Chapter 182: 4-1
It is Saturday. Having finished a boring class for what must be the third time when combining Harry’s time and Maria's life, I grab Harry’s hand and dash out into the courtyard. The air is fresh and delicious. Together with Harry, I take a deep breath to the bottom of my lungs. After all, until just a moment ago, we were stuffed into a damp, dusty dungeon. —Yes, it was time for Potions.
"When you think of the dungeons, Snape leaves a strong impression, but to think they’ve been using that room since Slughorn’s time..."
"It's probably because they can't change classrooms due to ingredient storage. Draco also used to say that it's standard to keep brewed potions and ingredients in the dungeons."
Phew. We both let out a sigh. The lesson covered a very simple Cure for Boils meant for beginners, so both Harry and I were secretly relieved—but only for a moment. Slughorn decided to test us. Especially me, Maria. It seems he had high expectations since I'm the younger sister of his favorite, Lily Evans. Pointing at us as we quickly finished brewing the boil cure, he asked, "Would you like to step things up a bit?" and assigned us the brewing of a potion meant for third-years. As for the result... well, you can guess. For an ordinary person without the cheat codes from the Half-Blood Prince's textbook, "passable" is the best one can do.
"Slughorn's face when he saw it..."
"Since both Mum and Snape are in this year group, it’s only natural that his expectations for students are sky-high."
Hah. Another sigh. There are no classes on Saturday afternoons, so Harry and I discussed how we should spend our time after lunch while being led along by our parents and their best friends.
"What do you want to do, Harry?"
"I wonder..."
"I've got Quidditch practice after lunch. From what I hear, Harry, you're chosen for a glorious Quidditch team in the future, aren't you? How about it, want to have a match with your dad?"
"...You probably shouldn't. I'd win."
"You're surprisingly cocky, aren't you?"
On the way to the Great Hall, the two fathers were dumbfounded by the cheeky joke from Harry, who was finally getting his groove back. Seeing this, Mother Lily and I giggled together. That was very much like James just now. At her words, Harry smirked.
"Well—I am a Potter, after all."
"What should we do, Maria? At this rate, I'm afraid we'll be overwhelmed by the Potter genes."
"Just between us, I'm actually a Potter too."
"So Mum has no allies left!"
Finally, loud, cheerful laughter from both boys and girls echoed down the corridor. The one to react to it wasn't us, nor any of the original Marauders, but a single male student approaching from the opposite direction.
"Lily."
"Cresswell! Good day."
"Old Sluggy was asking for you. The usual lunch party."
"...Does it have to be today?"
"You've already skipped three times in a row. He's going to get bent out of shape soon."
"That... sounds incredibly bothersome..."
Shaking her head as if she had no choice against the boy's warning-like invitation, Lily turned back, her glossy red hair fluttering in the breeze.
"It's a shame, but I think I'll go humor him today."
"Let's walk together as fellow Prefects until we get there, then, Lily. I have business with Slughorn too. Do you mind, Cresswell?"
"...Suit yourself."
"Thank you. I will."
Just like that, the familiar group split into two, adding an unfamiliar boy to the mix. As a result, the destination for those of us following James changed from the Great Hall to the Quidditch pitch. On the way, we stopped by the kitchens to pick up lunch: lemonade and a basket packed to the brim with three kinds of sandwiches. I have immense respect for the house-elves who provide delicious meals across any era.
Suddenly, I recalled the unpleasant look on Cresswell's face earlier, showing his dissatisfaction with Professor Lupin tagging along. Carrying the basket between Harry and me, I looked up at my father questioningly.
"That's Dirk Cresswell. He's a year below us and one of the old collector's favorites. He probably fancies Lily. A fruitless endeavor for the bloke."
"Are you and Sirius not Slughorn's favorites?"
""No way!""
The soul twins, perfectly in sync, looked at each other and smirked with a presence that would put James II and Fred II to shame—no, with the true dignity of the original Marauders.
"We brought Treacle Fudge as a thank-you gift for a gracious dinner invitation—" "—And got kicked out and told never to return. Even though it was Hagrid's finest masterpiece."
Oh, these two, honestly... I held my head, practically able to visualize the tragedy. It certainly wouldn't have been a fun meal with pleasant conversation—because once your teeth stick together, they don't part, much like cement. That's Hagrid's Treacle Fudge for you.
Nursing a fresh headache over these two—the very foundation of the blood and beliefs of the troublemakers who had repeatedly summoned this father to Hogwarts during Harry's time—we arrived at the Quidditch pitch. Here, we parted ways with James and Sirius, who was crashing the Quidditch practice. Now—all that remained were us Potter siblings and the fated Pettigrew.
"I, um—I was thinking of bringing them chilled Pumpkin Juice instead of lemonade! I'll get some for you guys too, so wait here."
"Peter."
"I'll be right back."
