Orbus

- - - Orbus - - -

Chapter 3: Veneficus

Peter sighed, his stomach twisting unpleasantly. He wasn't as smart as James or as clever as Sirius, but his senses were keen. Hairs had risen on his arm, sweat dripped from his forehead while he shivered with chills, and color drained from his plush face.

Peter had spent the day looking over his shoulder, seeing a shadow in the corner of his eye or an odd reflection on a shiny surface. Creepy, he had thought to himself.

He walked into his humble study, rolling the corner of the area rug away from the wooded floorboards. He removed a loose board and reached inside.

"Pettigrew," a voice hissed, carried in the air like a haze. Peter jumped, startled with the break in silence. His eyes wandered throughout the room sharply. Books stacked on the shelves, papers scattered on the desktop, and a figure cloaked in green standing in the corner.

"Ah..." he squealed, backing away until the wall prohibited further movement. "Mmm...My lord..."

"You were expecting me," Voldemort said, his voice cold and dry. Peter nodded as words failed him. "Have you got something for me?"

"No, my lord."

"I spared your pathetic life when I killed your father and you fail me!" he snarled, stepping forward, closer to Peter.

"I apologize my lord," he stuttered, his teeth clattering together.

"I don't accept apologies," Voldemort sneered, his hand reaching into his robes and producing a wand.

"Uh...uh..." Peter stammered, fearful and terror stricken. It was true that Voldemort never accepted an apology, but he never refused information useful to his rise to power. "Uh...James Potter has got some defenses!" he shouted, clenching his eyes tightly.

"I'm listening."

"Uh, he has been fooling around with, uh..." he mumbled, his eyes still shut. "...Veneficus."

"A wizard does not fool around with Veneficus."

"Yes, my lord," Peter agreed, opening his eyes slowly to see that Voldemort had lowered his wand. "He uses, uh let me think --" he paused. His stomach dropped as his memory failed him. He recalled James using Veneficus, but it followed other terms. "Potens Veneficus!" he shouted, overjoyed he had broken the silence with a response. "Gelidus Veneficus, Eradico Veneficus..."

"Enough!" Voldemort shouted. Had it not been for the fact Peter had shared valuable information amidst his rambling, Voldemort would have killed him out of annoyance.

"What is Veneficus, my lord?"

"You, Pettigrew wouldn't know. You're too stupid and uneducated to have any knowledge of Veneficus," he snickered, his laughter a horrid sound upon Peter's ears. "Veneficus, when used alone, is useless. Many witches and wizards believe its power was a myth exaggerated over the passing of time. They are mistaken," he sighed. In Voldemort's expression, Peter saw fear. Fear of what James Potter may accomplish with Veneficus.

"What...what does Veneficus do?" Peter asked, his voice faltering nervously.

"Veneficus follows another term. The term, Peter, tells Veneficus what to do," he replied. Peter's eyes narrowed with interest. "Potens Veneficus rejuvenates the witch or wizard casting it to original strength and Gelidus Veneficus freezes whomever it is directed to. Eradico Veneficus is a blast of energy, shocking whoever is unfortunate enough to be the target," Voldemort explained. "It takes a skilled witch or wizard to utilize the benefits of Veneficus successfully. If used incorrectly, Veneficus can backfire, the effects of a mistake far worse than the result intended on the opponent."

"Yes, my lord," Peter whispered.

"Veneficus can be utilized a thousand different ways," Voldemort muttered. Hatred flashed in his grotesque eyes, strengthening with rage. "James Potter," he whispered as though his voice was a poison and speaking a name would infect the victim.

Peter cringed when he heard Voldemort whisper James Potter. He had sacrificed his friend to spare himself. He began to absorb the thought, wondering what Voldemort was thinking.

He knew.

He knew that Voldemort would do what he always did to witches, wizards, or Muggles in the way. Kill. Peter became ill, knowing it wasn't a witch, wizard, or Muggle who would be killed, it was James Potter.

"Peter," Voldemort sighed. "tell me how you came to know about James Potter and Veneficus."

"Had breakfast with him last week. He told us..."

"Us?"

"Uh...Sirius Black and er, Remus Lupin."

"Certainly," Voldemort responded, nodding his head. He looked at Peter encouragingly, hungering for more information.

"I did a bit of spying. Remus gave James a book. I don't know which," he sighed. Voldemort's glare was a heavy weight on Peter's broad shoulders. "I'll find out!" he shouted encouragingly.

"I shall return tomorrow evening. Give me the book," Voldemort ordered.

"Yes, my lord," Peter replied without hesitation as Voldemort Disapparated with a pop. Peter exhaled deeply, feeling as though he had held his breath the entire time. His thoughts shouted at one another demanding to be acknowledged.

Get the book.

James Potter.

