The silver-tipped hand of a clock ticks behind Lestrange's shoulder.

It is the first thing Peter's eyes turn to when he struggles to the surface through a haze of pain. Mouth open, he gulps air like a drowning swimmer and braces himself for the next wave of gut-wrenching, bone-splintering

The tip of a wand taps against the bottom of his chin.

'Poor ickle Peter.' Lestrange's face looms into his vision, obscuring the clock. 'All alone now, and where are your big bad friends?'

A strand of her hair falls to tickle his nose. He sneezes. And breaks into laughter, because he can still do something as common as sneeze. His ribs ache, his laugh wheezes like an old man's, but he gasps on –

Lestrange's face twists. 'Crucio!'

The laughter stops.

Twelve past… eighteen past… twenty-two past…

Peter's mind moves sluggishly through sums. It's been six hours – six hours and twenty-eight minutes – since he found the Death Eaters in his flat. Two-and-a-half – no, three-and-a-half hours 'till Sirius comes looking for him, for their dinner at The Hungry Horntail. Until Sirius finds out Peter was taken, and calls the Order…

But how much to add to that? Peter's world has narrowed to the clock, to Lestrange, to pain… If he does not know where he is, how will anyone…?

James and Sirius will figure it out.

Thirteen to… eight to… five to…

'Who are the members of the Order of the Phoenix?'

'Elvendork.'

He pays for that. James would be proud.

The clock hand ticks -four hours, he decides. Twenty-four hours, and even if Sirius cannot find hin, he will have warned the Order.

Peter can survive twenty-four hours.

True to his word, he gives the first name as the clock ticks the final second.

'Dumbledore.' He would laugh at that, and at Lestrange's snarl of fury, if he remembered how.

One more hour for each name. Give them as much time as he can.

'Edgar Bones.'

'Gideon Prewett.'

'Fabian Prewett.' In the lull before the next Cruciatus, he's proud that he did not say Gideon and Fabian.

'Frank Longbottom.'

'Peter Pettigrew.' He's pr—

'Alastor Moody.'

Peter runs out of names. James and Sirius have not come. As his head falls back against the stone floor, he thinks that at least he has given them some time before he dies. He almost welcomes the flash of red light.

If he was less tired, he would remember that the Killing Curse is green.