So, here's the only chapter that everyone was looking forward to! I'm sorry about all the long breaks in this fic, but ya'll have to cut me a little slack – I'm writing about the Marauders' deaths! It SUCKS! Don't think for a second that I'm enjoying this. I just have to get it out, that's all.
Warning! This chapter is horribly gruesome. Most of all the nasty bits are implied, however, so I'm leaving it up to your imaginations.
Disclaimer: The poem in the beginning is C.C. Moore's. And, as always, the Marauders are not mine. If I were Jo, this death would have happened a long time ago…
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Christmas Eve – December 24th, 1997
Unknown Location
Twas' the night before Christmas
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse
But a plump gray rat was making its way down a vacant corridor in the far wing of the castle.
This castle was not at all like the warm, cheery one where the rat had lived for over ten years. The aforementioned castle was dark and large. Ironically, so was the group that now used it as their headquarters – Dark, and large, in numbers anyway.
The corridor was freezing, so the rat sped up. It hoped that by moving faster, it could warm itself. Luckily for the rat, it had a very healthy-sized diet, and a nice think layer of blubber to keep itself protected from the chilly winter air.
When the rat came to a much wider, much better lit passageway, it stopped. To anyone who didn't understand what it was doing, it would have seemed as if the rat were melting. In fact, it was doing quite the opposite – the rat was growing, into a fat and balding thirty-seven year old man named Peter Pettigrew.
Peter continued the rat's pace, almost as if he had never stopped to change forms. At the end of the passageway he found a brightly torch lit room; wide, massive, filled with cloaked figures standing around in a circle. In the middle of the ring was a tall, imposing figure in a thick cloak, face not visible under his heavy hood.
Peter entered the room and waited for the central figure to acknowledge him from the doorway.
"Ah, Wormtail," the high, cold voice drawled from the center of the room. "Did you complete your search of the eastern wing?"
"Yes, my Lord." Peter responded. "I found no sign of strange activity."
The dark lord called Voldemort nodded in approval. "Very good. We can begin the meeting now." A slight shift in the Death Eaters' stance showed that they had been waiting for this for some time.
"For those of you who are not living with us, you will be pleased to know that the final stages in the transformation of this castle into our center of operations are almost complete. There is only one real complication – the guarding of the outside walls from intruders. Protection spells are certainly not my area of expertise, so if anyone has any suggestions, they will be most welcome."
There was a silence, and one of the Death Eaters offered, "There's the Fidelius Charm."
Voldemort was quiet. "Who are you who suggests this? Come forward." A slumped figure stumbled towards him, obviously shaking.
"Crucio." Voldemort had whipped out his wand before the poor soul could take a shuddering breath. His screams echoed off the cold stone walls.
"You fool," Voldemort hissed softly when the torture was over. "To so arrogantly remind me of the night of my downfall! And what a completely absurd suggestion it was. Who would be my Secret-Keeper? Wormtail?" He laughed coldly. "He's already proven that – although loyal to our side – he cannot be placed under such weighty responsibility."
"Master! I would gladly accept –" Peter began, shocked.
"No Wormtail; I would trust no one with such valuable information as the location of the very heart of my organization. The subject is closed for now, and if anyone has another – better – idea, they should speak to me in private.
"My next matter is of a somewhat lighter topic. As you all know, our dear friend Lucius has returned to us from Azkaban," he gestured to the Death Eater standing at his right. "Lucius is the first non-Animagus to escape from the prison. It is a thrilling tale, but I will allow Lucius to explain it himself."
Peter fixed his eyes on Malfoy. The escape of the Dark Lord's former right-hand man was very big news indeed. He wondered why no one had bothered to tell him.
Malfoy stepped forward and began to speak to the Death Eaters in his smooth, haughty voice. "I must first say that the abandonment of the prison by the Dementors has helped me a great deal, although it still wasn't easy. I was in Azkaban for a year and a half, always planning my escape. I was hungry to return to my master. I kept constant watch on the food circulation, tried to learn as much as I could about the guards – anything that could assist me in my plans.
"About two weeks ago, my opportunity finally came. A young Ministry wizard came for a routine check on the prison. When he came to my cell, I tricked him into approaching the bars. I overpowered him, stole his wand, freed myself, and killed him. I also killed the entrance guards on my way out. I stole the Ministry wizard's boat, which he had used to get to the island. With the assistance of magic, I was able to reach shore in a few hours. By making connections through certain trustworthy people, I was able to locate this castle a week ago and return to the Dark Lord's service."
Peter glared enviously at Malfoy. It would have taken him a lot of nerve to risk that a successful, clean escape from Azkaban would win him back favor with the Dark Lord. But it worked, Peter admitted grudgingly. Malfoy's risk had paid off, and he had obviously scored a few points with their master. Of course, he wasn't getting his old affection back anytime soon – not after the Department of Mysteries fiasco. No, Severus Snape had filled the second-in-command position. But Malfoy would get what would come to him.
Peter shook himself a little. Why did he care so much about Malfoy? He should be worrying more about himself. After the Dark Lord had returned to his body, Peter had been basically shunned by his master. Without his daily feeding and strengthening potions, the Dark Lord hadn't been able to find much use for Peter. He was weak, a mediocre dueler, and not very intelligent. Not to mention the fact that the wizarding world believed him to be dead.
But that had all changed last year, when the Ministry had finally acknowledged the Dark Lord's return. All of a sudden, there had been so much to do in such a short amount of time. Peter was given a steady role to assist Snape, who had been gradually growing more influential in the Death Eater rank. It had not been a pleasant job – more than once, Peter had to bite back a 'Snivillus' joke – but now the Dark Lord had promoted him to a position in guarding the new fortress.
