Scabbers, or should she say Peter Pettigrew, has disappeared.
Lorelei's not seen him in weeks, only managing a quick glance before he scurried off. The coward. One glare is all it took, a fiery sort of look. He knew then, right then, that she knew everything. That he isn't a rat, and he's never been one. A cheap disguise utilized by poltroons. Of course, Lorelei doesn't have proof, only assumptions, but that was enough.
James may lack honor, but he couldn't craft a lie as nonsensical as this, despite what Remus persisted. Really, the coincidences added up. Scabbers always disappearing, Ambrose Wythinghall's portrait relaying his midnight viewing of a 'stout man,' (Peter Pettigrew is often characterized by those words). Scabbers vanishes the moment Lorelei makes contact.
To no one's surprise, Ron does not believe Lorelei's theory. He's adamant that Scabbers is and has always been his trusty, treasured pet. Oh, what a fool he can be sometimes. Yet, she can't find it in herself to blame him. There's no evidence. Hearsay won't assist. On the other hand, Harry and Hermione, thankfully, came to her defense. The former more so than the later. Again, Lorelei can't fault her friend. However, she thinks Crookshank's aversion to the rat is cause enough for belief.
All Lorelei needs to do is find that rat, and she'll prove it. It's easier said than done.
Animals have never been her forte. See, they don't . . . mix with Lorelei's bad luck. In fact, they enhance it. Crows, ravens, cats, raccoons (Dastardly vermin!), even the magical ones. She's not entirely sure how to find Scabbers, and Hagrid's no help. The poor half-giant's been inconsolable lately, not even her famous lemon loaf helped. Carmine Weatherby on the other hand? A savior.
Carmy's naturally gifted with grace. Soft touches, a singsong voice, tall and burly like a tree. Butterflies flock to him like honeysuckle and birds perch upon his limbs as if they were branches. He could, Lorelei thinks, very well be nature personified. And he offered assistance without an err of question. He always does. With his savvy knowledge, Carmy concocted elaborate ways to draw in rodents. And, to be fair, they worked. Except, none of the rats caught were Scabbers.
Lorelei spent all of May painstakingly searching the castle grounds. Under every rock, down suspicious holes, up colossal trees, even daring the Forbidden Forest—until the snapping of a twig scared her out. When she wasn't an acting detective, Lorelei was cooped in Lonnie's office drowning in study guides. Every night. By above, it's dreadful, yet she's improving. Lonnie's persistent, earnest 'Good job's fill her with validation.
Is she finally sprouting wings?
Oftentimes, Hermione attends the evening sessions. Shockingly, Cadence and Carmy do as well. Even more shockingly, Lonnie doesn't seem to mind. He's unusually pleasant, donning congenial smiles and offering genuine laughs. Lorelei supposes it's due to the matter of subject—education. It's his life's calling, and he enjoys any crumb of content.
Although, there's no mistaking the dullness in his eyes. It's been there since the day she confronted James. Lorelei recognizes it so easily because it's reflected back to her every morning in the mirror. She practices her smile. Make it earnest, tip the lips high, dimples, toothy if the occasion calls for it.
Lorelei's discovered the one spell she's capable of attempting somewhat successfully is Evanesco. After seeing Lonnie utter it to vanish his trash (Is he that lazy?), she begged him to teach her. The start was rocky, as such with all spells she tries, yet the difficulty lessened alarmingly fast. She's enamored with it, and its unique ability to disappear anything, even things not in the realm of possibility. Shadowed water-lines are no more. Perhaps her peers will cease commenting on her appearance.
Plaster smiles, magically vanished bags—Lorelei's touching the sky. Soaring through fleece clouds, peppering her face with soft mist. Blue within blue skies. Truly, it's how she feels. Weightless. It's so rare nowadays, short lived. Before she knows it, this feeling will be no more than lackluster overcast. She'll plummet.
Torchlight bathes the walls of Hagrid's Hut in a deep glow. Decadent, lively browns induce an autumnal atmosphere despite spring's presence. The sun's setting, yet the sky's washed in greyscale. Lorelei glances down at the oddly shaped creature mewing in the corner. It's got pointy teeth and a smallish beak. Lonnie'd turn red with fury if he knew she'd snuck off . . . again.
