Summary: Everyone thought he was a traitor. A spineless, creature of dirt. They were wrong. Each and every day he regretted having taken things into his own hands, but grief and fear had made him slightly mad. If he hadn't tried to save them, they might still be alive...
And no, this is NOT an angsty fic, no matter what it sounds like. It's about Wormtail, and how it might have happened. You know, that whole thing about him serving Voldemort, and betraying the Potters and that. I don't actually think it was this way, but yeah. There's nothing that actually says it couldn't happen like this, soo... Anyway, thankyou ally mad! I love you!!!.... Well, okay, I don't. But you get the picture. You actually reviewed. I was over the moon. In fact, I'm writing (typing?) this from my space-ship as we speak...
PS IF you believed that then you have serious issues...
Categories: Mystery Characters: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 1
Completed: Yes
Word count: 1326
Read: 1907
Published: 12/17/05
Updated: 12/17/05
1. The Eye of the Snake by _spinifex_
The Eye of the Snake by _spinifex_
Everyone thought he was a traitor. A spineless, creature of dirt. They were wrong. Each and every day he regretted having taken things into his own hands, but grief and fear had made him slightly mad. If he hadn’t tried to save them, they might still be alive…
It was true, he had never been as good as they were, but Oh my God, why Lily? Why James? And Harry only a baby! Harry, of course had survived, yet even now, plans were in motion to have him destroyed. With both him and Dumbledore out of the way, the Dark Lord’s road to power was clear, and the Ministry wouldn’t stand a chance.
Peter’s mind drifted back to the terrible night when it all started.
He could hear the high, cold, cruel laugh of Lord Voldemort as his victim fell to the ground. Peter’s heart was pounding, his body covered in sweat and his breathing shallow. He forced himself to be calm, or rather, calmer, because his survival depended on not getting caught.
Peter was curled up in a closet, the door pulled shut. It was small, and he was cramped, his body squashed into the most awkward position. However, he knew that if he could just keep quiet, then he would be saved. After all, no-one knew he was here, not even his fellow Marauders. Not even Remus, to whom he’d always been closest, or Lily, whom he adored.
“Do not even think of lying to me, scum. The Dark Lord always knows when someone is lying. Now, ARE YOU ALONE?”
However, Andrew Mickinnon stayed stubbornly silent.
Frustrated, Voldemort growled, “ What’s there to lose, blood traitor? Only the pain of seeing your family tortured before your eyes, and knowing that their pain is destined for you when the time comes.”
But still the prisoner said nothing.
“Crucio!” That horrible voice screamed. Peter hated to hear it, but the agony it delivered was nothing compared to Andrew’s blood-curdling
screams. Yet, even when it was taken off, he refused to speak. Peter could
guess why. You-Know-Who, being an accomplished legilimens, could always tell when someone was lying to him. It was far safer to say nothing at all.
“Where, then, will I be able to find Lily and James Potter?”
Peter’s blood ran cold. Not the Potter’s, please not the Potters, he prayed.
“When you are dead I am going to find them and their bratling and destroy them once and for all!” the cold voice boasted. “And then, then I will be invincible, for no-one, not even that fool, Dumbledore, will be able to stand against me!
“Dumbledore will undoubtedly perform the fidilius charm upon them, but I will get them eventually. I am determined.”
Peter was panting, not just from fear now, but from rage. How dare he?
“The dirty mud blood and her idiotic blood-traitor of a husband wouldn’t stand a chance against a two-year-old, let alone the greatest wizard of all time.”
This was the last straw for Peter. He had never been as rational as is friends, he’d tended to rely on gut instincts rather than thoughts, and now his anger burned his fear like tissue paper.
He attacked. Leaping out of the cupboard, he attacked with savage fury, rage enhancing his strength beyond belief, but even that was not enough, not against Lord Voldemort.
But the Dark Lord did not kill Peter Pettigrew that night; instead he deigned to bend the man to his will, breaking him, dousing every last spark of resistance until all that remained was mindless obedience.
However, even then, there remained a tiny seed of hope, locked away in the depths of his heart, waiting to be awakened once more. For even a tiny seed, when given food and water, can grow to the sky.
But there would be many, many years before that moment. Forced to watch
helplessly as his loved ones were tortured, murdered, humiliated and shamed, he suffered pain the like of which he’d never imagined.
And his own crimes were just as terrible. He reported inside information from the Order of the Phoenix, a group sworn to resist the Dark Lord, he betrayed Lily and James Potter and their son, Harry, condemned Sirius Black to a lifetime in prison for a crime not his own, spent twelve years as a rat, murdered Cedric Diggory, and assisted in Lord Voldemort’s return to power. The pain was so great that he wished he would die, yet whenever a chance came he clung to life with all his might.
With a dry sob Peter rolled over in his bed, longing for the sleep that was his only sanctuary, despite constant dreams of misery and despair. However, he could not sleep.
Pulling on a dressing gown, he padded outside, not caring enough to pull on slippers, his feet getting soaked in freezing dew as a result.
He did not know where his feet were leading him, nor did he care. Anywhere would do, as long as it was away from here. He travelled deeper and deeper into the woods that surrounded the rundown cottage that was his hideout. And the further he went, the calmer he felt. He hadn’t relaxed this much since before that fateful night at the McKinnon’s, so many years ago.
He found himself noticing things he hadn’t noticed for so long, he remembered it only as one might remember a dream dreamt years ago. He admired the glow of the moon in the sky, the peaceful tranquillity of a tiny meadow, where moonlight shone on the dew-soaked grass and blossoms, casting them aglow with beautiful white light. He smiled as a deer and her young sprang away into the darkness, shadows in the night.
He walked for hours and hours, in a dream-like trance, yet in his peaceful, half-awake state it could only have been seconds. And then, in the heart of the woods, in a tiny clearing, he found a pool which at first appeared to be liquid silver. It was not until he drew closer that he realised what it was. A spring which reflected the moon exactly. Not only that, but it was so perfectly round that the moon’s reflection fitted the pool completely. It was the most beautiful thing Peter had ever seen.
He could almost feel the magic of it, the ancient enchantment it wove around him, creating a contentment so complete that nothing could pierce it. Yet that was not all. He had barely realised what was happening to him, when he found himself filled with… hope? Courage? Determination? Strength? Whatever it was, he now knew what to do. He had a purpose, and he would succeed. Peter didn’t know how he knew, but somehow, deep inside, he was certain that he would.
Apparating back to his house he packed his few belongings and fled, reappearing almost instantly in the place he knew to be Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
His heart wrenched as memories of Sirius flooded back to him: memories of the happy-go-lucky eleven-year-old that his friend had once been, recollections of a fifteen-year-old heart-throb, a prankster, a master trickster, and, above all, an honourable man.
What he was about to attempt would be difficult, he knew, but he had to try, and the magic of the pool had given him the strength to do so, the faith to believe that he might still succeed. He had to speak to Harry Potter…
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A/N: I know, I know, I’m cruel, leaving it hanging like that. But I’m not interested in what happens after. I just felt like I kinda needed to write this story, you know what I mean? I just never liked the idea of him (Peter Pettigrew) being the way he is. Note that I don’t think it will happen this way.
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