Like Magic

Chapter Fifteen

November 1978
Peter stood in the Evans' back garden for a long time, gazing through the window at Petunia in the kitchen. She was bustling about, apron covered in flour, making some sort of confection, and she looked blissfully happy. Peter felt a turning in his stomach. I'm not the one making her happy, he thought. All I ever make her do is cry, it seems, these days.

Peter had returned from Albania the week before, to face an empty flat save for one dead plant, a low-level job at the Ministry shuffling papers to and fro, and his first Assignment. Peter had put it off as long as he could before going to the tea house and sitting in the back room. He wasn't entirely certain why he was supposed to do such an inane thing as sit in a Kensington tea house, sipping Earl Grey and recording the conversations that went on around him. But he did it anyway.

If nothing else, a year in Albania had taught Peter not to argue. Instead, he learned how to throw a curse without seeing his target; how to avoid detection; how to smile and pretend that everything was fine when really he was burning with anger inside. The Muggle was how Peter thought of Vernon Dursley, and when he practiced the Unspeakable Curses on the practice subjects, he pictured the fat man in their place.

He deserves it, thought Peter, squelching the one small part of him that heard the screams and the terror.

The tea house had been very busy, and Peter had recorded everything into his wand for playback later. He entertained himself by listening in on the various conversations between lovers and siblings and the occasional squabbling couple. Towards late afternoon, however, it had begun to empty and Peter found himself shifting on the couch he sat on, bored. When he heard the paper crinkle beneath him, he slipped a hand under the cushion, which was how he found the month-old newspaper, folded to the Society pages.

The notice was short, and there was a picture. Her eyes looked blank and flat, as most newspaper photos tend to do, and his hand rested on her shoulder, possessive.

It made Peter violently ill. His stomach twisted into knots, and he was so dizzy he dropped his teacup onto the floor, still clutching the announcement in his hand. By the time the nausea had subsided, he had entered the next phase: anger. The house began to shake, teacups rattling in their cupboard, the attendants and few customers began to cry out.

"It's a bomb!"

"One of those UXBs?"

"Didn't you hear, they found one last week just a few blocks over!"

Peter gasped, and grabbed hold of himself, channeling in his anger. The rattling stopped, and he ran out of the building, with only one thought in mind. Despite the months training in Albania, he didn't bother with Apparating to Lily and James' flat - no, he wanted to be in the rain and the fog. It suited his darkening mood.

But Lily and James couldn't help - they weren't even home. Peter banged on the door over and over, shouting their names before Remus, who was flat-sitting for them, opened the door. One look at his friend's face, and Remus dragged him inside, sat him at the table, and was setting a tea service (complete with biscuits) before him.

"Lots of woods in Albania?" Remus asked, pouring him tea.

"Yeah, loads," said Peter, distracted. "You know about this?" He threw the newspaper on the table. Remus set the kettle down and looked at it.

Petunia Evans will wed Vernon Dursley on 20 November 1978, in Surrey. Miss Evans is a graduate of Sunbury Academy in London; Mr Dursley is an executive of Grunnings Inc.

"Lily's mentioned it once or twice, or a thousand times," he said casually. "I believe the wedding is in three days."

Peter didn't reply. He held the newspaper, turning it over and over in his hands. Remus watched him, and decided to keep talking. He was physically stronger anyway, and if Peter decided to get violent, Remus could handle him.

"I'm surprised you didn't get an invitation. We all got one, you know."

"Why aren't you there, then?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Full moon is Friday night. Jet lag got to you?"

"Haven't looked at a calendar," muttered Peter.

"A bit hard, I suppose, having a girl you fancied marry someone else," said Remus, picking up his teacup. "I wouldn't know. You should ask Sirius, I'd say enough of his girlfriends have married off now that he'd be used to it."

"She was never my girlfriend," said Peter. Remus raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Peter glared at him. "She was too young! How do you tell a twelve year old you're in love with her?"

"You wait until she's thirteen."

"Oh, right," snorted Peter. "When she's thirteen! When she was thirteen, Remus, she wouldn't give me the time of day. And then she's fourteen, and I can't even talk to her, because she's getting so damn beautiful that I get a hard on just looking at her. And she's still too young. And then she's fifteen, and she's seeing some other guy - "

Peter fell silent, and buried his head into his hands. "When would have been the right time, Remus? It was all the wrong time, every time. I never had a chance."

Remus didn't agree, but he knew this would be the wrong time to bring that up.

"Peter, you're my best friend. How can you not be? You're the cautious one, I know that, but sometimes you can be too cautious."

