What Connected Us All

When I Lost It

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she says weakly, swatting away at Lily's attempts to readjust her pillows.

Lily steps back with arms crossed. "I agreed to not take you to the Hospital Wing against my better judgment. The least you can do now is make things a tad bit easier for me by being compliant--or at least as compliant as you can manage."

"I don't need the Hospital Wing. I'm fine. I just need sleep."

"Farren, you ridiculous girl, you can hardly get your words out right." Lily touches Farren's forehead, a gesture which betrays her Muggle-born status. "Just let me take care of you. I know you're not too good at receiving help, but you need it now more than ever."

Farren can't stand to look at her. Why is Lily so good? She really can't stand it sometimes--especially now when she doesn't deserve any form of mercy or goodness. But for some mad reason, Lily still cares for Farren. So to please her, Farren sighs and allows the girl to readjust her pillows.

While she busies herself, Lily glances up at Farren momentarily and suddenly stops.

"What?"

"I hate that look."

Farren is slightly affronted, unaware that she had been making any sort of expression. "What look?"

"That look in your eyes." She says, rising slowly to stand straight-backed. "Like you've given up."

Farren hangs her head in something like shame. "I'm so exhausted, Lily. Maybe I have. I think I may have."

"Don't ever say that. You couldn't give up, even if you wanted to--you're too stubborn."

She forces a smile, but only for Lily's sake.

She instantly regrets this however, because Lily takes this as some sort of invitation to pamper Farren further. She pushes a cup of tea toward her and, defeated, Farren takes it into her delicate hands.

"Drink," Lily insists. "I promise it will make you feel better."

Obediently she takes a small sip and swallows. Her lips linger on the edge of the mug, her eyes staring blankly into the opaque depths of its contents.

"You know," she says in a voice no louder than a whisper, "for a moment it had all been so sweet. For a moment, I think I was happy. I really was. I'd watch you all around me and I'd realize that I didn't have to be alone. " A sad smile creeps timidly upon her heart-shaped lips. It is like a fleeting glimpse of the sun Farren Graham had once been. But it flickers and dies as her thoughts turn back to the fixedly dismal present. "But it's gone now. Do you think I'll ever be able to get it back?"

"Of course you will. These things happen sometimes, Ren. And when they do, we learn and move on."

Farren remains unconvinced but does not argue further. She finds she has less and less energy to argue anymore. "Does Celia hate me too?"

Lily's silence is more than enough answer.

"Oh," she says with little surprise.

"I don't think it's anything personal. Celia is just not the kind to go against the crowd, and--"

"And the crowd hates me," she concluded flatly.

"Don't pay any attention to them. We're all leaving Hogwarts soon anyway. It won't last. Everyone is much too charmed by you."

"Lily, you don't get it. I couldn't care less what the school thinks of me. But Celia... could you just tell her I'm sorry?"

Lily nods, though Farren knows she doesn't understand. But Celia will. Because Farren had failed Celia. She'd made a promise to fix her, to help her fit in without compromising herself. But somewhere in the middle, Farren had gotten lost within her own world of problems and forgotten all about Celia. And worst of all, she'd never once confided in Celia about any of it.

"Ren," Lily says, interrupting Farren's less-than-happy thoughts. "I need to go to Potions, but I'll be back soon, I promise."

"Oh, please don't. It's a nice day, enjoy them while they last. I'm not dying; I just have the Fwooper Flu. I'm fi--"

"Yes, you're fine. I've heard. And the sooner you understand that I'm not giving up on you, the sooner you'll realize I won't listen to a damn thing you tell me." Lily pats Farren on the top of the head. "I'll check in on you after potions."

And with a wave of her hand and a flip of her hair, Lily is gone, leaving Farren alone with her thoughts.

Though she has no real stomach for it, Farren takes out the Prince's journal. She reads back slightly to some of her favorite parts. And when she'd detached herself enough from her own world and entered the Prince's, she read from where she last left off:

Dear Friend,

In a society of sheep, Ella and I are wolves. Our kind ignites fear in their sheepish hearts and bodies and minds. Our passion overpowers their meek attempts at the mediocrity they call love.

