Harry sat on the bench in the Gryffindor dressing room, hands folded against his chest as he leaned back against the polished mahogony cabinets. Ron, the only other player remaining, thrust his Quidditch robes back into his pack and flung it over his shoulder.
"C'mon, Harry," he urged, making for the door. "There's gonna be a great party in the common room. Angelina said they smuggled in some Edible Eels from Fred and George's shop. Said they were gonna find Malfoy and make him eat one."
"I'll be up in a second," promised Harry. "Don't wait up for me." He brushed aside a stray black hair that had fallen across his glasses lens and smiled.
"Alright," agreed Ron uncertainly. "But you'll want to see this." He shuffled to the door and exited out onto the wet, soggy grounds.
Harry sighed contentedly and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he mused on the game. The ringing silence helped him think, about what he could have done better, what he could have done worse, and how lucky he was to have caught the Snitch in his falling broom. He shook his head and laughed silently to himself at the coincidence.
After several minutes, he got to his feet and was about to step toward the door when he heard a sudden creak. Frowning, he slipped back and peered cautiously around the nearest row of cabinets, where the sound had come from. Gazing with awe, he watched as one of the floorboards dislodged and was pushed aside by a hairy hand. A thin, bony figure squeezed through the long rectangluar hole and brushed himself off.
He looked remarkably like a worm. His body was tall and wispy, as if Harry's breath would send him floating away. Russet hair was patched randomnly along the crown of his head, and bristled down his face. His skin was an unhealthy earthy tinge, and his yellowed and jagged toenails seemed slightly elevated by the dirt and mud caked beneath them.
He glanced up and stumbled backwards in surprise. "'Ey, who're 'oo?" he inquired in a startled voice.
"Er...Harry Potter."
There was a brief pause, then the ragged visitor's lips parted in a sadistic smile, revealing dull teeth pitted with cavities. "Are ya really?" There was a gurgling sound as he spoke.
"Um, yes," Harry faltered, brow narrowing. He stepped forward. "And who're you?"
There was a brief uncertain pause, then, "Warson. Warson Pettigrew."
Harry's heart froze in his chest. He found it hard for his lungs to supply air. Pettigrew? No...it couldn't be...
"Are you...Wormtail's son?" he breathed incredulously.
Warson scoffed. "Wormtail's what they call 'im, ain't it? Peter, 'is name is."
"Your father betrayed my parents to Voldemort. They died."
Warson cackled, a high, bubbling nose. It seemed a geyser of saliva and mucus was brewing within his throat. "'Ey did, didn't 'ey? 'At's too bad, 'at is. For 'oo, anyways." He laughed, and the geyser thrummed.
With a sudden flare of anger that dissentigrated all of his caution, Harry lurched forward and pinned Warson again a cabinet. As much as the newcomer struggled and gurgled, Harry's angry hold could not be broken. He shoved the point of his wand against the wormy man's throat.
"Don't you ever speak about my parents that way," he growled. "Understand?"
Warson nodded silently, chest heaving for air.
"Now, I have a few questions for you," Harry said.
"'Bout wha'?" whispered Warson with an effort.
"What are you here for?"
"Nothin'," anwered Warson defiantly. Harry sent an electrical shock prickling over his skin and cast a meaningful look.
"Ta get father!" the man squealed, writhing beneath Harry's grasp. "Now lemme go!"
"Why are you getting Wormtail?" continued Harry, unperturbed. When he received no answer, Warson received another painful jolt.
"So...he kin...kill...ya..." breathed Warson as his assaulter's fingers closed around his throat.
"Where is he?"
"In the...mountains...b'hind...'Ogwarts..."
"And why him? Why couldn't Voldemort trust you with this?"
"Accordin' ta...'im...I'm...not...worthy..." He screwed up his face as he gave one last futile attempt at escaping, then fell limp with hopelessness.
"Not surprised," mumbled Harry, looking the pathetic intruder up and down. "Alright, then," he said, louder. He released Warson's throat and allowed him to rub his neck dejectedly.
"Aright, wha'?"
"You're gonna lead me to him. Into the mountains."
"No, I'm bloody not," countered Warson stubbornly. Harry waved his wand threateningly.
"I'll kill you," he warned. "I'm not afraid."
"Yeah, an' get arrested?" scoffed Warson. "Ya wouldn't do it. Don't have it in ya, ya don't."
Harry lunged forward and thrust the point of his wand so far against Warson's throat that the gurgling geyser sprang up once more and rumbled visibly beneath the skin.
"Don't I?" he sneered. "Will you take me to him?"
The captive nodded desperately, eyes widening.
"Then do it." The wand fell, and Warson shrunk fearfully against the cabinets. "DO IT!" bellowed Harry again. The grimy man reluctantly stepped forward and slithered for the door, with Harry right behind.