A Promise Kept - Chapter 42 - A Gift

A Gift

To Mr Harry Potter,

First of all, I must apologise for the delay in responding to your letter.

As I am sure you are accustomed to yourself, I receive many each day, mostly inane in nature and certainly not as interesting as yours, but they must be addressed.

Unfortunately, I am not as young as I once was, so, it is not always possible to respond in a timely manner.

I would be most honoured if you would dine with me at my home this coming Friday evening at 7pm and look forward to hosting you.

Yours sincerely,

Bathilda Bagshot

It had been a number of weeks since Harry had written to the woman, and with how occupied he’d been with everything else, he’d not given it much thought, but as he arrived in Godric’s Hollow, he was looking forward to speaking with Bathilda.

Having read several of her books throughout his time at Ilvermorny, he expected her to be a most knowledgeable and interesting person to share a meal with.

The village was quite beautiful covered in snow.

With Christmas only a few days away, the weather had changed from the seasonal, blustery Autumn wind and rain to a winter wonderland over the past weeks.

Once more, Harry had returned home for the holidays, and truly home for the evening.

For the most part, all had been quiet.

Voldemort remained in the shadows whilst preparing for his next move, and Harry had yet to speak with Gabrielle. Since he was no longer frequenting Beauxbatons, the opportunity had not presented itself, but she had been writing as often as before the incident in the lake, for what that was worth.

Not that Harry had been giving it much thought.

With the fifth years preparing for their OWLs, he’d not seen Sabine much around Ilvermorny, nor had Sid seemingly had any luck catching Wormtail.

The calm before the many storms, indeed.

Still, tonight was about nothing else other than sharing dinner with Bathilda Bagshot, for whom Harry had many questions.

Arriving at the rather modest cottage, he knocked on the door, and it opened only a moment later, an elderly, but sharp-eyed woman greeting him with a smile.

My, my, yes, you certainly are a Potter, aren’t you,” she said fondly. “Please, come in.” Harry did so, and among the stacks upon stacks of books that lined the hallway, there were dozens of photos, many having been signed by people he did not recognise, and some that were familiar faces to all in the wizarding world.

“You’ve led an interesting life, Mrs Bagshot.”

“Oh, call me Bathilda, or Batty if you prefer. That was what Albus called me. There was a time I would’ve cuffed him around the ear for his cheek, but I came to quite like the name.”

Harry chuckled amusedly as he entered the lounge behind the woman, and she gestured for him to take a seat on a rather dated armchair.

“That was my husband’s favourite,” she said with a smile. “I never did have the heart to throw it away. He died many years ago of Dragon Pox. There was something of an endemic of it in the village in the late nineteenth century.”

“I read about it in one of your books. It killed hundreds in Wales and along the south coast of England.”

“A terrible business,” Bathilda sighed. “Now, dinner will be ready soon, and I do not expect you came here to discuss the plagues and diseases of the past two centuries. How may I help you, Mr Potter?”

“Well, something was brought to my attention recently by Albus of all people. What can you tell me about the Peverell family?”

Bathilda laughed amusedly as she shook her head.

“Albus was neither the first nor the last to ask me about them. Even my Gellert was interested in their story,” she added, reaching for a photo depicting two boys around Hary’s age.

“Gellert?” he asked curiously.

One of the boys was familiar, and though he’d never imagined Dumbledore as a boy, it was clearly him. The other, however, was like no one else Harry had seen. His skin and hair were impossibly pale, and his eyes a milky white.”

“Ah, well, I suspect you would know him by only his father’s name, Grindelwald.”

Harry scoffed at the revelation and took a closer look at the photo. The two boys were beaming, with an arm wrapped around the shoulders of one another.

“I suppose enough time has passed since his foolish venture,” Bathilda sighed. “He was my nephew and came to live here after he was expelled from Durmstrang. He and Albus struck up quite the friendship until, well…”

“Until what?” Harry asked.

Bathilda smiled sadly as she peered out of the window.

