Surfacing

Surfacing: A Lack of Oxygen.

His master had given him a simple job, really, but he had mucked it up beyond repair. His stature among the Death Eaters was basically non-existent these days as more trustworthy followers joined the ranks, and Peter found he was being reduced to the position of test dummy and gopher researcher. It had been a long time since he served his master personally. For his latest mission, he was to research a spell, but he found that difficult because this mysterious spell was oddly familiar. Something in him, a feeling of dread, kept him from wanting to finish the spell and he couldn't seem to concentrate no matter how hard he tried. Still, he did the best he could to please his master. He knew what the consequences were for failing. When he gave what he thought was the completed spell back to Voldemort, all it took was one look at Peter's conclusion to know he had been on the wrong track. While Voldemort's closest followers watched, Peter was humiliated. It took Voldemort seconds what it took Peter weeks to find and before the hour was up, his master had finished the spell and was handing it back to him to deliver to the 'Masters' Lestrange. As he got up off the floor of Voldemort's study, aching from the crucious curse, he knew that he had all but lost his master's respect. Now, he would spend the next few days sitting idly in his cell, suffering boredom, while more capable hands dealt with his work. Spitefully, Peter made a copy of the spell before he handed it off to Rudolphus. If nothing else, it could be leverage for when his life was in jeopardy.

Two weeks passed before Peter was assigned a new task. Voldemort had a new theory, it seemed, and Peter was to give it its trial run. The messenger who came to his room to inform him of this mission told him he was to be going to be going to Hogwarts to test the magical boundaries and try a new spell that would supposedly let him onto the grounds unharmed. He hoped it wasn't too painful this time. With a resigned sigh, he stood with every intention of following the Death Eater into Voldemort's inner sanctum, but an idea struck him. He took his copy of the spell and with a deviousness he never knew he possessed, wrote a short letter on the back, folded it, and stuck it in his pocket.

I've dealt with my ghosts and I've faced all my demons

Finally content with a past I regret

I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness

For once I'm at peace with myself

I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long

I'm movin' on.

With a letter in his hand and determination on his face, Peter approached the Hogwarts grounds at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He glanced at the lake. It was a warm spring day like so many others and couldn't help reminiscing about childish things. The lake, he saw, held the memories of all the warm spring days that he spent with his friends, lounging there without a care in the world. Without hesitation he thought of those days as good and he wished with all his might that he could go back to when everything was simple and the only thing he had to worry about was whether or not his friends would abandon him if he made a mistake. If he didn't laugh at the right time or look impressed at their antics. He told himself they weren't like that, but he never really believed. He had perfected the playacting he called friendship and they still didn't look at him the same. They were never really friends to him like they were to each other.

He saw a pair of students walking towards the lake, boys with tans and sun-streaked hair. Gryffindors with the sleeves of their robes rolled up and their ties loosened, trying to look the part of the kind of people you would like without knowing. He didn't recognize them from when he stayed at the school as a rat; they were a bit young, but it didn't matter how old they were. They had that air about them. Success personified in its greatest form. The kind of power he always wished he possessed. The kind of power he always saw in James and Sirius when they were together. That kind of envy was a bit of the past he wished could be forgotten.

The past had been eating away at him of late. Old friends condemning, old enemies pardoning, alike in the nature of the burden he carried. He had thought of himself as a casualty of life and he had blamed the past on those friends he had abandoned as though they had abandoned him, and they should be punished. Now, in his lonely moments when his master had forced him to suffer with his own boredom, and that seemed to be often these days, memories were surfacing in his mind of old crimes long forgotten and he had come to realize something terrible. He had pushed it out of his mind long enough; he had never been a victim.

I did this to myself, he realized then. The heaviness he now felt was of his own doing. It was the weight of the burden that would never allow him to ask for forgiveness because, he figured, that wasn't his right. He had no right to expect such forgiveness from those people he wronged. All he can hope for, really, was that somewhere down the road, people would find it within in them to give him a rest from the burden he bared. Maybe not forgive, he thought, but at least quell the blame from what I've done, especially now that I can no longer see myself as a victim.

He turned to the lake; it glistened in the afternoon sun. Swimming, he thought. That's what I need to do. Everything is so much lighter in the water.

