Pettigrew's Daughter

Pettigrew's Daughter: Chapter Four

by Anda

Minerva McGonagall was teaching her First Year class when a small house-elf by the name of Dobby scampered into her classroom. Most of the First Year students had never seen a house-elf before and this was an event which caused much hilarity, especially since Dobby was dressed in a strange ensemble of clothes, food packaging and kitchen implements. She soon learnt that it was no laughing matter and left the class under the direction of Professor Snape, who just happened to be passing. He gave one of his customary scowls as she half tripped her way out the door, no doubt adding to the First Year's impression that she was 'A very strange, old lady' (An opinion a Muggle-born Hufflepuff had voiced when she first entered the classroom).

***

Minerva recognised him instantly - he was both one of her worst and best students, Timothy Abberline. He'd always had a problem with authority and she hadn't been surprised when she'd heard that he'd lost his job with the Ministry of Magic. Now he stood beside Professor Dumbledore's desk, his face very white and eyes uncertain. She watched as he shuffled his feet nervously across the floor - a sure sign that something was wrong. He watched her for a moment, in the same manner as a child viewing an animal at the zoo, both frightened and fascinated, then said, "Good morning, Professor McGonagall. I'm sorry you had to take time away from the classroom to see me." His voice was a rich monotone and did not convey the anxious expression on his face. His hands were clammy with perspiration when he shook her hand. She caught the distinct whiff of smoke from his hair.

"What are you doing here?" Professor McGonagall asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Perhaps you should sit down," Timothy said gently.

A chair appeared behind her, bumping the back of her knees and she sat down in surprise. The dog named Padfoot whined and slunk under the desk. "What's the matter?" she said.

"Iris Helen McGonagall is your sister, am I correct?" Timothy queried.

"No, she's not," Minerva replied. 'Why is he asking me these questions?' she wondered. A thought struck her like a lightning bolt in water, "She's not dead is she?"

Abberline ignored the question. "Then she's your daughter?"

"No," McGonagall snapped. "She's my niece, my brother's daughter. What's this all about? Is she dead?"

"Why are you adamant that she's dead?"

"Is she?"

Timothy took a deep breath, sighed, and said, "Yes, she is. I'm very sorry."

Minerva felt deflated. She should have known that this was coming the moment he started questioning her about Iris, but she had had a crazy hope that Morgiana's dream and Abberline's appearance were unrelated. She sank back into the chair feeling suddenly numb all over. She wasn't shocked, just saturated with a strange grief that acted like an anaesthetic. Iris had never been particularly close to her, but she was still a family member. She was a mother with a daughter that needed her. Now every detail of the dream that Morgiana had told her about came flooding back as she whispered, "How many pieces was she in?"

"I really don't think that you need to know that," Abberline said.

"But she wasn't whole?"

Abberline shook his head.

"And I guess she went through the kitchen wall in front of the refrigerator-" McGonagall added, "at about 3 am this morning."

"How do you know?" Timothy asked. "You didn't-"

"I didn't kill her!" Minerva snapped.

Timothy looked shocked, "No- no- that's not what I meant- What I mean is that you saw it, didn't you? You had a premonition. How else would you know?"

"Morgiana did."

"The daughter by Pettigrew?" Timothy said.

"Yes."

"I'll have to ask her about it. Where is she?"

"In the Hospital Wing. She- I- She was very upset last night, after the dream," Minerva replied, stuttering like a First Year.

"Then I'll go and visit her, if she isn't too shaken up."

"No-" McGonagall began. "You can't- She- She has been sedated, she isn't awake."

"When will she wake up?"

"We're not sure."

"Why not?"

"I gave her too much sleeping draught last night. She would never have been quiet if I didn't."

"Why didn't Madam Pomfrey administer it when Morgiana arrived in the Hospital Wing?"

"I didn't take her to the Hospital Wing," Minerva said. "I thought- I took her up to my room and got her to tell me exactly what happened."

"Do you frequently drug students and take them back to your bedroom?" Abberline queried.

"No!" Professor McGonagall snapped. "I was worried about her- She's family. I've known her since she was born."

"And that makes it all right?"

"Timothy," Professor Dumbledore said in a warning tone. Until then he had merely watched the questioning, but now felt it was getting out of hand.