But all this secrecy limits us and is quite maddening at times. And for all its glorious wonder, love has its negative side effects. My general fear and anxiety has doubled--quadrupled. Because I have so much more to lose now. The stakes, so to speak, have been raised. It feels as though every possibility of happiness and fulfillment lies within this one entity: Ella. And sometimes when I look at all four feet and nine inches of her, I nearly laugh. Because it seems quite absurd that so much depended upon so small a person.

Cheiron is fascinated by us.

"So you love each other? Entirely--body, as well as heart? How intriguing. It seems that human love is capable of completely ignoring futility."

Ella instantly looked cross and indignant, pouting slightly. "What do you mean futile?"

"I mean to say, as a couple, you are incapable of reproducing any sort of offspring. Scientifically speaking, your love is useless and illogical. And yet, you still feel it."

While I understand Cheiron's overly logical way of thinking, Ella cannot grasp it and becomes wholly offended. "Who cares if it's illogical! If I lived my life logically, I'd die perfectly correct and thoroughly unsatisfied."

Cheiron gave that bemused little smile. "You misunderstand me, Druella. I do not condemn or disprove of your relationship. I am simply commenting on its scientifically impractical nature. But I find impracticality rather beautiful. Why do you think I am here with you now rather than with my herd? I too find an entirely logical existence to be unfulfilling."

"Oh," she says, cheeks becoming rosy as she slowly sat back down. "Um, right. I knew that."

I laughed at her too quick temper. "I agree with Ella. I don't care if it's useless. She makes me laugh and that's enough."

Ella awarded me with that beaming smile.

Yes, we are wolves in the midst of a herd of sheep. And our illogical, useless, impractical love is all the more beautiful because of it.

Always,

The Prince

She can't read on. Not now, not right after her heart has been broken in four pieces. Farren lays the journal down and searches her surroundings for something of interest. But Farren has lived in this room for seven years now--there is little left to discover or even wile away the hours with. So instead, she uses the bit of strength she has left to morph into her lioness form.

Farren nearly sighs with relief. How wonderful it is to be an animal. No more incessant questions or doubts or guilt. Just the earth and its unwavering connection to your body and mind. For Farren it is a spiritual, almost divinely religious feeling. This, she believes, must be what those people experience at churches and synagogues and things; the reason why they keep going back. Because of this simple idea that one is connected to the world. But Farren doesn't really see the connection as god or an old man in the clouds. It's more like an impartial force that surges through everything, keeping all in existence.

Though staying in lioness form requires a bit more energy, Farren doesn't mind too much. Because, at the very least, it allows her to forget her pain or suffer through it in a detached way.

And she can finally sleep. A dreamless, shameless sleep with no images of their faces, distorted from expressions of love to sheer hatred. None of that. Just unconsciousness

When next Farren wakes, she feels the oddest and most pleasurable sensation of warmth and peace. Perhaps it is a hallucination created by her exhausted mind or perhaps the potion Madam Pomfrey had instructed her to take. Or perhaps it is the cocoon of blankets Lily had insisted upon wrapping her in. Whatever the reason, Farren Graham has a single moment of pure serenity after an entire year of chaos. She drinks it in and soaks every split second of it. The warmth is every gentle touch she has ever received in her life. It is the all-encompassing and long gone touch of her mother when Farren had been a new born. It is Lily's understanding touch which seemed to accept every one of her flaws. It is Sirius's longing, hungry touch which made her feel so entirely needed. It is Severus's marveling touch, as though he couldn't believe the girl he held in his arms was there and his. Every bit of love Farren has ever witnessed is in that one glorious moment...

It does not last. Farren tries to cling to it, but the aching in her body returns with double the force and her brain begins to throb dully once more. She is left colder than before, shivering, not with a lack of heat, but with the realization that she can never go back to the way things used to. The only warmth left for her now is Lily, who Farren will need to set free one of these days. Because Lily will never leave Farren's side on her own--she is too saintly for that. So Farren understands that, to free Lily of any responsibility, she will have to severe their friendship for good. She cannot keep Lily to herself. Even Farren is not that selfish.

