An old man plays,
With newspaper cuttings of his glory days.
- Manic Street Preachers, If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next
Deflection
9pm,
October 30th, London.
Peter had never been in love--never ever, ever. So this was a new experience for him with Sarah, because she was perfect.
She had chosen him. She had chosen him over Remus, over Sirius and over James, even though he was happily married. He was ecstatic to know that she chose him. Peter Pettigrew! Of all the people in the world!
It was too good to be true.
In fact, he should have known it was too good to be true.
Sarah was his life and everything she did was never wrong. She was an angel to him, the apple of his eyes.
Sirius had warned him not to get too hooked upon her. She had been seen with known Death Eaters and he could get hurt in more ways than a broken heart. What did he know? Peter thought,Sirius was just jealous because Sarah didn't love him.
Love is a blinding emotion. Peter never remembered that she was in Slytherin at school; he never remembered that she was friends with people like the Malfoys.
He never remembered the rumours from school. She was intimate with power hungry people who were known to be too close to the Dark Lord; Remus had reminded him over and over again when Sirius had given up. Only recently had she stopped being seen with them after she had slipped through arrest for the umpteenth time.
Only recently had she started taking an interest in Peter.
Peter didn't see the looks of exasperation and worry on his friends' faces when Sarah came around. He didn't hear the hushed conversation when he went to the bathroom. He didn't smell the suppressed hatred between her and Lily and he didn't even sense the undercurrent of all their forced conversations.
But tonight, she had told him to meet her at the Leaky Cauldron and it seemed innocent enough. Even Lily or Remus couldn't see anything suspicious about it.
Peter couldn't Apparate, so he took the Knight Bus down to London and walked the Muggle streets to the famous pub. He pulled his jacket a little tighter around himself to be protected from the bitter cold of the October night. The clear sky allowed moonlight to filter through and illuminate the practically deserted road.
The streetlights flickered and crackled in the early, bitter weather, few of which had already failed completely at the end of the road, conveniently enough, where the pub was situated. All the lights around him were out in the flats; all but the security lights of the shops.
Allowing a harshly lighted Muggle bus to turn a corner, Peter slipped into the tavern and almost at once welcomed the heat of the place. The cheers and chattering were a stark contrast to the gentle hum of the Muggle city outside.
Peter grinned as he pulled off his jacket and gloves. Any happiness these days was as infectious as it was short-lived.
There was always a dark shadow in the back of everyone's mind, hanging over them and dousing all the good spirits out at the mention of a single, yet potent name. Even in the pub now there were shady characters in the gloomy corners wearing heavy hoods in spite of the smoky heat.
Peter squinted through the pipe and cigarette smoke, the pungent smell of alcohol and the gruff laughter of the crowd, in search of a familiar face. Not one, none that he welcomed in the least.
She wasn't here yet. He didn't worry though because he was a few minutes late. Sarah could Apparate anyway, so she could be here in a second if she wished to. Ordering a double whiskey at the bar, he set his jacket to his side and turned around to scan the room again in case he had missed her.
Nothing.
Still not fazed in the least, Peter picked up his drink and went to the only empty table in the room. The pub was always full these days with people attempting to drown their sorrows. He even recognised some Ministry workers around the place trying to escape the world and its difficulties along with the rest of the crowd.
The only empty seat was in the corner, which suited him just fine, as it was far away from all the smoke and noise of everyone else. Some place where they could be alone, away from the prying eyes that surrounded everyone all the time.
Just over half an hour had passed and now Peter was worried.
Scenarios of what could have happened to her flashed through his mind. She, lying with a broken neck at the base of the stairs, cornered by Death Eaters in a dark back alley with no one to hear her, a charm gone badly wrong, something going amiss with Apparating causing half of her floating somewhere . . .
All these thoughts did, was make him even more nervous and worried than the ones before.
He ordered another drink.
James and Sirius had ordered him to stay quiet and keep underground, attract as little attention than possible. Stay in the hiding place and stay low, almost disappear. And most of all, stop getting drunk in public places; you never know what you might say in drunkenness and never know who might be listening.
But, he was doing exactly the opposite to what his friends had told him. Nothing was going to happen; he had no intentions of giving James and Lily over to Voldemort and his followers, because they were his friends. James was his friend since their first year at school. Apart from anything, Sirius and Remus would simply kill him.His drink came, and with that, an envelope was thrown into his lap roughly.
"What the—"
He jumped, upsetting the drink and the table. But by the time he looked up, no one was there, only the crowd of temporary happy people, none of whom looked especially suspicious. And none of them were so much as looking at him; they looked trapped in their own little worlds of problems.
Cautiously, he opened the envelope and breathed a sigh of relief when it didn't explode or yell at him in front of all these people. The relief was short-lived, as soon as he saw the content, the world around him dimmed away into insignificance.
