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Book II: Age of the Pheonix
Chapter III: The Right Side
Music Choice: Landslide - Fleetwood Mac
The Potter Estate - 1948...
"Euphemia," called Fleamont Potter as he put on his coat, "We're going to be late to the picture." He walked into the kitchen to find his wife in the midst of baking. Anyone would be alarmed to find someone mid-project when they were about to leave the house, but he knew his wife well, often using hobbies to escape the grief of not being a mother. This week of all weeks she needed more distraction than ever. "Euphie."
"I just thought I would get this done before we go," she said between sniffles as she held tears back. "At least it can be said I have something in the oven." She laughed at her joke weakly then covered her face to stop tears.
Fleamont came up behind and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her cheek. "Let's stay home. You need to rest."
"I've been doing nothing but resting for days. I have to do something. I have to produce... something." She looked over her shoulder at him, her face covered in flower. "I'll be fine." Just then they heard a knock at the door. "You get that. I'll get my coat and get cleaned up."
"Alright, my darling." He kissed her once more then she exited up the service stairwell of their large home.
Fleamont made his way to the front door, unsure of their caller. He composed himself quickly and pulled the door open, instantly frowning at the visitor on his steps. "Proffessor Dumbledore."
"Aren't you getting a bit old to still call me your Professor, Fleamont?" The man, dressed in his town clothes, asked.
"Euphemia and I are about to go see a film in town. I'm afraid this isn't a good time,."
"Would it be a better time if I was here for a different reason?" Fleamont scrunched his nose angrily and Dumbledore smiled. "You look so much like your younger self when you're being defiant, Fleamont. Reminds me of the time you told Headmaster Black that his grandson was a 'prick'."
"And he still is a prick, even as an adult."
"Are you going to leave me standing here or let me in?"
"I've not decided yet. You have a tendancy to talk me into things I don't want to do." The two men stared at each other before Fleamont gave in, waived his old Professor inside and led him to the library. "I heard you moved to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Was Transfiguration growing stale?"
"There doesn't always have to be a reason to try something new."
"But you had a reason, didn't you?" Fleamont asked bluntly.
"If you mean did I fill the role to prevent someone else from having it, then yes. But not for the reason you may think. The Headmaster felt the boy was too young for the position. That's all."
"That's all? Never once did you feel that maybe the boy was of a different mental state than the rest of us? That his form of magic has an uncanny resemblance to that which we saw in the Global War?"
"Fleamont."
"You didn't warn me, Albus! I was instructed to find the boy a job. I did as I was asked. I put my reputation on the line with the Wizengamot, a position I've held for twenty years and appointed that boy as the British Youth Representative. In his first week, he lobbied for restricted dark arts books to be available to young Wizards. It was a bit offputting of a suggestion yes, but we didn't think much of it. Then the strange and bizarre conversations started. The questions he would ask about Dark Magic. Grown men started to avoid the boy after just one conversation. They were scared of him."
"Including you..." Fleamont stood stiffly at the accusation and looked away from Dumbledore who said, "I've never seen you fearful, Fleamont. What happened? What was it that caused the boy to be dismissed from the position? You never disclosed it."
"I dare not discuss, Albus. I want the boy removed from my mind."
"Why?"
"Because I think he is dangerous."
"I've never known you to shy away from danger. Quite the opposite."
"This isn't a brawl with a bully in common room, Albus. This boy, he's responsible for..."
"For what?" Albus asked but Fleamont refused to continue. "You know the boy isn't here, Fleamont. He can't hear us."
"I'm not so sure of that..."
"Fleamont. If you can't tell me what happened then how can I ever convince you to return to your role on the Wizengamont? You're far too young to retire."
"That's exactly why I won't tell you. I can't go back. I'm all Euphemia has, Albus. We just found out that she can't have..." he sighed and lowered his voice. "It doesn't appear that children are in our future. She needs me right now. She can't afford for me to get mixed up in something that could result in losing me. It's best I stick with my potion work for now."
