Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter... even Rowling doesn't own all of HP rights I think technically speaking.
Team:Appleby Arrows
Position: Seeker
Prompt: A death eater is visited by someone
Round: 1
He shivered in the darkness as he tried to find a place to rest. It was cold here, it was always cold. He couldn't even risk a fire to warm himself, and changing form in the forest would be a death sentence. He looked up at the dark sky with its dim lights trying to be seen. They were pathetic in his gaze, a mere spark to the sun that gave all earth life. Yet as he stared at them, he remembered Lily talk about them, and what she said how they were probably galaxies or other stars even larger than the sun. She looked at their surprised faces before she began a lecture on something about Muggle Astronomy.
It wasn't like Peter would ever find himself among them like a hero of old. He was more of an incompetent man that failed to be a star— instead of blinking in the sky for thousands of years, he fizzled out and died. He interacted with the world in the same way that a child did; he was fed, had shelter, he wanted to live, and the Dark Lord was winning. He could only think of joining the winning side and finding himself amongst the stars with the other loyal followers. Part of it, he could admit, was due to his jealousy of James and Sirius, and resentment towards Remus. He was a better man than Peter ever could be, yet he was a werewolf!
Peter came from a minor pureblood family, and his grades—which admittedly, he didn't work hard to earn—weren't enough to make them happy. They demanded stability, promotions, good earnings, and he couldn't do all three. He tried desperately, but the war was hard on everyone, and even a normal, nine-to-five job was dangerous. He knew he had to survive, so he did what he could to ensure it, even if it damned his very soul to hell. It was his duty to survive. It was a hard life to live, and so he was selfish. He decided that he had something that the Dark Lord wouldn't find in anyone else.
He made connections to the vigilante group, and found someone that would allow him to see the man. Tom Riddle had a warm, living body, but his gaze and soul was made of ice. He drew people in with a smile or word, but his exterior warmth was shallow, skin deep. He was the coldest man that Peter had ever known. The man discarded lives he deemed unimportant like a petulant child with their toys. He hated the world with a cold fury, yet his words were smooth and spun from silk, even as they suffocated and smothered his followers.
Peter tried to fall asleep but it was too cold to do so. He was exhausted and freezing; the cold had settled in his bones and skin like a frigid blanket. He didn't know if he would survive the night. He considered turning into his animal form and burying himself into the soil for warmth, but it was likely that he could end up as a midnight snack for some predatory animal in the forest. He tried to take a drink, but he had no water left in his flask, and gulped down only harsh, cold air. He had absolutely no choice but to change, or he would freeze to death before morning came. He dug a small hole for himself and covered it with leaves.
The change was painful as it forced his aching body into a form much smaller. His bones twisted, shrank and vanished to wherever they did when he changed. He whimpered as the final shift occurred, became tiny, blinking up at the much taller trees. He curled up into his handmade nest and stared into the darkness, trying to stay awake.
That was when he heard it.
It was unmistakable sound of slippery scales on dry leaves. He remained still, unable to believe his bad luck. The flicker of a forked, pink tongue peeked through the darkness as the leaves crunched under its weight. The snake seemed to decide not to eat him, and he remained frozen for a good hour before he dared to scurry out of the hole. The snake was curled up outside of it, and he squeaked in panic. The snake then turned to him, and its eyes glowed red. It moved towards him slowly, its tongue darting in and out as the nose flared. It made a strange hissing sound, before suddenly going limp. The two eyes stopped glowing, and Peter watched it convulse before stilling as something ghostly floated up and out of the snake's body.
Peter felt his heart leap to his throat, and his heartbeat pick up as a jolt of satisfaction lurched through his body. He had finally found his Lord. Ever since he had been discovered at Hogwarts, he sought safety, and the only safe arms to found was under his Lord's protection. He changed back into human form and stared at the disembodied spirit, hanging his head. He knew the Dark Lord knew he hated him, in some ways, but he presented a polite face, knowing that he would suffer if he was rude when the his master gained physical form.
The spirit spoke to him in deathly whispers as it ordered Peter to follow him. Peter did as his bones ached. He was exhausted and broken in body and spirit—but he had finally accomplished something. His Lord would reforge his soul and body when he would reward him. He would follow his Lord to his death. It was the only option left, in the end.
He took a deep breath and stared at the sky, letting his tears fall and chill in the cold air.
Whatever fate had in mind for him, he knew that it wasn't going to be finally reaching the stars that he had gazed at all these years. Instead, he would sink into cold, dark earth, and be banished from memory.
It was a something that he could look forward to.