rattish (rattish) wrote in fourteenshades, @ 2014-03-12 08:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | !unlucky plot, x-peter pettigrew |
The Dark Calling
Who: Peter
What: Narrative: the Dark Mark
When: The time the Mark starts burning
Where: His house, then Remus' house
Note: Peter has not shown up for work since the tussle with Fabian.
It wasn't hiding, exactly, Peter reasoned with himself. After all, he'd spent days shut up in the house before and no one had cared. Hadn't even noticed, probably, he added bitterly to this bit of self-pity. In any case, cowardly or not, he didn't see any reason he should go outside in the current state of affairs. He could see the Dark Mark still hanging in the sky from the window, and even if Remus and James might have decided to let him live for now, he was sure the Prewetts would be able to convince enough people otherwise to make it significantly dangerous for him out there, right now.
Anyway, if there were more Death Eaters out there now... there was no guarantee they would want him around. Fabian Prewett might think he was menacing, but that was nothing to one of Voldemort's followers in a temper. Especially any of the more vicious ones.
He had shut the curtains against the persistent green glow, and was just thinking he might risk sneaking past Snape to get something to eat from the kitchen, when his arm burned as though it had been branded afresh. Choking back a scream, he scrabbled to get his sleeve up above the elbow. The Mark was burned black, and still burning.
It had been itching for weeks, but he knew that was just in his head. This was altogether different. Panic began to set in. The burn carried with it a summoning spell, not a strong now as he remembered it, but there all the same. Did he follow it? He shuddered at the idea, at the thought of what must be at the other end of that summons. He must be here. That was the only reason for the Mark to burn like this.
Shaking, doing his best to put the pain aside enough to keep his head, he went to the bedroom door to listen into the corridor. No sound from Snape. He was out, perhaps, or maybe he had already gone... Peter did not quite understand where the older man's loyalties were, though no less than he understood his own, at this point.
I have to warn someone, was the next thought that came unbidden into his head. The thought calmed him a little. He could tell someone, someone who would know what to do. James? He considered it only a moment as he hurried down the stairs - quietly in case Snape was somewhere in the house - but dismissed the thought almost as rapidly. He'd managed to avoid Lily so far successfully, and had no wish to have to see her now, in this state, and he thought James, as civil as he might have been since the night Moony went rampant, would as soon kick him out into the street if he brought a live Mark into the house with his wife and child.
Moony, then. Biting his lip hard against the pain, he ducked out of the house and went rat almost as soon as he'd crossed the threshold.
The relief was immense. The pain was still there, but it was dulled by his rat brain and the lack of any physical Mark on his rat limbs. Unfortunately it only took minutes to run from his house to where Remus lived. He realised belatedly as he assumed his own form again with reluctance, that he wasn't even sure who else might be there. He hesitated. Then he lifted his hand to knock. Before he could do so, however, his arm gave another sharp stab of pain followed by the now familiar burning sensation. He hissed, clutching at his forearm uselessly, and fell back, panting against the door.
The call was so strong. He felt it now as though it hadn't been several months since the last time. Whimpering, he doubled over, trying to think above the burning pain and the summoning which seemed to get stronger with every minute.
He tried to raise his hand again, but - what's the point? said the nasty voice in his head, the one that sounded so much like his mother's voice, stern, and critical. If they even believe you, they won't listen, and they'll know soon enough anyway. It'll just remind them what you did, how much you're not to be trusted. Probably they'll lock you up. Or worse.
It was the pain that decided him in the end. He had never been much good with pain. He stumbled back away from the door and went rat again, finally able to breathe, to think a little clearer. He would go, just to see. No need to show himself yet, if he didn't want to. He was very good at hiding.
The grass rustled slightly as the tiny shape retreated from the house, and disappeared once more.