DISCLAIMER. None of the characters used are a creation of mine. They belong solely to JK Rowling.
Hermione blinked twice at seeing her reflection in the mirror. Surely, it couldn't have been that long since she had a clear look at herself but for whatever it was worth the woman who stared back at her was nothing close to the girl she remembered.
The pale skin of her face with the harrowing black circles beneath her lackluster brown eyes, devoid of their chocolate depths, marred against the bright silver of the ornately designed mirror. Her hair that had once hung in loose ringlets was now nothing more than a mess of worn down mane.
But the one thing that disturbed her most of all was how the rage had so quietly vanished from her eyes like a flame that had suddenly been doused. Her eyes were colder than they had ever been before, stripped of all emotions remotely humane.
She knew it was a long time coming. The war she had fought alongside her comrades, her true family, in a life long past was when it had begun. Her forces had only been drained further when she had been thrown into the middle of an even dangerous game of deception and subterfuge. And now the long months after Reggie's death only added to the pulsating hollowness within.
She sighed, her breath fanning out against the silver, mist foaming over the screen as the harsh winter threatened to envelope her whole, her naked body feeling its ruthlessly cold clutches.
Her nimble fingers went behind her, brushing away the limp hair to the side. She twisted her body to a slight left, her eyes trained over the nape of her neck, the glittering black writing on it stark against the white of her skin, the mere presence of the lettering glaring at her stance as if beckoning her for a rebuke.
She shut her eyes to its sight only to her mind's defences being prodded at by memories she so strongly yearned to be rid of. Flashes of cruel hands burned against the back of her eyes, the pain of a jarring wandtip flaring inside her as a maddened witch cackled somewhere in the crevices of her mind, the smell of gallons of spilled muggle blood so tangible she could almost feel herself drowning in it.
Hermione visibly flinched as she opened her eyes, bringing herself back to the strange reality she had slowly grown accustomed to. She waved her wand mechanically, hiding all the scars that littered her body. She wiped away the remains of the tears pooling in her eyes before she draped a clean, white towel around herself.
Stepping outside the bathroom, she shivered, the tiny window in her bedroom in Harry's flat painting for her a beautiful landscape covered in snow. She had gotten used to switching between Harry's residence and Rab's. It was almost second nature to her these days. It was a strange comfort of having roots in two places in a world that kept reminding her she didn't belong.
Hermione let the towel slip down her legs as she fingered the delicately spun woollen robes laid out on her bed. She donned the her clothes quick enough, tying her hair absent into a low hanging bun.
She snorted at how perfectly aristocratic she looked. Years and years of such pretences and she still couldn't come to truly fit in the great game.
Strapping her wand inside the leather sleeves of her bodice, she stepped out into the living room. She shuffled over to the kitchen, finding harry seated in a comfortable rocking chair in the corner, poring over the morning newspaper.
'Good morning, Hermione,' he mumbled. 'Sleep well?'
'Sleep is a luxury for the lucky ones,' she said flippantly.
'And we sadly happen to have the most rotten of luck,' he smirked. 'There's some tea still left over. I suppose you'll find it's still warm. Even if it's not it isn't anything a simple charm won't fix.'
Hermione nodded, grateful for his thoughtfulness.
'You really must rest. The duality of your life seems to be finally catching up with you, it seems. All this fatigue might make you slip someday, Mione,' he said, his voice tinged with worry.
She raised a brow, her hand grasping the kettle on the stove. She poured some of the warm liquid in one of the mugs before moving to settle in one of the chairs beside the table.
'Maybe it will be a great relief for us all,' she snapped. 'It would be an end to quite a miserable existence.'
Harry sighed loudly, getting up to prop himself onto the table before her. 'You don't mean that.'
Hermione looked away.
'The entire world would burn and crumble if not for the last few of us who are still fighting,' he reminded her gently.
Her shoulders slumped. 'You're right that I need my sleep,' she smiled. 'It really is catching up if I've resorted to such cynicism.'
Harry nodded. 'Happens to the best of us,' he patted her back before pouring some more tea in her mug and adding a couple of sugar cubes, doling out a few biscuits onto a plate for her on the side. 'Though of course, its a surprise it's been going on for this long. We're into 1980 now. I suppose I had it figured we'd be somehow done by now.'
