For The 379th Hero. It is not as long as I believe you wanted, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
"I am not worried… I am with you."
"Ah, Mr. Pettigrew. I hear you have information for me?" The man standing before him trembled, mousy-looking hands shaking and that awful face twitching. His own, of course, remained impassive.
"Y-yes, my lord," Pettigrew stuttered. His hands were flickering over his robes, as if he could not stop moving. Constant movement- not a trait admired in his followers, for how could one spy when one was so twitchy they practically created one's own earthquake? But he could overlook that for the vaunted information this man possessed. Once he received the knowledge, Pettigrew would receive the Dark Mark.
Or die. He had not decided yet.
"Well? On with it! Crucio!" He was getting rather impatient, but watched, void of emotion, as Pettigrew twitched and squeaked in the throes of the curse.
"M-my l-lord, I'm sorry-"
"Information, you imbecile!" he hissed, temper boiling over. But he could not kill him quite yet.
"The P-Potters, I received the location that they put the Fidelius charm on." He stopped short, as if determining whether to reveal the location. Of course, he could merely be tortured to reveal it, but the man might be useful and a broken-minded follower would reveal him all too easily to the Ministry. He raised his wand as a threat- to say 'I have no qualms about torturing you.'
Pettigrew nodded, as if to himself. To assure himself that it was the right thing to do. "They are in Godric's Hollow, my lord, in the fifth house on the right of the main road. Th-the-" And he paused again. He flicked his wand and watched disinterestedly as the bolt of white-hot pain ran through the man, who gurgled like a child and began haltingly again. "Th-the c-code, t-the code is, h-here, in m-my pocket, my lord." He nodded, giving his permission for Pettigrew to retrieve the bit of parchment with the necessary words. Pettigrew carefully handed him the slip of parchment, hand trembling. He unfurled it with a silent spell and made it hover in front of him, instead of having to touch what had assuredly contacted the hands of a Mudblood at some point.
'To whom it may concern,
The address to the safe house of James and Lily Potter is 17 Godric Lane'
He tapped the parchment and it burst into flames and crumbled to ash. Those fools, to trust the one of their friends that lusted for power above all else. The flames obviously shocked Pettigrew, as he leapt back, shaking and mumbling.
He changed his tone from his earlier furor to a silklike sound, smooth as glass and as deadly as the broken edge. "Thank you. You have proven yourself useful. Hold out your arm." Peter Pettigrew did not move, merely backed into the corner and trembled like a weak little Mudblood. "Hold out your arm," he repeated. He hated repeating himself. "Crucio!" The scream came, high and pitchy but satisfying, to one who lusts for the blood and pain and death of others. Pettigrew had curled into a ball at his feet. When he recovered, he crawled forwards and kissed the hem of his robes. As if to rid himself of a parasite, he stepped back, thin fingers wrapping more tightly around his wand as he cast a spell to knock the ratlike man aside.
"M-my l-lord, I apologize!" Pettigrew cried desperately.
"Stand," he ordered, voice returning to silk. The man stood, pushing himself from the floor and stumbling as if a drunkard. He held out his left arm, the pale skin quivering and the blue veins visible to the naked eye all up and down his arm.
"Signabimus Morsemorde!" The black ink of the mark etched itself into the skin and Pettigrew was tearing up as the rivulets of blood ran down his wrist. But the spell did its work quickly and the blood ceased its journey as the snake and skull stared back at him.
"T-thank y-you, M-master! I-it is a great honor!" Pettigrew cried, staring with some unexpressed emotion at the mark.
"Good. Let us get to business, your next assignment. Go with Bellatrix and Braemar to Axton in Yorkshire. You are to eradicate the Muggles, once and for all. If you fail, I believe you know the consequences." Pettigrew nodded pitifully, rubbing the mark on his arm.
"Yes, my lord. I will do my best."
"No, Pettigrew. You will succeed, or you will not. Not succeeding is not an option for you," he said, voice smooth, convincing. "Are you concerned about this?" He asked that question of all his Death Eaters before their missions for him. They had to answer properly, else they risked the consequences. It was this that caused Peter Pettigrew to tell his first lie of the conversation. Of course he could tell; after all, he was a Legilimens.
"I am not worried, my lord. I am with you."