The small, round, rat-like figure sharply turned his back to us and scurried away. It reminded me exactly of a cowardly little villain fleeing with his tail tucked between his legs. I'm sure Harry, standing next to me, saw the exact same thing in his retreating back.
"Pettigrew isn't like that because he's naturally helpful, like Mum or Lupin says. It's just a servant mentality."
"Yeah, you're right... It's similar."
The words spilled out unexpectedly. Like the round, short stature. Or the timid attitude rooted in a lack of self-confidence. —Or the fact that they are both in Gryffindor.
—Neville Longbottom is a wonderful person.
He is incredibly capable, at times possessing a courage that surpasses even Harry's, and he too possessed the destiny and qualifications to be the other hero. Harry was Neville, and only Neville could have become the hero Harry was.
And if Neville had been stripped of every means to fight his destiny, left to live entirely alone in the darkness... I am struck by the cruel premonition that Pettigrew's pathetic figure might have been his alternate future.
"S-Sorry to keep you waiting."
"Peter."
We welcomed Pettigrew back as he somehow approached us, skillfully carrying four bottles. We moved to a spot where we had a good view of James and the others flying around and unpacked the basket. I sat down between Harry and Pettigrew.
"You know, Peter... you are capable. Much more than you think you are."
"..."
At my casually muttered words as I tilted my bottle, Peter Pettigrew widened his slightly asymmetrical eyes before looking down with a brooding expression. —It was a blatant inferiority complex.
"Don't you understand that saying things like that just makes me feel miserable? No, you wouldn't. It's fine, people like you don't understand how someone who lives in the shadows feels."
"..."
"A sycophant, a bag-carrier, a rat scrounging off the scraps of the popular kids—I'm just part of their background. We're not equals. I can't even serve as a foil for them. ...Honestly, I doubt we're even friends."
"Peter..."
"—I only started talking to them because Remus introduced us."
Pettigrew muttered quietly.
"Otherwise, how could someone like me hang out with them? At first, I was happy, full of a sense of superiority. They're cool, they're everyone's heroes. They sparkle. They're strong. But... they're too strong. We don't match. I desperately try to keep up, but just standing behind them takes everything I have. And then—before I knew it, even standing behind them became agonizing, but it's too late to walk away now. If I lose them, I'll be completely alone..."
"...Listen, Peter."
I held up a hand to stop Harry, who had opened his mouth as if he couldn't bear it anymore. Harry still hasn't settled things within his own heart. Even I, who have lived twice as long as him, can't put a definite name to my feelings toward Pettigrew.
The words of a lost child can't even pass for hypocrisy.
"If we had been friends with you much earlier, for example, the future might have been different."
"Maria..."
"For example, if you had been sorted into Hufflepuff, and lived a life where you never got involved with my dad and the others—"
Surely Neville would never have snuck into the Department of Mysteries, nor would he have faced the snake with the Sword of Gryffindor in his hands. A Hufflepuff Neville would have lived a far more peaceful life. If he had been a Neville Longbottom who never met Harry Potter.
But, even so. As his friend—I arrogantly wish for it anyway.
"I'm glad you both were in Gryffindor."
Dad, Mum, Sirius, Professor Lupin—everyone must feel the same. Because they are your friends.
"Maria, Harry... you really are their children, aren't you?"
Pettigrew's words were sarcastic. Yet, they possessed a strange gentleness.
"I asked the Harry I met before you two: What happens to me in the future? Harry said he didn't really know. Because we don't have much to do with each other... he said. —I suppose I'll disappear from your lives early on. And it won't be for the same reasons as the brave James and Lily."
"Peter."
"I know. It's about me, after all. I know my own cowardice better than anyone. —I'm going to run away. From you all."
Spotting us, James and Sirius waved from the sky. They smiled innocently down at Harry, Maria, and their best friend, Wormtail.
"So I'll finally be able to part ways with them, won't I?"
The voice beside me sounded almost joyful. Almost hopeful. He let out a slow breath, seeming liberated. And yet—Pettigrew's eyes followed his best friends against the backdrop of the sky, longing and yearning for them.
"...Didn't that Harry also tell you this? That neither James nor Sirius are invincible. —That someday, they will die too."
"..."
"When that time comes, I pray you feel the greatest regret in the world, Wormtail."
Engraving that meager curse into Pettigrew, I stand up. I hold my hand out to Harry. Harry grasps it. It's warm, soft—the hand of Maria's only remaining family. —An existence that I, Maria, can never surpass.
Turning my back on Wormtail, I offer a bitter smile as my father notices us and tilts his head in confusion, dodging a Bludger all the while. I think of their twisted, yet remarkably ordinary friendship.
We humans are bottomlessly arrogant, capable of letting likes, dislikes, love, and hate coexist all at once, while going about our lives as if nothing is wrong.
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