Dry leaves rustled past the stout man's feet planted firmly on the sidewalk outside the Potters' Cottage. His oversized dirty brown coat matched his matted brown hair and emphasized his mousey features. He thought that wasn't the only thing that made him a rat on this cold October night.
He remembered the high sharp voice of the Dark Lord praising his loyalty the week before. The irony was not lost on the lonely man.
Three wizards sat together around a table so old the ridges stood up and Peter tried hard not to pick at the ones in front of him.
"You have information for me." One of the wizards said coolly from beneath a dark black hood. A slender white hand protruded from the sleeve and Peter shrank away from the image of the power it was capable of wielding.
"Y-y-yes m-my Lord." Peter stammered.
The third wizard held him in a hard stare even colder than the voice of the Dark Lord but Peter refused to make eye contact. He couldn't.
"And you are coming to me now because?"
"I h-heard what you are after, m-my Lord. Who you are aft-t-ter."
The third wizard sighed and his sudden movement made Peter flinch, garnering an exaggerated eye roll. He pushed his greasy black hair out of his eyes and provided the commentary Voldemort knew he would.
"He heard about your mission," Severus Snape summarized at a much more normal volume than either of the other two had spoken, "and thinks he can help! But truly, Pettigrew, you are just afraid."
Voldemort smiled the same attractive smile he did when he was just a boy and received his Defense Against the Dark Arts marks. The smile of success and the knowledge that he knew more than he was letting on.
"N-n-no!" Peter began but Voldemort cut him off.
"You are afraid," he said calmly, putting his hands together at the fingertips and peering over them at the rat-like wizard across from him, "because you know I know many things. And I know you are the Potters' Secret Keeper."
Peter put his head down, looking resigned but Severus stiffened, his dark eyes boiling beneath the black surface. He had the wits about him to keep his mouth shut but the Dark Lord sensed his emotions and he put his head down, too, resigned when he felt the touch of an occlumens.
"However," Voldemort rose from his chair to peer out the frosted window, although the moon was a narrow sliver and provided little light for him to see the street by, "you also know that a Secret Keeper can only reveal the secret voluntarily. I can torture you," he raised his wand arm and Peter recoiled, "but under duress, you cannot provide me the information I need." He lowered his arm again but Peter did not relax.
"Yes." He whispered, barely audibly. He picked at the sleeves of an oversized dirty brown jacket.
"So why?" The Dark Lord sat down again as Peter began to speak quietly in hushed squeaks.
The lonely man in Godric's Hollow shuddered but it wasn't the cold that did it. He stood far enough from the Potters' Cottage that they would not see him but he could see them. A pit the size of a quaffle formed in his stomach as he watched two men with jet black hair run around the living room. One, the man with the glasses and the cocky smile, chased a woman with red hair, catching her in his arms as she laughed and wiped pumpkin seeds on his cheek. The other had much longer hair and a certain air of royalty about him—he chased around a boy on a broomstick yelling things like "ten points for Gryffondor" whenever the boy scared the cat. Sirius always hated the cat.
Another man, one with wispy brown hair and a gaunt face, smiled broadly as he observed everyone and poured four large glasses of butterbeer. He seemed careful, like his smile didn't come as easily as James' and Sirius' but the way he looked at Lily and Harry was with a special kind of tenderness.
Peter sighed. When James had asked him to come tonight, too, to celebrate an early Halloween, Peter had declined. He couldn't give a good reason. But he couldn't face his friends. They wouldn't be his friends much longer.
He remembered explaining to Voldemort that he would prefer they died together. That losing Harry would kill James and Lily and he'd rather they all died. He remembered how cold Voldemort's laugh was and how delighted he was. He remembered how stiff Snape had gone and almost felt bad for the heartache he knew he felt. He understood. He was losing everyone, too.
It was October 30th and Peter knew it was the last time he would see James and Lily and that Harry would never get to go to Hogwarts. He knew Sirius and Remus would try to find him but the Dark Lord had promised him protection. He wondered whether he did the right thing but the fear of losing a child was greater for the Potters than his own fear of losing his friends. He took the lesser of two evils and accepted that his friends would die, shattered by a burst of green light the very next day.
Dry leaves rustled as a rat scuttled over them into the gutter pipes of Godric's Hollow.