HARRY POTTER AND THE UNFORGIVEN
A Sixth Year Harry Potter Fanfiction
BY
Jayiin Mistaya
"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."
...never tickle a sleeping dragon
COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter. Those rights are held, exclusively, by JK Rowling, and any other entities, corporations, subsidiaries, or groups not named here possessing legal rights to the aforementioned books and/or trademark.
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This here's the last chapter before we get back to Harry, and it's also the mark of my new READER'S CHALLENGE!
Being a sneaky person, I've thrown references to a great many TV shows, books and movies throughout this fic, from the beginning until now. Either in an email or PM (please not a review) tell me which reference you've caught. I'll figure out something to give the person who gets the most.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:Thanks to Elusive Evan for making me continue to post this.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Patience
Eyes peered through the late-evening gloom, staring at the small house, the square windows shimmering with light from inside. He hid in the shadows and watched.
He felt it quite fitting.
He was crouched behind the white-picket fence, behind the tall hedges, hunching over to peer through the foliage to watch the house. Once, it had been his house.
Not for sixteen years. He refused to analyze the knot of emotions threatening to well up from deep inside him. He refused to acknowledge the tears stinging his squinty eyes. He refused to think about how much he wanted to walk up and see if she was still there. He knew she was, but it wasn't the same as seeing her.
He refused to admit that some of the pain in his gut came from guilt.
He clenched his fist, watching the darkness and light play off the strong contours of the smooth silver that had replaced his weak flesh.
Just one more, and I will be the last.
James and Lily fell to the Dark Lord just as he had planned, but their whelp hadn't. He had survived and delayed things nearly two decades, but the Dark Lord had a plan. Wormtail had complete faith in his Lord; thus far, he had not been wrong.
Black had fallen to his own cousin. That left only one.
The wolf. Remus Lupin. A frighteningly subtle man, the only one of the four who had ever guessed how powerful Peter Pettigrew really was. After all...thirteen people with a single curse. Not even James could have done that.
James never knew himself well enough.
Remus knew that was Peter's real power; he had looked inside and stared straight into the darkest, most horrible places in himself and had embraced them. Self-knowledge, self-acceptance; powerful tools in the hands of the right man; a man without shame or dignity; a man willing to make horrific choices.
Yes, a very dangerous thing indeed.
"Do you know why we are here, young Malfoy?" Wormtail directed the question to his charge; a blonde-haired, gray-eyed boy that knelt beside him with admirable poise and control – and all the impatience of his father.
Wormtail despaired his Lord would ever achieve victory when none of his servants understood patience. Sometimes, the Animagus secretly feared even the Dark Lord had forgotten what it meant to wait.
"No. Not really." Though sullen, Draco had learned early on that Peter Pettigrew was more than he seemed, and talking back to the Dark Lord's Silver Hand was a good way to become better acquainted with pain.
The Dark Lord had given him into Pettigrew's tutelage just after Christmas of the previous school year, and Pettigrew's methods, while not always pleasant, were effective. He'd had other teachers, but Pettigrew had been the most effective.
Wormtail nodded sagely, smiling a tight-lipped smile that always made Draco feel cold all over.
"To understand weakness." He paused to wet his lips, his face twitching in a very rat-like manner. "Mine – and through mine, you will understand yours."
Draco frowned, and stared at the house. Wormtail spoke, his voice maddeningly calm.
"She is alone in there...and we will watch her, and we will wait. She lives only because she is bait."
Draco paused; he knew Peter was purposefully being vague. He was supposed to figure out the older wizard's riddle. If he didn't, then the lesson would be worse than it already was.
He thought, and he remembered. His first real test – and yet another failure.
His weakness.
"Your mother lives here, doesn't she?" Draco asked the question softly, watching the house with more intensity.
"Yes." Wormtail smiled, and Draco could taste the bitterness there. "And she waits for me. We were close, my mother and I. No matter how often he comes and tells her who and what I have become, she waits for me."
Draco frowned, fingering his wand. "Doesn't she think you're dead?"
Even Draco Malfoy didn't need to ask who 'he' was – there was only one possibility.
Adjusting his black, hooded cloak, Wormtail bowed his head. "Yes...she has my desiccated finger resting on a shelf next to the medal that tells her I was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. She understands patience. She knows the reward for her patience will be a reunion with her beloved son. And thus she waits; she does little except care for the neighborhood children and wait to die; wait to come and find me."
Draco watched as the rotund little wizard cried two silent tears, as much for his mother's pain as his own. It was odd. In many ways, Draco felt contempt for his father. Fear, and a distant sort of loathing for the Dark Lord. Admiration and desire for power, yes. A desire to have a taste of the Dark Lord's power. Awe, maybe. But it was nothing compared to the terror her felt in the face of Peter Pettigrew.
His teacher. His mentor. His friend?
Neither had wanted to define the relationship; there were no such things as friends in Lord Voldemort's court.
The two watched the motorcycle pull up the driveway and the haggard wizard climb off. He walked up to the front door, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Wormtail watched this through narrowed eyes, as if memorizing every feature on Remus Lupin's silhouetted face.
"He is the only one of them worthy of me." Pettigrew was whispering. "The only one of them I feared. James was weak...trapped between passion and intellect. Lily could have been so much more than she was...but unlike the other three, I wasn't in love with her. I despised her for the lie she forced herself to live." His voice grew hoarse. "Sirius...I regret him the most. Sirius cared for me. He was the first to accept me, the first to defend me. Sirius wasn't supposed to die."
He shrugged. "But Remus Lupin was the only one who knew and understood me, at least a little bit."
Green sparks flickered at the edge of Pettigrew's wand. Draco tensed his hand on his own wand, and waited; he and Pettigrew had attacked before with less cause and against far more powerful opponents.