And suddenly Farren has the strangest idea: what if she dies? What if she spares everyone else the grief and simply... ceases to exist? Right here and now on the bed she has spent so many sleepless nights tossing and turning? What if that moment of happiness had been God's parting gift before he removed her from this world forever. What if she ends here, in the dark, with the entire school's hatred on her shoulders? Without Sirius or Severus--just alone in a cocoon of now suffocating blankets.

Farren begins to sob silently as she feels death hovering over her. The kind of tears that the hopeless, but eternally remorseful soul cries. And a crow is cawing outside her window and she imagines it watching her, pity in its eyes. It is cawing--weeping--for her, for them, for all the horrible things she's done, and for the life of not only betrayal--but more importantly immense love.

"Of all the bad I've done," she croaks hoarsely to the crow, "I only regret what I did to them--the pain I caused. And the one thing I wish is that they knew I never wanted any of this. I never asked for love, I never planned on it. I want them to know how sorry I am..." Her voice gives out and she breaks down into incomprehensible noises and sobs.

Farren looks up at the hundreds of papers sticking to the top of her four-poster bed. They are all reminders to help her stunted memory. It had been Celia's idea during their third year after Farren had forgotten to go to History of Magic for the fifth time. Some notes urged her not to forget to eat dinner, others to do this or that assignment. It all sounds even more meaningless now than it did before.

Suddenly, an idea manifests in her mind and Farren sits up with a new found purpose. If death really is upon her and these are her last moments on earth, then she will not carry them out silently. She will not, Farren assures herself, end like her grandmother had: defeated and subdued. Farren Graham will make certain she has her final say; so that afterward they can tell everyone she was pushed into the grave, still stubbornly protesting and jabbering away. She retrieves her wand and points it at the headboard. She begins to magically engrave letters onto the smooth wooden surface and the little reminders cascade down upon her one by one.

The words come out of her like water from a faucet. Easy, calm, and smooth. There are no pauses to consider wording or diction or any of that. It is as though the words had been lying dormant in her, just waiting for her consciousness to catch up to what her subconscious had already figured out.

When she is finishes, Farren lies back down and looks at what she whole-heartedly believes are her last words:

How strange that with the entire world's hatred weighing upon my shoulders, I can summon only memories of sweetness. How strange that in the end, all that matters is how his smile ignited light within me and thawed through the very center of my heart. And how by touching his ice-cold cheek, I helped heal, if only minutely, his internal wounds. And how I loved them both so very much--how wonderful it had all been. How strange it is that in the end I think only upon these things and how I can never regret what I did for love. Because in the end, no one and no thing can take that away from me. Because above all else, I loved. And in the end, that's all that matters... How strange...

With an odd sense of satisfaction, Farren settles back down into her covers. In mere moments she returns to her dreamless sleep, having exerted what little energy she'd recovered. And though she is in a nearly catatonic state, Farren Graham does not die that night. Life and time slug ever onward. And perhaps that is the worst part.

For the rest of the week she remains in the dormitory, Lily bringing what scraps of food she can snag from the Great Hall. Lily always rushes back with her food, worried it might get cold. It is nearly sickening to Farren how concerned the girl is for her health. But all of Lily's efforts end in vain because Farren never eats much anyway.

Adding to the guilt and hurt, Farren begins to feel cowardly as time progresses. But she can hardly get out of bed without over-exerting herself and falling back in exhaustion. How could she possibly go back out there now in such a weakened state? How could she face them all--with their condemning, merciless gazes? And Farren knows she won't be able to ignore those looks anymore. Because this time, they are right.

But one night when she has an unusual amount of strength, Farren decides to visit the common room. She does this for no other reason than to attempt to cure the maddening boredom and also to quiet Lily's insistence that she needs a change of scenery. However, Farren times this trip so that all the students will either at dinner or in their respective dormitories. She still can't face them. So it is to her surprise when she finds five people in the common room.

Celia pretends not to see her. She does that a lot lately--especially in the dormitory. She sits quietly in the corner, eyes determinedly fixed on a book but not moving.

