Betrayal

Author's Note: Here's the final chapter. A huge thanks to all the people that reviewed. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. It made me nervous because I've never written Voldemort or Peter before. This chapter ended up being almost as long as the other three put together. I can't wait to read your reviews. What characters do you think I should list as the category for this story? When it was a 1-shot I listed Severus and Lily but that doesn't seem appropriate anymore.

"Alright, so I'll get the chocolate—"

"And I'll get that tea he likes—"

"And we'll meet at the Three Broomsticks in an hour."

"Don't forget the—"

"The sugar quills, I know—"

"James! Sirius!" He called again, louder, and they didn't stop. They were going inside to the castle, broomsticks over their shoulders.

"Don't you even recognize when you're being blown off?" a voice sneered.

Peter stopped. He was breathing hard. It was always so tough trying to keep up with them. Maybe his mother was right—he ought to do something about his level of fitness. He looked around for the owner of the voice. There was a boy sitting in the tree, on the lowest branch. By his robes, Peter could see the boy was a Slytherin and instantly set his face to "dislike." He tried to come up with a witty retort like James or Sirius would have made, but all that came out of his mouth was, "They're not blowing me off. They must not have heard me."

The boy shook his head, reclined against the tree trunk. "They heard. They just don't care. Sirius Black can't see anything past the end of his own wand."

Peter folded his arms, doing his best impression of Sirius's I-don't-care-what-you-think-of-me look. He tried to raise one eyebrow, but it wouldn't go up without taking the other one with it. "You're a second year. You don't know what you're talking about."

The boy snickered then, leaning down to look at him, anchoring himself with an arm wrapped around where the tree limb curved upwards. "You don't recognize me, do you? I'm not surprised. I don't think he's said ten words to me all year." He offered his free right hand towards Peter. "Regulus Black, Sirius's dear younger brother…and for your reference, I'm a third year."

Peter inched forward, unfolding his arms awkwardly to shake the boy's hand. "Peter Pettigrew. Fourth year. Gryffindor."

Regulus nodded. "I've seen you trailing around after my brother and Potter. He does make everything look so easy, doesn't he?"

Peter sat down at the foot of the tree—he rather doubted he could climb up and join the boy on the branch, even if there was room. "I think it is easy for him. Seems like he's good at everything. I don't understand how he does it."

"He's got a knack for getting whatever he wants. By the way, your Sirius impression is awful. It absolutely sucks. You want something more like this." The boy casually let himself down from the branch, leaning back against the tree, looking coolly down at Peter as if he didn't give a whit about what he thought of him, his arms folded, mouth set with attitude. He had the same dark hair as Sirius, the same complexion. His nose and chin were a little more angular, though his face overall didn't look far off from Sirius's. His eyes, looking at Peter almost casually, were a darker shade of gray.

Peter had to admit he was rather impressed—without looming forward over him, Regulus had managed to give off the impression of being both above and beyond him in ways that could never be reached. He had the same air Sirius and James carried around. "How do you do that?" he blurted out.

Regulus shrugged, dropping the airs he had donned, once more just a thirteen year old boy in Slytherin robes. "Practice and lots of observation. I used to admire him until he turned out to be a traitor."

Peter's fists clenched. "Take that back. Sirius is one of the most loyal people I know."

"Maybe he's loyal to Potter and Lupin, but he's not to me. He left me high and dry when he came off to Hogwarts. Came back after first term and I barely recognized him. And as far as I can tell, he sure isn't loyal to you. Look, he left you behind. Probably not the first time. Definitely not the last. Am I right?"

Peter tried to justify Sirius's actions, but he so often had a hard time explaining them himself. "He doesn't mean to…I just can't keep up."

"And he doesn't wait for you." Peter wasn't sure if the boy's tone was mocking or pitying. Maybe it was somewhere between the two. "Look, if Sirius cares about you, he's never going to let a bad thing happen to you. If something does happen, he's going to hunt down the bastards that did it. If Sirius doesn't care…well, then you're off his radar unless you do hurt somebody that actually matters to him—in which case he'll hunt you to the ends of the earth." He shrugged. "I'm off his radar these days. He stopped caring. But when I was younger…I can remember when I got a puppy for Christmas. My cousin Bella started hexing it with everything she could think of in the backyard. She was just home from her first term here. The thing was yapping and bleeding…I begged her to stop. She wouldn't. She was twice Sirius's size, but he came after her with nothing but his fists and his knees." Regulus smiled, thinking of his brother with admiration; then the smile dropped. "He was punished for a week, for hitting a girl."

"What'd they do to her?"