Crudely stuck onto the letter's inside was a picture of Sarah, tied, gagged, with a huge black bruise growing on her right eye, the unharmed one was darting around as if looking for danger. She was sitting on a chair and struggling to get out of her binds with dwindling strength.
An icy current went down his throat and settled in his stomach churning its contents.
Peter looked up and around him, it was probably his imagination, but one of the hooded figures was looking at him ominously. But that persons' face was shadowed and they could have been looking anywhere. Apart from that, the rest of the people around him seemed oblivious to his problems.
Deserting his untouched drink, he stood up suddenly and squeezed his way out and into the blessed cold wind, resisting the urge to be sick.
Quickly, and as inconspicuously as his body would allow, he sidled into the dark corner of Ollivander's Wand shop without anyone seeing him. It was an unwritten law in the streets of the wizarding world not to stay out after dark or at least, not unless you were with a group of people.
Once he was there, safe in the thick shadows, he returned to his letter and read the rest of it over and over again by the light of the moon above.
Pettigrew, We believe
this is yours. Stay where you are and do as we say, and she will be
safe. If you meet our demands, both of you will be allowed to walk
away unharmed. If we even suspect you have called for help, she will
die … slowly. Do not try to find us, we will find you.
The letter was left unsigned except for a small emblem. Peter didn't have to think twice to know whom it represented. Everyone in this time knew what it meant: Lord Voldemort.
Sarah had now stopped struggling and her head was bent, so that her chin touched her chest.
He wasn't allowed to mull over his feelings or wonder what to do, because a hand clamped around his mouth and the world around him went dark as he slipped out of the person's grip.
We will find you…He was out cold before he hit the frosty floor.
When he came to, he was surrounded by a circle of black, hooded figures, two of whom pinned him down when he started fighting. It had taken him barely a second to put two and two together, the contents of the letter replaying over and over in his mind like some kind of haunted broken record.
Someone muttered a Silencing Charm and he was smart enough to know when to stop. He contented himself with glaring at the place where he thought their eyes were.
His imagination wasn't running away with him, some of these people he did recognise from the pub. However, many minutes, hours or whatever he had been knocked out for, the pub seemed like an age ago--a happy memory amidst all this hatred. His feelings welled up inside him. Not caring for the silencing charm, he started yelling all the obscenities he knew--the most colourful of which Sirius had taught him--at them.
As if they could tell what he was saying, someone punched him hard in the stomach and he was left feeling winded and seeing stars dance in front of his eyes.
His reply was a ripple of laughter starting at the middle with the figure in front of him and vibrating back like a wave gathering strength. Peter gritted his teeth and kept his eyes on the floor, his courage suddenly failing him all of a sudden. He fought the temptation to break down into tears, which would only make things worse.
The person who had started the laughter stepped out unexpectedly and the whole crowd of them fell silent almost at once. This man didn't need to use silencing charms. He pulled his hood back and Peter saw the horrifying face that terrorised the wizarding world.
You heard news about people being killed, hurt, being abducted, thing happening, but they never seemed quite real. At Hogwarts, a couple of people he knew had members of their families killed; Sirius' brother was killed a couple of weeks ago, only a few months after he had left school, but it had never got to Peter personally. Now that it had, he wasn't ready for it.
Situations like these either make people or break them.
Peter was breaking and they all knew it.
"I'm glad you could make it Peter," he hissed.
Peter looked up and was shocked at how such a powerful person could look so young. No older than thirty, but already stained with the sins of an old man. His clear, handsome face was betrayed by its cunning, snake like eyes. The anger was begging to ebb away to be replaced by an ice-cold, nameless fear. "You're too late, you see."
Unsure laughter followed and he smirked even wider at the fear that he had over his supporters.
"Fear," he whispered into Peter's ear, so no one else could hear, "is the greatest weapon at man's disposal. Fear can drive us to do great things, can cause us to blunder and make mistakes."
With one last nasty smile, he straightened up and clicked his fingers, still not taking his eyes off Peter and enjoying whatever kick he was getting out of this for as long as possible.
"Bring her out."
These three words Peter would never forget as long as he lived. Three words that for years would send shivers down his spine whenever he so much as thought of them. Whenever he would hear news about Harry or even a mention of Lily and James, these words would haunt him.
A door to his left opened, and for a moment Peter could hear nothing except rhythmic steps and the sound of someone trying to struggle free but not getting anywhere. The circle of hooded men parted to allow the new arrivals to come in. Peter didn't need to look twice to know who was being held.
He met Sarah's eyes and tried again to pull himself free but they were taking no chances. Three people were making easy work of holding him down now. He screamed silently until a sharp pain ripped through his chest and drained all the energy out of him; he hung on the chair like a limp puppet, only held up by his captors that he now relied on.
