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Seeing as I'm currently struggling with my Sirius/Severus fic, which is just getting longer and longer, because they insist on having some action and conversation before I can finally make them get down to business, I'm posting one of my older stories to keep potential readers entertained (and maintain a market presence - very important these days). In fact, this is the first fic I've completed and it gives the Bill smut I posted yesterday a bit of a background.
The Familiar and the Family is my take on Scabbers's first weeks with the Weasleys. Meet Baby!GinnyandRon, the Twins from Hell, and Bill and Charlie's Return.
Title: The Familiar and the Family
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, apart from Scabbers's inner monologue. How pathetic is this?
I.
The sweet scent of cinnamon and baked apples and vanilla is filling my nostrils, and I awake slowly from a deep sleep, curled up in myself, feeling warm and safe and... oddly happy. I stretch languidly, feeling my joints crack and my sleep-warm muscles shift smoothly under my skin. The suppressed tension never leaves me these days, no matter how relaxed my body seemingly is, and I guess I have to get used to it. It's my price to pay.
Hungry. I jump from the bed, careful not to wake my Master. I've got to take good care of him, I find myself thinking while following the delicious scents downstairs, he's got me and me alone. I will be faithful, I will be loving, and he will love me back. Nobody else loves him as I do, I tell myself while leaping down step by step.
I push the heavy door open... thank Merlin it does not close properly - weak and feeble as I am now, I would not have managed to open it otherwise, and with my injured arm as well - and enter the kitchen.
The rich smell of food hits my over-sensitised sinuses, almost painfully delicious in its intensity. My ears ring with the noise that seems to come from every corner of the room, which makes me tremble with apprehension. Loud noise hurts. Loud noise means trouble. I've learned that much. A deeply rooted instinct urges me to seek a mouse hole to hide in. I resist, focusing on the smell, my mouth watering uncontrollably.
I climb on the chair, and then quickly onto the table, out of reach of one... two pairs of hands, which try to grab me and, most likely, to pull my hairtailears. They're not very picky.
"Fred! George! Leave her alone!" The voice I have come to associate with food sounds highly displeased. "And you, Missy, have no business at all on the table. Off with you!"
Her hands are covered in dough, so she uses her elbow to push me off the table. Afraid of the Twins' from Hell new attack, I scramble quickly under the cupboard. Just in time. One pudgy hand brushes against my fur in the owner's vain attempt to grab my tail. I'm safe.
And I know that in a minute a large chunk of Something Delicious will make its way to the floor directly before my hiding place. I wait. She never lets me down.
The wailing and crying, stamping and rattling fade into the background as I listen, keenly, to the sound of chopping just above my head. I was right. A piece of the Christmas Cake is dropped to the floor, and I savour it greedily, feeling its cinnamony flavour gradually replace the familiar acidic, burning sensation in my stomach.
A loud bang! makes me jump, I feel my fur fluff up, go rigid with shock. Laughter sounds, shouts, feet runningstampingjumping, getting closer. I start trembling uncontrollably, am sure my eyes are bulging. Hope I won't pee on the floor.
"Bill, Charlie, don't! You scare the children!" I hear Mrs. Weasley shout at them - in vain. I've never met Bill and Charlie before, but from what I hear now, they seem to be the older, bigger - scarier - version of Fred and George, constantly moving, laughing, shouting and ready to pull tails and whiskers of an innocent bystander.
"Bill! Charlie! What did I tell you?" I distinguish Mrs. Weasley's voice over the all-consuming havoc. The babies have woken up and contribute to the noise as well as they can. And they can very well.
"Arthur! Take Ron out of his cradle and give him to me! And you take Ginny... Yes, there's a good boy, Ronnie... And you two, get your trunks upstairs and go wash your hands! And wake up Percy, he's having a nap. We're going to eat in a minute."
She's handling them masterly, the whole lot, I must admit. Slowly, I relax to the sound of two babies emptying their milk bottles and giving sleepy sighs of satisfaction. I peer from under my cupboard and see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sitting at the table, each cradling one child to their respective chests, looking into one another's eyes and smiling in a heartbreakingly quiet, happy sort of way.
II.
