A Hero Named Father

A Hero Named Father

My name is Hugh Pettigrew, and this is my story.

~~~

"Name: Hugh Kevin Nicholas Pettigrew

Sex: male

D.O.B..."

Watching the quill scratch the parchment as it made its way across the page, I yawned and urged my mother to hurry up.

Mum smiled at my impatience and dipped her quill into the inkbottle as she patted me on my head. "Won't be too long, Hugh, I promise."

I nodded and yawn again. Looking up into mum's gentle brown eyes, I made her promise me that she'd tell me an extra exciting story that night. Satisfied, I climbed down the armchair and went to my room, waiting quietly for mum to come.

---

"Once upon a time, there was a boy named Peter Pettigrew. He was a very handsome and very smart boy. One day, he received a letter from the very best wizarding school, telling him that he was one of the few that could attend that school. Peter was very happy.

"While at that school, Peter made many friends, he and three other boys from his school were the best of friends, and they shared a very strong bond.

"But then came a very bad wizard who was very cruel and killed many people. The bad wizard threatened two of Peter's friends. Peter tried very hard not to let the bad wizard get to his friends, but eventually, the bad wizard did.

"Peter was very sad. He wanted to avenge the deaths of his friends, but he knew he wasn't strong enough to catch the bad wizard. He found, instead, the traitor who had betrayed his two friends. Peter tried to punish the traitor, but the traitor was also very bad, and he... he killed Peter."

Mum's voice choke up at this, and I looked up to find tears in her eyes, I wondered why.

"Mum? I think that the bad wizard wasn't very nice. He shouldn't have killed his friends. And, and I think that Peter is very brave, and I think that he's a hero..." I said sweetly, dabbing at the tears at mum's eye with my blanket.

"Yes, Hugh," mum said, kissing the top of my head, "Peter is a true hero."

~~~

I put down my quill and look at the white padded cell around me. Everyday it's the same thing. Even though they are convinced that I am mad, I know that I'm not, and I must write down my story before they come for me...

~~~

The happiest day of my life remains to be the day I received the owl for me to attend The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was happy, because it was finally time to leave my primary school. The kids there would often tease me about not having a father. I hated it there. I hated the Muggles there. They wouldn't know, that seven years ago, my father had died, to avenge the deaths of his best friends; they wouldn't know, that my father had died in honour, they wouldn't know, and they didn't care. I hated them.

All that changed, when I was accepted into Hogwarts. I was sorted into Ravenclaw; I had made friends there, friends who I knew I could count on, who cared about me. My studies had improved greatly, and my life couldn't be better.

There was just one thing I wanted, more badly than anything else: I would give anything in the world, just to see my father.

~~~

The fire has died down somewhat. Flickering flames create dancing shadows on the padded wall of the cell. My arm is sore from writing so much, but I must continue, I must warn the others of the danger that lies deep...

~~~

In my fourth year, my friends and I discovered a secret passage leading down to Hogsmeade. We would sneak out on Saturday night, when everyone was asleep, and we would go to The Three Broomsticks and drink butterbeer, stay there until the crack of dawn.

Even the bravest of us have never thought of entering the Shrieking Shack, because of the tales of ghosts and monsters haunting the building. I was dared by one of my friends to spend three hours inside. Being the foolish young lad I was, I had agreed.

---

The night was warm and everything was perfectly still, with occasional laughter and music from The Three Broomsticks. I had regretted my decision the moment I had set foot in the Shrieking Shack: it was extremely dark, and even though it was summer, the air in the building was chilling, and sent shivers up my spine.

"Remember, Hugh, three hours!" My friend tapped his watch and laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls, "we'll be collecting your body afterwards."

Even though I knew he was joking, I couldn't help but feel uneasy. The house felt... alive...

I wondered into the darkness and jumped as my friend slammed the door shut behind me. There was a warning sign going off in my head, telling me to get out, run as far from this place as I could. I felt the air turn cold as some unseen force whisked past me. From further on inside the house, I thought I heard faint maniacal laughter, but shook it off as a side effect of fear.

"Come on Hugh, you can last three hours..." I mutter to myself, wrapping my robes closer around my body for warmth.

"Peter Pettigrew... Peter Pettigrew..." the wind seems to be whispering. But that wasn't possible, right? There couldn't possibly be someone calling my dead father's name, could there?

"Peter Pettigrew... Peter Pettigrew..." I looked up, trying to find the source of the voice as it grew steadily louder and shriller. "Peter Pettigrew... Peter Pettigrew..." it repeated, "Peter Pettigrew... Peter Pettigrew...PETER PETTIGREW!"

"Stop... stop it..." I muttered as the voice repeats my father's name again and again, practically sobbing. I used the wall to guide me to a corner, I sat there, hugging my knees to my chest, wishing the voice would just stop, hoping... hoping against hope that this would end...

Abruptly, it stopped. I looked around, still shivering. Someone, or something moved in the next room, and my breath caught in my throat. Don't come here, please don't, please just leave me alone...oh God...I prayed that the thing hadn't noticed me, that it would just go away. My prayer was answered, as the thing slowly walked away in the opposite direction.

I let out a little yelp of fright as something drop from overhead and landed beside me with a dull thud. Then I realise that it was only a rat, and heaved a great sigh of relief as it scurried away.

My watch told me I still had an hour to stay. Too frightened to move from my spot by the wall, I sat, and waited for my friends to come.

