[A/N: A bit more than a week, aye, but less than two weeks. So, therefore, you should all be at least not ready to kill us. Yet. As always, I want to thank those of you who read Kin and Kisses, those of you who have added it to your favourites or alerts list, and, most of all, to those of you who have reviewed: too many stars to count, RavenclawLupin11, Innocent Magic, Fun-Sized Kirk, Ellen, paulmmco, XDAshleighJadeXD, SWAddict1986, Crazypotterchick, jcry, Samablue38, and Sea Serpent! I can't believe I'm over 200 reviews now! Thank you guys so much!
Disclaimer: Own nothing, making nothing.]
Chapter 30: Going Alone
"Fly, fly little wing
Fly beyond imagining
the softest cloud, the whitest dove
upon the wind of heaven's love
past the planet and the stars.
Leave this lonely world of ours.
Escape the sorrow and the pain
and fly again
Celine Dion; Fly
Peter looked at the large pile of papers he still had to sort and file. Although he'd been there for what seemed like hours, the stacks were not getting any shorter. If he hadn't known better, he would have convinced himself that Professor McGonagall had charmed them to regenerate every time he felt he should've made progress.
Peter shook his head in an attempt to clear it. But the only thing that happened was that his slightly too long hair got in his eyes.
'I really need to get a haircut,' he thought to himself. 'I'm starting to look a bit like Remus. At least, in the hair department. Too long. I'll have Heather cut it tonight, I think.'
"Mr. Pettigrew," a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
Peter looked up to see Professor McGonagall standing in the doorway, her lips in a tight line, her jaw set firmly, a hard look in her eyes. She looked almost angry. But, no, that wasn't right. Peter couldn't figure out what the expression on her face meant. It was unfamiliar.
"Yes, Professor?"
"I need you to come with me. Professor Dumbledore needs to talk to you."
"What?" Peter asked. He blinked at her. Why would Dumbledore want to talk to him? No, not want; Professor McGonagall had said need. Why…?
"You heard me, Mr. Pettigrew. Gather up your things. I will take you to his office."
"But I didn't do anything," Peter objected. This was unfair. How could he have possibly done anything or pulled any pranks while his friends were in Hogsmeade and he was alone in the Transfiguration Office sorting old files?
"Mr. Pettigrew," she took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she repeated her instructions once more, "Dumbledore would like to talk to you in his office. Right now. Please don't argue."
"Sorry, Professor," Peter mumbled. He grabbed his wand and uniform sweater from where they lay, almost forgotten, on the desk chair. Professor McGonagall nodded and turned to leave, indicating that he should follow. As he did, Peter glanced at the clock on the wall. It was one in the afternoon. His detention should have lasted at least another hour. What was going on?
The two of them walked in silence through the empty corridors. Once or twice, Peter started to ask what was going on, but the old witch seemed to sense his inquisitiveness and silenced him with a small shake of her head before he'd even formed the first word. He wondered why the halls were so empty, so quiet and desolate. Even on Hogsmeade weekends, first and second years could be found wondering about the castle, trying to figure out the school's secrets. But they passed nobody, not even a ghost.
"Raspberry Sherbet," McGonagall said when the two of them had reached the Gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office. It sprang aside quietly, but even the slight noise it caused was deafening compared to the silence of the previous ten minutes.
Peter jumped. His teacher looked at him quickly, but turned away. He thought he saw something in her glance, just then. Something almost like pity. But it was gone before he had time to process it, replaced once again with the odd, hard look he'd noted in the office.
"Sit down, please, Peter," Dumbledore said softly when they entered the circular room.
Peter obeyed. Why had Dumbledore called him Peter? Had that ever happened before? Did Dumbledore ever address students by their first names?
"What's going on? Whatever it is, I didn't do it, I promise," Peter blurted out, unable to stop himself.
"Minerva," Dumbledore said, ignoring Peter's question and nodding to Professor McGonagall. She gave a small nod back and left the room with one last glance at Peter. Delicate silver instruments whirred and spun. Almost loud enough to be white noise, but hardly loud enough to hear. Ghosts of sounds.
"What's going on?" Peter repeated.
Dumbledore peered at Peter for a moment over his half-moon glasses. There was a deep sadness in his eyes overshadowing their normal twinkle.
