Prompt:
Voldemort doesn't explain the plan to Wormtail properly, so when he is told to 'kill the spare' he kills Harry instead.
One-Shot:
Potter's lifeless corpse hit the ground with a dull thud. Wormtail had almost expected something more - a scream, some sort of expression of divine rage for the child of prophecy being snuffed out too soon. But no, there was nothing. Just a thud, then silence. Brief silence as Wormtail looked on, frozen.
Then, noise seemed to explode all around him. First, the Diggory boy ran for it - his limbs scrabbling through the dirt as he propelled himself away from the body and out of sight. Second, his lord's enraged voice hissing at him: "What have you done Wormtail! You cretinous fool, you shall suffer greatly for this..."
Thirdly were his own screams. Because out of the silence came pain, as the Dark Mark upon his arm was rent with agony and burned black. Exactly why Potter's death would cause this he had no idea, but it did. And the agony felt like it lasted an eternity before it subsided, and the quiet pops of apparition began.
Well, Wormtail thought to himself, the evening had been quite surreal. As a masked Death Eater with white hair that could only belong to Lucius Malfoy kissed the hem of his robes, and then slid back into the circle before the next one began to approach, he speculated almost in a daze as to how he'd gotten here.
Potter's death had triggered the Dark Mark and summoned all his old...friends. They came, looking for Voldemort, triumphant in his success, back to his old glory. Instead, they found a hideous, decrepit child that was only half alive, hissing in powerless rage. And they found Wormtail, standing over Potter's corpse with his wand still smoking.
And they finally saw him. Saw him as the dark wizard he'd never wanted to be. The wizard who had done what none of them had been able to - kill Harry Potter. The man who, overwhelmed with what had happened and finally sick of the hissing insults, had fired a Blasting Curse into the face of his "lord" and unintentionally taken his place.
This was not how he'd expected this evening to go. To say it was surreal would be putting it mildly. But as Rosier grovelled his way back into the circle, he cast his eyes downwards once more to look at the lifeless face of Harry Potter.
Great men were forged in fire, he'd once been told. And maybe, just this once, one had been forged in a cold graveyard instead.
He was now Lord Wormtail, head of an army that had once nearly brought the Wizarding World to heel. Now the world would see him as more than the snivelling Gryffindor he once was. He would make them see.