Disclaimer: Can one ever have too many disclaimers? I believe so. Stunted plot line is mine. Everything else isn't.
A Traitors Walk
Cold, darkness, dank, screaming, and such I had expected, but this… I hadn't. The Final Walk seemed as if it should be much more foreboding, not lit nicely with candles or down a dry, even stoned hallway. The dementors, though, I knew they should be there, flanking me on either side; guiding me to some unknown location where all was to end, for me at least.
It was a strangely peaceful walk (if you discounted the screams of betrayal and torture coursing through my mind, seeing as I had grown frighteningly accustomed to it).
Some music would be nice though, I thought cruelly. The best fitting song, of course, would be the death march… but that certainly wouldn't do…
Besides that, I was ready to be done with the world: I'd caused my share of pain in anguish, more than my share.... Besides, my Lord, the Dark Lord, was gone so even if I were to have the desire to live there would be nowhere to go. I don't fancy being a pet rat once again, that's for bloody sure.
It took me a moment to realize that this peaceful journey was soon to end as a welded, corroded-looking black door came closer by the second. A desire to find out what was on the opposite side of that door was instantly quelled by my stronger thirst to simply have it over and done with.
A strange heaviness on my chest became more and more distinct as we reached the door. (Is we the right word? After all are they living? I'd spent enough time around them to deduce the answer: No.) As the door swung open upon its own accord, a strange room appeared to me: on all four walls were stands filled with nearly a couple hundred crammed in people.
Ah, I must be a popular commodity in the wizarding world at the moment… that or people can't wait to see me die....
I knew the latter was more probable.
In the center of the room stood something that called my attention: upon a platform stood a dais with a peculiar veil…
Vaguely, behind the gasps, screams, and images, I remembered hearing of something like the picture before me. It must have been in History of Magic class… most likely when I was half asleep. All I remembered was that there was some sort of controversy about it…
The dementors lead me into the chamber amid the gasps filling the stands. I could hear, try as I might not to, wails that surely belonged to my mother.
It was strange, I mused. The woman had thought her only child was dead: killed by a childhood best friend. Then, nearly two decades later, she came to find out that: no, he hadn't been killed, but that he had become an evil they had always pilled against. She learned that he was the reason thousands had died.
It somewhat made sense to me, in a roundabout way. Twisted sense, but sense nonetheless.
I could feel the hard glares of hate and betrayal radiating to a distinct point in the room: me. Finally, I was the focal point, of course not the way I had wanted to be as a teenager, but it would due.
The glares were the worse to the right: the stands sitting directly in front of the veil's platform. The second row, a row of complete redheads, was the worst of them all. The Weasely's, I had come to find over the twelve years I spend with them, had only two levels emotionally: loving blindly and malice worse than the Dark Lords. It was plainly obvious which mode they were currently in.
The hardest eyes of them all to meet were seated in the row ahead, the front row.
The cold, flaming [tired] green eyes of the boy whom had freed the wizarding world and unwittingly freed me a second time, was one. Anyone could see that he was as anxious to get this over with as I was. For as much as he despised me and wanted to avenge parents deaths along with the torture I had subjected his godfather to… it was painfully obvious that the boy had seen too much death… he didn't seed to see any more anytime soon.
So much had changed for the boy every time I'd seen him… firstly crawling away from me as a young infant (smart kid, he was), then when I was revealed in his third year to be his parents betrayer, next while I cut his arm for blood to rebirth my fallen master, and finally, only less than a month ago, when I helped slay another former friend: the half-giant, Hagrid.
I'd caused so much pain and anguish for the boy who was just seventeen. If only I hadn't resented James for what he gained or overheard that forsaken prophecy…
Sitting beside the legendary Boy-Whom-Didn't-Know-How-To-Die was a stark blond whose originator I had seen many times too many and had certainly been jealous of just as many. Even the offspring of the man showed the level of malice he had been infamous for, but even the blind could see he held none of the evil of his namesake.