The Marauders were sitting on the sofa directly across from Celia. James is the first to see her. His eyes widened and Farren sees him instantly rack his brain for a way to get Sirius away, unscathed. But he does not move fast enough and soon both Remus and Peter have spotted her. It's too late.

Sirius, sensing the sudden quietness of his friends, looks around for the source. Farren sees his eyes slip out of blankness as he realizes who he is looking at. She doesn't need the ability to read minds to register the several thoughts that fire off in his head.

Fully prepared to abort her little jaunt into the common room, Farren begins to turn around. But just as she takes a step away, something stops her. She can't leave him like that--she can't be his nightmare. Farren sighs, returns to where she had been and walks forward.

"Sirius," she begins to say, not knowing what she plans to achieve by doing this. "Sirius I--"

Managing to come out of his shock, he shakes his head gruffly. "No," he growls, voice harsh as though he hadn't used it for days. "No, Farren."

She has never heard his voice like that. It kills her. And before she can stop herself she is rushing toward him, to comfort him or touch him or do something that would make it all go away.

Instantly, James stands up and pushes her back.

"What? I just want to talk to him! Please, James."

"No, Farren. Just don't. Just go."

"Please I just want to explain--"

"You lost the privilege to explain yourself the moment you touched that disgusting boy." This time it is Sirius. And through James' slender figure, Farren glimpses the pure loathing in those grey eyes. "You whore," he spits.

"Sirius I never meant for any of this to happen--I never thought it'd come to this. You have to believe me!"

And before Sirius can chuck out another insult, Peter Pettigrew pipes up. "Why should he believe anything a pathetic little slut like you would say? Just turn around and scurry along to your rabbit hole."

That's when Farren loses it. She feels the anger bubble inside her. Shoving James away, she goes directly for the stout little boy. Grabbing him by the shirt collar, she throws him against the wall with strength she cannot remember possessing. Somebody gasps and James shouts, "Ren, no!"

"HOW DARE YOU CALL ME PATHETIC!?" she snarls at him, barring her fanged teeth with every word. "YOU REVOLTING PIECE OF VERMIN! I MAY HAVE CHEATED BUT AT LEAST I TRULY LOVED HIM!" Hands are grabbing at her as the boy choked in her grasp. She ignores them. "You watch out, Wormtail. Because I see who you are. I see your pathetic squirming when you sense the slightest hint of danger. You don't give a rat's ass for anyone but yourself. I see your cowardly core. I know how preciously you value your sorry skin. I know people like you, Peter Pettigrew. I was raised by a person like you. And don't you EVER call me pathetic!"

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

Something burns her hand and Farren drops Wormtail. She cries out in pain, seeing that her hand has suffered a minor wound. Looking around, her eyes land on Sirius with his wand pointed directly at her heart.

"Get out," he croaks.

Dumbfounded, Farren looks back at him. She'd known he hated her, but there is nothing like cold, hard, physical evidence. And there it is on her charred hand. Farren never thought he could hurt her like that.

"NOW! GET OUT NOW!"

Not knowing what else to do, she obeys. As she's leaving to go up the stairs, she turns back and sees the three of them surrounding Peter. They comfort him, console him, and ask whether it hurts anywhere. Farren has never felt so isolated in her life. Here she is, back to gazing longingly at friendship and love. Only this time it's ten times worse. This time, there is no hope.

When she gets back to the dormitory, she's shaking. The source of the unexpected amount of strength becomes apparent. Farren feels her lioness pacing within her, demanding she let it out. It is as though the beast is slowly taking over and her thoughts, manners, even appearance were all becoming gradually less human. Unable to contain it, the transformation begins without her even summoning it. Farren feels the initial tingle trickle down her spine. But just as she relaxes her bones into the form, something goes horribly wrong. The warmth becomes a licking, molten heat that seems to seize her corpse. Farren is paralyzed, the tears on her cheeks becoming icicles on her burning flesh. For an agonizing moment, Farren remains in that aching state. It is as though thousands of minuet needles are being hammered into her pores.

After what feels like a century, the pain mercifully eases and she inhales a rasp of cool air. Terrified, Farren scrounges for her bed still reeling and pulsating. The reason behind the occurrence seems obvious, but refusing to admit the truth, she searches for others. It can't be...it can't be...it can't be...

