A Different Kind of Bravery

A Different Kind of Bravery

~by yahoos~

The haunting thud of footsteps broke the deathly silence of Azkaban. It was night, and the occupants of the High Security Ward were either asleep or silent in their awareness - most of them didn't care to speak anymore at all, even though there weren't any Dementors near; they didn't seem to need the cold presence of these creatures to be haunted by their memories. Peter Pettigrew certainly didn't - he was awake, but silent, sitting with his back to the cold stonewall of his cell. Moonlight penetrated the darkness through the small, square window above him, and he watched as the shadows of the two people approaching rippled across the opposite cells and wall. Then the footsteps stopped. Two figures leered into view.

'Peter Pettigrew?' This voice was slow and deep. It disguised nothing - there was nothing to disguise. The man - Kingsley - spoke calmly, politely.

Peter felt himself nodding though he was sure they wouldn't be able to see this. 'Yes,' he said. His voice was still remarkable clear.

'This is Anthony Goldstein. He's a reporter for The Daily Prophet. He's come to speak to you.'

Peter said nothing. A reporter, to see him. He voiced his concerns. 'Are you sure you're looking for me?'

'Yes,' said another voice. Anthony Goldstein rustled beside Kingsley's tall, thickset form. 'Peter Pettigrew. The one who betrayed friends, family, for his master.'

Again, Peter said nothing. It was known now, of course, that Sirius Black hadn't killed him and a band of other people; everyone knew the tale very well now, and Sirius's name was cleared. But what, Peter mused, did it help him? He was dead. His own cousin killed him. And here he was, finally paying the debt that became his since the day he turned.

'Call me if you need me,' Kingsley said to the reporter, then turned and left. His boots thudded away, leaving Goldstein standing in front of the cell, moonlight touching him. From what Peter could see, he was relatively handsome - though his features were slightly pointed. He extracted a wand and conjured a chair. He sat down, and stowed the wand in his pocket. Peter watched his movements with polite interest.

'Do you mind, giving an interview?' he asked.

Peter considered this. Did he mind? Certainly he did, but did he have much of a choice? He could refuse but, most likely, the reporter would keep badgering him until he answered something. The reporter must have noticed his hesitance, because he added quickly: 'To clear your side of the story.'

'How?' Peter asked, to buy himself some time.

'I want to approach the story from an objective view. I want you to tell me why you did what you did, and the reasoning behind it - I want to make people see into your side of the story. To better understand the circumstances.' Goldstein's voice was growing more excited as he spoke. His eyes glittered in the moonlight.

Peter rustled slightly but said nothing.

'I'll ask you some questions and I want you to answer. You don't have to rush, or anything. Just tell me the facts, as you see them.'

'Do you think the people care for my side?' Peter asked.

'They will,' Anthony said quickly. 'You can make them understand.'

Peter sighed. 'Very well then,' he said, 'what's the first question?'

~*~

Anthony rustled with his parchment and quill; Pettigrew was silent as he readied himself, and extracted a sheet of parchment. On it, he had scrawled tens of questions he wanted answered. He picked through them, trying to calm his heartbeat. He hadn't, after all, expected Pettigrew to agree to the interview.

'I suppose,' he began, talking slowly, weighing his words, 'the logical question would be - why did you do it? Why did you turn?'

There was a pause.

'He was taking over everywhere,' Peter said. His voice was flat. 'I was afraid. I'm not a powerful man, and - I knew I couldn't stand against him. I wasn't - I wasn't like them. Like James and Sirius and Remus - they all decided to stand against him. At first, I wanted to stand against him too. But then I realized that we could never win. The Death Eaters were picking off people by the hundreds all over the world. I didn't want to die.'

The scratching of the quill broke the silence.

'It wasn't easy to join,' Peter said suddenly, after a few moments of silence. 'You don't - you don't just walk up to the Dark Lord and ask to join him. He doesn't take what he can't use. I knew I wasn't powerful enough, or strong enough, or rich enough. I'm not even a pureblood. So - so I had to think of something. Something I could give him. And I knew I could give him only one thing: information. The Potters, and Sirius and Remus - they were big forces against him then. Especially James and Lily.'

'So you decided to give him the Potters?'

'Not at first, no. I fed him information. I thought it was enough and that - that I could keep doing it but he - he wasn't satisfied with that after a while. He wanted more. At that stage, the Potter's were about to go into hiding. He wanted to know where they were.' Pettigrew spoke in a rush of words, as though he had waited years to say it all. His voice was quickly becoming squeaky with excitement.

'And you told him, after they made you Secret Keeper?'

'Yes,' he said, breathlessly. 'I told him I could give him the Potters.' There was a short pause, then - 'I hadn't expected them to make me Secret Keeper. You see they knew someone had turned, but they thought it was Remus. I expected them to make Sirius Secret Keeper and at first, they wanted to - but then they changed their plans. Only the Potters, Sirius, Dumbledore and I knew about it. We left Remus out because they thought he was the betrayer. The mistake cost them dearly.

'It was their own fault, really,' he continued, his tone darker, 'their own assumptions landed them in trouble. They never stopped to think that I could be the betrayer. No, it had to be either Remus or Sirius and James trusted Sirius with everything, so naturally it was Remus. He never stopped to think that it could be me, nor did the others. I was the stupid fat boy they had to put up with, not someone to be remotely worried about.'

He paused again, then plunged on, talking quickly.

