House: Hufflepuff
Year: First Year
Category: Standard
Prompt: [Theme] - Travelling around the world (Include a minimum of three different locations)
Word Count: 1944
Title: A Rat's Guide to Hitchhiking
Rating: T
Beta(s): Verity, Gab, Aya
Warnings: Canon Character death using Killing Curse. Mild torture in the form of a Legilimens. Petty theft. A giant snake...
Author Notes: I am using the prompt with the knowledge that as long as three places/countries are vastly different in the way they are described, they can be on the same continent. The Strait of Otranto is a tiny stretch of sea that divides the Ionian and Adriatic Seas. The Roman Columns are relics from the time of the Romans. I have left it capitalised intentionally because its a landmark.
A beta asked if transforming into an animagus form would end the Imperius Curse, but as you can remain under its effects long term, I doubt it. Hopefully, this clears up a potential plot hole.
Peter finds Lord Voldemort's actual wand and returns it to him in canon.
I also researched how Lord Voldemort met Nagini and it isn't hugely clear and I've really stuck to canon. So I have kept Lord Voldemort as a wraith used Italics to denote a supernatural element to his speech and introduced Nagini for the first time. This is the first time Peter is meeting her. On Pottermore it says Lord Voldemort likely met her in the Albanian forest, as snakes were the only animals that could bear to be possessed by him. As such, she became bonded to him when he turned her into a Horcrux.
The end scene here would have been the moment where she becomes a Horcrux in canon, but due to lack of words and the rating, I didn't have space for the actual ritual.
Please enjoy!
A Rat's Guide to Hitchhiking
Peter Pettigrew shivered. It'd been two months since he managed to evade capture at Hogwarts. He went back into hiding before deciding to leave England altogether. Peter had heard faint rumours that the Dark Lord's last known hiding place was in Albania, and so Peter set out to find him. That was how he found himself in France.
It was raining in Calais and the air was cool against his fur. The inhabitants didn't seem bothered in the slightest as they went about their busy day. The fish market was positively bustling with people seeking the best ingredients. Mussels were a specialty and customers could buy them in neat little nets.
The fishmongers wore white aprons and thick gloves. Peter could see them filleting and scaling the fish with long, sharp knives, laying the fresh fillets across large beds of ice with lemon wedges and seaweed. He wondered how they were so skilled without using magic; everything was presented exquisitely.
Following his nose to more pleasant scents, Peter found himself by an old, rustic abattoir. Its cool grey bricks and adjacent canal had stood the test of time and now served to compliment the picturesque streets of Calais. Its bright red roof gleamed in the rain and the multiple hanging baskets of fuschia and petunia flowers soaked up a good drink.
Eventually, the smell of food caught Peter's attention and he picked up the pace. He hadn't eaten a proper meal in days, and he thought longingly of Molly Weasley's cooking. He tracked the smell to a quaint little restaurant called Le Cocquempot. Watching waiters serve platters of the most delicious-looking seafood made his mouth water. Peter was delighted to see the back door was open. Shifting back to his human form, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and snuck in. When the chef wasn't looking, he snagged a meal.
Outside, Peter took shelter with his bowl—clear broth, whole herring, and darns of sea bass. The large carrot chunks contrasted with the beautiful white fish, and the fresh dill and parsley complimented the fish without overpowering it. Peter gulped it down rapidly. Dunking the bread in the soup, Peter finished the plate, silently thanking the French for their exquisite cuisine. He had a long journey ahead and he didn't know when he'd find food again. Sinking back into his rat form, Peter looked for a safe place to rest before leaving again. The Dark Lord was not known for his patience.
The huge cargo train squealed to a halt in Brindisi. Peter wasn't familiar with Italy, and avoided dangerous long-distance Apparition by train-hopping instead. It was a difficult, horrible way to travel. Lying on hard coal, exposed to the hot Italian sun, and wishing for water was uncomfortable – even in rat form. He was sweaty, hungry, and disheveled.
Remaining in rat form, Peter looked around. The buildings were elegant in shades of magnolia, peach, and pale orange with stark white accents. This gave the streets a very clean look, despite the dregs of Saharan sand on the paved roads. Towering palm trees reached for the scorching sun in the bluest sky that Peter had ever seen.
In comparison to Calais, Peter could see very few people out and about. He knew the excessive heat had a lot to do with it, and he decided to follow the locals' example and find shade and something cool to drink. Maybe he could even find a wallet to steal...
It was now blessedly cool on the promenade as night had fallen. Peter looked out longingly at the glistening sea. He was so close: the Dark Lord was literally a boat ride away. Peter would be hailed as his most loyal and trusted servant. He trembled at the thought.
Nobody noticed the rat that boarded the luxury vessel crossing the Strait of Otranto. Climbing all the way to the deck, Peter found a nook where he shifted into his human form. He had managed to nick a wallet from an unsuspecting tourist in the busy port and was glad that he would soon be able to eat another decent meal. He quickly disguised his appearance, becoming a nondescript Muggle, someone your eyes would just slip past, remembering nothing but short brown hair and neat clothes.
On deck, Peter found a nice place to dine, overlooking the peaceful black water. From here, he could see the streets of Brindisi lit up in shimmering blues and golds. It was mesmerising.
Some nearby tourists pointed vigorously at the Roman Columns, one of which still stood. Listening to snippets of their conversation, Peter discovered that these columns had once served as guides for Roman ships. They had effectively used the port of Brindisi to fend off the expert naval Carthaginians as well as continue to trade with Greece and other nations along the Adriatic sea during the Punic Wars.
