In the Dark Lord's Service

In the Dark Lord's Service

"Who's the more foolish? The fool, or the fool who follows him?"

- Ben "Obi-Wan" Kenobi, Star Wars: A New Hope

"Chapter One: Preying upon the Potters"

October 30, 1981

"Let him in, Pyrites."

Before responding to his master's request, Antonio Pyrites addressed him with the concerns that had been preying upon his unusually keen mind. "I must warn you, my Lord, this Wormtail is a coward. He is ruled by fear and weakness. If he comes to you willingly, he does so only out of desperation, and not true loyalty."

"I am aware of this, Pyrites," replied the Dark Lord. "However, most of my subjects are ruled by fear, and to be completely honest, that is the way I prefer it. 'It is better to be feared than loved'-Niccolo Machiavelli, a muggle philosopher I read while living in that dratted orphanage. He was one of the few wise muggles who ever existed. You see, love is what motivates Dumbledore and his forces. It's what makes him weak, unable to sacrifice the lives of some for the benefit of a greater goal, unable to believe that those he trusts could betray him, could be weak, petty and even cowardly. Love, Pyrites, is what will destroy Albus Dumbledore in the end, and fear will ensure me the final victory."

Pyrites nodded and bowed. It was his usual polite response to the Dark Lord's regurgitated speeches about his eventual victory. Pyrites was a minion: he was built to follow orders, bite his tongue and bow respectfully. He was resigned to his fate and the fact that he would have to allow the lump of a man waiting outside the room in to their private chamber. "Very well, m'lord. I shall show the sniveling, traitorous, fat rat in."

"Now, now, Pyrites, be nice. We can't all be as bright and beautiful as you," his master said mockingly as a Cheshire cat smile crept across his scaly, snake-like face.

Some were satisfied with the power, others fed off the sadistic thrill of torturing those weaker than themselves, but the thing Pyrites liked most about serving Lord Voldemort was the guarantee that he would always look better than the gruesomely deformed Dark Lord standing next to him. Looking good was not a problem for Pyrites. He was blessed with tragically gorgeous bone structure, had glowing, golden curls and dressed his Adonis-like frame in only the best clothes available. Still, he enjoyed the insurance his role as servant, advisor, jester and messenger to the Dark Lord afforded him. For Pyrites, insurance was the name of the game. While others made their choices based on instinct, morals or riches, Pyrites only did something if he was absolutely certain it could not go wrong. And if there was a chance it could go wrong? Then, he was sure to have at least three back-up plans. It was this philosophy that had long ensured his survival in a rocky world of magic and betrayal, and it was this philosophy that made him an invaluable asset to the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort's right hand man. Pyrites was not hampered by pure-blood mania or fear, but guided by logic, cunning and strategy. In this way, among many others, he was completely different from the trembling man he now led into Lord Voldemort's den.

Peter Pettigrew walked into fire lit room with a tremble in his step and guilt in his eyes. He held his knotted hands before him like a chipmunk and Pyrites looked at him with the utmost disdain. This was a man who had turned traitor, and not because he felt himself strong enough to challenge an ideology, but because he chose to cower before any sort of power that crossed his path.

Voldemort bellowed, "Wormtail, Wormtail..." The man flinched in recognition of the nick name given to him by the friends he had chosen to betray. "What brings you before me on this cold autumn night? It is usually I who must seek you out...to remind you of who it is you truly serve."

Actually, Pyrites thought, it's usually me who is sent on those odious errands, while his worship sits in the comfort of his lair. It was funny how the Dark Lord liked to suddenly take credit for so many of Pyrites' accomplishments when trying to intimidate visitors.

Wormtail finally replied, "I have a gift for you, my Lord. A most wonderful gift." From the quiver and self-disgust lingering in Wormtail's voice, Pyrites could not imagine that this "gift" was really so wonderful. Lord Voldemort was not so skeptical of what Wormtail had to offer, and motioned for him to continue.

Suddenly, an odd, maniacal grin appeared on Wormtail's face. "I know where they are hiding, my Lord. I know where they are! I know where they are!" His laughter bounced like a ricocheting bullet off the walls and filled the room with an ambiance of madness.

Voldemort leaned in and asked, "Who? Who are you talking about Wormtail?"

"Why...the Potters, My Lord, the Potters!"

Lord Voldemort's eyes sparkled with victory. "You know where the Potters are hiding?"

