~Just, Loyal, Unafraid of Toil



“What are you doing?�

“Hush, Cedie! Look, I got one!�

Colleen’s arm came out of the rabbit hole, hand fisted around a fluff of brown fur. Cedric’s eyes widened.

“You put that baby back in his nest this minute!�

“His mamma’s not here! What if she’s dead, even?�

“You don’t know that. Put it back.�

“I’m s’posed to mind Aunt and Uncle but I wasn’t told you could boss me.�

“You weren’t told you could take baby rabbits from nests either.�

“I’ll take care of it . You took care of that jackrabbit Uncle found—�

“That was different; the poor thing was washed to the creek. There was no way we could find his nest again. You’re stealing this baby.�

Colleen’s lower lip stuck out petulantly.

Cedric was used to that. Colleen was the only baby girl of the family so far, and was consequently doted on as she was passed from her parents to aunt to uncle and back during the holidays. She was only five but already very aware of her powers — which she demonstrated now by bawling and marching from the wood to the house.

“Cedric, what have you done to your cousin?� was his mother’s greeting when he arrived. Her tone was nonchalant, however— even affectionate. This heartened Cedric. He was an only child, he had no one with whom to compare the way they treated him, but his parents’ trust and confidence in him was something he had always been aware of — and had always tried to keep.

“We had a row about a rabbit, Mum, that’s all. Colleen’s pining for a pet, I think.� And he sent a wink to Colleen. Her adorable forget-me-not eyes widened. No doubt ‘pining for a pet’ had just occurred to her.

“My princess is pining for a pet?� said Cedric’s father. Amos kissed Colleen and ruffled Cedric’s hair, whispering in his ear, “You planted that idea, son. You take care of it.�



~*~



“Where have you been all day?�

“Look what I’ve got for you.�

Cedric opened the basket. Colleen peered in. In a wad of coarse red tartan was nestled a ball of white fur. Colleen squealed. “Where did you get it?�

“From old Miss Prewett.�

“And for me, really?�

“Yeah, better than having you nick bunnies, right?�

“Oh, Cedie! Thank— ugh! You reek!�

Cedric laughed as Colleen jumped away from him, and then gently plucked the basket from his hands. She had been about to hug him. Now he was dismissed in favour of a non-smelly little feline.

He went inside the house and collided with his father, who recoiled but said conversationally, “You smell like horse dung, Ced.�

“That’s because I’ve been shovelling away horse dung, Dad.�

“Oh? For this kitten?�

“Well, t’was s’posed to be for Miss Prewett’s great-niece Ginevra when she’s old enough. And none of the rest of the litter was pretty. I... bargained.�

Amos’s chest swelled. Cedric feared he was about to be scolded for the first time. But his father only turned to his mother. “Our son is quite the little man for a nine-year-old, isn’t he?�




~A Ready Mind



Bugger, bugger, bugger. Last night was a nightmare. Was I really caught by Ron and Harry kissing Dean and did I really…Ugh!

Luna poked me. She answered my grimace with a grin and leaned a bit closer. “You know, perhaps we should report to Professor Dumbledore. There seems to be an infestation of Wwrackspurts here .�

My reaction to this statement made Professor McGonagall whip her impressive bun around to face me and glare. She saw with whom I was sitting though, and seemed to understand and excuse me.

Which, instead of making me feel relieved, angered me a little. Even the professors passed judgment on Luna.

Scowling darker than I would have if I lost house points, I bent over my parchment and vented my temper on my quill. The shaft loudly snapped in two. Brilliant.

“Here, Ginny. But please don’t break it; it’s my Mum’s old quill.�

I stared at Luna. But she had already gone back to copying McGonagall’s lecture on Switching Spells.

I picked up the little white quill she had placed on my desk. Dove.

Suddenly, I wasn’t in the Transfiguration classroom anymore, but back in Devon, in a house ludicrously like a chess piece. In the garden stood a casket, festooned with lilies-of-the-valley and white roses.

I was staring at all this, a lone girl standing between my father and brothers while Mum went inside the house.

Just as I was about to squirm away from Dad’s hold, Mum returned with a girl my age, blonde and sad. Of course, she’d be sad, I thought. She’d just lost her mother. But the next moment, the girl looked at me, and, amazingly, smiled. She held out her hand. My parents prodded me with their eyes to take it. I did. Ron tried to hold me back, but the girl was stronger.

She pulled me past her relatives, the assorted visitors, neighbours and mourners, to her room.

It was filled with books and books and… stuff whose presence and significance in a girl’s room I couldn’t fathom, some of them I didn’t even recognize.

But the girl was not about to show off these things to me. Instead, she pulled open a drawer reverently and just as reverently took a small white quill from it.

“Mrs Weasley said we’ll both be in the same year at Hogwarts. I can’t wait to go,� she said dreamily. “This was my Mum’s old quill, and she said it protected her from evils, from nasty homework to nasty injuries.�

I quirked my brow at that, sceptical about the quill’s powers. I thought about my brothers—when they’re rowdy and annoying—and a certain old great-aunt. “What about nasty people?�

“Oh, I asked Mum that, and she said we don’t need protection from nasty people. Because nasty people can’t harm us. It’s only us who think and decide they can. She said I’ll understand once I’m in school. That’s another reason why I can’t wait. Are you excited, too?�

The bell rang. I jumped in my seat. I was back at Hogwarts. Luna was waiting for me. I handed back her quill.