Regulus shrugged. "Nothing as far as I could tell. My puppy didn't make it more than another night—shuddered and shook whenever I came near him. I never asked for another one." He looked up and saw Severus head in his direction, with that seventh year, Lucius. "Look, I've got to go. If you'll take my advice, you'll stay away from my brother. You're only going to get hurt."

Peter started to argue, to tell Regulus that he was wrong, that Sirius, and James, and Remus all cared about him, that they were friends, real brothers, because they had chosen one another. He watched the other boy shake his head, and casually hoist himself back into the tree, clearly dismissing Peter's protests and Peter himself. He let out an irritated sigh and hurried back to the castle to try to catch up with the others.

Years later, Peter could still remember that first encounter with Regulus. It had been difficult to get it out of his head. Sure it would go away for a time, and then he'd watch himself get left behind, or laughed at, or not included and it would creep up on him. Some sense that he didn't belong, that he wasn't really accepted. But after all, that was ridiculous. Ever since first year, he and the Marauders had done everything together. They skipped class—well, usually not Remus, and Peter didn't do it often. His mother had a fierce temper.

But they became Animagi together, didn't they? And they pulled pranks on the Slytherins. And got in fights together. They were always on the same side.

Well, sometimes the pranks were on him, but sometimes they weren't. After all, Remus had helped him put fleas in Sirius's bed sheets back in fifth year. He knew Sirius had deserved it. And James had laughed long and hard at the sight of Sirius scratching himself uncontrollably. He'd even changed into a dog at one point because he could get into a better position to scratch that way.

Peter stared sullenly at the Firewhiskey in front of him, hoping it would calm his nerves. It wasn't. Why had Sirius gone and asked him to do this? Was he afraid? He hadn't thought Sirius was afraid of anything—ever. But maybe he was. Peter knew he was scared. Anyone who wasn't scared right now was an idiot. The whole world was turning upside down and you didn't know who was going to be killed next. He took a sip of his drink.

He didn't know whether to be proud or scared. His friends trusted him enough to put their lives in his hand. Merlin, that was heavy. But they'd fought at one another's backs. They'd already had their lives in each other's hands. He picked up his glass and stared at the bottom of it, into the depths of his drink.

Sirius's plan had some good merit. All the Death Eaters would come after him when they started looking for James and Lily and couldn't find them. Meanwhile, Peter could be safe and sound in his own home. No one would be looking for him. No one would think he knew anything of consequence. It was brilliant. Peter started to shake. Unless Sirius was afraid. Unless Sirius just wanted the pressure off of himself.

But no, Sirius wasn't like that. This was a good plan. It would help Lily and James and Harry. And possibly kill both him and Sirius. What about Remus? Where was he these days? No one had seen him in a while.

He shifted in his chair, thinking of later conversations he'd had with Regulus. In Hogwarts, sometimes Peter had noticed the younger boy watching his brother's friends, judging the situation. Occasionally there was a smirk as Peter was teased by his friends, or couldn't keep up, but he could have sworn there might have been some sympathy as well, and a longing to be there with his brother. Peter had pointed it out to Remus once. Remus's response had been surprisingly curt. He'd said that they needed to stay out of things where Regulus and Sirius were concerned. Peter sighed to himself. He ought to go home. Sitting alone in a bar certainly wasn't going to help his mood.

He Disapparated at once.

As late as it was, he couldn't sleep. He wondered if Sirius was hiding, or if he was going to do something to lure the Death Eaters to him. Surely he wouldn't be that stupid? Maybe he would. And maybe he'd call it brave.

He tried to remember that so long as he kept his mouth shut, James and Lily and Harry would be okay. Nothing could hurt them.

But Merlin only knew what would come after him for keeping their secret.

He paced his room. He could hear his mother snoring rather loudly across the hall. He tried writing himself a letter, to remind himself why it was important that they fight now, no matter what it cost him. He swallowed and his hand shook as he wrote. As pretty as all the words sounded, they seemed a lot more hollow now that it might come down to giving up his life. Merlin, Morgana, and Circe! How many of his friends had already died this year?

He couldn't sit still and sprang up from his desk hard enough to bruise at least one knee. In the pre-dawn light he took everything out of his dresser and tossed it haphazardly on the floor before picking each garment up and folding it precisely, needing to give himself something to do with his hands.

Finally, he went to the kitchen and cooked some eggs and rashers of bacon. He splattered himself with the grease a few times through his distraction, but it was something. He nibbled on a piece of bacon and a slice of toast before leaving the rest for his still sleeping mother.

