It was a dark and eerily silent Halloween night; late enough that all the young trick-or-treaters had already turned in for bed long ago. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A young man, squatting silently in a clump of bushes, jumped at the sound. Someone beside him hissed, warning him to be quiet. The man nodded shrinking lower into the foliage. Slowly he turned, peering through the bushes at a house across the street, watching as a tall, hooded figure made its way towards the door. The man readjusted his mask to get a better look, a sense of fearful excitement coming over him.
The hooded man stopped in front of the door, a hand stretching agonizingly slowly towards the handle. The man in the bushes bit his lip to stop himself from squeaking aloud. The hooded man pulled the doorknob and the masked man felt his hands digging into the ground, his eyes snapping tightly closed. But he heard no squeaking of a door on a hinge, no slamming of it closing behind. The young man in the bushes slowly opened an eye and found himself breathing a sigh of relief, which he quickly changed to a sound of frustration when he noticed his companions had heard. The hooded man was yanking on the handle, throwing his weight against it, hissing spells underneath his breath as he jabbed his wand at the door. The door refused to budge. The man in the bushes found a slight grin appearing beneath his mask- Lily's charm work would be hard to break. But there was a loud sound and the man's head whipped around so fast to look that he felt a crick in his neck. The door had finally given up its fight- the hooded man was inside.
"Fools," the man beside him muttered in a scratchy voice, who was watching the scene eagerly. "They thought that they could resist the Dark Lord!"
"They deserve it." Another snarled underneath his breath, his greasy black hair falling in front of his mask. He, too, was peering avidly out from the bushes as his two companions were.
The first man couldn't say anything, not even manage a nod. He shut his eyes tightly, waiting, waiting. Then, there it was- a bright flash of green light, a faint slumping sound, and loud eerie laughter breaking the silence. He two men in the bush that had spoken let out sounds of approval, one saying audibly, "That's one."
The young man continued to keep his eyes closed; trying desperately to fight back the emotions that threatened to surge forward. For once he was happy that he wore the mask- the others wouldn't be able to notice his tears. The man turned away from the others, but they barely noticed, they still staring with ecstatic anticipation at the house. The other man didn't dare remove his mask to wipe away his tears of remorse, guilt, and grief. He felt his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He tried to fight with himself, convince himself that what he had done was truly alright. It had to be done, the man thought, slowly shaking his head. It had to be. If I didn't- if I hadn't- another voice broke into his mind, a small, quiet voice, but taunting all the same, finishing his sentence for him. –James would still be alive.
"No—" The man whispered aloud, choking on his words. The other two glanced away from where they had been watching, staring strangely at the other. The scratchy-voiced man spoke, his voice almost sounding concerned.
"Something wrong, Pettigrew?"
"Me? No… I- I'm fine" The one called Pettigrew mumbled, his voice gruff in an attempt to mask his emotions.
"Feeling guilty, traitor?" The greasy-haired man leered, grinning from behind his own mask. Pettigrew stared at him, eyes- red with tears- narrowing. It was hard to hear truth spoken like that- the truth of what he was, a traitor.
"No. No, I'm not. I—" But he was cut off by a shrill scream cutting through the night. Pettigrew mentally thanked the excuse to stop trying to explain himself, but felt sickened after he realized what that scream meant. The green light that had just flashed by was fading, but still lightly visible. Once again there were the murmurs of appreciation, and "That's two!" was whispered with excitement and anticipation. Pettigrew said nothing, and once again didn't join in to the silent celebrations. That scream had belonged to Lily, and now his heart was pounding worse then ever. Now he was waiting again, his hands gripping each other tightly in the folds of his long black robe. He was chewing his lip so hard that it had started to bleed, but he barely noticed- and neither did the others, they still wrapped up in the thrill of the night. The suspence, the silence, was maddening. Pettigrew felt as if he couldn't take it any longer, that his head would burst off his shoulders at any moment. But finally, everything ended. There was a loud howl like a wounded animal, and the house gave a great shuddering groan. Then, in a brilliant flash of green light, the house seemed to lift up a few inches off the ground for a moment. It hovered there for not even a second before crashing down and exploding into nothing.