The two of them could kill Remus Lupin. All it would take was one open wound and one touch by Peter. Just one.
Draco waited, the Severing Charm on the tip of his tongue...but Wormtail rested the silver hand on his shoulder.
"No. The Dark Lord gave me the means to destroy him...proof the Dark Lord is great and rewards his followers well. No, Draco, tonight we wait and watch."
Draco relaxed and settled back to wait...but within moments, Lupin walked out of the house. He paused, and turned towards the bush; his face was cold and his yellow wolf's eyes glinted hungrily. His wand was in his hand.
They'd been seen.
Peter didn't move. Draco didn't dare breathe; every part of him was tensed, ready to strike down the werewolf...a danger to him, merely because he was the son of his father.
Sometimes, Draco wondered how life would be different if his father wasn't who he was.
Finally Lupin turned away, looking disappointed. Draco let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Peter chuckled, smiling almost patronizingly at Draco.
"Out here, there is nothing to fear from Moony, young dragon. He would call for aid and warn Dumbledore...and we would be gone by the time the Order of the Phoenix spread their wings."
And Remus Lupin would be dead. But why kill him when he still serves a purpose?
They watched Remus walk along the back of the house towards the crumbling stone grotto only a few people knew about. Peter had always been perversely proud they had built the shrine at his mother's house, presumably to honor his 'sacrifice'.
Draco tensed as Remus came closer, but Peter just tightened his hand on his pupil's shoulder. The silver was warm to the touch, but still lifeless and hard.
"Easy, young dragon, easy. Remus isn't even looking at us. We are concealed from him by his own self-absorption. Magic and fear are both unnecessary here. He is far too focused on his grief to know we are here. He is so consumed by pain – pain caused by love – that he does not even think to look. He forgets to be patient. He forgets to be vigilant." Pettigrew laughed softly, his eyes never leaving Remus. "It would take but a single spell or glance to find us. Or a single spell to ward against us. His pain and his love are so all-consuming he thinks of neither."
Draco forced himself to relax and continued observing his former Professor. The ragged man knelt – almost collapsed – before the shrine, lighting two candles in front of two photographs. He went about this with a ritual deliberation, using a taper instead of his wand.
Remus Lupin added a third photograph and a third
Once again, Draco found himself surprised by the calm knowledge Wormtail had; his surety in his understanding of people. Either Wormtail was a genius, or he was mad.
Wormtail urged Draco closer to the shrine; close enough to hear Remus' despairing whisper.
"I'm sorry..." The werewolf whispered to the photographs of Lily and James Potter; Lily blinked her bright green eyes and James smiled reassuringly at his friend. "She won't believe me...and Dumbledore made me leave your son again. I'm sorry I failed him again."
Tears flowing down his face, Remus admitted to the photographs what he had barely admitted to himself.
"We lost Sirius."
The face in the new picture turned to look at him.
Draco listened raptly as Remus recounted in terse, concise phrases the events at the Department of Mysteries...and then described in excruciating detail the death of Sirius Black.
Draco grinned gleefully at the re-telling of Harry Potter's mindless grief, his refusal to accept that his godfather was dead.
Good! About damn time the Golden Boy lost something!
The comparison between Potter's grief and Lupin's grief didn't elude him. They both were weak. They let themselves be ruled by passion – the wrong kind of passion.
Remus sat back and looked at James' image. "You were always the best of us, James...and he is your son."
Peter shook his head and breathed out. Draco knew his mentor didn't know he had spoken the words aloud with the breath.
"No, Remus, you were the best of us. James was the worst..."
Peter turned sharply to Draco. "This is weakness. Observe, learn, understand – weakness is conflict with self. Conflict brings change, and change brings growth. Never deny weakness; accept it, embrace it and confront it."
The smile grew slightly cold, chilling Draco even more. "Fear is a warning of danger. Heed it, listen to it, but obey it as rarely as possible. Remember that to escape from danger can bring you to greater power. Our master's fear of death has brought him to the brink of immortality...and has created our places at his feet."
Draco did not find the thought a comforting one. He was struck by a new thought. I am not weak. I am not afraid, not of the Dark Lord. All he can do is cause me pain, insanity or death. All of which could be my fate without him.
He watched Remus Lupin and he watched Peter Pettigrew and he realized contempt for them both. Peter was content to serve. Lupin was so lost in pain and guilt he couldn't come to terms with the world he lived in.
I will not serve at the Dark Lord's feet. I will stand at his side and I will serve none but him.
Finally, Remus leaned forward to blow out the candles and stand, walking away. A moment later, they heard the growl of the motorcycle's engine.
Peter stood, revealing himself to the silent night. He drew his dark cloak around him, motioning for Draco to do the same.
"Remus is a beautiful example, young dragon. He has never confronted his weakness; his self-doubt, self-loathing. His guilt rules him. His fear rules him." Peter smiled a perversely triumphant smile and motioned for Draco to follow him. "He could have aided Harry Potter, taught him, helped protect him from both our Master and from the muggles he lives with. He could have given Harry Potter much. Instead, he chose to wallow in the pain of love, to drown in guilt over what he had no choice but to be, and Harry Potter grew up alone. Now, Remus can do little for the son of his best friends. He can do nothing but fight and die like the rest of them. He could have made a difference. He chose not to. That is his greatest failure."
Peter strode forward, his hood hiding his face in shadow, but he refused to don the white mask of Death Eater...he would not hide his face when he acted in his Master's name.
The Dark Lord had rewarded him for his devotion.
He clasped his wand in the proof of his Master's generosity.
"What are we doing, then?" Draco was cold and tired so he finally lost his fear enough to snap at his teacher.
"We're going to eliminate weakness."
Draco followed Peter Pettigrew on his way to reward his mother's patience.
End Chapter
Revised 12-25-07