"Losing you? So you believe the boy is capable of-"
"Why are you asking me?" Fleamont said matter-of-factly. "When you already know." He walked over to his desk and closed a folder that he had been assembling regarding the boy. "I know you wanted to give the boy a chance, Albus. I did too. But what I uncovered about him on the Wizengamot... I can't just remove that information from my mind. Euphemia would be ashamed to know I consider anyone beyond redemption. But from what I have discovered in just a short time about the boy... I'm convinced that young Tom Riddle may be past help."
The Potter Estate - January 1, 1980...
Sirius' bike crashed to the ground of the English countryside and puttered off down the old road which led to the Potter Estate. James shivered in the sidecar while Remus sat behind Sirius, clinging to his waist.
"See?" Sirius said, "Wasn't so bad."
"Not so bad? Padfoot, it's bloody freezing! We should have taken the Portkey."
"Portkeys aren't stylish."
"No," Remus teeth chattered, "But they prevent hypothermia before the age of 20."
"We'll warm you up at that house. Fleamont has the best stash of whiskey," Sirius said then his smile fell as he said, "Had... the best."
James glanced up at his friend as the reality hit them both that they'd be entering their home for the first time since the The Potters passing. The bike roared up the drive and came to a hault near the carriage house. All three boys stared at the brick home in shock. Remus peeked over Sirius' shoulder and gasped at the sight, "What the hell..."
"It's like bloody Grey Gardens," Sirius said in refrence to the muggle documentary.
"No... it's worse," James said and climbed out of the sidecar. Sirius and Remus dismounted as well and followed James closely. His childhood home had been attacked. The brick structure had been destroyed in different areas, windows broken out, visible smoke damage on the roof and a collapsed chimney on the driveway. Every step closer, revealing more and more destruction. James shoved the door open but Sirius yanked him backwards as the loss of the support from the doorway cause some of the stained glass above it to cave in and fall.
Sirius and James held onto each other a bit longer, before giving one another a nod and entering the ruins of the home. Glass crunched under their shoes as they walked into the main foyer, the same one where Euphemia Potter had left out Halloween treats and pumpkin decorations when the Order was staying with her. They glanced over to the splintered and burned dining room doors where many breakfasts were had as an Order. Now they stood in the very spot where Euphemia Potter insisted to her husband that Sirius would be staying with them after running away, where she took him in as her second son.
"This is all my fault," Remus muttered. "I was so careless. And the Death Eaters found us."
"Remus," Sirius said softly, "You wanted your Dad to know you were safe. We couldn't have known your letters were being intercepted."
"I could have told him I was safe without telling him I was here," He realized James had wondered further into his father's study. Sirius glanced up at some of the portaits on the way and wrinkled his face, pained at the display. The oils of the paints had melted, making each one look mutilated.
The books from Fleamont's shelves were mostly burned, all of which had fallen onto the floor in heaps. James looked at the leather couch, now torn, and remembered many times he sat there in some sort of trouble with Sirius as they waited for Fleamont to assemble and puff his pipe. It had always been a tactic his father used to prolong the impending anxiety of lecture.
Sirius peeked through the door of the study and watched James. He whispered back to Remus and said, "I don't think Fleamont's whiskey stash is going to be an option anymore mate."
"It's ok," Remus mumbled, "I don't think anything would get this chill out of my bones now. He drew his wand then ventured up the steps cautiously levitating debris away as he moved to the second floor.
Sirius crept into the study and looked around thinking of what he could say to James to make this seem right, "Your mum would eviscerate whoever did this. Never seen a woman so hell-bent on keeping a clean house."
James didn't answer.
"I'll say the loss of the books is hardly a crime though. I recall the summer I crashed up one of Fleamont's cars. My punishment was to sit here and read 'The History of Tonics and Medical Potions.' Bloody torture."
