A/N: This one was hard for me because I knew what I wanted it to be but getting the words out there proved difficult. In the end, I think it was good. This one was written on January 1st and takes place that day in 1978. Written for (skip to story):
Perfumers comp: Armani code luna: petitgrain: less than 500 words, t rated, Pettigrew character prompt; hp chps comp: dark mark: write about a death eater; dark things comp: scream;
They Were There
Firewhiskey glasses floated around the room at a rapid rate. The clock had just struck midnight, and the Gryffindors we're celebrating in the typical fashion. Throwing a party was one of James Potter's greatest talents, and convincing the professors to let them have a little fun was one of Lily Evans', and despite her initial misgivings, it just took a bit of encouragement from the girls and Remus, who she considered far more sensible than her boyfriend. Peter didn't blame her.
Peter Pettigrew had a bit of a history with drinks; though by no means a lightweight, Peter was known among his friends as the crazy drunk, and he had some sorrows to drown tonight.
A new year, a new group of friends.
Just after Christmas, Peter had left Hogwarts grounds to meet an up and coming group of radicals: the Death Eaters. At their head was a man who everyone had been fearing for the past three years: Lord Voldemort.
As he shot down another gulp of Firewhiskey, Peter thought of a most glaringly obvious fact: he was alone. His fellow Marauders thought of him as another number for the little group; he would never be as close as the other three. This midnight, he had received a kiss on the cheek from Lily, and that's all.
Anger boiled up inside him. What, truly, was he good for? Not a true Gryffindor, roudy and clever. Not a true friend, whose trust was not given. He didn't have a career path ahead of him and he wasn't particularly talented.
In the Death Eaters, he certainly wouldn't find friendship. But he would be rid of his Hogwarts history, and he would have respect, and power. He would be feared.
After all, he was just the crazy drunk.
He punched the wall with all his might.
A terrible scream ripped through him, and he collapsed to the ground.
He awoke in the Hospital Wing the next morning. His classmates had been there, and no doubt James, Sirius, and Remus had seen that he was okay. Though they had come through for him, Peter had come to realize that his friendship had never truly been valued.
(Or was he too blind to see it?)
Months later, he screamed as the Dark Mark seared his skin. No one was there.
Decisions are dangerous.