"There's no good way for me to say this," Dumbledore said slowly after a few moments of silence. "There's no good way for me to tell you, no way for me to offer any comfort, no words that will make any real difference."
"W-what's happened?" Peter said shakily. A cold feeling was spreading through his body. Ice was covering his heart, making it too big, preventing his lungs from working. His entire body tensed as he tried to force himself to breathe.
'In, out, in, out. Come on Peter. Breathe. Nothing has happened. Everything is okay.'
But he knew it wasn't. He knew by the way his hands were tingling with the flow of magic, by the way Dumbledore continued to stare at him, by the way the halls had been so quiet – too quiet – on his way up here.
"There was a Death Eater attack in Hogsmeade today," Dumbledore continued quietly. "They must have known there would be a student outing today. There's no other reason they would've attacked a purely wizarding village. There was a fight. Aurors arrived, and members of the Order of the Phoenix. It didn't last long. Once the Death Eaters realised they were outnumbered, they left. But, I am afraid, it lasted too long."
"Who?" Peter asked.
He could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He could feel his throat contracting, making it harder for him to breathe. He could taste the stale question. Somebody… somebody must have been hurt. Why would Dumbledore be telling him this? Why here? Why now? Thoughts were racing through his head at hyper speed. Whirring, spinning.
White noise.
Was it James? Sirius? Remus? No… if it was any of them, the rest of his friends would be there too. Unless… unless it was all of them. But, no… No… that couldn't be. Was it Heather? Was it his beautiful, sweet, loving, caring girlfriend?
Peter forced himself to take a deep breath before repeating his question.
"Who? Who was hurt?"
"Helen," Dumbledore said, closing his eyes.
Silence.
"Helen?" Peter squeaked. "But, where is she? What was she hit with? She's okay, isn't she?"
Dumbledore didn't say anything. He just opened his blue eyes, now filled with tears, and shook his head slightly.
"Where is Helen?" Peter demanded, his voice raising. "Where is my sister? Where is Helen? I need to talk to Helen."
"Helen," Dumbledore started, but his voice caught in his throat. He took a deep breath and tried again. "Helen was hit with a curse. She was caught in the crossfire. I don't know who hit her. I wasn't there. I didn't see."
"What was she hit with? Will she have to spend time at St Mungo's?"
"No," Dumbledore answered. "No, she will not. She was hit with the killing curse, Peter. She's dead."
"You're lying," Peter said, standing up. "You're lying. You've made a mistake. She can't be d – no, you're wrong."
"I'm afraid I'm not mistaken," Dumbledore said quietly.
"You're lying!" Peter repeated. "This is my sister you're talking about! What kind of trick is this? She can't be… no. She can't. I saw her this morning. She was fine! I SAW HER THIS MORNING!"
"It just takes one moment, less time than a breath, for life to be snatched away, Peter," Dumbledore said softly.
"Where is she? I need to see her."
"I don't know –"
"WHERE IS MY SISTER GOD DAMNIT? WHERE IS SHE? WHERE IS HELEN?"
Dumbledore removed his glasses and rested his head in his hand for a moment.
Whirring, breathing, the empty silence of doubt, of remembering.
Dumbledore sat still, a portrait like those behind him, before looking back up at Peter.
"Are you sure?"
"Prove to me that you're not lying," Peter said coldly, "Show me my sister."
Dumbledore nodded to the side of his office. There was a small table with a white cloth over it. Peter looked at the table. How had he not seen this before? How had he not noticed the small, child-shaped figure under the white sheet when he entered the room? Peter walked over and took the sheet in his hand. It was course, like the bedding in the Hospital wing. He pulled it back slowly.
Nothing could have prepared him for this. Nothing, no words, no assurances that it was the truth could've prepared him for the still figure of Helen lying on the table.
She looked as though she were sleeping. Her large eyes were closed, peaceful. Her slightly messy brown hair framed her pale face. The usual rosy tint of her cheeks was gone – but that didn't mean anything. Sometimes, when she was ill or sleeping, the rogue would disappear. Was that a smile on her small, delicate mouth? A smile from a dream? No… there was no expression on her face. There was nothing there.
Nothing but a lone tear drop running down her face.
Peter wiped his eyes and rounded on Dumbledore.
"You said you would keep her safe," he said, barely audibly. "You promised."