This peaceful bliss does not last long. George, apparently having been distracted by a shapeshifting lollipop his Dad brought him from his trip into town, now comes to the conclusion that Fred's lollipop has assumed the more interesting shape and tries to take it from his brother under many shouts of protest on Fred's side. The new breakout of noise wakes up Ginny, who is a very nervous baby, and her cries in turn upset Ron. The moment the elder boys return to the kitchen, the inferno has already broken loose again, and Mr. Weasley is desperately trying to separate his twins without doing any damage to either of them nor the little girl in his arms.
"Mum, Mum, guess what! Guess what, Mum!" one of the elder boys is pulling on his mother's apron, ignoring the fact that she is trying to simultaneously calm down little Ron and to prevent the Christmas biscuits in the oven from turning to charcoal. "Muuum! Listen!"
"Charles Weasley! If you do not sit down at the table and behave yourself in this instant, there will be no Christmas presents for you this year!... Nor the next year!" she adds for good measure.
This threat seems to work. I use the brief moment of quiet to look around and see the other newcomer - Bill - standing in the doorway, my Master's hand clutched tightly in his own. My heart does a wild jump. My boy! Percy!
Regardless of the numerous dangers awaiting a small animal like myself on the way through the kitchen, I leave my place under the cupboard and scatter across the room to my Master's feet. I can't help squeaking loudly with joy, and I use my sharp claws to pull myself halfway up his leg.
Bill laughs. "Hey, Perce, who's your little friend?"
"That's Margaret", says Percy solemnly. He is a serious child, a good boy who listens to his parents and never causes them any trouble. That's the reason why I chose him. I've had seen enough trouble-makers to last a lifetime.
I squeak a little louder, torn between happiness about the love and pride in his voice and exasperation about the fact that he thinks me a girl. In a strange sort of way, however, being mistaken for a female by a five-year-old makes me feel a mad pride of my own cleverness. His parents are too busy to even take a closer look at their son’s pet, and during the whole period of three or four weeks I have been staying here, they never discovered the truth. There is one person left in the entire wizading world who knows about Peter Pettigrew's rat identity - but even Remus would not go as far as looking for a she-rat, if, in his arrogance, he ever came across the idea that it was not his clever, dashing and sophisticated friend Sirius who outwitted them all, but the nondescript little Peter, until recently remembered only as sidekick to the infamous duo Black and Potter.
"Ouch!" I had not realised the hard grip my claws applied on Percy's hand. 'Sorry, Master', I squeak, licking the nine little marks I left on his palm and wrist. I notice Bill looking at me intrigued.
"She likes you", Bill says finally. "For a wizard, it's always good to have a familiar one can trust", he states in an authoritative tone. I see Percy looking up at his older brother with an expression of awe and admiration on his solemn little face. I feel the hair on my nape rise. I know this expression. It is the same one a certain Peter Pettigrew used to wear when looking up to his friends Black or Potter. The magnificent, famous, talented, gorgeous Black and Potter.
The hiss I hear is my own. I come to my senses instantly and see the entire family looking at me in an odd way.
"Now that's strange", says Mr. Weasley in that quiet voice of his. "She's never done that before. I guess she doesn't like you, Bill."
Instantly, Percy lets go of his brother's hand. My stomach gives a weird lurch and I feel my fur smoothing out, my claws relaxing on their own accord, and I keep squeaking uncontrollably. My boy! My Master!
"...And he's really creepy, Mum!" I hear Charlie's voice again.
"Come off it, Charlie!" says Bill dismissively, seating himself at the table and grabbing a handful of cinnamon biscuits before his mother can stop him. "He's not creepy at all! I think he's brilliant!"
"Who's creepy?" asks Percy timidly, trying to climb up the bench. It's too high for him; he's small for his five years, and his big brother helps him up, squashing me in the process.
I feel the urge to bite him. Considering it highly unwise, I simply hiss menacingly. Bill eyes me suspiciously.
"Where do you have this rat from, anyway?" he asks. "Does she have any interesting powers?"
"She's my friend", says my dear Master. "And I like her."
"Percy found her in the garden, when he was chasing gnomes. She instantly took a liking to him, it seems", Mr. Weasley explains. "She's called after a Muggle, as well", he adds as an afterthought. "You know how Cornelius Fudge is trying to establish a cooperation network between the Ministry of Magic and the Muggle Ministry? It's interesting: their Head, a woman, she's called Margaret, and Percy, who heard me mention her name, --
('Repeatedly', mutters Mrs. Weasley under her breath, only for rat-ears to hear.)