"I'm sorry," Timothy said. He was tired. It was a flaw in his nature that made him made cheap gibes at people, even people that he liked, when he was tired. He had been working hard at trying to stop it but obviously hadn't succeeded. It was disrespectful, especially when directed at someone who had just lost a family member. He took a deep breath and began again, "So you would also know Iris, very well?"

"I wouldn't say very well. You would have to ask her friends."

"But you would know, for example, family background, boyfriends etc?"

"Yes," Minerva replied, testily.

Timothy hated this part. He had pushed it so far into the back of his mind that nearly forgotten it. Nearly. He had already put her through enough, first telling her that her niece was dead, then practically accusing her of misconduct with students. Still, he would have to do it. He produced the four photographs from the Ministry of Magic folder he was carrying. He read the names out as he dropped them on the table, "Morgiana Pettigrew," taken when she was about a year younger, "Peter Pettigrew," a tattered photograph that he'd stolen from one of the read-only Ministry of Magic files on the case, depicting a chubby man in his early twenties with short brown hair and small eyes, "Iris McGonagall," a close-up of her face, post-mortem, "and Sirius Black. I think you know the truth, Professor."

Minerva McGonagall stared at him with a blank look on her face. Using her best school teacher voice, she asked, "The truth about what, Timothy?"

Timothy recognised the dangerous note in the teacher's voice. It had been directed at him before. He was already aware of the truth, but needed to hear it from the horse's mouth, so to speak. If she wasn't going to tell he could always put the pressure on, which was what he decided to do, "The Ministry of Magic has ordered the media not to publish anything about the crime for seven days. However, after seven days we can't stop them printing almost anything they like about the murder. I've already spoken to five reporters, two of which have asked about the victim's family, especially her daughter. It is only a matter of time before they discover the truth, just as I have, from comparing photographs. Then they will question a few people and it will be verified. Do you understand?"

"How can we stop them?"

"We can't," Abberline said. "But if I know the exact truth, I may be able to throw them off the track for a bit. I take it Morgiana does not know?"

"No, she doesn't. I don't want to tell her, either."

"I want to you to tell me the story of Iris's life, starting from when she was born. Then you can explain to me about her relationship with Sirius Black."

"Yes," Professor McGonagall said. The numbness had worn off now and she had begun to understand the urgency of what Abberline was saying. He was already aware of Morgiana's paternity and she realised that others would soon work it out also. She had lied for Iris for far too long. The truth had to come out.

"Iris was the only child of my brother, Thomas, and his wife, Hera. Hera was nine months pregnant when she fell down a flight of stairs after the heel on her shoe broke. She died instantly from a broken neck. Iris was born to a dead woman. Thomas loved Iris, she was all he had left of Hera, but he couldn't always be there for her. He was a very busy man, a curator at the National Museum of Magic. He worked long hours. So Iris was brought up by nanny after nanny in daycare after daycare, until she reached school age. She went to the local primary school until she reached the age to be accepted into Hogwarts," Minerva spoke quickly and quietly, skimming over the details. "When Iris came to Hogwarts, Thomas made me promise that I'd take good care of her. I tried my hardest, but she... was a very independent girl. She didn't need me, and she made very sure that I knew it-"

"Which House was she in?" Timothy interrupted.

"Gryffindor," Minerva said, remembering. "She was quite popular and seemed to be friends with almost everybody in the school, no matter what year level or house."

"Even Slytherins?"

"No, excluding Slytherins. She was friendly with people from all the other houses-"

"Anybody in particular?"

"Yes, Peter Pettigrew. I never understood the friendship. She was so much smarter than he was-"

"Pretty?"

"Yes, very. In the first year they went everywhere together. Iris was always helping him with school work and standing up for him. But he soon made friends with others and she became less... needed. I think that she was quite jealous, for a time. Don't get me wrong, they did include her-"

"They?"

"Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew. The tight four, so to speak... But she was a girl, and they wanted to do boy things..." Minerva bit her lip, for a moment remembering her niece as a child with big blue eyes and long dark hair. A picture of innocence, she had thought, but that illusion had been shattered very quickly. Iris had been an extremely manipulative child, able to get anything out her father, and others, with a few tears or words of respect. That particular charm had not worked on everybody, however. "I don't know who started it first, but someone did something and she-" McGonagall stopped, not wanting to put the truth into words, not wanting to be implicated herself. It all made sense now that she knew the rest of the story. She omitted the truth, and continued, "It ended up that she ignored them, totally, for the next three years. Quite childish really."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Minerva said, glancing for a moment at the dog beneath the desk. "She just did."

"But I take it she started talking to them again, and got quite close to Black? What about Pettigrew?"

"She was still talking to Peter, just not to the other three-"

"The whole time?"

"Yes."

"What about Black?"

"She made a huge show of ignoring him, rejecting him in public-"

"He quite fancied her, then?"

"Yes." Professor McGonagall blushed. "It was not a relationship that I encouraged-"

"So what you're saying is that although, it looked like she was rejecting him, she was in fact dating- seeing him?"

"Err... yes. I don't think that even James Potter knew, Black's best friend-"

"But you knew... Did she confide in you?"

"No," Minerva said in a firm voice. "She wouldn't tell me a thing. I... err... walked in on them, one day."

"Where?" Abberline asked a string of questions, "How old was she? How did they react? What exactly were they doing?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does."

"There's an empty supplies room on the second floor. No one ever goes into it. "

Abberline remembered the supplies room quite vividly. He and one of the Ravenclaw prefects, Vesta von Strauss, had been kissing in it, rather passionately, when they'd been interrupted by Mrs Norris. He remembered the ensuing commotion that had followed once Filch, following closely behind his cat, had found them. It had been one of the most embarrassing days of his life. Vesta had broken up with him a day later. His white face started to simmer with blood at the memory. Quickly he pushed it from his mind, hoping Professor McGonagall did not remember. "And what were you doing there?"

"Mister Filch had been complaining that somebody had been stirring up dust in there. I thought I'd go and see who it was-"

"At what time of the day was this?"

"It was while everybody else was eating lunch. For goodness sake, Timothy, I don't remember the day, the date, the time, the year every time I catch a student doing something wrong. I'm not some kind of super-calendar!"

"I never suggested you were, Professor. Would you please answer my questions...?"

"I heard a murmur of voices and every now and then a giggle. I could see a chink of light under the door. I threw caution to the wind, took the handle and threw the door open..." Minerva paused.

"And...?"

"They'd made a seat out of some of the old boxes in there. They were talking quite quietly about something, I don't know what. When I walked in, Black was just about to kiss her and she was still talking."

"What happened?"

"She saw me first and gave me a really murderous look. Black turned around slowly. When he saw me he leapt up and started straightening his clothing and rubbing his hair off his face. He seemed quite embarrassed. Iris wasn't. She was just plain angry. I took ten points off Gryffindor between them and told them not to use the room again. Black left after that."

"But Iris didn't?"

"No. She rounded on me and started yelling that I was so unfair and that I wasn't her mother and I wasn't her father and that I had no right to tell her what to do. I thought I had been quite reasonable."

"Did you lose your temper?"

"Not really. I told her that she should not talk to any teacher, regardless of whether they were family or not, in that way. That this was the same treatment I would give any student I thought deserved it. I also suggested that it might not be a very good idea to get involved with Black-"

"Why?"

"For a start, his family were very pro-pureblood. Secondly, he was arrogant and disobedient. I didn't want her to be lead astray and I didn't want her to have her heart broken either."

"Quite sensible advice." Timothy said.

"She didn't think so," McGonagall replied, with a sniff.

"What happened next?"

"She continued to ignore Black during class, but I'm sure they were up to something. She used to give notes to Peter to give to him. I intercepted one once-"

"Peter can't have been too happy about that."

"I don't know. He still hung on her every word like some sort of puppy dog. The only other person he did that to was James Potter. He hero-worshipped Potter."

"What did the note say?"

"I don't remember, something cryptic. I gave her a detention for writing notes in class, but other than that I didn't intervene."

"I understand that her father, Thomas McGonagall, died while she was still at Hogwarts. Is that correct?"

"He had an accident with a cursed relic at the museum. There was no antidote and he died very quickly and suddenly. Iris was very upset. I never saw her cry, but for days she just sat staring into space, saying nothing to nobody. She didn't even speak or eat or drink or sleep. We were worried about her, and she was put in the Hospital Wing. We even considered transferring her to St. Mungo's.