She can't transform. When Farren really needed it most, magic failed her. Just like everything and everybody else always has. If she hadn't been so numb, she'd cry.

Resulting to her very last form of escape, she reaches for the old, leather journal. Touching the cover with her fingertips, Farren realizes that this is how it will be from now on. Her life will be a series of escapisms--a series of desperate, almost frantic attempts to forget. She thinks of what Lily would say to her: "It'll pass--it'll get better Ren. Everyone gets hurt, everyone loses love. You'll heal like everyone else."

But she won't. Somewhere in the depths of her heart and mind, Farren knows it is more than that. She lived sixteen years without love and she survived. She lived comfortably--if not vicariously. But it had been so closely in her grasp, she'd gotten so tantalizingly near true happiness. But it is gone now. And she'd fallen too far down to go back to how it used to be or try again.

Resigned to this life of existence, she opens the Prince's journal and beings to read:

Dear Friend,

It's all over. Ella doesn't want me anymore. All this time I thought she loved me but I forgot the most important thing--she loves herself more. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin.

She tried to tell me it was best. She tried to deceive me into thinking she was doing it for me. She said she couldn't stay with me because she couldn't stand putting me through such a thing. She couldn't ask me to throw away all my hard work over the years at school just for her. I slapped her.

"If you're going to break my heart to save your own sorry skin, don't you dare try to look all noble about it. You're a pathetic coward--you're a whore. And you'll live the rest of your life miserable and unloved," I said.

Quick tears fell fast down her face. "Do you really mean that? Or is it just easier to let go if you believe it?"

I wanted to answer but for the first time, I was left speechless.

"Because if it makes it easier, I'll let you think that. Because I love you and all I ever wanted was what was best for you." She grabbed my hands. I was too numb to react. "Eileen, they'll eat us alive out there. You have to know that. You know we have no chance of normalcy or anything. Eileen I'm doing this for you. You're strong, but you deserve a better life than I could ever give you."

"Leave. Just go." I couldn't look at her.

She nodded understandingly. And for the last time, I felt her sweet press of lips against my cheek. "Goodbye, my prince. I'll never forget how you loved me."

And then she left...

...I can't believe it's all over.

By this time next month my Ella will be Druella Black. And I will remain Eileen Prince, unchanged. Now and forever.

Always,

The Prince

Farren stares fixedly at the page for a moment. After the shock wears out, she frantically flips through the rest of the pages, certain that there is more. There has to be more--it could not end there.

But it had and it has. Every other page is blank. Unbeknownst to Farren, all this time the green journal had been half empty. Unfinished. Incomplete. Useless. All this time she thought she would get a fairy tale--a story. But instead she has gotten this abrupt, unwarranted termination.

Her last piece of escape and it is gone. Forever. She feels betrayed. By Ella, by Eileen, by Cheiron. And this time instead of crying, Farren gets angry. More angry than she has ever felt in her life.

Scrambling out of bed, Farren teeters slightly on her feet. She snatches the journal from her bed along with her wand and forces her wobbly legs to move forward.

Every secret passage echoes of Sirius and smells of how things used to be. It may be her exhaustion, or the sickness or maybe Farren has finally gone off the deep end--but she swears she can almost hear that booming, barking laughter.

There are too many stars in the sky that night. Instead of looking beautiful, the stars make the sky looks torn, broken and ripped to pieces.

In some distant part of her brain, Farren realizes how stupid she is being as she enters the forest, unprotected except for the little stick of wood in her hand. But more than ever, she can't care less. In that moment, it truly hits home that she had nothing left to live for. Her life, if it ended, would not matter.

She senses eyes on her, lurking in the darkness. The utter lack of fear only further demonstrates how gone she is from reality. Instead of running, she only takes a lung full of breath and bellows, "CHEIRON!"

The eyes she felt boring into her come forth and the centaur looks as always. Completely calm, he answers, "Yes Farren Graham?"

