Bonds of Affection

The door shutting behind him, Harry stepped into the dark room that contained a single armchair and a fireplace. He looked around with trepidation. Shackles were attached to the wall, some of them still had traces of blood on them. A single bloodied whip lay on the stone floor, and Harry winced a little at the sight of it.



As if in response to his dread, cackling laughter greeted him, and the large chair span around, Peter Pettigrew coming to face Harry.



“The last surviving Potter,” Pettigrew said with a giggle of anticipation, locking his hands in a firm clasp. “Come here, Harry. Come closer.”



Harry swallowed hard, but did not allow his gaze to waver. He clenched his fists tightly and stepped forward, coming to stand before Pettigrew.



Peter surveyed him with delight. “Strip off your clothes, Harry,” he said with a smirk.



Harry gave him a brief glare. “I don\'t suppose I could call in a life-debt and talk you out of this?” he asked without much hope.



Pettigrew just laughed shrilly. “Silly boy. I will not kill you. You are too important to die this way. Now, will you strip on your own, or should I do it for you?”



With despair, Harry glanced at the enormously long, thick yellow fingernails on Peter\'s left hand, and the smooth, silver fingers on his right.



“I\'ll strip on my own,” he said, defeated. Quickly and with disdain, he removed his shirt, and unbuttoned his trousers, sliding them down, along with his shorts. He kept his boots on, but Pettigrew did not seem to mind.



“Good, good,” Pettigrew murmured appreciatively. “Nice boy. Come sit at my feet, with your back to me.”



Harry bit his lip and complied, lowering himself to the cold stone floor. He felt Pettigrew\'s boots come around and press against his hips, and he tensed involuntarily. Thick fingernails of Pettigrew\'s left hand scraped his head, parting his ridiculously short hair.



“That\'s quite a cut you have,” Pettigrew noticed. “Tell me what happened.”



Harry knew better than to interpret the question as a benevolent offer. “Draco hit me with Crutiatus. I banged my head against the wall,” he said, as indifferently as he could.



Pettigrew laughed, obviously delighted. “He really hates you, you know. Could you feel it?”



“Yeah,” Harry agreed dejectedly, his entire body freezing at the recollection. The memory of Draco\'s rage still coursed through his body.



Pettigrew almost purred. “I am quite proud of that achievement,” he murmured. “Yes. Very proud.”



Harry stiffened even more. “You made Draco hate me,” he said incredulously.



Pettigrew laughed softly. “Good heavens, no, Harry. You made him hate you. I just helped, that is all.”



“How?” Harry asked instantly. Pettigrew\'s filthy hand continued to rise and fall, stroking his hair, but he no longer cared. He wanted to know what the man had done... to him, to Draco... to everyone he had ever touched.



“Same way as always,” Pettigrew snickered. “As Scabbers, I attached myself to the trio... you, Hermione and Ron. You have no idea how easy it is for a pet to affect the mood the humans around it. Whenever Draco was around, I made sure that you three were just a little more bitter and hostile than usual. And then, of course, when Draco pushed you, you, Harry, the champion of justice, pushed back... each time just a little harder... always taking the hostilities to the next level... delightful, truly delightful.”



“I haven\'t done anything to Draco that he didn\'t deserve ten times over,” Harry spat furiously.



“Of course, of course,” Pettigrew agreed readily. “It\'s so beautiful, when wrath of the righteous brings about their own destruction... when those in the right feel they are entitled to exact revenge... as much as they want... Until their opponent runs to the Dark Lord\'s side.” Pettigrew\'s voice trailed off dreamily, as his hand rested on Harry\'s neck. “You and your friends helped drive Draco here, Harry. I love history repeating itself,” Pettigrew murmured. “Breathtaking when it happens.”



“You\'ve done it before,” Harry whispered with sudden understanding entering his mind. .



“Years ago,” Pettigrew confirmed. “At Hogwarts. You know, how the people of destiny always fall into groups of three? I was supposed to have a trio of my own, you know. Remus and Sirius were mine by right. They were supposed to be Dark. I was supposed to bring them to Lord Voldemort.”



“How do you figure they were supposed to be Dark?” Harry muttered. “That\'s ridiculous.”



“Please tell me you are joking,” Pettigrew chuckled. “A werewolf and a relation of Bellatrix? They were destined for terrible greatness. The greatness that your father had cheated them out of.”



“My father...” Harry repeated absently.



“What can I say?” Pettigrew laughed. “Your father was a better leader than I. I admit that freely. He drew them away from the Dark so easily, so effortlessly... I could never hope to compete with him. But I got him back, you see. I got him back.” Pettigrew petted Harry\'s head again. “Lean into my touch, Harry. Relax.”



