Chapter 12

Peter Pettigrew was terrified, having his memories searched through by Narcissa Malfoy. He knew she was seeing terrible things, vile things, secret things, but he wasn't strong enough to do anything about it. In his mind he kept seeing James, seeing Lily, seeing their son. He knew what he did was wrong, he knew betraying them was the worst decision he'd ever made. He knew he couldn't take it back. No matter how much he tried to forget.

As soon as his memories were his own again, he felt himself twisting. He was pulled and pushed and squeezed until the world righted itself. He fell to the ground in a wheezing heap. He writhed against the dusty wooden floors of the Burrow, sobbing and screaming. No matter how much or how desperately he tried, he couldn't become Scabbers again. He dug deeper and deeper into himself, desperately clawing at his magic to carry him away. No matter how hard he tried, how frantic he became, he remained on the floor of the Burrow as a man.

'It's gone Peter.' Narcissa snapped, bending over him. 'You will never use magic again.'

Peter hid his face in his hands, rolling tight onto his side. 'No. No. No. No. NO.' He screamed over and over again, slamming his fist into the floor.

'Give it back.' He begged. 'Give it back. Give it back. Give it back!'

'No.' Narcissa spoke, her tone cold and harsh. 'You will be held accountable for what you've done. For all the people you've murdered in his name. And he will be next.'

'I promise I won't go to him again.' He pleaded, his eyes wide and hopeful. 'I'll go away and you'll never see me again.'

Narcissa shook her head, stepping away from him. 'We both know you're lying. You're too tightly bound to him now. You will never escape his influence and we both know it. The aurors will make certain he never gets his hands on you again.'

'Don't send me to them. I don't want to go to Azkaban.' Peter whimpered. 'It's cold and dark, and the Dementors will swallow me up. I'll never get out.'

'The ministry isn't in the habit of sending muggles to Azkaban.' Narcissa shook her head. 'Nor do they send squibs. Whatever your fate, it won't be in our world.'

Peter began sobbing again, curling up tightly in a ball.

'Quit your snivelling.' Narcissa snapped. 'It's giving me a headache.'

As time passed, minutes began to turn into an hour and Narcissa started to doubt that McGonagall would follow Hermione's instructions. She may have been blackmailed, but she began to doubt that it would have any effect on her former Professor. She'd always been stern, but fair, and no amount of manipulation or coercion could get her to rescind detention, nor give back house points. She was a shrewd woman, nothing seemed to scare her.

It was during her musing, once Peter had long quieted, that a snap echoed from outside. The door swung open and Minerva McGonagall walked in, a tired expression on her face.

'I thought blackmail was lost on you Professor.' Narcissa smiled a little.

'It doesn't.' McGonagall replied. 'But guilt does.' She paced across the room to the lounge, where Peter was laying on the floor.

She took a moment to breathe and to fully comprehend what she was seeing. The last time she'd seen Peter he was in his early twenties, so young and meek, the whole world waiting before him. He not only looked older now, but tortured. His eyes were deep set and hollow, and an involuntary twitching wracked his nose every few seconds. He was attempting to shield himself from her, but suddenly rolled over, clawing at the bottom of her robes.

'You were always so good to me Professor.' He spoke, frantic and terrified. 'You won't give me over to them will you? You wouldn't do that.'

'I quite imagine James would have asked you the same thing, had he known Voldemort had found them.' She spoke, kicking his hands away. 'Any sympathy I had for you died long ago.'

She marched away from him, although made sure to still keep him in her line of sight, as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

'One letter.' Narcissa smiled politely, producing a small envelope.

'Thank you.' McGonagall inclined her head. 'The ministry will find out about HErmione through him, you should hide her. But he will also tell the ministry about your involvement with Voldemort. They'll know he's in your home.''

'I've accepted that.' Narcissa held her head high. 'Before Draco wrote to me, asking for the ritual, I wouldn't have second guessed my husband's decision to join him. I willingly did my part back during the war and now. I may not be marked, but I believed. Should punishment come for that very bad decision, I will accept it.'

McGonagall looked her over, taking in the square of her shoulders, the slight rise of her chin. She was confident, even in the face of uncertainty.

'Very well.' McGonagall pulled two pieces of paper from her pocket and handed them both to Narcissa. 'One for you and one for your son. Burn them once you read them.'

Narcissa stared down at the sheets perplexed. 'I don't understand.'

'You will, when you read it.' McGonagall smiled. 'Now back home with you. I have a fugitive to turn in.'

Narcissa inclined her head in thanks and apparated away, leaving McGonagall with a letter and her former student. She heaved a great sigh and opened the envelope, curious about its contents.

This man is Peter Pettigrew, a Death Eater. He betrayed Lily and James Potter, and gave them up to Voldemort. They were killed on the night of the 31st of October 1981. He murdered twelve muggles with a blasting curse and cut off his finger, before escaping as an unregistered animagus on the 2nd of November 1981. He murdered Cedric Diggory on the night of the 24th of June 1995. Cover this up all you want, the papers will be printing by morning.

You will find him incapable of performing magic, and thus simple interrogation under Veritaserum will have to suffice for your investigation. He is magicless, not because of his own action, but mine. I, the last surviving Stuart, am coming to receive my birthright. Take this man, and his lack of magic, as my proof. I wish for a peaceful, cooperative transition of power, and offer Peter Pettigrew, a mass murderer, as a token of that wish.