That is enough to set her off. His nonchalant manner is the twist of the knife in her gut and Farren loses it again. She hurls the diary in hand at Cheiron with all the might she had. "HOW COULD YOU GIVE THIS TO ME!? HOW COULD YOU LET ME READ THIS?" Her small fists pound against his statue-like chest, undoubtedly harming herself more than him. "They lost! They gave up! So what's the point?--WHAT'S THE POINT IF YOU ALWAYS LOSE--!"

His face is blank, showing no signs of pain or even annoyance as she continues to beat into him vainly. After several moments Farren gasps and collapses, unable to breathe through the exhaustion and tears. She remains on the ground, rubbing her swelling knuckles and heaving uncontrollably. In fact, her heaves are so violent that her body begins to tingle. Before she can correctly identify what the feeling means, she had already transformed into her lioness form.

"Farren Graham, please return to your human form. I wish to--"

She makes a noise half way between a snarl and a roar, unwilling to do anything for Cheiron after his betrayal.

"I know you are angry with me. I know you do not understand. All I ask is that you allow me to explain, with the full capacity of you human mind."

But Farren isn't listening. She is thinking things she has never thought before. She envisions lunging her agile body forward, pouncing onto the centaur and ripping his throat out. She wants to feel his heart in her mouth. Her muscles twitch, itching to go forward.

"Please, Farren Graham. Remember yourself. Remember the erkling, your friends, your mother. Remember love, remember anything other than your fear and anger."

It is Cheiron's eyes--something in their pleading manner--that bring her back. With a whimper, she retracts her claws and comes out of her poised stance. After the transformation, she feels barren, naked. She rolls into a tight ball, hugging as much of herself as she can.

"Do you feel better?" Cheiron asks from above her.

She shakes her head once. "No." Farren tightens her grip on herself, as though that is enough to keep from falling apart. "I'm so sorry," she moans.

"I am proud of you."

Farren tries to laugh derisively.

"I am not joking. I have never been more sincere."

"How could you ever be proud of me? I don't even recognize myself anymore. I am the worst human being ever. I... I don't think I could have fucked up more in my life. Everything I do, everything I feel is wrong. Everything."

Something warm comes to rest on her shoulder. Astounded, she looks up only to see Cheiron's large hand. "Farren Graham, of all the human interaction I have ever had, never have I seen such a tragic case as yours. Your self-hatred, your anger and loathing all comes from simply being human. You are the most human person I have ever known, and as a result the greatest example of man's tragedy."

Farren doesn't know how to respond. She doesn't like Cheiron speaking of her as though she were the savior of humanity. "I wanted to kill you five minutes ago. I thought about it. I would have done it if you hadn't--"

With all the composure of the world, he sits in the grass with her. "I know."

After a moment Farren stops trying to understand the centaur. She uncurls herself, but remains on the ground. "They lost, Cheiron. They all ended up miserable, even though they loved each other."

"My relationship with Druella Mulciber and Eileen Prince is the closest I have ever come to human love. Their flaws were vast and ultimately fatal to their happiness. But their story remains, I believe, extremely valuable."

"How?" she chokes. "How in the world could I learn anything other than misery from them?"

"Ella and Eileen did not lose, Farren Graham. They experienced something that few will ever encounter. Yes, they gave up in the end. But their lives will not end with failure if you understand."

"Understand what, Cheiron?"

"That you still have a chance. You can learn from them. You can take deliberate action to avoid their failure."

Something familiar tightens in her chest. "It's too late. Everything's shot to hell already. There's no going back. I can't get them back."

"Farren Graham, you know that is not true. Perhaps you cannot go back to how things used to be, but you can succeed. You can make things better--give them what they deserve."

Farren cannot make sense of it all. She rests her heavy head against a cool rock. "What happened to them after? To Ella and Eileen?"

Cheiron pauses before sighing deeply. "Ella became Druella Black, wife of Cygnus Black who became a Death Eater to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They had three children: Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa Black. And Eileen Prince eventually married a Muggle named Tobias Snape. They had a child named Severus Tobias Snape."

