Chapter 7
The boy allowed himself to breathe deeply, believing he had finally eluded his pursuer. The sun had set about an hour ago. Someone must have noticed by now that he wasn't in the castle, right? Maybe Lucy was looking for him to show him something she bought in Hogsmeade, or perhaps his perceptive sister Susan had glanced over at the Gryffindor table during dinner to find him nowhere in sight.
His sixth-year peers didn't know him well enough yet, and the seventh years barely spoke to him. Maybe Hannah Abbott. They were friends, but he didn't think she would be searching for him in the crowd.
Hidden in the darkness, he found himself wishing that someone had noticed his absence. Absurdly, he still fantasized that it was Hermione Granger. He wished she had diverted her attention from her conversation with Weasley and Potter and looked up to search for him.
On second thought, it was probably better that she hadn't noticed. If she learned about this story, she'd realize how foolish he really was. So foolish that, with his life at stake, he couldn't stop thinking about the girl he liked.
He felt like an idiot. He should have realized he was crossing the castle's protective boundary. Now he couldn't cross the invisible wall. He had to make it to the castle entrance, where the Aurors guarded the school grounds, regulating entries and exits.
A Death Eater had appeared out of nowhere, chasing him through the air on his broom. Another appeared in front of him, forcing him down into the forest. Another entered the trees, while the two continued to monitor the sky, preventing him from flying away on his broom.
"I can smell you," said the shrill voice of the Death Eater, "I can hear your breathing."
Peter clenched his eyes shut and held his breath. He heard the crunching beneath the tree. The slow footsteps of his enemy paused right below him. He had to react, and fast.
"Impedimenta!"
Pevensie aimed his wand downward in a swift motion. He hit his assailant before the man could react. Using the time the slowing spell afforded him, he leaped onto his broom from the tree branch. He moved through the dark forest, trying to make out the shapes of the trees, suffering a few scratches. A black cloud began to chase him, and he descended again. He must be near the entrance now, but the forest was thicker in this area. He needed to go by air. But they were watching the area. He would be an easy target.
He had to lure them into the forest.
He jumped to the ground, holding his broom with his left hand and his wand with his right. The Death Eater appeared in the clearing, in front of him.
"Crucio!"
The boy dodged the spell by a hair, agilely.
"Just like your father, Pevensie," said the stranger, "a great warrior, but too impulsive and stupid."
"Impulsive, maybe," said the boy. "Bombarda Maxima!"
The explosion sent his assailant several meters back. He couldn't waste time. Taking advantage of his pursuer's confusion, he advanced several meters through the forest while the other two Death Eaters descended, drawn by the noise.
Once they were among the leaves, Peter Pevensie flew over the sea of vegetation now spread before his feet. The entrance to the school was already in sight. Without thinking, he raised his wand, casting a spell that shone brightly, attracting the attention of the Aurors guarding the door. He heard the hissing of the Death Eaters flying near him. He was about to make it. He had to reach the entrance.
Spells began to fly in both directions. He had caught the attention of the Aurors. The entrance was just a few meters away. He was going to make it, he had to.
He saw the statues of the winged boars on both sides before a spell struck his arm.
Peter Pevensie felt his body fall from the broom before losing consciousness.
His arm burned. It was one of the few clear thoughts he could form. He knew his arm hurt. Every so often, it seemed to be stabbed by a sharp pain that made him lose consciousness again. He felt the sheets around his body, and the cold sweat soaking them. He didn't know where he was. He only knew that his right arm was in pain. His muscles tensed at the burning sensation emanating from his wound, spreading throughout his body. He couldn't open his eyes; they were too heavy.
He heard whispers, sometimes shouts, around him. Hands touched him. Most of the time, they caused a feeling of distress. And only sometimes, a sense of comfort. Most of the time, the touch seemed to imprison him further in his mind, feeling they were coming to finish him off. But occasionally, a hand would rest on his arm, different from the others, making him feel safe. A voice managed to break through the shouts, relaxing his body. He always searched for it among his nightmares. When masked figures attacked him under the sheets, he stretched out his hand, seeking its touch. But he didn't always find it.
Over time, the abstract time that surrounded him, the wound began to hurt less, and the sheets started to feel dry and soft. The burning in his arm turned into a soothing warmth that kept those monsters at bay. The touch of those around him no longer felt distressing. And the shouts turned into familiar voices. And yet, he stretched out his hand, searching for the touch that had calmed him in the darkness.
