Written for Malhearst, Keeper for Falcons, and an amazing person, for the support she has always provided to me and the team.

Harry Potter Prompts:

Characters: Voldemort and Sirius

Words: Betrayal, unmasked, truth and guide

Song: Bulletproof Love by Pierce the Veil (If you don't like the song then look up the lyrics) :)

Lyrics in particular: "I'll sing along, 'cause I don't know any other song,"

"And now there's nothing to do, but scream at the drunken moon,"

"My love for you was bulletproof, but you're the one who shot me,"

[Challenge] Drabble Club:

Item: Window

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The Conflict Inside

~01~

(And now there's nothing to do but scream at the drunken moon.)

Your breath hitches in your throat as your master makes his way to the house you've known for so long. Your tiny body plops up and down in the pocket in sync with your master's footsteps. You hear a voice shout as he knocks on the door—a voice you know all too well.

You shudder as the realisation that you won't hear this voice anymore dawns on you. You hesitate for a second, then retrace your thoughts, thanking your stars for the fact that your master is too busy to find out what you're thinking, or you would have been six feet under the ground by now.

A flash of green makes you close your eyes for a split second, in which a certain pair of hazel-eyes you've known for so long, are closed forever. Guilt of betrayal is clawing its way to your mind, but you oppose it with a single thought that has kept you from falling prey to insanity for the last year—Nothing is too big of a loss to save one's own life.

You can feel your master making his way up the stairs; the image of a certain red head floats in your mind. Snive—your chest tightens, but you force the thoughts of school years away—Snape had pleaded for Lily's life, and you're hoping that at least she would survive.

The scene that unfolds in front of your eyes once your master blasts the door to the nursery open, snatches that hope away. There is she, shielding her son from the monster you call master. You feel very small in front of her, your mind unconsciously trying to reach to the Gryffindor you've locked away, but you pull back.

Your desire to live is stronger than your friendship. You cringe at this realisation, but you know this is the truth.

When you feel your master's attention focus on the woman and the toddler, you jump out of the pocket and settle yourself at the windowsill. Li—The woman's cries ring through your ears, her pleadings for her son's life tear your heart apart bit by bit, but the man standing in front of her, wand pointed straight at her heart, betrays no emotions. The cold face gives you the inspiration to push your feelings away. Power is the mantra, you recite over and over.

The green flash blinds you for a moment; by the time you can see again, another soul has departed, another life gone. Guilt wants to eat you apart, yet your want for power strengthens your barriers.

For the third time, death crawls upon the once-happy-family in the shape of a wooden stick, but you've had enough. You slide down the wall and out of the house, not wanting to witness another murder in cold blood.

You're their murderer, a distant voice calls out from somewhere inside you—the small part of your soul that hasn't yet been tainted is crying out for attention, but you ignore that dim light in the never-ending darkness. You just want to be on the winning side, everything else is just an illusion, a mirage to you.

You wait there on the doorstep, for your invisible master to return. You know you will be heavily rewarded; you helped remove the only thorn in his path. For the third time, green flashes, and your eyelids close involuntarily. Your attention goes to the baby screams piercing through the stillness of the night—dead can't scream. You wonder what happened as your master's yells ring through your ears; you watch a shadow leave the house, the shadow of the person who was once your master. You feel different emotions gripping you from each side like tiny fingers trying to clutch your brain, but the ones standing out are happiness and fear—the former for the fact that you're free of a barbaric master at last, and the latter because there's no one to protect you from the only person who will know you betrayed the Potters: Sirius Black. You know he will hunt you down and tear you apart; you know he'll get back to you for revenge for betraying his family. You're frightened, helpless. Sirius would be mad, and the only person who can calm him down is dead; the only person who would have made you feel safe is dead. You want to cry, but there's no use doing that. Once again, you wonder why you were put into Gryffindor as you decide to do the only thing a coward like you could do—flee.

.

~02~

(I'll sing along, 'cause I don't know any other song)

You run here and there, looking out for a place to hide, but each hideout seems more unsafe than the previous one, and you know for sure that Black will find you soon. Dawn is round the corner, and you haven't caught a wink of sleep.