--must have mistaken it for a rat - you know, Margaret... 'ret'", he continues, oblivious of his eldest son's having switched his attention to more interesting matters than Muggle politicians' names: stories from Hogwarts. Percy is the only one in the family who never gets tired of his Muggle-loving father's obsession.
III.
Bill leans over the table and cuts off Charlie, who was just elaborating their new Hogwarts teacher's 'creepiness' and 'menacing looks' in detail. This sounds interesting.
"What a lot of rubbish, Charlie", Bill says. "Just because he dresses in black and is rather severe, does not mean he is a nasty person! Or even 'creepy'."
"And he's biased, too!" says Charlie, pointedly. "You said so yourself! He is biased towards the Slytherins."
"They are his House, after all", says Bill, and now I listen intently. "And after all these rumours and the anti-Slytherin propaganda all over the place, it is no wonder someone finally takes their side. They can do with some... emotional support from the staff!"
"Oh, come on, Bill! You don't like them or him any more than I do! You just want to prove your point", says Charlie annoyed.
"Bill! Charlie! That's enough!" Mrs. Weasley cuts in. "Make yourselves useful and put the plates on the table. Dinner's ready."
IV.
"Why do you get a new teacher in the middle of the term, anyway?" asks Mr. Weasley when everyone is seated and the boys tuck in heartily.
"It's because of the many losses on the staff, Dad", Bill answers. "Since You-Know-Who's downfall, some teachers didn't come back. They say..." he lowers his voice conspiratorially and leans towards his brothers, Percy looking up at him with huge, awe-filled eyes, "...they were... Death Eaters!"
Percy and Charlie jerk up, Percy's fork dropping to the floor with a lot of clatter.
"That's enough, Bill", Mrs. Weasley says sharply, while Mr. Weasley comforts the terrified Percy. "If you don't stop scaring your brothers, you'll go to your room with no dinner at all!"
"That's a lot of nonsense, Bill, as you very well know", says Mr. Weasley seriously. "Professor Majors quitted his position after the last term. What was the name of the teacher who was filling in?"
"Prfssr Grbbly-Plnk", Charlie says and is instantly scolded by his mother for talking with his mouth full. Bill grins.
"I remember a Grubbly-Plank from my days at Hogwarts. She graduated when we were in our fifth year, didn't she, Molly?", says Mr. Weasley thoughtfully. "I'm glad Professor Dumbledore found a regular teacher to take up the position. What's his name?"
"Snape!" says Charlie. "And he IS creepy!"
IV.
Life, I contemplate much later, curled in a tight ball on Percy's bed while my Master is having a bath, is a funny thing indeed. Who would have thought that Slimeball Snape, Death Eater candidate No. 1 from our very first year at Hogwarts and first-choice target for all sorts of Black'n'Potter induced pranks, would end up as a Hogwarts teacher - and Head of House - a mere one month after the world came to an end for most of us?
The Potters dead, Black in Azkaban, Lupin lonely and broken. I myself living as a rat named Margaret, my Master - ex-Master - destroyed. And this slimy git seems to have made it!
He must have been the spy who tipped off Dumbledore about the Potters, I conclude gloomily. The Dark Lord knew someone was working against him, but he was not sure about the traitor's identity. I had to give him the Potters quickly so he would stop suspecting me. I give a derisive snort; in my rat-shape, it sounds like a sneeze. Now I have made sure he would not suspect me! Hah!
V.
My snuffling noises must have attracted them. Suddenly, I feel a strong hand holding me in a tight grip. It's Bill. I hiss and try to bite, but the boy's clever. He holds me tightly, but gently, I must admit. Obviously, he does not want to hurt me.
"So, Mistress Margaret", he says, and his brother snickers. "Dad says Percy named you after a Muggle politician."
"Minister for Muggles", giggles Charlie.
"Prime Minister", corrects Bill. "Don't worry, Margaret. We don't want to hurt you. Just checking on you." I hiss and wriggle helplessly. The burning sensation in my stomach is back, and I wish I could piss on the boy's hand, cursing my empty bladder.
"Look, she's got a toe missing!" points out Charlie. "The injury looks quite fresh!"
