I do not own Harry Potter and make no profit off this story. Harry Potter
belongs solely to J.K. Rowling.
No one knew it had been inevitable that Peter Pettigrew joined Voldemort. No one really knew much about Peter at all.
No one knew how his mother had died giving birth to him and that his father had blamed him. No one knew how often he'd been locked in the dark cellar or knew how many times he'd covered angry bruises with long sleeves and later concealing charms. No one knew of the mocking caresses that made him shiver, the unpredictable hands of his father.
No one knew how he'd loved James and Sirius and Remus and hated them too. Hated them for pretending to be kind when he didn't deserve it. He deserved to be beaten, to be hated, to be punished. He hated that they didn't hurt him and he loved them. And no one knew.
But somehow someone found out.
He came home for the holidays and He was waiting. Pettigrew Sr. was dead in the recliner.
"I killed him for you Peter." The Dark Lord said.
Peter was afraid and he trembled. He was afraid of the thrill of joy that coursed through him at seeing his father's dead body. Those were bad thoughts. He would be punished. And he felt afraid without the hands of his father, the only one who gave him what he deserved. And he was afraid of the being before him, who would kill for him.
The Dark Lord knew this. "I will take care of you Peter. I will always take care of you." One cold hand traced its way gently down Peter's cheek, a path of ice. "I did this for you. Do you like it?"
And Peter needed what the evil man offered; he didn't know how to live without it. Peter trembled.
"I can take you to the Potters, master."
The other smiled broadly and lay a hand full of praise on top of Peter's head. "Good boy."
And Peter trembled.
No one knew it had been inevitable that Peter Pettigrew joined Voldemort. No one really knew much about Peter at all.
No one knew how his mother had died giving birth to him and that his father had blamed him. No one knew how often he'd been locked in the dark cellar or knew how many times he'd covered angry bruises with long sleeves and later concealing charms. No one knew of the mocking caresses that made him shiver, the unpredictable hands of his father.
No one knew how he'd loved James and Sirius and Remus and hated them too. Hated them for pretending to be kind when he didn't deserve it. He deserved to be beaten, to be hated, to be punished. He hated that they didn't hurt him and he loved them. And no one knew.
But somehow someone found out.
He came home for the holidays and He was waiting. Pettigrew Sr. was dead in the recliner.
"I killed him for you Peter." The Dark Lord said.
Peter was afraid and he trembled. He was afraid of the thrill of joy that coursed through him at seeing his father's dead body. Those were bad thoughts. He would be punished. And he felt afraid without the hands of his father, the only one who gave him what he deserved. And he was afraid of the being before him, who would kill for him.
The Dark Lord knew this. "I will take care of you Peter. I will always take care of you." One cold hand traced its way gently down Peter's cheek, a path of ice. "I did this for you. Do you like it?"
And Peter needed what the evil man offered; he didn't know how to live without it. Peter trembled.
"I can take you to the Potters, master."
The other smiled broadly and lay a hand full of praise on top of Peter's head. "Good boy."
And Peter trembled.