I didn't spend time meeting his eyes, though; my walk was nearly up. Instead, my eyes drifted to the other side of the boy I'd betrayed the most to the man of the same title: The very last of my childhood friends, whose tired eyes held nothing more than pain and sorrow.
At least I wont be the one to bring about the cause of his death… I mused humorlessly.
Contrary to what most would think or say… I had never wanted to hurt anyone. I fell into this… something I couldn't get out of without giving my own life. Though now it was catching up with me… finally.
As someone had once brilliantly put it: "You should have died! Died rather than betray you friends, as we would have done for you!"
I knew that now, even though the man whom spoke it would never know that I had taken the words to what was left of my heart and… if I were to be able to, I would go back and die.... I'd let Vo — the Dark Lord jest his want at me one more time… but this time with green light instead of the customary red.
The dementors and I finally ceased our leisurely, memorable walk, coming to a stop. My eyes rose to meet those of a man I once respected… a man I once hated… a man whose eyes had seemingly permanently lost their classic twinkle.
He sighed deeply before speaking as the entire chamber went deadly silent. One could only hear the rattling breath of the dementors at my side now.
"Peter Pettigrew, you have been ordered to death on the grounds of the following charges: breaking the Fidelius Oath, being in the active service of Voldemort as he once were, murdering at torturing hundreds of wizards and muggles alike, including one Cedric Diggory, and conducting the rebirthing of Lord Voldemort with very ancient dark magic. Do you contest any of these charges?"
"No," I heard myself reply evenly, for once.
It was quite odd… for the first time in my life, I wasn't nervous nor scared.... One would think I would be scared out of my damn wits… but I was calm.
My mother's wails echoed in the eerily quiet chamber.
"So be it," the frail looking wizard rolled up a bit of parchment he'd read from.
"May I say something quickly?" I asked, surprising even myself.
It was for the first time I had seen the old, highly regarded wizard stunned.
He nodded his approval around his curiosity.
I turned, facing the hardened front row, locking my tired, non-watery brown eyes on vibrant green ones.
"Harry," I started.
Immediately my final living old friends arm clasped tighter over the boys shoulder while the blond held true to his hand.
"Harry, I'm sorry I brought what I did upon you. I'm sorry I now die without serving my two life debts to you."
A small gasp ran around the chamber.
"Not for myself," I continued. "But because I couldn't get a thing right regarding you in anyway. I'm glad that this time you cannot and will not stop my well needed death."
The strong willed son of an old pair of friends nodded mutely, understanding my words completely.
I turned back around, not being about to try to speak to any other occupant of the room.
I wanted to die.
I wanted for once to get what I deserved. I was just a bit curious as to how they were going to do it. Before they had brought me to this chamber, I had figured they would administer the Kiss, as that was the worst punishment one could get… but the way this was set… it didn't look like his soul would be leaving him like that.
The dementors bone chilling coldness was ebbing away… a signal meaning they had been dismissed.
Good, it would be over soon.
A pair of hooded figures approached from behind the old wizards before me.
I barely registered the old man informing the crowd that the execution would now occur, as two hands wrapped themselves tightly around my wrists (well, really, wrist and stump of a wrist seeing as I'd had no semi-proper hand since the Dark Lords demise.)
I was pulled roughly towards the stone platform as the way to it cleared out.
It was an odd feeling… the veil was to be his death… why, when they could have rendered him soulless, would they throw him past a veil? They must really want to get rid of me fully… not that I can blame them.
The two hooded figures stepped right up to the veil with him in tow. They paused only briefly, speaking one thing before they lobbed him unceremoniously into his death.
"Goodbye, Wormtail."
Peter Pettigrew's beady little eye's last vision to be was one of shock as he looked up into pairs of unmistakable brown and blue eyes.
Blackness was the final vision of them all, one he felt, rather than saw.
Sirius… James…
AN. So, that's it. A bit scrambled and possibly a bit out of character, I think, but the fact is... I wrote it during a few classes. If you don't understand the ending or much of anything at all, I'm very well considering developing a story that includes this plot within it, but completely from behind Harry's view.