I feel a lump of ice settle in my stomach. I'm about to being discovered, surely. They will make the connection. A finger missing... A finger cut off and left in the smouldering ruins of the street... A finger sent to my Mother... If she ever finds out, she will die of shame! The burning fills me out and I sob hysterically, and, indeed, wet myself.
"Iieek!" screeches Charlie disgustedly. "Iieek! She pissed on you!"
Blinded by horror and shame, I feel my body getting rigid, expecting the boy to drop me - if I'm lucky. I would not be surprised if he slammed me against the nearest wall.
My eyes closed tightly, I wait for the blow, which, however, never comes. Instead, I hear Bill's voice, and it sounds amused.
"Hey, Charlie, look!... Margaret's not a she! It's a he!"
I experience a terrible attack of sea-sickness as my world shifts, shudders, and shakes, while the boys fall on Percy's bed laughing their heads off. Bill has wiped his hand and is holding me in the other one, and I must do him credit: he is still very careful as not to squash me. His strong fingers immobilise me effectively, but the pressure is not too hard. In my situation this is something to be grateful for.
"Let's have another look", Charlie suggests, his eyes sparkling mischievously.
"Pervert!" grins Bill, holding me out of reach. I'm oddly grateful.
"No! I mean, at the rat, stupid!" says Charlie defiantly. "Let me see this toe again!"
Bill turns his hand palm upwards, turning me upside down and exposing my belly. My soft, unprotected belly. I whimper helplessly.
"Shh, Margaret, stop whining! We don't do you any harm", coos Charlie. Bill grabs my injured paw and examines it closely. He runs a gentle finger along the length of my arm and prods my thumb-claw.
Where did my insides disappear to? I wonder. I feel empty and somehow detached. But not as panicked as before.
"Look! What's this?" I hear Charlie whisper. Bill shrugs.
"No idea! Must be some sort of marking..." He turns me this way and that and I am getting nauseous. Definitely nauseous. Uh-uh, stop that, boy, or I shall get sick all over your hand, too!
"She doesn't have this on her right paw, see?" Charlie points out.
"He", Bill corrects his brother automatically. He looks at me intensely, and I know he guessed the truth. He saw my Lord's Mark. He knows. Any moment now, he will slam me against the wall.
But I'm not afraid. I look into Bill's dark eyes, feel his fingers wrapped tightly around me, his thumb pressing against my ribcage, see the dirty, bitten nail of his index finger directly above my face.
I have seen this look before. A pair of pale blue eyes hovering above me, examining my face closely for an instant, before the boy's face split into a wide grin and disappeared from my range of vision as Sirius Black bounced off the bed leaving me lying flat on my back, hot and flustered and full of expectation for... what? I did not know.
VI.
The grin spreading over Bill's face does not take me by surprise. He releases the grip of his fingers, puts me down on the bed. In this very moment, Percy comes running from the bathroom. "Margaret!" he shouts, jumping in his bed and pulling me towards him.
"This isn't Margaret", says Bill seriously.
"Yes it is", Percy says stubbornly, cradling me to his chest.
"No it isn't", says Charlie.
"Yes, it is", Percy says in a distinctly louder voice.
"No, it isn't", Charlie taunts. But when he notices that his little brother's chin starts to wobble suspiciously, he stops teasing him instantly.
"It's not Margaret", says Bill calmly, sitting down next to Percy and putting a comforting arm around him. His thumb brushes the fluffy fur on my head. "It's a boy. We've checked."
Grinning, Charlie nods emphatically.
"So you see, he can't be Margaret. It's not a boy's name", explains Bill.
"He looks like a boy", admits Percy, eyeing me closely. "He looks like a fighter." He points out my missing toe and I want to wail and shout and bang my head on the wall, but I settle for feeble squeaking instead.
"A rat warrior", adds Charlie.
"Mind you, he looks rather worn-out", points out Bill.
"He looks ill", Charlie says.
"Has been through a lot of trouble", nods Bill, still stroking my fur with his thumb.
"He looks like scabies", teases Charlie.
"Scabies!", Bill snorts.
"What is scabies?" Percy asks.
"That's his name", says Bill. "Scabies... Scabbers. Scabbers! Do you like it?" he smiles down at his little brother, prettily, charmingly.
Percy nods in agreement. "Scabbers", he sighs. "My Scabbers."