~~~

As I write my story down, I realise how very stupid I had been. If I just walked out of the Shrieking Shack and told my friends I couldn't do it, nothing would have happened. No one would have died. I wouldn't be stuck here, them believing I am a madman.

~~~

Hugh had never been the same after that night in the Shrieking Shack. He should have never agreed to the dare, and the boys should never have set the dare in the first place. Hugh keeps on repeating something about his father, and his grades have slipped. I'm really worried about him, I really am. I wonder, if there was something he'd seen in the Shrieking Shacking to have caused this. I think I should go and investigate...

---

I didn't know what possessed me to read Sinead's diary. I had gone back to the common room after dinner to find it lying open at that particular page. I could have stopped her going, I should have told her not to go, apologise for reading her diary, and then tell her not to go. But I didn't. I was afraid she'd blame me for reading her diary; afraid of such a small thing, when admitting that I did something wrong could have saved her life.

---

Sinead's body was found in a secluded alley besides the Shrieking Shack. Her funeral was held at Hogwarts; she looked so peaceful in her coffin, it was hard to believe she was dead, more like she was in an eternal slumber. Her parents were overridden with grief; whenever someone went up and offered their condolences, her mum would burst into tears. They buried all her worldly possessions with her, along with them the diary that could have prevented her death.

All this did not register in my mind until much, much later.

I didn't feel guilty for Sinead's death, even though part of me knew that I had been the main cause of it. I was very curious though, of what Sinead have seen when she died.

I disregarded all rumours that Sinead had somehow gotten in the way of criminals; I knew something evil was at work. Maybe it was to find out what really killed her, maybe it was even to avenge her death, but I do not know what compelled me to go back to that dreaded house.

~~~

Shrieking Shack. Haunted. Ghosts.

I should have known better than to wander too far into the darkness, but when I realised it, it was too late, I was already in too deep.

~~~

Venturing back into the Shrieking Shack, I found a nest of rats. Not knowing what caused me to do so, I followed them. I followed them through huge pipes leading to the underground, somewhere deep underneath Hogwarts.

I met a man who claimed to Peter Pettigrew. He called me his son. He said he knew I was in Hogwarts. He said he always wanted to meet me. I said nothing.

I learnt the truth. My father is not dead. He is alive, and he is a faithful servant of the Dark Lord.

Hero. I thought he was a hero.

All this he told me on the cold stony floor of the Chamber of Secrets. He told me all about Sirius Black, about him being the Secret Keeper, about him hiding out as a pet rat for some kid named Ronald Weasley.

He told me that his master had shown him the way down there, that he should seek out the basilisk, even if he dies trying.

"I still haven't," he had laughed coarsely, "it'll be my deathday it I do, so I'm holding back."

I was ashamed, but the closeness was undeniable. I am my father's son, I thought with a jolt. It wasn't a bad feeling; after all those years of thinking he was dead...

"They can find it for me," he carried on, gesturing to the rats gathered besides him, "they can tell me if they find it; if they die, it doesn't matter."

I remember feeling fury. What was a man if he didn't even care about one of his own? He had lived as a rat for 11 years, and he cares naught for his only companions. "No, it doesn't." I said loudly, my voice echoing off the walls of the chamber.

The rats scattered. He coughed nervously. "Don't do that, Hugh, you might draw it here... Hugh... I was there when you were born, and I named you 'Hugh', you know."

"I don't doubt that."

I really didn't doubt that. I was built in the same way as him, and looking up at his face, through the dim light and the heavy stubble on his chin, I found that he looked just like my only photo of him, the one I keep close to me all the time; the photo that could have been mistaken for one of mine if no one looked too closely.

He coughed again. Speaking softly to the rats that had regathered around him, he shook his head in disappointment. "Well, it's not in this part of the Chamber. I'll come back tomorrow..."

"I'll wait with you," I said, standing up. I don't know what made me say it, but it seemed right at the moment. I wanted to get to know my father, to fill a space in my heart that could not be filled by anyone but him.

He looked surprised. "Alright," he said after a while, "just... be careful. Goodnight, Hugh."

I nodded and started to walk away. "Goodnight...Dad."

