Disclaimer: No

I see my master. He is weak, with no body.

I smell the potion I am making. It is to help my master.

I hear popping sounds as the other Death Eaters appear. These are the only ones who are still loyal.

I taste the potion, to make sure it is right. I shudder as the bitter taste creeps into my body.

I feel the chill of the night. The old creeps into my bones.

My brain tells me to continue, but my heart tells me I am to late to turn back.

I am Peter Pettigrew, and I am sorry.