He curls up in his bed, clutching me tightly in both hands. Curled up as well, I let myself fall into the warm, safe nest that is Percy's embrace, close to his chest, his heartbeat. Safe in each other's presence we drift off to sleep, my Master and I.
The Familiar and the Family is my take on Scabbers's first weeks with the Weasleys. Meet Baby!GinnyandRon, the Twins from Hell, and Bill and Charlie's Return.
Title: The Familiar and the Family
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, apart from Scabbers's inner monologue. How pathetic is this?
I.
The sweet scent of cinnamon and baked apples and vanilla is filling my nostrils, and I awake slowly from a deep sleep, curled up in myself, feeling warm and safe and... oddly happy. I stretch languidly, feeling my joints crack and my sleep-warm muscles shift smoothly under my skin. The suppressed tension never leaves me these days, no matter how relaxed my body seemingly is, and I guess I have to get used to it. It's my price to pay.
Hungry. I jump from the bed, careful not to wake my Master. I've got to take good care of him, I find myself thinking while following the delicious scents downstairs, he's got me and me alone. I will be faithful, I will be loving, and he will love me back. Nobody else loves him as I do, I tell myself while leaping down step by step.
I push the heavy door open... thank Merlin it does not close properly - weak and feeble as I am now, I would not have managed to open it otherwise, and with my injured arm as well - and enter the kitchen.
The rich smell of food hits my over-sensitised sinuses, almost painfully delicious in its intensity. My ears ring with the noise that seems to come from every corner of the room, which makes me tremble with apprehension. Loud noise hurts. Loud noise means trouble. I've learned that much. A deeply rooted instinct urges me to seek a mouse hole to hide in. I resist, focusing on the smell, my mouth watering uncontrollably.
I climb on the chair, and then quickly onto the table, out of reach of one... two pairs of hands, which try to grab me and, most likely, to pull my hairtailears. They're not very picky.
"Fred! George! Leave her alone!" The voice I have come to associate with food sounds highly displeased. "And you, Missy, have no business at all on the table. Off with you!"
Her hands are covered in dough, so she uses her elbow to push me off the table. Afraid of the Twins' from Hell new attack, I scramble quickly under the cupboard. Just in time. One pudgy hand brushes against my fur in the owner's vain attempt to grab my tail. I'm safe.
And I know that in a minute a large chunk of Something Delicious will make its way to the floor directly before my hiding place. I wait. She never lets me down.
The wailing and crying, stamping and rattling fade into the background as I listen, keenly, to the sound of chopping just above my head. I was right. A piece of the Christmas Cake is dropped to the floor, and I savour it greedily, feeling its cinnamony flavour gradually replace the familiar acidic, burning sensation in my stomach.
A loud bang! makes me jump, I feel my fur fluff up, go rigid with shock. Laughter sounds, shouts, feet runningstampingjumping, getting closer. I start trembling uncontrollably, am sure my eyes are bulging. Hope I won't pee on the floor.
"Bill, Charlie, don't! You scare the children!" I hear Mrs. Weasley shout at them - in vain. I've never met Bill and Charlie before, but from what I hear now, they seem to be the older, bigger - scarier - version of Fred and George, constantly moving, laughing, shouting and ready to pull tails and whiskers of an innocent bystander.
"Bill! Charlie! What did I tell you?" I distinguish Mrs. Weasley's voice over the all-consuming havoc. The babies have woken up and contribute to the noise as well as they can. And they can very well.
"Arthur! Take Ron out of his cradle and give him to me! And you take Ginny... Yes, there's a good boy, Ronnie... And you two, get your trunks upstairs and go wash your hands! And wake up Percy, he's having a nap. We're going to eat in a minute."
She's handling them masterly, the whole lot, I must admit. Slowly, I relax to the sound of two babies emptying their milk bottles and giving sleepy sighs of satisfaction. I peer from under my cupboard and see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sitting at the table, each cradling one child to their respective chests, looking into one another's eyes and smiling in a heartbreakingly quiet, happy sort of way.
II.
This peaceful bliss does not last long. George, apparently having been distracted by a shapeshifting lollipop his Dad brought him from his trip into town, now comes to the conclusion that Fred's lollipop has assumed the more interesting shape and tries to take it from his brother under many shouts of protest on Fred's side. The new breakout of noise wakes up Ginny, who is a very nervous baby, and her cries in turn upset Ron. The moment the elder boys return to the kitchen, the inferno has already broken loose again, and Mr. Weasley is desperately trying to separate his twins without doing any damage to either of them nor the little girl in his arms.
