My name was Peter Pettigrew. My name was Wormtail. Now, I am a dead man walking, a shell. Nothing matters but the pain. The eternal suffering that I deserve so richly, that the world deserves for allowing monsters like my Master and Lucius and I to come into being in the first place.
I hate them. I hate my Master, the 'great' Lord Voldemort. I hate Lucius, that sniveling, power-hungry serpent that I itch to kill every second that I lay my eyes on him. I hate myself, and the only reason I haven't taken my own life—life, that's a joke, I don't have one without her—the only reason is because the world needs to suffer. Voldemort is my tool, though Lucius thinks that our Lord is under his control, and the bloody maniac thinks he controls us. Voldemort is my tool. What sweeter revenge on the world than letting him do what he wants?
Sirius told me I should have died for Lily and James, the way they would have for me. They probably would have, too. It wasn't about Lily or James. But James wanted to stop my Master, my tool, my revenge, and I couldn't let that happen. And Lily—she failed to protect her, her own sister, from the monster that I am and the monster that Lord Voldemort is.
Rose would probably be ashamed of me, and that is the only doubt I have. But I never deserved her in the first place, and better she is ashamed of me than her thinking that I am not the monster that I am. I killed her. I killed the love of my life, the only one who ever thought I was worth anything, Rose Evans. I killed her. Yes, Lucius had me under the Imperius, but I killed her the moment I approached the Dark Lord, in a moment of the weakness that shows I didn't deserve her, and it was my voice that said those two words, my wand that spat the green light of the Killing Curse, and my eyes that watched her die in front of me. And the world can burn without her in it for all I care. No, I want it to burn, I want them to suffer as I have suffered, as Rose must have suffered, and when the world is Hell, then I will exact the final part of my revenge. I will kill Lucius Malfoy, and I will kill the Dark Lord with the silver hand he himself gave me. Then I will kill myself and burn in Hell with them for all eternity. I am willing to do anything to get this revenge, no matter what cost to me. I am dead anyways. I do not care what happens to me, as long as I get my revenge.
I was Peter Pettigrew. I was Wormtail. Now I am merely the Armageddon.