Yay for chapter three. A lot of the second scene is inspired by the Showtime series (and book series it's based on) Dexter.
The Price of Victory
November 7th, 1981
November 7th, 1981, approximately 6:45 PM, Sirius Black puts Harry to bed.
Harry had finally started going to sleep a lot more peacefully now, he was used to Sirius being the person to tuck him in at night instead of his parents, and didn't fuss as much.
Sirius thought this was something worth celebrating, so once he and Remus were sure Harry was going to be asleep for at least another couple of hours, Sirius pulled out a bottle of firewhisky and some goblets and they had a couple of drinks.
After a few, Remus was resting his head on Sirius's shoulder, his eyes drooping closed.
"Stay awake Moony," Sirius said, jerking his arm so that Remus jolted up.
"Sorry. You know this stuff makes me sleepy."
"It's fine."
Remus yawned in response. "Do you think he'll stay asleep?"
"Not likely."
"Kids can be like that," Remus said groggily. "Did you write the Weasley's?"
"And 'Dromeda."
"Good. Any word back?"
"Not yet."
Remus slumped back onto Sirius's shoulder and was asleep within moments. Sirius just sat there quietly, watching his inebriated friend sleep.
Remus had always been a lightweight.
There was a faint tapping on the window. Sirius looked up and saw an owl, clutching a letter, tapping on the window. He sprang up without any regard for Remus sleeping on his shoulder, Remus toppled over and woke up.
Sirius opened the window and the owl flew in, waiting as Sirius removed the letter, and then flew back into the night.
"I don't recognize this handwriting, do you?" Sirius asked, showing the letter to Remus.
Remus shook his head in the negative at the writing.
Sirius opened the letter quickly. It was a neat, though masculine, cramped together sort of writing. There was only one sentence.
Protect your brother, he needs it, free Death Eaters aren't safe.
"Who do you reckon it's from?" Remus asked.
"I…don't know."
--
November 7th, 1981, approximately 11:45 PM, Peter Pettigrew stumbles out of a bar.
Peter was drunker than he'd been in a while. Somehow, the alcohol drowned out the paranoia, the fear. He was going to get off! He wasn't going to Azkaban!
From behind Peter, someone put their wand to his neck and he fell, unconscious.
He had always been good at nonverbal spells.
Peter woke up, tied down to a filthy old bed by each wrist and ankle. He couldn't find his wand.
"You!" he squeaked, his blue eyes watering. "What do you want from me?"
His captor laughed, removing his hood. "Scream all you want," the youthful voice said. "Snape taught me this useful spell. No one outside of this room can hear you. I told the barman you had passed out in the street and I got us a room for the night so you could 'recover'."
"What do you want from me?"
The younger man sat down on the bed. "Revenge. I think."
"I had to stay out of Azkaban!" Peter wailed. "I had to!"
"There were scores of others taken in for questioning that didn't name names. That went to Azkaban with the pride of their actions. Why are you such a coward?" The steady voice rose to a more dangerous level. "You betrayed people that accepted you as their friend, and then you betray the Death Eaters? You're lucky you got me before Bellatrix found you."
Peter looked around. There was no means of escape. He was strapped down and his wand was not on his person or anywhere in sight.
"You won't go to Azkaban!" he cried.
"I know I won't. But I won't betray my people either. Unlike you, Peter, I'm smart enough to stay out of trouble without striking deals with the enemy!" He screamed the last four words, brandishing his wand in fury, blood splattering the walls and his robes. It was only a cut to the shoulder.
He stripped off his robes, revealing a plain white T-shirt and jeans underneath it. He ruffled his fair hair and smiled at Peter.
"Did that hurt?"
"No," Peter said defiantly.
"Oh shut up."
Peter whimpered. "I had to do it."
"What? Sell me out? Sell your comrades out? Sell Re- us out?"
"I had to!"
"No you didn't!"
"I'll give you anything you want, just don't kill!"
"Be quiet! That never helps anybody!" his attacker shouted. "What you did to the Potters, well, good on you. But you made enemies. You're lucky it wasn't Black or Lupin killing you! If it hadn't been for that Potter boy, it probably would've been Black. You understand this, right? But then instead of keeping a low profile, staying prudent, keeping yourself safe. You sell out Death Eaters! Dangerous ones. Like me, Peter."
"You're a fucking teenager!" Peter moaned. "You can't do this!"
"What does my age have to do with anything?"
"You're too young to be this…this…"
"Evil? Crazy?" he asked, a grin spreading over his features. "Well I am. Don't know why, don't care why. I am."
"So you're having a conversation with me before you kill me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I want you to see what you did before you die. I want you to understand." He pointed his want at different places on Peter's body. "Selling out to the Ministry is even worse than being a double-crosser. I hope you know this."
"Snape is a spy! Snape has been working for Dumbledore the entire time!" Peter sobbed.
There was another splatter of blood, this time the wound was a shallow cut across Peter's forehead. "You're doing it again!" he shouted. "I don't give a damn about Death Eaters or Order members or the Dark Lord or Dumbledore!"
"Then why-" Peter sobbed uncontrollably.
"You SOLD ME OUT! This is what I care about!" he screamed, looking rather deranged as he paced and ran his hand through his blond hair. "I have no loyalty for a dead man, but I still wouldn't sell out my partners, people I've worked along side! Not for my own safety! I'm no coward like you!"
"You would kill your best friend to keep yourself safe!" Peter yelled in response. Praying someone could hear them. But he knew that his captor's spell work would be impeccable. He would've thought of everything to cover his tracks.
"No! I wouldn't! We aren't talking about you here Pettigrew! I have some since of loyalty, unlike you. You filthy damn rodent!"
"You don't care about the Death Eaters! You're just revenging yourself! You won't get away with it!"
"Of course I'm getting revenge for myself, you idiot."
"Why do all of this just for a kill?"
"I like it. I want you to know why you're dying. It makes me feel…"
"Alive?"
"Of course."
"I'm sorry," Peter moaned.
The wand waved and it was a clean cut across the throat. Blood sprayed all over the killer and the bed and the walls. Pettigrew sputtered and coughed and more blood poured. His attacked grabbed Peter's blood-soaked hand and Apparated him to Hogsmeade village, in an alleyway beside the Hog's Head Inn. Then he quickly Apparated back into the rented room in the Leaky Cauldron and went about cleaning.
He wiped the walls, the sheets, the floor. It was all covered in blood. He cleaned off the splattered robes and threw them back on, pulling the hood up and walking down to the bar.
The bartender looked at him.
"He's asleep, I figured I'd leave him be," he said briefly, leaving the Leaky Cauldron. It would make him seem a little more innocent.
Of course he didn't plan on his roommate waiting up for him.
He opened the door to the tiny flat, and saw the older, dark headed boy at the table reading a paper.
"Where have you been?"
"Fancied a drink," he said evasively. "Why are you awake?"
"It's after midnight and you weren't home, I figured I'd wait."
"Well I'm going to bed," he said uncomfortably.
"For someone who was just out for two hours supposedly drinking, you don't smell much like spirits," his roommate said, folding up the paper and exiting the tiny kitchen.
"'Night," he said wearily, going to his own bedroom and stripping off his clothes.
His shirt and pants were still covered in blood. Instead of cleaning them, he just stuffed them under his bed and made sure there were no traces on his skin, then got under his blanket and went to sleep.
He felt rather accomplished.