Wormtail's Choice

"Harry, when one wizard saves another wizard's life it creates a certain bond between them."

- Albus Dumbledore

"Kill him! Send the remains as a gift to Potter," hissed a cold, snakelike voice from the top of the stairwell.

Wormtail flinched at the command, but uttered a reflexive "Yes, my Master" in response.

The Animagus turned away from the open door and carried the torch into the darkness. Walking carelessly among the bones and rats that littered the dungeon cell, he approached the only other human in the room. Roped by the wrists to a wall hung a youth, squinting in the glare of the torchlight. The blood that seeped from his wrists and forehead formed a stark contrast to the brighter red of his hair.

Ron Weasley.

Captured by Death Eaters only two days before, it was assumed that the Dark Lord would use him as a bargaining chip to lure Harry Potter in. Peter Pettigrew, however, had surprisingly cautioned against that plan, and, most astonishingly of all, the Master heeded him. Now Pettigrew stood, with wand aimed at Weasley's defenseless breast, only six syllables away from the boy's death.

Ron stood upright, looking straight into the eyes of the Animagus who had once played the part of his own pet, feeling unafraid for perhaps the first time in his life.

"Go ahead," he heard himself say. "It doesn't matter. Harry's going to win anyway. Your crimes will catch up with you someday."

At this Pettigrew tried to laugh, but only a hoarse snort came out.

"Wrong on all counts, Merlin." His voice lacked even the strength for sarcasm. He continued without expression. "I happen to know that it does matter. If I go ahead, Harry won't win anyway, and my crimes have already caught up with me. As for you..."

At this Pettigrew lowered his wand, put it in a sleeve and pulled a short knife from a sheath. Ron flinched, expecting a bloodier death to come, then held his breath as he found that his captor was cutting the ropes that had so tightly bound his wrists.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, incredulously.

"Just shut up and go ahead of me. Don't make a sound. If you're lucky you'll get out of here alive."

"Why?" Ron whispered.

The meaning of his question was crystal clear to Peter, who replied, "I can't explain it all to you but you should understand as much as you can." He prodded Ron to another door at the end of the cell opposing the door through which Voldemort had spoken. After unlocking it, Peter prodded Ron down a hall leading to another staircase. As they descended he whispered, "When Harry spared my life, something happened to me. It was almost like a tiny voice on my shoulder, warning me from taking any action that could harm him. It's been there ever since."

"Bullcrap!" Ron swore, almost forgetting to whisper. "The graveyard..."

"I know, I know," Peter cut him off, "but I can tell you that I knew that Harry would not die that evening. That voice again. And the same voice has been telling me for the past 48 hours that if you die here, so will Harry."

"And you expect me to believe that you care?" Ron's ready sarcasm was coming to the surface again.

"I don't know if I care or not!" Peter whispered with a fierceness that betrayed the conflicting emotions he was obviously trying to hide. "I don't expect you to believe anything," --his voice neutral again-- "but I'll ask you to try to believe this: I never hated Harry, I never hated James or Lily." The words were strictly true; there was no need for Ron to know about the jealousy he had always felt toward his popular friends. "But I was terrified of him. I told Sirius the truth. I was too afraid to disobey. As for caring, you can be the judge of that. Without the Voice, I don't think I'd have the guts to give my life for yours and Harry's but I know I'm doing the right thing now and I hope that'll count for something. Besides," he added wryly, "spending the rest of my life as his mascot isn't exactly something to look forward to."

They walked on in silence through a dark tunnel. Ron remained speechless because he did in fact believe Peter. They soon approached a door to the outside, the soft glow of starlight filtering in through a tiny window in the door.

"We must be quieter outside, there may be Death Eaters on the watch." It was clear the Peter was short of breath. "We will follow a path in the woods. Remember RIGHT-LEFT-RIGHT-RIGHT. That is how to handle the forks in the trail. Do this and in three miles you will reach a town of Muggles. You'll be able to safely Disapparate from there to wherever you want to go." He fumbled with the keys, finally fitting them into the lock and they were outside.

They walked in silence for about ten minutes. The November air was cold, but not frosty. Even so, as they walked along, Peter began to shiver, despite his warmer clothing. He stumbled several times and finally had to stop and rest.

"Ron," he whispered, more faintly than ever, "I'm going to change into Scabbers; I'll give you away if I keep stumbling like this. Here, take my wand."

"Are you going to escape with me?" Ron asked. Hope and doubt struggled within him. The hope came from a desire to see Peter turn back to the good side; the doubt arose from a fear that this was all a trick. Maybe Ron was supposed to lead Peter to Harry so he could kill him.

Peter shook his head, shivering violently now. "There is no escape for me now. He made me take the Unbreakable Vow to obey his every command," he whispered, leaning against a tree for support. "He just commanded me to kill you. I didn't. Do you know what happens to a wizard who breaks that Vow?"

Ron nodded, unable to believe what he was now feeling for this man, this...rat that he had hated for the past three and a half years.

"I suppose you'll be glad, in ten minutes Peter Pettigrew will be dead. Ron Weasley," he whispered almost inaudibly, leaning closer, "Scabbers will also be dead. You were very kind to Scabbers, you know." He was trembling uncontrollably now. "A stronger man would not ask this of you...but I've never pretended to be strong. I remem...Scabbers...remembers how you used to carry him... within your shirt on cold nights...If you...if you could..."

Ron stared for a moment at this...person. He fought down an impulse to tell Peter to grow up. A voice spoke up in his memory, "When one wizard saves another wizard's life it creates a certain bond between them." Harry had said that once. Whatever else he had done, Peter was now saving Ron's...and Harry's...life at the price of his own. Grief and compassion etched in every line of his face, he slowly nodded, unable to refuse this dying wish.

Peter blinked and smiled weakly. "Then hurry..." he whispered.

Peter fell, unable to stand, but it was Scabbers that hit the ground. Ron scooped his old pet up from the ground and gently helped him crawl within the folds of his shirt. He walked more quickly now, aware that danger still lay behind him.

Against his belly he felt a onetime friend cling, his familiar breath tickling his skin with unfamiliar slowness, until soon there was only fur and stillness, and the taste of salt was Ron's only companion for the rest of the journey...