“Until the death of Albus’s sister, Ariana. It caused quite the commotion, and Gellert left. I do not know the details, and Albus did not share them, but Aberforth has spoken of Gellert’s involvement in her death. He was always an ambitious boy, and perhaps as gifted as Albus. I could never have imagined he’d go on to do what he did. No, Prison is the best place for him.”

Harry was still reeling by what he’d learned, but he did not miss the last part of what the woman had said.

“Prison? Didn’t Dumbledore kill him?”

“No, Albus could never. Despite what happened between them, he still adored Gellert, and it was mutual. Albus locked him in his own prison, and he has been there ever since. Anyway, we have gotten off topic. You wish to know about the Peverells.”

Harry suspected Bathilda had said more than she’d intended, and he would not push her for more, not when he’d learned much more than he’d anticipated, and now had many things to ponder.

“Now, as I was saying, many have passed through here over the years asking about the Peverells, hoping to find a clue as to the whereabouts of the Deathly Hallows. Of course, I do not know where they are, and it is no business of the nosy sods, anyway. You, on the other hand, Mr Potter, perhaps it is.”

“It is?”

Bathilda nodded.

“Oh, my dear boy, you do not know.”

“Know what?”

“That your own line is tied directly to the Peverells. I suspect that is you so wished, you could even bring the line back into existence, though I would advise against doing so. Here, the Peverell reputation is good, but outside of Godric’s Hollow, not so much. You see, when they were prominent, they took it upon themselves to protect these lands, but there were whispers about them, of how they could convene with Death itself. The Hallows, the wand of destiny, the resurrection stone, and the cloak of invisibility were, according to some, gifts bestowed upon them from Death, whom they served and struck a bargain with.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Bathilda smiled.

“Well, we have Fate, we have souls, and we have magic, all of which have been proven. Why is it so difficult to believe that there is one that exists that gathers the souls of the fallen?”

“It isn’t, not really,” Harry murmured.

“No, it isn’t,” Bathilda said with a smile, “and your line is tied to Death, more closely than any other. Some eight centuries ago, Iolanthe Peverell, great granddaughter of Ignotus, married Hardwin Potter. She was the last of the family, and all that they were is what the Potters became. With the Peverells gone, it was the Potters who oversaw this land, and still did ,all the way until your grandfather Charlus died. Your father, rest his soul, was gone too young, and you…”

“Will uphold the tradition of my family,” Harry promised, taken aback by what he’d learned about himself and his heritage.

Bathilda smiled once more.

“Your grandfather would be proud of you. Ah, that will be dinner,” she announced, standing at the sound of a tinkering bell coming from the adjacent kitchen.

For Harry’s part, he took a moment to begin processing the plethora of information he’d come by these last few moments.

Dumbledore and Grindelwald had been close friends.

Grindelwald was still alive.

He was a descendant of the Peverells, and the cloak he possessed had been passed down with every generation until it had come to him.

It was a lot to take in, and although it would take some time to digest it all, Harry had a better of understanding of where it as he came from. Whether or not the Tale of the Three Brothers was as real as it had been written didn’t matter. Dumbledore, along with many others, had believed in the Hallows, as did Harry, who was in possession of two out of three of them.

Even so, that begged the question of what had happened to the Stone, and where was it now?

Harry did not know where to begin answering that, but, if Fate was truly directing him down a specific path, he expected it would somehow come into his possession.

Or perhaps not.

What he did know was that he was quite overwhelmed by the evening, and Bathilda was only just now serving their appetisers.

“I expect I may have overloaded your mind with things, Mr Potter,” she said apologetically. “I must ask, however, that wat we have discussed…”

“Will go no further,” Harry promised. “I give you my word.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “Mind, just remember, I did not tell you anything Albus would not wish for me to.”

“He knew we would meet, didn’t he?”

“He always was a smart boy.”

Harry could only nod his agreement, and somewhere not so far away, he could sense Fawkes trilling, not mournfully, but in amusement, as though he too had known this all along.

(Break)

“Well, if it isn’t Mundungus Fletcher,” Sirius greeted the wide-eyed man.