In all honesty, it's really quite easy.
"There's jus' one other thing . . ."
Lorelei watches Hagrid lumber towards his makeshift kitchenette decorated by a spattering of dust and cracked dishware. He opens a container and pulls something out, then he faces them again. In the chasm of his palms is a tiny animal.
Scabbers. Peter Pettigrew, allegedly.
"Scabbers! You're alive!" Ron steps forward and gently takes him into his hands, cradling the rat close to his chest.
Slowly, Lorelei's hand lowers to her back pocket, feeling the ligneous shaft of her wand. Brows furrowed, lips curved in a snarl. If what's said is true, that rat doesn't deserve care, gentleness. Not for the hurt he wrought upon the Potters. And, somehow, Lorelei knows he knows. Two beady, inklike eyes meet her own, and it starts squirming.
Closer, Lorelei's hand is now gripping her wand. At any moment, she could pull it out and subdue Pettigrew (Allegedly!). Though, can she? Defense has never been her strong suit. Despite practicing regularly with Lonnie nowadays, she's hardly proficient. The most she's ever done is dual Gilderoy Lockheart, but that was merely luck. Is she feeling lucky?
And Lorelei can't harm Scabbers. There's a possibility she's wrong, and she'd wind up losing a friend due to paranoia. All she needs is to get her hands on him, then she can truly see.
Lorelei startles as a pebble knocks into the back of her head. Wincing, she rubs at the spot. The rock landed flat on the table, dark gray and entirely smooth.
"Oh, my! Lori, are you okay?" Hermione cries, and she steps closer.
"I'm alright," assures Lorelei, but she's more confused than anything. Smash! The glass basin atop the table shatters and another gray rock rattles its victory. Her gaze travels to the open window. "Oh, no."
Headmaster Dumbledore, Minister Fudge, and—Lorelei feels a coldness encase her body in chills—an executioner. A large ax rests on the man's shoulder, as if it's weightless. This is an ordinary day for him, and it sickens her. Draco Malfoy and his ridiculous, entitled, bratty attitude!
"Yeh got to go!" Hagrid panics, ushering Lorelei out of her seat. "It's almost dark. If anyone sees yeh outside the castle, it'll be trouble! Big trouble!" He looks down at her. "'Specially you, Lorelei. Yer uncle'd give me the boot!"
No, Lonnie would never do such a thing. Not that he's incapable, of course he is, but Lorelei would never forgive him. And that, Lonnie can't allow.
Lorelei stops beside Ron. Keenly, she keeps her focus on the mangy little creature tucked in his arms. A hand gently guides her out the back door and into the mushy pumpkin patch. Her shoes slosh in the sludge, and she has to use exceptional force to not lose them in the murk. The quartet evade the notices of the adults and successfully manage to make it to the top of the summit overlooking the Hut.
Poor Buckbeak lays unknowingly amongst the orange bulbs of pumpkins. Lorelei's heart pounds. How cruel. How cruel. He doesn't even realize it's his last day; how could he know? Buckbeak ate his last meal as if he'd experience many more; he laid in the sun expecting a thousand more; he purred at Hagrid's gentle touch, yearning for more. But there would never be more. A tear rolls down her cheek.
Harry moves next to her so their shoulders barely touch. Like a breeze, his hand brushes her own. Comfort. Down by the Hut, the executioner positions his ax high in the air, readying a mighty swing. The shiny blade winks in the escaped sunlight, and it's like a spotlight for the gruesome event. When it crashes down, Lorelei turns away. She hides her face in the closest thing, and it's Harry. Her head tucks in the crook of his neck, and he wraps his arms around her.
Birds flutter wildly, and Lorelei knows the deed is done.
So easily, an innocent creature is dead. He wasn't violent; he didn't know why he attacked.
"Ouch!"
Lorelei snaps to Ron who's cradling his hand.
"He bit me!"
Faster than anyone can blink, Lorelei draws her wand. Hawk-like, she scans the grass for any scampering, craning her ears for light pitter patter. This is her chance. She cannot lose him. Off descending over the summit, Lorelei sees Scabbers and so does Ron. Together, with him barely ahead, they chase after the rat for entirely different reasons.