When he finally opened his eyes, his sister Lucy greeted him with a smile. It was early in the morning, the light filtering through the window was still faint and golden. Everything was calm, the castle just beginning to wake up, like him.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" said his sister, throwing herself at him "but you're our idiot."
Peter hugged his affectionate sister tightly. He didn't want to let her go, knowing that she would then ask the question he didn't want to answer.
"What were you thinking?" she said.
"I wasn't thinking, Lu," he replied.
"Polly and the headmaster are not very happy," she said "you've broken their rules."
"I know," he said –"it's just that, I didn't think clearly..."
Lucy didn't press the issue any further, but his sister Susan was not as lenient as the youngest of the Pevensies when she entered the infirmary.
"We only had to follow one rule, Peter!"
"I know, Susan, I know..." he said "I'm really sorry."
"They're going to punish you," she said – "and Dumbledore will want explanations. Don't you remember what he said? We weren't supposed to go out alone."
"I just wanted to get out of the castle for a while," he said “it was foolish, I got distracted... I didn't think."
"Yes, Peter, that seems to be the problem lately," she said “ever since we returned from Ilvermorny, you've been acting on impulse."
It didn't feel fair. He had spent years defending his siblings against all odds. In fact, he had defended them for decades. In Narnia, in France, and in the United States. He had always put them first. Before what he wanted, his brothers and sister always came first. Protecting them was always his priority. He would have killed for them. He would have died for them, time and again.
And then he had returned to that castle, where everyone lived their own life, in their house, surrounded by friends or suitors. And he, ignored by his old classmates, and yet to make friends in his new class, was left alone. And he just wanted a moment of peace. A moment of clarity in the forest. To feel adult again, and not controlled by so many people who seemed to know better than him what was best for him.
He could have told all this to Susan. But he just looked to the side, at the stack of books on the bedside table, next to a beautiful bouquet of yellow flowers.
"Granger left them for you," said the Ravenclaw – "you've missed a couple of days of classes."
"Did she come to leave them?" he asked with interest.
"She studied more here than in the library," said Susan, in a slightly sweeter tone – "don't give us more scares like this, please."
"I'll try," he said, also improving his tone – "I promise."
It was better to remain silent. That's what he thought. To keep quiet about what he felt. He had to protect his siblings, Narnia, his secret, from the clutches of Lord Voldemort. It wasn't the time to deal with how his return to Hogwarts made him feel. It seemed trivial amid so many real problems.
He stared at the textbooks. They were the same as always, and yet, they felt different to the touch, knowing who had placed them there. Inside each one, there was a small note in Hermione's handwriting, indicating how far they had progressed in the curriculum.
Knowing she had come to visit him while he was sick, Peter turned at every movement he detected at the entrance to the infirmary. But for several hours, the only movement he noticed was that of Mrs. Pomfrey and a third-year Hufflepuff she was treating for a strange sting.
The nurse had told him that he would probably be able to return to classes the next day under her supervision. He could go out, but he would have to come back every afternoon after class until she decided he was out of danger.
The wound on his arm looked bad, it might even leave a scar. The healer had taken hours to stop it from oozing blood. Now a lightning bolt-shaped mark had stayed on his skin, where the spell had hit. It had struck him almost parallel, running from his bicep to his hand, branching out in lines of varying intensity.
"I think mom wants to kill you," said Edmund's voice in the afternoon.
Peter smiled when he saw his brother sitting at the foot of his bed. He seemed much more relaxed than his sisters.
"Aren't you here to remind me how stupid I am?"
"No way," he said, laughing – "I have nothing to say about doing stupid things, right? For once, I'm glad it's not just me."
"Sometimes I'm a bit envious of you," Peter told him.
Edmund turned with intrigue.
"I don't understand why," he said with a smile – "you're Peter, the perfect brother."
"Yeah, and you're Edmund," he said – "always getting into mischief, and paying for it... sometimes, but many times you get away with it... but when I do something, everyone seems to be too scandalized."
"Yeah," he said – "and I, on the other hand, admire your sense of responsibility. Although I'm proud of your escapade by the lake."
His brother gave him a friendly pat on the leg, causing Peter to laugh.
"You're always going to be the magnificent one, you know? Not just in Narnia. I know you'll always want to protect us, you'll always be noble, do the right thing... but live a little, okay?"
"Okay," said Peter, smiling – "you could try a bit of responsibility too."