Dumbledore didn't respond.
"You bloody promised!" Peter said. And his voice erupted into a shout. "You said that you would do everything in your power. Your power! And you are supposedly the best wizard of our time. She was just a little girl. JUST A LITTLE GIRL! And it was my job to keep her safe. And you promised. You – you – you promised. And now… now she is gone. My baby sister is gone."
Peter fell to his knees in front of Dumbledore. Sobs shook his body, but he didn't care. He didn't care if his masculinity was at stake. What did it matter if he was crying if the world was falling apart? He didn't care that he was swearing at the Headmaster of his school. What did it matter who he yelled at if his life was going to end?
"Please, do something. Please. I need her."
"There's nothing we can do, Peter."
Peter pushed himself to his feet and turned away from Dumbledore, back to the lifeless form of his sister. He grabbed his sister's hand. Too cold. Too stiff.
"Helen… Wake up. Please wake up."
He took her shoulders, and shook her. Softly at first, as he would in the mornings at home, gently waking her. No response.
He shook harder. The sheet fell completely off revealing grass stained jeans, mud on her shirt. Had she fallen trying to run away? And was that blood? A hint of red on the side of head behind her ear that Peter hadn't seen before.
He fell across the body of his baby sister, his light in all this darkness, and he clung to her. Sobs and gasps for breath that he could not share, for a life that only he had.
"Helen… Come back. Please… Oh God. GOD. Helen! No!"
"Merlin's bloody beard, ow!" Maia swore as she sat in a bed in the Hospital Wing. "This shite bloody stings like a fucking bitch."
"Alright, there, Maia?" Emmeline smirked from where she stood a couple feet away. "I don't think you're quite colourful or loud enough. I reckon they didn't hear you in the dungeons."
"Both of you shush," Madam Pomfrey scolded as she continued to apply a dark blue salve to Maia's leg. "I've ever seen this exact type of burn before and your foul language and sarcastic quips are not helping. This is dark magic, you know."
"Yeah, I figured that one out when the guy casting it had on a mask," Maia grimaced. "This was definitely not a cheering charm."
"I'd have to agree," Emmeline laughed. "Or, if it was supposed to be, something clearly went wrong. You are not very cheery."
"Shut the fuck up, Emmeline," Maia shouted. "We'll shoot some crazy yellow sparks at your leg and see how you like it. "
"Nobody will be shooting anything in here," Madam Pomfrey said quickly. "Now, Miss Vance, I will have to ask you to remain quiet or I will kick you out. Miss Regarne, please refrain from using such vulgar language. Your distress is not helping the wound."
"I apologise for my distress," Maia muttered angrily. "Can you give me anything for pain? Please? This is driving me bonkers."
"I'll see what I can do," Madam Pomfrey sighed. She straightened up and looked Maia in the face. "As I've said, I've never seen this particular wound type before, but I do recognize that it is a cursed burn. The salve I have should help with pain and decrease chances of infection, but I am afraid you will almost certainly have a scar."
"There go my dreams of being a swimsuit model," Maia sighed, rolling her eyes.
"You will have to come back every day for cleaning and re-bandaging," Madam Pomfrey explained, ignoring Maia's lament, "I will do some research into what spells could have caused this and that should help speed up the healing process. Until then it is just important to keep them clean. They are nasty, but not too deep, so you should be able to walk as long as it doesn't hurt too much."
"I'll be fine," Maia grumbled, looking at her leg.
There was an eight inch long charred section of Maia's calf around where the curse had hit her. Even though Madam Pomfrey had been trying to fix it for the better part of an hour, it still didn't look much better than it had when Maia and Emmeline had first arrived.
"If you say so," Madam Pomfrey clucked. "But I want you to drink this potion. It should help with the pain, if nothing else. I'll give you more when you return tomorrow. It should last until then."
Maia looked dubiously at the dark potion the school matron had handed her. It was slightly steaming and smelled absolutely wretched.
"You want me to drink this?" Maia asked, looking warily at the goblet.
"Just drink it, Maia," Emmeline sighed. "Be a brave little Gryffindor. It will only taste bad for a couple of minutes and it will help. Then we can go. I can tell you're bored."
"Fine," Maia consented. Scrunching up her nose she downed the entire goblet in one gulp.