"Lorelei! Ron!"
"Wait!"
She can't. There's no waiting. Lorelei reaches the ridge and descends downwards, eyes still trained on the scampering animal. She raises her wand, but lowers it a second later. It's not feasible. Hitting a moving target is above her skill set. Grunting, Lorelei shelves her wand and bolts after it. Ron reaches Scabbers first, and he doesn't notice the reluctance his precious pet exerts.
"Ron," pants Lorelei. She holds her hand towards him. "Give him to me."
The Weasley makes a face. "What? Are you crazy?"
"No, I—"
"Lorelei, run!"
That's when she realizes exactly where they are: the Whomping Willow. The tree Lonnie told her to never, ever get near. Lorelei swallows, backing up like it's a rabid animal. Then Ron's face blanches. Shakily, he points behind her.
"Hermione, Harry. Run!"
Lorelei turns and the breath is knocked clean from her lungs.
"It's the Grim!"
But no, it's not the Grim. It never was. Sirius Black in his hidden form. Lorelei's never seen it so close. Atramentous fur shimmering like pools of oil and eyes red with burning fury. Teeth sharpened and yellowed, snarl twisting unpleasantly. This is the Sirius Black she's come to know. A vicious fiend wrought with bloodlust. There's no control, only animalistic hatred.
When Black lunges, Lorelei draws her wand.
It's instinctual. The type of instinct Lonnie's taught her countless times. Preparedness, vigilance. There's no chance in war. Lorelei brandishes her weapon with the fullest intent to fire, yet . . . she can't. Even when Black latches onto Ron's ankle and begins dragging him down to the Willow, Lorelei remains frozen.
Scabbers squeaks. Lorelei snaps back into focus. Ignoring Harry's calls and the terror in her heart, she runs and slides through the small opening in the roots, narrowly dodging a sweeping attack from the Willow. Lorelei rolls down a short slide covered in dirt and leaves, and it leads her to a darkened tunnel. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling, drafts making them blow like warning signs.
Dark, wet, dingy. Lorelei doesn't let it deter her. She stands, mutters, "Lumos."
The tip of her wand turns blue, and she ventures further into the cimmerian void of the passage. Ron screams, and it's full of pain. This is Sirius Black. So savage, so cruel. Lorelei pushes forward. But her heart is beginning to slow her down. What's her plan? Can she really disarm him? Can she go toe to toe with a mass murderer?
Can she dual her father?
Ron's alone with two criminals. Lorelei won't have it.
After a century of anxiety and brushing off webs, Lorelei reaches the end. A circle of silky light beams down through an opening above. She perches her wand flat against her lips and hoists herself through it. The room's vacant, and it appears to be a house of some sorts. Rickety furniture layered with dust, window panes fogged with age, and specks of stained—she swallows—blood adorning the floorboards.
Left and right, Lorelei guards her surroundings. Lonnie says to familiarize herself with environments. More importantly, know the exits. Up ahead is a door and right next to it is a staircase. Behind, nothing but an empty room. Dust rains down from the ceiling—footsteps. She inhales and continues, taking the stairs.
Despite attempting feathery steps, the stairs emit gratuitous squeaks. Each one is a sharp blow. Lorelei walks up the stairs to an inevitable confrontation. She reaches the landing, wand held high and ready. Sweat perspires on her forehead. Ginger peeks through the entryway, and she feels a sense of limited relief accompanied by weariness.
"Ron!" Lorelei whispers, carefully stepping towards him. She scans every inch.
The boy looks up at her, eyes wide. "No! Lori, don't!"
However, Lorelei senses the movement. In a quick draw, she faces Sirius Black. He carries nothing. The pictures—the one's she's seen in the scrapbook, is it even him? They're nothing alike. He's so . . . emaciated. Cheeks sunken, pale, corpse-like complexion. His hair's knotted and matted, emblazoned with leaves, and every inch of his body is covered in dirt. This is not the one in those photos. Who is he? Lorelei can hardly recognize him.
And . . . can he recognize her?
For a moment, no one moves. Ron's stunned by the lack of reaction from either party.
What does Black see when he looks at her? A reflection?
"You gonna kill me?" Black's voice is crackly and hoarse.