"Uh, I don't know..." said Edmund, laughing – "we'll have to see, brother."
Edmund stayed there for a while, making him laugh, and left just before the sunlight. He coincided for a while with his two sisters, who also left shortly after, leaving him alone in the room. He returned to his books, and to the yellow flowers bathed in the light of dusk, already discarding the idea that the face he hoped to see would enter through the door.
But to his surprise, he was wrong.
When the light in the windows turned to a pinkish blue, and the torches began to light the room, Hermione Granger peeked behind the curtains with a shy smile.
"Hello Peter," she said, making him look up from the pages.
The boy quickly put the book of spells back on the table in a clumsy gesture, sitting up in bed.
"You look better," she said – "I'm glad you're better."
"Yes, I feel better," he said with a smile – "thank you so much for bringing me the books."
"No problem," she said – "I was worried you'd fall behind in classes. Slughorn has moved forward a lot in Potions."
"Susan told me you came several times to see me," he said with a smile – "thank you."
"Of course..." she said – "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I hope I didn't bother you."
"You never bother," he said – "me, at least."
Hermione smiled and made a gesture looking at the chair next to the bed. Peter sat up even more to indicate that she should sit, with a smile on his lips.
"Why didn't you go to Hogsmeade?" she said.
"I don't know, I got up late," he said – "I had no one to go with."
"Harry wanted to chat with you," she said – "he says you don't know each other well, but that he thinks you're a very nice person."
"Wow... I would have loved to," he said – "I thought I wouldn't have much to do in Hogsmeade."
"Well, we'll count on you for the next one," she said.
"Without a doubt."
Peter felt relieved that the girl didn't probe about his venture beyond the protective wall. He felt ridiculous now that she was in front of him. To break the slightly awkward silence that followed their conversation about Hogsmeade, Peter started asking about their courses and classes. Hermione, without hesitation, began chatting about the new subjects, guiding him through the pages of the books until the yellow flowers on the table were only illuminated by the closest torch.
"You're going to miss dinner," Peter said at one point.
"I'm not hungry," she replied, before returning to their conversation.
The subjects of their classes were exhausted as a topic, and somehow, Hermione ended up talking about her parents, two Muggle dentists, and their anecdotes from the clinic. Peter was familiar with the Muggle world. He had Muggle friends in his neighbourhood and had attended primary school before Hogwarts, at the insistence of Helen Pevensie.
"I've always been a bit scared of Muggle dentists," he said, "but not so much anymore."
"It's a pretty common fear," she said.
"I can see why."
Silence fell between them again. Hermione looked at him with a soft smile, and for a moment, he felt his heart might leap out of his chest. He had learned to control his impulsiveness. He had been the king of a country, knew how to control his impulses, act nobly, weighing pros and cons. Yet, he had ended up in a dangerous forest because of a comment from a fourth-year girl about the girl in front of him. There was something about Hermione Granger that made him lose his composure, going from confident to clumsy in seconds.
But he couldn't let that distract him. He had forgotten about it that Saturday morning. He had a secret. A secret Voldemort was probably searching for. A secret he couldn't share with the beautiful, intelligent girl smiling at him.
Madam Pomfrey emerged from the shadows, interrupting the comfortable silence between them a few seconds later. She indicated that Hermione had to leave.
"I'll see you in class tomorrow, then," she said.
"I'll see you in class," he replied.
She smiled, got up from the chair, and turned in a gesture of farewell before turning her back fully.
"And Hermione..."
"Yes?" she said, turning her head.
"Thanks again for everything," said Peter, "you're incredible."
She seemed to blush, but Peter couldn't make it out in the darkness. He only saw her nod and walk down the corridor, leaving him in a dreamlike state. For a second, he allowed himself to really think about what it would be like to be with Hermione. To tell her he liked her.
But that would mean making her part of the secret, wouldn't it? He couldn't hide it from her. But he didn't want to put her in danger. Peter Pevensie had to protect. He didn't know how to do anything else. He wouldn't put that girl in danger. After all, the secret had a deeper clause, one only he knew, and he couldn't burden Hermione with it. He shouldn't. He couldn't.
Even if he wanted to, even if he longed for it every time she smiled at him. Every time her sweet brown eyes met his.
Peter Pevensie had to protect. Protect Narnia. Protect his family. Protect Lucy. Protect Edmund. Protect Susan.
And now, Peter Pevensie would protect Hermione Granger. Even if it meant he couldn't be with her.