Laura Walker (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} googlebrat) wrote,@ 2007-08-20 21:21:00 |
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| Entry tags: | fic |
Ticket to Ride
Once again I thank perryvicfor bullying me, for checking things for me, and for introducing me to the concept of pyschopomps. She's helpful like that;-)
You should probably read End of the Line, Mischief Managed, and The Station Clock Said Twelve before reading this. Things will make more sense if you do.
TITLE: Ticket to Ride
RATING/WARNINGS: Gen, spoilers for DH (obviously) Humour/angst.
PAIRING(S): None
SUMMARY:
The Guard had had to deal with many issues in the past – the lost, the confused, the angry and trains never arriving on time. A station guard’s life was never a quiet one, especially at this platform.
A rat in the vending machine however, was a whole new issue.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own Harry Potter, and Death probably owes a certain amount to Terry Pratchett, at least insofar as he TALKS LIKE THIS. Hogfather also managed to inspire a sentence at the end. For this one, I also don't own Death of Rats or the raven
***
The Guard had had to deal with many issues in the past – the lost, the confused, the angry and trains never arriving on time. A station guard’s life was never a quiet one, especially at this platform.
The Guard had had to deal with many issues in the past – the lost, the confused, the angry and trains never arriving on time. A station guard’s life was never a quiet one, especially at this platform.
A rat in the vending machine however, was a whole new issue.
At least they didn’t have to worry about visits from health inspectors here – or about disease for that matter. Still, it was likely that passengers would complain even more if they found tiny teethmarks on their snacks, and so he carefully unscrewed the front of the machine, opening it up.
The unfortunate rodent tried to escape, scrabbling to hide behind the chocolate bars. However, as generations of wizards had already found out, there was no way to hide or escape from this Guard. Sooner or later, he would always catch up with you.
He stood up, holding the struggling rodent between finger and thumb, and looked at it thoughtfully.
HMM.
The rat squeaked pitifully, and tried to escape, kicking and wriggling. The Guard took no notice however, calmly carrying the animal back to his office.
***
The office was a place few passengers ever got to see into, and the Guard carefully shut behind him to preserve that inner sanctum before he dropped the rat unceremoniously on top on his desk.
IS THIS YOURS?
There was a scratching noise from a large box with Lost Property scrawled across the front, and a moment later, the head of a skeletal rat popped up.
The Guard did not appear to find this at all surprising.
SQUEAK. The small skeleton looked at the rat on the desk, and shook its head, SQUEAK EEK SQUEAK.
I SEE. Again, the Guard scrutinised the rat on his desk, and reached as though to pick it up.
That, it seemed, was too much for the rat. It squeaked again, and backed away over the desk, trying to avoid his bony fingers. That drew an interested meow from the station cat who was watching the little animal with great interest. At that noise the rat jerked, gave a shiver, and a moment later had transformed into a short, quivering man. He rolled off the desk, and made a hasty dash for the door, looking panicked when he realised it was locked.
“What’s that?” It is perhaps a sign you have spent too long in rat form when the object of terror you gesture to first is the cat, rather then the very small animated skeleton.
IT’S A CAT. Something in the Guard’s tone said that nothing good was coming from criticising the black and white tom who was currently eying the man as though trying to weigh up whether or not he was now too big to pounce. I LIKE CATS.
“Oh.” The man said weakly, keeping his back to the door, eyes on the cat. “I see.”
I TEND TO PREFER THAT PASSENGERS KEEP THEIR OWN SHAPES WHILE ON THE PLATFORM. The Guard commented, watching him quite calmly from behind the desk, ALSO, YOU APPEAR TO HAVE GNAWED THE PLATFORM’S GALAXY BARS. WHY IS THIS?
“It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t mean to!” The little man’s voice wasn’t much less shrill that the rat’s squeaking had been.
AND YET YOU WERE THE ONE IN THE VENDING MACHINE. The Guard observed. He eyed the man’s right arm, which appeared to cut off abruptly at the wrist. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR HAND, PERSON-WHO-IS-ALSO-A-A-RAT?