Lorelei swallows, shifting, but she keeps her wand firmly on him. He'd deserve it at any rate. Or are those Lonnie's words? She doesn't know what to feel. Footsteps echo from down below, multiple pairs and faint voices. A tear escapes.
"I should, shouldn't I?" Lorelei breathes, palpitations thumping wildly. "Strike you down. A-and avenge my mum."
Black bears no reaction.
More tears fall. "You'd deserve it. For what you did."
Guilt. Shame. Anger. The footsteps grow closer.
Lorelei's hand shakes. "I should kill you right now!"
That's when Harry and Hermione burst into the tensioned room. Their relief vanishes at the sight. Glaring at the attenuated man, Harry steps forward. He doesn't stop until he's fully in front of Lorelei, entirely blocking her view, and she doesn't protest. Her hand remains frozen in midair, only brought down by Hermione's gentle touch. She didn't mean it. She didn't . . .
"If you're going to kill Lorelei, you'll—you'll . . . have to kill us too!" Hermione braves, sticking her nose up.
Harry and Black engage in a silent standoff. A new gait enters the situation, carrying from below. Lorelei pays it no mind, tears flowing. Whoever stands before her, it's not him. This not the Sirius Black who married her mum. There's no similarities.
And then, Remus Lupin joins the conundrum. Lorelei's face floods with emotion. Everything's happening so fast, she can't keep it all straight.
"I found him," Black utters, hands shaking.
Remus doesn't grant anyone his attention but Black. "I know."
"He's here!"
"I understand."
Hermione seems distraught. "No!" She cries. "I trusted you! I covered up for you! And all this time you've been his friend?" She glances at all her friends, pointing at Remus. "He's a werewolf! That's why he's been missing classes!"
Lorelei's stomach plummets. Werewolf? The monsters that eat the hearts of their victims? No, Remus isn't like that. Then again, she doesn't seem capable of recognizing behavior. She gazes at her godfather, finding that he's already gauging a response. He's anxious. And it's fear. For the briefest of moments, Lorelei is scared of Remus. Curse her for entertaining the thought! As soon as it comes, it vanishes. Yet, it's too late.
His own goddaughter terrified of him.
"How long have you known?" Remus questions Hermione, a bit of pride toiling around his words.
"Since Snape set the essay."
For so long, and Lorelei didn't realize. Does Lonnie know? She finds it hard to believe he'd allow a werewolf near her, given his increased paranoia—she realizes. Remus stopped coming 'round in her early childhood. One day, he was there . . . the next, gone as if he was never present. Was that when Lonnie discovered the secret? Barry, Nana?
Lorelei regards Remus differently but not in the way he believes. It is a testament to his will that he persists through the prejudice and hardship. She's always known him to be kind, now she knows Remus as brave beyond a doubt.
Black barks a bitter laugh. "Yes, he glows like the sun. And you howl at the moon." He makes a hollow joke before snapping, "Enough talk! He dies. Now. If you won't do it with me, Remus, I'll do it alone . . ."
Peter Pettigrew. He aims to kill Pettigrew. Revenge.
Taking a step, Remus says, "Wait, Sirius—"
"I did my waiting! Twelve years of it!" Black passes a glance at Lorelei. "In Azkaban! Trust me, you wouldn't have lasted a week!"
Remus goes silent, nods. Then, he shakes his head. "No, don't you think they deserve an explanation?"
"We know why," scoffs Harry. "He's guilty!"
This has always been the question. Is Sirius Black guilty? If Pettigrew walks on this earth, teeming with life, then he is absolved of one crime. The other charge remains to be seen.
"I assumed as you do, Harry," Remus says. Shadows cover his face, hiding his interpersonal intentions. "But I was wrong. There's another."
Harry looks to Lorelei.
"You mean Peter Pettigrew?"
"But he's dead!" Hermione interjects.
Black laughs. "Oh, he'll wish it soon enough. Come out, Peter!"
Lorelei doesn't like this. He's making it seem like it's a joke. A game. This is the real Sirius Black, with a grin so foul. Savagery glints in his eyes. He's feening for bloodlust, aching to tear his lifelong foe limb from limb. Twelve years he's waited. Lorelei fears what will happen if she dares stand between a predator and his prey. Yet, isn't that the ultimate goal? Wipe the bloodline?
