Week 5 topic - "What's more important - self preservation or forgiveness?"
Friday October 30th 1981
In an obscure corner of the Ministry of Magic's Improper Use of Magic Office, Peter Pettigrew stared at a sheet of paper and prepared to read the first line of a memo from the Illegal Charms Review Committee for the twentieth time.
Concentrate Peter, concentrate.
A tremor ran through his right hand and the edge of the paper crinkled before pulling taut, slightly twisted. He gripped it more tightly, willing his hands to co-operate.
What a mess.
What a bloody, fucking mess.
He couldn't do it.
He couldn't not do it.
His eyes were halfway down the page and he hadn't taken in a single word. He started again for the twenty-first time.
Damn you, Sirius.
"All you have to do is exactly nothing, Peter. Tell no-one, do nothing. Even you can manage that."
Typical Sirius. He'd said he couldn't do it, practically begged. Even though he knew Sirius would never take no for an answer once he'd made up his mind. He'd taken a risk even trying. Sirius was already suspicious of someone - he just hadn't said who. Peter had been afraid of discovery for weeks, afraid Sirius was hinting to him. And if He ever found out he'd tried to get out of being secret keeper…
A nervous twitch sent his mug toppling over, cold milky tea spreading over his untouched paperwork. He muttered a quick clean up spell as Mavis Cruickshank tutted from the corner.
"All right there, Pettigrew?"
Stubbs was peering over his in tray, quill poised in one hand, eyebrows raised in query.
"Y-yes." Peter dabbed at the remaining drops with his handkerchief. "Thanks," he added as an afterthought as Stubbs remained in view.
"You'll be needing some more tea then, after that?" He held up a mug with 'World's Greatest Wizard' on it in gaudy letters.
What? Oh, right. Well, at least it would get him away from his desk for a few minutes. He stood, rubbing his eyes.
"You're looking a bit rough today. Night out was it, dear?" Mavis called out from the corner in her most motherly tone.
That was… unusual. He must look bad if Mavis was showing concern. And a night out? If only he had been out, maybe Sirius would have gone elsewhere…
"No, I just had a bit of trouble sleeping."
"Ah. Would that be why you have entered a fine for Gilard Rockwell of 20,000 galleons for hexing that brush salesman? You'd better hope we don't take the difference from your wages, eh? Aha ha ha." She waved a yellow form at him jauntily. It was rare anything gave her more pleasure than spotting someone else's mistakes.
Brush salesmen. How could she even talk to him about brush salesmen at a time like this? A wave of irrational hatred swept over him. Didn't she have anything better to do than make feeble jokes and pull everyone else up on silly mistakes?
She saw him every day, they both did. How could they have no idea what he was, what he'd done, what he was capable of?
How could they not see that he was going to be a dead man by the end of the day?
There was suddenly no air in the room.
- - - - -
He leaned heavily against the door of the stationery cupboard and closed his eyes. The cramped space was reassuring, the smell of new parchments and bottled inks familiar and soothing. And it was dark.
His breathing was loud and heavy in the enclosed space, his heart thumping irregularly, the sound filling his ears.
He'd leave, now. He'd walk out…no, he'd change right here and sneak out as a rat, no-one would ever know what had become of him. He could survive, he'd travel far away and…there was no point in fooling himself. He'd be free just as long as it took the Dark Lord to realise he wasn't coming back. Then it would start; the burning pain, the agony of His displeasure. He'd seen stronger men than him curl up and die under it, and he knew from experience that the rat could feel it just as well as the man.
He left his temporary refuge and made the tea. Somehow he put sugar in his own twice but he still drank it. He stared at the pile of correspondence on his desk without the faintest idea what to do with it.
He would call Sirius…no, maybe Remus. He'd tell them he needed to hide. They'd help him, wouldn't they? But they'd have to know why - he wouldn't be able to stay hidden for long with no job, no money… and the Dark Lord would find him anyway.
He'd have to tell them the truth. Sirius had made his own mistakes, plenty of them, he was always forgiven, no-one held anything against him. He would beg for forgiveness, leave it all behind. Sirius would understand, Sirius was his friend, Sirius would…
…Sirius would hex him into the middle of next week without waiting for an explanation and then Avada Kedavra what was left. He shuddered.
The quill stabbed into the parchment sharply. The nib bent, red ink spilling over the letter. He shoved it roughly in an envelope and threw it into his out tray.
Remus then. Remus would have to understand what he'd done, what he'd needed to do. Remus had his own dark side, and he was the most reasonable of them all… but Remus hated the wolf, had suffered terribly by not giving in to it. And Remus would see through his protestations, would know that there was a part of him that had wanted everything he'd become. Remus always knew.
Remus would also tell Sirius, and in the end he always did what Sirius wanted.
He stamped a few forms automatically and filed them without a glance. He hardly noticed as his colleagues departed with their politely insincere wishes for a good weekend.
Contacting James was out of the question. Whatever happened now, James would never have anything but contempt for him. He would never laugh with him again, look at him with that easy affection, ruffle his hair, or tease him about that girl in Transportation that kept looking at him. He'd become everything James hated most.
He made it to the bathroom just in time, fear and self-loathing chilling him as he threw up in the sink.
In the end, it was almost a relief when his arm burned a reminder under his robes. He was out of time, and he had no choice. His mouth was dry and his eyes wet as he prepared to leave, covering his face with the mask. He hated wearing it; the narrow eye slits restricted his vision and left him disoriented.
But at least from behind it, he wouldn't have to face James' disappointment.