Cold, darkness, dank, screaming, and such I had expected, but this… I hadn't. The Final Walk seemed as if it should be much more foreboding, not lit nicely with candles or down a dry, even stoned hallway. The dementors, though, I knew they should be there, flanking me on either side; guiding me to some unknown location where all was to end, for me at least.
It was a strangely peaceful walk (if you discounted the screams of betrayal and torture coursing through my mind, seeing as I had grown frighteningly accustomed to it).
Some music would be nice though, I thought cruelly. The best fitting song, of course, would be the death march… but that certainly wouldn't do…
Besides that, I was ready to be done with the world: I'd caused my share of pain in anguish, more than my share.... Besides, my Lord, the Dark Lord, was gone so even if I were to have the desire to live there would be nowhere to go. I don't fancy being a pet rat once again, that's for bloody sure.
It took me a moment to realize that this peaceful journey was soon to end as a welded, corroded-looking black door came closer by the second. A desire to find out what was on the opposite side of that door was instantly quelled by my stronger thirst to simply have it over and done with.
A strange heaviness on my chest became more and more distinct as we reached the door. (Is we the right word? After all are they living? I'd spent enough time around them to deduce the answer: No.) As the door swung open upon its own accord, a strange room appeared to me: on all four walls were stands filled with nearly a couple hundred crammed in people.
Ah, I must be a popular commodity in the wizarding world at the moment… that or people can't wait to see me die....
I knew the latter was more probable.
In the center of the room stood something that called my attention: upon a platform stood a dais with a peculiar veil…
Vaguely, behind the gasps, screams, and images, I remembered hearing of something like the picture before me. It must have been in History of Magic class… most likely when I was half asleep. All I remembered was that there was some sort of controversy about it…
The dementors lead me into the chamber amid the gasps filling the stands. I could hear, try as I might not to, wails that surely belonged to my mother.
It was strange, I mused. The woman had thought her only child was dead: killed by a childhood best friend. Then, nearly two decades later, she came to find out that: no, he hadn't been killed, but that he had become an evil they had always pilled against. She learned that he was the reason thousands had died.
It somewhat made sense to me, in a roundabout way. Twisted sense, but sense nonetheless.
I could feel the hard glares of hate and betrayal radiating to a distinct point in the room: me. Finally, I was the focal point, of course not the way I had wanted to be as a teenager, but it would due.
The glares were the worse to the right: the stands sitting directly in front of the veil's platform. The second row, a row of complete redheads, was the worst of them all. The Weasely's, I had come to find over the twelve years I spend with them, had only two levels emotionally: loving blindly and malice worse than the Dark Lords. It was plainly obvious which mode they were currently in.
The hardest eyes of them all to meet were seated in the row ahead, the front row.
The cold, flaming [tired] green eyes of the boy whom had freed the wizarding world and unwittingly freed me a second time, was one. Anyone could see that he was as anxious to get this over with as I was. For as much as he despised me and wanted to avenge parents deaths along with the torture I had subjected his godfather to… it was painfully obvious that the boy had seen too much death… he didn't seed to see any more anytime soon.
So much had changed for the boy every time I'd seen him… firstly crawling away from me as a young infant (smart kid, he was), then when I was revealed in his third year to be his parents betrayer, next while I cut his arm for blood to rebirth my fallen master, and finally, only less than a month ago, when I helped slay another former friend: the half-giant, Hagrid.
I'd caused so much pain and anguish for the boy who was just seventeen. If only I hadn't resented James for what he gained or overheard that forsaken prophecy…
Sitting beside the legendary Boy-Whom-Didn't-Know-How-To-Die was a stark blond whose originator I had seen many times too many and had certainly been jealous of just as many. Even the offspring of the man showed the level of malice he had been infamous for, but even the blind could see he held none of the evil of his namesake.