“I found the git sneaking around Diagon Alley,” Tonks explained. “He was disguised, but not very well.”

Sirius hummed.

“You’ve been avoiding us, Dung.”

“Not avoiding you,” the man denied. “The others.”

“So, you are aware of what is happening.”

“I’ve heard things, Sirius, and I don’t want any part of it. Dumbledore is dead, and You-Know-who is recruiting.”

“Who is recruiting for him?”

“No idea,” Fletcher denied. “It’s not like they’re setting up tables and handing out leaflets, is it. Look, Black, I just want to keep my head down…”

“That is all I need from you, Dung. Keep your head down and ears open. Get in touch whenever you hear anything. No one else outside the three of us need to know.”

Fletcher deflated as he nodded.

“Alright,” he agreed reluctantly. “There’s a good man.”

Much to his surprise, Fletcher had been a man of his word and had sent a few messages to Sirius. Nothing substantial yet, but enough to give him an idea that Voldemort was not idle.

No, soon enough, he would strike; something Britain as not prepared for.

Thanks to his own efforts, the Aurors were in good standing, and the numbers had held over the years, but if Voldemort was recruiting, that might not be an advantage that lasted.

He stood as the fireplace flared into life in the kitchen, and entered it from the rather dreary lounge he had been sitting in.

“Is your leg still playing up?” Emmeline huffed.

“Damned elf barely fixed it,” Sirius grumbled.

The woman offered him a pitying smile and sat him down in one of the chairs at the table.

Emmeline had been inducted into the Order shortly before him, James, Lily, Wormtail, and Remus. She’d been four years ahead of them at school, was a brilliant witch in her own right, but Sirius was certain she wasn’t a Healer.

“OW!” he protested as she jabbed her wand into his leg.

“Oh, shut up,” she sighed. “Better?”

He frowned as he stood and nodded.

“A little.”

“You always were a moaner.”

“Vicious rumours started by a jealous Head Girl,” Sirius denied.

Emmeline rolled her eyes at him.

“And a little too cheeky for your own good. Don’t think I have forgotten about you, Sirius Black. I remember exactly what you were like.”

“Charming, dashing, and a little mischievous?”

“I would go with womanising, trouble making, lout.”

“Ah, now that just hurts my feelings.”

Emmeline shook her head amusedly.

“How things change,” she said sighed.

“They do,” Sirius agreed. “Things happen, and others become more important.”

“Are you and Lily…?”

“Bloody hell, no,” Sirius denied emphatically. “I could never…no, it has never been anything like that between us. I don’t think she will ever meet anyone else, and James was a brother to me which means she is a sister.”

Emmeline laughed.

“And Harry is like your son.”

Sirius swallowed deeply.

“Yes, and no,” he murmured. “I love him like he is my own, but that is James’s boy through and through. Sometimes, it’s hard not to look at him and see his father, and his grandfather.”

“Well, you’ve done a fine job with him, and looking out for Lily.”

Sirius smiled fondly.

“We are our own dysfunctional family thrown together through circumstances.”

“And what about you, Sirius Black, what happens when Harry is a grown man? You don’t plan on being alone, do you?”

“I’ve not thought about it,” Sirius admitted. “Well, I have, but with everything that has happened, I don’t know.”

“Well, you should,” Emmeline urged. “You’re not getting any younger.”

“Neither are you.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Still got the cheek,” she huffed. “Maybe I will, if the right person comes along.”

“It would have to be a patient, strong-minded man to put up with you.”

“More of a chance of that than anyone putting up with you, Black,” Emmeline returned with a grin. “Anyway, I should get some rest. I’m back on guard tomorrow.”

“What’re you doing for Christmas?”

“I have no idea.”

“Would you like to spend it with us? Harry and Lily will be there, and Andromeda, Ted, and Tonks.”

“Now, if it was only the two of us, I would think you were asking me on a date, Sirius Black.”

“No, I am not patient enough, and a woman like you might just make me a little weaker than I am with others.”