“Thanks, Luna.�

“You’re welcome.� She smiled and we went to lunch together. On the way, we met Umbridge. Luna greeted the old toad as usual and as if the old toad was a dear.

I surprised myself by repeating the greeting. Luna beamed. “See, the quill worked on you, too.�




~Brave at Heart



“Don’t send Wormtail, he’ll bungle things,� said Sirius.

“You can keep me company instead, Wormy,� said Lily.

“For Merlin’s sake, don’t be a ninny and let her boss you into making that disgusting concoction she likes to ingest,� said James.

“But Wormtail’s a ninny. It’s what we love about him ,� rejoined Sirius.

Lily scolded. James and Sirius laughed. Peter Pettigrew laughed with them. He always did. They were joking. They always were. But their insults stabbed him. They always did.

They were insults, weren’t they? Oh, they loved him, he believed it. If one day they didn’t insult each other, something must be terribly wrong. But they held each other in esteem. He had to believe that.

Peter never complained about the insults anyway. He had grown up with it. Home is where the heart is. This saying holds so much more meaning than belonging and solace. Home, the one we’re born into, shapes us.

Peter’s mother loved him. But he had uncles and grandfathers she couldn’t fathom why her son couldn’t emulate. Hard words kill and kind words kindle... Mrs Pettigrew lapsed into tenderness every now and then. And during these lapses, she seemed desperate to make up for her routine behaviour and words and would lavish ‘kind words’ on her son. The result was the Peter Pettigrew who became a Marauder.

He’d entered Hogwarts with just enough tenacity to face the inevitable insults whenever people saw his mousy hair, his sycophantic mien, his approaching obesity, because he was accustomed to them, and they never lasted long. He dared befriend Sirius and James, and true enough, they treated him like his mother had .

The woman who rocks the cradle rocks the world... Would it ever be known if Mrs Pettigrew was cognizant of the blame on her shoulders?

During the WWizarding war in the 1970’s, there had been no time to make up to anyone. Everyone took snarls and snappishness as they came and then let it go. In the evening or in the morning or even so little as a minute later, an apology was ridiculous.

Not for our poor Peter. He waited for the period of kindness and tenderness he usually, routinely received. Waited in vain.

This was when he took to being in his Animagus form. It was so easy.

It was heartbreaking, however, that nobody inquired after him, looked for him, required him.

But he was there in the Order meetings.

With the information he had gathered, Peter set forth. His intentions were noble, if ill-advised and foolhardy. He wanted to trigger the pattern of his friends’ treatment of him back into normalcy. So he’d decided to earn the praises and kindness long due him.

It is widely known how it all ended.

Wormtail was unprepared and not at all equal to spying on Death Eaters—and it was fortunate he’d been wearing no trousers when he saw Voldemort was with them. But he stayed. He listened. He saw through his goals in rushing to this wretched position in the first place. Voldemort soon left. But not without taking little Wormtail. The Dark Lord had seen him, of course. Seen so much, in fact.

He showed Peter kindness and tenderness. More than that, he honoured Peter. Praised him for his audacity and boldness...



~Any Means to Achieve Their Ends



Sometimes you do get this sense of retribution.

Past the thick layer of pride, conscience pricks and declares you deserve what is happening.

And what is happening? Your husband is in Azkaban, the first in his entire line to be thus humiliated and tarnished.

Your son is shut away in his suite, suffering from his father’s failure as if it has been his own.

Your sister is blaming your husband for your disgrace.

Disgrace in the eyes of the misanthropic lord you are all bound to serve.

And how have all of you been bound? By foolishness, all.

You see that now. It is foolish. Foolish.

And yet it is happening. You can only act accordingly. You have been deemed pampered, sheltered and spoiled, but the truth is, pampered, sheltered and spoiled women pine at the first sign of trouble.

You do not.

You face it. Even embrace it.

Your sister is resentful about what you have done. Or rather, at what you have beaten her to doing. You almost laugh, even. At her jealousy. At her devotion. To that... that monster.

Monster... and you have him in your house.

He knows, of course he knows your ultimate motive for your invitation. He only accepted to torment you further and more effectively. Oh, how you do regret your action and loathe the fact that you are breathing the same air he breathes.

Especially after you hear—with utmost skill, caution and detachment— what he intends for your son, your only child, your precious Draco.

But the important matter is you heard what he intends. You have ample time to nurse your terror and then flee to action. You might be Narcissa Black Malfoy, but you do know to beg.

By the time your sister gets wind of what you’re thinking, you have already Apparated to Spinner’s End, armed with your sorrow, your beauty and your cunning.

You may look hysterical, but you have thought it out. He shall not take your son. The Vow is at the tip of your tongue, the man you are about to see is quite easy to subtly bend to your wishes. The goading won’t even come from your lips, oh no, it will come from Bella, and she will do it with aplomb. It’s why you let her know of your plan and let her follow you.

You are thankful you have not betrayed what you have discerned in Severus Snape. It has come to use now.

You have been deemed pampered, sheltered and spoiled, but the truth is you are every bit as sly as the rest of them all.