Sarah's dark brown hair hung around her face as she knelt on the floor she was thrown on. Her wrists were bound and the curtain of hair hid her expression from everyone's eyes but Peter could see her torn robes stained with more than just mud and sweat. He was the only one distressed by the sight of her.
Voldemort grabbed her long hair close to the scalp and pulled her head back so she was looking at him. Tears were starting to form in the corner of her eyes and her bloodied face was fearful as he pointed a wand at her throat. They looked at each other and he said something that no one could hear, but he managed to lip-read her answer, 'I haven't.'
Peter's body wasn't working; his brain was telling his lead weighted arms and legs to move but they couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. In spite of the fact he couldn't even hold his head up without help, the grip on his shoulder increased as the wand trailed up her face and back again. He would have screamed if he could. Sarah was shaking out of fear now and her eyes were darting from her captor to Peter as if he could do something.
If only he could. There was no point even trying to reach for his wand.
Whatever they wanted, he would give it to them. But, he had nothing to give though. No money, no powerful connections, no influential job, absolutely nothing of importance. Sarah was his life and he was beginning to regret it now, if she died he would never forgive himself, even if they just brought him here to watch her murder.
Voldemort's gaze turned upon him with a nasty leer on his face and a new glint in his eyes which made Peter even more terrified.
"I know what you're thinking, Peter. I can see it in your eyes. What could you possibly have that could make us go to all this trouble?" Voldemort asked indulgently.
Sarah was shaking her head, tears streaming down her face freely.
After a pause he added in a stage whisper to her, "Make Sarah go through all this trouble."
Peter was too panicked to suspect anything. He was too preoccupied to even notice that she no longer had a bruised and bloodied face.
"It's your friends, Peter," he continued, removing his hand from Sarah's hair and clamping it around the back of her neck, making her stand up. "We know you're the Potter's Secret-Keeper."
Fear was making Peter's brain slower. It didn't realise that Voldemort wanted James, Lily and Harry dead; his total brain was filled up with thoughts of Sarah. He didn't question who told him that he was their Secret-Keeper, he was just too concerned about what was going to happen to him and Sarah.
"Is this true? Are you their Secret-Keeper?"
Peter felt the silencing charm lift off him.
"Well?"
No one was going to come out of this, whichever way he answered.
"No," he said quietly and without much conviction. Sarah looked up at him and the tears stopped.
"I'm going to give you one more chance, Peter," said Voldemort, running the wand across her throat again, he yelled, "DON'T LIE!"
He wasn't the only one who jumped after this outburst.
"I am," Peter murmured to his feet, knowing what would happen if he lied again. He wasn't thinking about himself for once; he was thinking about what would happen to Sarah.
The man in front of him hid a grin. "Sorry?"
"I AM!" Peter bellowed.
Purposeful but draining moments of silence followed.
"Now that we've sorted that out," said Voldemort, smiling maliciously at them both. "You have a choice: Your friends who you know never liked you or the love of your life. If you refuse to tell us,"--he pulled Sarah closer, and pulled all the hair away from her face and neck gently, with his long fingers--"she will be killed. And you can be sure that it wouldn't be in a flash of green light."
Peter felt sick; his friends or the woman he loved.
Voldemort opened his mouth, pointing his wand at her chest.
"No!"
He lowered the wand slowly and faced Peter. "You know what you have to do."
It's a dream, Peter told himself, a really bad dream. He would wake up in the morning with Sarah by his side and he would love her even more. Even if this were just a dream, he would never be able to look any of the Potter's in the eye again for an extremely long time.
Half in a trance, Peter slowly pulled off the ring that James had told him never to take off, and passed it to the spidery hand in front of him.
A hand was removed from Sarah's mouth. She merely licked her lips and watched Peter.
Voldemort sniggered like a child and slipped it on the only digit it would fit on without slipping: his thumb, and admired it for a second before turning to Peter.
"There are two sort of people I hate in this world," he hissed--as the remaining Death Eaters excluding two, Disapparated or walked out of the dark room--"People who desert their own people and those who accept Mudbloods into their group of friends. You quite nicely fit into both categories."
Sarah's binds were cut and she fell to the floor. Shakily she got to her feet but she stayed where she was, half way in between Peter and Voldemort, looking at both of them. Peter suddenly had his strength back and was allowed to stand up, but his wand was kept.
It was then that he saw there was nothing wrong with Sarah. She had no cuts or marks like she did on the picture. She was fine save for a few knots in her hair and the dry tear stains on her cheeks. Voldemort muttered something, raised his wand, and she walked over towards him.
Voldemort must have seen Peter's face.
"I wouldn't be too pleased about saving the one you love," he spat the word 'love' out as if it was the most disgusting word in the world. "She was never yours."
