For the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition

Round Two

Seeker

Chudley Cannons

Prompt - Write about a character placed in a situation where a decision needs to be made quickly.

Word Count - 1522 (excluding A/N and title)

Loads of thanks to Ashleigh (Fire the Canon) and Autumn (insertcleverandwittytitlehere) for being the wonderful betas that they were!

A FRIEND OF FOES

It was just a normal day in Peter Pettigrew's life, and yet it turned out to be the most significant one.

Never in his wildest dreams had Peter thought that Lord Voldemort would appear at his doorstep.

It was a day like any other; Peter woke up in the morning at his usual time, had his favourite breakfast and then decided to set about cleaning the attic, which had not been stepped in since that evening two weeks ago when he had gone up to look for an old cloak.

He hummed a cheerful song as he waved his wand about, making the various objects float this way and that. His magic had improved vastly since school, and he grinned at the thought that, two years ago, he would never have been able to stack up those cardboard boxes in the corner - it looked very pleasing to the eyes.

He grinned again. Halloween was in two weeks and he had already planned what tricks he would show little Harry. The boy was an absolute dear, and Peter loved to make him laugh.

As he shifted his mother's china vase to the side, he found his old stuffed mouse behind it, and immediately decided he would give it to Harry to play with. He did not earn much, so he could not buy expensive gifts - but the one-year-old never seemed to mind if his toys were old or new, fancy or plain.

He was starting to look forward to the day. Sirius had said he would drop by after lunch, probably to talk about the Halloween party Lily wanted to host at the Potters'. That was another thing to be excited about. Last year, they all had a great time at Halloween, because Lily always hosted the best parties.

Remus had been gone for a week, however, and they had had no contact with him yet, so would Lily and James choose to postpone? It did not matter anyway; even if they didn't have a party, their Sunday brunches together were always fun enough.

Peter wondered if he could write Remus an owl after his clean-up session was over. He missed Remus and the intellectual conversations he had with him. Peter felt incredibly lucky to have such amazing friends, and it was with a burst of motivation that he decided he would never let any of them down.

The attic took an hour to be completely tidied up, even with magic, and Peter was craving a pint of butterbeer by the time he was done. He walked downstairs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, and strode over to the tiny make-shift kitchen.

Around two minutes later, Peter was sitting on the armchair in his living room and sipping lazily from his goblet, wondering what he would do next. Owling Remus seemed like a bad idea now, because Peter did not have an owl and was no more in the mood to get out of his house to borrow one from the magical post office a few streets away.

He had just picked up the flagon of butterbeer to pour some more into his goblet when a crack followed by a swishing noise outside caught his attention. It was the sound of someone Apparating, Peter knew. Whoever would want to visit him in the morning? He frowned.

Putting the flagon of drink down, he walked over to the front door and squinted through the miniscule peephole in the wood. A horrible chill ran down his spine when he realised who was standing outside.

It was You-Know-Who. Through the scratched glass Peter saw him raise a deathly white hand and knock softly on the door.

For a moment, Peter considered not responding. Hopefully, he would go away if nobody opened the door for him?

"Wormtail?"

The soft, delicate croon was enough to make Peter freeze out of terror. There was something incredibly cold about the Dark Lord's voice.

"Open the door for your guest, won't you?"

It was as if his hand was moving of its own accord when it reached out to grab the rusty doorknob. He pulled, and was immediately greeted by a gust of stone-cold wind that made his insides twist.

"Thank you for having me, Wormtail, even though my arrival is rather unexpected," Lord Voldemort spoke softly to Peter, who remained rooted to the spot.

"Er, my Lord," Peter stuttered, finally letting go of the doorknob. "What brings you -"

"Peter, Peter," Voldemort uttered, his voice calm as always, "I do not have much time. I don't usually appear at people's houses unless I have business of the utmost priority."

What could Lord Voldemort possibly want from Peter Pettigrew, the clumsy wizard whose magical ability was mediocre at best?

"Of course, My Lord, please sit down. How may I help you?" Peter said, stooping low and trying not to look at the Dark Lord's wand and wonder if he would be on the receiving end of it.

Voldemort almost glided towards the couch and laughed softly. "Oh, you will be of great help to me, Wormtail."

Peter stood where he was, counting the seconds in his head - seconds to his death.

"Say, Wormtail," Voldemort began, his serpent-like eyes gazing incessantly at the much shorter wizard, "how are your friends?"

"M-my f-friends, My Lord?"

"Yes, your friends?"

"They are well, My Lord. But -"

Voldemort stood up. "You should be honoured, Wormtail, that I have chosen to step foot in your home. And you will keep that in mind," he spat suddenly. "I'll come to the point now, shall I?"

Peter cowered under the Dark Lord's chilling gaze. Voldemort, consequently, took his silence as affirmation.

"You are the Potters' Secret Keeper, are you not, Peter?" Voldemort asked in the same low voice.

"I- My Lord, no -" Peter began to say, but fell silent when Voldemort hissed.

"I told you not to lie, Wormtail."

Peter winced. "I am sorry, my Lord. Please, I beg your pardon. Yes, I am the Potters' Secret Keeper."

Voldemort laughed. "Wonderful! Now you will tell me where they live, won't you, Peter?"

Peter's mousy eyes widened and his hands went clammy. He had vowed, the day James and Lily had made him Secret Keeper, that he would not fail them. But now he was standing before none other than the Dark Lord himself, and Peter would die if he did not provide him with what he wanted.

"I'm waiting, Wormtail," whispered Voldemort.

Peter wanted to disappear. Anything, please, anything to get him out of here. Out of Voldemort's reach.

What would he gain by betraying James and Lily anyway?

At least you wouldn't have to die, a part of his mind remarked pointedly.

But was betraying his best friends worth escaping death?

"Look at you, Peter! You are nothing but a misfit, a tag-along in your little group of friends. They stand you, pity you, but they don't respect you. They think you are weak and inadequate. They laugh at you," Voldemort was speaking again, sneering at Peter. "You don't belong with them, Wormtail."

Peter looked up at the pale face of the Dark Lord.

"You are pathetic, Wormtail! I can see what you are thinking. You think you can escape me, run back to your little friends? You think that old fool Dumbledore will protect you? They will despise you for being the filthy little traitor you are. You'll be dead sooner or later, but not if you join me, Wormtail."

Voldemort's words brought a train of memories back in Peter's mind.

"How thick can you be, Wormtail?" James said, laughing along with Sirius. "You wander about the castle once a month with a werewolf, and you can't answer a simple question about them!"

…

"You really need some more brains, Peter," Sirius smirked, shooting James a knowing look.

…

"No - not Peter, he'll mess the whole thing up."…"Are you sure you can trust Peter not to run off and tell McGonagall?"

…

"Peter, do you think you'll be able to do this? No pressure, you know," James said one night in the Common Room as they talked about becoming Animagi.

He was talking once more, his speech cutting through Peter's reverie.

"But I? I can see you for what you are worth, Wormtail, I can see what lies beneath that layer of dimwittedness. Come with me. Be loyal to me, and I will make sure your merit is recognised and valued."

Security. Respect. Adoration.

Or the trust and love of his friends.

If the Dark Lord rose to power, he would never have to flee and go into hiding. He would never have to face the probability of dying every time he went out of the house. He would never have to worry about his lack of facilities. If he stayed loyal to his friends, who, now that he recalled properly, never really counted him as more than a worthless outsider, he would die eventually at the hands of the Death Eaters.

He had made his decision.

Peter looked up at the expectant face of Lord Voldemort.

"I'll serve you, my Lord."

Thanks again to Autumn for suggesting the title!