Chapter 34

I Know What You Did Last Summer

The dark cobblestone alleyway stank of raw fish, sea bird droppings and salty sea water; shadows danced along its floor, borne from weak light flickering from small torches hanging in a haphazard fashion along its stone walls. Voices floated through the air from nearby docks, for the shipyard never slept, even at this late hour. Panicked footsteps echoed loudly down the alleyway and soon a lithe figure appeared, slipping and sliding on the wet stone.

A tall man, bundled tight in a grey traveling cloak, was running from an unseen foe – he kept anxiously glancing at his feet, as if the ground might open up and swallow him whole. The man dashed out of the alleyway and found himself in a small dirt yard, littered with a few old bins and discarded trash. A great ship loomed large up ahead of him, a massive transatlantic freighter that offered escape. But the dirt yard was encircled by a rusted chain link fence, with circular barbed wire lining the top. He rushed up to the fence and grabbed it in frustration, too high and too dangerous to climb.

The man dropped his right hand to his side and a long wooded stick slid out from his sleeve and into his waiting palm. He flicked the stick and amazingly a long rope made of fire materialized from its tip. He brandished the fiery whip around his head and lashed out at the fence – the fire rope sliced a wide gash through the fence, like hot steel cutting through soft butter. The man brought the fire whip back and readied for another slash against the fence, but when he swung the whip forward the fire went out with a hiss, steam rising up into the air as if the whip had been doused with a cold splash.

The man wheeled around in fright – standing before him was a thin man with sallow skin, a large hooked nose and uneven yellow teeth. He had shoulder length, greasy black hair that framed his angular face like gloomy curtains. He had dark penetrating eyes that resembled long, endless tunnels that no light could hope to pierce. He wore flowing black robes and had the appearance of an overgrown bat – his thin lips were cracked and red, but curled in hateful triumph.

Severus Snape stuck out his wand menacingly at the terrified man in front of him, "Hands up, you filthy mutt."

"What do you want from me?" screamed the man in the grey cloak, his face hidden beneath a large hood.

"Shut your grubby mouth Black! Throw your wand to the ground and surrender…or don't. I have no qualms dragging your cold dead body back to the Ministry."

"I have no idea who Black is!" The man's terrified voice rattled around the dirt yard, but went no further, drowned out by the sounds floating on the nearby docks – loud shouts from longshoreman and impatient horns from waiting ships swallowed the man's cries.

"So be it," whispered Snape and he sliced his wand through the night air, while dodging to the side.

"Protego!" Snape's curse rebounded in front of the grey man and bounced harmlessly to the ground. The force of the blocked spell pushed the grey man back into the chain link fence, the still smoldering metal singeing his back. He yelped in pain and stumbled forward – his wand held aloft in front of him, ready to parry the next attack.

Snape rolled out of his dodge and slashed downward with his wand – black puffs of smoke erupted from the ground in front of him, coloring the air black. The puffs continued towards the grey man in five foot intervals – he shrunk back in fright as the eruptions closed in. Finally, a puff erupted right at his feet, knocking him down in a fit of dry coughing. The black smoke burned his eyes and throat, suffocating him – he began to scream and wave his wand wildly at the smoke, shooting off indiscriminant curses at his blurred foe.

His screams died away and he stopped brandishing his wand as the smoke cleared – Snape had vanished. The grey man waved his wand around the dirt yard with a shaking hand, waiting for his opponent to reveal himself.

"Where are you?!"

A large black boot whistled through the air and slammed into the grey man's head, snapping his neck back and driving his body back into the chain link fence. Snape slammed his foot back on the ground and glared down at the bloodied man, a look of crazy triumph flashing across his face. The grey man stared back with angry determination in his eyes, ready for a dogfight, when suddenly his resolution melted away into complete fear. He threw away his wand and held up his hands, complete surrender.

Snape felt a whooshing behind him and slowly turned around – a tall wizard with a long white beard was now stood in the dirt yard, dressed in magnificent blue and purple robes. The air around Albus Dumbledore seemed to pulse with unseen energy.

"Can I be of some assistance?"

"What the hell are you doing here? I don't need your help!"