"Can I leave now?" She asked, thrusting the now empty cup back at Madam Pomfrey and grimacing.
"Yes," the older witch answered. "But don't forget to return tomorrow afternoon for more potion and salve."
"I can't wait," Maia grumbled, pushing herself off the hospital bed and heading for the door.
"Does it hurt much?" Emmeline asked as the two of them walked slowly down the corridor towards Gryffindor Tower.
"I'll be fine," Maia answered, echoing her words from before.
"You don't have to be a brave little Gryffindor anymore, you know," Emmeline said, grabbing Maia's hand in her own. "You finished the potion. If it hurts, you can tell me."
"It hurts just a bit," Maia admitted reluctantly. "Only so bad as to seem like somebody is stabbing a knife made from dragon's fire into my leg."
"Oh, well the pain meds should kick in soon," Emmeline assured her. "And as you can't really make a knife out of fire, I think you'll be fine."
"Wait a second," Maia said, "Why are you walking with me? Isn't your Common Room the other way, by the kitchens?"
"It is," Emmeline assured her, "but I just wanted to make sure you got to your tower okay. I know how you can be. You'll act like everything is okay even if you know you're about to keel over dead. I don't understand it, but there's no point pretending you aren't like that. And what kind of 'Puff would I be if I let my Maia keel over dead halfway to her Common Room due to some crazy wound."
"I'm your Maia?" Maia asked, stopping and turning to look at the girl walking next to her.
"Well, I suppose so," Emmeline answered slowly. "It just kind of came out."
"Well then," Maia replied, doing her best imitation of Emmeline's smirk, "then I guess you'll just have to be my Emmeline."
"I think I'm okay with that," Emmeline answered. "Now let's get you back to your Common Room."
Several minutes later – much longer than it normally would've taken – Emmeline and Maia arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Assured that Maia's leg wouldn't give out before she found her friends, Emmeline gave her a quick pat on the head and headed away towards her own Common Room.
When Emmeline turned the corner, Maia smiled to herself and said the password to the Fat Lady before climbing though the portrait hole. As she'd walked hand in hand with Emmeline, she had pushed aside the reality of what had happened just hours previously, but the unnatural silence that hit her as she entered the Common Room brought it all back. A large lump rose in the back of her throat.
"What's wrong?" Maia asked urgently as she hurried over to her friends.
"McGonagall's just been here," Lily said in a quiet voice, tears streaming down her face.
Maia sat down slowly on the floor next to Kate, not knowing what her friends were going to tell her, but sure that she didn't want to find out.
"What's wrong?" she asked again, looking around at all the drawn faces.
"It's Helen," Sirius answered. He didn't say anymore, didn't explain what he meant. He didn't have to. Maia understood.
Peter entered the Gryffindor Common Room several hours later, in a daze, to find his friends sitting solemnly around the fire.
"Peter," Heather breathed, standing up and running to her boyfriend. "Peter, I'm so sorry." She pulled him into a tight embrace, trying to make sure he was real and there.
He didn't respond, but let her hold him, trying to feel something, anything other than the numbness that had set in as he'd left Dumbledore's office.
"How are you, Wormtail?" Sirius asked quietly.
Peter just shook his head. He broke away from Heather and sat down in an empty chair near his friends.
"How do you guys know?" he asked dully after a moment.
"Professor McGonagall told us," James explained in a soft voice. "She brought Heather back from Dumbledore's office and announced… it… to the tower. Almost all of Gryffindor House was here. All the students in Hogsmeade were portkeyed back to the school as soon as possible."
"Why was Heather with Dumbledore?" Peter asked, more out of something to say than curiosity. He was tired and didn't honestly care about the details but he knew that if he didn't ask, people would ask him questions or, even worse, leave him to his thoughts.
"I was with Helen," Heather said hoarsely, sitting in an armchair across from Peter, "when it happened. I was there."
"You were there?" Peter asked, a mix of emotions in his voice. "You saw it? Are you okay? What happened?"
"I'm… I'll be fine," Heather said slowly, tears coming to her eyes. "After Helen was hit, I stayed with her. I couldn't leave her. I couldn't."
"Of course you couldn't," Lily said. She got up from the couch and walked over to Heather's chair. Sitting down the arm of it, she placed a hand on Heather's shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, "we wouldn't have wanted you to."