James was silent still and Sirius walked loser to him. His friend had stopped in front of the fireplace and was staring up at the half-melted portrait of his family, the one they had painted in his final year at Hogwarts. The painting had a message carved across its canvas. "Revenge is sweet." Ink had also been used to mark out the faces of the Potter's with the words "Blood traitor" written across their eyes.
James started to inhale and exhale sharply at the sight of his parent's face mutilated this way but calmed when Sirius rest a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "It's just a painting mate."
"What Revenge though?" James asked, "What could my parents have done to anyone? You know, Padfoot. A lot of people think Dragonpox was a man-made virus. They think it was made to be a weapon. What if it wasn't an accident that they got sick?"
"James, look at me". He tugged his friends arm to make him face him, "Your parents-"
"Our..." James said, and the correction calmed him as he remembered he wasn't alone in this grief.
Sirius however felt a gaping hole in his chest at the word and forced out, "Our parents...got sick. They died in their sleep. We got to say goodbye. Don't let the destruction of a bloody house make you overthink that."
"I wanted to raise my kid here. Here, where Lily and I were married, where you became my brother, where Dad and I would toss the quaffle in the yard and Mum would let me help her with her thousands of hobbies. The Death Eaters know what they are doing mate. They aren't just coming to destroy my old man's house, they're making a point that any future we attempt to have is in their hands."
"So what do you want to do about it?" Sirius asked firmly.
"...Let's prove the bastards wrong."
"Sounds like a plan. We'll find out which one of them did this. We will make them pay for it. Ok?"
James just nodded and the two embraced tightly. They heard the creep of the footsteps as Remus came back down the stairs. He peeked into the study and saw them, "You two ok?"
"Find anything," James asked as he pulled away from Sirius, ignoring the question since the answer wasn't a pleasant one.
"Not much. Everything has been ransacked. Most of your clothes too, Padfoot."
"What kind of corrupt evil steals my suede slacks!?"
"I found this though. It was one of the thing's that wasn't taken out of Sirius trunk and managed to survive the fire." Remus lifted a framed picture which had only mild smoke damage. Sirius took it and clutched it in his hands. It was the only photograph all four of them had taken together on Christmas day in 1977 before the boys began their final semester at Hogwarts.
"I remember this day," Sirius said. "Fleamont caught us bragging about all the pranks we planned to do that semester and confiscated our-"
"Our mirrors!" James said an the two looked at the old man's desk. They both ran over and searched it. Luckily, the desk had many secret compartments that the Death Eaters responsible for vandalizing the Estate were unable to ransack everything inside. James used his wand to unlock one of the drawers and sitting inside were both of the two-way mirrors the lads had used in school, right where Fleamont had left them after confiscating them. James and Sirius looked at each other and chuckled slightly at the memories of messages they send to one another through these. James lifted them from his Dad's desk and tucked them in his pocket then noticed a file inside labeled, "Wizengamot 1948".
"Odd," James said and lifted it "Why's this here?" He looked up to Remus, "Moony any sign of Dad's files over there? They would be in a drawer under that main bookshelf."
Remus flicked his wand towards the drawer and it opened shakily, revealing ripped and torn files inside. "What's left of them. Looks like almost all of them are destroyed though."
"Why is this one over here?" He mumbled to himself. "This would have been the year Dad retired from the Wizengamot." James flipped the file open and found a letter on the inside at the top of the paperwork. "Dear Fleamont, I hope you're staying out of trouble in your adult years. I appreciate all the letters of encouragement as Hogwarts has gone through one of it's darkest seasons yet..."
"Who is this then?" Sirius asked as Remus approached and both looked over James' shoulder to skim the letter.
"A letter from Armando Dippet. He was Dad's second Headmaster."
"What's it say, Prongs?"
