The Rat's Gift |Peter Pettigrew| (Completed) #harrypotterawards2019

6

"I was scared, James! Scared that I would be killed. I w-was never as b-brave as you guys and when The D-Dark Lord approached m-me, I f-felt like I h-had no choice," stuttered Peter.

"But we would have given our lives for you. We would have protected you," argued James.

"Like you protected Rene?" asked Peter, in a strangled voice.

James went red in the face. He looked in to the tortured eyes of Peter and could not bring himself to answer that question.

"If-If not us, then the Order would have. Dumbledore would ha-,"

"Excuse me for saying this James, but Dumbledore wasn't all powerful. He wasn't omnipresent. I guess the only reason why the Dark Lord avoided him was because of the wand."

Peter thought he would have to explain to James about the Elder wand, the information which Lord Voldemort, before his resurrection, in a rare moment of weakness had divulged to him.

But it wasn't necessary as James seemed to understand what Peter was talking about so he continued.

"Look at what happened to the Prewetts, the Mckinnons even Dorcas. When the Dark Lord decided to act against someone, there would be no stopping him."

"But you could have, Pete. You had the power to do so. You could have not divulged the information to Voldemort," said James earnestly.

Peter flinched at the use of the name. "With him, it didn't matter. He always finds out. One look at me and he knew." Peter shivered at the memory.

"I see you have information, Wormtail," said a cold, high voice.

Peter looked around to find Lord Voldemort standing in his living room. It was a small, dingy place on the outskirts of London where Sirius had found and deemed it safe to serve as a hiding place for Peter as he was now, officially the Secret Keeper of the Potters.

"M-my Lord," trembled Peter, his voice squeaky and higher than Voldemort's.

"Aah..I see... You are wondering whether to divulge this information. It seems you still have some bonds attached to your old friends," said Voldemort, a sneer forming on his face.

"Not-not at all, my Lord! I would never- I wouldn't even dream of-," protested Peter.

Voldemort waved his hand impatiently to silence him. I can see it in that worthless mind of yours. I would have you killed for even thinking of betraying me but I won't. After all, Lord Voldemort is merciful," he said, in a silky voice.

Peter felt his entire body tremble in fear. The Dark Lord's eyes were fixated on him now.

"I need to hear it from your mouth, Wormtail. Say it!" commanded Voldemort, his wand pointed directly at Peter's face.

Peter couldn't stop shaking and to his own surprise, tears started falling down his cheeks. He remembered James' cocky grin from when they were at Hogwarts. The warmth of Lily's hug when she had consoled him after his father's death. Baby Harry's laughter when he had taken him on a piggy back ride.

"Godric's Hollow," he said.

"How did you do it?" asked Peter.

James gazed at him questioningly.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I know he tried to recruit you. Lily as well. How did you refuse him?"

James regarded Peter with what looked like pity. Peter noticed this and flinched once again but he wanted to know. He knew that James was brave. So were Lily, Sirius and Remus. The Dark Lord had tried to recruit every one of them but in vain. He had always wanted to know how they had resisted the most powerful wizard ever at least at that point of time.

"Because the fight against him was not about me, Peter. Even after I had heard the prophecy, we went in to hiding only because of Harry. If it had been jus the two of us, we wouldn't have hid. We would have fought on."

"But why? You could have gone anywhere. Far away from here. Some place where he never would have found you. Yet you remained. Why?" Peter broke in to tears once again.

"Yes, I was afraid for my life. But I was afraid for my mother too. He had threatened her as well. I did what I did thinking that I was protecting her. But in the end, even she didn't consider me a son anymore!"

It was a cold night, a few weeks after the death of the Potters when Peter walked along the familiar footpath that led to the front door of the house he had grown up. He noiselessly opened the door and let himself inside. His mother was sitting at the dining table with her head in her hands.

"Mum!" called out Peter in a squeaky voice.

Mrs. Pettigrew looked up at him and stared as if she had seen a ghost.

"My s-son!" she cried. "Are you- are you really here?"

Peter nodded as he hugged his mother, the tears falling from his eyes on to his mother's shoulder.

"But wha- what are you doing here?" she asked. "They told me you were dead. Th-That you were k-killed."

"I-I wasn't Mum. I-"

Peter couldn't lie to his mother. Even though there never had been a proper relationship with her, now at this moment, he found himself incapable of lying to her. And so, he told her everything. How he had been threatened by the Dark Lord. How he had betrayed his friends and how that betrayal had led to their deaths.

Once he had finished his story, his mother looked at him with a stony face.

"You-you betrayed your friends? " she asked in a soft voice. "You betrayed that Potter boy? The one whom you said was your closest friend?"

It was then that shame crept up inside Peter. The horror of what he had done completely swept in to him. The image of James' lifeless body swam in front of him and he knew that it would forever haunt him.

Mrs. Pettigrew stood up giving him a scathing look. "I thought I had raised a good boy, a fine man. Yes you were jumpy and easily frightened but I thought that with the friends you had, you would eventually overcome them."

"Mum, I-"

Mrs. Pettigrew held up her hand to silence him. "I wish you hadn't come back. You are not my son anymore!" she screamed.

Her words stunned Peter. He could not find the words to reply.

"You can spend the night but I want you gone first thing in the morning!" she cried leaving behind a devastated Peter Pettigrew.

When Peter went to speak to her the next day, he found the lifeless form of his mother lying peacefully on her bed.