"What happened?" Peter repeated.
"I'm not sure," Heather admitted, "I don't know how long I sat there, holding her. But, at some point an Auror, at least I think it was an Auror, told me it was okay, told me that I was safe and that the Death Eaters had fled. Then, then he took me back to the castle. He wanted me to leave Helen, he said somebody would take care of her, take her back to the castle, but I couldn't leave her. So, we both went to Dumbledore's office. Madam Pomfrey was there. She gave me something, but I don't think it did anything, and then I told them what happened. And then Professor McGonagall brought me back here and told everybody and left."
"James told everyone to bugger off," Kate added lamely, "but we waited for you."
"But what happened?" Peter asked again, standing up and turning to face his friends. The feelings that had dulled since he'd seen his sister's body were resurfacing. Anger bubbled up inside of him and he let it. It was easier than the pain.
"Why did this happen?" he continued. Peter turned to Heather, "How could you let this happen."
"We were caught in the middle," Heather tried to explain through the small sobs that were now shaking her chest, "One minute we were laughing and the next minute there were curses flying and people screaming. We tried to run, but Helen tripped. She was hit as she was getting up. God, Peter, I'm so sorry. I wish I could go back in time. It should have been me."
"Don't say that, Heather," Allie gasped. "It's not your fault."
"Yes it is," Heather cried. "I was with her. I should have done something. I should have made her go in front of me. I should have been hit, not her!"
"Yeah," Peter agreed quietly, looking at his crying girlfriend, "It should have been you."
"Peter!" Maia and Remus exclaimed together.
"You don't mean that," James said, a horrified expression on his face. He looked at Peter as though he'd never seen the boy before.
"I do," Peter whispered. "I do mean it. She was my everything."
"Not your everything, Wormtail," Sirius disagreed. "Important, yes. Beyond important. But you have us. You have Heather."
"Easy for you to say," Peter snapped, his voice raising. "You hate your brother. You don't have a family."
"That was uncalled-for, Peter," James said, standing up and walking over to his friend.
"It's okay," Sirius defended, "He's griev-"
"No," Peter shot back, "It's not okay. Nothing is okay. My father's dead, my mother's on the verge of a mental breakdown, Death Eaters in training have been following me around for months, and now the only good thing about my family I had left is gone, too. She's dead. My baby sister is dead. Everyone else is fine but Helen is dead."
"No, it's not okay," James said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "But we're here for you. All of us. You don't have to be alone."
"I want to be alone," Peter mumbled.
"That's okay, too," James consented. "Whatever you want, whatever you need, we're here for you."
"And we'll be there for you at the funeral, too," Sirius added.
"No, you won't be," Peter told them. "I've already decided. I'm going alone."
"No," Maia contradicted. "Helen meant a lot to all of us. I, personally, want to be there."
"She was like a little sister to me, too, Peter," Heather said through her tears.
"She was my little sister," Peter answered. "And I don't want you there. I don't want any of you there. I need to do this alone."
"Okay," James sighed, "But if you change your mind…"
"I won't," Peter promised. "I'm going to bed."
And without another word, Peter turned and headed up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.
The remaining Gryffindors watched silently as Peter walked away. None of them quite knew what to say, or even to think. James was pacing from the fire to the couch where Remus and Sirius were sitting, running his hand absent mindedly through his hair and shaking his head. Lily rubbed small circles on Heather's back, still trying to comfort the crying girl while Sirius and Remus both followed James' pacing with their eyes. Allie sat with her arms tightly around herself, her legs curled under her, in an armchair that seemed too big for her small frame.
"This isn't fair," Maia said suddenly from where she sat with Kate on the floor in front of the fire.
Everybody looked at her. James stopped pacing and sat down beside Remus and Sirius.
"It's not like he's the only one who cared about her," Maia continued. "I think she'd want us to be there. I mean, sure, she was his sister, but that doesn't give him a monopoly on grief."
"He's really upset," Allie said. "He doesn't know what he's…"
"We're all upset," Maia insisted. "I know this sounds selfish and I know that we can't possibly understand what Peter is going through. But that doesn't make it easy."
"I understand what you're saying, Maia," Remus sighed. "But, at the same time, we really just have to focus on doing what's right for Peter and on supporting him."
"We can't really support him if he won't let us," Sirius shot back. "He's got some stupid idea that he has to go through this alone."