Emmeline hummed thoughtfully before smiling.

“I would like to spend Christmas with you,” she decided. “It can’t be worse than listening to the elderly couple above watching whatever it is they do on TV.”

“Then I will arrange a portkey for you. I’ll even have a room prepared so you can arrive on Christmas Eve.”

Emmeline nodded.

“I look forward to it.”

With that, she left, and Sirius stood, breathing a sigh of relief that his leg was no longer hurting.

“Bloody Kreacher,” he muttered. “One day, I might just throttle the git.”

(Break)

For the past days since the castle had emptied, he’d been doing his utmost to track the rat; where it went, where it rested, and where it had been. What he learned quickly was that it was not typical vermin, and why would it be?

Harry Potter would not be interested in something so inane, but whatever the boys’ interest in it was, Sid did not care. He wanted it gone and was pleased for the bargain he’d struck.

“Little rat,” he whispered. “Your time is up.”

Picking up some droppings he found by the library, he sniffed them to see how fresh they were, frowning hen he realised they’d been here a few hours, but from the pattern, he could see the direction the rat had left in.

With a grin, he followed, tucking away some of the little gifts that Potter had given him.

With no food leaving the kitchens for the next weeks, there would be no scraps for the vermin to pick at, so it would be hunting for other morsels around the castle.

Yes, it was only a matter of time before the tricks became to inviting to ignore, and the moment the pest feasted, it would belong to Sid.

(Break)

Harry,

I hope this gift proves to be useful to you whenever you have need of it. Please, burn this note when you are finished with it.

Sabine Eloise Van Droombeeld

He opened the accompanying box to find it filled with materials that would be most useful for Transfigurations should he find himself without anything nearby to use, and beneath it, a gold coin that was warm to the touch.

Attached to it was another note, and he read it, smiling at the sentiment.

Harry,

This coin will be warm when I am thinking of you. I have a matching one that I will keep with me, always.

May they never grow cold.

Sabine

He placed it in his pocket and frowned at the first letter.

Doing as he was bid, it crumpled to ash, only for a second piece of parchment to burst from the fire.

Snatching it from the air, he quickly realised that it was a shipping order that was addressed to Lucius Malfoy, and as Harry read through the list of items, he could only shake his head.

There was nothing included among them that was unusual, but when taking them into account collectively, it was clear what they were intended to become.

Healing potions.

Form what he could gather, there was enough to make vats of around eight different varieties.

Was Voldemort stocking up for the war?

Perhaps, but some did not make sense, not for the purpose of healing wounds and injuries.

Nourishment potions, and Dreamless Sleep were odd among the others that could be concocted.

Was Riddle suffering with nightmares?

Even if he was, he would undoubtedly know that such a brew was highly addictive, and toxic if used regularly.

“Potter, you’ve bloody well phased out again,” Tonks huffed. “What’s wrong with you, girls on the brain?”

“Jealous?” Harry asked with a grin.

The metamorph frowned at him.

“Don’t you think you have enough problems with girls without adding to them?” Sirius teased.

“At least I have girl problems,” Harry returned. “You might as well be a monk you creaky old git.”

“What problems with girls?” Lily interjected.

“Nothing, Mum,” Harry sighed.

“Has little Harry got himself a girlfriend?” Tonks mocked.

“More like two, at least,” Sirius muttered.

“Neither of them are my girlfriend!”

“Oh, Harry,” his mother sighed. “You’re not playing two girls off against each other, are you? I’d hoped you’d be better than him,” she added, pointing accusingly towards Sirius.

“What did I do?” the man protested.

“Bloody hell,” Harry groaned. “I do not have girl troubles!”

“Sounds like you have girl troubles,” Ted broke in with a shrug.

“You never had them?” Harry asked. “You married a Black. You definitely had girl troubles.”

“You have no idea,” Ted murmured, smiling innocently at the glaring Andromeda. “Do these girls’ families want you dead?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then you’re probably doing fine.”

Harry could only shake his head.

“I’m not talking about this with any of you.”