He went back to his room and tried to sleep. Every creak of the walls, or car speeding by outside led to another gut-wrenching bit of panic that ended up with his top sheet entirely twisted around his waist, the bottom sheet half off the mattress, the coverlet on the floor, and one pillow near his feet.

Resigning himself to functioning without sleep, he put on a fresh set of robes and took himself to the bookstore where he worked. It shouldn't be too busy. Maybe he could catch a nap later in the back shelves.

He was jumpy throughout the day and his boss sent him home by mid-afternoon with strict orders to take a Dreamless Sleep Draught and get some damn rest before he managed to knock yet another book onto the head of a customer.

He came home to his mother kneeling in the garden, weeding. "Hello, Peter, is it that late already?" she asked.

"No, mum. I wasn't feeing very well, so Mr. Blott sent me home. Do we have any Sleep Draught?" He smiled in relief at seeing her doing something as normal as weeding the garden, but…she was out here in the front yard. Anyone could come. He felt his stomach sink like a stone. Better not to worry her.

She looked up at him, taking stock of his appearance. "Yes, in the cupboard, on the shelf above the antidotes. Do you need anything else? You really don't look well. Have you been sleeping enough? Eating enough? Breakfast was lovely this morning, but I wish you'd joined me for it."

"Yes, Mum. I'm fine. I'm glad you enjoyed breakfast." He hurried away inside. Why hadn't he thought of the Dreamless Sleep Draught last night? He rummaged through the cupboard and found it, bringing it back to his room. He smiled with a relief and shucked off his clothes, climbing into his bed. The sheets were still twisted and mostly off the mattress, but he put the pillow under his head and dragged the blanket over him. He uncorked the bottle and looked at it disappointedly. There was only about half a dose in here. Damn. He swallowed it and eventually fell asleep.

He woke up well after midnight and tried to convince himself to go back to bed. He was more than willing, but his body wouldn't cooperate. He felt so alone. He couldn't go see James and Lily—it was too dangerous. He couldn't even be sure Sirius was still at his flat. And where was Remus? Had Dumbledore sent him off somewhere? Had the other side taken him?

He couldn't sleep. He got dressed, tucked his wand at his belt and Disapparated. He arrived in Hogsmeade and started wandering the streets. The Three Broomsticks was still open and he went in and ordered something to eat. Rosmerta was off already for the evening, but her cousin Dorcas was there behind the bar. Not many people were out tonight. Peter yawned and approached her.

"Hi, Dorcas," he ssaid, trying to smile.

"Pettigrew. Haven't seen you in a while."

He shrugged. "I've been keeping out of the way, and working when I can. Is the kitchen still open by any chance?"

She looked him over. "You look like you could use a bit of something. This time of night I'm the only one here, but since it's not real busy, I could whip up something for you." She smiled. "I'll be out right quick. If anybody wants a drink, feel free to get one for them."

He looked around. There were only a couple of other people in the pub tonight. He wondered why they were there. Could they not sleep? Were they meeting people? Did they not have anywhere to go home to? He slid off his stool and went around behind the bar to grab a Butterbeer. He didn't want anything as strong as Firewhiskey tonight.

It happened all of a sudden. The doors crashed open just as Dorcas came out with Peter's sandwich. He ducked behind the bar. Before he knew what had happened, Dorcas and the other to diners were dead or twitching. As the Death Eaters approached the counter, casually setting fire to a couple of the chairs, Peter transformed into his rat form and slipped away, wondering who he could call. James was out of reach. Remus was missing. Who knew where Sirius was? Gideon and Fabian were gone. Marlene was gone. Dumbledore, he'd go to Dumbledore.

He made his way through one of the broken windows of the Shrieking Shack and then through the tunnel back to Hogwarts. He found Minerva shortly after arriving. She barely listened to him a moment before leaving him in the hallway and going herself to fetch Dumbledore. He went home as quickly as he could, going to check on his mother. As soon as he entered the house, he could hear her snores. Everything was okay.

He couldn't sleep that night either, but he found that he could hold his emotions at bay a little better as a rat. Transformed, he curled up on his bed and dozed fitfully.

He was sent home from work again the next day and didn't know what to do with himself. The attack from the night before was in the paper. An unknown number of Death Eaters had killed Dorcas Meadowes and tortured the two diners. Could he have stayed and helped? There had been two or three of them. He couldn't have done anything against that many. Going for help had been the right move, hadn't it?

By the third day after becoming the Potters' Secret Keeper, Peter was frazzled. He hadn't heard from anyone in the Order. Every nerve in his body was buzzing. He had hardly slept in days. His boss told him not to even bother coming in until he'd had a decent night's sleep. He tried once again to drown himself in drinking, hoping to forget. It only succeeded in making him more depressed. None of his friends were here by his side. He needed them now. What good were they if they weren't here when he needed them? What was he supposed to do? He hadn't felt so alone in such a long time.