Harry obeyed automatically, shutting his eyes, allowing the repulsive touch to soothe him. A wave of nausea reached his throat, but he forced it away.



“How did you get him back?” Harry asked neutrally.



“By doing what I do best. I attached myself to the group... and I destroyed the original intended trio. You see, there were the other three that were meant to be together. Lily Evans, James Potter and Severus Snape, were meant to be the trio of light. Just imagine... the love of Lily Evans... the courage of James Potter... the intelligence of Severus Snape... those three would have defeated Lord Voldemort back then, if they had been allowed to be together. But I, I did not let them,” Pettigrew stated with pride. “Since I could not have my own destined trio, I destroyed Potter\'s.”



“You got my father and Severus to feud,” Harry said incredulously. “How?”



Pettigrew chuckled. “You will be surprised at how easy it is to manipulate people who think they are in the right. A few well-placed environmental cues, a few hints and nudges here and there... and oh my. The drama unfolded. I was afraid, however, that the old Headmaster would interfere. So I took the liberty of leaving something in his office. A part of myself.”



“Rat droppings?” Harry asked venomously, and tensed slightly, expecting a blow, or Crutiatus. But Pettigrew just cackled at his words.



“Something like that,” he said peaceably. “A part of my essence. Something like a festering wound... ready to reopen at any time... Something that clouds the judgment of those who are a part of the original trio... makes them... lose faith... Locks them into a course of action filled with folly and resentment. I was given to understand that when your father and Severus tried reconciling in Dumbledore\'s office, they ended up fighting worse than ever. With James driving Severus right into the Dark Lord\'s fold. Astonishing, isn\'t it?”



“Yeah,” Harry said tiredly. “It really is.”



Suddenly, it made sense – all of it. Even the fact that Severus had let him drink Voldemort\'s potion now made sense. Pettigrew\'s subtle influence had lingered in Dumbledore\'s office, for over two decades, waiting for another chance to attach itself to Severus, or Lily and James... or the next best thing to them, Harry Potter.



“I destroyed what was meant to be,” Pettigrew said smugly. “Severus Snape was meant to be your parents\' confidant, their best friend, their defender, their secret-keeper... your godfather. Instead, he is your Master and owner... who started fucking you before you even finished growing up. I created a new path for him, and you. I hope it meets with your approval.”



Harry buried his face in his knees and choked back a sob. Desolation lay all around him, with him at the center of it... living out the rest of his life amidst the ashes of his parents\' destiny. Pettigrew stroked the back of his head with sickening gentleness.



“Get up, Harry,” Pettigrew commanded, almost kindly. “Get down on all fours. Lean down on your elbows. Bow your head.”



Mindlessly, Harry obeyed, positioning himself as ordered. For one brief moment he had considered attacking his tormentor, but then remembered Lucius\' warning – that Severus would be held accountable. With a low growl, he pressed his head to the floor and waited. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pettigrew pointing his wand at him.



“Such a proud boy,” Pettigrew said with a strange look in his eyes.



A spell was cast, and then another. For a moment, nothing happened – but then, Harry\'s entire body shuddered in pain. His back was covered in welts, and his backside was throbbing violently from the agony of a violation that never took place. He gasped and collapsed on the floor, feeling blood trickle down his back and his thighs.



“Get out of here,” Pettigrew said calmly. His voice sounded almost sane as he spoke. “Collect your clothes and leave.”



Harry lifted himself off the floor, in a daze. His entire body was a knot of agony, but he had not been touched – and he felt something akin to gratitude.



Trembling from indescribable torment, Harry gathered his clothing off the floor. He could not even think of dressing himself – ever move hurt beyond words.



“Goodbye, Harry,” said the voice of the last Marauder. “Try not to come back.”



He just pressed the bundle of his clothing to his chest, and walked out, unsteadily and slowly, heading down the hallway, hoping to find Severus. Harry thought he heard his voice in a distance, and he followed the direction of that voice, even as his vision began to blur. A few long minutes later, he stood at the doorway to the Main Hall. Voldemort was not there, but he saw Bellatrix, Lucius and Severus, sitting down. Severus lifted his eyes and looked at Harry\'s battered body. His face was completely expressionless, but the black eyes glared dangerously. Harry stumbled forward, and knelt down at his feet, burying his head in his lap with a stifled sob.



“Master,” he sobbed quietly, unable to utter any other word. “Master.”



...To Be Continued ....