Her eye lids refuse to open anymore, and she fights to remain conscious. This new knowledge makes her sink more deeply into unreality. "Severus Tobias Snape? Eileen is..." All this time she thought she'd been escaping from them. But instead she'd only been reading about how a Black and a Snape has once loved each other deeply. She moans, a dizzy feeling overtaking her. "Oh Cheiron, please help me," she whispers. "Please tell me how to make things better. Please...please...please..." She crawls toward him meekly, still mumbling pleas.

"You know how, Farren. You will know."

Unsure of whether she had fallen asleep already, Farren continues to repeat the one word: "Please."

And just before she is lost once again to her slumber, she hears the gravelly voice speak. "Goodbye, Farren Graham. You have made my remaining time on this earth very fulfilling. You are more astounding than you will ever realize..."

The next day Farren Graham is found vey early in the morning by Professor McGonagall. She appears to have been placed atop the steps to the castle fast asleep. After several attempts to awaken the girl prove unsuccessful, she is taken to the hospital wing. And through all this early morning activity, no one ever saw the lone centaur watching carefully from an alcove in the Forbidden Forest

The room is cloaked in pitch darkness and completely unrecognizable to Peter. He can't remember how he had gotten there or who had taken him. The last thing he can remember is speaking with Malfoy back at Hogwarts. They had been speaking for months now and he had informed Peter last week that the Dark Lord was finally prepared to welcome him into their organization.

"I have passed along the message that you are true to your word. You have been dutiful these past months and your information has been useful to the Dark Lord. He is pleased," Lucius had told him.

"Yes, thank you Lucius, my friend," Wormtail piped. "I really can't thank you enough for helpin--"

"It is understood, I am sure, that any form of doubt while serving the Dark Lord results in immediate extermination," he interrupted.

Wormtail shook his head violently. "Yes. Why yes, of course. Never doubt--yes completely understandable. You won't ever have to--"

"Any attempt at trickery would be highly...inadvisable, Peter, if you value your survival. The Dark Lord has kept me in charge of making certain you do not falter on the matter. And though I trust your cowardice will keep you loyal, it still seems rather strange to me. You are, in fact, a Gryffindor and best mates with the targets."

Peter had looked down at the mention of this. The death of the Potters, though regrettable, was necessary. He'd enjoyed their company, he truly had, but dark times called for dark measures. And if handing over their heads would ensure him the ticket to survival, then so be it. "They'll be as helpless as I once school is done at the end of this month."

Lucius gave that rueful smile of his that always gave Wormtail the chills. "If you can't beat 'em, join em'."

He forced a nervous laugh. "Y-yes. Mostly."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Mostly?"

He'd miss his time with the Marauders at Hogwarts. Though Peter knew he'd never really been one of them, it had been nice to pretend. It had been nice to momentarily taste what it was like to be powerful. But things change. "Yes, I also won't miss being their punching bag. And getting rid of that girl--Sirius's bitch--while in the Dark Lord's service wouldn't be too bad either."

"What girl?"

"Sirius's whore, Farren. The one that shagged Snape. Do you know her?"

Amusement crossed the pale, handsome face as Malfoy resituated himself in his chair. "Briefly."

"Well I can't stand the bitch. She thinks she's so much better than me. Did you hear what happened today?"

Malfoy sighed, growing increasingly bored and impatient. "No Peter, I did not hear. Enlighten me."

Peter rushed on, completely missing of the sarcasm in his Lucius's tone. "She attacked me! It was the craziest thing I've ever seen. She nearly chocked me to death in the Gryffindor common room. Psychotic cow. I can't even work out why Sirius would keep her around for so long. She's not even that good-looking!"

"I'm not sure Peter. Severus could probably paint a pretty picture of what kept him so enthralled with Farren Graham."

Shrugging and trying to look impressive, Peter concluded with, "The way I see it, she must be a mind-blowing shag. Only reason why either of them would stay with her."

"Undoubtedly. But never mind that. There are more important matters. Your initiation will take place next week. Meet me here again at the same time."

Peter's pulse began to beat faster. "I-initiation? Oh, hem hem," he cleared his throat, willing his voice to lower. "And what does that entail again?"

Malfoy gave that smirk again. "You'll see, my friend. Let's just say I won't be so dubious about your true loyalties if you are successful."