In singsong, "Come out, come out and play!"
Lorelei huffs a wobbly breath, tears silently fall. If Black draws a weapon, she'll disarm him. She swears she will. They'll draw, and they'll fight. Only one will bathe in victory, or perhaps it'd be more poetic if they fall together. Except, Black doesn't. In the corner of her eye, Remus brandishes his wand.
Before Lorelei can utter the spell, another voice performs it in her stead.
"Expeliarmus!"
Remus's wand flies out his hands, rolling across floorboards, but not only his, Lorelei's does as well. Rufescent beams slashed her hands as well, and her only means of defense is stolen. She's defenseless. Amongst two fiends and she is vulnerable. Heart hammering, Lorelei faces the shadowy egress. Professor Snape emerges from the darkness, smugly gloating.
"Ah, vengeance is sweet," Snape relishes, gaze firmly upon Black. "How I hoped I'd be the one to catch you."
"Severus—" Remus tries interjecting.
Snape ignores the attempt callously. "I told Dumbledore you were helping your old friend into the castle. And now here's the proof."
Lorelei's fists clench at her sides.
"Brilliant! And, as usual, dead wrong!" The umbrage decorated under Black's eyes deepens as he glares. The same glare he bestowed on any mention of Pettigrew. To be regarded on the same level . . . a horrific blow. "Now, leave. Remus and I have a bit of unfinished business to attend to."
Overcast clouds the moon, hiding any illumination. Pitched in cimmerian shade, Lorelei's shoulders shake. The room's beginning to feel cramped, like the walls are shortening and folding. Oxygen is siphoning from her lungs, crushing under immense pressure. Anger charts a course through her, so deadly and sharp. Like the executioner's ax.
In a flurry, Snape rushes towards Black without fear, and he digs his wind into the man's neck. "Give me a reason. I beg you!"
"Don't be a fool!" Snaps Remus.
"He can't help it," bites Black, snarling despite the farce. "It's habit."
Suddenly, Lorelei frowns. Eyes darting from each adult, she comes to a conclusion. For a while now, she's known of Snape's connection to Harry's dad. Needless to say, they've had a tense history. Oftentimes, James sports a frown whenever the Potions Master is briefly mentioned. Until now, Lorelei's never known Black to be connected to James, to Remus, and now to Professor Snape. Something nefarious occurred between the four of them. This animosity extends further than criminal charges.
Snape and Black are closely entwined in a dangerous dance of fate. "I could do it, you know," the Professor mutters. "But why deny the Dementors? They're so longing to see you."
Lorelei sucks on her teeth, wincing at the sensation of coldness prickling her pimpled flesh. Those creatures. Nearly a year since the Express, and she's not forgotten the ripping feeling of her soul departing. Verdant flashes, screams. And Black reacts similarly.
"Do I detect a flicker of fear?" Snape's tone turns to delight. "One can only imagine what it must be like to endure the Dementor's Kiss." Lorelei can feel her nails puncture her palms. "It's said to be unbearable to witness. But I'll do my best."
No, no. Black cannot die. The earth cannot swallow him, not before he answers for what he's done. Lorelei must know; she must know the reasons. All this sorrow cannot be for nothing. Black can depart from this world when she gives permission. Until then, his fate lies in her hands alone. Yet, what's to be done? Her wand's on the other side of the room, and she's not practiced the summoning charm well enough to use it.
Harry provides an answer.
As Snape begins to usher Black towards his impending doom Harry unsheathes his wand and, without remorse, fires, "Expeliarmus!"
Red light vanquishes Snape's consciousness. He falls flat against the wall, wand rattling against the floorboards. All is silent.
Lorelei's anger dissolves into unadulterated shock. All eyes turn to Harry and his ragged, uneven breaths. There's a sense of vindication in the boy's eyes. Up and down, Harry nods at Lorelei. Wordless communication. I have done this for you. Your questions can be answered.
"Harry," breathes Hermione, and her hand covers her mouth. "You attacked a teacher."
Neither one finds the care. Lorelei can scarcely feel anything besides boiling anger. Her gaze flicks to Black's, hardened and burdened. He's already looking at her. Don't, she wants to say. Don't make this difficult.
