"Wormtail,"A cool, raspy voice murmured through pale, thin lips. His skin was so ghostly the blue veins around his mouth popped out when he spoke. But Peter wasn't staring at his mouth. He was staring at his eyes. From afar, they looked as if they were glowing like coal embers or garnets. Upon further inspection, they were slitted and bloodshot. As some people had heavy bags around their eyes, he looked as if he had lost half of his lids, making his eyes almost protruded and purple. A skeletal hand reached around the back of Peter's shoulder and Peter had to force himself to keep from tensing. "We must talk." Peter thought he almost sounded like a friend inviting him to share thoughts and feelings and catch up on the old times.
He was not wearing any sort of hood, though his cloak clearly had one. He had no hair to speak of. Not on his jowls, his temples, his eyelids, nor his head. A vein in his forehead throbbed every now and again without reason. Peter could watch as he swallowed, every muscle in his throat constricting, his Adam's apple bobbing up and relaxing when he swallowed. "Yes, My Lord?" Peter looked up at him. Those glowing red eyes bore into him, reading every inch of his mind, every visible corner of his brain, to every millimeter of his body. He felt the eyes peer inside of his body, knowing every hidden guilty thought that he had hidden as between his bones.
"Wormtail," The other man wheezed again. "I can sense that something is wrong with you tonight. Something is... different."
There was a scurrying feeling in Peter's skull. Figurative spider legs scratched at the bone of his temple. His hand clasped against his wrinkled brow and tangled blond hair. The spiders clawed into the shrouded pink tissue beneath, weaving into its mushy crevices. Peter swallowed nervously. "Different, My Lord?"
"You were... upset... during the meeting, were you not?" The Lord's words were slow. Calculated. Deceptive. Peter was being led towards the sprawling fireplace.
The spiders were burrowing further into his mind. Peter swore he could feel them beneath his hand. His head turned. He watched the dancing flames in front of him. They roared and crackled at a heightheight almost as tall as him. He tried to put himself in a different place, a different time. Maybe that fireplace was meant to be a cozy cottage someplace. Maybe someplace with a soft couch and carpeted floors. He wished he could be anywhere but this black palace. He wished he wasn't scrubbing blood off of the Malfoy's ornate stone dining table. It wasn't like he didn't have a wand, he just wasn't very good at cleaning charms. His head was aching. He suspected the spiders.
"Yes, My Lord, but I wish to not bother you with it." Peter said quickly. He was too frightened to pull away or resist in any manner. Not for his life, and frankly, he knew not what was holding him back.
"Perhaps you ought to confide Severus. I'm sure he has the answers to your curiosities."
Peter knew that he was being taunted. He always knew now. He couldn't afford the childish naivity he carried when he first joined. He rubbed his face, sliding back his his hair from his forehead, though it was too coarse to smooth out. Didn't he know how much he hated Severus? Perhaps more than Sirius or James ever had. And the mere mention of Remus during the meeting was not going to be enough to-
Half-made images formed in his mind. Then there was a painfully bright white flash. It was enough that ir burned Peter's eyes and the spiders, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, to make it stop. The Dark Lord was untouched. He waited patiently for his follower to recover. "What ails you?"
Peter shook his head. The spiders slowly built back their speed and continued the web they were building inside of him. "Nothing." He knew well why the agonizing white lights tormented him at all hours of the day. Worst of all, they crashed over him as the sun fell down, when he was alone, and tired. Whenever his face his the pillow, their faces, their voices, the memories they had together... Even considering the flashes of light brought on pain to him. Peter flinched again and strained his neck. "Nothing, Sir."
"I will tell Narcissa of the mess our guest left behind." He sighed. "I will be needing you to gather your strength soon. I presume you will be accompanying us on Potter's birthday."
"Yes, Sir." Peter nodded. The heat from the fire was warm on his left hand. The metal one however, was cold and unyielding. Likely, he would have to submerge it in flames to bring any amount of heat back to his fingers. It was painful, actually, to imagine his right hand was constantly submerged in ice water. Everything he felt and everything he touched was cold. It was his punishment, he told himself. He was no longer completely human in his mind and it wasn't like he could half-transform into a rat. Bad people did bad things and deserved bad punishments, right? He was a bad person. He must be less than any other person. He must be less than human to do the things he had done.
"Why are you angry?" The gesture he made towards Peter was almost compassioante. "I can sense you drifting, and that quite concerns me."