'I know,' she murmured, breathing in the warm vapours steaming over her mug. 'If not over, I had thought we'd have achieved a lot more.'
'People are beginning to lose hope,' he remarked somberly, with a slight hint of resignation in his voice. 'Can't say I blame them.' He scratched at his face, the rubble of a slight beard forming at the base.
'You have held out a long time, Harry,' she pointed out, her hand resting on his. 'It's been a long and wary journey but we've made it this far. What's a couple more years?'
Harry laughed dryly. 'A couple more years are bound to turn my hair all white, I bet.'
Hermione sipped her tea quietly for a while, pondering. Her gaze followed Harry's swift movements in the kitchen, his Muggle cooking helping him make her a hearty breakfast.
She never ceased to feel the gut wrenching sob rise in her throat every time Harry joked about his time with Dursleys paying off.
Hermione sniffed, silently walking over to the sink and washing away the grime off of her mug under the flowing water. It was the strangest thing in the world how something so mundane as a house chore could ground you so subtly.
She used a towel to dry each utensil she had scrubbed at and rinsed, some of her hair falling in her eyes. She piled the plates onto a side and left her mug overturned at the counter before leaning back into it, once again letting her attention focus on Harry.
'Ron will be born next month,' she said wistfully.
Harry froze. His movements stilled as his muscles tensed. He barely nodded before gathering his wits about him and flipping over the omelette he currently had cooking over the flame. 'I could never before imagine life without him and look at us managing just fine.'
'Exactly. We're managing just fine.' She sighed. 'We're not happy,' she whispered.
Harry grunted a noncommittal nod.
'Narcissa is pregnant too,' she said. 'Just a few months in, I believe. Lucius was the happiest man when he found out, I remember.'
'I am sure he was,' Harry shook his head sadly. 'If only be had held onto his love long enough to protect his family. Nevertheless such musings can hardly be shared amongst a pair of friends as old as time itself,' he chuckled, 'before they're duly fed.'
Hermione made a face, grumbling at his attempts of using their friendship to make her eat. Harry never stopped fussing over her. Not that he could be blamed. Even Rab had grown increasingly worried over her depleting will to eat.
She let out a soft breath as she once again lowered herself into a chair, watching Harry bring out a set of crockery using his wand, carefully placing the vegetables and the omelettes onto the plates.
'Eat,' he said, stern, watching her eyeing her food with distaste. 'Stop complaining and eat, Miss Granger. A girl needs her eggs like she needs her wand.'
Hermione chuckled as she bit into the food, her hand raised in a mock salute toward Harry.
Harry smiled as she chewed, each carefully bite a huge step up from her starvation of herself. He was only just about to tousle her hair fondly in an attempt to annoy her when he saw her cringe and clasp a hand over her forearm.
Hermione yelped. I suppose I must leave now. It seems my prowess is needed' she said darkly, before shuffling away silently into the living room again.
Harry cursed at his luck. 'I am taking you out tonight. For some proper food. You've gotten awfully scrawny.'
'Nothing is going to take my mind off what's going to come next, Harry,' she chided him gently.
He nodded, his hands falling limp at his side. He followed her to the living room, leaning against the doorframe. He opened his mouth, once again asking the question he had been repeating for the last six months or so now.
'They still think he's just missing?'
Hermione let out a sharp exhale, caught surprised even when she knew it was coming. 'Walburga's been drawing attention. Her grief is unparalleled. The Black Heir is sorely missed. Sirius remains unaware,' she recited with no emotion in her voice.
She looked at him one last time before spinning away into the darkness and landing in the lands of the Lestrange Manor, glad to be a part of the family which helped her avoid the hassle of walking up a three mile long path to the doors to the mansion.
She hung her cloak with deft fingers, her brows pulled into a deep frown as she heard blood curdling screams reach her ears. It was not quite unusual for her to find a scene as harrowing as this but something about this struck a cord inside her.
Her feet carried her to the dungeons below. She squinted in the dim light to see Bellatrix hunched over a beaten body, the face of the bleeding man obscured and hidden. His neck had a thick metal hoop restricting it. A collar tied to which was a leather leash.
Something about the man was so hauntingly familiar. The voice was too close to.. home. It was too close to her heart.