Instead, "Where's Pettigrew?"
Lorelei's attention goes back and forth between Remus and Black.
"Where is he?"
Black gives her an unidentifiable expression, a brief flash in the eyes that's too quick to catch. He turns to Ron cowering on the squeaky cot. A winding trail of sanguine blood leads to the boy—no, to Pettigrew. There, tucked in Ron's embrace, is the squirming pet.
Darkly, Lorelei takes a step. When she does, a cacophony of pitiful mewls leaps from the rat's mouth. He's scared. He should be.
"Lori?" Ron asks, weary. "What're you gonna do to him?"
"Make him answer." Is all she says.
Except, Black intercepts her path. Lorelei halts, and they enter into an impasse. "I will do it."
Lorelei doesn't want to speak to him, so she doesn't.
The squeaking grows louder and more pathetic. Black nods at Remus. His dirtied, gangrenous fingers dig into his pockets, and he pulls out a wand. The sight of it makes her nauseous. That's what murdered her mum. Carelessly, he wields it. Black's hand shakes as he holds it up.
Sparing no time, Remus and Black fire simultaneously at Scabbers. Blue-white bolts stream from the tips and wrap around the mangy form. Scabbers rises in midair, and he begins to change. It's grotesque. The rat grows in size, and its head molds into something human, the snout disappearing into thin, cracked lips. A short man drops to his knees at their feet.
Peter Pettigrew.
Hermione and Ron both gasp, the latter more so, but Harry makes no sound. Neither does Lorelei. She can't move.
Pathetically, Pettigrew's rat-like eyes dart between Remus and Black. "S-Sirius . . . R-Remus . . ." His voice is cracked. "My old friends."
All at once, Pettigrew dashes towards the exit. With his stubby legs, his balance is off kilter. He stumbles, dragging feet catching on raised floorboards. Lorelei doesn't react quick enough when Pettigrew's grubby hand latches onto her arm in a feeble attempt at stability. The touch is burning. She tips forward from the force, right to the snapping jaws of a criminal.
Then Pettigrew is violently ripped away from her. Black throws him to the ground, delivering a kick for good measure. Rage, unrefined. Cutting deep, drawing blood. Lorelei holds her arm as if it was just slashed, and she backs towards Hermione. Her friend stands beside her, offering comfort through minimal touch.
"Don't touch her," Black growls, and it is a growl.
Pettigrew folds his hands into a gesture of worship. Though he isn't begging forgiveness from Black, he's staring at her. Across Black, he curls his spindly lips. "Ah, Lorelei! How much you've grown! So much like your mother—"
Lorelei flinches.
"Shut up!" Black kicks Pettigrew again, knocking the attention off her.
But Pettigrew can't help paltry, wretched begs. "I didn't mean to! The Dark Lord," his watery eyes are doused in fear, "you have no idea the weapons he possesses! Ask yourself what you would have done, Sirius. What would you have done!"
Lay down her life.
"Died!" Black spits. "Died rather than betray my friends!" Hidden beneath those words is another meaning, one far greater. "And you should have realized, Peter, if Voldemort didn't kill you . . ."
Remus picks up his fallen wand. "We would."
"No, please . . . you can't . . ." Pettigrew continues piteous pleas as if he has any claim over innocence. His gaze scurries to Ron. "Ron! Haven't I been a good friend? A good pet? You won't let them kill me, will you? I was your rat . . .
In seconds, Ron's face twists in disgust. Still, Pettigrew refuses to accept his fate. He finds Lorelei once more, and he cups his hands. "Lorelei . . . Lemon . . . you wouldn't let me die?" Her stomach twists. "Natalie wouldn't want this!"
"How dare you!"
Why did he say that? Lorelei loses focus. Surely Pettigrew would've begged Harry, would've gone to him and groveled? After all, he'd sold out Harry's parents. The brutal attack that made the Potters famous. Instead, Pettigrew's graciously given his attention to her, every stare and woeful plea. There's something missing, and it's the centerpiece. Cyphers, clues, hints—they all bind together to form the same knot, an unruly mystery incapable of unraveling. Pettigrew is the flame that'll singed the rope.
"Stop!"
Black and Remus halt at her shout.
