Disclaimer: See first chapter.

A/N: Oh, come on. We all know this guy is the reason I started to write this story.

February 26th 1981. Glenridding. 10:56.

There was something deeply disconcerting about Death Eater gatherings in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Mulciber. Peter couldn't quite pinpoint what it was that unnerved him. It may have been the pale blue walls, the kitsch tablecloth, the sun-umbrella in the garden. It may have been the Mulcibers themselves. Anna dressed as though she stepped straight out of Stepford and Mulciber - Mulciber! - the boy who had once cursed him to high heaven and broken - no smashed - his nose at the end of their seventh year, was absolutely smitten with her.

Peter took his seat toward the middle of the table and eyed Nagini, who had draped herself around her master's chair and shoulders, with distaste. He folded his hands in his lap and tried to avoid Anna's gaze across the table.

"A very useful ally you have turned out to be, Mr. Pettigrew. The pieces are slotting nicely into place."

Peter's head shot up. The Dark Lord was smirking in his direction. It was not a pleasant smile and Peter wasn't sure how to respond. He opted for a small upward turn of his tight lips.

"Thank you for divulging this information. We must dispose of him. Travers, would you like to make up a third of the welcoming party?"

Travers' scars were old and thin, but he snarled a response.

Across the table, Anna's eyes met Peter's, wide with fear. He understood then. He had endangered Remus. His heart beat faster against his chest until he was sure it would burst out. His throat was dry and he found himself unable to speak. All the while, her eyes bore into his. He did not speak up. She cast him a withering glance.

"No!"

The room fell silent. Even Mulciber glared at her.

"The moment he lays eyes on Travers, your cover is blown. If he's not alone, you can't be sure of success. You'll need to lull him into a false sense of security and that's hard enough. You can't send Peter because if it goes wrong, his position will be compromised and you'll lose your spy. There is no-one around this table who he will be willing trust." She turned to the head of the table and met his eyes. "No-one but me."

Voldemort turned his gaze upon her. His eyes glinted with an emotion Peter could not read. He fidgeted in his seat, biting his nails.

"You are an exceptional strategist, Mrs. Mulciber. Perhaps your husband would like the honour of disposing of the half-breed?"

Mulciber's smile sent shivers down Peter's spine.

"Certainly, my Lord."

February 26th 1981. Diagon Alley. Slug and Jigger's Apothecary. 15:37.

The shop was empty, dark and gloomy. Peter's hands shook as he poured Doxycide from one container to another, spilling the foul smelling contents on the cabinet. He dropped the glass phial and cursed under his breath, bending to pick up the pieces and sobbing quietly.

"Peter?"

Anna leant on the counter, her hair falling from its confines and into her eyes. The rain had drenched her curls. She had not bothered to dry them though they clung to her forehead.

"I've done all that I can."

"Have you found him?"

Peter sobbed. "Even if I had, what would I say?" He ran a hand through his bright blonde hair. He pulled out clumps as he paced. "I've done the best I can. I've got his mother out of the house. She can't defend herself and he'd be preoccupied with saving her. At least now he has a chance."

Anna shook her head. "You know he doesn't."

Peter threw his hands in the air. "It's just you and Charles. So don't fight. It's one-on-one."

Furious tears welled in Anna's eyes. "Jesus Christ, you are the singularly most self-obsessed son-of-a-bitch I have ever met. You asked me to keep him safe and I upheld my end of the bargain, Peter. I've been tortured, I've narrowly escaped both being crushed and burned to death, I lost my best-friend, I lost my baby. Don't ask me to lose my life, Peter." She gasped for breath. "If he matters that much to you, if he's your best-friend, why aren't you there?"

Peter laughed bitterly. "I'm not. I'm the third-wheel. He'd lie for me. He'd die for James. Don't tell me I matter to him." He glared across the counter. "And you're one to bloody well talk!"

"Don't mistake what he means to me, Peter. Don't be a fool."

"I'm not a fool. I don't know much about myself, I don't think I even know who I am anymore, but I know I'm not a fool. I know things, Anna. I know you've never done anything for another person without there being something in it for you."

Anna's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I went through that stage. I hate myself, Peter. You can't even begin to understand just how much I hate myself. It's a struggle to get through every day. Sometimes, when the clock strikes midnight, I congratulate myself on managing to last another day." She threw away her tears as though they scorched her skin. "Don't tell me you understand and don't pretend that you know me or how it feels to be me. I've never done anything selfless? Maybe you're right, but I'll tell you this, you insensitive bastard, I lost my baby protecting him. That child was the last thing I had. I don't even know if it was his. I'll never know, but it represented the person I could have been. It represented everything good and right that I have ever done in my life and I lost it keeping my promise to you. I lost it keeping him safe - keeping him alive. DON'T FUCKING TELL ME I'VE NEVER DONE ANYTHING FOR ANOTHER PERSON! Because guess what? There wasn't a fucking reward at the end of that."

The bell rang and she swung round.

"I'm looking for a Hiccoughing Solution."

Peter nodded to his customer. "Yeah. Third aisle. Middle shelf." Turning to Anna, he asked, "Did you want something?"

Anna smirked. "Nothing you can give me." She strode to the door and on her way out, turned to face him, "Goodbye, Peter. Thanks for all your help."

February 27th 1981. Glenridding. 01:14.

Her body was surprisingly light for her size. She was limp and cold when he lifted her torso and flung her into the grave he and Mulciber had dug in the garden. Rigor mortis had started to set in. Mulciber wouldn't touch her. He turned away as Peter shoveled the earth atop his wife's body.

"She jumped in front of the curse," said Mulciber.

Peter swallowed hard.

"Your friend is alive."