.
Except, of course, Mark wouldn't let that happen.
"Come to apologize?" he demanded, arms folded across his chest. He hadn't bothered speaking silently- in fact, he was a bit louder than normal- so much of the Great Hall turned to stare. Mark was the Boy-Who-Lived, and Harry had his own reputation. Of course a clash between these two celebrities, one local, the other global, would garner unwanted attention.
"I'm afraid not," Harry replied, face carefully neutral. "I still think attacking a thousand-year-old, how-many-feet-long basilisk like that was insane. Did you or did you not nearly die?"
Mark sneered. With a jolt, Harry realized that his brother was beginning to resemble the pre-Azkaban version of Dudley, though fortunately the Gryffindor was not nearly as fat as their cousin had been. It wasn't anything in the features, just an ever-present expression of smug superiority, utter confidence that he was right, that he could get anything and everything he wanted. Draco Malfoy had worn that expression too, before he'd joined his mother in prison as accomplices in last January's kidnappings.
"Did I or did I not survive?"
"You did," Harry admitted, "but that doesn't change the fact-"
"Shut it," ordered Ron Weasley. "You're just jealous."
Temper flared. Before he could stop himself, Harry snapped out, "And what would I be jealous of? Certainly not his friends."
That was a mistake. Mark leapt to his feet, face red. "You take that back, Harry!"
Eyes pressed down upon him, the weight of reputation and consequences. Harry dearly wanted to give in, to apologize for insulting Mark's friends, but the eyes stopped him. He couldn't appear weak, not when his cause's position was so precarious already. Harry shook his head.
He regretted that, too, the emotion once again flooding his heart a moment too late. Great Merlin, had he really just chosen his ambitions over the baby brother he'd protected for years, the companion in their cupboard, the only human friend and playmate of his childhood? He couldn't have!
But he had.
Murmurs sounded around the Great Hall; the student anticipated a fight. They might just be right, Harry mused sadly. And he'd had such a nice morning, too.
"I'm sick of your jealousy, sick of your temper, sick of- of you!"
The words were barbs, arrows, tearing into his flesh. The barbs had an easy time getting in, hard time getting out.
"Then you should have ignored him." Neville's voice, as angry as it was unexpected. "He was only coming over here because he was looking for me." He turned his back on Mark, met Harry's gaze. "Sorry, Harry. I forgot." He grinned sheepishly, an embarrassed lamb instead of the young ram he'd been channeling, shrugged.
Harry followed his friend's lead, turned his back on Mark. The eyes no longer seemed quite so pressing. "It's fine. Think I should swipe something from the Slytherin table for the others and me?"
"Good plan. I'll help you carry it."
Hopefully they would run into Blaise and Daphne before the two Slytherins came to lunch. With them in mind, Harry grabbed a couple of extra sandwiches, piling them onto a stack of four plates. Neville helped by carrying drinks.
When they were out of eye- and earshot, the two friends relaxed. "Thanks for that, Nev," Harry said. "You're a lifesaver."
The other boy blushed. "Not really. Like I said, it was my fault."
"No, it was mine. I should've been sneakier."
"You're only saying that because you're a Slytherin. A Hufflepuff would have blamed his impatience."
Harry arched a brow. "Impatient, am I?"
"Around Mark, yeah."
Harry sighed.
Neville winced. "How'd it go?" he asked.
Normally, Harry would have made a teasing comment about how Neville really should work on his subtlety when he was trying to change the topic. That day, though, he was glad to answer- for more than one reason. "It went quite well, I think. I was a bit worried when Shacklebolt- you know, that fellow who shot at me this summer when Tyr, Saysa and I were getting the Chalice- showed up, but Tonks was there too. I think she's moving up in the Aurors' ranks, even if she does still choose to spend most of her time with the werewolves." A grin. "And by 'werewolves,' I mean 'Moony.'"
The Gryffindor laughed. "So what happened then?"
"They were with another bloke, I think his name's Dawlish, just walking out of the crowd. I made a few snarky comments, handed Shacklebolt the fine I owed for breaking into the Ministry and stealing its property, then used Pettigrew to make my escape. I suspect you'll read all about it in the Prophet tomorrow."
"How many people were there?"
Harry beamed. "Loads. There's no way Dumbledore'll be able to cover this up. He'd have to Obliviate the two hundred or so people who saw Pettigrew, go through the Minisry's records, and then hunt down everyone those aforementioned two hundred people talked to. I doubt that even he could do all that." And if he could, they might as well give up now.
"What all did he say?"
A prefect rounded the corner. Neville and Harry changed the topic to homework, only returning to their real subject of discussion when the older student was gone. They were just glad that no portraits were present (they'd heard something about a party in Violet's frame, and it looked like that rumor was true), or they'd never be able to discuss things so openly.
"He told them everything," Harry answered. "I don't think he even tried to fight the Veritaserum, he just spilled his guts about framing Padfoot, killing my parents, everything. The only thing he kept quiet about was where he's spent the past twelve years, and by now, the Aurors have hopefully gotten even that out of him."
"Since when were you so confident in the Ministry?"
"Tonks is there."
"Oh. That makes sense, then." Tonks had every reason to want her cousin's name cleared. "I think that Blaise and Daphne are in the library. She said something about last-minute research for her astronomy essay."
