Disclaimer: All belongs to JKR, I'm just borrowing.

A/N: Don't forget to review when you're done! This is pretty short, so you have plenty of time to drop me a line:)

You thought you found a friend to take you out of this place
Someone you thought you could lend a hand in return for grace.
—U2

He didn't want to do this; there was no arguing that. But, he reasoned, wasn't that the test of true loyalty—how far you would go for another person? Although, he corrected himself quickly, the Dark Lord was hardly a mere person. He glanced around nervously, as though he might be accosted for his slip.

I should be honored, he told himself as his stomach rolled. I should be honored that the Dark Lord has seen fit to use me for his purposes. There was no consoling his anxious nerves; he would simply have to jump right in and do this. He gripped his head tightly; his hands were shaking.

But—a small, faint voice protested from some deep place in his mind that he had forgotten existed. But—James and Lily, Peter! They're your friends! And—and their son! He's barely a year old! What's he done that deserves this?

"Shut up," he whispered. "Shut up, shut up!"

You can still get out, Peter, the voice whispered; he was reminded vaguely of Lupin. It's not too late to go to Dumbledore...

"Dumbledore can't protect me!" he hissed, thankful he was alone and no one could hear him arguing with himself.

James and Lily, Peter...James and Lily, the voice whispered; he stamped his foot and snapped, "It's too late! It's already done!"

There was a knock on the door; when he opened it, a masked man with a faint sneer curling his upper lip drawled, "It's time."

"Fine," he said tersely, shutting the door with more strength than he meant. He was sweating and there was a cold thread of fear snaking around his heart. Checking to make sure he was ready, he clasped his wand and left, ready to play his part.

As he descended the stairs, a cold, high voice said, "Let's be on our way, shall we." It was not a question; the Dark Lord never asked questions.

Wormtail swallowed and followed the Dark Lord into the night. The journey to Godric's Hollow was a short one and when they arrived, the Dark Lord turned to him.

"Now you can prove your worthiness, Wormtail," he hissed, rubbing his pale hands together and staring hungrily at him.

James and Lily— the voice protested weakly; he squashed it. Voice stronger than he felt, he said clearly, "The Potters may be found in the village of Godric's Hollow, my lord."

"Excellent," the Dark Lord said quietly. "You have done well, Wormtail. Now wait here." He turned and made his way down towards the Potter house, his black cloak swishing ominously behind him.

Wormtail slumped into a tree; there was a nagging suspicion in his mind that maybe—just maybe, he had made a mistake...maybe he should have gone to Dumbledore, Dumbledore would have protected him from the Dark Lord's wrath...

There was a flash of green light from inside the Potter house; Wormtail winced. Dumbledore would have tried to protect him, he corrected, and Dumbledore would have failed. No one lived to betray the Dark Lord...

A second flash of green. Any minute now, the Dark Lord would come back, triumphant in his victory; he would give Wormtail his rewards...the bit of guilt that had wormed its way into his brain was pushed aside by the thought of his rewards.

There was a third flash of green and Wormtail, convinced the job was done, stood, ready to leave. Then—then everything went horribly, terribly wrong.

Dumbstruck, Wormtail could only stare in shock as the house ripped itself apart, its walls collapsing as though a great earthquake had just occurred. A cold sweat began to break out on his forehead. No, no, this isn't happening, this is all just part of the Dark Lord's plan—

Wand shaking in his outstretched hand, Wormtail ran towards the destruction.

"Master! Master!" he cried, nearly falling as he reached the ruined house. The Dark Lord was nowhere to be found. No, no, no!

Desperately, he searched the rubble for something, anything to tell him that he had not sentenced his best friends to death for nothing—and there it was. A wand, lying deserted in the ruin.

"Damn it," he whispered, staring down at it for a long minute before picking it up. He desperately avoided looking too closely at the rest of the ruined house; he did not want to see their bodies, did not want to see his betrayal fully realized.

Glancing around—surely the Muggles that lived nearby would have called their authorities by now—he transformed into his rat form. Clutching the Dark Lord's wand and his own between his sharp rodent teeth, he skirted away from the demolished Potter house.

He was so distracted in running away that he failed to notice a small bundle lying peacefully several meters away from where he stood.

A/N: So what do you think?