A/N:
Chaser 3: The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole: Write about someone who ignores an important warning.
Optional prompts:
(setting) nighttime
(word) whisper
(quote) below.
Team: Pride of Portree
Word Count: ≈1455
Warning(s) if any: Character death, slight angst?
(prompt quote) "I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other."
- Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
September first, 1987 was a bright, clear day, and instilled excitement and the want for adventure into the people who were awake that morning.
The Pettigrew household was abuzz with the family running around, getting ready to go out.
"Have you got your wand?" cried Peter's mother to him. The short, blond-haired boy nodded, holding it up.
"Let's just go, I'll be late," he sighed.
"Anything from the trolley, dears?" asked the kind old witch from outside the train compartment.
Sirius and Peter jumped up, pointing toward various treats on the trolley. Their pockets lighter and arms full, they returned to their seats.
"Who do you think the Head Girl is?" asked Peter, chewing on a liquorice wand.
"I don't know, Alice Fortescue probably," said Sirius, mouth full of Chocolate Frog.
Just then, Remus hurried into the compartment.
"Prefect Meeting over then?" inquired Sirius.
"Yeah," said Remus, with a gleeful grin on his face. "You'll never guess who the Head Girl is."
"It isn't Alice then?"
"No. It's—" he paused for effect "—Lily Evans. And Prongs is still in there fixing the prefect schedules."
As Remus finished speaking, his audience of two hooted with laughter. Tears of mirth leaked out of their eyes. They hadn't thought of her before. And James still stuck there was the icing on the cake.
James entered the compartment to the view of the Marauders giggling like little girls. "What's going on?"
They were two months into the school year, and Peter was sneaking around in the middle of the night, checking whether the prank materials were still in place.
It was a cool night, and stars winked outside. The halls were silent and no one was around, so Peter didn't feel the need to transform into Wormtail.
As he rounded the corner, he bumped into a professor with their arms full of papers. Some fluttered to the floor, leaving Peter able to take a look at which professor it was.
Huh, he thought. It was Professor Reeding, though everyone called her Reeds behind her back.
As she straightened up, she frowned. "What on earth are you doing out at this—"she broke off, her blue eyes widening and glazing over. She gripped the boy's shoulder with a free hand.
Peter stood awkwardly; a bunch of papers clutched in his right hand. Old Reeds was deceptively strong.
Then she spoke, her voice sounding hoarse. "On the night the traitor betrays, one brother falls and there he lays. One is wrong in his assumption; one laughs at the traitor's gumption. Beware, listener, heed this warning—" Her voice trailed off, and she blinked.
"Oh dear, it seems I blanked out for a bit over there. Oh, thank you for all your help," she said, collecting the papers from Peter's arms.
She wandered off confusedly, leaving behind a very confused Peter Pettigrew and a strong smell of tea.
He walked back to the dorm, trying to figure out the prophecy-because what else could it be-on the way. Brothers... he thought.
As he got into the dorm, he was met with a chorus of "Did you get caught?" Something made him hold back from telling them about the prophecy. He simply shook his head. He made his way to the bed, getting under the covers.
"Good night," he whispered into the dark room. It took him a bit longer to fall asleep that night.
It was graduation day- the last time they would wear the school uniforms, loosen their ties, kick off their shoes and relax by the Black Lake, gossiping with the girls.
It was a warm, sunny day, the lake glittering with sunlight. The sky was a brilliant blue, and it seemed even the Whomping Willow was behaving. Nearly the whole school had gathered outside.
"We are here to honour the graduating class of 1987 and 1988..." Professor McGonagall's calm voice washed over the crowd.
One by one, they were all called up, receiving their exam scores.
"Alice Fortescue- Sirius Black- Peter Pettigrew..."
Peter started a little, then walked up.
"Congratulations," said Professor McGonagall, a slightly sad, but wide, smile on her usually stern features.
Peter grinned back, walking off. He'd miss old Minnie.