"Excellent. Think they know where Hermione is?"
When Neville brought their friends out of the library (they were carrying food, and Madame Pince would never let anything edible intrude on her domain), Blaise and Daphne admitted that they had no idea where Hermione was.
"Think we should go to the Ravenclaw Tower?" Harry suggested.
"Sure." Blaise shrugged. "But while we're still en route, how did it go?"
Harry grinned.
Hermione was not in Ravenclaw Tower. The group would not discover her exact location for quite some time. When they did, they would be horrified.
Upon waking up that morning, Luna had brought Hermione to the Astronomy Tower. Neither went outside into the cold air, choosing instead to remain in the heat and relative darkness of the staircase. There were no portraits nearby; ghosts (except Peeves, who wasn't exactly renowned for his subtlety) rarely lingered here. The structure of the tower did encourage echoing, but Hermione cast a silent muffliato to cover their conversation. Then, hoping that the spell also covered the thunderous beating of her heart, she turned to Luna. "You wanted to speak with me?"
"Yes." For once, the typically dreamy girl was entirely present, her feet on the ground, her head out of the clouds. Her gaze was clear and penetrating, two silvery bullets. "Hermione… what is this?" The younger Ravenclaw extended her hand. There, clasped within her fingers, was a single ivory key.
"A gift from my mum," Hermione lied, knowing that Luna knew it was a lie but unable to tell the truth.
The younger girl quirked an eyebrow in response. "Are you certain?"
"…Yes."
Luna tilted back her head, considered. Her eyes were clearer than normal, bright as the moon on a midwinter night. "You always hang around with Harry, who has a lightning-shaped scar and a twin brother. That's good- all hope would be gone if he didn't have a twin. Neville is exceptionally good with plants. Daphne has a rather frosty personality at times. You hold the key to the riddle. That means Blaise must be the Smoking Mirror."
The floor beneath Hermione's feet seemed to vanish. Her head spun, the breath punched from her lungs. Blood rushed through her veins, drowning out all other noises.
And Luna just stared at her, serenity gone, eyes as clear as the night sky.
"Luna- you can't tell anyone."
The other Ravenclaw handed back the key. Her hand was soft and warm against Hermione's chilled, sweaty palm. "I won't if you say please."
"Please," Hermione said. "Please, Luna, we're still in a horribly vulnerable position, especially at Hogwarts. Please don't tell anyone."
"Okay." She dimpled. "I won't tell anyone unless you let me. I won't even tell Daddy that the Lightning Speaker and his chosen four are in the year above me. He thinks you're just your grown-up selves, you know."
"What?" Hermione was almost speechless.
"Daddy knows that Pollux Riddle and his cowriters are the five, but he doesn't know you're you. I don't like keeping secrets from him, but if it's not my secret, then I have to keep it. It's just polite."
"Er-yes. But what did you mean, your father knows about the prophecies?"
"Oh, we've been friends with the Orion clan for years now," Luna explained. "Mum and Daddy met them while they were at Hogwarts. They were a bit friendlier with Mum, as she was one of the throwbacks to our Fae ancestors, than with Dad. Since Mum died, they've gotten a bit more standoffish, but she still got many of the prophecies from them."
"You're descended from the Fae?" Hermione squeaked. She really wasn't that surprised about Luna's ancestry, just Sybil Trelawney's.
"Yes. Oisin and Niamh Chinn Oir's daughter Plor na mBan is my great-great-grandmother."
"And Trelawney? She's Fae-born too?"
"Oh, no. Auntie Sybil is Daddy's cousin. The Fae blood comes from Mum's side. But as fun as it is to talk about my family history, I think that you being Truth's Messenger is a bit more important."
Incredible. Luna was more focused than Hermione. Maybe Dudley was right. Maybe the apocalypse really was nigh.
"I… suppose it is." Hermione shook her scattered thoughts out of her head. Time to focus. "Do you know Occlumency?"
"Is that anything like oneiromancy?"
"I'm afraid not, though Blaise is an amateur oneiromancer. Occlumency is a form of magic that protects the mind against psychic assault, which is called Legilimency." She already felt better- entering lecture mode had let her temporarily bypass her panic. "Before I tell you anything you haven't already deduced for yourself, I have to teach you Occlumency. It's a basic safety precaution. In fact, it would be best if you started learning it right now and practiced as hard as possible over break."
Luna blinked at her. "I don't have a lot of contact with people, Hermione. Our neighbors try to avoid us."
"Yes," Hermione sighed, "but you're not safe here at Hogwarts."
"Why not?" the girl asked, startled.
"Because Albus Dumbledore is the Spider."
Luna's face went white. She collapsed limply onto the stairs, leaned her back against the wall. "You're-you're certain?"
"Absolutely positive."
Luna shivered. "Oh. Oh, dear. That's quite bad."
Hermione sighed, sat next to her. "We know, Luna. We know."
Tetsurga: DOOM! DOOM I tell you! Luna knows and is her regular Fae-ish self. The Spider is hemmed at all sides and the twin is a prat. Gilderoy wannabe.
Oneiromancy: a form of divination in which you use dreams to tell the future.
Oisin, Niamh, and Plor are real folkloric figures. Wikipedia told me so, and if you can't trust Wiki, who can you trust?
If I don't update again before the 25th, Merry Christmas!
-Antares