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Choices Made
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A large snake sunned herself on the stone tile floor. A small wizard stepped around her with the utmost care. It was useless really. Snakes heard with their bodies, and Peter Pettigrew, known to many as 'Wormtail', only prayed Nagini was in a forgiving mood this afternoon. The snake's lidless gaze didn't change as he stepped by her great head and for that Pettigrew was supremely happy.
"What is it Wormtail?" The high, cruel voice of his master asked. Voldemort was reading a report of some sort. His bored and annoyed tone turned mocking as he used the nickname Pettigrew's former friends had used. Pettigrew winced. That era seemed like eons ago. Beside Voldemort, Death Eater cowered, quaking slightly as he held aloft the Lord's steaming goblet. Pettigrew knew the human furniture. Michael Dekalat, once one of the most renowned Slytherin bullies, a frighteningly tall man who worked as an enforcer for the Ministry of magic once upon a time, reduced now to a cup holder.
"Uhm," Pettigrew tried to regain his train of thought.
"Spit it out!"
"The other side reports that everything is going according to plan, Master,"
"Excellent, Wormtail. Inform the other side that I will want my Dragon back along with the list. She doesn't belong to him anyway,"
"Yes, Master,"
"Something else?" Voldemort's murderous red eyes glittered dangerously.
"Er, yes. The Aurors seem to have taken this rather personally. We've lost several people and prospects of support," Wormtail fidgeted.
"Then they will die when I have once more taken control,"
"But-"
"Wormtail,"
Pettigrew knew that tone.
"You will not be bothered by it further," Pettigrew said and bowed from the room. He bumped into Nagini who nipped at his heels as he made his hasty exit.
Peter, called Wormtail, closed his eyes and shuddered as he walked down the hall. He had the deepest feelings of doubt and worry despite what his Master told him to think. He stopped by the room where the gate was kept. Unlocking the door and pushing it open he looked at the disassembled artifact. The red jewels were stacked neatly on a velvet strip of cloth awaiting placement. The gate itself hung in several pieces, magically suspended in the air a foot or so from touching and completing the arch. A thick, dusty book lay on a simple podium next to the stones. He shuddered.
Some of the things he'd seen though that door…He thought he knew what the scariest things in existence were, but he'd been wrong. Very wrong. What he'd seen through that door was beyond anything he'd seen in his worst nightmares.
First the Master had tried to ally himself with himself…a reality where He'd never fallen. The other Voldemort had been contemptuous of his failed self, and the Dark Lord's anger and even…embarrassment had been terrible indeed. But the world beyond that arch, where evil had never fallen was worse, oh, so much worse. His mind had recoiled and refused to believe some of what he'd seen. For the other Voldemort had taken quite a bit of delight in showing his less-than-prefect self all that he SHOULD have accomplished. The leisurely visual tour was beyond description.
And so, angered, embarrassed and more resolved than ever, his Master had devised his second plan.
Pettigrew closed and relocked the gate room's door and continued down the hall. A small cluster of the new Death Eaters saw him and sprang from his path. Pettigrew wallowed briefly in a small sense of ego and power as their fearful, rolling eyes looked at his silvery hand, half hidden under his somewhat shabby cloak. Their fearful whispers echoed down the hall to him and he felt powerful. The feeling was brief as his thoughts turned back to their doubting path.
These people, most merely boys, had made the choice to follow the Dark Lord and receive what table scraps Voldemort saw fit to throw his loyal supporters.
Why had they made that choice? Why were they here and not out with the rest of their peers? Chance? Fate? In another place would they have become Aurors? Respected ministry officials? Would they meet themselves and be sickened? Pettigrew shoved thoughts aside as he continued down the hall. He would assemble the ones charged with opening the gate and then he would come face to face with himself.
Whatever multitude of choices in the world, he had made the same one at least twice. He wondered if his other self looked at him with the same sense of sorrow and shame of shared cowardice.