“Peter. It’s Peter.” The man looked down at the missing appendage, and flushed, “I uh.. I lost it. It wasn’t my fault!” he added defensively, as though expecting the Guard to accuse him of something, “Someone made me, and I was scared, and…”
The Guard stood up abruptly, and Peter cowered back, looking terrified. It seemed though, that the Guard was only on the way to the Lost and Found box. He lifted the rat skeleton out first, and then delved deeply, bringing out such oddities as an ear, what looked like some monstrous baby – still crying as he set it on the desk - and a bag full of marbles.
Peter shuddered, paling as he heard the crying, and tried not to look at the baby, but the Guard was holding something out to him.
THIS, I BELIEVE, IS YOURS. He advised, offering Peter a disembodied hand. A moment later he pulled a finger out of the bottom of the box, and handed that to Peter as well, looking at him as though this was an everyday occurrence.
Peter took them, not sure quite what to do with them, but feeling that it was the expected thing to do. He needn’t have worried. The flesh wasn’t cold and dead as he had expected, but warm. The hand twisted in his grip, and he gave a yell of surprise, almost dropping it. It pulled determinedly though, tugging on his left hand until it reached his empty right wrist where it reattached itself, sealing the flesh as though it had never been apart. The finger behaved similarly.
YOU SHOULD BE MORE CAREFUL WITH YOUR BODY PARTS. The Guard remarked, watching as the event took place. IT IS NOT AS THOUGH THEY GROW ON TREES. ONLY ON HUMANS. HA HA HA.
Peter laughed weakly, and eyed the door again. Even if the Guard seemed friendly enough, he was not someone most people wished to stay in close proximity to for long.
Still, while he was here, there was something he should ask. “The trains on the platform, where do they go?”
ONLY TO HOGWARTS, AND TO ONE OTHER PLACE. The Guard gave him the same answer he gave all of his passengers.
“I know that, but which other place? Is it the same for everyone?” Now he had two hands again, Peter was free to wring them anxiously, shifting from one foot to the other, “It’s just that I had these friends, and I did something, and they might not understand why, and so I really don’t want to go to the same place as they do. And there are… other people I want to avoid too – not my fault, not my fault, but no-one understands. And I’m a little worried the train might not understand either, and send me to the wrong place – but you must be able to tell me where it would take me, surely?”
The Guard’s expression was not an unkind one, but he shook his head slowly. I AM SORRY. IT WAS NOT ME WHO PURCHASED THE TICKET.
And that it seemed was the only answer he was going to get.
***
Perhaps after that incident Peter should have known to keep to his human shape. He had gotten used to the rat form being better for hiding and protection though. When a familiar trio of boys came by, too wrapped up in their own conversation to notice Peter at first sight, it was instinct to slip back into that other shape and scurry to hide himself, squeezing under the tea machine.
It wasn’t his fault, it hadn’t been his fault, but that didn’t mean he was ready to explain that to them yet. They wouldn’t understand. They never had.
It seemed he had been seen darting under the machine however. As soon as he poked his nose out from under the machine he was seized, and he squealed frantically as he was dragged out and into the air.
He changed back in mid-air and fell to earth with a thud. A white owl released the back of his shirt and flew to the top of the station. She stared down and hooted at him reproachfully.
It seemed even the pets of the Marauders’ family were trying to get him now. Life didn’t get much worse than that. Not did death for that matter.
“That would be a pyschopomp.” The voice addressing him seemed to come from Peter’s feet. “She was only trying to make you get on the train. Well, that or break your neck before devouring you. It’s a bit hard to tell with the owl ones sometimes.”
Peter looked down. A raven was standing there, looking up at him. Next to it was the skeletal rat from the Guard’s office. It waved up at him, in what appeared to be a friendly manner.
SQUEAK.
“My friend, the rat here,” The raven said, “Says that he realises he has no official jurisdiction over you, so to speak, what with you not being a real rat and all. However, he would very much appreciate you getting the train, if only because he’ll be the one that gets blamed when you widdle in the tea machine.”
Wizards are meant to get used to surreal situations fairly quickly. Even so, Peter couldn’t help staring a little.
“But I didn’t widdle in the tea machine!” he protested, “I think the tea’s actually meant to taste like that!”
SQUEAK.
“The rat says he appreciates that, and that many people might say that rat widdle might indeed improve the flavour of tea from this particular machine. However, the next train will be along in ten minutes, and he really would be very grateful if you were on it. He’s got this territorial rat-thing going on, you see?”
“You got all of that, just from SQUEAK?”