He'd been sitting alone in a corner, nursing his second or third bottle when someone approached his table.

A man was standing there, freckled, and with straw color hair. His lips were slightly dry and his tongue darted out to wet them. He had a bottle in his hand. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

Peter hadn't noticed the man was there until he'd spoken. In the darkness of the pub, one more shadow over him hadn't been noticeable. "Go ahead. Not like any of my friends are coming. They all deserted me."

The man sat down and patted him on the back, utterly sympathetic. "Well, you don't need them, Pettigrew."

Peter's mind had gone fuzzy with his drink. The man looked vaguely familiar. Like he might have seen him on other night's when he'd come to this desolate hole in the wall place. "That's right. There's lots of stuff they couldn't have done without me. I was always their look out. Their scout. They would have gotten caught loads more times without me." He went to take another sip of his drink and frowned as he realized the bottle was empty.

The blond man pushed his own drink over towards Peter's hand. "Go ahead. I've already had my fill tonight."

"Thanks. They never think about what they ask me for. They just ask and ask and assume I'll say yes. As if I don't have an'thing to worry 'bout," grumbled Peter, after taking a swig from the man's bottle. He pushed his hair off his forehead. It was sweaty; he was getting awfully warm for almost the end of October.

The blond man smiled charmingly. "I bet you've saved their hides plenty of times."

"Damn right. Those idiots never knew when to back off. Didn't use t' anyway. And then he fell in love with her, and she fell in love with him, and ever'thin' changed, and there was even less room for me," he groused.

"So where are they now? They've left you all alone. Bastards," he said, utter sympathy.

"Dunno where Remus is, and James an' Lily are hiding, and Merlin only knows about Sirius. The bugger left me alone. Everyone's gonna come after me."

Barty only just barely contained his grin. He knew this had been a good hunch to follow when he'd seen the Gryffindor across the room getting smashed. He probably didn't even need the truth serum he'd slipped in this last drink. The alcohol was probably sufficient. Oh well. It couldn't hurt. At least he hadn't wasted any of the good stuff on this moron—Veritaserum was time consuming to replace. "So you don't know where any of them are? They left you all alone?"

"Well, there's my mum, but she'd never be able to stand up against You-Know-Who. An' James and Lily are holed up in Godric's Hollow. Sirius's brilliant idea to make me his Secret Keeper." He slumped a bit against the table exhaustedly.

Barty worked very hard to keep his emotions in check, just in case the other man wasn't as intoxicated as he appeared. Blast and burn him they'd used a Fidelius charm. It didn't matter that Pettigrew had spilled his guts to him. He couldn't do anything about it. He took a deep, controlling breath. He was nothing if not skilled. Pettigrew appeared to be snoring on the table. "Let's get you somewhere where you can sleep it off," he said, clapping him on the back. Pettigrew stirred drowsily and before he knew it, the blond man had pulled him up and had his shoulder under his arm.

"D'you know where I live?"

"No, but that's okay, you can kip on my couch. Wouldn't want you to splinch yourself on your way home." He led Peter the few steps necessary out of the pub, winking at the laughter from some of the other patrons. Once they were outside, he turned himself and Pettigrew in a circle and they Disapparated.

Peter's next great awareness came with a tremendous jolt of pain. He was sprawled on the floor in a building he didn't recognize. There was a blonde man standing over him, and…oh Merlin, Morgana, and Circe. Was that? No…not…not him. Oh Merlin, not him.

A soft voice hissed, "So, you've decided to rejoin us after all. Do make yourself…comfortable down there."

Peter groped himself for his wand and couldn't find it. He looked around, wondering if there was anywhere to run. The only door was behind that hideous face.

Voldemort's smile was terrible, not large, and not showing many teeth, but genuinely pleased with the sight before him, someone helpless, at his mercy. "Tell me about yourself, Pettigrew."

He tried to find somewhere to look other than that face. That terrible face. He said nothing. He felt another, longer, spasm of agony as he was hit with the Cruciatus curse yet again. "I'm nobody. Just nobody," he said, staring at his own knees. The pain wracked his body a third time and he howled his name, "Peter Pettigrew! Just Peter Pettigrew. No one important."

Voldemort made a tsking sound, shaking his head at Peter. "Not important? Oh, I think you're very important. You've told Barty all sorts of useful things the past few months. Hasn't he, Barty?"