Merry Christmas.

McGonagall smiled as she read the words. She'd only seen this side of Hermione once, and it hadn't been in the three broomsticks. There was a hunger for justice and an anger at its miscarriages when she'd approached her about S.P.E.W last year. She chuckled to herself and nodded, folding the letter and placing it back in the envelope.

She took a deep breath, keeping her gaze firmly on Peter as she raised her wand, and called the Aurors.

...

Narcissa Malfoy strode through her home with purpose, headed directly to the library where Hermione and Draco were waiting for news. Tight between her fingers was the paper McGonagall had given her. She fiddled with it, unsettled by its presence, and what the offering of it meant, as it appeared to be a great deal to McGonagall.

As she neared the door, she paused, her hand hovering over the handle. A weight loomed on her shoulders and for the first time in decades she didn't know what it was. Her hand trembled and she took a sharp breath. She could feel something swelling within her chest, something hot and clawing. She swallowed and began breathing sharper, feeling a tear sting her eye. As it fell she felt her chest release, and could draw in a deep desperate breath. She gripped the handle and walked into the room, wiping her tear away.

Draco and Hermione were sat on a couch together, leaning over a book. They were muttering away to themselves, no idea she was there. She stopped for a moment, just to take in the calm, before striding into the room as she usually would have. Their eyes snapped up to look at her.

'She arrived.' Narcissa announced, still clutching the slips of paper. 'And she gave us these.' She held up the slips of paper, Draco seemed confused by them but a knowing look passed over Hermione's face, followed by her nodding.

'I'd take it as a compliment, Narcissa.' Hermione smiled. 'A very high one.'

'Only Gryffindors.' Draco rolled his eyes, dropping the book onto the side table next to them. 'Only you would take a scrap piece of parchment as a compliment.'

'It's not the parchment.' Hermione shook her head. 'It's what's on it.'

Narcissa furrowed her brow and frowned, opening up the piece of paper. In loopy, careful writing, it read: the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve Grimmauld Place, London. It burned away in her hands.

Recognition washed over Narcissa. She knew the address, perhaps far too well for its current purpose. She'd been to the house hundreds of times if not thousands. The irony was astounding given how violently her Aunt Walburga supported Voldemort. If he were willing to give her the dark mark, Narcissa was certain she would have taken it. It was her Aunt who managed to convince her Father that marrying Lucius would be a great boon to the family. She laughed, out loud to her own surprise, at the absurdity of it all.

Draco seemed alarmed. He shot up from the couch and made his way over.

'I'm quite alright, Draco.' She continued giggling, desperately trying to hold it in. 'You need to read this paper.' She barely managed to put the slip in Draco's hand and staggered over to a chair, in which she could better attempt to stop laughing.

Draco sighed and glanced down at the slip of paper, barely caring for its contents, until he recognised a word and went to actually read it. 'Wasn't this Great Aunt Walburga's house?' Draco asked, perplexed. The slip of paper suddenly flashed on fire in his hands.

Narcissa flew into a second laughing fit, barely able to nod.

Hermione was chuckling along also. 'If it helps you understand Draco, the Order of the Phoenix is Dumbledore's resistance group.'

'But I don't understand what's so funny?' Draco demanded, glancing back and forth between Hermione and his mother.

'Have you ever met Walburga Black?' Hermione asked, a large grin on her face.

'No, I barely remember going to her funeral.' Draco shrugged.

Hermione grinned even wider. 'Then you'll be glad to know that when I first met the woman, or at least her portrait, she called me filth, scum, a byproduct of dirt and vileness, and a mutant freak befouling the house of her fathers.'

Draco did not seem to understand the colossal joke Narcissa was writhing at in her chair, but rather seemed horrified.

'That's just terrible.' Draco frowned.

When Narcissa finally calmed down, and was attempting to catch her breath, she smoothed down the front of her dress and stood.

'I understand the gravity of McGonagall giving us this information.' Narcissa began, pacing over. 'However I do not understand why she gave it to us.'

Hermione smiled faintly, but warmly. 'If you need somewhere safe to go, somewhere neither Voldemort nor his Death Eaters can follow, you can go there. It's under a fidelius charm so I couldn't have told you about it even if I wanted to. But a slip of paper written on by the secret keeper can pass on that information to trusted, and worthy, allies.'

Narcissa nodded, her expression suddenly serious. 'McGonagall also told me to take you into hiding. Once they start interrogating Pettigrew, all of our secrets will be out.'

'Then we do that now.' Draco determined. 'We hide now, preemptively.'

Narcissa seemed to struggle with the idea. 'I don't know if I could leave Lucius behind.' She faltered.

It was the first time Hermione had heard his name out of her mouth, the tender way she said it pulled a little at Hermione's heart. 'I'm afraid you'll have to, if you decide to come with us.'

Narcissa snapped her head up to meet Hermione's gaze. 'If?' She asked, horror in her eyes. 'I love my husband, and I will be pained to leave him behind, but I will not leave my son without proper protection.'

'Very well then.' Hermione nodded. 'We go to Grimmauld Place.'