Dark Mark
Disclaimer: I don't own HP!
A/N: This is for the "Nature of Magic" challenge set in the Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful challenge and for the Death Eater competition! Enjoy and please R and R!
Peter Pettigrew was an easily frightened man, a rat, in all senses. He didn't have the courage of his house as his mates did, he didn't have their "We are going to fight so hard, that we're going to win," attitudes and he surely didn't have their rashness. He was timid, weak, and spineless, he was all they hated. Only they didn't know his true colors. Peter always wondered why the hat had placed him in Gryffindor for he surely didn't fit the label. Of course, he was always able to fake it until he could make it.
He was a man more fit to be in Slytherin, he was all for the whole "self-preservation" motto. That's why he stood before a dozen inner Death Eaters to receive the mark that would forever be burned into his flesh. He would be one with the Dark Lord. He bowed his head as his master walked before him and his snake gazed at him with a look of pure hunger. After all, didn't snakes eat rats for lunch?
He kept his head down, as the soft footsteps grew louder, echoing in his slightly pointed ears, a slight fear arose in his throat. He always felt this fear with his master before him.
"Peter, look at me." The Dark Lord whispered. Why did the Dark Lord seem so cool and collected? Why did he seem so much like a snake?
"My lord." Peter raised his head to look into the bottomless dark whirlpools that were his lord's eyes. He felt like the man could see right through him, and hear all his thoughts. He felt no privacy even in his mind.
"Are you ready?" He asked as the snake let out a hiss. The Dark Lord hissed back at the snake, startling Peter with the language of the serpents, the harsh tones that were a snake's tongue.
"Yes, master." He answered still looking the man he feared in the eyes. He dared not to disobey.
"Today, the cause we have sworn by will now have a new member, a new wizard in its legions. Today is the day Peter Pettigrew is a Death Eater." The Dark Lord pulled out his wand from the depths of his robes and grabbed Peter's inner left forearm and whispered words that seemed to come from an ancient language unlike modern spells and suddenly black tendrils of magic slipped out of the wand and attacked his forearm. He gasped, his head abruptly forced to look above at the ceiling.
The magic was almost swallowing him alive, it seeped into every pore of his skin, his forearm was burning like Hell's flames had touched his skin and he could feel the magic, the power, gather all through his body, rushing and settling everywhere, in his ears and his bones even his mouth! The magic ripped a pathway in his mind and he gritted his teeth from the pain and suddenly he could feel an almost invisible thread link him to his master. A link from which he knew his master could use the mark, that was now engraving its intricate pattern on his inner forearm, to summon him through the connection they know shared.
He didn't know how this magic was created, formed, or even why it was inexistence in the first place all he knew though was that now his master's magic flowed through his body, not gracing it with the ability to use it, but rather to claim him as property. This magic was truly dark for it settled in his soul and he could feel it worm its way into his inner thoughts, he could feel it planting obedience and loyalty along with a yearning for more. More for what he didn't know but his mind was blown away by the power this mark and the spell used to form it had. He was now even more entrenched into the ranks of the Dark Lord and he knew without a doubt he could never escape his master's grasp. He was a truly a servant now, to uphold his name and the pressure of all this magic left him breathless.
He almost felt a feeling close to antagonism towards his master for binding him and surely stealing his soul and free will away but he knew his lord had not done this but rather Peter had given his soul away when he was tempted by the very dark, ancient, powerful magic that was binding him now. When his intrigue became want, his soul slipped away. He was now unrecoverable, he was now lost to the light. And frankly, in the moments where he experienced and was absorbed by that powerful magic he didn't care. He knew he was pathetic to this power, he knew he was pathetic to the monster, the siren, that lured him away from all that he had.
Peter Pettigrew was now a Death Eater, and this moment was all worth it. This magic was intoxicating. This magic was Dark magic and he couldn't wait to taste it again. He was truly addicted.