Cedere maiori non est pudor
inferiori.
WALTHER – Proverbia Sententiaeque*
All his life, he hasn’t been
blessed by fortune, in no whatsoever respect. Neither handsome nor overly
smart, nor more than average as a wizard, he comes from a family of little
importance, pure-blooded in the sixth generation, and without enough money to
make up for this flaw. And this has only been the beginning of his bad luck, it
has come much worse yet.
In Hogwarts, he got sorted
to Gryffindor House, for reasons absolutely unintelligible to himself, or
anyone who has ever met him. He isn’t brave, but perhaps the Sorting Hat
realised that he’s even less brainy, or cunning, and that loyalty really
isn’t his forte either. Yes, Peter Pettigrew thinks, he ended up in Gryffindor
by default, like always. His new dorm mates there found him out in no time, and
he would have been their jackass, if it hadn’t been for another boy already occupying
the title of the official loser, and relieving Peter from his usual suffering.
James and Sirius – oh, just
how poised they fancy themselves, how superior and infallible! They ‘allowed’
him to be their pet, as Sirius often pointed out, being so much more talented
and popular than him, so much cooler. Sirius was oh-so-excellent in everything
he ever did, and so darn good-looking. All the girls were crazy in love with
him, too, making him even more arrogant. James on the other hand was equally
well-off, equally skilled, and a Quidditch ace, every girl that didn’t already
fancy Sirius was infatuated with him instead. But being similarly stuck-up like
his best mate, he didn’t contemplate any, and instead only had eyes for the
petty little Mudblood. The third one of the merry bunch is a werewolf,
in Merlin’s name, as Peter was forced to hear in his third year in school, but
the others didn’t mind, and Peter didn’t dare to voice his repulsion against
their vote. A werewolf! It only adds up to show how full of themselves
Sirius and James are, but Peter has always regarded himself lucky not to be in
their bad books still.
Said other boy to carry that
burden in their school time was Severus Snape, the object of Peter’s pure and
unadulterated glee and scorn. Snape outsmarted him in everything; the bloody
jerk’s clever, but it didn’t help him nevertheless. Ugly, poor, unpopular, he
was the ideal target for James’ jibes and Sirius’ curses, and the national
laughing stock for everybody else. He had only few friends of his own, most of
them much older and therefore long gone from Hogwarts to back him up. Scruffy
as he was, the only people really standing up for him then were, ironically,
two girls.
First of all, Sirius’ cousin
Narcissa Black. Boy, she was another one of the high and mighty, fancying
herself far too superior to talk to anyone else, with the exception of
Snivellus. God knows what she has been thinking to favour him of all persons,
but she did. The other girl was Lily Evans, Snape’s friend of childhood days
and James’ everlasting flame and later wife. She must have thought Snipelius
was a kindred spirit, keen on potion-making like her, and another Mudblood to
boot. She was a favourite with all the teachers for being so talented, and so
friendly… But Peter has seen her for what she really is – nothing but an
unworthy Muggle-born, just good enough to go to a wizard’s school, but surely
not to capture someone like James Potter. But this one wouldn’t listen to
reason, he has tried to get off with her ever since their fourth year, and
finally, in their seventh, she yielded to his wooing. Peter has never openly
commented on this, but he staunchly believes that James has thrown himself
away.
No, he doesn’t love his
so-called friends. He admires them, but that’s not the same. And given the
circumstances they’re living through, the war and all that, all the missing or
dead, he found he may have to change his tune. The other night... Gosh, that
was close. No, not just close –
hitting the bull’s eye it was! Sirius deliberately got into a brush with a
couple of Death Eaters and while Peter still wondered how on earth he had
gotten here – into such an awful scrape – and what the hell he could do to
survive it – a muting spell hit him, he was suddenly grabbed, and dragged into
a dark doorway.
“Pettigrew,” an unfamiliar
voice muttered into his ear. “You dumb ass! Think you can gamble with the big
kids? Tell you what – you can’t. Av-”
“What d’ya think I’m doing
here, cos?!”
“Hold it I say!” The wand
got pressed against Peter’s cheek, and a masked, hooded figure came very close.
“You value your life, Pettigrew?”
Peter couldn’t speak, but
hoped humming the affirmative would do the job.
