Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Hand of Glory

Title: Hand of Glory
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Dorcas Meadowes/Peter Pettigrew (sort of...)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst, character death, abuse of corpse
Notes: Peter betrays the Marauders, but did anyone ever ask him why, or let him finish explaining?

Peter Pettigrew was not always the way the future would paint him. At one point he was a trusted member of the Marauders he would eventually betray—and the idea of that betrayal was as ludicrous and as distant as the stars he had studied in Astronomy, half-falling asleep over his parchment. Once, he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix and everyone treated him like the dopey little brother who trailed after his siblings. Well, almost everyone. Albus Dumbledore always trusted him, and then…there was Dorcas.

Dorcas Meadowes was everything Peter wasn’t, admired, graceful, beautiful, and surprising of all, a Slytherin. She was also the only other member of the Order that didn’t fit in with everyone else, mostly because she was also a Death Eater, a turncoat and a traitor away from them after the death of her sister. Marlene was her worst critic, and though no one knew, peter was her staunchest ally.

Dorcas never considered him a tagalong, and would always have a smile for him and would call him little things like ‘Peter, dear’ or ‘sweetheart’. He knew she never meant it like that, she was too perfect, but he liked to pretend. Somehow, Alice always seemed to know and would smile whenever he would sit next to the blonde.

Of course, Peter wasn’t the only one to notice Dorcas, especially when she was one of the few people who would stand up to Sirius and James when they started getting on Peter’s back. Sirius would grumble and call her a spoilsport, and no matter how many times it happened Peter was always shocked by the defence, and even more the fact that she had noticed him. Him, little homely old Peter Pettigrew. He did little things that never seemed enough, flowers on her birthday and keeping her company when the stress of the Order got to her.

Spying, however, was never a safe occupation, and he was always jealous by the way Sirius seemed to be able to express his worries, and how Dorcas would always laugh the concerns off, comforting himself that at least when she laughed it off, she was laughing at Padfoot and not him. One day, he had stopped by her flat to talk to her about the next meeting, and when he opened the door, his stomach fell to the floor, because hanging from the doorway into the kitchen was a roughened course rope, glowing red with magic, and in the noose was a very pale, very dead Dorcas. He shook for a moment, before he realised he was not alone.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” The Dark Lord’s voice was coldly soothing. “The traitorous little wench.” He was shaking between Yaxley and Regulus Black, whose hand tightened at the insult. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was just as terrifying as he had thought he would be, if not more. The Dark Lord smiled and gestured to Amycus, who severed the blonde’s hand with a quick charm. Peter looked away, but he was not the only one. “You can take her back to your beloved Order now.” He said, almost kindly. “And when you want her back, you will come to me.” He said easily. “I have magic you never dreamed of, and I can do it, and I can make her want you.”

Regulus practically threw him from the flat and Peter shook as he levitated the corpse, sickened by the sight of the Dark Mark glowing above the ground, turning his skin a ghastly colour, and making Dorcas look all the more blue, the bruises on her neck angry and the thought the Dark Lord had planted would not leave his mind.

Frank and Remus had had to spent an hour calming Alice and Sirius down, while James had been trying to comfort a pregnant and hormonal Lily. The sight frustrated Peter, because, as always, he was the odd one out, and no one asked how he was. Dorcas would have, but Dorcas was gone, dead, and no one asked. You-Know-Who had said he could bring her back, and the idea would not leave his mind, not even at the funeral, when Regulus showed up and the two Black brothers fought until Remus had pulled Sirius away, and Regulus left, after some poignant words, not saying a thing. All Peter could remember was the hold the slim man had had on him and the promise…

It was only a matter of time until Peter sought out Regulus Black, comforted and punished by his similarities to Sirius. He couldn’t help it, t was like an addiction, the idea that had grown in his mind, pushing him further than he thought it possible to go, the temptation was too much. When he saw him again, surrounded by figures with polished masks, there was no fear, only need. What he was required to do revolted him, but he obeyed, because the Hand had been turned into a Hand of Glory, rings intact, and it hung like both a trophy and a tease.

He betrayed, and he did it over and over again. There were times he doubted himself, punished himself, but the Dark Lord was so strong, he couldn’t resist. He could hear that cold voice in his mind, and could do nothing but watch and wonder as he created torments that were evil in the hope they caused and the way they tormented him.

The thing he should have learned, even after his arm was replaced with a thing of quicksilver fire, was that while the Dark Lord rewarded his servants, he would not give up what gave him power over them.


Apr. 27th, 2008 05:45 pm (UTC)
Oh, I'm sos so so glad you liked it! Considering it's all your fault. I didn't have a clear idea of Peter until I started writing this, and then....this just came out.

*snuggles you*

*points to seekrit Reg perspective sequel that has not been cross-posted anywhere yet.

Go, bunnies, attack her for giving me the bunny that spawned you!

And there's going to be another sequel