The Rat-That-Sung
Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).
"Hello, Peter." A ghostly voice barely got through Peter Pettigrew's consciousness. He felt sick. Everything went dark.
"Hello, Peter." The voice repeated. Peter tried to shake his head, but couldn't. He felt sick, his head swam with the barest movement.
"Hello, Peter." The voice sounded by the third time. Peter struggled to open his eyes. He couldn't see much, everything was dark. He licked his lips, trying to wet them, but his mouth was awfully, painfully dry.
"Hello, Peter." The voice again, Peter knew that voice... from somewhere. He knew that voice very well, but couldn't place it. His head throbbed with each beat of his heart, the light hurt his eyes. He felt his consciousness slip. He might have fainted. But he had no way to know for sure, he was terribly disoriented, just like he had been when he had hit his head back when he was a child. He had puked then. Mercifully, the nausea was absent now. Mostly. He felt his eyes rolling up, and darkness swallowed him again.
"Hello, Peter." The constant repetition had begun to be annoying. He almost could recognize it. He opened his eyes and looked around, trying to move his head as little as possible. Wherever he was, it was very dark. There was some light, but it was very weak.
Finally, he saw who had been talking, and his heart almost stopped.
"J-James..?"
"Hello, Peter." Somehow, James Potter was right in front of him, his black hair sticking up in every direction, and with his eyes behind those eyeglasses of his. Still looking as he did over a decade before. However, now he looked a bit... luminous? Translucent even. Peter tried to make sense of the situation. "B-b-b-but you a-a-are..."
"The word you are looking for, my dear friend, is 'Dead'. And you know very well why. Don't you, Peter?" The words were soft, smooth. like the edge of a razor wrapped in white silk.
"N-n-n-no... It can't be! He killed you! He killed you!"
"Yes, Peter. He did. He killed me. He killed Lily." James stood impossibly on the ceiling, it took a very long time for Peter to realize it was actually him who hung head down. He struggled against his bonds. "He turned my son into an orphan. You must forgive me if I sound a bit PISSED!"
Peter tried to change into his rat form, but found himself unable to change. His head throbbed painfully.
"There's no need for that, my very dear friend. You can't go now. We are about to have a lot of fun. You and me. The Dead Marauders. Sounds like one of those bands Lily liked to listen, don't you think, Peter?" The smile on his face... Peter never had seen such a smile on James' face, so full of predatory malice and anticipation. It was so angry and cold that Peter reckoned his chances to survive this were shrinking by the second.
James walked around Peter. The rat animagus turned his head around, trying to keep him on sight. He trembled violently with a fear that chilled his very bones. "B-b-But, how?"
"How come you are dead, you mean? Well, my friend, guess who found you after all! It was a grim tale indeed!"
"S-s-Sirius?" He whispered.
"Right in one!" James clapped. "Now, you and I are going to have a nice, long, and meaningful talk. I suggest you don't spare the details. Because, once you have told me everything, and I mean everything, it will be Lily's turn."
"Oh..."
"Oh is correct, Peter. You will meet her soon, that's something you can't avoid, only delay. So, start talking, you miserable traitor. Each minute you talk is one minute you won't have to face Lily. I want to know everything about the Death Eaters, about Voldemort. Oh, don't flinch, the wanker can't touch you here. Now, as I was saying, I want to know everything. Names, places, methods, secrets, communications, how do you recognize each other. Every little thing. In excruciating detail."
"No! He will kill me!"
James flickered for a moment. "He can't, Peter. You are already dead." He stepped aside, revealing a body lying on the cold stone floor. It seemed to have been mauled by a savage monster. A big pool of blood surrounded it. "That body, you ask? Can't you recognize it, Wormtail? Why! It's yours!" A metallic smell filled Peter's nostrils, and he was close to release the content of his stomach. "You can't die again. Voldemort cannot kill you. Bloody hell, I can't kill you either." He chuckled ominously. "But I can hurt you. A lot."
"No, James. Please, you don't understand. He would have killed me..."
"You should have died. We would have died to protect you. But well," he shrugged, "if you'd prefer to talk to Lily, who am I to stand in the way?"
"No! No! Wait! Please. I'll tell you everything, please, don't let Lily get me, please, James, help me."
An expression of deep loathing and repugnance crossed James' face. "Start talking, rat."
Peter Pettigrew talked. For a very long time.
Author Notes:
To Guest, Comments on Chapter 13.
I added some lines to both Cyrus and Daphne Greengrass' dialogue. It was not my intention to portray them as blood purists. They are actually moderates. They might think themselves better than other wizards, and certainly muggles, but aren't keen on alienating possible allies and business partners. Plus, they will tend to have a policy of "Show me your worth and I'll treat you accordingly."
I think Daphne could have been somewhat vulnerable to purist rhetoric in her First Year, until her parents set her straight at the first opportunity. As you said, such attitude is bad for business.
And yes, Cyrus was angry at Harry's indifference towards Daphne. Should Harry prove himself as a possible friend and ally, his attitude will soften.