Peter looked back at his master. With a jolt, he realized that he had daydreamed all through Snape's latest report. The Dark Lord was just giving praise of his work.
"Well done, Severus, well done. Continue to please me and you will be rewarded most satisfactorily. Now, enough business for one night." Voldemort sneered, looking purely terrifying. "I feel most grieved for keeping you all away from your families on such a significant night. However, I have a little Christmas present for you all, my dear friends." Voldemort waved his wand at one of the doors behind him. The opened automatically, and the room was filled with screams once again.
Peter craned his neck to see who was making all the noise. Two Dementors were entering the room, guiding a very frightened Muggle family – a man, a woman, and two little girls who looked to be around six or seven. The children were crying, but their parents – under the power of the Dementors, no doubt – seemed unable to comfort them.
"A local Muggle family, from a village just at the other end of the forest. I believe they decided to go caroling, and got lost in the woods," Voldemort informed them, red eyes glittering insanely through his hood. "It was lucky that we found them."
The Death Eaters laughed and jeered at this. They seemed to grasp what their master was telling them.
"I hope you all have a Happy Christmas, loyal friends." Voldemort said dryly. "Have fun with them."
o-o
Hours later, the poor Muggles had been passed around the circle. Horrible, unmentionable atrocities were preformed. Unforgivables were popular choices of the Death Eaters', especially some very sick variations of the Imperius Curse. Peter had often found himself unable to watch the persecution that his companions were putting the Muggles through. Once or twice, he was even hoping that the parents would eventually break and die, just so that they would be spared the pain of watching their daughters tortured.
Peter realized that he shouldn't be feeling this way. Muggles were filth, Muggles needed to be disposed of. And coming up with creative ways to go about this was supposed to be fun for him. But… as Peter watched Bellatrix Lestrange Imperius the mother to beat her youngest daughter, he couldn't help feeling that the two should be put out of their misery.
When one of the girls – the older daughter – was passed to Peter, he was taken a little by surprise, and not sure what to do.
"Master, what would you like me to do with her?" He asked Voldemort.
Voldemort answered, "Amuse me, Wormtail."
Peter looked back at the girl. She was bleeding, bruised, and tearstained. One of her legs had cracked. Her hair had been ripped out by the ends. The girl's clothes were ripped and torn, having been pulled off and back on by some of the gruffer, more twisted Death Eaters. And she was whimpering on the floor, the stone muffling her voice. Peter could only hear snatches, a few words here and there – "Mumma", "Daddy", "Brittany", and "help".
Peter couldn't stand it any longer. He had to do something.
"Avada Kedavra," he muttered weakly. The girl lay still on the floor at his feet.
A howl from across the room told him that the child's father had seen everything.
o-o
"Tsk tsk, Wormtail," Voldemort said disapprovingly, silencing the man with his wand. "Was that the best you could do? You've ruined all our fun. And I know Fenrir was so looking forward to a sister act." Voldemort looked pointedly at the werewolf waiting for his turn with the younger girl.
"But you have three more left to amuse yourselves with," Peter shot back coolly.
o-o
He wasn't really sure how or where his courage came from. It certainly hadn't been there throughout his school life, when his friends had had to protect him from bullies. He hadn't had courage in his later years, either, when he was hiding out as a pampered pet rat. Peter had always been surrounded by brave people – there had been James, who had died to protect his wife and child; Sirius – he had risen up against his vile parents in favor of the way of the light; Remus, in his understated way, lived out every day of his life as an outcast and a reject – perhaps the bravest out of all of them.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You dare challenge me, Wormtail? I, who have been your doting, generous master for all these years? I, who have given you that splendid piece of machinery which you use as an arm?"
"Only after I've given you mine!" Peter cried. The whole room was quiet now. Even the crying Muggles had been silenced, whether by magic or just plain fear. Every eye seemed to be on Peter or Voldemort. "That's how you operate, is it? And eye for an eye, a hand for a hand!"
Voldemort drew his wand again and pointed it at Peter. "You know very well how I operate." He hissed threateningly. Then his voice became steadier. "Be careful, Wormtail. If you don't cease your ranting at once, I will have to quiet you myself. And I promise you, it won't involve a Silencing Charm."
Then, like a giant wave that crashed over him – Peter suddenly felt the painful, humbling realization. It was as if he had been asleep these past twenty years, and had finally woken up. What was he doing here? Why – why – had he chosen this path, when he had already had so many things in his favor – great friends, a good life! The Marauders had given everything for Peter, and how had he repaid them? By betraying them! By turning them over to a vicious murderer, one way or another! Peter was overwhelmed by the shame, angst, and grief that washed over him. James… Sirius… Remus… Lily… Harry… he had ruined them all. So many lives, so many futures, had been destroyed because of his mistakes. He had gone down a deep, dark, endless path of bloodshed and tears, of pain and secrecy, and had dragged his friends' happiness down with him.
And then – Peter laughed. What could he do now, except laugh? He was beyond crying, beyond tears. There was no hope left for him now. He had nothing.
o-o
And that was how Peter Pettigrew died – at the mercy of Lord Voldemort, completely powerless to stop him, like so many better, braver, nobler souls before him.
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Come on, I know he's a rotten little bastard, but he's still a Marauder – and he reformed in the end (a little too late, though)!
Do you like? I have to say, I'm proudest of this chapter so far. Everything went pretty smoothly, for once. I guess I knew exactly how I wanted to kill Petey. Hehe.
Reviews are most appreciated!
LaRohaZeta