"Caution keeps you from getting killed," muttered Peter.

"It also keeps you from living," said Remus. "Did you ever tell her you loved her?"

"I - " Peter thought. "I must have. I did. Once. Maybe I never really loved her at all."

Remus smiled. "You love her, else we wouldn't be sitting in Lily and James's kitchen, bemoaning her upcoming marriage to someone else."

"I love her," repeated Peter dully. He looked at Remus, shocked. "Oh God, I love her. And she's marrying someone else. And I can't remember telling her - oh God."

Remus waited.

"And she's marrying him - of all people, him," continued Peter, his eyes growing wilder. "And I never told her. She should have been mine, Remus, mine - she was always mine, from the moment I first laid eyes on her - did I ever tell you, Remus? It was like she was a part of me, laying there in the crib, and I felt something shift - the very air around us was like this great golden cord connecting us - "

"You don't say," said Remus, cautious now, his mind racing.

"She was mine," repeated Peter. "No, she is mine. I can still feel her, Remus. I know she's out there, and I know she thinks she loves him. She's fooling herself. She loves me. She loves - me."

Peter sat down at the table heavily. "I could still have her," he said.

"Peter," said Remus cautiously. "It might be too late for that."

"It's never too late," said Peter.

"She's getting married in three days, Peter."

"She should be getting married to me," snapped Peter.

"Oh?" said Remus. "And how was she to know that? You haven't been around much, Peter. You've been in Albania, and Ireland, and just about anywhere she wasn't. You've avoided going home to Surrey because it meant you'd have to see her again. I watched you at Hogwarts - you'd barely even answer the owls she sent, unless Lily prodded you. When she was sent home our fourth year, she needed your support and your love, Peter, and what did you do? You started snogging every girl Sirius could pass your way. She needed you, Peter, and you abandoned her. Why shouldn't she marry this boy? He took her out for dinner, he went dancing with her, and he was the shoulder she cried on when her father died - "

"You don't know!" shouted Peter, standing so quickly that his chair fell over. "You can't know - it should have been my shoulder she cried on - my father died too!"

Remus looked at Peter, who was fuming and nearly in tears. But his voice broke, and he suddenly seemed to deflate before Remus's eyes, and he fell onto the floor. Remus was calm and quiet, and his voice was low, and he knelt beside his friend.

"My father too," mumbled Peter. "Should've been me."

"Aye, there's the rub," said Remus. "Should Have Beens are worse, because it means there will never be a Could Be in your future. At least, not with her."

"Not with her," repeated Peter, and gradually his shaking subsided. Remus straightened the chair, and helped Peter onto it. Peter's head fell to the table, and Remus pulled him up straight again, only to have Peter let his head fall down again. And again. And again. Remus sighed, and pulled Peter up once more, and held onto his shoulders.

"I think you should talk to Sirius," said Remus sternly. "If I let go, you won't go banging your head on the table again, will you?"

"No," said Peter dully. Remus let go of him, and Peter's head fell to the table one more time, except now it stayed there. Remus patted his shoulder and rose from the table.

"I'll call Sirius. You stay put," he said kindly, and left the room. Better to do it from the other fireplace - give me a chance to tell Sirius exactly what's going on, he thought. He was momentarily concerned that Peter might try to knock himself out again, but pushed the thought away from his mind.

Peter's eyes were wide open, and he was staring at the table. No more Could Bes, he was thinking. That's it. End of the line. If only I could just talk to her one more time. She doesn't know who she's marrying!

And Peter raised his head, and stared directly at the jar of Floo Powder on the fireplace mantle. He wondered if Remus would mind terribly much ... and then got up anyway.

* * * * *

Luckily for Peter, his mother wasn't home. No one had lived at the Pettigrew residence for the past year, in fact - Beatrice Pettigrew had left the house shortly after the death of her husband, and spent her time moving between various friends and relatives, unable to cope with the far-too empty house on Privet Drive.

Peter landed in the Pettigrew kitchen, instantly sending up a cloud of dust. Sneezing, he stood and walked up to his old room, taking a moment to look at the room, still exactly how he had left it a year previously. I was happy here, as a boy, before I knew that Pets wouldn't be following me to Hogwarts. Peter looked at the window, and could almost see his twelve year old self tossing rubber balls and toy cars across the distance to Pets' window. Peter walked over to the window, peering through to see Pets' bedroom. He half expected to see a nine-year-old Pets hanging out her bedroom window, laughing at him and catching the toys as they sailed by her.

But the window was firmly closed, and the room was dark. Peter turned away from the window, and left the house, determined to find her.