“He’s good at being succinct.”
“I see,” Peter continued staring. As far as his senses could tell, this was no transfiguration, no illusion. Just a completely normal talking raven and rat skeleton. Because yeah, that was normal.
He shook himself, as though coming out of a dream, and continued, “In any case, I can’t get the train. There’s some things – they weren’t my fault, but…”
“Going back to Hogwarts then?” The raven asked conversationally, “I hear they’ve always got room for another ghost over there.”
Peter hesitated. Appealing as the idea of escaping to a known destination was, the idea of being eternally trapped at Hogwarts, on display as a ghost for everyone to see for all eternity, was not so inviting. Could Death Eaters hurt ghosts? Could Dementors? Could Harry Potter? He didn’t know, but if any one of those three could… he shivered.
“No.” he said slowly, “I don’t think so.”
“Then you’ll be wanting to get the train.” The raven insisted, “It’s the only other place you can go.”
“I suppose so.” Peter agreed without enthusiasm. He scratched his head unhappily, rubbing a hand over his bald patch, “What would you do if you were here, and had nowhere left to go?”
“Hey, don’t ask me, friend. I never signed up for that whole pyschopomp lark. Not enough eyeballs. Leave that to the owls and sparrows.” The bird said hastily, “No, I’m just here to pass a message. Provide a translation service as it were.”
SQUEAK.
“The rat says that if you want to stay here, that’s up to you, but if you widdle on his territory he’ll chew your finger back off.”
Being caught once as a rat was unfortunate, but twice should really have been a warning not to do it again. This time, however, it was Bellatrix Lestrange who frightened Peter. The black-haired woman was some distance from Peter, examining train timetables, but once glance at her was enough to send him shrinking down into rat shape.
This time, he didn’t even get chance to flee under the nearest piece of furniture. The station cat had been watching Peter oddly since the office incident, and it was quite delighted to get the chance to pounce. There wasn’t much prey to be found on Platform Nine-And-A-Three-Quarters, so it really had to take it where it could.
Of course, Peter could have changed back to human form again, but compared to a game of cat-and-mouse with Bellatrix, the same game with an actual cat seemed almost gentle in comparison. At least cats didn’t look on Unforgivables as light recreation. He curled up tightly, closed his eyes, and hoped to be safely out of Bellatrix’s sight before he had actually been disembowelled.
This time, however, he was lucky enough to be rescued.
“Bad kitty then. Come here, kitty, give Rowena the nice mousie.” The voice was female, and kind hands gently took Peter from the cat’s mouth, smoothing his fur down before setting him down on the ground. Peter stayed curled up, not opening his eyes, half-afraid to see who it was. If there was something his life had taught him was that things could always get worse.
It seemed there was no escaping though. A wand tapped him firmly on the back. “Come on then, dear. The cat’s gone now. Let’s see who you really are.”
Despite his determination to stay in rodent form, Peter’s shape twitched, quivered and grew stretching back into his own body – though he was still crouched on the floor with his hands over his head. He opened his eyes, found himself looking up at nothing more frightening than an elderly woman, and stood up awkwardly.
“That’s better, dear.” Rowena nodded approvingly, “It’s much better to be a man than a mouse. What were you hiding from? You’ll miss the train if you don’t hurry.”
“It’s a rat not a mouse.” Peter blurted defensively, and flushed. “And I’m not getting the train.”
“I see,” Rowena didn’t seem surprised by this somehow. She looked Peter up and down, sharp brown eyes taking in every detail, “Waiting for someone, are you?”
Peter shook his head.
“Ah. Waiting for something then?”
Again, Peter shook his head, “I just… I can’t get the train. There’s… some people who blame me for something – something that wasn’t my fault. I can’t go to the same place as them. But I can’t go back to Hogwarts either. Really, I don’t know where to go.”
“Perhaps then you are looking for something, and do not know what it is yet.” Rowena decided. She looked Peter up and down once more, and then took his shoulder firmly, propelling him to the nearest bench. “Sit down, dear. People rarely think as well standing up. Now, tell me about these people.”
This part Peter hated. It was so hard to tell the story in a way that showed how it wasn’t his fault. He looked down, half-tempted to try the rat trick again, then saw the station cat eying him hungrily from a few metres away.
Perhaps better not to in that case then.
