All right. I admit it! The last part was terrible. Well, it was OK, but I reread it, and I was disgusted with myself. I was half asleep when I wrote it, and that means it all came out wrong, and the SPG was pretty hopeless. Oh well, I'm awake now. Goody. I know people like Starlight are going to complain and say: 'The standard has dropped. Go back to MWPP.' That, you'll be interested to know, will be up tomorrow…
*
Peter Pettigrew sat in his small hideout in Hogsmeade, waiting. He was bored out of his skull. If only I'd brought a radio, he thought bitterly. Sirius always had a radio … but there was no point in thinking like that. Sirius was no longer his friend – he was his enemy. So was Remus. They had tried to kill him. And Harry … Peter bit his lip. He couldn't do it. He'd never been able to do it. He couldn't hate Harry. Every time he thought about it, James' face came swimming into view. He couldn't stand it – but then again, he had made the right choice. James had been on the wrong side, the Dark Lord always told him, they'd all been. They were weak. However, he had never called James weak. Peter knew that he had feared James to an extent, but had managed to catch him off guard. And Peter had helped – Peter had shown he was true to his master …
He stretched out his legs, and picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet. He smirked when he saw the headline:
He liked it. Life was good. Since the Dark Lord had been reborn, he had given Peter much more responsibility and trust. He would be a great Death Eater some day. His name would never be forgotten. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud hooting from outside. Bloody owls, he thought, they'll give me a heart attack. Peter had never really liked owls. As a young boy, he had owned a small rat, the animal he later learned to change into. Throughout school, he hadn't had a pet. James had had Mercury; Sirius had had Snowy. And they had all had each other. Peter hated the memories of his childhood. They made him feel depressed. They made him wonder whether he'd made the right decision …
But of course he had. Another check of the Daily Prophet was enough to realise that. He had made the right decision, of course he had …
Another howl hooted outside, causing Peter to jump out of his chair. He looked at the clock. This late already? he pondered, time flies sometimes. He decided he might as well get himself some dinner. His stomach was aching with hunger. However, he'd never been much of a cook. Sirius was the one who used to whip feasts up in a matter of minutes. Peter remembered the meals they'd had together. Him – and Sirius – and James. They had dined together a lot. Sirius and Peter's flat hadn't been very far from Godric's Hollow, and anyway, they'd Apparated most of the time …
Peter remembered how James had helped him revise for his Apparition test. Surprisingly enough, he'd managed it first time. James had too, obviously. Sirius got it second time, but Remus never passed. Maybe it was to do with his physical structure – being a werewolf and all – but Remus had never clocked Apparition. He'd always needed to hold onto Sirius, James or Peter to get somewhere.
But Remus hadn't been around a lot in those days. He'd been working a lot – mostly on his job. They have never discerned exactly what it was Remus did – well, James knew – but otherwise, it was shrouded in mystery. One year, Peter recalled, they had only seen Remus twice – at Easter and on James' birthday. He had always looked so pale – Peter had wondered aloud on many occasions what he did, but Remus would act as though he hadn't heard and abruptly change the subject.
And then came that day. The day that changed Peter's life – his chance to show the world what he was really made of. The Dark Lord found him. And he forced me to join him, Peter remembered. But it was worth it. James and Sirius never suspected. Quite the opposite – the fools suspected Remus might be a follower of You-Know-Who, due to his prolonged absences. Peter had almost given himself away at times, but he kept his cover. The Dark Lord always said that he was cunning, and shrewd, monitoring the Potters like that. Peter's parents had died young, and encouragement had rarely come to him. James, Sirius and Remus had always encouraged him – but not in the same way as You-Know-Who.
And then there came that glorious, wonderful day, when Peter was made Lily and James' Secret-Keeper. He could show everyone now. He would show what little Peter Pettigrew was capable of. And yet – when he heard of Lily and James' deaths – he hadn't rejoiced, like other Death Eaters. He had never been able to place it – he had felt – empty. As though an important part of him had been removed. And then he heard the horrific news of the Dark Lord's downfall. Horror had ripped through him. But then again – no one knew, did they?
Except for Sirius.
Sirius knew. Sirius would hand him over to the Ministry. He couldn't let it happen. He had to revive his master…
But Sirius got to him before that. Peter had never seen such devastation – such damage – imprinted on a person's face. Sirius hadn't said a thing. He had just stared at Peter, his bright brown eyes cutting through Peter like knives. Peter couldn't stand it any longer. He had come up with a plan whilst standing there. Everyone – Dumbledore included – thought it was Sirius who had been Lily and James' Secret-Keeper. If Peter could somehow work this into his favour …
He remembered that conversation as if it was yesterday …
***
Sirius had him, cornered. There was no way out now. The Ministry would be here – they would subject him to Veritaserum – Sirius would get off. He would get life in Azkaban. Peter thought, fast. He had never been the clever one in the group. Or the sporty one. But then a sudden inspiration hit him. It was so simple – so brilliant – that he was amazed he hadn't thought of it before. It might work …
Back on the streets, Sirius bowed his head. Twelve dead bodies littered the ground in front of him. Muggles were screaming – the Enforcers would be here any minute. Sirius suddenly spotted something, from where Peter had been standing. It was a photo, taken in their last year at Hogwarts. He picked it up, and stared at it.