"I tried to talk to her but she wouldn't reply. She'd just stare at the ceiling the whole time, counting cracks. She grew extremely weak very quickly and we were obliged to force feed her and give her a sleeping draught to make her sleep. It was as though her mind had shut down completely-" Minerva remembered the girl that was now in the Hospital Wing, so much like her mother, yet so much more like her father.

"Did she get any visitors?"

"Plenty. Bearing cards, flowers, chocolates, the lot. They talked to her but she couldn't or wouldn't reply. She would stare at them as though they were some sort of annoying insect. She lost many friends that way. Others stuck by her..."

"Such as?"

"Mostly Gryffindors. Black was there the most often. He used to sit with her for hours on end, telling her trivial gossip about almost anything. He worked very hard to cheer her up. I don't think that his friends understood that. I recall them teasing him rather mercilessly... except Peter. I saw him go to visit her with a card in his hand, but when he saw Sirius there, he just scampered."

"How long 'til she got better?"

"Iris missed three weeks of schooling. It took a long time for her to return to normal. She began to joke and laugh again, but she seemed to hold part of herself back. I'm not exactly sure why, but she became obsessed with duelling. She was very quick with her wand and she seemed to have a library of spells on the tip of her tongue. She was rarely beaten by anybody but if she was you could almost guarantee that it would be Severus Snape- or one of the teachers-"

"Professor Snape, the Potions teacher?" Abberline interrupted.

"Did he teach you?"

"He was a new teacher when I was in my second or third year... Anyway, you were saying..."

"Iris was very good at duelling. She entered into several competitions for adults and usually obtained a place prize and some money. It was very good for her self-esteem but she became a bit... arrogant. She liked to show off her skills by embarrassing others. It was all rather cruel. At the same time she was also very helpful. She started to teach others her skill so that they would not be picked on by her or other bullies-"

"A bit of a paradox, isn't it, Professor?"

"Iris was full of contradictions, Timothy. That is why so many people were friends with her but never really saw her true identity. She had a different mask for every group of people. To some she appeared a brilliant intellectual, to others a gossip, two-faced, a bully, a teacher, a friend, an enemy. I don't think that anybody really knew her. I certainly did not.

"She sent me a letter two months after leaving school telling me that if I wanted any of her father's books I should come and get them because she was selling the house. I was shocked. I wrote her an owl asking where she was going but got no reply. I went over to the family home and found everything packed into boxes and a sold sign on the front lawn. I found Iris inside, waving her wand about as box upon box was filled with belongings. They were labelled either with the word 'Keep' or the name of a charity. I asked her what she was doing and she told me that Sirius had bought a house and she was moving in with him. Her father's house was being sold to some Muggles and therefore she had to get rid of his belongings. I didn't try to change her mind, but told her to donate the books to the Hogwarts library and anything else she thought might be useful and I left."

"Why didn't you try to change Iris's mind, Professor?"

"To be honest, I didn't want a fight. I also knew that Black was devoted to her. I didn't think she'd come to any harm."

"It was a pretty rash move, though. Suddenly selling the house she'd lived most of her life in, along with almost everything in it. Did she not want to be reminded of her father?"

"Possibly," Minerva replied. "I think that they must have been planning it for some time."

"Indeed," Abberline said. "What happened after that?"

"For three or four years I barely saw Iris. Half the time she was busy with various duelling competitions - she won a gold medal at the Olympics, you know-"

"No, I didn't know." Timothy made a mental note to check the awards they'd found at the house.

"And the rest of the time she was doing Ministry and resistance work-"

"Resistance?"

"Against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. There were several groups operating independent of the Ministry of Magic-"

"And was Black a member of the same groups?"

"I don't know." Professor McGonagall shut her eyes. She did know and she knew where this question was headed.

"You were not a member yourself?"

"Perhaps," Minerva said.

Timothy felt his witness clam shut and decided to continue along a different road of questioning. "Were they married?"