"I was not talking to you Severus."

"Still favoring Gryffindors over all others? He gets no more chances to escape the hangman!"

Dumbledore did not respond, instead looking past Snape towards the grey man. Snape spun back around and followed the headmaster's gaze to the trembling man crouched on the ground. He walked over to the man and threw back grey hood – a skinny black man with short blonde hair and a youthful face stared back at him, terror reflecting in his black eyes. Snape dragged the man up by the collar and screamed, "Who are you?! Where's Sirius Black?!"

"That's quite enough. Release him – now!"

Snape relinquished his grasp and the scared young man dropped to the ground in a heap. He looked up at Dumbledore, who nodded and flicked his head back towards the stone alleyway. The man crawled to his wand, snatched it up and scrambled to his feet – without so much as a glance towards Dumbledore or Snape, he took off down the alleyway and fled into the night.

Snape began to breathe heavily as anger left him and frustration took its place. He stared past the chain link fence, over the docks and out to the large freighter that was moored to a pier, slowly swaying in time with the slow ocean waves. Dumbledore walked up beside him and turned to look at this former student and current charge.

"You're bounty hunting days have run their course, it's time to come home."

"I have no home. And my quarry's still out there."

"Sirius is innocent Severus – I've searched the boy's memories. Do you doubt me?"

"Fine, Pettigrew then! I want one of those traitors brought to justice."

Dumbledore turned away from Snape and joined him in staring at the large freighter. It truly was amazing what muggles could create without the aid of magic – what a beautifully immense creation. I must make time to learn how they are able to create these monstrosities. Dumbledore then turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

"We'll find him – I promise you that Peter will pay for his duplicity, but you must continue to trust me. Come home…please."

"Hogwarts?!" Snape spat out the word. "Filled to the brim with Gryffindor sympathizers and your bigoted cronies, all prejudiced against Slytherin."

"Come now, you don't truly believe that?"

"I don't? Why am I the only Slytherin alum on the staff, the only teacher you treat with such disdain? For God's sake man, you allowed a filthy half-breed into the school because of your blind favoritism towards your house alumni!"

"Do not use such language in my presence!"

"I refuse to serve as potions master with that reckless freak still employed at Hogwarts. That's my final word on the subject."

"Remus is not the true cause of your pain Severus, and besides, your objection is moot. He has resigned from his post."

Snape looked at Dumbledore in surprise, but remained silent.

"You made his continued presence at Hogwarts untenable when you told your students about his…condition."

"Do you believe you ever make mistakes Dumbledore?"

"What?"

"Do you?"

"I make mistakes just like any man," Dumbledore responded while turning his palms up in a show of supplication. "In fact, being rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger."

"Lupin was a mistake, hiring him was reckless. You're so quick to forgive, sometimes you forget to punish. You think I informed my students due to some childhood grudge? You once told me to never forget a teacher's ultimate responsibility – the students and their well-being is paramount, held above all else.

"He forgot to drink the brew Dumbledore, he forgot to take the Wolfsbane potion that night! He became the wolf and put lives, innocent children's lives in danger! Would you still be so forgiving if any of your precious students had been ripped apart that night?"

Dumbledore found that he was speechless for a moment. "Remus is a good man."

"And a bad wolf. If he's truly gone…I'll return to my teaching duties."

"Thank you Severus."

"But be warned, if you continue to me mislead me and keep me in the dark, if you never fully put your complete trust in me, than our partnership is forever doomed. Then you're just using me for your ends, no better than the Dark Lord."

Snape turned on his heel and trudged back down the stone alleyway. Dumbledore quietly stared out at the freighter for a few more moments and then turned to follow after his potions master.

The dirt yard fell quiet as the pair of footsteps faded, only the sounds of the dock remained. A few seconds later a small rat poked its stubby head out from one of the discarded box tops in the dirt yard. It tilted its head to the side and listened for a few tense moments. Satisfied the dangerous men had gone, it scrambled across the yard, through the chain link fence and out to the wet docks – the waiting freighter loomed large in the distance, a sleeping giant waiting patiently for its final passenger.