“Well, as long as you are behaving yourself, and being safe…”

“Mum, don’t go there!”

“What, am I not allowed to be concerned about you getting yourself in trouble with a young lady? You do realise how it was you came to be here, don’t you.”

Harry grimaced as he placed his fork down and pushed his plate away.

“There goes my appetite,” he huffed, “and you can shut up,” he added to Sirius, who was laughing a little too joyously for his liking. “I don’t need that image in my head, none of them.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t catch them…”

“You’d better not finish that sentence, Sirius Black,” Lily warned.

“Please, don’t,” Harry pleaded. “I bet you’re glad you came, Emmeline.”

“Oh, this is great for me,” the woman said amusedly.

Harry shook his head once more.

She and Sirius were quite alike with how they viewed humour. What she was doing here, Harry didn’t know. Sirius had never brought a woman home, even if it was just a friend.

Maybe he liked her, or he was just being polite by sharing Christmas with her.

Harry didn’t know Emmeline Vance.

She’d been a member of the order the first time around, but since the war had been put on hold, what she did was a mystery to him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden blaring sound emitting from Tonks’s pocket, and she paled as she removed a leather, bi-fold wallet.

“What is it?” Sirius asked.

“An alarm from Bones,” she answered, tapping it with her wand. “Madam Bones?”

There was a delay of several moments before she received a response.

“Azkaban, Tonks. There’s been a mass breakout. Can you reach Black?”

“He’s here.”

“Then bring him with you, and the Potter boy. He might be able to help us understand what happened quickly.”

Harry immediately stood.

“Where do you think you are going?” his mother asked.

“With Sirius. Bones asked for me.”

“And why would she do that?”

Harry looked towards the sheepish Sirius.”

“He can explain it to you.”

“Explain what?”

“No time,” Sirius answered hurriedly, taking Harry by the arm and activating a portkey.

The last thing he heard as he was pulled into the void was the sound of his mother cursing, which meant she was furious.

Lily Potter never cursed unless she was truly angry, and Harry did not doubt that he and his godfather were in for it when they returned home. Maybe they would be better off hiding in Grimmauld Place for a few days, but Harry did not doubt that not even the protections of the Blacks could keep the two of them safe.

(Break)

The entire prison trembled under the force of his spell, and with only a jerking motion towards himself, the entire western wall blew outwards. Stone and other debris fell into the sea below, and the Dark Lord allowed himself a brief smile.

As expected, the Dementors did nothing to stop him, and the paltry gathering of Aurors that arrived would only hinder him briefly.

Stunning spells were hurled towards him; a pathetic attempt to bring him down, and the screams of the men and one woman rent the air as he offered his rebuttal.

The dark magic spewing from his wand tore through their shields as though they did not exist, sending each of them crashing to the ground.

With another wave of his wand, they were bereft of their own, and he stalked towards them purposefully.

“I-it’s you!” one of the older of the group stammered.

“It is me,” the Dark Lord confirmed. “Where are my followers?”

He knew they were nearby, could sense each of them stirring within the now broken walls of Azkaban.

“Dead,” the guard answered.

The Dark Lord shook his head disappointedly.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The flash of green light rendered the man lifeless, and he shifted his gaze to the next.

“I abhor liars.”

“D-down in the lower levels.”

“Your honesty is most appreciated.”

With another flurry of spells and screams to follow, none lived, and the steel gate standing in his way was quickly disposed of, clattering to the stone floor in a twisted heap.

Stepping into the prison itself, it was impossible to ignore the cold despair that lingered here, but it would soon be bereft of it.

This night, along with the followers that had remained loyal until the bitter end, the Dementors would join him, taking their rightful place in his ranks.

He wished he could see the reaction of those that would arrive on the scene.

It was bad enough that fifteen prisoners had been released, but the dead Aurors that had been on guard would be the icing on the cake, not to mention the final surprise he’d left behind.

The Dark Lord grinned as he entered the basement of Malfoy Manor, which had been turned into a makeshift treatment room for those that had been liberated.

