Harry Potter: The Making of a Dark Lord

Now Harry's aspect darkened, just as it had the day he met Tonks. "Because I think that's the only way I'm getting to get it. Dumbledore hasn't taught me anything this summer, and I don't believe that he'll really give me training when school starts. He doesn't seem to bloody care that I've got a freak show Dark Lord trying to kill me."

Tonks was frowning now. "I don't know, Harry. I'm happy to show you some things, but I don't want to go behind the Professor's back. He's running the show here. How about I talk to him and see if we can't arrange some training sessions, okay?"

Harry breathed in and then exhaled deeply. "Alright, Tonks. See what you can do. But it will be like talking to a brick wall."

Once again confused at Harry's attitude toward the Headmaster, Tonks stood and prepared to leave.

"Right. Well, I'll be off then. I'll see if the Professor's around on my way out. See you around, Dark Lord Potter," she leered at him.

"Oh, you're hilarious, Auror Tonks. And thanks again for the holster."

"You're welcome, Harry. Bye."

Harry watched Tonks leave and shook his head at the goofball Auror who had managed to take him out of his funk for a little while. He simply couldn't imagine someone like Tonks being deadly in a fight.

August 25th, 1995 – Ottery St. Catchpole, The Burrow

"Ginny, I want you to come downstairs for a minute, luv," Molly Weasley called to her only daughter. Ron and the twins were at the quidditch pitch with Hermione tagging along, and she needed a few moments alone with her bashful daughter.

Really, Molly thought, the girl is nothing like me or her brothers. I wonder how she turned out like this.

"Yes, mum?" asked the diminutive 14-year-old after she arrived a moment later.

"Have a seat, Ginny. I've got something very important to talk to you about."

Now looking very serious, Ginny seated herself at the kitchen table and looked at her mother expectantly.

"I, um…I want to talk to you about Harry Potter, dear. He's getting to that age where boys start to fancy girls, and he's been writing to Ron this summer, asking questions about you. He…well, we think he might be developing some feelings for you, Ginny dear," she smiled at her youngest.

Actually, it had rather shocked Molly that Harry wasn't writing to Ginny already. She would have to contemplate providing Ron with a slightly more potent version of her homemade potion when he returned to Hogwarts.

Ginny had turned a deep, unbecoming scarlet as her mother talked, and was looking at her in disbelief.

"R-really?" she managed to stutter out. "But he's never noticed me before…"

"Well, don't you worry about that dear," Molly remonstrated gently, "perhaps he just realized what he was missing."

But Ginny was now shaking her head. She had had a crush on The-Boy-Who-Lived since she was four years old, but she never actually thought her fantasies could become reality.

"Listen, Ginny, the thing I want you to remember is this," Molly said, taking Ginny's hand and patting it like one would a small animal. "If Harry, er, approaches you at school this year, and I think he will, it's okay to let him know how much you like him too. He might like to spend time alone with you, or hold your hand, or maybe even give you a little kiss," her eyes sparkled as she spoke.

"It's okay to…to return Harry's feelings, dear, just remember what we talked about a few years ago. Nothing more than a few kisses."

Ginny nodded, wide-eyed, but not one word of this conversation seemed real to her. She had always thought her mother a little strange when it came to the subject of Harry Potter, but today her cheese seemed to have slipped entirely from her cracker.

But what am I going to do if she's right? worried Ginny.

...

August 25th, 1995 – Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

Peter Pettigrew breathed a deep sigh of relief as he sank into the padded leather chair in his private bedroom deep below Malfoy Manor. His entire body ached and there were very few pain relief potions on the premises. They had become more precious than gold since the return of his Master two months ago. His "colleagues" hoarded them like goblins, as it was only a matter of time before they would be needed for personal use.

Pettigrew reached a shaky hand toward the bottle of firewhiskey sitting next to his chair and wished desperately that he could go back in time and live his life over again. He should have taken Snape's long ago offer of a killing curse rather than follow the path he had taken. Peter knew the saying about cowards dying a thousand deaths, but he thought that number was grossly understated.

He wondered if he could possibly debase himself further. He had long ago sold his soul, and his body would soon be a worthless wreck if things continued like this. Maybe I should just go ahead and reserve a bed next to the Longbottoms, he thought bitterly.

Pettigrew was not like most Death Eaters. The original followers of the charismatic Dark Lord were pureblood bigots, criminals, and sadists. Peter was none of those; he was simply a coward. When forced to choose between death and betraying his friends, he had chosen betrayal. He had made a similar choice, or so he had thought, over a year ago when he set out to look for his former Master.

When Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban, Pettigrew knew his days were numbered. He had thought it was only a matter of time before the entire wizarding world was baying for his blood. He knew nothing of Dumbledore's plot to keep Harry Potter away from Sirius, so he had expected Sirius to be exonerated and himself to be hunted like an animal.

The day after Sirius had broken into Hogwarts for the first time, Pettigrew had left and gone into hiding. After several days of considering his options, he felt that seeking the protection of his fallen Lord was the only thing that would keep him safe from the retribution of the wizarding world and Sirius Black.

But Black had not been exonerated, and Peter had not been exposed as a traitor. Sirius had apparently been kissed by a dementor before he could tell anyone the truth. This had baffled Peter, but by then it was too late to change his mind about seeking out the Dark Lord. He had teamed up with Barty Crouch, Jr., and they had somehow pulled off their Master's utterly ridiculous plot to kidnap Harry Potter during that damned tournament.

And now he was a virtual slave.

He thought he had proven himself loyal to his master by "donating" his hand to the cause, but he was treated contemptuously by both the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters. The Dark Lord had basically made him his personal valet, insisting that Pettigrew be available to him at all hours of the day and night. And that thing in the next room over seemed never to sleep at all.

Peter was truly terrified of the monster that had arisen from the cauldron. Once tall, handsome, and gaunt, the Dark Lord now looked nothing like the charismatic leader who had rallied the pureblood supremacists to his side. He was a grotesque humanoid with glowing red eyes and frighteningly serpentine characteristics.

Even worse, he appeared to be insane. He spent hours muttering to himself about some prophecy, and would fly into unpredictable rages that usually ended in some poor soul being tortured into agony. He had very little regard for his followers, and Peter wondered how they could possibly recruit new blood to this monster's cause.

Thank Merlin for Lucius Malfoy, thought Pettigrew. The Dark Lord had cursed Malfoy mercilessly for an entire week, just because he had lost some book he had been entrusted with. But now Malfoy seemed to be the only person the Dark Lord would listen to.

Their Master had wanted to raid Azkaban immediately. Once his most faithful were back at his side, he had wanted to unleash a torrent of bloodshed the likes of which the world had never seen. But somehow Lucius had shown him the wisdom of waiting. He could hide his return and gather a stronger base of power in the Ministry. Then, when the time was right, he would be able to strike a surprise blow that would bring the wizarding world to its knees.

Pettigrew wasn't sure he would live to see that day. He had been tortured every single day for the last three weeks. He would have to convince the Dark Lord that his animagus form made him a valuable spy somewhere out in the field. Anywhere, really. As long as it far away from his Master.

Closing his eyes from the effects of the whiskey, Peter Pettigrew drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Meanwhile, a hundred or so miles to the east, an elderly wand-maker exited his shop in Diagon Alley and prepared to apparate home. He never saw the stunner that hit him in the back or felt the forced apparition that took him forever away from his beloved shop.

.....

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