Sailing the high seas on a vast ship, hauling large cargo across the seven seas where danger lurked around every wave – there was nothing like it, what a rush! Working on dry bulk ships was the final frontier, the dangerous wild-west, the last manly job left in the world. Technology was taking over, automating everything, cameras everywhere, breaking down wild men into mindless lemmings. Out in international waters you could still be a real man, follow your own rules, traveling from port to port doing whatever you wanted – this was how men were meant to live.

Thurmond Grendel looked out over the Red Queen's railing, watching the ship's rudder cut though the salty water. He loved working on large freighters; working for seven, eight months at a time and then spending his earnings over the next three months on as much booze, pills and women as he wanted. After a few weeks of recovering from the debauchery, he'd catch another ship and start the cycle all over again.

Tonight the Red Queen would drop anchor in Albania he thought with a smile – the enchanting Mistress Charlotte resided near the docks. He was still smarting over the last night he spent with her, absentmindedly rubbing his crotch as a smile crossed his lips. Thurmond shucked the last of his orange and threw the peel on the ground, watching it bounce away. He then licked his fingers clean of the sticky juice and headed back to the cargo bay below deck. It was already five minutes past his break and he didn't want to give the sadistic foreman another reason to dock his pay ahead of their next stop – his dark tastes didn't run cheap.

Just a few minutes after Thurmond left the platform, two rats scurried onto it and began sniffing around the orange peel. It must have met their standards because they each began to chew on the citric rind with abandon.

"Still planning to disembark tonight?" squealed a shabby looking brown rat with patches of fur missing along its coat.

"Yes," replied a skinny grey rat with dirty, matted fur. The rat had a whiny voice, beady black eyes and was missing a toe on its right foot.

"That would be unwise my friend. Why not stay with me on the Queen? She'll be finished with Europe soon enough and will soon head down towards the African coast. Oh! The food and spices! I'm telling you friend, you've never tasted anything like it."

Wormtail didn't respond as he continued to stuff his face with the skin of the orange.

"And besides my friend, I've heard stories from other brothers. A dark menace lurks in the woods near the port, something evil that feeds on small creatures like us."

Wormtail spat out some of the rind and looked up at his fellow passenger. "The menace is what I seek."

The inn was normally quiet at this time of night, as most patrons had either retired to bed or were lounging tranquilly by a roasting fire. Tonight, the only sounds came from a couple tucked away in a back corner, their heads close together and voices low. Conspiring to rob a bank or making plans to elope, thought the barkeep with a smile – he would normally have asked them to leave as they had not rented a room and the hour was late, but their generous tip kept him at bay. He turned his attention from the shadowy couple to his depleted bar, and he headed down to the cellar with a sigh for there was no rest for the weary, time to restock the bar in advance of tomorrow's crowd.

Huddled close together at a table near the back of the inn was a most unlikely couple, an absentminded old witch from the British Ministry of Magic and a wizard long thought dead by all but a precious few – Bertha Jorkins and Peter Pettigrew.

"This is simply amazing Peter, you've been a spy for the Ministry this whole time?"

"Yes, I survived the deadly attack from that mass murderer Sirius Black. In fact, it was Fudge himself who saved me that day and eventually recruited me into the Ministry."

"I see, how extraordinary! But why have you not shown yourself to the world all these years? Why stay hidden?"

"Umm, well, you see…staying hidden was all Fudge's idea. He said I'd be of better use to the Ministry if everyone believed I was dead. That it would be easier for me to gather information this way."

"Information on what?"

Peter licked his lips, tasting the nervous perspiration – stupid old Bertha, what rotten luck she spotted me tonight. Peter slipped his hand into his pocket, the presence of the wand there felt reassuring. He looked around, most of the muggles in here would not be a problem, but he'd rather not make a mess and draw any undue attention.

"One more glass?"

"What? Oh no, thank you. It's quite late and I have an early start tomorrow morning, I'll be visiting my aunt. Anyway, what exactly have you been doing all these years? What information have you been gathering?"

"Oh come now, I haven't seen you in so long! Just one teensy little bit of wine. Please don't make me drink alone."

"Alright then, just one more drink. Ohh! That's plenty." Bertha's cheeks took on a ruddy color as she sipped the dry Chianti, the additional alcohol pushing her from happiness to inebriation.