All of them were in rather poor condition, had suffered under the effects of the Dementors for so many years, and the road ahead of them would be long.

“How are they?” he asked Severus.

“Terrible, my lord, but salvageable. They are malnourished, sleep-deprived, and weak. It will be some time before they are back to themselves.”

The Dark Lord nodded.

“Do what you can for them, Severus.”

“Of course, my lord.”

He allowed the man to get back to work, and he inspected each of his followers closely, pausing as he reached Augustus Rookwood.

The man was emaciated, his skin pale, but his eyes still held something of the spark of brilliance within them.

“I am ready to serve, my lord,” he said hoarsely.

“Soon, Augustus. When you are well, I have a task for you.”

He smiled in response before leaning back into his pillows to rest; something he would need for what lay ahead of him.

The next bed he paused at the foot of was the one belonging to Bellatrix. She had once been a beautiful, vibrant woman, the epitome of the perfect, pureblood bride, and yet, she appeared to be a shadow of her former self.

Her hair was streaked liberally with grey, her cheeks were hollow, and her eyes dull. When she smiled at him as lovingly as ever, her teeth were brown from the years of neglect.

All would be fixed soon enough. So long as her mind and wand were as sharp as they had been, everything else could wait.

He ran the tips of his fingers along her jawline, eliciting a shudder from the woman.

“You will be well, Bella, and you will again stand at my side, yes?”

“Yes, my lord,” she answered.

He offered her a warm smile before leaving the basement, pleased with how the evening had unfolded, and grateful to have his most loyal with him once more.

Soon enough, the wrongs of the world would be righted, Britain would belong to him, and those that had once opposed him, and would inevitably do so again, would fall.

Even so, despite his ambitions, there was one name that came to the forefront of his mind as he continued to plan, one boy that must die to truly see his vision come to fruition.

Harry Potter.

Fate had decreed long ago the two of them would meet, but the before that waws to come to pass once more, the Dark Lord needed to know the contents of the prophecy.

Patience.

It was something he had always lacked, but for now, it was necessary.

To retrieve the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. He needed Rookwood ready and able to see it delivered to him, and the Dark Lord would rather remain in the shadows until it was in his hands.

When he knew the contents of it, it would no longer matter.

He would know what he needed to do to be rid of Potter, and when that was so…

He chuckled to himself as he reached his rooms.

“Soon enough,” he murmured. “Soon enough.”

(Break)

Voldemort had certainly left his mark here at Azkaban, and Harry had not been prepared for what he’d found, though he knew he should’ve expected the worst.

The dead Aurors had suffered in their final moments.

Their limbs were twisted in odd angles, and their expressions spoke of the horror they’d endured.

“For the love of Merlin, will you cover them up!” Amelia Bones snapped. “Sorry, it should’ve been done before you arrived.”

Harry swallowed deeply as he waved her off.

“It’s going to become all too common a sight, isn’t it?” he murmured.

“It would be foolish to think otherwise.”

Harry nodded and inspected what remained of what had once been a thick, iron gate. The residual magic on it was strong, putting any doubt that the Dark Lord had returned weaker to bed immediately.

“Any idea what happened?” Bones pressed.

Harry nodded, releasing a dep sigh.

“He flew here and arrived from the west.”

“Flew here? How can you tell?”

“His magic is in the air above us, and he remained stationary for a moment whilst he ripped the wall out.”

“Arrived by broom,” Amelia murmured as she took some notes.

“No, not by broom. He doesn’t need one to fly.”

The woman quirked an eyebrow at him, and Harry pushed himself off the ground, hovering in front of her.

“It’s not so difficult when you know how.”

Amelia looked towards Sirius, who shook his head.

“Don’t ask,” he sighed. “Just don’t ask.”

“After ripping the wall out, he killed the Aurors, the older man first using the killing curse, and then slaughtered the others before going in.”

“Shall we?” Amelia asked.

Harry nodded and followed the woman. She led them past a series of empty cells that had been accessed the same way as the main gate, but the magic in was fresher than it was outside, as though it was still present.

