A drabble on Peter Pettigrew for the Mood Ring competition. :) Enjoy!
Cauldron Cake
Peter Pettigrew sat outside the dungeon in Malfoy Manor, guarding its occupants. The Dark Lord had ordered that he keep them quiet, that he stay and guard the room, and he obeyed. He always obeyed, no matter the consequences. The Dark Lord would kill Harry Potter, he knew that. He had been the one to help revive the evil, half-man. And he would not stop him, would not prevent him from killing James' son.
But Peter was a marauder once. He was James' friend. And he sold him to the Dark Lord to save his own skin. Sirius and Remus were right. He should have chosen death instead of betrayal. But he was afraid of death. He was always the fearful one, poor little Peter Pettigrew being picked on by the Slytherins and any others who felt the need to have a go at someone. Not James. James was the strong one. He was never bullied, never afraid. Out of the four marauders, James was the most loyal. He'd have died willingly for any of them.
Could Remus and Sirius really say that they would have died for James if it had been them the Dark Lord approached? Perhaps they could, but then, he doubted they'd have died for him. It was always James they liked best. James and Sirius were inseparable, closer than brothers, and Remus completed their little trio. He was the oddball, Peter Pettigrew, treading around on James Potter's coattails.
Some said he worshipped James. Maybe he did, but then, so did Remus and Sirius. It had been Sirius who James befriended first, bringing a light into his dark family life. And it was James who was the first to tell Remus that it made no difference to him that he was a werewolf, the one that had suggested they become animagi. Arrogant and popular James Potter didn't look down upon Peter scornfully. He welcomed him with open arms, allowed him to be one of his closest friends.
Yet he betrayed him.
Reaching into the pocket of his robe, Peter was surprised to withdraw a Cauldron Cake wrapper. It still had crumbs in it; someone must have eaten the pastry and left its wrapper behind– Macnair, perhaps.
A long-dead voice, one that was boastful and proud, came floating through the air, "Here you are, Pete, your favorite!"
He jerked his head right and left, searching for the owner of the voice. But there was no one else there. It was only him, sitting in the empty corridor. The voice had been James', he was sure. James had come back to haunt him for his sins.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, staring solemnly at the wrapper.
"Don't worry, Peter, I'll forgive you this time mate," the voice laughed.
Tears trickled down his cheeks, his hand squishing the wrapper between his clammy, stout fingers. A commotion came from upstairs, a shout of 'Harry Potter', and Peter put the wrapper in his pocket once more.