~~~

I had thought my father was a hero. The whole 15 years of my life up until that point. I didn't dare tell mum, I didn't dare tell anyone. I wish I had.

~~~

The later events unfolded in a blur... my meeting with the Dark Lord; I remember the pain when he had burnt the Dark Mark onto my forearm. I felt the hate he felt towards anything good in the world, and I was scared, scared of him, of my decision to join.

My father told me that I was the youngest Death Eater ever, that he was proud of me. I didn't say anything. I knew I couldn't stay, I knew that I would run away. Maybe my father was proud of me then, but he will not be; just as I was proud to have him as a father.

The Dark Lord said that I was to spy on Harry Potter, I was to let him know who I was, to become his friend, and then ultimately, betray him.

I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it. I was prepared to be punished, but nothing prepared me for my punishment.

"Your mother's life will pay for your disobedience," he said with such a cold menace. His host body shivered uncontrollably.

My father whimpered, but said nothing in defence.

"No!" I shouted, "you can't kill my mother! You can't!"

"Oh, but whoever said it was going to be me who kills her?" A sneer, then he pointed a hand at my father. "Peter Pettigrew! Do you dare disobey me?"

My father looked shocked, but nodded without any protests. "Master's every wish is my command."

I felt nothing; I was already numb. My father took me away to a small room and put heavy bounds on my hands and feet. Days passed as I sat motionless in the room with no food or drink. When my father finally came for me, I was slipping in and out of consciousness.

"The Dark Lord will see you now," he told me in an urgent whisper, and brought me back to the room where I had been initiated.

"Your father has something to tell you, Hugh," Voldemort said with his back towards me, but the sneer was evident in his voice, "after that, you are free to go."

"Free to go-?" I croaked, feeling my lips crack. What kind of trick was this?

"Firstly... Wormtail?"

"Yes Master..." my father bowed and walked forwards a few paces. "Hugh," he started, licking his lips uncertainly, "I've got something to tell you that you might not like..."

Suddenly remembering the conversation two days ago, I felt a sense of dread slowly rise up from the pit of my stomach.

"Your mother... is dead."

~~~

I put down my quill as I hear a muffled noise in the corridor. I think the doctors are coming for me, I write in a hurry, they are moving me to a different and more confined cell. I hope this journal will be picked up by someone who will understand the dangers. The doctors think I'm finally cracking, always muttering about the Dark Lord and the Chamber; but I must warn the authorities. The Dark Lord is trying to open up the Chamber of Secrets. When he finds a strong enough host body, he will succeed in opening it. Basilisk blood has enough magic to restore him to full strength. His minion is searching the many underground tunnels of Hogwarts as he cannot do so himself. I have no idea how long I have been in this hospital, all sense of time has left me, but I have felt the Mark on my forearm burn more than once. It might already be too late. Years might have passed and I would have no idea.

The footsteps stopped, and were met with the sound of doors opening.

They would not believe me when I told them that Sirius Black was innocent, that he was not the one who had murdered 13 people so many years ago. Peter Pettigrew is still alive. He was only faking his death; an unregistered Animagus, he ran away with rats to safety. He is the pet of a Ron Weasley, who attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and this man has been making contact with his master frequently. The Dark Lord is planning the overthrow of Albus Dumbledore and the murder of Harry Potter. I believe that they must be warned immedia-

The door of my cell burst open, and through it came a dark haired woman with heavy lidded eyes. She was smiling, but her presence sent a cold shiver down my back. I quickly throw my journal underneath the desk and looked up to meet her eyes.

"Hello," she said pleasantly, "my name is Bellatrix Lestrange, and I am to escort you to your new... home."

***

The kid was very hard to get rid of; he was more agile than he looked. A nicely aimed AK curse finished him off quickly, and Bellatrix was just going back to his cell to see if there was anything he left behind.

As she passed the immobilised bodies of the St Mungo's staff, she gave them a good kick up their backside. Most offered resistance, and even though she finished them up quick, they were bad for her reputation; no one stood up to Bellatrix Lestrange.

Bellatrix was careful not to miss anything, and as she bent down a little book beneath the desk caught her eye.

"Confessions of Hugh Pettigrew," she read out loud and raised an eyebrow. What could Pettigrew's son be wanting to confess?

Skimming quickly through the small notepad, she could hardly hold back her laughter. The Basilisk? That was old news; when she was in Azkaban. The Dark Lord was far too clever to pursue a failed scheme. In fact, judging by what the boy wrote, no one had believed him, which was why he ended up in St Mungo's in the first place. So naive.

Flipping the pad to the last few pages, Bellatrix scowled as she read the boy's last paragraphs. The rest of the book may be completely useless, but the last pages might knock some sense into people.

"We can't have that now, can we?" With a point of her wand, Bellatrix ignited a fire in the fireplace, then with a loud squeal of delight, tossed the journal into the fire.

And watched it burn.

~End