Harry Potter :Diamond Heart

The grass was wet. For every two steps Harry made up the slight slope, he slid one backwards, but the tree line at the edge of the quidditch gradually grew closer. He would make it.

Pettigrew, the ice in his chest tightened viciously at the thought of the traitor, should still be here.

A shadow lurked, short and furtive, twitching beneath the pines.

Peter Pettigrew.

Something within the ice uncoiled, something hungry, something selfish. It raised its head, opening eyes within himself that Harry had never known he had had. With its awakening came memories. The fury of his uncle when he yelled that Harry was nothing but a freak, the quiet contempt and spite of his aunt, the learned hate and disgust of Dudley, and every moment he could recall in which he had believed, or known, or thought that something else might have been worth more than he was.

I will not become nothing.

He disillusioned himself.

The pine trees smelt just as he remembered when he smeared their sap across his fingertips. The sharp, sweet scent of pine resin that was forever associated with spilt unicorn blood, acromantula and werewolves, overpowered any scent he might leave. The instincts of a rat would not save Wormtail.

'Incarcerous,' Harry hissed triumphantly. The unmistakeable silhouette of the treacherous animagus flinched, but it was too late. His emotions twisted the intent of the spell beyond the black ropes he had intended. Thin, cruelly barbed wires, snared the rat in a net he could not have escaped in either of his forms, cutting into his skin. Hoarfrost coated the metal, lacing the iron with icy spines.

'Were you waiting for someone?' he asked, dispelling his invisibility. 'Another hapless student to hide with, an innocent victim to betray.'

'Harry,' Pettigrew's voiced somewhere between relief and fear.

wavered

'Expecting some else?' he asked guilelessly, Tom Riddle's charming smile spreading across his face. Something flickered through Pettigrew's eyes. He had been waiting for someone, but Harry didn't care. He wasn't here for anyone else, there was no stone to save, no misled little girl and no wronged godfather. This moment was simply his.

'What are you going to do?' Wormtail whined. He tried moving, twisting within the wires, but they only cut more deeply into his skin. Blood began to run in tiny trickles across his pale, dirty skin.

'I'm not going to hurt you,' Harry promised.

'I know you aren't,' Pettigrew whispered, 'your parents would never want you to do something so cruel, but the wires are tight, Harry, they're hurting.'

'You know something, Peter?' Harry stretched his smile wider, pouring innocent emotion into his eyes. The creature of ice uncoiled further within his chest, its eyes narrowing, lips curling back before needle sharp teeth. 'No.' Pettigrew, for all his cowardice, was not stupid, he knew something was wrong and his voice was faint.

'I don't think,' his smile ceased all pretence of kindness, curving cold and cruel, 'that the dead want anything.' Pettigrew whimpered. 'I want something,' he continued, as Wormtail's eyes roved desperately.

'Revenge won't bring them back,' Pettigrew pleaded. 'If it did, I'd've turned the Dark Lord's wand against the monster himself the first chance I got. They were two of five people that cared about me. I was never brilliant like any of them, but they cared for me all the same. I wish, more than anything, that I'd remembered how to be brave when the Dark Lord found me. He was searching for Sirius and thought I might know. I wish I'd died then, and been remembered as I was for thirteen years, but I didn't, I wasn't, and I just want to live.'

'I spent eleven years wishing for parents,' Harry shared, with malice so sweet it seemed to drip from his tongue. 'Wishes like that, they just don't come true.'

The slim, ebony shape of his wand slipped from his sleeve again, eleven and a third inches of intent.

'If you kill me Sirius will never have his name cleared, take me to the aurors, to Dumbledore, to Azkaban, but kill me and he will never be free.'

It gave Harry pause. He had never considered that his action might have such severe consequences for his godfather.

Sirius didn't try to capture Pettigrew and clear his name, the voice, Riddle's voice, perhaps the horcrux's voice whispered. It was right. His godfather had wanted Peter dead, not a prisoner, or a soulless husk. The Ministry was unlikely to ever admit a mistake that had left an innocent man in Azkaban for more than a decade. Harry had met Fudge. The ice creature coiled tighter around his heart. Sirius would have wanted him to do this.

He deserves to die. He's already dead to the world.

Harry's grip on his wand tightened. Peter Pettigrew would be dead. The friend who had betrayed his parents would die to free him from the very fate his cowardice had condemned Harry to. It was almost poetic.

'Harry,' Pettigrew 'Harry, please.'

whispered desperately. His eyes were fixed on the tip of Harry's wand where, as his intent swelled, a point of bright green light had appeared.

Tom Riddle's smile twisted in a beautiful parody of triumph across Harry's face.

I won't be used. I won't be nothing.

The hot, black tip of Harry's wand, encased in incandescent green, came to hover between Pettigrew's eyes. It was perfectly still. The prospect of freedom, of escaping the fate he had all but resigned himself to in his naive, noble ignorant belief that sacrificing himself was the right way, had the creature of ice coiling and uncoiling in excitement within him.

'Do you know what the first two words I remember are?' he asked. The helpless Wormtail shook his head, squirming within the wires, staining both grey iron and white ice a bright crimson.

'I'm sure you can guess,' Harry told him pleasantly, mentally preparing himself for what was to come. The book and Riddle's notes had both spoken of pain beyond any name.

Tom Riddle's brilliant smile curved up on the left side of Harry's face, becoming his own.

There was a blinding green flash as Harry spoke the the first two words he had known. The pine trees were illuminated for an instant in the ghastly light of the curse he had been adamant he would never use. Their needles threw sharp shadows across the blank face of Peter Pettigrew.

Riddle's notes had contained the best clue at what came next. Two words, six letters, then four, the latter carved into the parchment.

Listen, the first instructed. The second was a warning. Pain.

There weren't words for magic like this, it was too abstract, too complex and emotional for simple latin to capture the intent. Harry could do no more than try to hear, to see, what he knew must be there.

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