"Just that a Dippet had to decline a recent graduate the opportunity to be Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," James then read the end of the letter, "I'm hoping with your connections, you can find a position for the boy at the Ministry. He has been offered many entry-level positions, but I feel he has potential to do more. I know you're on the hiring committee for this year's British Youth Representative. His information and transcripts are enclosed and he's even got a background in Potioneering and is a Slug Club alumna like yourself. My love to Euphie. Sincerely, Headmaster."
"Well I guess the kid was hired," Remus said, "Or the letter wouldn't be in a Wizengamot file."
Suddenly James recalled his father's words when he asked if he had known Lord Voldemort at one time: "Many of us knew him by another name, but only a few of us watched him become who he is and know him to be the same person. Remus' father knew him at school, but if he knows the connection from the man Voldemort was to the Dark Wizard he is now is uncertain. I've often wondered if Theseus knows. I assume he knows who he beat out for his current job."
"Sirius," James started.
"I know," He quickly replied. "Your Dad said Voldemort was rejected for the DADA position before Scammander took it. What's the transcript say?"
"James flipped to the next page and found a bit of notebook paper inserted with a handwritten message from his father. "James-" he read aloud then froze, feeling as if his father's ghost was talking to him.
Sirius just pulled the note away from the file and read it, "James, if you're curiosity has gotten the best of you as it always does, then you've gone into my desk and found this file. Please do not continue. The information in here could make you a target. If something happens to me, take this file to Dumbledore but do not read a word of it. Ignorance on the matter may be the only thing keeping you safe. Going to pick you up from the train station now and praying you've not done something this year to get yourself expelled. Love, Dad..." Sirius glanced up at James and saw the heartbreak on his face. "It's dated the day we got back from our 6th year. He must have been foreseeing the events of the War for some time."
James looked down at the file with resolve to continue but Remus leaned down and snatched it up.
"What the hell are you doing, Moony?"
"Fleamont said not to read it," Remus replied.
"No offense, mate," James said, "But this is family business." He reached for the file and Remus held it away.
"Oh, very nice. So I'm family until I don't give you what you want?"
"That's... not what I meant. I'm sorry. Please, just-"
"James," Sirius put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Maybe he's right." He looked down at the photograph in his hand. "Your dad told us that night there were things he knew that put his life at risk. All that stuff he told us about the men of his school days going missing. Atticus McKinnon, Charles Delaney both gone and now your parents gone too."
"I thought you said not to overthink it." James insisted, "And since when do you exercise caution?"
"Since this morning. I figured part of being a Godfather is keeping your godchild's father alive as long as you can. Don't that make that harder for me than it has to be." Sirius could only ever be this sincere with the Marauders and James knew when Sirius stopped being reckless, it was a sign that he was serious about something.
"Ok, mate. We will take it to Dumbledore tonight, but we will insiste he tell us what it says. He knew Dad well enough to know what we are allowed to hear. Fair?"
"Hmmmm it's bending the rules a bit but I'll allow it." Sirius smirked and looked at Remus. The boy was starting up at the slashed painting as if in a trance.
"Uh oh. Impending moon got you deep in thought, Moony?"
"No... it's." He looked back at his friends, "My Dad went to Hogwarts in the 40's. Dippet was his Headmaster too." He thought of the letter James had just read aloud. "Whoever that boy was Dippett was referencing, whoever it was your Dad tried to keep you protected from, my dad probably knew him. And all those things you just said about your Dad, McKinnon and Delaney... my Dad could be next."
Meanwhile...
Peter walked up the cracked steps of a Belgravia home, his stomach turning from using the Portkey to arrive. He checked the address on the card again and softly knocked on the door. Perhaps it was his curiosity or perhaps it was his determination, but when no answer came, he tried the door.
"Hello?" Peter called out and shoved on the door but could barely get it ajar due to the built up mail on the floor which had accumulated from deliveries. He aimed his wand through the mail slot. "Wingardium Leviosa." The clutter slipped away, allowing him a clear path to enter. When the door opened fully though, he was overcome with the smells inside. "Hello?" he called again while pinching his nose. "I'm looking for-" the boy froze as he heard a cry from the sunroom. Peter followed the cries and spotted the crib inside, barley higher than the stack of books and boxes piled up. He scurried towards it and found a newborn laying there, bundled up but clearly unhappy with its situation as it screamed. "Oh there there." He said. "Where is your mama?"
