Word Count: 447


"You lied to me!" Peter rushes forward, fingers curled inward and forming angry fists. "You said… You said…"

But he can't bring himself to repeat Lucius' words. The weight of his betrayal is so heavy now, and he can't breathe. He closes his eyes.

Hadn't he always known it would end like this? Hadn't he known the Dark Lord would target Lily and James? Maybe his mind has tried to overlook what that would actually mean. After all, he is their friend. He would never want them to die.

Lucius studies him, a lazy smirk on his lips. "Yes. So there is the Gryffindor ferocity," he says with a sneer as he pours himself a drink. "Do sit down, Pettigrew. Your nervous pacing is leaving a trail in my carpet."

Peter stops moving, but he doesn't sit. His eyes flicker from the amber liquid in Lucius' glass to the Death Eater mask resting on his polished mahogany desk. "Say something," he croaks. "Please."

Lucius rolls his eyes. "I was never dishonest. That was you, when you decided to betray your friends," he says coldly. "If you want to blame someone, perhaps you should ask yourself why it was so easy to hand your friends over. Dear, dear. Did the Sorting Hat even consider you as a Hufflepuff? I assume not, since you have no loyalty."

Peter ignores the clear jab. He swallows dryly. It had been surprisingly easy to betray them. Lily has always been kind to him. But James? Sirius? They had always treated him like he was just there. He's never really belonged with them, and they've never really cared for him.

"Everyone has a dark side," Lucius continues, smiling as he retrieves a second glass. "I merely helped you embrace yours."

"I'm not dark."

But that isn't quite true. Hasn't he always felt that monster in his chest? Hasn't there always been a little voice whispering in his ear?

He wonders if Lucius know what Peter is thinking, if that's why he wears that victorious smirk as he pours Peter a glass. "Come," he says, sliding the offered drink across the desk. "It's Halloween. Time to celebrate."

Peter accepts the drink. The liquid sloshes against the side of his glass as his hand trembles.

Lucius lifts his glass in toast. "To the Dark Lord."

Peter echoes the words, but he feels his stomach tie itself into knots. He had hoped to find a sense of belonging here, something the Marauders never could.

It seems like it will always be elusive, and he worries that he's made a terrible mistake.

He swallows down the burning liquor, praying it will be enough to silence his demons.