"YES!" Shouted the raspy-voiced man as all three were showered with chips of paint, splinters, and small shards of glass. The man covered his head as they fell, but was cackling madly beneath his breath, muttering things that sounded like "Finally, they're gone!" or "The end of the Potters!"
The greasy-haired fellow was grinning quietly underneath his mask, glancing down at the mark on his left forearm and feeling that this was all worth while after all. Pettigrew, on the other hand, looking terribly distressed. Both other masked men noticed, looking at him curiously. The greasy-haired man was still silently smirking, since he knew very well what was wrong with Pettigrew.
"Pettigrew? Are you okay?" Questioned the scratchy-voiced man.
"Feeling bad about it, rat?" Hissed the greasy-haired adult, smirking sinisterly underneath his mask. Pettigrew was once again thankful for the mask he was wearing- they couldn't see how pale he had become, but it was hard to hide his shaking hands. The first to speak took the shaking for something else, and patted Pettigrew heartily on the back before speaking again.
"Yes, it's finally over. You did it- you lead the Dark Lord right to them. You'll probably be getting quite a reward, eh?"
Pettigrew couldn't speak. He stared at the man with an expression of mixed horror and rage- how could he be happy about this? Now Pettigrew was just reminded again of what he had done- he had lead the Dark Lord to the Potters, it was his fault, he had let Lily, James, and baby Harry all die at the wand of a murdering Dark Lord- and for what? To save his own skin and for the thrill of power. But these promises- power and a spared life- were hardly enough to comfort him. He turned away from the two others, hunching his shoulders defensively and staring out at the remains of the house as smoke and flames licked around it. Once again the raspy-voiced man mistook Pettigrew's actions for something else. He crouched and moved over beside Peter, looking eagerly at the house. The greasy-haired man reluctantly joined them. The scratchy-toned man was once again first to speak.
"He'll send the signal out soon, then we can be off."
"Right, Wilkes. Maybe blow up a few of these muggle homes just for sport?" Offered the greasy-haired man with a laugh.
"Sounds good, Snape. What about you, Pettigrew? Up for a little fun?"
The questioned man silently shook his head, staring out at the house still, waiting again. A dog howled sorrowfully in the distance, making the hairs on the back of Pettigrew's nape rise. Nothing stirred in the house, and no one came out, no deathly skull with a snake slithering from its mouth- the sign of the Dark Lord's followers- rose into the air. Both Snape and Wilkes looked slightly worried. Wilkes sounded slightly fearful.
"He should have sent up the signal by now."
"It'll come..." Snape murmured, staring at the smoke that was forming a cloud above the remains of the house. But nothing formed out of the cloud- it remained smoke. Both Snape and Wilkes looked confused- Pettigrew was still too depressed to do or feel anything. Suddenly, Wilkes took a sharp intake of breath, letting it out in a low hiss of pain. Snape glared at him.
"What's wrong, Wilkes?"
"My arm... it hurt for a second..."
"Which one?"
"Left forear-" But Wilkes cut himself out, remembering. He hurriedly thrust back the sleeves of said arm, staring at his forearm. His masked eyes widened as he stared, and before he said anything, he hard another hissing breath and a small yelp from Pettigrew. He turned towards both of them, stretching out his bare arm for them to see. Snape and Pettigrew did the same, revealing their arms. All three stared at the spots, only Wilkes, the eldest, finding words. "The mark..."
Snape found his voice soon after. "It faded..."
Pettigrew joined in. "I can barely see it..."
All three stared at each other, fear in all their eyes. Even Pettigrew had momentarily forgotten his pain about what he had done. Wilkes rose from the bushes, ignoring Snape's hissing for him to get back down again. He looked to the other scattered clumps of foilage, where other hooded and masked heads were popping up and looking around. Finally, a masked figure closer to the house then the others spoke, addressing all of them in a loud, frightened whisper.
"The Dark Lord... is gone!"
Hisses and moans erupted like fire around the circle of hedges surrounding the exploded house, and the first that spoke was the first to leave. There was a faint popping sound, and he was gone. One by one, the others around him followed, aparating back to the Dark Lair. After Snape and Wilkes had both already popped away, Pettigrew, heaving a sigh, followed.