Close to where Peter sat were a group of close friends–four to be exact. He couldn't help but be reminded of his Marauder days. He had been untouchable alongside his friends. 'That was school, and this is now,' Peter thought bitterly. In life, you had to make your own way, for him that had meant aligning himself with the most powerful people. Peter regretted betraying his friends, but his fear had won out in the end.
"...would never dream they'd use a weak, talentless thing like you... It must've been the finest moment of your miserable life telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters."
Peter almost flinched at the memory of Sirius' words. He couldn't return to England, not without the protection the Dark Lord could offer. He was so close to his goal. There was no turning back; there would be no forgiveness. Remus had seen to that.
"You should have realised," said Lupin quietly. "If Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Goodbye, Peter."
'And Remus is the forgiving one,' he thought as he gazed at the dark water, the cold words echoing in his mind. He knew there was only one safe place to be; at the right hand of the Dark Lord. He needed to find him, then he would be rewarded. He watched as Italy sank into the distance.
Two days of travel saw Peter arriving in the Albanian city of Korçë. Now that he was so far away from England, he felt safer remaining human. The Mediterranean sun was as powerful as Italy's; Peter found it almost as difficult to bear. Having travelled inland from the coast of Albania, Peter could honestly say Korçë was hotter and drier than anywhere else he had been.
The city had been repeatedly conquered. The clash of religions and revolutions was evident in the cities architecture, a testament to its turbulent history. It retained its Ottoman architecture and the Islamic influences were clear in the Iljaz Mirahori Mosque, while the Orthodox Cathedral of Korçë denoted Christian presence.
Peter quickly moved through the city trying to evade the oppressive heat. At the city's edge, he saw foothills leading to an impressive mountain range. Grazing livestock and tiny rustic lodges dotted the hilly, rural landscape. Thinking longingly of a place to rest, and of the possibility of a hot meal, spurred Peter to begin the arduous uphill climb.
Along the way he found a wayside inn to stop for the night. It was simple but clean and reasonably cheap. They served homemade bread and a gorgeous spicy goulash with lamb that had been slow cooked for hours over a wood stove. He heartily dug in. Outside on the veranda, Peter relaxed and washed it all down with a nice cold beer. His ears perked up at the tail end of a conversation.
"...visiting my Aunt and cousin." The female voice seemed familiar. "Do you know them? The Jorkins?"
Peter blanched at the name. Bertha Jorkins was a Ministry witch and she had been a few years ahead of him in Hogwarts. The possibility of her recognising him was high. When she started coming his way, Peter began to sweat and pray she didn't notice him. But luck was not on his side.
"Peter Pettigrew!" her eyes widened in shock and Peter drew his wand. "But you're dead! How—?"
Peter cast a Silencing Charm so fast the witch didn't know what hit her. He walked towards the nearby woods.
"Ssh! I'll tell you how I'm still alive, but you mustn't share this with anyone!" Peter adopted a serious but scared look, darting his eyes around to make his ploy plausible. He knew how nosey and idiotic she was, and the promise of juicy information would draw her in. Bertha nodded as her eyes lit up.
He beckoned her over, and as soon as they reached the edge of the forest, Peter spun around.
"Imperio!"
Bertha froze, a dreamy expression relaxing over her features. Peter knew he couldn't let her go; she knew too much, just as he knew taking her to Voldemort would wrap up that loose end. Under the Imperius Curse, Bertha followed him meekly through the forest. Peter transformed and listened to the whispers of the rats around him. They spoke of a dark part of the forest and a large snake, and he knew that was where he would find his master.
Hours later, Peter found the place where a dark spirit lurked. Looking around, he called out.
"It's Peter… I've come to serve you, Master." There was nothing, and then a gush of wind. An enormous venomous snake hissed at him from the undergrowth causing him to jump back in shock.
"Wormtail…" the spirit of Lord Voldemort rasped. Peter cowered at the unforgiving tone.
"Y-yes, Master," he stammered.
"You have returned to me…" Peter cringed at the clear suspicion and shrewdness. He pointed to Bertha and began begging.
"My Lord, I brought you your wand and a gift; a Ministry witch, Bertha Jorkins." Peter bowed in fear as he held out a black wand; the spirit of Lord Voldemort crept ever closer. It examined the oblivious woman and Peter gasped when the shade descended upon her and began to ravage her mind.
Peter looked sick, as the woman twitched and convulsed; the Dark Lord was merciless, and the gigantic snake slithered closer. The woman was a drooling mess before long, but Peter realised how pleased the Dark Lord seemed as he began to cackle.
"You have done well, Wormtail. There is a faithful servant that we must liberate. I will need him in the coming year if my new plan is to succeed," rasped the wraith.
Peter looked up fearfully, but he was very confused. "Faithful servant? I'm faithful my Lord, I returned."
The spirit laughed. "Your cowardice is remarkable, perhaps I should consider feeding you to Nagini, Wormtail. She is partial to rats. You return merely out of fear of your old friends, but there is another who has never wavered from my side. Crouch is being held prisoner by his father. We shall free him and execute the perfect plan."
Peter shrank back. He should've known how perceptive the Dark Lord was, even if he didn't like it. "How can I be of service, my Lord?"
The wraith considered the rat of a man and drew closer, making him flinch. With a terrible laugh, Peter found himself painfully possessed by the Dark Lord and his wand arm holding the yew wand pointed straight at Bertha. He didn't fight the possession.
"Avada Kedavra!" the cold high voice hissed from Peter's own mouth.
Bertha dropped dead and Peter felt the Dark Lord leave his body. He watched in horror as Nagini slithered over to her corpse.
"Nagini...dinner."