With a frown, Harry drew his wand and inspected one of the cells.

“Bellatrix was in here,” he mused aloud. “He came to her first.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“Because her magic is not so different from Sirius’s,” Harry answered as he continued on his way, identifying 14 others along the same landing that had been freed.

What troubled him, however, was not that they were gone. Voldemort himself had certainly not lingered, but there was something hidden here, left behind to be found.

“There,” he declared, pointing towards the centre of the floor below.

“None of those prisoners were freed,” Bones pointed out.

“No, but he was down there, and he left something.”

“Wait here,” the woman instructed, making her way down a nearby staircase.

“What is it?” Sirius asked quietly.

“Not anything good.”

“Oh my,” Amelia gasped only a moment later, taking a step backwards away from what she’d uncovered, placing a hand over her mouth.

Harry remained where he was as Sirius made his way towards her.

Even from here, and though the mangled mess was not so recognisable, he knew what it was she’d found.

“Moony,” Sirius choked as he too became aware of whom the severed head belonged to.

It had been mounted on a spike, and the eyes of the werewolf had been removed. Nonetheless, there was no mistaking the features, nor gold, phoenix pendant that had been draped on his crown.

Remus Lupin had not died well, had suffered greatly, and the suffering of the man had been put on a macabre display to torment the very last of the Marauders Sirius Black cared for.

Harry said nothing as he watched his godfather sobbing, and as unpleasant an image as it was to see the man in such a state, he would not look away.

No, he would ensure this was cemented in his mind, so that when the moment came to give Remus, Sirius, and everyone else that had suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord and his followers the justice they deserved, it would be done in the most fitting of manner.

(Break)

It was eerily silent in the castle, for the most part.

From time to time, he would see member of staff milling about, visiting with their colleagues, or taking their leave of the school altogether to enjoy the holidays.

Peter had considered returning home himself, but the prospect of spending Christmas with the Dark Lord, and perhaps Barty did not appeal to him in the slightest.

Lord Voldemort did not strike him as someone who would pull a cracker, exchange gifts, and join in with a singsong of his favourite carol.

Perish the thought, even if it was a rather amusing image.

No, he was better off here, even if coming by something to eat was not so easy now that the students had left.

When they were here, there was plenty of scraps for Peter to survive, but the damned creature that had taken to looking for him had scrubbed the castle from top to bottom, and the kitchen continued to elude him.

“Is it true?” a frantic whispering sounded, pulling Peter from his thoughts.

“It wouldn’t be in the media if it wasn’t. From what I have heard, Fudge tried to silence it, but he was unable to.”

“Fifteen Death Eaters. That’s no coincidence.”

“No, it is not. I had hoped that Black had been wrong, but it seems as though it is true.”

“What are we going to do?”

“What can we do? It is a problem for Britain. MACUSA certainly won’t involve themselves.”

“No, but do you think Potter will stay out of it?”

Peter strained his ears as he carefully approached.

“I do not know what he will do, Tara.”

It was Agilbert Fontaine, and Peter recognised the woman as one of the Charms professors.

“No, nor I,” the woman sighed as the two of them continued on their way.

Peter moved to follow, only to find that he was stuck in a viscous substance, a mud of sorts, and try as he might, he could not free himself.

He squeaked in protest, only for his rapidly beating heart to sink into the pit of his stomach as he was picked up and found himself peering into the malicious gaze of the damned caretaker.

“Oh, yes, little rat. I knew I would find you. Harry Potter will be most pleased.”

Peter thrashed for all he was worth but was stuffed into what smelled like a tin that smelled of a strong cleaning product, which was sealed by a magic that prevented him from transforming.

From what he had gathered from the brief conversation he’d heard, the Dark Lord had freed his followers from Azkaban, but that was not what occupied his mind.

No, he’d been taken prisoner, and the caretaker would be handing him over to the one person Peter did not wish to find himself alone with.

He shuddered at the thought, and attempted to do something, anything to escape whatever misery would be inflicted upon him.