Swallowing hard, Peter choked, "Successful?"

"Yes, Peter. Only if you successfully pass your initiation will you have the honor of serving the Dark Lord."

And so here he is, waiting for something to happen in the unknowable room. The minutes trickle by and Peter's fear seems to climb up his throat. It builds and builds until finally, he vomits out of sheer terror.

Just as he begins to recover, the air feels suddenly colder and the happiness leaks out of him like the pile of sick next to him. He has always been accustomed to fear. In fact, it is the only companion he knows and trusts. But is different. This feels warranted, as though imminent danger lurked around the corner.

In the moment that Peter becomes resigned to the fact that he would either die or faint from the gut wrenching suspense, a high-pitched voice rings out from the darkness.

"Peter Pettigrew," it says softly.

He whimpers, straining to see the source though his pounding heart already knows who it is. Through the darkness, Wormtail manages to make out that the previously empty, velvety green thrown is now draped by what appears to be a black curtain.

"Y-yes?" Peter manages to squeak out. "Who...who are you?"

"Why, I am your new master, Peter."

Peter gasps, his already weak knees buckling under his weight. "Forgive me!"

"There is no need for forgiveness. You have done nothing wrong...yet." A high cackle sounds abruptly and Peter's heart feels close to combustion. He is certain that, at this rate, his heart will implode before the initiation can even begin.

"Peter Pettigrew, I am giving you the opportunity of a lifetime. You are a very lucky young boy. Your disposition as one of the target's friends makes you extraordinarily valuable to me. I am offering you the opportunity to be a great asset to Lord Voldemort. Many Death Eaters would give their lives for such an offering."

"Y-yes, I know my Lord. Thank you so very much, my lord."

"Lucius has informed you of the plan?"

Peter nods furiously to the shadow, desperate to prove his worthiness to his new maser. "I am to remain close to the Potters and relay any useful information to you."

"Very good. At first you may feel as though your information is useless to me, but do not worry. Any information on the Potters is of value to Lord Voldemort. I also expect that Dumbledore will catch on eventually that there is a rat in the Potters' closest circle. I will teach you how to resist his techniques of interrogation. Do not panic when this happens. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Is there any other information you wish to tell me, Peter?"

Wormtail nearly scrambles to get the words out. "Yes there is! As I told you, Lily and James have been meeting Dumbledore almost monthly. He knows you are trying to get a hold of them. In their last meeting, he suggested that James and Lily go into hiding after they left Hogwarts and offered to perform the fidalius charm for them."

The chuckle sounds again. "Just as I thought. The old man is becoming predictable with age." There is obvious glee and triumph in Voldemort's voice. "Peter, I am entrusting you with a vital mission. You will convince the Potters that you should be made their secret keeper... Failure in this task is not an option, Wormtail."

Peter looks up sharply at the name. Sweat trickles from his forehead and upper lip. He is paralyzed with fear.

The pale over Peter can vaguely make out in the darkness seems to be bearing its teeth in a grotesque smile. "Yes I know of your little nicknames. You'll find I know many things about my servants."

There is a pause and Peter does not know what to do. Despite the fear--or maybe because of it--he feels this inexplicable urge to please his new Lord. He wants to be loved--or valued at least so he can secure his protection. Because that is how the Dark Lord makes him feel: as though a whole new world of safety and power lay in front of him, if only he proved himself worthy enough.

"Yessss," that high voice hisses. The voice affects Peter so much that he is sure it comes from within the insides of his brain. The sound is internal, a part of him. How else can it grip him so? "Yes, very good Wormtail. Lord Voldemort is very pleased with your information. There is only one last technicality to attend to. Is there anyone that may jeopardize your mission or who may stand in your way?"

Peter frowns, thinking for an answer that will please his master. And after a few seconds, it comes to him and the image of the girl materializes in his mind's eye. He envisions those angelic curls and sweet cheeks he so desperately longs to break. A wondrous, almost frightening sensation of power swoops in his stomach. With just one word, she can be gone forever. And he will never be suspected. It is almost too preciously perfect to be real.

"Yes," he says finally.

"Who?"

"Farren. Farren Graham."