Now he stood in the Evans' backyard garden, staring at Petunia through the window, gathering his courage. He reached for the doorknob, and his hand still trembled. He clenched it, took a breath, and opened the door.

"Oh, Lily, you're home early!" said Petunia cheerily, her back to the door. She stood at the kitchen table, mixing something in a bowl. "Good, I'm about to run out of eggs."

Peter's hand clenched on the doorknob. "Pets," he said, and Petunia spun around, dropping the spoon in her hand and staring at him.

"Peter ... what are you doing here? I thought ... you were in Albania?"

Peter gulped. "I came home earlier this week. I thought I'd stop by and see you."

Petunia straightened. "Well. .. here I am. I never left." Petunia's grip loosened on the chair, and she turned back to her mixing bowl. She picked it up, mixing the batter with a harshness she hadn't used before. "Did you have a good time in Albania?"

Peter stepped into the kitchen. "I ... yes. No. It was ... different. And difficult."

And frightening. I spent the first three months scared out of my mind, Pets - convinced that I'd made the wrong choice. I went to bed hurting, physically and emotionally, I pushed my magic to the very brink of exhaustion. And then ... meeting Him ... And afterwards I didn't think much of anything anymore. There wasn't time. Too busy ... learning my new trade.

"I hear it's a lovely country. Lots of forests."

"Yes. And mountains. I didn't see a lot of the countryside, though. I was in training most of the time."

"Training?" Petunia turned to look at him. "I thought Lily said you were done training?"

Peter cursed himself. Damn, shut it, Peter. Don't give away everything! "I did ... I mean, that was basic training. This was more advanced work, in the field."

Petunia nodded, and walked over to the oven. "I expect you learned a good deal, then?"

"Yes ... " Peter's voice faltered as he watched Petunia pull what was unmistakably a cake out of the oven. "A cake, Pets? Is there a holiday coming up that I don't know about?"

Petunia slammed the oven door shut and glared at Peter. "What do you want, Peter? Why are you here?"

Peter blinked. "Can't I just come back to say hello to an old friend who I haven't seen in a year?"

"No," said Petunia flatly. "You can't. You haven't said so much as 'boo' to me since ... " The Grunnings picnic - and the night you kissed me before that. "Since you left school. And certainly you've never written or called. I would have thought you'd forgotten about me."

Peter shook his head slowly. "Pets ... I couldn't forget you if I tried."

Petunia glanced up sharply at him. "Oh? You've done a lovely job convincing me otherwise."

"You've done quite a job yourself, making me think you don't care a whit for me either."

"Only because you ... oh, never mind," said Petunia crossly.

"No, what," said Peter coolly. "What did I do to you?"

Petunia sighed, and leaned against the counter, her hand at her temple. "I .. I don't know. You do a million things to me, Peter. Every time you're near me, you do things to me. You make me feel ... as though some vital part of me is just within reach, and I can't live without trying to grab it."

Peter looked away. "I ... Pets." I feel the same way.

Petunia gave a short laugh. "But it's pointless isn't it? Because what I really want, I can't have. And you made me want it, Peter - you and Lily both. And I can't have it, now or ever."

Peter looked at her sharply. "What do you want, Pets?"

Petunia smiled ruefully. "If I have to tell you that, Peter Pettigrew ... " She shook her head, and turned back to the cakes, running a knife along the edges of the pan.

Peter watched her, his heart dropping. Not me, then. She doesn't want me at all ... "Pets ... all I ever wanted was for you to be happy."

Petunia laid down the knife carefully. "I know. I think I have a chance at that, now."

"With the Muggle, you mean."

Petunia looks over her shoulder to glare at him. "I thought Muggle wasn't a derogatory comment. But the way you say it, Peter - "

"How can you, Pets?" Peter interrupted her. "How can you marry ... him? Of all people!"

Petunia turned to look at him. There was such an odd expression in his face - a cross between sorrow and anger, and Petunia felt a chill go down her spine and take up residence in her stomach.

"He loves me. Isn't that enough?"

"Do you love him?" asked Peter, nearly choking on the words. He felt very cold, fearing Petunia's answer, and when it didn't come, he felt even colder. Petunia turned away from him, unwilling to meet his eyes, and continued mixing whatever was in the bowl in front of her. "Then tell me why you're marrying him, Pets!"

"Because he asked," said Petunia, with a catch in her voice. "And I have nowhere else to go, no plans and no future otherwise. I'd stay here in Surrey with Mother and rot."

"You'll have Grunnings - "

"I can't run it myself! I don't know anything about business," said Petunia.