“Of course you do,” the
voice proceeded, sounding smugly satisfied. “Listen, Pettigrew. Your boss
Dumbledore – he’s always giving that speech about choices. Well, here’s one for
you – you can live, or you can die. Today, we’ll let you live. Our choice, our
pleasure. But the next time we meet, you might not be that lucky. Dangerous
times, for such close friends of Dumbledore... Well, for anybody, really,
unless they’ve got mighty friends to protect them. Do you have mighty friends
to protect you, Pettigrew?”
“Mmm-mmm,” Peter whined. No,
he hasn’t! He’s got talented, quick-witted friends – but where were they now,
eh? And could they protect him from real Death Eaters? Surely not!
“I didn’t think so,” the
voice rasped almost pleasantly. “Methinks you should hurry up making some.
Don’t you agree with me?”
“Ye-es...?”
“Yes, indeed... Now run
along, kid, and think about it. Think really hard about it. Think how much you
value your life. Think how much your poor mother values it. A poor, lonely
widow. What’d become of her if her only son was killed... And when you’ve made
up your mind, you’ll come and tell me.”
“But – but I don’t know
you...”
“No?” The man laughed. “I’m
sure you’ll figure out a way to meet me all the same. Regarding how much
depends upon it...”
With a sudden, heavy push,
he was hurled into the street, and the two Death Eaters stepped over him,
unconcerned, and joined the battle again. Sirius had been joined by a handful
of other Order members and they weren’t doing all that bad, but Peter thought
it was safer to just keep lying here playing dead man. So he sort of missed the
heat of the fight, and was only picked up when it was all over. Turned out one
of the Death Eaters got killed – and when his mask was pulled off, Peter
realised to his greatest astonishment that he actually knew the guy. Well, kind
of. They’d been in school together, the dead Death Eater was only one year his
junior (and he was ashamed to have been overwhelmed by a nineteen-year-old!).
Lestrange, his name was. Rodney – Robert – something starting with an ‘R’...
Lying in his bed that night,
he realised something else. Why had that Death Eater instantly known who he
was? Because they’d been in school
together! That guy dragging him into that hallway had been no other than that
Lestrange guy! And he’d addressed the other one as ‘cos’ – which was short for
cousin, right? Now Peter actually happened to know someone called Lestrange.
The Law Wizard who’d taken care of Peter’s late father’s testament was a bloke
called Rabastan Lestrange. And hadn’t the stranger talked of Peter’s mother?
And hadn’t he implied they knew each other, that Peter would figure it out?
The following day, he tries
wiping it all away like a ghastly nightmare. He doesn’t have many friends in
the world, how could he even think of betraying the few he had? His
determination is shaken when bumping into Frank Longbottom who reports more or
less in passing, that the Death Eaters raided a Muggle gathering and killed no
less than twelve people and one of the Aurors coming to their rescue, a young
bloke called Emerson. Also, they severely wounded two others. “We think this
might be retribution for yesterday.”
Peter squeezes his eyes
shut with the mere recollection. He sees the mask, the raised wand, hears the
guy’s menacing voice. Good heavens, he isn’t made for this sort of thing! How
did a guy like he even get into such a tight spot, eh?! Because of his idiotic
friends, that’s how! On his own, the most dangerous think that could possibly
happen would be falling off a ladder when trying to lift his suitcase of the
wardrobe!
A sleepless night later,
he’s come to a desperate decision. He’s got no chance but to go with the time,
meaning – he’ll have to turn to the only person he knows for sure to be a Death
Eater: that Rabastan Lestrange guy. That one greets him with a mock innocent
face and asks how he could help him, whether there was something wrong with
poor Mrs. Pettigrew...?
Peter doesn’t dare to be
outspoken, so he murmurs, his eyes glued to the floor, “N-no... And I want to
make sure it’ll stay that way...”
“Are you sure?”
Slowly, he nods. “I am.”
“Very well. I’ll forward
your application.”
He gets his answer even
sooner than expected; that evening, an owl pecks on his window, delivering a
message to show up in some impossibly remote shack in the furthest outskirts of
London, and as if that wasn’t spooky enough, it’s not that Lestrange guy
showing up for the interview, but his sister-in-law, who can make a man’s blood
curl with one single look out of those pitch black vicious eyes!
“Why do you want to join our
ranks?” Bellatrix Lestrange asks him suspiciously. “I know who you are, you’ve
been hanging around with my cousin Sirius and his buddy Potter all the time,
and they’re Dumbledore’s men.”