Then, all the things clicked in place.
The warnings his friends had given him over and over again, the way she had been in school, her friends, the fact that she was almost sent to Azkaban for life, everything fell into place. All tears forgotten, she was smiling coyly as Voldemort whispered things into her ear and stroked the hair off her neck.
She met Peter's eyes while Voldemort's back was turned and pleaded with her eyes, not to do anything stupid. But he wasn't going to be stupid again. Not ever. He could see that she was feeling bad about it but that was nothing compared to what he was feeling.
An empty void had appeared where the love for her once lay. He hated the world and he hated himself. All he felt now was revulsion and anger but it was directed at no one but her. It was dangerous, powerful and icy cold.
And she knew it.
Blood pounded is his ears as he glared at her in disgust. She smirked back when she saw that another person's deadly gaze was upon her.
Peter broke down and fell to his knees, the weight of what he had done to James and his family crashed upon him. James, who had been his friend all through school, Lily and Harry, all the Potters were going to die just because of him.
But he wasn't as upset as he knew he should be. A little voice in the back of his head told him that James and Sirius had only befriended him out of pity, like they had done with Remus but only it was different. They liked him despite his abnormality.
He was jealous of his friends. Jealous at James for being so happy with his family, jealous of Sirius for being so popular with everyone, jealous of Remus for being so smart; for being accepted where he wasn't.
"Isn't that sweet," Voldemort sneered, interrupting Peter's angry thoughts, as the last Death Eater disappeared with a small pop. "You actually thought she cared for you?"
Peter didn't give him the satisfaction of providing an answer. He started to pull his hair out in an effort to get rid of the gnawing feeling eating away the fear which once lay in his stomach.
One day, he comforted himself, Voldemort will be the one wanting help and in need. And he'd make sure he was there to see him squirm and plead for help. This one thought gave him enough conviction to look up once to find Voldemort standing just behind Sarah with his hands on her shoulders and kissing up and down her bare neck with his eyes on him. Sarah had her eyes closed.
Blood started to pound in his ears again.
"Never trust a beautiful woman, Peter," he continued, entwining his fingers in hers. "Especially, if she's interested in you."
Peter was only half listening, but Voldemort had hit on something. He would never trust anyone ever again.
He passed Sarah the ring and she squealed excitedly like a girl in a toyshop. She bit her lip as she fingered it gingerly, inspecting it closely in the limited light. She smiled demurely again, toying with it in her fingers as he wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her closer to him.
Peter looked up once more and saw Sarah muttering something and Voldemort smiled wickedly. "Thanks for the ring Peter," he said, raising his wand and smirking cruelly.
"It's simply gorgeous."
Peter sat up in his bed, sweating with the morning light streaming in, feeling as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured over him. The dream he had had was just so vivid, yet he couldn't put it into words, the faces in it and even the spoken words were out of his grasp.
He frowned; that wasn't what had woken him up though. Someone was hammering hard at his door.
"I am going to bloody kill you Peter!"
A voice, crackling with emotions that hadn't run its course, but horribly recognisable: Sirius'.
Then it dawned on him.
Peter looked around him; Sarah wasn't lying in the bed next to him. He jumped out and searched the bed, pulling all the sheets back to the mattress, under the pillows and beneath the bed itself. He checked all of the other rooms quickly, looking in all the places she would normally be.
In the boiler cupboard, in the bath, under the sink and anywhere else he could think of, with a growing ache over his heart. There was no note on the fridge, nothing written on the small blackboard by the oven and no note on his desk.
Her wand, clothes, make-up and the rest of her belongings were gone as well. His things were left untouched, while every last trace of her had disappeared.
He collapsed onto the stripped bed, with his head in his strangely light and naked hands.
His eyes widened as he looked at his shaking right hand and his middle finger.
Ring-less.
"You better run," Sirius yelled once more, voice breaking, as Peter pulled on some clothes roughly. "And you better hope I don't catch up with you! If I do, the Ministry will find you in three weeks, so finely shredded that your biggest part won't be big enough to fit in a match box!"
Peter took some deep breaths as the emptiness he had felt last night enveloped him again. It all became clear, dreadfully clear, what he had to do. As if dark forces had entered his body, he spotted something of hers, a scarf he had bought her last winter.
"And I won't be using anything sharper than a dull stone!" Sirius bellowed.
The scarf's silver lining glinted at him meaningfully in the unusually strong, morning sunlight.
Picking it up methodically, he sniffed it as he walked across the room, flicking his wand to clear up the mess in a second.
Just as the door of his flat burst open, he had opened the window of his bedroom and climbed down the Muggle fire-escape, down into the crowded but strangely bright, Muggle street.
He reached the bottom and waited for Sirius to see him, making no attempt to run yet.