"Oh you know, all kinds of information. In fact I thought you were my contact when I saw you tonight."

"Contact?"

"Why yes. I was supposed to meet with a Ministry official tonight and give my report. I was told it'd be a very important person I'd be meeting with tonight, someone very high up on the Ministry ladder. And of course I thought it must be you, when I saw you…you've always been so successful…"

"Well, thank you, yes…I suppose I have done quite well for myself. But the truth is I'm here on a holiday, not Ministry business."

Peter's hand gripped the wand harder in his pocket, his knuckles turning white. He looked around the bar and then leaned in towards Bertha. He stank of the woods and hot sweat, for Peter had been in the company of rats for weeks and was in need of a bath and some new clothes. But his disheveled appearance was lost on the oblivious and now drunk Bertha Jorkins.

"I've something terribly important to tell the Minister, but I'm afraid we may be overheard in here," said Peter, as he glance around in mock apprehension. "Shall we go outside and talk alone? Can I trust you with the information?"

Bertha looked at this disgusting, shifty character – something did not seem right. But instead of raising the alarm, she simply said,
"Yes."

Peter and Bertha had been traversing the dark woods near the Albanian coast for weeks, but had come across no one. Another dark night was fast approaching, and with it another dose of frustration for Peter. No real food for weeks, sleeping on dirt and mud! Maybe the Dark Lord isn't here! Oh God, now that Sirius knows I'm alive no one but Him will be able to protect me. Peter slumped down on a moldy log and turned to Bertha, who was standing next to him, staring vacantly into space.

"Bertha, make camp and find me some berries – night will soon be upon us."

Bertha remained standing and mute, eyes unfocused, not acknowledging Peter's instructions – not acknowledging anything for that matter. Peter stared at her with impatience, finally yelling, "Bertha! Move your ass!"

When she still stayed rooted to the ground, Peter let out a long sigh and pointed a long wand her, the Dark Lord's wand. It felt heavy and powerful and oh so wonderful to use. Peter feel like a different person when he wielded it, like a real man. "Imperio!"

It was the most wonderful feeling – Bertha had been fighting against the curse, but now she felt a calm water wash over everything. All her thoughts and worries floated away, only a vague sense of happiness remained. She felt relaxed and at peace with the world, the horrible images sloshing around in her mind began to melt away. The memory of Peter savagely attacking her outside the inn, the weeks spent alone in the dark woods with that animal…the things he did to her when the sun went down…all those disturbing memories slipped away and she became an oblivious, blissfully ignorantly blank slate.

Bertha heard Peter's voice echoing in a distant part of her head: Find some bramble and make a fire…Bring me some wild berries…Good, now catch some squirrels and roast them…Now fetch me some water…Well done Bertha, well done…I'm sure you must be tired…Lay down next to me…Good…That feels nice Bertha…Give me your hand, I want to show you something…

Peter was so engrossed with fulfilling his deepest desires that he failed to notice a large, green snake slithering towards him. It was roughly twelve feet long and as thick as a man's thigh. Its forked tongue shot out in rapid succession, drawn to the pheromones it tasted in the air. Trailing behind the large snake was a dark shadow that had no right to be there, for there the flickering light from the camp fire was too weak to create it. The shadow hovered over the snake, black as the darkest night. The playing light of the campfire seemed to shrink in fear as the black cloud approached.

Peter felt a warning shiver crunch on his spine and suddenly stopped what he was doing, slowly turning his head around in dread. All the power and control that had been flowing in his veins seeped out of him in a terrifying flash. The large snake and hovering black cloud sapped him of the dominance and superiority he had just been filled with. Peter's shoulders slouched low and he twisted his now limp body off of his victim and stared wide in terror.

The snake and dark shadow kept advancing, a slow moving but terrifying dance in the night air. As the dark shadow passed by the camp fire, it consumed the light and left the campsite in total darkness.

The only sounds that now remained were the crackling of the final embers of a snuffed out camp fire, the labored breathing of poor Bertha Jorkins, and the muffled whimpering of the wretched Peter Pettigrew.