"My Lord," a masked woman says, bowing. The man turned around, his long black cloak slithering on the floor. You shiver as his eyes stare at you, unblinking.

"Wormtail," the man says, his voice like the hiss of a snake. He lets out a laugh which makes a chill run down your spine. This is Lord Voldemort, and you know what lies next—death.

You can't help but envy others for being faster than you. Everyone but you ran away, everyone but you is safe; you are the one awaiting your doom, standing in front of the Master of Death. They're all traitors, who let you fall prey to the Death Eaters.

"Yes, they're traitors," he says in his cold voice. "Lord Voldemort will give you a choice, Wormtail."

"C-Cho-ice?" you manage to say, and all of the masked-men laugh at your squeak.

"Rat!" a woman says, and cackles. This is Bellatrix Black, you realise.

"Choice," the Dark Lord says—you're surprised at yourself for using this title for him. "You're smart, Wormtail," he says, laughing again. "Join me, be my servant, and you shall be spared. You shall be powerful. You shall rule."

You are tempted to accept, but the Gryffindor in you does not allow you to accept the offer. You will not betray the Order for this; this isn't what you joined the Order for.

You feel fingers prodding into your head; you let out a scream. Then the pain disappears. They're traitors, a cold voice rings in your head. They don't care if you live or survive, as long as you do the work.

But they're my friends, you counter. You nearly say no, but the desire to live, to be accepted as equal, to rule, to have power at your foot, is too strong.

"Yes, master," you say in a mere whisper.

"What?" he says. The command in his voice is repulsive and hypnotising at the same time, the latter being the force to strengthen your decision.

"Yes, master," you say again, knowing very well that now there's no turning back.

He laughs again, as do the other masked men. But this time, you do not feel the shivers. The sound is welcoming; you're one of them now.

You jerk awake; there is no master nor the Death Eaters around, yet you shiver as you realise the events of last night. Black must be running after you at this very minute; you curse yourself for falling asleep. You transform back into your own self; though you can't hide yourself easily, Padfoot could track Wormtail faster.

You turn the corner only to spot his brown curls, and you retrace your path. You turn into an alley, your eyes meeting a pair of grim grey ones; you pace away. You turn back as you feel eyes boring into the back of your head, and notice a huge black dog running toward you; you run, your mind too full of thoughts to allow you Disapparate without splinching yourself.

You are sensing his presence all around you, seeing him in every street and alley. Sleep is taking over your mind, and you think you're going mad.

For a moment, you want him to materialise in front of you—you're tired of living in a nightmare. But the want of living is as strong as before, which serves as a boost to your energy.

"Master," you hear yourself speak.

He turns towards you, the blood-red eyes looking at more than just your face. You feel the now familiar prodding in your mind, he seeks for the knowledge and you willingly give it to him.

"Well done, Wormtail," he says, coming toward you, and you resist the urge to step back. He wraps his slender arms around you in an awkward hug.

He pulls out his wand and you freeze. "Your hand, Wormtail," he says. Shivering, you extend your left arm up.

He pulls the sleeve of your robe up and places his wand on your arm. You feel it burn like a cigarette, yet you do not whimper in the slightest. He pulls the wand back, and you look at the burn. The black spot moves around and settles in a mark—the Dark Mark. You're branded at last.

You feel the Dark Mark on your arm itch. You shake yourself awake; you're ashamed that you let yourself sleep again. You stand up and start walking again; you want to go as far from Godric's Hollow as possible.

Seconds, minutes, hours pass away, and you're still walking. You turn around the corner, the fear of being found still afresh. You take a step, another step, and then you spot him, looking around among the people like a hawk. You can't move your eyes away. He looks up, your eyes meet, and you come out of the trance. You turn and start running. You can hear his footsteps get closer and closer, and you run faster, weaving your way through the crowd. You know very well that you can't outrun him, neither can you duel him and survive, yet you dare not Disapparate, you know you'll splinch yourself.

