Prologue: Bad Moon Rising

All rights to the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling, blah, blah, blah. Also, I must state that I got the idea to use Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival to FMJ-Author and his(her?) Dawn of the Dead fanfic Brave New World. It's damned good, check it out.

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Peter Pettigrew, in every way, shape, and form, now thought of himself as Wormtail. Not the Wormtail who hero worshiped Sirius Black and James Potter, but literally the tail of a worm, the most worthless part of a slimy, disgusting creature. That worms were essential to the renewal of nutrients in the soil did not clash with this image, as whenever he thought of them he thought of a time when he was nine years old and had been sitting in his parent's garden, digging among their rose bushes. As he did he pulled up the fattest, longest worm he'd ever seen, and as he watched it squirm among his fingers he noted with disgust the sliminess and coldness of the creature.

That was why he thought of himself as that, and as he walked into his master's most private chamber he knew what he would help do would make him unworthy of even that name. He knew it would make him a damned soul still walking the Earth, and he knew full well what lay beyond the curtain in the Department of Mysteries, thus making him know full well where he would be headed when he died. As the door to the inner sanctum opened, a gust of wind from behind him made the light in the lamp he was carrying flicker, and when the door was fully open he could see out the one window and into the knight sky above the island they were on. "Hmm, a full moon tonight," he thought to himself.

I see the bad moon arising.

I see trouble on the way.

I see earthquakes and lightnin'.

I see bad times today.

"I can only imagine the hell Moony is going through," Wormtail thought with a shudder. His animagi form being a rat he had never been able to spend time with Remus when he transformed liked Sirius and James did, and Remus had never been comfortable talking about it himself or having anyone else do it, so Wormtail had respectfully kept silent. But that didn't mean he wasn't frightened reading descriptions of it by werewolves themselves (as brief as they were) from a book he would pilfer from the Restricted Section at the Hogwarts library.

"You arrived on time, I am pleased," Lord Voldemort said from the chair in front of his desk, a truly massive tome open before him.

"I live to serve you, my Lord," Wormtail said, bending down to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes, but stopping himself when he saw Voldemort raise his hand.

"There is no need for that tonight Wormtail, I simply wish to get to work," his Lord said, startling Wormtail more than a little bit. Among many other things, Voldemort was a harsh taskmaster when it came to protocol, and for such an important piece to be ignored was truly rare.

"Master, before we begin, this humble servant of yours begs of you an answer to his question,"

"The answer shall depend upon your question Wormtail," Voldemort said in the same flat voice as before.

"I am the only one you told the true danger of this curse to. Why? I mean, I understand the requirements of the spell my Lord, but why not tell others about your plans before tomorrow?" Wormtail asked, and dearly hoped for an answer. Up until this point he hadn't understood why, and for a reason he couldn't figure out, he just needed to.

"That is a question best left for later my servant, if we survive," Voldemort said.

Don't go around tonight,

Well, it's bound to take your life,

There's a bad moon on the rise.

"Permission to speak freely my Lord," Wormtail requested. He was the only person ever to have done that successfully, and hoped he would be again; of course, he had been forced to suffer the Crucio curse in the past when doing it, so he was still fearful.

"You may my servant," Voldemort said as he closed the tome.

"My Lord… what if your plan fails?" Wormtail asked, his voice now openly trembling with fear.

"Than our punishments in the Abode of Treachery shall be horrible indeed," Voldemort whispered, his tone more frightening than anything Wormtail had yet heard. It was not of anger, violence, malevolence, or contempt, but cold fear, something he thought his Dark Lord could no longer feel.

I hear hurricanes ablowing.

I know the end is coming soon.

I fear rivers over flowing.

I hear the voice of rage and ruin.

"The Abode of Treachery, my Lord?" Wormtail asked him, his mind drawing a blank.

"A muggle writer named Dante Alighieri wrote an epic poem in the early Middle Ages called the Divina Commedia in it's native Italian, the Divine Commedy in English, in which he is guided through the three regions of the traditional Catholic afterlife by two separate guides, through Hell and Purgatory by the pagan poet Virgil, and through Heaven by a woman he loved on Earth named Beatrice. In the bottom of Hell, divided into nine circles, each one corresponding to various punishments for different types of sins, is the Abode of Treachery, where the greatest traitors of history are punished. At the center of the Abode, which is itself divided into four zones, is the three faced fallen angel Lucifer himself, slowly chewing on Brutus and Cassius, the betrayers of Gaius Julius Caesar, in the side mouths. I expect that we will replace them if we fail," Voldemort said matter of factly, with a hint of fear still in his voice.

"Who was in the center mouth?" Wormtail asked out of a slight bit of curiosity.

"Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of Jesus the Christ," Voldemort said. "Come my servant, we shall begin," he said as he stood up.

Don't go around tonight,

Well, it's bound to take your life,

There's a bad moon on the rise.

All right!

They walked to the center of a white chalk pentagram where Voldemort stood at the center, Wormtail facing him kneeling, his hand pressed into the chalk. The spell Voldemort had discovered was quite possibly the most cursed thing in existence, not having been used since well before recorded human history. It was what wiped out the population of Atlantis, with the cause of their island sinking into the ocean being a few survivors who feared for the primitives around the world. It would require part of the energy of its caster, someone who had to be truly evil, if such a thing existed, and his/her most loyal follower.

Slowly, steadily, Voldemort began his chants, in a language ancient even when the Sumerians began to build their first cities. As he did Wormtail began to feel tired, not from lack of sleep, but as if he was aging far faster than he should. Voldemort had told him during their final preparatory meeting that there would be no permanent ill effects, but Wormtail still couldn't help but fear that he was loosing a piece of his soul. Not only that, but he was somehow able to feel this happen to his Lord as well, and was chilled at the amount of negative emotion flowing out from him

Hope you got your things together.

Hope you are quite prepared to die.

Looks like we're in for nasty weather.

One eye is taken for an eye.

Then, with a thundering crescendo, Lord Voldemort spoke the final words, and the amassed energy shot out of them and into the sky, circling the Earth in less than a second. The majority of the living felt nothing more than an ill breeze, except for an unlucky group that was struck dead where they stood. Though, as Voldemort and Wormtail believed they knew, that was far from the end of it. "My Lord, we have succeeded," Wormtail said, not exuberant but relieved that it was over.

Don't go around tonight,

Well, it's bound to take your life,

There's a bad moon on the rise.

"No Wormtail," Voldemort said in a chilling whisper, "it is far from over, and we may still fail. If we do, this planet will become a land of the dead."

Don't go around tonight,

Well, it's bound to take your life,

There's a bad moon on the rise.