Hermione wanted to bend over and empty her stomach of all its contents, sickened by the sight before her.
Hermione bowed low before falling down to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes.
'Ah, Miss Lestrange,' he whispered, his red eyes glinting in the black surrounding him. 'You shall find you will enjoy this evening's .. gathering to your tastes.'
'My Lord?' Her eyes drifted along the entire hall, seeking out only the Lestranges and the Malfoys in sight.
'We have acquired a most useful asset, my love,' he waved his pale hand toward the man writhing on the floor, his screams punctuating the silence. 'It has come to my knowledge you know of him. And so it is that I believe you will firmly enjoy being a part of his torment.'
Hermione stepped aside lithely, find herself standing next to an ashen faced Rab. The knot in her stomach tightened at the listlessness in his eyes.
The man howled as Bellatrix sent his body flying into a wall. Bellatrix preened as Voldemort pressed close behind her, his fingers trailing down her arms.
'Most wonderful,' he remarked. He turned to look at Rodolphus smirking quietly in a corner. 'You have done quite a remarkable job today, my man. You shall be aptly rewarded. I shall feel immense pleasure while I burn away this man's senses. The world shall quiver before my wrath once they have heard of this.. monstrosity I have myself designed. It shall hide away from me when the masses find out that I, Lord Voldemort, have found the very way to disregard a man's honour.. his true feelings cast aside and replaced by the fruition of another man's will. Oh, how I must revel to know that one of Dumbledore's most trusted will be turned against him.'
Hermione's blood ran cold as she realised the implications of Voldemort's words.
'I will strip away any shred of loyalty he may feel toward the old fool and his band of blithering idiots. I will take away from him his fondest memories and turn them into something bitter. I will steal away from those he love. I will make him see them in a different light. I will make him spurn those he cares for. By the time the night is over and the moon sets, I will have this man begging me to do my bidding.'
Hermione felt the hair on her skin rise as the blond haired man thrashed onto the ground, his body cluttering over it like a ragdoll.
Hermione's insides coiled into a thick rage as another shackled scream split the air and rattled the very bones inside her. The man gasped out a hurried name, a whisper of a prayer, a name so reverently spoken that his love washed over her.
And then it clicked.
Her eyes widened, a cry of protest against Fate at the tip of her tongue. Her emotions turned jagged, a wraith like numbness overcoming her.
The man was once again flung aside, his battered body falling down into a heap at Hermione's feet.
She gasped, taking a hesitant step back, stumbling onto her knees.
Peter.
Peter's lifeless blue eyes locked onto hers, memories of a distant past rearing up, a rueful smile tugging at his lips.
'And this is.. how .. our something .. big ends,' he whispered.
I'm telling you, Hermione.. this is the start of something big, he had said. Doesn't matter where you go.
It didn't in the end, did it?
It didn't matter in the end. She couldn't save the McKinnons. She couldn't save her sweet Reggie. And she couldn't save Peter.
Peter had never meant to rat the Potters out. He had never meant to betray them. He hadn't meant to kill Harry. He had never meant to be the catalyst that would shift the entire war.
He had been brainwashed.
He had been tortured.
This is the start of something big. Something big indeed.
Voldemort helped Hermione to her feet. 'Worry not, my dear. He will never again hurt you.'
Peter's eyes shut close as Hermione released a timid breath, the irony of life once again gambling with her sanity.
'At last,' Voldemort's eyes gleamed, 'a spy in the Order.'
AN: I pondered over it day and night to figure out something really tragic happening that would finally turn Peter against the Marauders but clearly I failed. I definitely don't believe it played out so tragically in canonverse. Pettigrew was a bastard. He deserved no forgiveness. But in my decision to try and portray him as an equal to James, Sirius and Remus I doomed myself to never really finding a good enough reason for him to take the easy way out and be a coward in turning his back on his friends.
The character grew on me and despite however much I truly despise Pettigrew, Peter in this story was a fiercely loyal friend and it would seem like a betrayal to his being to make him work for Voldemort willingly due to which I came up with something like what just happened above.
However, it's just my take on the matter but restricted to the kind of chatacter he is portrayed to be in this story alone. As for the canonverse, there's not a person I hate more that Pettigrew except for Umbridge, of course.
Thank you guys for still being here! We've come a long way :-)