- - -

James stepped outside, his surroundings lightly dampened with a fleeting rain. He adjusted his glasses, which had slipped to the tip of his nose. Inside the confines of his mind, James suffocated under burdening thoughts. Seeing the suffering of other witches and wizards at work began to take a toll. James no longer saw them as a number of different victims, but as himself. Every family that was destroyed was his own, every wife killed was Lily and every child that was an orphan was Harry.

James fought to ignore the solution. Join Voldemort.

He knew the good-hearted nature of his work would not protect him, it would kill him. The victims James had helped would not help him in return. Work began to feel like work, no longer a job performed out of strong will and determination. He was no longer satisfied seeing the gratitude of others, he wanted their protection.

Join Voldemort.

James desperately sought out a retreat from the corruption of his thoughts. He returned inside the house, walking determinedly into the study. His mission was as clear as a properly concocted Invisis Potion was. Sitting behind the weighty desk, James produced a quill and roll of parchment. He pondered a moment before the words began to drip from the quill as steadily as ink.

He became consumed within his thoughts, within his writing.

"James," Lily muttered, disturbing his concentration thoughtfully. James redirected his concentration from the parchment littered with the written word, to the narrow window across the room. Night had replaced day unnoticed. "You've been writing for hours. Don't know how much more you've got to write, but I thought coffee would be an eye opener," she explained, carrying a tray laden with a steaming pot, bowl of sugar, and a mug.

"Thank you," he grinned. He considered Lily's thoughtfulness as a gift, not many wizards, or Muggles, were fortunate enough to have such a loyal mate. Allowing James to continue writing, Lily poured his coffee, added four sugars, and set the mug onto the desk silently. Instead of writing, however, James observed his wife.

Grinning, Lily and James stared at one another a moment. Turning her eyes away, Lily glimpsed the work James had devoted himself to for the past 178 minutes. Suddenly protective of his work, James shuffled the parchment and attempted to block Lily's view.

"Love you," Lily whispered, turning around and walking away. James sighed heavily with relief. The work he had painstaked over was for one person, and one person only, to ever see. It was not for Lily's eyes.
Words that were very difficult to share with the intended recipient came steadily from his quill.

"James!" Lily's voice pleaded in a blood-chilling scream. "James!" she yelled, running quickly. In a swift movement, James crossed the study, colliding with Lily in the hallway. She was breathless, her skin frightfully pale and damp with sweat.

Lily gazed at James with wide, terrified eyes as he held his hands firmly, protectively against her shoulders.

"What's happened?" he asked in a collective tone.

"The sitting room is a complete mess. It looks as though someone's torn it apart in a fit of rage..."

"Someone?" James asked urgently. If someone had managed to enter the house, a frightening possibility remained. Someone may not yet have left the house.

Urgency fueled James's pace as he rushed up the staircase towards Harry's room. Though he moved with the speed of Shooting Star broomstick, he couldn't move fast enough. His fierce effort felt much like slow motion.

James heard Harry's pleading cry break the numbing silence that had infected his mind.

"Harry!" James called out, stumbling as he rounded the corner and entered the room.

"Ah!" Harry screamed, reaching for his father.

"Oh, Harry," he sighed, holding the child tightly against his chest. Lily's arms wrapped around the two of them as tears fell invariably from her eyes. They were tears of fear, and tears of overwhelming joy. Harry's sobs immediately subsided, calmed with the presence of his parents.

"Lily, keep Harry. I'll go into the sitting room and investigate." he ordered, forcing himself to break away from such a blissful moment with his wife and child. Lily nodded obediently. James dashed away and into the sitting room.

Disaster.

Books, cushions, parchment, knick-knacks, pillows, pictures; all thrown throughout the room and moved from their proper place within. James wondered how the intruder had destroyed the room unnoticed. He blamed himself for being careless.

He ran his slender fingers through his moppy hair, now matting itself with sweat against his forehead. Who, how, and why repeatedly questioned themselves in his mind. Who would do such a thing? How could they do such a thing? Why would they do such a thing?

James knew why they would do such a thing. They were looking for something. Feeling as though asking himself what they were looking for would be a helpless cause, his gaze dropped in defeat.

"You ought to get a bit of use out of this text. Veneficus - Magical Fact or Hocus Pocus Fiction. Magical fact in my opinion," Remus murmured, privately handing over a book to James. The cover was a deep scarlet red, tattered from mishandling and dusty from a prolonged stay on the shelf. "It's a rare text, do take care of it," he suggested in a whisper. Judging from the cover, it appeared that Remus himself had poorly cared for the book.

James concluded the text was rare not because of old age, but because it would prove so useful against dark magic, most other copies had been destroyed by dark witches and wizards.

James had locked the book inside the wooden chest sitting just behind the sofa. Moving to investigate, James noticed the lock had been removed via use of magic. With a billowing creak, he hoisted the lid open.

The chest was empty. The book was gone.