'I sold him the Potters. I was to be rewarded beyond all his other Death Eaters. For the first time in my life I felt like I belonged. You have no idea what it was like, at Hogwarts...they bested me at everything, and they were so arrogant about it. Only Remus ever had the slightest respect for me. Of course Sirius and James didn't think they ever did anything wrong. I think they thought they were doing me a favour, being friends with me. They never appreciated me.

'And so many times, I got them out of trouble, but did they ever think of that? No, of course not. They were so blown up with themselves. I saved them from expulsion numerous times. What did the teachers do, when they were in trouble? They came to talk to their friends. To Remus, and me, but mostly to me. The teachers thought I was too dim-witted to lie. They were wrong. I told them tall tales that turned down the punishment to a week's detention, at most.

'But they never thanked me. They thought it was their own smart that got them out of trouble. Only Remus had any idea of what I did for them. I'm sorry I had to betray him. He - he was the only one that ever showed the least bit consideration for me.' He broke off.

'You sacrificed a lot,' Anthony said slowly.

'You've no idea how much I sacrificed,' Pettigrew said. His voice was no louder than a whisper, and it was trembling slightly. 'No idea...not only did I give up the security I'd had for years, during Hogwarts and there after, I betrayed Remus, the only one that showed respect for me. But most of all, I betrayed my mother.'

'She thought you were dead...only your finger remained after the confrontation with Sirius.' Anthony Goldstein frowned, his acid green quill dancing on the parchment.

'You have no idea how it broke my heart,' Pettigrew said, after a longer pause. His voice was shaking and creaking now. 'To see her cry. After Sirius was arrested I - I went to her house. They'd just been there to tell her the news...she was sitting in her favourite chair before the window, clutching a box and...and sobbing. She was the only one that ever really cared for me, the only one who thought I was special. I love her so much...but - ' His voice broke off.

'Do you feel guilty about letting her believe you were dead and innocent?'

Pettigrew snorted softly. 'No,' he said, then he took a deep breath and continued: 'No, I've never felt guilty about that. I'd rather have her cry over my dead body, than have her cry over what I've done. She was unwavering in her loyalty to Dumbledore. I couldn't bear the thought of her finding out what I did. You can only hurt the ones that love you...and I'd rather have her grieve for me than hate me for my treachery.' He lapsed into silence.

'Did she ever learn the truth?' Goldstein asked after a few moments.

'No. She died thinking Sirius killed me, and all those other people. She died thinking I was brave, and for once in my life I'd lived up to Gryffindor. She died proud of me.'

'Do you feel guilty that Sirius took the fall for your actions? That he spent thirteen years here, for something he never did?'

'I suppose...yes, I did feel guilty about it, mostly because I knew what it would do to Sirius to be pent up in a cell. But it was either he or I and...I was in a very awkward position then, you must understand. I came clean and showed my true colours hours before my Lord was vanquished.'

'Which brings us to...Harry Potter.' Goldstein glanced down at his list of questions. Harry Potter was third on it.

'Yes, Harry Potter.' Pettigrew said this with a tinge of bitterness. 'I didn't know then that my Lord wanted Harry dead. I thought he only wanted Lily and James. I found out later about....the prophesy and all.' A short pause. 'He is a lot like James, but without that arrogance. He - he saved my life. When Sirius escaped from here, and went to Hogwarts to find me, and kill me. Harry stopped him from committing murder.'

'The murder he was imprisoned for in the first place?'

'Yes,' Pettigrew said, with the hint of amusement. 'Kind of...ironic.' There was another pause. 'But I didn't fool myself. I knew why Potter did it. Sirius was his godfather, and he was innocent which meant, I think, Harry could get away from those Muggles he was living with. He didn't want Sirius taken away. I can understand that. He thought, perhaps, that Sirius's name would be cleared when I was arrested. But I escaped, and so did Sirius. I had only one option left to me, now that I had been revealed.'

'To return to your master.'

'Yes.' Pettigrew said this with a shudder. 'I knew that if I returned to serve him, I might be spared...if I stayed, I would be thrown into Azkaban and whence he returned, I would be killed. I knew he would return. He'd done far too much to die. He's terrible in his greatness.'

'He's dead.'

'Do you really believe that?' Pettigrew asked. 'The Dark Lord, dead?'

'Harry Potter killed him. He fulfilled the prophesy.'

'Perhaps,' Peter said, waving it away with his hand.

'You don't believe he's dead?'

'Perhaps vanquished for another decade. I don't know. I find it inconceivable that a mere boy killed him. His body may be gone but I believe his soul lingers.'

'You helped him regain his body two years before the Second War started.'

'I did. I was rewarded with this.' Pettigrew held up the silver hand. It glittered in the moonlight. 'I knew, when he gave me this, that I had finally proven myself worthy. I was finally someone. I was loyal. He could depend on me.'

For the first time, his voice was clearer, and proud.

'And he did depend on you.'

'Yes,' Pettigrew said, breathlessly.

'And now?'

Another snort. Then, bitterly: 'Now I'm paying for everything I've done wrong.'

'Do you regret - ?'

'I wouldn't do it again,' he said shortly.

The thudding footsteps sounded up again and Kingsley appeared.

'You're time is up,' he said, in his slow voice.

'Yes,' said Goldstein. He hastily stowed away his parchment and quill, and straightened. He made the chair vanish with a quick flick of his wand. 'I'll send you a copy of The Prophet,' said Goldstein.

No response.

'Goodnight.' Goldstein and Kingsley disappeared down the dark corridor.

Peter sighed, then began to hymn. 'Is verraad nie ook dapperheid? Of is dapperheid net bravade?'

~*~The End~*~