You turn round the corner into a busy alley; you know he's still following. You keep on running, hoping for losing him in the crowd.

The hope slips away as you come to a dead end. You turn around; he is standing mere ten feet away. He is smiling, happy to have cornered you at last. Yet, his eyes are grim, feeling the loss of his best friend and his family.

Once again, the Gryffindor in you starts to rise and you nearly drop your wand. Then you realise you'd either be killed, or sent off to Azkaban wherein live the Dementors. You shake the thought away and call up the Slytherin knowledge you've learnt in the past year.

"I knew you would come after me," you shout, looking straight into his eyes. He stares at you, shocked, and you know you're going the same way. "You've killed Lily and James"—your heart pains when you say that—"and now you've come to kill me!"

The muggles look at both of you, shocked. You've gathered a small crowd, but no one steps forward to help you.

Black lifts his wand up, his eyes showing his pain—asking for the reason for this betrayal.

"How could you?" you say. "You were their friend, Sirius, how could you?" You let your eyes leak, but the tears are not fake. They're the tears of guilt—guilt for betraying your friends, guilt for putting the blame on a friend, yet you do not let the facade fall.

He comes to a still once more, and you take advantage of his confusion. You wave your wand behind you and draw a shield around yourself and Sirius. You cut off your forefinger and wave the wand once more, spelling out a curse the Dark Lord taught you, wordlessly. In the split second of the blast, you transform back into Wormtail and hide behind a rock.

You look around and the sight of cold murder meets your eyes—a murder you committed—a dozen sacrifices to save your own life.

You turn to look at Sirius, who is staring at the sight himself. A moment's pause, and then he laughs—a cold, maniacal laughter, no different from Bellatrix's—he laughs to his pain, he laughs to your betrayal, he laughs to the fact that you framed him, but he does not run away. He is a true Gryffindor after all.

You watch the Aurors arrest him. You want to cry for him, for Lily, for James. You do not cry. You're a murderer, a back-stabber. You want to feel the remorse, but you don't. You're a Death Eater, and Death Eaters create Death. You lost your ability to feel when you joined your master. You've accepted this cursed life, so you blink the tears away.

.

~03~

(My love for you was bulletproof, but you're the one who shot me)

You twirl the yew wand you retrieved from Godric Hollow. It has been two days since that doomed night; you haven't slept yet. You close your eyes. Sirius Black's face swims in front of you. His face gaunt, not betraying any emotions. It could have fooled anyone but the Marauders—you shudder as the thought of that name enters your mind. The slight droop of his lips showing his intense gloom, which only you can see. His eyebrows slightly raised, asking you why you did that. His eyes grim, as you put the blame on him.

That hurt him the most—he would have given up his life for—you do not want to think of them, but you force yourself to do that—James and Lily. And now, the whole of the wizarding world knows him as the traitor. You're known as the hero who sacrificed his life trying to catch Black.

Your chest clenches, and you try to stop the tears flowing down your cheeks. You want to force your thoughts away from Sirius, James, Lily, and Harry, but your mind betrays you as soon as you close your eyes.

"James!" he yells across the corridor. His hand is wrapped around your arm. He whispers soothing words in your ear as you writhe in pain.

"What, Siri—" He stops as he sees you. "Who did this?" he asks.

"The Slytherins," Sirius replies. "My cousin Bellatrix and her gang."

You notice James clench his fists. You've admired both of them since the first day.

"How dare they harm a Gryffindor?"

"Don't worry," Sirius says. "We'll teach them a lesson!"

"Are you two brewing another prank?" their sidekick, Remus Lupin asks.

"Oh no, Remmy!" Sirius says, "We're just planning for a revenge for our new friend."

You smile despite the pain. No one has called you a friend before, and Sirius Black took you in. This is the best thing that has happened to in the whole of the past month, since you came to Hogwarts.

You tense up at this memory, regretting putting blame on the person who made you feel accepted. He was the first person to treat you as an equal. You want to cry, but then you remember, Nothing is too big of a loss to save one's own life.

~ooo~