Drifting? Did he believe he was being doubtful? No, surely not. He had fleeting thoughts, of course, maybe a plan hadn't been as well executed as it could have been or maybe one of the men among his ranks hadn't done all they were capable. But failures and casualties were expected and planned for. They would always take small hits in order to make bigger ones. Peter wasn't exactly doubtful in the plan, yet he wasn't completely convinced that it would be as perfect as he had been promised. Peter never doubted the results. He never doubted the prize at the end. He killed thirteen last time, a show, as they were meaningless and were merely collateral damage. He gave a part if his physical self for this. Why would he drift?
"No, My Lord." Peter shook his head. "I have no idea what you're speaking of."
"Do you remember what happened last year at the Ministry?" The Lord asked in a raspy voice.
Peter swallowed nervously. "Yes, My Lord." The sadness was a punch in the stomach. On the one hand, with Sirius dead, he no longer spent every waking moment in terror. But on the other hand, he lost the next closest person to him. The man who he had once cared for had been stripped away in prison, yet Peter hoped, prayed, imagined, and fantasizedthat Sirius would remember all of the things that Peter did. All of the good memories... no, Peter hadn't trashed all of the good things he had once had... he hoped, prayed, imagined, and fantasizedthat his two remaining friends hadn't either. Maybe what he did was a mistake. Maybe it was just self-preservation. Maybe he had trusted the Dark Lord too much. Maybe he had trusted Dumbledore too much. Maybe none of it mattered anymore.
The other wizard's voice grew low and harsh. "Guilt and regret are very human emotions. It's how you use it that it defines you. Defines your weakness."
"Yes, My Lord." Peter nodded. A hand pressed down firmly against his shoulder.
"You must remember how foolish they were, Wormtail. I have given every deserving witch or wizard a chance to stand down. Consider yourself smarter than them, more levelheaded than they ever would have been." He said. "You have the right to mourn them for what they were. What they could have been. What they should have been. It was their fault for being foolish, never having listened to the stronger voice. It was a shame to see their potential wasted."
"Yes... My Lord." Peter caught a distorted glimpse of himself in the reflection of his arm. The painful white flashes beat him over and over the head. Then, in the whiteness came the images. Her red hair. His bent glasses. His sloppy stick-and-poke ancient ruins tattoos. Happy. Laughing. No. No. No. "There's still-" Peter gasped at air. The spiders were laying eggs inside of his mind. He forced the other wizard off of him on accident, both of his hands grabbing and pulling at his face and hair, his expression becoming nothing more than wrinkles and creases.
"Yes, you're right..." The Dark Lord informed. He ignored his follower's tormented expression. Peter heard something slythering along the floor, and he swore he felt the rustling of a snake against his foot. "There is still one left..."
Did Remus look worse than the last time Peter had encountered him? At least he hadn't died of natural causes. Peter felt he himself was too young to die on mere accident. But now he was married. Was she pretty? Did she kiss him on the cheek and tell him how much she loved him, like Lily had sone to James? Or hated him as much as Lily had hated James? Was their wedding a wedding like James and Lily had once had, two decades ago? With beautiful lights and flowers and a beautiful dress and- Flash. It struck him again. Sirius, drunk, howling with laughter, singing as loud as he could. Flash. The taste of the inside of Marlene McKinnon's mouth. Flash. "My Lord, I-"
The spiders stopped wriggling in the gyri of his mind. The Dark Lord's grasp on his mind loosened. The weight of his body collapsed onto the hard, cold floor. He had had episodes like this before, but never such a caliber where he could no longer hold up his body.
"You're going to die, Peter." The other wizard bent over towards him. The use of his name was shocking. Since when was Peter, Peter? Peter was Wormtail, the loyal and obedient servant. The most faithful on the Dark Lord's right hand. Wormtail was grateful and generous and hardworking. What was Peter supposed to be? Peter's insides (and outsides) were meant to have rotten in a sewer. Peter was dead. Peter was weak.
"Please..." Peter begged. Red ember eyes poured into him. Yellowing crooked teeth smiled at him.
"I won't kill you yet. You want to mean something, don't you?"
"I-" He croaked. Then came their faces, fully fledged, one after the other. Her eyes, Harry's eyes. Sirius, sharp witted and smirking. James, whose eyes softened when he knew the others needed him. Remus, with his many years of scars. She had to be ugly, old and maybe even blind to fall in love with something like him, Peter convinced himself. He had to. Remus was truly the unlovable one, they all knew it, and had known him for what he really was. He knew what his master wanted from him.
"If you had to... if you had the opportunity to... would you prove yourself as loyal to me as you did in Godric's Hollow?"
Peter sucked in air. "I would... would do anything for you... for the cause." His temples throbbed right down the middle, but Peter didn't hide his face. "My Lord."