Minerva took a deep breath. "They were, but you'll find not a scrap of evidence to support it. Iris destroyed all the photographs ever taken with some sort of curse that blanked them all, even the ones in other people's albums. I had a friend at the Ministry of Magic destroy the public record of the marriage and I personally destroyed the certificate."

"Why?"

"I didn't want people to know. I thought that Iris deserved a break." She did not add that it was Iris who had begged her, in the days of confusion following the arrest. Nor did she add that it was Iris that had torched the house Black had bought with such spells that not an ounce of ash had remained, despite the heavy anti-fire charms.

"We can talk about that later. When did you learn that Iris was pregnant?"

"Sirius came to see me. He seemed slightly disturbed, not because she was expecting a child, but because they had argued over it. Sirius was afraid for her safety and wanted her to go and stay with Gladys Gudgeon in Edinburgh for a time. There had been many deaths at that time since You-Know-Who was active. He was trying to organise the safety of the Potters and the Longbottoms and expected a death-eater backlash to be directed at him-"

"In other words, he wanted Iris out of the way so that she did not guess that he was involved with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and plotting the deaths of the people around him-" Timothy interjected.

"Perhaps." Minerva's eyes flicked to the dog beneath the table once more. "Anyway, he wanted Iris to go and stay in Scotland, but she wouldn't go. She was absolutely adamant that she was not going. Sirius had argued with her for most of the night about it before finally coming to see me. He wanted me to change her mind. I told him that I couldn't, that there was no way anybody but Iris could change that mind. I wasn't very much help, so he left.

"Two weeks later I received an owl from Scotland. Somehow Sirius had convinced Iris to go. I'm not sure how he did it, short of putting her in a full-body bind and tying her to the Knight Bus. She complained quite a bit about how dreadful the weather was and how boring the Gudgeons were. I ignored her moans and sent her a box of Wurtle's slimming-fudge - she was also complaining about getting fat. She didn't send me any more letters and I was so busy that I didn't send her any either.

"Peter came to see me. He'd received a few owls as well and was a little disturbed about Iris's state of mind. I told him to talk to Sirius about it, but I don't think he did. He seemed very jumpy, almost drunk, and sort of flinched every time I said 'Sirius'. He was quite pale, so I offered him a cup of tea and a piece of cake. All through our conversation he was scratching his arm as if he had fleas, causing him to spill tea all over the carpet. I asked him if he wanted some sort of lotion for it and he went pink and refused. He left quite quickly after that. He didn't even eat his cake." Minerva McGonagall shivered. She now knew why he had had an itchy arm and it was definitely not from fleas, 'Although he could have caught them from the other rats', she supposed. She hoped that Timothy would guess, that would shed a whole new light on the Pettigrew murders in the Ministry of Magic's eyes. But she knew that the idea would not dawn on him, it had had to be spelt out to her before it had made any sense. If she spelt it out to him, he'd only think that she was crazy and get a court order to lock her up somewhere with padded walls.

"We're counting down to Peter's murder, aren't we?" Timothy said. "Do you think he realised? Was that why he was so nervous?"

"I don't know."

"So the Potters, the Longbottoms and Peter Pettigrew all came to a sticky end around the same time. And at that time, Iris McGonagall-Black was staying in Edinburgh with the Gladys Gudgeon and the Gudgeon family, growing fat with pregnancy, and completely in the dark in respect to her husband's dealings. When did she find out?"

"When the Potter's died, everybody knew. They just knew. There was partying in the streets all across Europe, and the skies were thick with owls. Iris found out and left Edinburgh in a hurry. When she arrived in London, she couldn't find Sirius and she was afraid that he was dead. She found me instead. I was with her when the news of Peter's death came. She was heavily pregnant and very very angry. She blamed herself for letting Peter get into that predicament. At that very moment she decided to change her child's future. She told me the baby's surname would be Pettigrew-"

"Why? Why couldn't she just give the child her surname? Morgiana McGonagall?"

"That's what I asked Iris. She told me that either the child or others would ask who the girl's father was. In naming her child Pettigrew she was escaping the damnation Morgiana would face if her true paternity came out. She was giving the child a hero and Peter the ultimate reverence. Only a few people know the truth, including Peter's mother, old Mrs Pettigrew, who has never accepted Morgiana.

