Shards

CANTO ONE

"all right Padfoot," he says, "i'll call you back later to ask –"

a bang. the front door of his small flat blows inwards, most of the wall does to. screams echo down the corridor of the block and it mingles with a deranged laugh. the blast throws him off his feet into a corner.

he's lying there, dazed and bloody, covered in plaster and dust. through blurry eyes he makes out a figure, two figures; dark-robed men, tall and hooded. skeletal masks cover the top of their faces – eyes, forehead and cheeks.

they take up positions on either side of the room, flanking him. flanking who follows. not a man, no more than that. it doesn't matter to Peter who shivers, sobs softly and mumbles to this air. the third man goes bare-headed, skin stretched tight over a skull. slit eyes burn like fire and an elegant wand of yew held deftly in the right hand.

the softest, highest voice Peter has ever heard.

"Wormtail?"

not so much a question as a statement. no reply.

"you are the Secret Keeper to James and Lily Potter."

Peter whimpers. flames begin to lick the walls, fill the room with unbreathable smoke.

"CRUCIO!" the voice screams, jabs forwards.

somewhere a man thrashes about in agony. Peter sees him, feels he is a wretched, writhing some –

after it has finished, Voldemort asks him again.

"you know, do you not, where the Potters have hidden?"

mumbles something incomprehensible.

"what?"

the voice bellows. Peter sees fire leap at the hem of Voldemort's robe. beaten back by some ward.

"tell me! CRUCIO!"

again.

"CRUCIO!"

– thing thrashing around.

pain is all.

the mirror is breaking.

Voldemort stops the curse with a sudden jerk.

"wha'?"

a cold chuckle.

"i need you alive to be sane, i need you to be sane to be lucid, i need you to be lucid to tell me where they are."

warm breath in and Peter only wants to live, only wants the warmth of the fire after the freezing pain of the curse and the dark that waits beyond it.

"i'"

"the Worm?" Voldemort asks. "isn't that what they call you? your friends."

and wonder of wonders, and Peter wonders if he has gone mad, because there is Voldemort crouching beside him, trying to help him up.

fuck it, Peter thinks, and grabs the cold hand. the snake face swims into focus before him, and his eyelashes knitted together with damp tears.

"i don't know," he manages to say.

"don't lie to me, Worm," Voldemort says, but Peter can already feel the push at his mind, the confirmation.

"Wormtail," he says before he can stop himself.

it takes Voldemort almost aback. "really? you let them call you that?"

nothing.

"where are your friends now?" asks Voldemort.

again, no reply.

"what a pity. i was wanting to give Bellatrix her due. no last chances: who knows?"

Bellatrix Lestrange sidles in – not even thirty years of age but a look in her eye. it convinces Voldemort she shall be the one to lead the Dark Lord's armies, to stand by his side. whilst some follow out of fear, of vanity and lust to be around greatness , she is a Death Eater because she is like Voldemort. she hates all life and all love. she has no respect, no understanding of honour, morality, loyalty or bravery. she just wants destruction and pain and death.

all this passes through Peter's head the moment he sees her. everything he has learnt from the Order, everything he has heard as rumour, every tale Sirius told trying to dissociate himself from his family.

"please, master," she whispers in Voldemort's ear. "i won't kill him… right away."

"patience, Bella," Voldemort replies. "we shall give the beast one last chance."

and the look to Peter, snivelling and the floor, comes crashing a second before the roar. the voice shakes the ceiling and blows flames from the room.

"WHERE ARE THE POTTERS?"

suddenly, he bursts out wailing.

"i don't know," he says, "i don't know! why would they tell me? i'm not part of the Order a'more, i'm not their Secret Keeper."

and without warning, Voldemort's mind crashes into his. he has never felt Legilimency before; read about it, yes, but never felt or fought it. and before he can push the word Secret Keeper back down, along with the image of Sirius that rises with it, Voldemort latches on.

and does not let go. less a snake and more a crocodile.

"Sirius Black?" Voldemort coldly laughs.

"Sirius…" he sais, but trails off, realising what has been done.

"now -"

"no, no, i didn't –! that –!" Peter protests, but there is nothing he can do.

"Bellatrix, he is all yours," says Voldemort soft. "take Rabastan with you when you leave?"

Voldemort glances up, and stupidly, somehow, over the soft ash falling and the sound of his own heavy breathing, Peter can hear Death Eaters on the upper floors, looting and going through everything.

Voldemort spins to go, cloak billowing.

"remember," the Dark Lord says, turning back one last time to Peter. "remember that you were the reason Lord Voldemort won. and i thank you."

and tears fill all of Peter's vision.

"McNair, Nott; with me. goodbye Bellatrix."

Peter hears the snap of them all simultaneously disappearing, leaving him alone with Bellatrix Lestrange. he lets out a small, quiet whimper and a more silent prayer. and no answer comes.