"She's dead." A voice said behind him. Peter jumped, tempted to transform and hide as a rat, but stopped when he saw the man in front of him. He wasn't threatening. Quite the opposite. The man slunk in the armchair facing the window. He lifted a bottle of scotch to his lips and took a long swig of it before saying, "Kid had finally stopped crying until you showed up. Thanks a lot."
"I'm sorry. I thought this was the home of," He lifted the card and read the name, "Of Victor Crabbe?"
"What? Not the palace you expected?"
"You?" Peter starred stunned. "You look so different."
The man finally glanced to Peter, confused. Finally he said, "Pettigrew... you're Hector Pettigrew's step-son!"
"Y-yes. You were executor of his estate."
"More than that, my boy. I never told you, but your step-father and I were Slytherins together at Hogwarts."
"What happened to you?"
"What do you mean? Don't I look as dapper as I used to? Isn't my place as you pictured?" He slammed the bottle on the windowsill and walked around, picking up some things from the couch. "Sit." He walked over to the crib and rocked the newborn inside to try and silence the crying. "Go to sleep. Go to sleep for the love of Gods."
"Is, that your son?"
"Yep. A little angel aint he? Bad enough he killed is mother being born. Amazing how we have magic that can literally keep someone alive for centuries but some ladies are murdered by their own wombs."
Peter remained standing and grimmaced at his bluntness. "Is that why you're so... sad?"
"That and other things. See when I met you, back when your folks got creamed by that muggle, I was a young hotshot. Sad thing, is that I didn't have many clients yet. Hector was one of my few, and we all see how well that turned out. I felt bad for you, thought of you often, never thought you'd use that card to find me. But here you are. Well I ended up getting my wealth. Getting married. Love of my love, she was. She opened my mind to the most amazing realities. Converted me to a new kind of magic that I'd often heard about in my youth but was too afraid to seek out. She was so prophetic when she spoke about the world... well we had big plans to change it. We were doing it too. We were going to be on the right side of history, then the bloody baby had to come and ruin everything." He let out a sigh then looked to Peter. "So sorry if you're coming here for help. I can't help you. I don't even have people to help me."
"But... you told me when I was a kid to keep my head up." Peter said. "You told me I wasn't a nobody and that I had to see my father's dream realized of making the Pettigrew name worth something. Well, you shouldn't give up either. You should see your wife's dream realized. If you were on the right side of history before that doesn't mean you still can't be. And You can do it with your son. What's his name?"
"Vince."
"Vince deserves a childhood better than this. I had a childhood like this one at my Uncle's home, and it made me a nervous nobody and every day I try to turn that around, like you told me too. Maybe if my uncle had given me a better chance, or if my father hadn't have died, or mum wasn't.. well... you do have a choice. You can mold the world your child will grow up it. So make it better than this."
He chuckled. "OK, kid you didn't come here to dress me down. What do you need? The money run out?"
"No, it's..." Peter hesitated. Already, his expectations of this visit had not been met and he was warry of continuing with such an unstable man. However, Sirius' mocking still rang in his ear. His frustrations on how often he'd been ignored or excluded welled up. Now the sight of this house reminding him of his childhood in his Uncle's home. No. It wasn't a crystal in his pocket, it was his ticket out of being irrelevant. And he was taking it...
"It's this." He pulled the crystal from his pocket. "I think it's about the war and yet... I'm the one who removed it from the Department of Mysteries."
"What?" Crabbe gazed deeply into its glow. "What does it say?"
"It talks about someone called the Guardian. I think I'm supposed to find them, or fight them. I'm not sure. Hopefully just the former. But it talks about a new life beginning. Surely that means me right?"
