(A/N) A short drabble I wrote, since I have always felt a little bad for Peter. I hope you enjoy, and please review! Many thanks to my beta (Jazz. E. Roisin)
He used to like that curse. It had been his favorite out of the three. The Cruciatus was too painful. Avada Kedavra was too violent. He didn't like hurting people. Imperio had been almost peaceful. If it was used correctly, of course. If it wasn't used right it could have disastrous consequences. Too weak of a curse, the victim would either break free or would become crazy. If the curse was too strong, the victim would become a slave.
Peter was the victim. He always had been. He had always had horrible luck. Of course the Death Eaters found him. Of course they brought him to Voldemort. And of course, Voldemort administered the curse himself. Peter was not strong. Voldemort was infinitely more powerful than him. He could not fight the curse. And so, Peter became a slave of the Dark Lord. Forced to call the man he hated "Master.
As much as he tried, he could not break from the curse's clutches. His life became nonexistent. He lived for the Dark Lord. When James sent the letter saying that he and Lily wanted Peter to become their Secret Keeper, Peter had to say yes. His hand shook as he tried to not write the reply that was required. Voldemort knew immediately that he could find Lily and James. The next week, he went to Godric's Hollow and killed them. Peter was not sad. He had no feelings anymore. There was that small part of him that rebelled against the curse, but it couldn't defeat the monster that now lived inside him.
Voldemort was supposedly dead, but Peter knew better. The curse was still there. It was weaker, but still, it controlled him. It forced him to blow up the street; to kill thirteen people. He knew when each person died. As each one left this world, a small part of him died. He turned into a rat, and ran away. He lived with a Wizarding family for thirteen years. He lived in close quarters with the Boy Who Lived. He looked so like James. Sometimes that small part of Peter would take over and he would cry himself to sleep.
Sirius and Remus tried to kill him. The slavish devotion took over, and he pleaded with them. They didn't understand, after all. How could they? He had killed their best friend. The small part wanted them to kill him, so he wouldn't, couldn't hurt anyone else. But Harry saved him. He truly was his father's son. That night Peter ran away. Voldemort was the strongest he had been in the past thirteen years. Peter had to go. He found Voldemort, and brought him back to life. He watched as Harry defeated the Dark Lord again. The small part of him rejoiced.
Peter continued to work for the Dark Lord. He tried not to think of what he was doing. He heard they caught Harry and he couldn't bare the pain of knowing that it was over. The Dark Lord had finally won. He had gone down to the cellar, hoping against all hope that somehow they had escaped.
James' son had attacked him. Peter tried to hold back. The magical hand was another reminder of the curse placed on him. It would not do what he wanted it to. He tried with all his might to stop the hand strangling the only part of his old life left. His hand faltered. Harry escaped from him. The silver hand turned on him.
Peter was strangled by the curse that had killed him so long ago.