Wide-eyed, Lorelei moves forward. "You can't kill him," she states, firmly and strongly. Despite it all, she can't disguise the wavering. "You can't."
"Lorelei . . ." Black utters her name.
Many times in her life she has dreamt of this moment. To have a father who can call her by her name, to care for her, wipe her tears. Lonnie's a placeholder for the real thing, as much as he tries. Dreams aren't reality, but they're on the same strip. They lie in her consciousness. When Black says her name, Lorelei knows it's scorching like acid. Almost like a punishment. He's pained to say it. In her nightmares, she's lived this. Reality's much crueler.
"I-If you kill him, then there's no justice," states Lorelei, fidgeting under the scrutiny. "You'll—you'll get the, um, Dementor's Kiss."
Belief is fickle. Lorelei used to believe in many things. Fairies that flutter in the early, sultry aurora of dawn, bringing seasons change; Santa Claus and his trusty sleigh of reindeer, toting fantastical presents. Wistful hope of her mum strolling through the front door, healthy and glowing. Now, Lorelei's incapable of extending belief. Hard proof, it's what she needs. And it's standing in front of her.
Lorelei just hopes her reason isn't mistaken for care.
"Bless you, Lorelei!" Pettigrew aims to get closer, but Black doesn't allow it. "Bless you!"
Pathetic. Truly, pathetic. Lorelei takes one step, then she leans ever so slightly downwards so her glare is even with his beady, inky eyes. "Your fate . . . isn't mine." Her tone is ice; he shivers. "It belongs to the Dementors."
Lorelei braves a steely facade; it's as tall as she can muster, fortified beyond belief. Yet there's always cracks in the system, faulty wiring, misplaced stones. When she turns from Pettigrew, away from Black, the hardness vanishes, and it's replaced by cascading tears.
She found him, but at what cost?
Outside, the moon is hidden behind overcast. Lorelei'd prefer to stroll along the grounds under the guise of moonlight. Without it, everything's dull. A natural spotlight would surely make traveling with two convicts less terrifying. However, the snaking, dampened tunnel was far worse. Lorelei doesn't consider herself averse to cramped spaces, yet being so close to people previously fiction in her mind . . .
. . . Perhaps a newfound fear.
The grass is sodden, much like Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Mud sucks on her shoe as Lorelei stands under the umbrage of the Willow. She can feel herself sinking, yet doesn't move. As soon as they'd reached the crepuscular horizon, Black stumbled a ways away, caught in a trance. The frayed edges of his coat swayed along with him. Harry followed. And they've been talking since then. It's private, or do they expect her to eavesdrop?
Revelations and retribution. Everyone's discovered traces of the truth. The question remains—what to do with it? How to handle it?
On her left, sits Hermione who fusses over Ron. His injury only fuels the fire. Instinctively, Lorelei finds herself watching Black. Analyzing every intricacy down to the bare bones. The scrapbook is a comparator. The Sirius Black on those pages . . . it's not the one who stands merely yards away. He labored under the weight of Ron, and she witnessed the better version of himself lift her mum high without any signs of effort. Who is he?
There's grunting to her right. Lorelei turns to the entrance of the Willow where Remus drags Pettigrew. Her godfather practically has his wand shoved into the man's eye.
"Turn me into a flobberworm! Anything but a Dementor!"
Still, Pettigrew begs. Shouldn't he know by now that it falls on deaf ears? There is no soul who'd offer him reprieve. This is why the Dementors will welcome him with open arms.
Pettigrew's back is hunched, and his grubby hands flutter wildly in front of his face, much like rodent's do. Twelve years. He acted under this persona. Day and night, playing the part of the treasured pet, all for what? Now wears the facade as if it's reality. Lorelei's gaze drifts to Black . . . will he share that fate?
"Lorelei! Please!"
She ignores him, inching closer to Hermione. All throughout the trek in the tunnel, Pettigrew attempted conversation with her. Each time, Black's ire grew tenfold. He nearly lost it.
"Enough!" Remus grabs Pettigrew's shoulder and drags him away. Slowly, they edge upon the hillside overlooking rocky cliffs and a watery expanse. Lorelei's hand drops to her pocket, fiddling with her returned wand. Preparedness, vigilance.