"This is it." Crabbe move forward like a moth to a flame. "This is my way back in. This is how I get back in Voldemort's good graces."
"What? You... You're with Voldemort?! No! No I haven't seen you with other Death Eaters! The Prewitt's they've been spying on Death Eaters for months! They haven't seen you."
"Have they?" He laughed and Peter slapped a hand over his mouth, shocked at allowing sensitive information to slip. "I wouldn't expect them to see me. Lestrange kicked me out for failing on a mission. Probably would have killed me if my late wife hadn't begged him to spare me. Then this little beast came in and ruined it all," He drunkly shoved the crib and the baby resumed its cries. "I've been waiting and praying for a moment like this!"
"B-but what was all that talk about the right side of history?!"
"Voldemort is the right side! I know you young kids don't see that yet, but it's true. And I think you know that Peter. You spoke of the world my son deserves to be in. It's a world where only magic is supreme. There will be no more pain. No loss. No greif. Why, your own family would still be as they were if muggles were out of the picture."
"No!"
"Even our connection with you as a boy and now, you coming to me in your hour of need, you know this is fate."
"NO! I just came to you because you said to come if I ever needed anyone on my side-"
"My dear boy, if you're coming to me because nobody else in your life is on your side, then maybe you're just on the wrong side all together."
"No. That isn't true! That can't be true!" Peter said and covered his ears, the prophecy slipping from his hands to the ground, letting the bits of it shatter at his feet.
"NO!" Crabbe fell to his knees and clawed at the bits of glass as they diminished into nothing but sand.
Peter walked backward until he'd backed into the door. When Crabbe looked back up, it was with a determined, desperate glare, "Oh no. I'm not letting you sneak away. No more loose ends. I already am taking the wrap for not doing the McKinnon job properly. This time I won't fail."
"You... you started the fire at McKinnon Castle? The one that killed Marlene's dad?"
"Ha... a bloody fire didn't kill Atticus 'Senior'. Fenrir Greyback found him in the smoke and ripped his throat out." The man laughed as if it was comical. "That's what werewolves do, Pettigrew. They kill. Only thing is that Fenrir was a man when he killed McKinnon. Over time, the line between man and monster blurs. And all that is left is the beast. We have to make sure that creatures know their place and that blood purity stays strong. You can help us with this Peter. Please! This is your chance. You'll be the Guardian of the entire world."
"No! No! I'm not the Guardian!" He insisted. "No, I don't want your world!"
"Don't run away from your destiny, Peter," Crabbe called as the small boy opened the door and ran up the hall to the exit. "You will be the Guardian of Lord Voldemort! You will! Everything in that Prophecy will come to pass. And the sooner you accept it, the better it will be for you in the end!"
That Evening in Hogsmede...
It was the first Order of the Pheonix meeting of 1980. All factions would gather for the first time since the attack at the Department of Mysteries and admittedly, they felt guilty showing up empty handed... or so all of them thought save for Alice Longbottom who was one of the first to arrive at the Hogshead Pub. She crept up the steps and down the walkway where she spotted her husband, Frank, waiting outside the meeting room door. She exhaled in releif at the sight of him, despite his exhausted posture. He leaned against the wall, resting his head back to stare up at the ceiling. His hands were shoved in his pockets and ankles crossed as he attempted to power nap while standing. The inquiry at work had taken the majority of the day. He had been hounded with a thousand questions regarding his wereabouts on Christmas Eve, his business in the Department of Mysteries or the demolition that was left in the wake of the battle.
Alice crept over and stood directly in front of him, his eyes shut, and she rested her hands on his shoulders. Instantly recognizing her touch and sweet perfume, Frank fell gently forward to put his head on her shoulder. He groaned the way a schoolboy does when he doesn't wish to wake up and she held him tightly and rocked him in a hug.
"How was it?"