I didn't spend time meeting his eyes, though; my walk was nearly up. Instead, my eyes drifted to the other side of the boy I'd betrayed the most to the man of the same title: The very last of my childhood friends, whose tired eyes held nothing more than pain and sorrow.
At least I wont be the one to bring about the cause of his death… I mused humorlessly.
Contrary to what most would think or say… I had never wanted to hurt anyone. I fell into this… something I couldn't get out of without giving my own life. Though now it was catching up with me… finally.
As someone had once brilliantly put it: "You should have died! Died rather than betray you friends, as we would have done for you!"
I knew that now, even though the man whom spoke it would never know that I had taken the words to what was left of my heart and… if I were to be able to, I would go back and die.... I'd let Vo — the Dark Lord jest his want at me one more time… but this time with green light instead of the customary red.
The dementors and I finally ceased our leisurely, memorable walk, coming to a stop. My eyes rose to meet those of a man I once respected… a man I once hated… a man whose eyes had seemingly permanently lost their classic twinkle.
He sighed deeply before speaking as the entire chamber went deadly silent. One could only hear the rattling breath of the dementors at my side now.
"Peter Pettigrew, you have been ordered to death on the grounds of the following charges: breaking the Fidelius Oath, being in the active service of Voldemort as he once were, murdering at torturing hundreds of wizards and muggles alike, including one Cedric Diggory, and conducting the rebirthing of Lord Voldemort with very ancient dark magic. Do you contest any of these charges?"
"No," I heard myself reply evenly, for once.
It was quite odd… for the first time in my life, I wasn't nervous nor scared.... One would think I would be scared out of my damn wits… but I was calm.
My mother's wails echoed in the eerily quiet chamber.
"So be it," the frail looking wizard rolled up a bit of parchment he'd read from.
"May I say something quickly?" I asked, surprising even myself.
It was for the first time I had seen the old, highly regarded wizard stunned.
He nodded his approval around his curiosity.
I turned, facing the hardened front row, locking my tired, non-watery brown eyes on vibrant green ones.
"Harry," I started.
Immediately my final living old friends arm clasped tighter over the boys shoulder while the blond held true to his hand.
"Harry, I'm sorry I brought what I did upon you. I'm sorry I now die without serving my two life debts to you."
A small gasp ran around the chamber.
"Not for myself," I continued. "But because I couldn't get a thing right regarding you in anyway. I'm glad that this time you cannot and will not stop my well needed death."
The strong willed son of an old pair of friends nodded mutely, understanding my words completely.
I turned back around, not being about to try to speak to any other occupant of the room.
I wanted to die.
I wanted for once to get what I deserved. I was just a bit curious as to how they were going to do it. Before they had brought me to this chamber, I had figured they would administer the Kiss, as that was the worst punishment one could get… but the way this was set… it didn't look like his soul would be leaving him like that.
The dementors bone chilling coldness was ebbing away… a signal meaning they had been dismissed.
Good, it would be over soon.
A pair of hooded figures approached from behind the old wizards before me.
I barely registered the old man informing the crowd that the execution would now occur, as two hands wrapped themselves tightly around my wrists (well, really, wrist and stump of a wrist seeing as I'd had no semi-proper hand since the Dark Lords demise.)
I was pulled roughly towards the stone platform as the way to it cleared out.
It was an odd feeling… the veil was to be his death… why, when they could have rendered him soulless, would they throw him past a veil? They must really want to get rid of me fully… not that I can blame them.
The two hooded figures stepped right up to the veil with him in tow. They paused only briefly, speaking one thing before they lobbed him unceremoniously into his death.
"Goodbye, Wormtail."
Peter Pettigrew's beady little eye's last vision to be was one of shock as he looked up into pairs of unmistakable brown and blue eyes.
Blackness was the final vision of them all, one he felt, rather than saw.
Sirius… James…
AN. So, that's it. A bit scrambled and possibly a bit out of character, I think, but the fact is... I wrote it during a few classes. If you don't understand the ending or much of anything at all, I'm very well considering developing a story that includes this plot within it, but completely from behind Harry's view.