Although the thought passed through his mind, he shrugged it aside. He may be there for himself, but he was there for his master first and foremost. He was once again the guinea pig. Not for James and Sirius this time, but for Voldemort. And Voldemort was much deadlier. That was the choice he had made and there was little he could do. Right now, there was a test to conduct, then a debt to pay and little time to go about it, so he had to be on his way.

Peter took a breath and stepped onto the grounds. He was certain he would feel the barrier repel him, but he never felt a thing. He had slipped through unnoticed. Voldemort's test had been a success. Now, from here on out, he hoped that nothing went wrong because what he was about to do was a crime punishable by death in his circles. He would be considered a traitor. He had done it before, and he could do it again without thinking. He supposed it was his nature. The letter was important, it was his own; it something he had to do. His master, he hoped, didn't suspect a thing.

The boys the he saw earlier had joined another group of Gryffindors by a large tree near where a small river snaked though the forest and drained into the lake. They were young, third years or younger. So young, he thought. When did I become this old? He walked up to them purposely, stopping only when he had come upon the outskirts of the group. They glanced up at him carelessly. He felt like he was watching himself on any given day in the past with his two friends leading a group into a game of skipping rocks or stickball. He gave them a grin.

The leader of the group approached him cautiously and asked for his name. He told him Peter without a second thought and the boy never questioned him. He asked the boy if he knew Harry Potter and he, as was expected, said he knew of him. Peter would have been surprised if anyone didn't know of him these days. He handed the letter over to the boy like it was precious and the boy got the hint that it was important.

"What should I say when I give it to him?" the boy asked.

Indeed, Peter thought. What? What do you tell someone you've wronged when you wished to call it even? It seemed there was nothing that meaningful. Besides, this was as much for him as it was for Harry.

"Tell him it's for Wormtail," he said. "But it will be useful to him too. The letter should explain the rest."

The boy nodded and placed the note in his pocket for safekeeping. With a final, friendly nod, Peter left the group and quickly moved back to the forest where he came.

I've lived in this place and I know all the faces

Each one is different, but they're always the same

They mean me no harm but it's time that I face it

They'll never allow me to change

But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong

I'm movin' on.

Harry looked out the window and glanced at the lake on that beautiful spring day. Hermione and Ron sat across him at a table in the Gryffindor common room, studying for their end of the year tests. It had been a busy year and the days of complete relaxation had been few and far between.

Hermione scolded him for loosing concentration and he tried to focus on his work, but it was near to impossible to keep his mind from drifting out the window. He longed for the days in his first few years when tests seemed second in his mind to a mild adventure and procrastination. He sighed.

The school had become his home, but he had allowed that home to become his prison. He suffered everyday with the restlessness of youth that called him to move beyond what he knew, but his responsibilities kept him grounded. Just one more day, just one more class, day to day, never changing. The end was near. He could feel it, but to what kind of end he was facing, he didn't know. Only turbulent waters carried him forward and there was no way to slow them down. With a future as bleak as that, he wasn't sure he cared about tests and the like. He just wanted to live to see a time when trouble didn't follow him and he could live in peace, if only for a day. He scribbled thoughtlessly in circles on his parchment.

A boy approached him that he vaguely recognized because he reminded him of the version of his father he saw in Snape's pensieve. Jaunty, but arrogant. The kind of person that demands noticing without effort. He tried to smile at him, but it came off as a scowl, so to keep from looking cruel, he turned it into a frown. The boy smiled weakly at him and handed him a letter. Harry just stared at it in confusion.

"The man said it was for Wormtail, but you could use it too."

Harry was torn between anger and disbelief. He had to struggle to keep himself from jumping off his chair and strangling the messenger for being foolish enough to take a letter from a strange man on the eve of war. With his grimace-like smile, he thanked the boy and opened the cryptic letter.