“I had some friends.” He said quietly, “A long time ago now. And they trusted me – I was meant to be their Secret Keeper – and I betrayed them. But it wasn’t my fault!”
“No?” There was no condemnation in Rowena’s brown eyes, only gentle curiosity. “Tell me then.”
“The person I told – their enemy – I was afraid. I just thought – I knew he was going to win. I knew we were all going to die when he did and I just thought… I thought if we were all going to die anyway, then maybe it would be better if at least one of us didn’t.” Peter shifted on his bench. The explanation never sounded quite the same way out loud as it did in his head.
“Ah. But it wasn’t your fault?”
“I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t believed we were going to lose!” Peter protested, even though Rowena seemed to give nothing to protest against. Her expression stayed the same – calm, patient, listening to what he had to say. “I mean, what did they want me to do? Die?”
“I see.” The old woman nodded, still passing no judgement on the whole affair.
“And then afterwards, it was like they were sorry I wasn’t dead.” Peter went on, “And, and, well of course I went back to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I had no choice! Even he knew that!”
“But it wasn’t your fault?”
Peter stared at his new hand miserably, fingering the place where the wrist joined, where there really should have been a scar… and wasn’t. It was the fear, his life had been a study in fear and in the end the fear had always been stronger than any faith in himself. “Well,” he admitted very quietly, for the first time, even to himself. “Maybe it was a little my fault.”
Rowena just looked at him, as though waiting for more.
“I was afraid – I always get myself in such a mess when I’m afraid. And they knew that – all the Marauders knew that!” he said, voice turning angry and defensive again, “It was their fault – why did they even make me their Secret-Keeper, knowing that? They made me choose!”
The old lady didn’t flinch back or react to Peter’s anger, but held his gaze with those calm, patient brown eyes, “Perhaps,” she suggested softly, “They trusted you. More than you trusted yourself.”
“Yes.” Peter dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers distractedly through his hair. “Merlin. I wish they hadn’t.”
“No-one can undo what is already done.” Rowena informed him, her voice kindly, “Not even here. All anyone can do is work with what they have. That is the rule.”
“That was what started the whole stupid mess.” Peter admitted, “Sirius was meant to be their Secret-Keeper – they should have kept it like that. It would have been fine like that. Then they switched it, and I just thought “But what if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named comes looking for me? I wouldn’t be able to resist, then all of us would die.” He ran his fingers through his hair again, not noticing when this time they failed to find the bald spot. “Then after than, things just kept getting worse. I just... I couldn’t seem to stop it!”
He could remember it still – all the papers headlining that Voldemort was winning, that he was bound to win, and the creeping, sick knowledge dogging his every step, that he had information that the Dark Lord would – quite literally – kill for. How could he keep that secret, knowing what would happen to him when it was found out?
Sirius would have. A treacherous little voice inside Peter’s head noted, and he winced, trying to bury the thought. He looked at Rowena helplessly. “I spent over a decade as a rat. Isn’t that punishment enough?”
“I don’t know.” Rowena turned the question back to him, “Is it?”
Peter was quiet for a long moment. It seemed harder here somehow to tell yourself lies, harder still when facing a train that was likely to ignore all attempts of self-justification. “Probably not.” He admitted eventually, “Do you see now why I can’t get the train?”
Rowena looked at him for a moment, her head slightly to one side, before she nodded, “Come with me.”
For an old lady she was surprisingly nimble, and Peter found himself having to hurry to keep up with her quick steps. “Where are we going?”
“Look,” Rowena gestured in answer, across to where a woman was speaking to the guard. From the expression on her face, she wasn’t liking the answers she was getting either.
Recognising the woman, Peter shrank back, “That’s Bellatrix Lestrange!” he whispered, voice going up into a frightened squeak, “I can’t let her see me!”
“Oh, she won’t notice you, dear. She’s far too caught up in her own affairs.” The old woman shook her head, “Every day the train comes, and every day I see her ask the Guard where it’s going, and yet somehow when it leaves the platform she’s always still here, always still looking after it. You tell me why that should be?”
It was a revelation that made Peter stare a little. It was one thing for him to be stuck here, but quite another for someone as powerful as Bellatrix. “But she’s one of the strongest witches alive – uh, dead now I guess.”