"Mum, Mum, guess what! Guess what, Mum!" one of the elder boys is pulling on his mother's apron, ignoring the fact that she is trying to simultaneously calm down little Ron and to prevent the Christmas biscuits in the oven from turning to charcoal. "Muuum! Listen!"
"Charles Weasley! If you do not sit down at the table and behave yourself in this instant, there will be no Christmas presents for you this year!... Nor the next year!" she adds for good measure.
This threat seems to work. I use the brief moment of quiet to look around and see the other newcomer - Bill - standing in the doorway, my Master's hand clutched tightly in his own. My heart does a wild jump. My boy! Percy!
Regardless of the numerous dangers awaiting a small animal like myself on the way through the kitchen, I leave my place under the cupboard and scatter across the room to my Master's feet. I can't help squeaking loudly with joy, and I use my sharp claws to pull myself halfway up his leg.
Bill laughs. "Hey, Perce, who's your little friend?"
"That's Margaret", says Percy solemnly. He is a serious child, a good boy who listens to his parents and never causes them any trouble. That's the reason why I chose him. I've had seen enough trouble-makers to last a lifetime.
I squeak a little louder, torn between happiness about the love and pride in his voice and exasperation about the fact that he thinks me a girl. In a strange sort of way, however, being mistaken for a female by a five-year-old makes me feel a mad pride of my own cleverness. His parents are too busy to even take a closer look at their son’s pet, and during the whole period of three or four weeks I have been staying here, they never discovered the truth. There is one person left in the entire wizading world who knows about Peter Pettigrew's rat identity - but even Remus would not go as far as looking for a she-rat, if, in his arrogance, he ever came across the idea that it was not his clever, dashing and sophisticated friend Sirius who outwitted them all, but the nondescript little Peter, until recently remembered only as sidekick to the infamous duo Black and Potter.
"Ouch!" I had not realised the hard grip my claws applied on Percy's hand. 'Sorry, Master', I squeak, licking the nine little marks I left on his palm and wrist. I notice Bill looking at me intrigued.
"She likes you", Bill says finally. "For a wizard, it's always good to have a familiar one can trust", he states in an authoritative tone. I see Percy looking up at his older brother with an expression of awe and admiration on his solemn little face. I feel the hair on my nape rise. I know this expression. It is the same one a certain Peter Pettigrew used to wear when looking up to his friends Black or Potter. The magnificent, famous, talented, gorgeous Black and Potter.
The hiss I hear is my own. I come to my senses instantly and see the entire family looking at me in an odd way.
"Now that's strange", says Mr. Weasley in that quiet voice of his. "She's never done that before. I guess she doesn't like you, Bill."
Instantly, Percy lets go of his brother's hand. My stomach gives a weird lurch and I feel my fur smoothing out, my claws relaxing on their own accord, and I keep squeaking uncontrollably. My boy! My Master!
"...And he's really creepy, Mum!" I hear Charlie's voice again.
"Come off it, Charlie!" says Bill dismissively, seating himself at the table and grabbing a handful of cinnamon biscuits before his mother can stop him. "He's not creepy at all! I think he's brilliant!"
"Who's creepy?" asks Percy timidly, trying to climb up the bench. It's too high for him; he's small for his five years, and his big brother helps him up, squashing me in the process.
I feel the urge to bite him. Considering it highly unwise, I simply hiss menacingly. Bill eyes me suspiciously.
"Where do you have this rat from, anyway?" he asks. "Does she have any interesting powers?"
"She's my friend", says my dear Master. "And I like her."
"Percy found her in the garden, when he was chasing gnomes. She instantly took a liking to him, it seems", Mr. Weasley explains. "She's called after a Muggle, as well", he adds as an afterthought. "You know how Cornelius Fudge is trying to establish a cooperation network between the Ministry of Magic and the Muggle Ministry? It's interesting: their Head, a woman, she's called Margaret, and Percy, who heard me mention her name, --
('Repeatedly', mutters Mrs. Weasley under her breath, only for rat-ears to hear.)