Peter is able to give an
honest, convincing answer on this head. “They are, but that could be a great
advantage for your cause, couldn’t it?” She sneers, but signals him to go on.
“You see, no one has ever paid attention to me, nobody bothers for what I do,
or where I’m going. In the same moment, they’re all convinced that I’m best
mate with Black and Potter, and therefore a hundred percent loyal to Dumbledore
and the other Mudblood lovers. I hear things that might interest the Dark Lord,
I come to meet people that none of you could accidentally encounter –”
“And why do you want to turn
on your companions in the first place?”
“Because I don’t want to be
killed for a cause that I don’t even believe in.”
“Why should we
believe you? Perhaps you’re a double spy?”
“If you seriously believed
that, why would you have met me tonight? If I was a spy, I could give you away
at once, and you wouldn’t want to risk that, would you?”
If he had truly believed he
could intimidate Bellatrix Lestrange, he has been utterly wrong,
as he sees at once. She roars with laughter, and draws her wand so quickly that
Peter hasn’t got a chance to do anything at all. Still chuckling and pressing
her wand against Peter’s throat, she gives him a long, challenging look.
“I’ve met you because my
master has asked me to. My order is to see what you’re up to, and if I find you
to be dishonest, or otherwise unpromising, I am to – dispose – of you at
once. Do you understand me, Ratface?”
Peter swallows and nods
anxiously, frozen by Bellatrix’ fierce gaze. That woman isn’t joking, and
seeing her reputation otherwise, Peter has no doubt that his own death will be
efficient and well-conceived, but certainly not quick and painless, if he can’t
satisfy her expectations. She inquires about his knowledge in the Dark Arts
next – none whatsoever, deplorably – or other qualifications, and eagerly,
Peter points out that he can turn himself into a rat. Bellatrix doesn’t believe
him until he proves it, and to appear a bit more impressive, he omits to
mention that he has only succeeded so far because his old mates have become
Animagi, too, and helped him with his own transformation.
At least, he has caught her
attention; she continues the interview in the same conceited manner, but
fractionally less hostile. Peter has never understood why all the great ones
would always be so haughty beyond expression, even Bellatrix Lestrange with her
famous bloodline and all her power, money and connections is just a human being
like Peter himself. Why does everyone always treat him so contemptuously? She
must have read that question in his gaze; whatever, she answers it with a
disdainful smirk.
“You wonder why I should
treat you like dirt, do you? That’s because you are dirt, Pettigrew.
You’ve contacted Rosier, in order to betray your old friends after all. While
I’m not saying that this might not be useful for our cause – I reserve my
judgement in this case – you should know still how thoroughly despicable I find
you, personally. You are a coward, a traitor, and excuse me, a rat – how
could I treat you otherwise than like vermin?”
Fortunately, Peter is used
to such an attitude, and even if she was right with some of the things she
said, Peter has yet another quality, one that has always been helpful – showing
a mixture of submission, admiration and contrition. It has worked with all of
them, with Sirius, with James, with Rosier, and it doesn’t fail Bellatrix
Lestrange’s vanity either.
“Very well,” she says
eventually, after a swift glimpse at her golden pocket watch. “This must
suffice. I will forward your application to my master, expect our notice soon.”
“You mean you will send me
an owl?”
Admittedly, the question was
plain stupid, and he receives an adequate scowl for it. “I’m afraid not,
Pettigrew. The Dark Lord doesn’t rely on owls. You will notice our
effort if we are to contact you, this way or – that.”
She emphasises the last bit,
and Peter can’t suppress a shudder with the obvious implications. If he hasn’t
appealed to her, he simply won’t wake up again, tomorrow, or the day after
tomorrow, they’ll simply kill him to eliminate an unwanted witness. To make up
for his blunder, and reconcile Madam Lestrange’s good graces, he hurries to
say, “Of course, Ma’am! Thank you for your time and attention, and please
forward my admiration to your husband, and Mr and Mrs Malfoy. And my best
wishes for the new heir –”
She gives him her most
contemptuous glance yet. “Oh please! Well, I hope your intelligence for
the Dark Lord is going to be a bit more exclusive than what you’ve read in the
Daily Prophet. Off you go, Pettigrew, don’t try my patience!”
* Cedere maiori... It isn’t
dishonourable for the inferior to submit to the more great.
*****
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