"You don't have to stay here. You could live with Lily in London, she would have you in a heartbeat," said Peter. He took a step towards Petunia, who almost instinctively stepped back.

Petunia shook her head. "Lily has her own life with James - she would hardly want me underfoot."

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Peter. "She would love for you to be with them."

Petunia slammed the spoon down on the counter. "They live in the magical world, I can't possibly live with them," she said angrily. She spun around again, and crossed her arms. Peter stared at her.

"Don't be silly," he said. "Anything is better than having to marry that - that boring, stupid, oversexed Muggle."

Petunia stared at him, unable to believe her ears. "I'm a Muggle too, Peter, don't forget," she said once she'd found her voice. "Don't you know how I cried every night for weeks when I was sent home? How bitterly I regretted ever allowing you to put such a fanciful notion that I could be magical into my head? My father was the only one to comfort me then, Peter - my plain, ordinary Muggle father."

"That's exactly why you can't marry Dursley, Pets," said Peter, every bit of him growing angrier with every word Petunia said. "It's an insult to your father's memory, allowing a man like that control of Grunnings, and everything your father worked for." He took another step towards her - once again she moved away.

"My father loved Vernon Dursley!" said Petunia loyally. "He thought of him like a son."

"And see where that got him?" said Peter. "He should never have trusted that brainless git."

"What are you saying?" said Petunia coldly.

"Vernon Dursley killed your father, and mine, Pets," said Peter. "I saw him do it."

"That's a lie!" cried Petunia quickly, but her mind was racing. "It was an accident - there was an investigation."

"Your father was showing my father parts of the assembly room, and Vernon was supposed to start the machinery. But instead of starting the conveyer belts, he sent a pulley crashing to the floor - right on top of their heads." Peter closed his eyes, remembering the moment - the screams, the broken wand, and Vernon standing above them all on the catwalk, calm and collected as if he'd dropped a feather boa and not a
ten ton paperweight.

"It's not true," said Petunia, shaking in her anger. "Vernon was one of Papa's pallbearers, he cried at the funeral. How dare you accuse him, Peter Pettigrew!"

Peter felt a twinge in his stomach, but didn't back down. He stepped towards Petunia - he was now only a metre away from her. "I saw him, Pets. I saw the way he looked after it happened."

"Oh! After it happened! You didn't see him do anything," sneered Petunia, her stomach twisting. She stepped away again, and her back hit the wall. Petunia clutched at the wall with open palms, staring at Peter. "You weren't there when they died. How do you know anything?"

"I was there," said Peter coldly. "Or perhaps you were so occupied with your overgrown lover you didn't much notice anything else."

"And exactly what were you doing when it happened, Peter?" continued Petunia. "Out snogging the Blonde Bombshell, Miss Magical England? Where is she now, Peter - left you for a stronger wizard, has she, one who can do more than levitate sticks?"

It happened faster than she realised. One moment she was facing off with Peter, and the next she was backed up against the doorframe, Peter's arm holding her shoulders firmly and his wand raised to her eyes.

"Don't tempt me," growled Peter, ignoring the way his stomach was twisting. "I am far stronger than you know."

Petunia stared coolly back at Peter. She struggled to keep her face calm, although she felt more nauseous with every word she spoke. "I know why you're here," Petunia said. "I know why you want to stop me from marrying Vernon. You'd say anything to make me cancel the wedding, wouldn't you? Well, I won't do it, Peter Pettigrew. Something incredible happened when you went away to Albania, Peter. I grew up. And I don't love you anymore. Not a bit, not an inch. So go ahead, Peter. Hex me, curse me, hurt me. I don't care. Nothing you can do or say to me can hurt me, not anymore."

Peter's stomach twisted again, and he dropped his arms and backed away, shaking his head. "Is that what you think? That I came here for that? I came here with the truth, Petunia. Or don't you believe anything I say at all? I don't care a whit for you, only for bringing the man who killed my father to justice. The same man you intend to marry. I don't love you, Petunia Evans. And if you are really to marry Vernon Dursley, I don't even want to know you."

Petunia stood up straight and pointed to the door. "Get out of my house."

"Gladly," said Peter, and walked towards the door. As his hand touched the doorknob, Petunia spoke again.

"I never want to see you again."

"You won't," said Peter firmly. He opened the door.

"I hate you," said Petunia quietly.

Peter turned to look at her. His eyes were cold, and his face was so angry it was contorted. "I don't waste hate on Muggles," he said, and slammed the door shut.