Then, the overcast drifts. Moonlight freely falls, enshrouding Remus in an effervescent glow. The sight's welcomed, until Lorelei freezes.
"Harry!" Hermione cries, noticing exactly what she did.
Tonight's the full moon. And Remus . . .
All at once, chaos ensues. Twitching, Remus's face tilts towards the sky, and his arms lock at his sides. Black rushes to Remus and engulfs him in an embrace, muttering words in an enervated attempt at serenity. But her godfather dropped his wand. Amidst the weedy grass, it lies in temptation, and Pettigrew falls to it. He holds it to his forehead, parting his lips in a grin—
"Expeliarmus!"
The wand shoots from his grip, but Lorelei keeps her wand held high. Her first success since second year, and she can't even relish in it, not even for a moment. In the corner of her eyes, Remus's skin turns dark and he grows tall, casting a shadow upon her.
Pettigrew isn't deterred. Smugly, he waves, then his face grotesquely mangles into his rodent form, leaving a pile of clothes in his wake.
No. No. He can't get away.
Before Harry can grab her, Lorelei bolts after the scampering rat. Keenly, she holds onto the way the grass flattens and rustles, and moonlight spotlights gray fur.
"Lori!"
Harry's call is promptly ignored. Sucking in air, Lorelei's lungs ache, but she pushes forward down the lithic slope. She gasps when her foot slips, causing her to fall and scrape her elbows on jagged edges. Dirt cakes to her clothes. Pain is forgotten; adrenaline fronts. Behind her, a thunderous howl. Lorelei rolls down the hill, disoriented.
For a minute, everything spins, deftly like a carousel. Lorelei shakes her head, heart plummeting. She's in a wide clearing with no sign of Pettigrew. Nothing but mountainous trees that loom in crepuscule. He's gone. Tears speckle, tracking down her reddening cheeks. Anger, frustration, helplessness. A calamity of emotions lancinates Lorelei.
Gone is her proof. Gone is her retribution.
A force knocks into Lorelei. Every speck of air is leveled from her lungs once she slams against the ground, and her cheeks sinks into the mud. In her ears is a chittering and heaving, labored breaths. A sour stench scrunches her nose.
"I-I didn't mean it."
With her face smushed sideways into the ground, Lorelei can't see his face, but she recognizes the mewling voice.
"You must understand, see? I-I had no choice! I loved her!" Pettigrew's grip on her arms is aching. He flips her so her eyes are leveled with his blackened ones. Yellowed, rat-like teeth teeter at her. "He made me. He did it. He gave me no choice!"
He? The Dark Lord?
Lorelei feels her heart sink further into the muck. Guilt. Pettigrew has guilt in his eyes and a fear she's not seen before, not on him. This extends the realm of possibility.
"He's coming," Pettigrew wheezes in a hushed whisper. He tightens his vise. "He's coming for you, and you can't stop it."
After silence falls, Pettigrew grabs her fallen wand. Lorelei's eyes widen to the extreme, terror overtakes every fiber of her being. She does not know what he's capable of. In the next moments, Death might welcome her. Or, she'll be rendered mad from torture. Lorelei screams, a guttural scream that tears at her throat. Pettigrew's sweaty palm flies over her mouth, and he digs the tip of the wand into her forehead. Wetness rolls down her temple.
A howl rips through the night, less animalistic than before. Nervously, Pettigrew twitches. There's the guilt again.
"I'm sorry."
Darkness swallows Lorelei whole.
📍 Teddy's Corner ;
jinkies!!! rip lori :(
yeah so i promised normalcy
in the next chapter after my
funny lil prank, so ur
welcome. this is totally the
normal u guys wanted.
u do not understand how
important every interaction
in this chapter is . . . like, i
can't believe we're at this
point.
first sirius interaction and
it's absolutely horrible. lori
might fr beat him up.
i labored on this for way too
long bc this section of the
movie/book is so dialogue/
exposition heavy, which makes
it difficult when lori knows so
much of what's said. i made up
a lot of dialogue so i hope it
works.
two chapters left guys. it's
unreal.
anyway, love to hear ur
thoughts <3 !!!
ฅʕ•ᴥ• ʔฅ
© TEDDY 2024