Frank lifted his head and looked at her with tired eyes, "I'm not fired. I think that's a good thing?"
"It's a very good thing," she caressed his head in her hands and nuzzled his nose. "Was the Wizengamot hard on you?"
"They weren't there. National Holiday, you know..."
"Then who did the questioning?"
"A case-worker specially assigned the task of investigating any employee who may be suspected of treason against the ministry. Struts about in little pink suits like a bad batch of candy floss."
"Uh... Delores. I know, I've met here. Well, what did you tell her?"
"What Dumbledore instructed me to. I was tipped off that someone would be breaking into the Ministry but by the time I arrived, the place was in shambles."
"And she bought it?"
"Doubtful, but she had no evidence to the alternative. Therefore, I've simply been suspended until after the holidays."
"Suspended?!"
"For refusing to share who theoretically tipped me off."
Frank and Alice didn't share another word, just thought together as their fingers danced in each other's grasp. Frank finally rested his hand on Alice's belly and smiled. "Don't worry. I may not get to fight dark wizards in a Ministry capacity for the time being but we still get to do it for the Order. Have to give the little one here a father to be proud of."
The door to the meeting room opened and Theseus Scamander poked his head out. "Well this is a bit of deja-vu, catching the two of you dawdling outside the classroom."
"Happy New Year, Professor," Alice grinned and pulled Frank in by the arm. Theseus looked around for anyone else and was about to close the door as he heard running up the steps.
"I'm here!" Mary MacDonald called. "Sorry, I'm late."
"Everyone is late, my dear. And Please, try to not to shout. We need to be more discrete."
"Right, sorry sir."
"Merlin's Beard!" Theseus stopped Mary and looked at her wrist. "Where did you get that bruise?"
"Oh... I'm just a clutz.."
"Mary, it goes all the way up your forearm! Perhaps you should come up the hill to the school afterward. Madame Pomphrey can check it for you."
"I'll be fine, Professor," she smiled softly at his concern. "Really. It's nothing." She pecked the sweet old man on his cheek and he instantly perked up, quite proud of himself for earning such a sweet greeting as Mary entered the room.
Finally, the Potter faction began to arrive in bits. First, Tabitha and Lily had been able to apparate into the back alley behind The Hogshead.
"I'm sure they'll be here, Lily," Tabitha said.
"They better be." The girls had returned from their errand with Kip to find the safe-house abandoned without a word from James. "It's not like them to leave for the meeting without waiting for us."
"We could get a drink while we wait," Tabitha suggested and instantly realized as Lily gave her a smirk, "Sorry. I forgot you can't drink for the next nine months."
"You'll get used to it, Godmother."
"I'm still not sure why you picked me."
"You'll be great with my kid. I know it. You and Sirius."
"Ugh!" Tabitha rolled her eyes and tossed her arm over her friends shoulders, walking close to stay warm as the entered the back of the Pub. "Don't remind me! I've got to share a job with Beastly Black."
"Admit it, you two have grown fond of each other."
"Fond is a very generous word, Lils," Tabitha said as they ascended the steps towards the meeting room. "Tolerate is a better one. Black and I tolerate each other."
"Do you even remember what it is that makes you hate each other so much?"
"Can't say that I do. But I guess it's a streak we've had going so long now, it would be a shame to quit."
"Well I'm going to ask Padfoot if he knows," Lily said and hurried ahead. She opened the door to the meeting room and called, "Oi! Black-" but froze when she didn't see any of the boys in room. She realized they'd lied to her, sending her on an errand to get her out of the way. Tabitha came up behind Lily and peeked in the room. "Uh oh," she muttered and Lily just said, "I'm going to bloody kill him..."
I know technically Crabbe and Harry would be the same age since they were both in the same year at Hogwarts, so this was a creative choice I took. Very excited to take you on this journey as we take Peter from who he is to who he will be! Also, Mary is here! Excited to share what the Scottish witch has been up to lately.