Wormtail, he thought. What did he want now? Hasn't he already done enough? He read the letter, nothing seemed out of place, but nothing made much sense to him either. It was pages long and coded in places, littered with bits of ancient runes he couldn't understand, but with a little work, he knew he could make legible. It began in a neat, easily readable script, and then continued in a handwriting he barely recognized was English, only to finish in a line of carefully planned out lettering. Hermione and Ron leaned across the table towards him and looked at him expectantly. He almost stuffed the letter into a book to quell their curiosity, but a note on the back, scrawled in a quick, untidy version of Wormtail's own hand drew his attention. It took Harry a minute to decipher it and when he did it said:

You saved my life once and it is my duty to save yours. These pages hold the key to the mark that connects us all and if used correctly, can be our downfall as well. Use it wisely, but remember this; if you use it at all we will have called it even. You gave me my life, now I give you a chance to keep yours, to whatever end. My master has grown weary of my inability of to move past the debt I owe and I feel the end is near. Now, I fear, there is nothing I can do but pass on this letter and then step out of the way and let things happen as they may. I've done too much to go back now, but I want you to know, if I could, it would be different. Peter.

Harry read it again before placing it in his transfiguration book and hiding it from sight. Such wishes, he thought, were better left in the back your mind where hope couldn't weigh you down like a burden.

Ron and Hermione stared at him and he gave them a smile. The letter was the beginning of another hero's quest for them, but he had grown weary of adventure. Their expectant faces made his heart sink. With a sigh, he continued his homework and let the letter slip from his mind for the time being.

I'm movin' on

At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me

And I know there's no guarantees, but I'm not alone

There comes a time in everyone's life

When all you can see are the years passing by

And I have made up my mind that those days are gone

Work had gotten him through the hardest days, and work continued to move him forward. When the order called him to duty, he went without hesitation. He had no one to worry about his well-being. It was due to his currently reckless nature that he represented stability to the younger members. Always there, never changing. An anchor point in a time when life could sweep you off into a direction you wouldn't want to take. He was moving, but standing still. He was planning, but also postponing. He was alive, but never really there.

Then a letter arrived and the messy, hesitant script of the author brought his focus to the moment, but his mind to the past. He separated the letter into its two parts and carefully studied its meaning. That's what he was best at after all, analyzing. The first part, the personal letter from Harry, was simple confusion. The past had recently paid him a visit as well and he was reeling from the confrontation. The boy, his good friends' son, with no one else to turn to for help, came to the last remaining member of his father's friends he could trust. And Remus was more than willing to help. He glanced at the second half of the letter and he knew that he could.

Peter. Wormtail. The old names once said in innocence and trust, now spat from his lips like something distasteful. It was spring right now, but the calendar behind his desk was the only indication that the seasons had changed in his dark, underground room. He remembered the spring fondly from his days as a child. There was nothing specifically good, really, and nothing terrible, just that it was stable and peaceful. Filled with laughter that was not his own. He remembered the books he read and the pranks unleashed that usually involved James and Sirius, but his mind had washed away all the details years ago. Somehow, it had also washed away Peter. In the slew of things that had happened of late, he could no longer remember the person he knew when they were friends. Just that they were, and nothing more. But in light of recent events, did it matter?

What mattered was the second half of the letter. In his hands it felt as solid as water, a theory unpracticed. It was a chore to dig up the memories that coincided with the message contained because those memories included James and Lily. They were happy and painful at the same time and he had buried them in his mind long ago when it began to hurt too much to remember. He couldn't have survived if he remembered. He would have gone mad years ago. Instead, his friends had become like ghosts that were there, but couldn't really be seen. Sometimes, a thought floated through his mind, but when he tried to concentrate on it, it was gone. Haunted. His mind was haunted. To remember, he had to learn how to catch a ghost, but to catch something that fleeting was never easy. Still, with a little effort, he thought he could bring it back. He could bring back the logical, at least. He could bring back Lily.

What Lily had started years ago had been finished. The letter he held contained the completion of a brainchild started by his late friend many years ago that had been left incomplete at the time of her death. The information, he thought, had been sadly lost. A glimmer of hope arose in his heart when he saw that it had surfaced again. It was a weapon that would be useful in the years to come.

Her handwriting stared back at him from the page and haunted his mind with images of runes and numbers long forgotten. The spell was of such complexity that Lily often found it difficult to continue without bouncing ideas off a person who knew how to ask all the right questions. While that person was usually James, she did sometimes turn to Remus when her husband wasn't there and he was always anxious to listen. Her theory intrigued him and he understood her direction. Now, before him was her direction completed. And it seemed to have been completed by the same person that it was created to harm. The barely legible sentences following her own were in Voldemort's own handwriting. He recognized it from correspondences he had read between the leader and his followers and it baffled him when he wondered why he would complete such a thing. With a sigh, he gave up wondering why things happened as they did. He assumed he had his reasons.