Remus and Peter were grinning broadly at the camera. He, Sirius, was at the front, doing some form of lopsided dance. And Lily … James … they were at the back, not looking at the camera, but at each other. Sirius' face shattered when he looked at them. She was staring with her green eyes into his blue ones. I've failed you, he thought, I've failed you both …
Sirius looked again at the photo. Peter was smiling, good-naturedly. He had been good then, Sirius thought. He wasn't with Voldemort. He glanced again from the grinning Peter to Lily and James. He started to laugh. Not a happy laugh, but a cold, bitter laugh. He noticed Muggles staring at him, but he couldn't stop laughing. He didn't stop when the Enforcers came, or when he was transported to Azkaban.
But Azkaban stopped the laughter.
***
Peter sighed. Deep down, it had pained him to see Sirius go to Azkaban. Then again, he reminded himself, he would have killed me. Peter sat, musing things over in his mind. He checked the clock again.
Peter picked up his mug, and walked back into the living room to fetch the book he'd been reading. He couldn't remember the title, but he knew he'd enjoyed it so far. As he crossed the room, his eyes fell again on the Daily Prophet. He smirked, but then another owl outside hooted. Those cursed owls! Peter thought. He had almost dropped his hot chocolate in surprise, but kept a grip on it. He was just reaching for the light switch, when …
BANG!
The door of the hideout flew backwards, and a shadowy figure stepped in. Peter stood, transfixed, staring at his doorway. The figure lowered its hood.
'Hmm ... this is getting boring,' said Hermione, folding her arms. Ron had just won his sixth game of chess in a row.
*
*
And he screamed.
*
Hermione sat up in her dorm that night, thinking hard. What had Ron meant? "We're not twelve years old any more, Hermione. You'll just have to find out for yourself." What did he mean? What was it that Harry had done? It seemed futile thinking about it – it was making her head spin. But every time she tried to forget it, Harry's emerald eyes kept slipping back into her head. Concentrate, Hermione, she told herself sternly, you'll never figure it out if you can't get Harry out of your head.
Hermione jumped off her bed and picked up a Charms book. She flicked through it, but the words were just blurred in front of her face. She could see something different now. When she had changed James' eyes back – she had been looking into his eyes – no, Harry's eyes …
Hermione sighed. There was no way she could do anything constructive whilst she was like this. She closed her Charms book and placed it back in her trunk. Might as well get some sleep, she thought, I suppose Harry'll be training tomorrow morning. She wondered for a moment where that thought had come from, but then remembered that Harry had been her friend for seven years – she was bound to remember simple things like that. Harry was her friend…
*
Peter fell back against the wall. This had to be a trick; it had to be. Of course it was.
***
One of Voldemort's owls, jet black with a silver stripe across the face, was bobbing up and down outside the window. James saw Peter's face go the pallor of parchment.
James picked up the letter gingerly. He read it, and felt another surge of hate towards Voldemort.
Pettigrew,
She's dead.
***
'I remember you telling us that night,' said James, his voice shaking slightly. 'That you would get revenge on Voldemort, no matter what the cost.' James bowed his head. Peter, who was close to tears, couldn't say a thing. The words got stuck in his throat. He just sat down on the bed, feeling utterly pathetic.
And he was. It had taken James coming forward in time for him to realise that. All those years ago – he'd made the wrong decision. He'd betrayed his only true friends – the only people who'd ever believed in him (Well, except maybe Dumbledore). The people who had helped him throughout his school life. The people who had encouraged him to believe in himself. And how had he paid them back? He sighed. Harry and James were talking in an undertone. It was incredible to look at them. They looked like identical twins. Peter sank lower in his chair. He could escape, but there would be no point. It would be futile. He couldn't go back to Voldemort without seeing James' bright blue eyes in his head again. He would go to Azkaban. That would make a lot of people happy – the Dementors, especially. But then another image entered Peter's mind. The Dark Lord. His threats. His power. Peter shuddered. This wasn't going to be easy. He would go back to the castle with James and Harry.
Or he might have done, if it hadn't have been for the interruption.
End. Or not. No, it really is the end. Ha! The ol'
reviews section then, I suppose:
Fairyfly (Now yesterday, your review wasn't
there when I went to upload part 3, and was there when I had finished. I
tried to say thanks, but you'd gone. Rats.), Larissa Venuss (I think I
made it quite difficult, myself, so congratulations on being clever enough to
understand it. Same to the rest of you. Shame smiley faces don't come out on
fanfic.net
This is getting longer (Hooray!), this list. You're all
trying to give me a big head. Never! Excellent and marvellous. Pray for part
five tomorrow and it may just come (how long can I keep it up?) Love you all,
people (Specially you, Housey)
Ciao