"He may change his mind," Kate said.
"I don't think he will," James disagreed. "Even if it is just his grief talking, I think he meant what he said. He's not really that difficult to read most of the time."
"You think he meant everything he said?" Heather asked.
Lily stopped rubbing her back and turned so that she was facing her fully.
"It's not your fault," she said firmly. "You did the best that you could. Don't you dare blame yourself."
"Lily's right," Remus agreed. "You were really brave. There are some things you can't blame yourself for, no matter how much easier it may seem to make things."
Heather nodded, but didn't look completely convinced, and the room fell silent once again.
The next day dawned clear and calm, a stark contrast from the previous day. The bright blue of the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling seemed inappropriate given the circumstances. Had the ceiling been charmed to reflect the mood of the student population, it would have been grey and lifeless.
The House banners had been taken down and in their stead black banners bearing the Hogwarts' crest had been hung. The Head Table had been adorned with a black table cloth. The tables looked bare without their normal cutlery and heaps of food. The only indication that the room was usually a dining area was the presence of heavy golden goblets at each place. All the students stared bleakly at the Head Table as Dumbledore rose, the ever present twinkle gone from his eyes.
"Students, faculty, and staff of Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, his voice quiet but strong and clear, "it is with a heavy heart that I address you today. As many of you know, there was an attack on the village of Hogsmeade yesterday. As many of you may suspect, this was an action of the followers of the man who calls himself Lord Voldemort. He chose to attack the only all wizarding village in Britain on Hogwarts' first trip of the term. I do not believe this to be coincidence. Rather, I believe that the reason he chose to attack this day was because he knew students would be there"
"But I am not standing here before you now to give you a lesson in what I believe Voldemort's motives to have been. I am speaking to honour those who were injured or killed during the attack. In total, twelve lives were lost. Five of these deaths were civilians, innocent witches and wizards who only wanted to go about their daily lives until disaster struck. Please lift your glasses to drink to Hilda Harrington, age twenty-eight; Gregory Wallace, age thirty-six; Marjory Ross, age sixty-two; and Daniel Leahy, age seven."
Dumbledore raised his glass and drank. Professors and students alike mirrored his action. After a moment of silence, he began to speak again.
"However, there is one death that has hit us as a school and a community more strongly than the others. This was the death of Helen Pettigrew, a fourth year Gryffindor. But Miss Pettigrew was more than just a name to us. She was an excellent student, a cherished friend, and a beloved sister. She touched the lives of all who met her; her kindness extended not only to her closest friends, but to all who had the pleasure of interacting with her. She was an exemplary Gryffindor: true, pure, and brave to the last.
"Helen's death was unnecessary and by all normal measures a mistake. She was not fighting but attempting to get to safety when she was caught in the crossfire and hit with a killing curse. The wand which cast the spell remains unidentified and thus the identity of the witch or wizard who murdered her remains unknown.
"The loss of Helen Pettigrew will affect us all regardless of how well you may have known her. It is a turning point which brings the war inside the castle walls. Until now it has been easy to ignore the headlines in the daily news, easy to let the deaths go unnoticed. It has been easy to pretend that Lord Voldemort is not a real threat.
"It is no longer possible to pretend. Fear and dread have now been planted in the hearts of students and villagers alike. You should be afraid, but do not let terror grip your minds and direct your actions. This, I believe, was Lord Voldemort's goal.
"But we are stronger than fear. If we hold onto what is important, if we don't let go of love, friendship, and trust, then we will be victorious. Do not let fear and misdeeds separate you but rather fight brewing hate with extended compassion. The events of yesterday have changed you all, but do not let those changes be for evil. Let Helen be a symbol of what is at stake: innocence, purity, beauty, love, and hope.
"Do not let Helen's death have been in vain. The best way to honour those who have left us is to remember them in life. Live, now, not just for yourselves but for Helen Pettigrew as well."
Dumbledore raised his glass once more. Again, the entire Great Hall followed suit. After a moment of silence the old wizard nodded and returned to his seat.
Sirius looked around the Great Hall as Dumbledore sat down. Everyone remained silent, staring at each other with hollowed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. The younger students were all in shock. They had known Helen. She had been in their classes and clubs. Perhaps they hadn't been friends, but they had known her. And now, they would never see her again.