"Iris did not attend the trial or the funeral. She ignored all her friends, rejected any form of magic and became a Muggle. She bought a house in a quiet Muggle neighbourhood and has lived there ever since. She lost everything on the day Peter died and has never got it back. She lost her ambition, her arrogance, but also her sense of humour, the sparkle in her eyes. The only thing she has left is Morgiana."

"Did you ever notice Iris drinking any form of alcohol?"

"Why?"

"Just answer the question, please."

"She used to drink anything that was cheap and would render her unconscious for a few hours. It was the only way she could sleep. But she gave that up when Morgiana was seven. It was very hard for her. Why? Did you find alcohol in the house?"

"No, we didn't, Professor. We did not find any alcohol in any part of the house, nor was there any found in what was left of her digestive system. But there was some on her lips, some sort of brandy-"

"Which means?"

"The killer kissed her before he killed her. It is the only explanation for the brandy to be found on her lips-"

"What about saliva, in the brandy? Can you trace that?"

"The brandy was laced with an anti-anxiety potion. The potion destroyed any trace of the killer's saliva or skin cells."

"Anything else?" the Professor asked, her head swimming with the new information, 'the killer kissed her before he killed her' and 'anti-anxiety potion'. 'He must have been nervous," she thought.

"Is it possible that somebody was black-mailing Iris over Morgiana's paternity?"

"What do you mean?"

Timothy Abberline remembered the empty vault at Gringotts Bank and the chief goblin's words, 'The key-holder was removing money every second day.' He also remembered the bank statements he had convinced the Muggle bank to give him. Iris McGonagall had a £500 000 mortgage that she had recently acquired, within the last six months. £2000 a day had been transferred, changed to magic money, and deposited in her, now empty, Gringotts account. "Iris has been systematically removing money from her magic and non-magic accounts over the past six months and transferred it to someone else," Timothy explained.

"You mean... she's been paying someone for something..?"

"Yes," Timothy said. "Have you any idea why?"

"No."

"Thank you for your time, Professor. I will now need to see Morgiana. I will also need somebody to officially identify the body and to tell me if anything is missing from the house." Timothy shook the Professor's cold hand, searching her eyes for any sign of tears. It was a dreadful job, informing people of their loved-one's demise. He had seen any number of different reactions, anger, tears, stuttering, indifference, nausea, numbness. Professor McGonagall suffered from numbness.

***

The yellowed bathroom, with its peeling linoleum and mouldy wallpaper, was located inside a house that probably belonged to some Muggles. It looked as though the entire house had not been occupied for an extremely long time. Iris had suggested this house when he first visited her. She had been right (as usual), it was a good find. And cheap too, it cost nothing to squat in an empty house and the Ministry were unlikely to check here. 'Iris...' he thought, remembering what she had been and what she had become. His arm began to throb.

Peter shivered violently as yet another torrent of vomit landed in the toilet with a resounding splash. He leant his head against the plastic bowl, hoping for some comfort. He got none. He couldn't get her smell out of his nose, her body out of his eyes, nor the feeling of something living in his arms suddenly being dead. It made him feel sick to the soul, and the occurrence would be with him for the rest of his life. Every waking hour she would haunt him. He had tried to convince himself that she was a traitor, that she deserved to die. She had lied to him, cheated him. He had forgiven her but she would do it again; it was in her nature. In killing her he had prevented her betrayal, saved her from herself. That's what the Master had said. But the niggling conscience at the back of his mind told him differently: she had loved him. Surely that counted for something.

He lay on the floor of the bathroom, his mouth dripping with vomit, his clothes stinking of death. "...take a shower while I sort this out. The hot water should still be running." she had said. He couldn't now, the scent of the deceased was all that he had left of her... besides the girl. Shortly, he would be sent to fetch her. He hoped that she looked like her mother, not like him. He couldn't bear it if she looked like Black.

The smell hit him again, this time with a fiery punch. He saw her fly back, her eyes open, staring at him. At that moment he'd wished he could stop the curse, but he couldn't. His mouth filled with the remains of his supper and he shuddered as the liquid spilled down his front. He couldn't find the energy to haul his body to the toilet bowl, so he lay slumped on the cracked lino, waiting for the sensation to pass. His stomach crawled as though it were filled with a thousand army ants, all gnawing their way out.