“Oh sweetheart, if power mattered here, I would have gone home with my daughter centuries ago.” Rowena chuckled a little sadly. “But that one… she could have gone home long ago, if only she would let herself. I saw her sister once – pretty girl, looks a lot like your Bellatrix does. She could have gone with her if she’d had a mind to.”
“Narcissa – no, Andromeda.” Peter guessed quickly. After all, it wasn’t as though Bellatrix and Narcissa were much alike in looks, “But Andromeda wouldn’t go with her?”
“Dearest, Andromeda never got the chance.” Rowena shook her head, “Bellatrix looked at her, and I could see her face light up, and I thought to myself “Aha, that’s the one she’ll be taking the train with.” But then she set her eyes on the girl’s husband, and, well…” she shrugged her shoulders, and sighed, “It’s a shame.”
Peter wasn’t quite so sure he agreed with that. He’d spent long enough in Malfoy Manor to see what Bellatrix was capable of. He wasn’t eager to get any train that she would be sharing. “So she could get on the train?” he asked uncertainly.
“She could get on the train.” Rowena confirmed. She turned, and crouched a little to get on an eye-level with Peter, and Peter found himself wondering when he had become that short. He was sure he had been taller than her when they started talking. “Listen to me, dear. All it takes to get on the train is enough goodness in you to love and be loved in return. Whether she deserves it or not, your Bellatrix was loved, but she won’t let herself love her sister in return. She knows what she’s done, and Merlin knows, whatever it is, it frightens her too much for her to board alone. But unless she forgives her sister for her marriage – and she won’t – she has no-one to board with. ”
“And I have no-one who would want to board with me.” Peter said mournfully, “So we’re in the same boat, in the end.” Though it seemed quite unfair that Bellatrix, frightening as she was, should have somebody when he, Peter, had nobody at all.
“Don’t be so sure of that.” Rowena said seriously, She gripped Peter’s shoulders, looking at him hard, “But what you have to understand is, this is the time for last chances. No more lies, no more grudges, no more silly games. If you don’t forgive someone here, if you don’t tell the truth here, there’s no more chances. Do you understand me, Peter?”
A little startled, Peter nodded uncertainly, “Yes?”
“Good boy.” Rowena released him, and straightened up, “Then there’s somewhere we need to go.”
This time she took his hand as they hurried across the Platform, back towards the Meeting Point. For the first time, Peter let himself look at the people who were waiting there. When he saw her, he gaped for a moment, then tried to shrink behind Rowena again. She turned, feeling his hesitation, “What is it?”
“I can’t see her!” Peter hissed at her, panicked, “She thought I was dead! Everybody thought I was dead! And now… she’ll know what I’ve done. Everyone does. I can’t.”
“Peter,” And once again, Rowena’s voice was serious, “You’ve done some bad things, it’s true. I’m not excusing you them. But I have a daughter, and she too has done some bad things. And I’m waiting here because I know that one day she’s going to stop hiding from me at Hogwarts, and she’s going to come here and tell me the things she’s done. Even if it takes another thousand years, when she does, I’ll still be here, and I’ll be waiting to forgive her. You can spend eternity hiding from the things you’ve done, Peter, but if you do, you’ll never leave the station.”
“But… how can I, how can she forgive that?” Peter looked terrified still, “She’s going to be so disappointed.”
“Dearest, didn’t you know?” Rowena looked down at him fondly now, smoothing his hair, “There are people to whom even Unforgivable Curses are forgivable. That’s what mothers are for.”
Still Peter looked unconvinced. Rowena gave him a little push, “She loves you, Peter. But she can’t, if you won’t let her.”
He stumbled forward a step, and then another as his mother saw him, and opened her arms to him. And then he was in her arms, and nine years old again, a little boy finally confessing a hidden misdeed.
“Mother, I did something, something awfully wrong.” He blurted the words, and then hesitated, swallowing for the first time the urge to blame someone else, “It was my fault.”
There was no revulsion in reaction, no horror, just a fierce embrace and gentle hands stroking his back. “I know, dear. I’ve been waiting so long for you to be ready to tell me about it.”
Rowena watched as the pair headed away, going finally to catch one of the trains that Peter had been so frightened of, and smiled for herself. She had known from the very beginning what it was Peter Pettigrew was waiting so long for.
Redemption.
***
ETA: Now up, On The Wrong Track and Terminus