A final line, just one sentence, was added at the end in a familiar script that he recognized was Peter's. Use Avada Kedavra. That was all it said and until he studied the concluding paragraphs of the spell, he could only assume what it meant. With a sigh, he went to work.

He found it hard to concentrate in the darkened room and he thought of Harry. The mother he never knew created this spell. This was his inheritance. Remus felt that without him, he would never be truly satisfied with the outcome of his research. With a smile, he thought, it was time for him to go. He quickly scrawled a letter of request to Dumbledore and sent it off with an owl. Carefully, he folded up the letter and placed it in the top drawer of his desk and waited.

I sold what I could and packed what I couldn't

Stopped to fill up on the way out of town

Dumbledore had granted Remus his request to travel to Hogwarts and stay for an undetermined amount of time. He knew that classes would be ending soon, but in that time, he would do his best within his limitations to find the best possible use for the spell. If Harry was willing, and his friends too, he would be grateful for the help. He had always been alone. The only Marauder not killed, captured or turned, but this time, he wouldn't be caught in the trap he set for himself years ago. He wouldn't think the only people that he could be friends with him were the friends from his past. He had passively watched life pass him by for years and now it was time to live for the future, even if that future brought an unwelcome conclusion.

He carefully packed his bags with only the necessities. The path to Hogwarts was only a jump away and he was determined to leave as soon as possible. Nothing, he thought, was as aggravating as waiting. Finishing up, he picked up his suitcase and with a smile, Apparated away.

The path to the school was deserted and Remus was happy for the peace. The trees were blooming and the brilliance of the green was a welcome sight after so many months cooped up in his dank, underground office. The smell of lilac was in the air. He sighed with pleasure.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a stag, brilliant and beautiful. It seemed as though it was nature's display of power in its greatest form. He paused in the path to face it for a moment, and they stared at each other, not knowing what to think. The stag was probably just trying to decide whether or not he was a threat. In a moment of silly frivolity, Remus bowed to the stag and stood up with a smile. The stag just blinked at him, reacting as a stag would, and cantered off into the trees. He laughed and continued on his way.

The school soon came into sight and he walked straight up to the entrance. The lake was glimmering in the sunlight and he noticed it out of the corner of his eye. He smiled as a memory of himself surfaced in his mind. He was reading. He was always reading.

Harry and his friends were waiting for him when he arrived and together, they walked up the main staircase to the headmaster's office. He was glad to be back. He was glad to be useful. He was glad to have company.

I've loved like a should, but lived like I shouldn't

I had to lose everything to find out

Remus was happy when he arrived, but Harry couldn't feel the same. As he sat in the library studying what turned out to be his mother's spell, he could help feeling disgruntled with his situation. It was another year, and another dangerous adventure. He no longer wanted to be the boy he was. Maybe he was growing up. Maybe this was maturity, but that didn't matter. He wasn't allowed to change until the war was over. He would remain the boy who lived until he was no longer needed.

One last time, he thought. This is the last time. No matter what happens, he was through. He was finished. He didn't care. He had already lost too much.

Ron and Hermione were there. They were trying their best to be of help, but there wasn't much to do. Everything they really needed to know was written in the pages of Peter's letter, and Remus was well on his way to filling in the blank spots in the spell that had been coded. He had to wonder why Remus had even come to Hogwarts. He could have done this on his own. Maybe he thought it was his obligation being that his mother created the spell. In that case, he wasn't sure that he appreciated the gesture. His mind began to drift away. He began drawing circles on a spare bit of parchment.

The spell was interpreted in no time, and then it was up to Harry to decide whether or not it would be used. To others, the decision was obvious. A spell to incapacitate all the Death Eaters at once, if even for only for a few seconds, was a spell worth performing. But Harry was unsure about its implications. If he accepted, would that be the same as forgiving Peter? He wasn't sure he was capable of that. No gesture on his part would be enough to make him forget about his parents' death or Sirius' life. He just couldn't bring himself to give Peter that glimmer of hope.