Muse: Peter Pettigrew
Fandom: Harry Potter
Words: 1145
In an obscure corner of the Ministry of Magic's Improper Use of Magic Office, Peter Pettigrew stared at a sheet of paper and prepared to read the first line of a memo from the Illegal Charms Review Committee for the twentieth time.
Concentrate Peter, concentrate.
A tremor ran through his right hand and the edge of the paper crinkled before pulling taut, slightly twisted. He gripped it more tightly, willing his hands to co-operate.
What a mess.
What a bloody, fucking mess.
He couldn't do it.
He couldn't not do it.
His eyes were halfway down the page and he hadn't taken in a single word. He started again for the twenty-first time.
Damn you, Sirius.
"All you have to do is exactly nothing, Peter. Tell no-one, do nothing. Even you can manage that."
Typical Sirius. He'd said he couldn't do it, practically begged. Even though he knew Sirius would never take no for an answer once he'd made up his mind. He'd taken a risk even trying. Sirius was already suspicious of someone - he just hadn't said who. Peter had been afraid of discovery for weeks, afraid Sirius was hinting to him. And if He ever found out he'd tried to get out of being secret keeper…
A nervous twitch sent his mug toppling over, cold milky tea spreading over his untouched paperwork. He muttered a quick clean up spell as Mavis Cruickshank tutted from the corner.
"All right there, Pettigrew?"
Stubbs was peering over his in tray, quill poised in one hand, eyebrows raised in query.
"Y-yes." Peter dabbed at the remaining drops with his handkerchief. "Thanks," he added as an afterthought as Stubbs remained in view.
"You'll be needing some more tea then, after that?" He held up a mug with 'World's Greatest Wizard' on it in gaudy letters.
What? Oh, right. Well, at least it would get him away from his desk for a few minutes. He stood, rubbing his eyes.
"You're looking a bit rough today. Night out was it, dear?" Mavis called out from the corner in her most motherly tone.
That was… unusual. He must look bad if Mavis was showing concern. And a night out? If only he had been out, maybe Sirius would have gone elsewhere…
"No, I just had a bit of trouble sleeping."
"Ah. Would that be why you have entered a fine for Gilard Rockwell of 20,000 galleons for hexing that brush salesman? You'd better hope we don't take the difference from your wages, eh? Aha ha ha." She waved a yellow form at him jauntily. It was rare anything gave her more pleasure than spotting someone else's mistakes.
Brush salesmen. How could she even talk to him about brush salesmen at a time like this? A wave of irrational hatred swept over him. Didn't she have anything better to do than make feeble jokes and pull everyone else up on silly mistakes?
She saw him every day, they both did. How could they have no idea what he was, what he'd done, what he was capable of?
How could they not see that he was going to be a dead man by the end of the day?
There was suddenly no air in the room.
- - - - -
He leaned heavily against the door of the stationery cupboard and closed his eyes. The cramped space was reassuring, the smell of new parchments and bottled inks familiar and soothing. And it was dark.
His breathing was loud and heavy in the enclosed space, his heart thumping irregularly, the sound filling his ears.
He'd leave, now. He'd walk out…no, he'd change right here and sneak out as a rat, no-one would ever know what had become of him. He could survive, he'd travel far away and…there was no point in fooling himself. He'd be free just as long as it took the Dark Lord to realise he wasn't coming back. Then it would start; the burning pain, the agony of His displeasure. He'd seen stronger men than him curl up and die under it, and he knew from experience that the rat could feel it just as well as the man.
He left his temporary refuge and made the tea. Somehow he put sugar in his own twice but he still drank it. He stared at the pile of correspondence on his desk without the faintest idea what to do with it.
He would call Sirius…no, maybe Remus. He'd tell them he needed to hide. They'd help him, wouldn't they? But they'd have to know why - he wouldn't be able to stay hidden for long with no job, no money… and the Dark Lord would find him anyway.
He'd have to tell them the truth. Sirius had made his own mistakes, plenty of them, he was always forgiven, no-one held anything against him. He would beg for forgiveness, leave it all behind. Sirius would understand, Sirius was his friend, Sirius would…
…Sirius would hex him into the middle of next week without waiting for an explanation and then Avada Kedavra what was left. He shuddered.
The quill stabbed into the parchment sharply. The nib bent, red ink spilling over the letter. He shoved it roughly in an envelope and threw it into his out tray.
Remus then. Remus would have to understand what he'd done, what he'd needed to do. Remus had his own dark side, and he was the most reasonable of them all… but Remus hated the wolf, had suffered terribly by not giving in to it. And Remus would see through his protestations, would know that there was a part of him that had wanted everything he'd become. Remus always knew.
Remus would also tell Sirius, and in the end he always did what Sirius wanted.
He stamped a few forms automatically and filed them without a glance. He hardly noticed as his colleagues departed with their politely insincere wishes for a good weekend.
Contacting James was out of the question. Whatever happened now, James would never have anything but contempt for him. He would never laugh with him again, look at him with that easy affection, ruffle his hair, or tease him about that girl in Transportation that kept looking at him. He'd become everything James hated most.
He made it to the bathroom just in time, fear and self-loathing chilling him as he threw up in the sink.
In the end, it was almost a relief when his arm burned a reminder under his robes. He was out of time, and he had no choice. His mouth was dry and his eyes wet as he prepared to leave, covering his face with the mask. He hated wearing it; the narrow eye slits restricted his vision and left him disoriented.
But at least from behind it, he wouldn't have to face James' disappointment.
Muse: Peter Pettigrew
Fandom: Harry Potter
Words: 1145