My Decision

"Speak!" the voice was impatient, and demanding. The demand was coupled with an icy hand that drew along the back of my neck, hinting at the deadly nails.

Violently, the hand caught my hair and pulled at it. My head jerked back, and the small bones in my neck cracking unpleasantly. The extraordinarily long nails raked across my skull, pulling at my already receding hairs.

"Where are the Potters?!" he hissed, his voice barely audible. "I know you are weak and if you tell me now . . . we can save you pain and me time!"

I bit my lower lip as hard as I could, fighting my weakening will. The blood leaked slowly and I could taste it throughout my mouth. Pain shot through my body and I opened my mouth to confess and free myself from this pain, but then I saw a reflection on the floor. James playing with the snitch in our fifth year, it felt like so long ago . . . I bit down upon a new spot and denied myself the freedom, if only for now.

"NOW!" he roared, frustrated at what he thought was my confession. "I know you know, so tell me now!"

I closed my eyes to the pain and rolled my head back; I could save them. I could be a hero. And Lily, James, and little Harry could live. Sirius and Remus would be safe.

'But then you would die . . . Wormtail would be no more . . . ' my mind nagged at me. Self-sacrifice or the allowance of murder to others? A hero's choice was clear, but was I a hero?

When people would think back to this time, did I want to be in the books? Would I want people everywhere to know the name of Peter 'Wormtail' Pettigrew, the Man Who Saved Everything? Or should I sink into the background of the fabrication and allow others to take the spotlight? What is Me?

Hissing into my ear, the words were so comforting. He spoke of freedom, rewards, and temptations. He offered me money, fame, a chance to be remembered as someone great. But were they enough? Were material items enough for a weedy man like I to betray the only friends I ever had? Friends who had abided by my side since I was eleven. Friends who stuck up for me in a fight, even if they insulted me themselves. Friends who always knew how to laugh.

And I would be the one who would stop their laughs. I would be the one who made them cry, the one who made them die.

As the nail dung further and further into my arms, I tried to put James in my place. Remus, Sirius, Lily. I know what they would do and I knew it was what I had to do, too.

I opened my mouth. "Never," I croaked, but I knew no one understood it.

Not one person in the room had just heard my defiance. My one true moment of strength. And my momentary strong will began to fall immediately as the reptilian face turned to face me.

His eyes burned with hatred and hunger.

My mouth flopped pointlessly, my eyes opened wide.

Lily and James and Harry are more important than I.

But I don't want to die.

I could be a Hero!

He'll kill you!

Harry is only a baby, he needs a chance to live. And live with his parents. Say no, Wormtail, say no!

"Do you know what we do," he hissed in front of my face, "to people who refuse?"

His hands fastened themselves around my neck before I could do anything. I sputtered, completely surprised. The long fingernails scratched at my neck painfully.

"Stop," I tried to choke out to him, but the word caught in my throat.

One last chance, Wormtail. Make your decision. Make it fast.

James, Lily, Harry . . . death . . . Sirius, Remus . . . breath . . . love, live . . . death . . . others, me . . .

And I knew what I had to do. All the others at stake . . . and then me. Worthless Wormtail. Pointless Wormtail.

I had to sacrifice myself.

"Well . . . ?" the voice drawled into my ear, a low hiss. "What is your decision? Tell me and live. Don't . . . and I will kill you."

I wouldn't tell. I won't.

"Tell me!"

He tightened the fingers and the colors began to change their hues. Everything began fading into gray, and then black.

Almost free, Wormtail, almost there.

As everything began to turn black, I freed me from everything. And I sighed in relief as his fingers loosened themselves from my throat.

And then I turned to Voldemort, to say goodbye with a sneer.

A wand was facing me, and I saw his upper lip curl disgustingly.

"No . . . don't . . ." I said, struggling in my last moments of life. "Don't."

"Tell me, Wormtail," he said, his voice sugary sweet and convincing.

"No . . . I can't . . ."

"Come on, Peter Pettigrew . . . be remembered. Be a powerful person."

I lost the strength and collapsed to the cold floor, my cheek becoming ice cold on contact.

I don't want to die. Not here. Not now.

I breathed into the floor, mustering my voice.

"Godric's . . . Hollow."