A while later, as the Marauders joked around at the back, Lily delivered the traditional Heads' speech at the front. It was James' turn next.
—
"James is going to propose tomorrow," announced Sirius gleefully.
They were seated in the Great Hall for lunch. It had been decorated with banners of all four houses. Remus, Sirius and Peter were sitting on a bench at the table, waiting for James and Lily. They were discussing the future.
Just then, James and Lily themselves came in, enormous smiles on their faces.
"We're getting married!" Lily exclaimed.
"I thought you were waiting till tomorrow?" Sirius accused dramatically. "My heart-what betrayal!"
"Well, I couldn't if Lily beat me to it, could I?" James shot back as he sat down.
Remus said something then, but Peter didn't listen, instead looking across the hall at a beckoning student.
Snape.
Peter stumbled something out about going to the bathroom, but as he left the hall, he took a sharp right into a dark passageway. Barely two minutes later, he was joined by Snape and Macnair.
"You're sure about this?" drawled Macnair.
Peter thought about every single time he'd been ignored, shunted to the side in favour of someone else. He was hated it. All the love for his best friends was slowly morphing into rage.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
The other two boys grinned. "Well, Lord Voldemort has a mission for you..."
Peter listened carefully. Let the others ignore him now.
"Well, he won't expect it if it's Peter and not me," said Sirius. "Not Remus, he might be the traitor..." his voice trailed off.
"Okay," said Lily gently. "Come here, Peter."
He moved toward her, bumping into a large and ugly vase as he did. Why it hadn't been thrown out yet was anybody's guess.
Lily told Peter to hold out his arm. He did so, and James gripped it as Lily cast a spell over them.
"There, now you're the only person besides the two of us who knows where we are."
"Uh... where am I, though?" asked Sirius.
James winced sheepishly. "Um, Peter?"
—
"My lord, I have information on the Potters."
"What is it?"
"I-know where they live."
Voldemort leaned forward eagerly, gesturing for Peter to continue.
"It's a town called Godric's Hollow..."
On 31st October, 1981, Peter Pettigrew thought about prophecies. Of course, there was the one about little Harry, but that wasn't the one he was dwelling on (though he probably should have been). No, he was thinking of the one uttered by Professor Reeding so long ago. He went through it line by line.
On the night the traitor betrays. That was today. Halloween. He'd told Voldemort where to find them, and now they were dead.
One brother falls, and there he lays, was obviously James. He was gone, and he'd never come back again. Peter almost felt a twinge of regret. He still found it hard to believe.
One brother is wrong in his assumption was probably Remus. He must have thought it was Sirius who betrayed the Potters. Peter almost laughed out loud at that. It couldn't have possibly been.
One brother laughs at the traitor's gumption. Now that had to be Sirius. He almost cursed Peter, but he was too quick. He'd blasted a hole out of the road behind him, cut off his thumb, and transformed into Wormtail. Smart, if he thought so himself. And brave, Gryffindors were brave, and didn't hesitate. Just like Peter didn't.
And Wormtail ran, far far away. He could hear the Ministry officials say, "thirteen muggles..."
He finally ended up at the Burrow, Molly and Arthur's place. He was picked up by a redheaded five-year-old who he'd guess was Percy, based on the glasses.
"Can we keep it?"
As the sun lit up the sky, illuminating the yard, an owl fluttered in through the window. It was carrying a letter and Peter knew it was from the Order.
The last lines of a prophecy spoken all those years ago echoed back to him. Beware, listener, heed this warning.
So, he'd been warned. He had been told about it, knew what he was going to do, before he actually formed the thought consciously. And he'd chosen to ignore the warning.
For the first time in years, Peter felt his rage ebb away. After all, what use was it? Everybody was gone-his friends, his family.
He had no reason to feel. So, he stopped.
...Can you tell I don't really know how to write a prophecy? Anyways, hope you enjoyed! :)