He paced in circles in the library. His friends watched him without speaking. Time was coming to an end on his procrastination and a decision had to be made.

"Your father was a very stubborn man," said Remus, suddenly. He was smiling strangely. Three pairs of eyes regarded him mutely. The only sounds were of Harry's shoes hitting the ground as he paced.

"A year before you were born, Harry, your parents fought," Remus continued. "About what I can't remember, but James had decided to stay with Sirius for a little while around that time, and he wasn't sure he would ever return home. Your father said a lot of things I'm sure he didn't mean, and he had worked himself into a stubborn fury. He paced a lot when he was mad, like you are doing; he was always antsy when he thought about serious things. Sirius, Peter and I did our best to calm him down, but he was incorrigible. He said he'd never forgive her. What she had done was too terrible to forgive. Then, Peter said something that made your father think." Remus pondered for a minute and smiled, remembering. "He said: "Why don't you just call it even. At least then you won't have to live apart when you know there are more important things than what you are fighting about." Your father was obviously shocked. Peter never gave advice, it wasn't in his nature, and that was what caused your father to think. I don't know if he followed that advice, but he was back with Lily before the week was out." Remus looked at Harry, who had stopped his pacing.

"Are you asking me to forgive him?" said Harry. "To forgive Peter?"

"I don't know what I'm asking, exactly. That memory just came to me." Remus considered his words and said, "Maybe, it is that you should look to the greater good?"

Harry didn't know what to say, so he just nodded and resumed his pacing. He could look to the greater good, he thought, but in this case, what was that? He realized then that looking to the greater good meant swallowing his pride and he was wary about giving in so easily. He continued to pace in circles while his friends watched, waiting.

Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road

I'm movin' on.

Peter folded his hands and placed them on his empty desk. One silver and one pale flesh. His mind didn't agree with that assessment. It shouldn't have been that way. They shouldn't have been so different. This wasn't how he was born.

Somehow, he felt that he was surfacing after a long dive, and he had been lacking oxygen for a long time. His mind was spinning. He wished he wasn't feeling this on the eve of war. He had to be as clear minded as he could or he would be eaten alive, and that wasn't the kind of end he hoped for himself.

The end was near, but to what kind of end he was facing, he didn't know. Voldemort was planning something important to his victory. He was heading out today with his Death Eaters, Peter included, finishing something he begun so many years ago. Peter didn't think he could participate. He wanted to run away, but he had nowhere to go. It wouldn't do any good either way.

The dark mark burned and he stood to leave. The glanced into the hollow cell he called home and sighed. He slammed the door shut behind him as he left.

They had Apparated into Hogsmede and gathered in the square, waiting to head out. Groups fidgeted restlessly in anticipation. Voldemort joined them soon after and gave the call to arms. The battle had begun. The Death Eaters were anxious to prove their worth to their master and began destroying building in Hogsmede. Peter felt ashamed.

"To Hogwarts," Voldemort yelled and the flow of the masked figures changed direction. The Death Eaters headed down the peaceful roads that lead to Hogwarts and into battle.

Peter was caught in the flow. He was jostled and pushed as people hurried past him. A number of times he almost fell, so he stepped off the path to avoid being trampled. He stood still for a moment and watched the river of hate flow past him purposefully. He didn't know what to think, but he knew what he was feeling. He turned into the forest.

He had walked only a few meters into the forest when the unusual sight of a magnificent stag welcomed him, powerful in the early morning light. Peter gasped in fear. He backed away a step and looked for an escape route. The stag just blinked at him and turned his head to the side, looking to Hogwarts where the sounds of the first explosions were already being heard.

"I'm not a coward," said Peter, illogically. "Think what you will, but that's not why I'm here."

The stag just blinked at him without a care. It bent its head forward until its antlers touched the ground and it nibbled on a tuft of grass. Peter moved cautiously around it.

The sound of a twig snapped and the stag threw its head up and tensed. Peter wasn't sure whether or not it had been him that stepped on the twig, but he certainly hoped that was so. He hoped he wasn't being followed. The stag cantered off.