--must have mistaken it for a rat - you know, Margaret... 'ret'", he continues, oblivious of his eldest son's having switched his attention to more interesting matters than Muggle politicians' names: stories from Hogwarts. Percy is the only one in the family who never gets tired of his Muggle-loving father's obsession.
III.
Bill leans over the table and cuts off Charlie, who was just elaborating their new Hogwarts teacher's 'creepiness' and 'menacing looks' in detail. This sounds interesting.
"What a lot of rubbish, Charlie", Bill says. "Just because he dresses in black and is rather severe, does not mean he is a nasty person! Or even 'creepy'."
"And he's biased, too!" says Charlie, pointedly. "You said so yourself! He is biased towards the Slytherins."
"They are his House, after all", says Bill, and now I listen intently. "And after all these rumours and the anti-Slytherin propaganda all over the place, it is no wonder someone finally takes their side. They can do with some... emotional support from the staff!"
"Oh, come on, Bill! You don't like them or him any more than I do! You just want to prove your point", says Charlie annoyed.
"Bill! Charlie! That's enough!" Mrs. Weasley cuts in. "Make yourselves useful and put the plates on the table. Dinner's ready."
IV.
"Why do you get a new teacher in the middle of the term, anyway?" asks Mr. Weasley when everyone is seated and the boys tuck in heartily.
"It's because of the many losses on the staff, Dad", Bill answers. "Since You-Know-Who's downfall, some teachers didn't come back. They say..." he lowers his voice conspiratorially and leans towards his brothers, Percy looking up at him with huge, awe-filled eyes, "...they were... Death Eaters!"
Percy and Charlie jerk up, Percy's fork dropping to the floor with a lot of clatter.
"That's enough, Bill", Mrs. Weasley says sharply, while Mr. Weasley comforts the terrified Percy. "If you don't stop scaring your brothers, you'll go to your room with no dinner at all!"
"That's a lot of nonsense, Bill, as you very well know", says Mr. Weasley seriously. "Professor Majors quitted his position after the last term. What was the name of the teacher who was filling in?"
"Prfssr Grbbly-Plnk", Charlie says and is instantly scolded by his mother for talking with his mouth full. Bill grins.
"I remember a Grubbly-Plank from my days at Hogwarts. She graduated when we were in our fifth year, didn't she, Molly?", says Mr. Weasley thoughtfully. "I'm glad Professor Dumbledore found a regular teacher to take up the position. What's his name?"
"Snape!" says Charlie. "And he IS creepy!"
IV.
Life, I contemplate much later, curled in a tight ball on Percy's bed while my Master is having a bath, is a funny thing indeed. Who would have thought that Slimeball Snape, Death Eater candidate No. 1 from our very first year at Hogwarts and first-choice target for all sorts of Black'n'Potter induced pranks, would end up as a Hogwarts teacher - and Head of House - a mere one month after the world came to an end for most of us?
The Potters dead, Black in Azkaban, Lupin lonely and broken. I myself living as a rat named Margaret, my Master - ex-Master - destroyed. And this slimy git seems to have made it!
He must have been the spy who tipped off Dumbledore about the Potters, I conclude gloomily. The Dark Lord knew someone was working against him, but he was not sure about the traitor's identity. I had to give him the Potters quickly so he would stop suspecting me. I give a derisive snort; in my rat-shape, it sounds like a sneeze. Now I have made sure he would not suspect me! Hah!
V.
My snuffling noises must have attracted them. Suddenly, I feel a strong hand holding me in a tight grip. It's Bill. I hiss and try to bite, but the boy's clever. He holds me tightly, but gently, I must admit. Obviously, he does not want to hurt me.
"So, Mistress Margaret", he says, and his brother snickers. "Dad says Percy named you after a Muggle politician."
"Minister for Muggles", giggles Charlie.
"Prime Minister", corrects Bill. "Don't worry, Margaret. We don't want to hurt you. Just checking on you." I hiss and wriggle helplessly. The burning sensation in my stomach is back, and I wish I could piss on the boy's hand, cursing my empty bladder.
"Look, she's got a toe missing!" points out Charlie. "The injury looks quite fresh!"
I feel a lump of ice settle in my stomach. I'm about to being discovered, surely. They will make the connection. A finger missing... A finger cut off and left in the smouldering ruins of the street... A finger sent to my Mother... If she ever finds out, she will die of shame! The burning fills me out and I sob hysterically, and, indeed, wet myself.
