The Rise And Fall Of The Stag And The Doe

bad blood

Peter twitched, and looked over his shoulder; once, twice, countless times until he had a kink in his neck. His hands wouldn't stay still at his side as he walked down the street of an abandoned village. The houses were broken, grey and still had smoke coming from the fire that had occurred days before. He was sure that wasn't natural, but he was also sure that the smoke stood as a warning, an omen to all those who dared to walk down the street uninvited or unwanted.

He wished he was never invited, but an invitation wasn't term he would have chosen since nothing about it was voluntary, but he was sure a sour attitude wouldn't do him well. He wouldn't be well liked, and there would be no allies earned tonight. Tonight was strictly about showing up and living up to his word.

Not that, that amounted to much anyway.

He adjusted his pants to distribute his weight better. He'd never been especially thin, and it didn't help that he was always next to the boys, but over the past year any height that he had gained was hidden, but the pounds that seemed to hold onto his so possessively.

Chains was all his life was now, rattling, bounding chains.

Walking into the last house before the woods, Peter held his breath. He tried to walk tall, like James would have, but then again James would have never been in this situation. He wanted to move silently like Remus, but his steps were too heavy. He attempted to his face impassive and mask the crippling fear, like Sirius did with such ease, but the tremor pulsed inside of him, his muscles tensing for anyone to see.

"Wormtail," A cold high voice sounded, and Peter recoiled. His watery blue eyes paled and he froze and turned to see Voldemort sitting in the fallen down dinning room with two Death Eaters sitting beside him.

Peter stumbled forward, his skin shallow and practically leaking with sweat.

"I suppose you are wondering," Voldemort began dryly, "How I could possibly know that name."

Gulping Peter, locked down when he recognized Bellatrix and her husband sitting on either side of Voldemort.

"Occulumency," Voldemort said clearly, like Peter had responded. "Enables me to look into the small sewers of your mind and find out every...crumble of a detail you've ever held in your worthless life. So if you lie, I know. If you hide something from me I can see it. Your mind is an open safe to me."

His legs locked together and he dropped to the floor without any intention to do so. He hadn't heard any spells, but once his body, which had sank so deeply into the floor, began to rise into the air he saw Lestrange's wand raised.

"Now, Mr. Pettigrew," Voldemort began, "I will be back in an hour to ask you a few questions so I don't have to waste time going through your memories. The Lestrange's will see to it that you are properly warmed up."

Peter eyes bugged out and he tried to struggle, but his wand had fallen to the floor and his whole body was rigid.

"Oh, and Wormtail," Voldemort added, stopping in front of him. "While they do this. I want you to remember that," He uttered slowly, "this is nothing."

Voldemort left the room and Bellatrix stood up with the most self-possessed smirk. Terrified, Peter screamed, he struggled, and fought. It was flight or fight, and he was fighting, but he didn't move a single inch. He was trapped.

Lily leaned against the shopping cart while she nudged it down the aisle, her dark red hair bunched back in a low ponytail. In front of her James held onto a list and was selecting things off the shelves and tossing them into the cart. Softly, she hummed herself and absentmindedly stared at the labels on the cans.