He continued on until he came upon the river that flowed into the lake at Hogwarts and stopped. The sounds of the battle were strangely sporadic and unorganized, but no amount of curiosity would get him to join his so-called comrades. He crouched down in front of the river and watched the current carry the natural debris towards the school. He touched the water and smiled. It was cold and refreshing.

Another twig snapped. He didn't need to look behind him now to know that he'd been followed. Still, he turned around to face his shadow.

The man had his wand drawn and was pointing it at his chest. Peter carefully put his hands in the air. The silver hand shone like a beacon.

"Wormtail," the man said. He lowered his wand. "I had mistaken you for a traitor. I had heard there was one within our ranks."

Peter gave him a secret smile behind his mask and said, "Did you?"

"Sorry for the confusion," the man said, and turned to leave.

A leaf fell from a tree above him and floated down towards the river. It was rust colored and dull, left over from fall, and Peter instinctively reached out to catch it with his silver hand. He felt he needed to save it from the water. It seemed out of place in the spring.

A pain shot through his arm and he gasped. They used it, he thought with a smile. His body ceased up and froze, tipped precariously over the water. He struggled to maintain his balance, but he was unable to hold onto the shore and he fell head first into the cold water. He thought as he lay there, trying not to breathe, how fitting it was for him to die in the water. His burdens were so much lighter in the water. He smiled a strange smile as the need to breathe outweighed his will to live, and he relaxed.

I'm movin' on

The school had been saved, but the price was high. Had it not been for Harry's late decision to use the spell given to him by Peter, all would have been lost. Instead, the students and faculty spent the remainder of the day making repairs and helping the Aurors remove captured Death Eaters from the grounds. With the number of Death Eaters captured, it would have seemed that victory had been granted to the good, but with Voldemort's escape, they knew the victory wouldn't last long.

Harry and Remus walked the edge of the woods towards the lake, looking for survivors. The sun had appeared in all its glory and it glinted off the surface of the water. It was a beautiful, but ugly day.

As they neared the water, Remus said, "Let me show you the place where your father, Sirius and I used to relax." Harry obediently followed.

Remus led him to a tree sitting by a small river that flowed into the lake at Hogwarts. Harry had been there many times himself with Ron and Hermione in his first years, but they hadn't been there since the Triwizard Tournament. Harry smiled at the memories of the skipping rock contests between him and Ron. He had always won, and Ron would always get revenge on him by throwing a large rock in the water to get him all wet and upset the squid. Hermione never thought much of that game.

"Your father and Sirius usually sat here," Remus said. He pointed to a tangle of roots that twisted themselves in such a way that they could have passes for crude benches. "Peter was always on the grass besides them." Harry's face darkened.

"And I," Remus said, thoughtfully. He walked to the other side of the tree. "I would be sitting here, reading. I was always reading."

Harry chuckled. "You sound like Hermione."

A glimmer of in the water of the tributary attracted their attention, and Remus pulled out his wand and carefully made his way into the forest along the bank of the river. Cautiously, Harry, followed suit.

The glimmer was a hand, Peter's hand, lying limp at the bottom of the shallow river. Without it's supply of magic, it had detached itself from its owner's body and sank to the bottom where it was already almost hidden from the sand and debris. Peter was floating nearby.

They simply stared at the body in disbelief. It took a minute for either of them to regain their senses after the shock. He simply floated there in the water, face down and pale blue. It was a disturbance in the natural flow of the river.

Coming to his senses, Harry spat in the grass at his feet.

"At least Sirius can be exonerated," said Remus.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Too bad he wasn't alive to enjoy it."

Remus nodded in agreement.

Without thinking, Harry walked to the knee deep river, kicked off his shoes, and waded out to where the hand lay on the bottom. He rolled up his sleeves and carefully retrieved it from the water. As the hand surfaced, an autumn leaf fell from its grip and floated down the river to Hogwarts. Harry silently followed it with his eyes.

He quickly climbed out of the river and retrieved his shoes. Remus cast a drying spell on him with a laugh.

"You could have used Accio," he said.

Harry just looked at him thoughtfully and said, "Some things just have to be done without magic."

Remus looked at the young man in surprise and gave him a shrug. Harry, with Peter's detached hand wrapped in a handkerchief in his pocket, walked back up the winding bank of the river to Hogwarts, never looking back.

Levitating Peter, Remus followed.

I'm moving on