Wormtail nodded. "Yes, my Lord. I have been entrusted as their Secret Keeper, and I alone possess the ability to divulge where it is they hide."

"Well, get to it!" Pyrites snapped. He hated beating around the bush. Most Death Eaters would never make an outburst like that in front of the Dark Lord, but the two had a level of respect and understanding that afforded Pyrites privileges no one else dreamed of.

Wormtail looked around nervously, as if making sure that no one was watching, and then said, "G-g-god-godric's Hollow."

"Godric's Hollow?"

"Yes, Godric's Hollow. Number 13, Godric's Circle. That is where the Potters are hiding."

Voldemort leaned back into his chair. "Very well, Wormtail, you may be spared after all."

"Oh, thank you, my Lord, thank you. You are merciful, indeed." The idiot was now bowing in homage to Voldemort.

"Will they be at home tomorrow?" Lord Voldemort asked.

Wormtail replied, "Oh yes...yes. They are in hiding and fear the thought of leaving their home. They know that if they do, you will surely destroy them."

"What they don't know," Voldemort said in response, "is that I will destroy them even if they do stay at home." He began to laugh that annoying and high-pitched cackle that meant he had accomplished something truly evil. Pyrites thought it was a bit much and made him sound like a low-grade alien villain in a muggle space drama.

Pyrites cut to the chase. "So when shall we attack the child? Tomorrow, I suppose?"

"As soon as possible," said Lord Voldemort, keeping his plans ambiguous. "Wormtail, what is the likelihood that your betrayal could be discovered?"

"The Potters know there is a spy in their midst. It is why Dumbledore suggested they use the Fidelius Charm to hide their location. He himself wanted to be Secret Keeper, but James insisted against it."

Pyrites asked, "Potter really trusted you with the lives of his wife and son? Over Dumbledore?"

"That's the best part, master," Wormtail continued, answering to Voldemort, and Voldemort alone. "James didn't trust me with the information. He intended Sirius Black to be the Secret Keeper and told Dumbledore so. However, Black thought that you would find such a choice obvious and strategically suggested that I become the Secret Keeper instead. So, James, listening to the advice of his most trusted friend and confidante..."

Voldemort finished for him. "Delivered himself right into the hands of one of my servants...how splendid."

"Extremely lucky, I say," replied Pyrites.

"Yes, the fates are on our side."

Pyrites corrected his master. "What I meant was it gives us a back-up if anything should go wrong."

"What could go wrong?" Voldemort asked angrily.

"I didn't say anything would go wrong, but nothing's impossible, my Lord. It's just that we're lucky to have such marvelous insurance. If something goes awry, then it will be Sirius Black who's blamed, and not Wormtail. His cover will not be blown and Dumbledore will lose faith in one of his most powerful supporters."

Though Lord Voldemort was appeased by Pyrites strong sense of logic, Wormtail appeared petrified. Pyrites almost pitied the lump of a man: he had gotten himself into way more than he bargained for, or was even capable of dealing with. Voldemort excused him and the fat man scuttled off the way he came in.

Now that they were alone, Voldemort spoke in confidence to his servant, "Very well. Pyrites, we shall move tomorrow night. You and I will go to the Potters' house and kill the child. My victory will be assured."

"What about the Longbottom boy?" asked Pyrites. There had been a prophecy made over a year before that spoke of a child who would have the capacity to defeat Lord Voldemort. After studying the prophecy, Voldemort had surmised it applied to one of two small boys: Harry Potter or Neville Longbottom.

"The Lestranges are taking care of him. I understand they are quite adamant about handling that situation." Lord Voldemort continued, "Besides, I have appraised the threat that each boy poses, and the Potter boy is more dangerous."

Pyrites grinned wickedly. "The half-blood?"

Voldemort said nothing in reply, but Pyrites knew what he was thinking. For all his pure-blood furor, Lord Voldemort was half-muggle himself. It was a secret few in his ranks were privy to; Pyrites was aware how sensitive his Lord was to his bad pedigree. His insecurity had propelled him to accomplish much more than he might have had he been born a privileged pureblood. It was obvious that Voldemort expected a similar drive for success and power to be latent in the infant Potter.

Pyrites sighed. "Very well, master. I shall prepare for our...excursion tomorrow night. I guarantee you, it will be a Halloween to remember."