To Sirius' right, Peter sat, seemingly less present than a ghost. His eyes were empty and dry, his mouth set in a firm line.
Heather was shaking with quiet sobs next to him, her body quivering and her face puffy. Peter did not respond to her in the slightest, did not even spare a glance as her white knuckles gripped his robes, nearly tearing them.
To Sirius' left James was holding Lily's hands as though she was his only lifeline. She squeezed back like if they let go she would just slide right off the earth.
Emmeline and Caleb had left their house tables to sit at the Gryffindor table. Kate's face was buried in Caleb's chest, silent and not moving. Emmeline held Maia's hand and Maia leaned her head against the other girl's shoulder, tears silently dripping on their black robes.
Allie was holding a much younger student, Rachel. Rachel looked older than she should've, her fourteen year old face could've easily passed as seventeen or older despite her thin, not-quite-through-puberty, frame. Even as she looked older, the rest of them looked older still. Nobody in the group looked like a child.
Sirius looked across the table to gaze into amber eyes, light brown hair falling softly in front of them. During the moments of silence in the Great Hall, they continued to stare at each other, not really noticing that they were doing it.
When the other House Tables filed out of the Great Hall, the Gryffindors slowly broke from their trance and, one by one, stood up as well. The seventh years all walked together out of the Great Hall, but Peter, who refused to talk to any of them, was taken by Dumbledore to have a private conversation about transportation to the funeral.
"You used her," Peter accused the Headmaster as the two of them left the Great Hall and entered a smaller side room.
"Excuse me?" Dumbledore said, turning to look at his student directly.
"You made her into a symbol," Peter continued, clenching his hands into tight fists and breathing heavily. He was glaring at Dumbledore but was unable to hold the older wizard's gaze for long; his eyes flickered around the room every couple seconds.
"You took her and turned her into something for your fight," Peter maintained. "She's not your tool, Professor. She is my little sister. You used her!"
"Perhaps I did," Dumbledore admitted, looking directly into Peter's eyes as though he could see straight through them. He sat down in a high-backed chair and gestured for Peter to do the same.
"Why?" Peter asked, dejectedly sitting down in the chair Dumbledore had indicated.
"Because, as much of a waste – a tragic, senseless waste – as her death was, she deserves to be recognized for it," Dumbledore explained. "The reason she died, Peter, is because of this fight against Voldemort. This isn't my fight but the fight of every witch and wizard who has lost a loved one or has been murdered by evil hands. When the battle first appeared around Helen, it became her fight. Perhaps I was using her, but think: wouldn't Helen have wanted to be used if she could no longer assist the fight in life?"
Peter didn't agree completely with what Dumbledore was saying but he could not find a way to argue it. He still thought that his Headmaster had been using his baby sister as means to his own desired end and it filled him with new and unfamiliar loathing that he didn't quite understand.
"However," Dumbledore continued when it became clear that Peter wasn't going to respond, "I think that it is now necessary to discuss arrangements for the funeral."
"My mum's taking care of it," Peter said. "I don't have to do anything. I just need to show up. Can I just floo?"
"Yes," Dumbledore answered. "I'll inform Professor McGonagall that you will depart from her office tomorrow morning at nine. I believe that should give you adequate time. The ceremony is set for noon, is it not?"
"It is, sir," Peter confirmed.
"You will have leave to stay at home the night and return the following afternoon. Is there anybody you would like to accompany you?" Dumbledore asked. "Perhaps Mister Potter, Lupin, or Black? Or Miss White?"
Peter looked away from Dumbledore. Again people seemed to assume that he couldn't be left alone, that he couldn't manage to do anything without one of his smarter or stronger friends. Maybe it would be nice to have one or all of his friends there with him. It certainly would make things easier and any of them would be more than willing.
Peter's stomach tightened and bile rose in his throat. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, even to himself, the thought of having to depend on his friends revolted him. He didn't want them there.
Peter looked back into Dumbledore's blue eyes.
"I'm going alone."
[A/N: So... there it is. Just so you know, this chapter was incredibly hard to write and the first section has been written for a couple months and gone over many, many times. Thoughts? Are you going to kill us?
Also, we promise more James/Lily and Remus/Sirius in the next chapter. We couldn't fit that in with this chapter without it taking away from Peter.]