"Iieek!" screeches Charlie disgustedly. "Iieek! She pissed on you!"
Blinded by horror and shame, I feel my body getting rigid, expecting the boy to drop me - if I'm lucky. I would not be surprised if he slammed me against the nearest wall.
My eyes closed tightly, I wait for the blow, which, however, never comes. Instead, I hear Bill's voice, and it sounds amused.
"Hey, Charlie, look!... Margaret's not a she! It's a he!"
I experience a terrible attack of sea-sickness as my world shifts, shudders, and shakes, while the boys fall on Percy's bed laughing their heads off. Bill has wiped his hand and is holding me in the other one, and I must do him credit: he is still very careful as not to squash me. His strong fingers immobilise me effectively, but the pressure is not too hard. In my situation this is something to be grateful for.
"Let's have another look", Charlie suggests, his eyes sparkling mischievously.
"Pervert!" grins Bill, holding me out of reach. I'm oddly grateful.
"No! I mean, at the rat, stupid!" says Charlie defiantly. "Let me see this toe again!"
Bill turns his hand palm upwards, turning me upside down and exposing my belly. My soft, unprotected belly. I whimper helplessly.
"Shh, Margaret, stop whining! We don't do you any harm", coos Charlie. Bill grabs my injured paw and examines it closely. He runs a gentle finger along the length of my arm and prods my thumb-claw.
Where did my insides disappear to? I wonder. I feel empty and somehow detached. But not as panicked as before.
"Look! What's this?" I hear Charlie whisper. Bill shrugs.
"No idea! Must be some sort of marking..." He turns me this way and that and I am getting nauseous. Definitely nauseous. Uh-uh, stop that, boy, or I shall get sick all over your hand, too!
"She doesn't have this on her right paw, see?" Charlie points out.
"He", Bill corrects his brother automatically. He looks at me intensely, and I know he guessed the truth. He saw my Lord's Mark. He knows. Any moment now, he will slam me against the wall.
But I'm not afraid. I look into Bill's dark eyes, feel his fingers wrapped tightly around me, his thumb pressing against my ribcage, see the dirty, bitten nail of his index finger directly above my face.
I have seen this look before. A pair of pale blue eyes hovering above me, examining my face closely for an instant, before the boy's face split into a wide grin and disappeared from my range of vision as Sirius Black bounced off the bed leaving me lying flat on my back, hot and flustered and full of expectation for... what? I did not know.
VI.
The grin spreading over Bill's face does not take me by surprise. He releases the grip of his fingers, puts me down on the bed. In this very moment, Percy comes running from the bathroom. "Margaret!" he shouts, jumping in his bed and pulling me towards him.
"This isn't Margaret", says Bill seriously.
"Yes it is", Percy says stubbornly, cradling me to his chest.
"No it isn't", says Charlie.
"Yes, it is", Percy says in a distinctly louder voice.
"No, it isn't", Charlie taunts. But when he notices that his little brother's chin starts to wobble suspiciously, he stops teasing him instantly.
"It's not Margaret", says Bill calmly, sitting down next to Percy and putting a comforting arm around him. His thumb brushes the fluffy fur on my head. "It's a boy. We've checked."
Grinning, Charlie nods emphatically.
"So you see, he can't be Margaret. It's not a boy's name", explains Bill.
"He looks like a boy", admits Percy, eyeing me closely. "He looks like a fighter." He points out my missing toe and I want to wail and shout and bang my head on the wall, but I settle for feeble squeaking instead.
"A rat warrior", adds Charlie.
"Mind you, he looks rather worn-out", points out Bill.
"He looks ill", Charlie says.
"Has been through a lot of trouble", nods Bill, still stroking my fur with his thumb.
"He looks like scabies", teases Charlie.
"Scabies!", Bill snorts.
"What is scabies?" Percy asks.
"That's his name", says Bill. "Scabies... Scabbers. Scabbers! Do you like it?" he smiles down at his little brother, prettily, charmingly.
Percy nods in agreement. "Scabbers", he sighs. "My Scabbers."
He curls up in his bed, clutching me tightly in both hands. Curled up as well, I let myself fall into the warm, safe nest that is Percy's embrace, close to his chest, his heartbeat. Safe in each other's presence we drift off to sleep, my Master and I.