Tied Together

I hate to be dependent on another.

"Hurry, Wormtail. My body's weakening."

I hear his clumsy steps approaching from behind. He puffs a little as he comes closer, and if I could see him I'm sure that his face would be sweating. Milking Nagini is not one of his favourite tasks; he's positively afraid of the snake, although she wouldn't ever harm him without my specific command. But he doesn't need to know that. Fear is a powerful motivator, and I need to keep my servant motivated.

Now he bends down so that I can finally see his face over my cradle, where I'm lying like a helpless baby. To lie here, not able to move an inch on my own, not even be able to nourish myself without help, is maddening. And also very embarrassing. In my dark moments I sometimes find myself wishing of death, but then I remember my goal, and my plan, and I reassure myself that this is only a temporary state of things. Soon I'll get rid of this horrible cradle, which Wormtail found collecting dust in some forgotten part of this manor. Maybe it had been meant to be my cradle in the first place; bought for me before my Muggle father learnt the truth of my mother, and abandoned her together with her unborn child. What would my father say now, if he saw his son in his old house, distorted by a backfired curse, barely living? Am I even interested to know?

Wormtail avoids looking at me as he shoves the bottle in my lipless mouth. The energetic taste of precious snake venom fills my mouth, and I already feel a little better. I suck the bottle until the last drops have gone, and I sense a relief in my servant as he retreats with the empty bottle. I know he doesn't want to stay near me any longer than needed, but then he never goes so far that he couldn't hear my voice calling him back. It is as if there is an invisible string between us, a string not easily broken. I can feel it, and I know he can feel it, too.

Of all my followers, he is the one who never sought the power. He joined me only because I happened to need him. I was used to get what I wanted, and Wormtail was not an exception. So I broke his will to make him a useful tool for my purposes. I forced him to become my servant, and finally he stopped struggling against me, and accepted his destiny. It's ironic that he was the only one who willingly came back to me after all these long years. I have moulded him better than I have ever imagined to be possible.

He sweeps the last drops of snake venom from the corner of my mouth with a tissue almost in a caring way. There is no one else left in his world but me anymore. Even though he hates me wholeheartedly, he can't let me die, because then he would be all alone in the world. And he can't stand being alone. All those years when he was hiding from the wrath of my followers and his former friends, he stayed as a rat in a boy's pocket, where it was warm and safe, the steady heartbeat comforting him. Indeed, it was very much alike me possessing a snake body after another in a constant fear of annihilation. I can feel almost sympathetic for him.

"Help me up, Wormtail," I say when he has finished with the napkin. "I want to sit in my armchair."

I sense him hiding a shrug. He doesn't want to touch me. And I don't blame him. What a grotesque pair we make! My distorted, scaly little body, like a hideous baby, in the arms of a stooped balding wizard looking far more older than thirty-five. I had to ask Wormtail to remove the mirror from this room because of the horror I felt when I saw my reflection for the first time after my latest transformation.

But he wins his fear and disgust like he always does, and after a moment's hesitation he lifts my body from the cradle, holding me warily in his arms. The chair is waiting before the fireplace, as usual. The effect of snake venom doesn't last long. I'm already shivering with cold again. He puts me down almost gently, never looking at my reptilian eyes, ready to turn away. I don't want him to leave so soon, though.

"My wand. Give me my wand."

He squeaks as if trying to say something, but finding no words. But he does my bidding, and takes the wand from the shelf it has been lying, seemingly forgotten. He hands it to me so that I can grasp it, and now that I'm holding my wand, he truly fears me. He remembers another time, when I repaid his help with a Cruciatus curse. It was unfair, of course, but it had to be done. Otherwise he wouldn't possibly believe that I'm capable of such curses any more. But I am. My Dark magic has never really left me, even in my formless form I could always feel its presence.

My servant's fear is unnecessary. I have no reason to torture him today. He has already learned his lesson, and he's never going to underestimate me again.

I concentrate on the wand in my hand, the only object I still have in my possession from my earlier days of power. The fact that I still hold this wand is for me a sign of my upcoming victory. Ah, what luck I've had after all. And he was the one who brought me my wand. My faithful Wormtail.

He must have followed me to the Potters that night. What would he have done if he had arrived in time? Would he have tried to stop me after all, or would he have joined the killing? Asking him is futile. He would never admit me if he had meant to interfere. But still I can't but suspect that he had aimed to do just that.

Poor rat, he was too late, both for me and for the Potters. He found only a screaming baby, and my wand dropped onto the floor amid the smoke. He took my wand, and left the baby, which was an incredible stupid thing to do. But I'm happy that he came to think of the wand, which he hid into some rat hole, cleverly out of reach. There it lied all these years, before he finally fetched it. He knew that if he returned to me with a present like that, I would let him live. Rats are cleverer than you could possibly guess.

He is sitting comfortably on the floor, watching absent-mindedly the flames consuming the wood in the fireplace. The silence has filled the room. I can't guess what kind of thoughts he's thinking just now. I don't understand him. But I need him, I need him to perform a special task for me. He will be a part of ancient Dark magic to help me become powerful again. He doesn't know it yet, but his is the crucial part.

He is the only one who is brave enough to do it.

His bravery rises from his hopelessness. He will even cut his own hand if I asked him to. And that's just what I'm going to do. I must proceed carefully, though. I can dominate him only as long as he stays unaware of the bravery within himself. It takes a lot of courage to raise a dagger to sever your own flesh, a desperate sort of courage, the essence of my Dark spell. He must not realize that he could use the same courage to cut the ties between us, to free himself from my control. My succeeding depends on that.

I hate to be dependent on another.

But our ties can't be broken now, I couldn't survive without him. I'm a weak creature for now, a weakling like this broken man by my side, who was once named Peter Pettigrew. Still I am not sure which of us needs the other more.

He must have sensed my eyes studying him, for he suddenly turns around, slightly agitated. At the first time this evening our eyes meet. I can't read his expression. It's slightly disturbing, really. His pale blue eyes, usually filled with fear and cowardice, are now oddly tranquil. For a moment I want to raise my wand in front of him just to see the fear reappearing in those eyes where it belongs to. But he seems to have something to say, and for now, I let him speak.

"You seem tired, my Lord," he says, and frowns a little. "Let me put you back to your cradle now."