Peter crouched in a corner of the Malfoys' dim, dusty pantry, cringing away from the sound of Hermione Granger's screams. Bellatrix was torturing her, trying to wrest information from her through use of the Cruciatus Curse, her favorite spell.
Peter could not bear to hear it—he hadn't seen Hermione in years, but he could so clearly remember the bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl who had accompanied Harry and Ron on all their adventures. He'd liked her, at least until she'd gotten Crookshanks; he wished she would just give up and tell Bellatrix everything she wanted to know, if only so that he'd no longer have to hear her shrieks.
He had arrived at Malfoy Manor nearly a year ago, when Bellatrix had decided to move in full-time with her sister; almost immediately Peter had been tasked with tending to the prisoners kept in the Malfoys' cellar—first Garrick Ollivander, the man whom Peter had purchased his wand from so many years ago, and then Luna Lovegood, an eccentric and dreamy Hogwarts sixth year abducted as revenge for her father's writings. Now, it sounded as though he would have some more prisoners in his care; he'd hidden himself away before they'd arrived, but from what he'd heard through the pantry door, it seemed like Greyback and his Snatchers had captured Harry and his friends. Peter prayed that they would all be gone soon.
There was a sudden, loud crack from beneath his feet; Peter leapt backwards at the sound of it, nearly knocking over a bottle of vintage wine. "What was that?" Lucius Malfoy shouted from the drawing room. "Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?"
Peter's heart began to race; had Harry somehow found a way to escape? But that was impossible—Voldemort himself had ensured that the prisoners' cellar was impenetrable.
"Draco," Lucius called to his son. "No—call Wormtail! Make him go and check!"
Of course. Not wanting to be found in the pantry, Peter crept outside and down the hall until he came face-to-face with Draco Malfoy. "Where have you been?" the boy demanded. He looked a bit ill, his limbs trembling and his face even paler than usual.
Peter blinked back at him, not answering. "Never mind," Draco said impatiently. "You—you need to check on the prisoners. We heard something coming from down there."
Why do I have to do it? Peter wanted to say; instead he bowed to Draco and headed off, through the dark corridor outside the drawing room and down the steps to the cellar.
"Stand back," he called to the prisoners inside, his wand held shakily out in front of him. "Stand away from the door. I'm coming in."
He blasted open the door with a muttered "Alohomora Acribus," and stepped forward to find the cellar apparently deserted except for a trio of levitating orbs of light. He stared blankly at the lights, struck dumb by the sight of them; then Ron and Harry leapt at him from either side of the door, Ron grabbing his wand arm and Harry clapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his startled scream.
Panicked, Peter writhed and flailed in a desperate attempt to free himself; as his wand shot off fiery sparks in every direction, he lunged forward and grabbed Harry by the throat with his silver hand, crushing his windpipe beneath his enchanted fingers. Lucius called down for him, having heard the disturbance, but Ron yelled back in Peter's voice that everything was fine.
Harry was gagging, unable to breathe around Peter's chokehold. "You're going to kill me?" he wheezed. "After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!"
Peter looked into Harry's eyes and froze. They were Lily's eyes, set into James's face—a bit swollen and red from whatever jinx had been used to conceal him, but James's face all the same—he was looking more and more like his father as the years passed, he was nearing the age James and Lily had been when they died….
Harry had saved his life, saved him from Remus and Sirius only moments after learning how much Peter had hurt him. Peter had taken so much from the son of his old best friend, and now here he was, about to take his life as well…and without Harry to fight the Dark Lord, everyone he'd ever loved would have died for nothing: Fiona, James and Lily, Sirius…all of them would have been so proud of Harry, and so ashamed of him….
Peter's grip slackened around Harry's throat. Harry pulled himself free, shocked at his mercy, and Peter was too: it was the first time since he'd pledged himself to Voldemort that he'd done anything to defy his master.
Ron pulled Peter's wand from his other hand—he struggled against the boys' clutches, wondering what they were going to do to him now. Would they kill him, and finally get the revenge they deserved?
Then Peter's silver hand began to arc back towards him, moving of its own accord. He knew what it was doing before it had even reached his throat: he had disobeyed, and now he would be punished. Voldemort had no tolerance for humanity.
Harry grabbed the hand, trying to pull it back as it closed around Peter's throat. He could no longer breathe…. "Relashio!" Ron yelled, pointing Peter's wand at the hand, but it was no use; Voldemort's magic was always stronger. Peter sunk to his knees, hearing Hermione's terrible screams over the ringing in his ears….
The last thing he saw was Harry's face, his eyes wide with horror, fighting to save him once again. Then his vision went dark, and his life slipped away through his cursed silver fingers.