He'd killed before but he'd never felt like this. In fact, he'd felt stronger, heroic, like an avenging knight. He had loved the power. Although they had deserved to die, he'd used Lily and James as an excuse to get more power, he didn't really care about killing them, one way or another. It was Sirius that he'd wanted to punish the most. The plan had gone awry at first: who could had known that the Potter boy would have that sort of power? Peter had felt scared then. He had had to come up with a new plan, fast. Sirius was after him, bearing down on him like some sort of rabid dog and his colleagues, the Death-eaters, wanted the traitor's pelt (It was a good thing that they hadn't known he was the one, but they would have figured it out, given time.) He'd saved his skin from both in one brilliant stroke of the wand. People thought he was a hero (dead, of course) for standing up to Black. The Death-eaters blamed Black as well. Peter was surprised that they hadn't ganged on him in Azkaban and made it look like suicide. That's what he would have done. Still, Black had been unable to find him... until recently. Even worse, Sirius had talked (he was always very good at that) Remus Lupin, Professor Dumbledore and others round to his purposes.

Peter trembled uncontrollably, both hands (one his original, the other a gift) wrapped round himself. He rolled over and managed to prop himself against the corner between the bath and the toilet wall. There he sat as tears tumbled down his face in great showers of salt. Iris was in his mind again. She always would be. He had loved her, finally possessed her love, and killed her. Tomorrow, he had to go back to the Master and hide these emotions. He also had to find his daughter, Morgiana Pettigrew, before Sirius Black took her away from him as well.

***

Morgiana's head thumped with a dull aching pain as if someone had repeatedly jumped on it with steel-toed boots. Her limbs felt numb and she could barely move them, inwardly screaming as one thousand pins hit the bones. The light pierced her eyes when she opened them and for a moment all she could see was white. She thought she was dead. Then a woman hovered into view, dressed in an old-fashioned nurse's uniform, complete with cap. She came to Morgiana's side and gently stroked the hair off her face. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Like I've been run over by a bus," Morgiana groaned in a voice she didn't recognise.

"An apt description," the nurse replied. She began to take the pulse on Morgiana's wrist. Her fingers were cold.

"Who are you?" Morgiana said, feeling her own heart beating in her forehead like a gigantic drum. She was surprised the nurse couldn't hear it, it seemed so loud to her.

"My name is Madam Pomfrey. You're in the Hospital Wing."

"At Hogwarts? How long have I been here? Where's the Professor?"

"She had to go to teach a class," the Nurse said. "However, there's someone else here to see you."

"Who is it?" Morgiana yawned, causing her eyes to water painfully.

"It's me," Hermione said. Her voice sounded nervous.

Morgiana wondered why the older girl had bothered coming to see her. They had met only a few days ago and hardly knew each other. Perhaps Hermione just wanted some more gossip to spread around the school about her. No doubt tongues were already wagging about 'the psycho' Morgiana had 'packed'.

"I didn't really know what you liked, so I didn't bring anything with me," Hermione blurted. "The only thing that I could find was myself. I hope that's all right."

"Sure," Morgiana said, hardly comprehending a word. "It's nice of you to come."

An uneasy silence followed. Neither girl could think of what to say next.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" Morgiana asked, finally touching on a subject that would be suitable.

"I have a study period. Ron and Harry went off somewhere without me, so I thought I'd come and see you." The moment she said it Hermione realised it was the wrong thing to say, 'It sounds as though I am visiting her because I have nothing better to do,' she thought. Quickly, she added, "I didn't mean it like that, it's just the way it came out."

"Wha-?" Morgiana muttered. She had heard it, but chose to ignore it. She was too tired to argue.

"Don't worry," Hermione said. "It's not important." She tried to change the subject, "I hope your mother's all right."

"She will be. She always is." Morgiana's voice sounded more self-assured than she felt. "I don't know why I had that dream. I guess I'm just worried about her."

"You don't think that it's a premonition?" Hermione asked, 'Not that I believe in them.'

"Now you're starting to sound like Professor Trelawney." Morgiana's pale face was lit with a smile, chased quickly by a frown. "It's just that- well- me and Mum had an argument on the way to the train station. It's probably just my sub-conscious doing strange things."

"Oh."