* * * * *

Almost simultaneously, on opposite sides of the door, Peter Pettigrew and Petunia Evans fell to their knees, trembling. The same pain in their stomachs grew to a crescendo, overwhelming their senses until all they knew was a hot-and-cold fiery ice of pure pain, wracking their bodies. Every breath drawn was on fire, and every bone felt broken in three; every muscle knotted and twisted; even the fine hairs on their cheeks screamed in torture. They felt drained and powerless, unable even to call for help.

And just when the pain became so intense they could no longer even whimper, they felt something rip away from them. It was being skinned alive; it was each hair in their heads plucked out one by one; it was losing a part of themselves and seeing it fade away before their eyes. Peter and Petunia opened their eyes, trying to see around them, and all they saw was a glimpse of something rosy and pink and red and golden. And they saw the colours fall apart, and the gold flew into nothingness. Peter wanted to cry out, and Petunia wanted to reach out and pull it towards her again, but neither one could move.

The pain seemed to go on for ages. And just as soon as it had begun, it ended, ebbing away to nothing.

* * *

Afterwards, Peter could not say how he managed to get away. Perhaps it was an involuntary Apparation reflex; perhaps he dragged himself back to the Pettigrew home next door and used the Floo network again. Regardless, Peter found himself lying on the cold floor of Lily and James' kitchen, still curled, arms around his knees.

From the parlour, Remus heard a crash come from the kitchen. Thinking that perhaps a burglar had slipped inside (entirely possible; the apartment was in the Muggle section of the city, after all), he grabbed the nearest candlestick and went into the kitchen, holding it above his head. When he saw Peter on the floor, he dropped the candlestick and fell to his knees beside his friend.

"Peter! Peter! What the hell happened?"

Peter opened his eyes, but they were strangely blank and the pupils were dilated. "Remus."

"Are you hurt?" asked Remus, gently tugging at Peter's arms. "Here, let me see."

Peter resisted, curling tighter into himself. "I said ... I said ... I bungled it all ... can't waste hate."

Remus shivered, and decided it was past time to be overly gentle. He pulled Peter's arm away, finding that Peter's initial resistance was quickly overcome by Remus' superior strength. Remus wasn't certain what sort of injury he expected, but the fact that he couldn't see any sort of injury at all shocked him.

"Peter, tell me what's wrong, right now," he ordered. "Did the Death Eaters catch you?"

Peter began to laugh, hollowly. "Would that they did," he wheezed. "She's worse than any of that lot, Remus. She said ... she and I ... I bungled it, every word."

Remus held onto Peter's arm. "You need more help than I can give you. I'm going to call for help."

"No!" cried Peter, and he reached to grab Remus' arm, with considerably more strength than Remus had thought possible. "No, I'm fine. I'm fine. Just - can't move fast."

Remus frowned. "You're in pain."

"No, not so much anymore," said Peter. "Don't call anyone, Remus, please."

"All right. But I'm going to clear off the sofa for you. I'll be right back."

Peter closed his eyes, and he heard Remus' footsteps fade as he left the kitchen. Peter tried to concentrate on his breathing - in, out, in, out - hoping that with each breath the resounding ache in his bones would fade. He felt raw, scalded. He felt like there was a great hole in his chest that wouldn't close.

"You really thought that would work?"

Peter's eyes flew open. He could still feel the cold linoleum of Lily's kitchen beneath his cheek, but all around him was stone and cold green fires, and the face that hovered very close to his own was pale, unlined, and uncannily inhuman. Peter knew this face, and he felt his entire body clench in fear.

"This is a dream," he whispered to himself. "You're not real. You're an apparition."

"Can apparitions do this?" said the face, and instantly Peter felt a hot fire race through him, charring whatever bits of him had not previously hurt. Peter screamed, throwing his head back while the rest of his body curled itself even tighter.

Peter could hear the smooth, silky voice dimly through his screams. "Idiot boy," it whispered. "You know your true calling now! Why bother running! There is no hope ... no escape ... you are mine, Peter Pettigrew. Peter ... Peter!"

"Peter! Peter!" Peter could feel the hands shaking him, and his eyes flew open as he struggled to back away.

"No!" he cried out, before realising that he was still in Lily's kitchen, huddled near the cabinets, with Remus kneeling over him, a worried look on his face. Peter relaxed instantly, sighing with relief. A dream, a damn dream, he thought, but he didn't really believe it.

"You were screaming," said Remus.

"It's nothing," gasped Peter. "Remus, don't tell Lily."

"No," said Remus after a moment. "Come on, I've cleared a space for you." He helped Peter from the floor and into the parlour.

Neither of them noticed the burn marks on the floor where Peter had lain.