The blond man smiled gleefully. "Oh, yes, my lord. Pettigrew tells me anything and everything I ask. He has for months. I can't imagine his friends will want anything to do with him once they find out."

Peter sat on the floor, stricken. Those fuzzy nights when he'd gone out alone because the others were busy or irritated or couldn't be found. What had he done? What had he said? "I didn't. I wouldn't. I couldn't."

"You could, and would, and did," Voldemort said softly. "What would your mother think? Shall I send Barty to her and spare her having to find out what you're really like? Killing her would be doing her a favor. After all, she's a blood traitor. She married a Mudblood. It's her fault you're a halfblood. She should have chosen better. Maybe if she had cared enough about you to give you a Pureblooded father, you could have kept up with your friends."

He found himself shuddering on the floor. How had he known? These thoughts had crossed Peter's mind before—he'd never thought of her as a traitor, but he had wondered if he would have had as much talent as James and Sirius if he'd been a Pureblood. But Remus did fine, and he was a halfblood. And Lily was brilliant and she was a Muggle-born. No, the problem had to be Peter himself. But the doubts still niggled at the back of his mind. "No, please, leave her alone."

The dark lord smiled down at him. "Would you buy her life with yours? The life of your friends' for yours?" He extend his arm, tracing a line down Peter's jaw with the tip of his wand until Peter jerked back from him. "I wouldn't kill you, you know. That would be too easy. No, I'd give you to Fenrir to play with, or perhaps Bellatrix. She does have a most delicious imagination."

Peter was frozen, transfixed, and utterly horrified. And then he found he couldn't move for a whole new reason. A massive snake had begun to coil itself around his mid-section, pinning his arms to his sides. The more he struggled, the tighter it squeezed.

"Ah, Nagini may want to play. Perhaps I shall let her bite you, let the poison seep into your blood. She could swallow you whole, but that wouldn't be nearly as entertaining."

Quivering all over, Peter whispered, "What do you want?"

"Tell me where the Potters are, or I will make your death long and miserable. From this moment forward, all that will be left for you is to see how I can prolong your demise while increasing your agony, unless…"

"Unless?" Peter seized on the word, on any hope that he might make it out of this room alive.

"I reward my followers. Come, what do your friends call you?"

He whispered the word into the darkness. "Wormtail."

The snake began to unwrap itself from around Peter, and Voldemort stroked it's head. "Wormtail, I reward my friends. Don't you want to be my friend?" Peter's voice was stuck in his throat, he couldn't respond. "Tell me where the Potters are and you can go anywhere you'd like. After what you've already told Barty, your old friends won't want anything to do with you ever again. You're as good as dead to them. You'll have new friends though. Strong, and powerful. Barty would be your friend, wouldn't you, Barty?"

"Yes, my lord," agreed the blonde, twirling Peter's wand carelessly between his fingers, his own wand tucked in his belt.

Peter's chest heaved.

"Where are the Potters?" His voice had become the coldest hiss. "Cru—"

"Godric's Hollow!" he screamed, scrabbling backwards on his hands and ass, trying to get away, as if there was anywhere to dodge the curse. "The Potters are at Godric's Hollow."

Voldemort's eyes glowed in triumph and he Disapperated.

Peter lunged forward at Barty's knees and pulled him down, grabbing his wand from where the man dropped it and running towards the door as fast as his legs could carry him. He was hit with several stinging hexes on his way out, but he made it out of the house and Disapparated to his own home and shut himself in his room, locking the door, as though it would do some good. What had he done? What could he do now? It was too late. He'd never make it to them in time. They'd all be dead. It was his fault.

But no, a stubborn voice of defense rose up inside him. It wasn't his fault. It was Sirius. Sirius shouldn't have forced this on him. What choice did he have tonight? If Sirius hadn't forced him to be the Secret Keeper, he could have been sleeping soundly tonight. He wouldn't have been out. He wouldn't have been kidnapped. They were going to torture him. Kill him. What else could he have done?

He shuddered. Sirius would know what he'd done. He'd know it couldn't have been anyone else. Peter suddenly found himself nearly as afraid of Sirius as he was of Voldemort. He turned himself into a rat, trying to bury his emotions under a lesser capacity to feel them.

~ The End ~

Author's Note: The italicized part I actually wrote weeks ago as it's own short story. I kind of felt like Regulus and Peter might be able to relate to one another, but then I wasn't sure where to go with it from there. When I started planning out this chapter, I knew it was the perfect fit and only need a minute amount of tweaking.

I hope you enjoyed this story. Please make my day by reading and reviewing. I get the biggest smile on my face when I see a review in my inbox. Please?