1995-02-17: Friend in Need

Participants:

Septima_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Scene Title Friend in Need
Synopsis After running away from the Hogsmeade battle, Peter finds his way to Septima.
Location Falton Manor
Date Feb 17, 1995
Watch For Nothing particular.
Logger Holly

The Falton estate is a large place. Not quite as large as the Malfoy estate, perhaps, but still a fair sized with a path leading up to the mansion with gardens on either side that wrap around the home to the back. There's no peacock, but occasionally in all the plants one might catch a glimpse of some exotic creature or another. Once a person arrives at the door frame of the two level mansion, they'll find a two-door wide frame with the appropriate, you guessed it, two doors. The knocker comes in the shape of a snake.

—-

The garden is a hazardous place for a rat, but the rodent - a black thing with dark red eyes - approaches the home with a single purpose. He moves slower than normal, though it's hard to see the pain on a rat's face.

When he nears, he changes back into a man, and literally falls into the door, leaning against it before sliding down to the ground. Oh god, he hurts. As if that wasn't enough to announce his precense, he reaches up, feet slipping and sliding under him, until he's able to grab hold of the door knocker. He hits it against the door once, before his weight tears it clear off.

Peter hopes someone heard. He curls up just in front of the door, with the door knocker still in his fingers, and whimpers. His clothes are covered with blood.

—-

Luckily, the doorknob is enchanted so that the family house elf, Trinket, will hear the knocker even if it's knocked once. In no time flat, Trinket is at the door, opening it slowly. She lets out a little gasp as she sees the man slumped and curled up, covered in blood, right near the door. She scurries off to grab either her master or her mistress…and it happens to be her mistress that she finds first. Septima rushes to the front entrance as fast as her high-heeled shoes can take her in her eloquent dress. When she sees the man there, she takes a sharp breath in, and not just because it's a man covered in blood at her door. But he's familiar…a man she thought dead. She snaps her gaze to her house elf. "Trinket. Get some tea ready and leave it with cream and sugar in my study. And do not tell your master of this in any way, shape or form." And with that, the house elf scurries off. With that, Septima kneels down beside Peter. "Let me help you up." Help him to her study first, then ask questions.

—-

Oh, oh good, someone's home. Peter turns over as the door opens, though all he sees is a House Elf. Well, when she runs off, he starts to crawl his way inside. He only makes it a little ways before Septima appears, though. "I— I think I'm— I think I'm dying…" he says, throwing his arm around her shoulder in order to allow better leverage. Most of his weight is on the woman, too, because now both of his legs are utterly useless. "It— It was terrible… There we were in Hogsmeade… They had Potter… Why couldn't they just do things quietly!?" There doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason to the things he's saying. "If— If they'd just… But they had to make a scene— " His voice rises to a squeak. "And now they've lost Potter, and our Lord - he'll kill us all!"

—-

Septima lets out a little grunt as most of the weight of this man is put on her as she drags him down a long hall before turning into a study with a desk at one end, and a fireplace in the middle with two chairs and a table between them in front of the fireplace. There are portraits of a man and a woman on either side of the fireplace, where a fire is currently going. There is a tea set placed on the table. She seats Peter down. "For what it's worth, Pettigrew, I thought you were already dead!" What does she know? "What do you mean 'they' had Potter? Who had Potter? Isn't he under Dumbledore's watchful eye?" She starts to check out his wounds.

—-

Septima will find that the slash-like wounds have been mostly closed by magic. They're hours old now, but they look pretty clean, and there's certainly no reason for Peter to be carrying on like he is. In fact, they're not even that deep.

He doesn't seem inclined to answer the question of why he's not dead, instead stating, "Well, obviously, I'm alive!" Voldemort's most loyal! The one responsible for giving him the Potters! "Is it bad? Can you fix it?!" he says of his legs, trying to see the damage done to them. Septima might note that one of Peter's fingers is missing, if she was ever inclined to keep up with the story - that the only thing left of Peter was one finger. His hands grip the chair he's been set into, white-knuckled. "Lestrange. Greyback. I don't… Don't know all the details."

—-

Septima continues listening as she checks the wounds. She pats Peter on the legs. "You'll be fine. The wounds aren't deep, I don't imagine. I may have a potion laying around to help heal them a little bit more, and to give you some strength back." She sighs at mention of Greyback and Lestrange. "Which Lestrange? Bellatrix or Rudolfus? Ah…but let me guess? Bellatrix? She does seem the kind to make a scene. As is Greyback. Though of course, if he had his way, they'd all be werewolves by now." That last part is said with slight disgust. "Of course, if you are worried of the Dark Lord's wrath, am I to assume correctly that you all let Potter escape into the hands of his would be saviours?"

—-

"Oh— Oh, that's good…" He'll be okay. Well, that settles him down considerably. With a sigh, he leans back in the chair, hand shakily going to his balding head. It rests against his temple, and for a moment, he almost looks like he might fall asleep. "Bellatrix. The one with the laugh." The one that turns blood cold and makes Peter want to run home and hide under his bed.

The accusation causes Peter to sit up again, eyes wild. "No! No, no, no! No… No, I wasn't even told! I arrived— To— To help, at… Great cost to my well-being! But by then, it was too late! We were outnumbered. Surely if I hadn't been there, the— The casualties would have been so much worse." Not that he'd know. He ran away when things got a little too hot. "And Sirius Black was there, and he was angry!"

—-

Yes…the one with the laugh. Quite. "Of course you would have wanted to help out of the generosity of your own heart. But whether by choice or not, I do suppose Potter is in the hands of Dumbledore now? That since you were outnumbered there was no choice? Certainly the Dark Lord will be angry. But he is not without his mercies. I am just thankful that it is not I that his wrath shall be upon." She takes the seat across from Peter and motions for him to serve himself his own tea. "Ah yes, Sirius Black. I can't imagine he'd be happy to see you."

—-

"Sh--should I go back?" He doesn't want to see that horrid, shriveled figure of Voldemort again. His voice is quiet, hands balled up into fists as he cowers back, shielding his face. It's evident that he doesn't want to go back, but the Dark Lord will be much less angry if he faces up to his — Bellatrix and Greyback's, rather — failures. "N— no, I don't imagine he would be," Peter says, jerkily reaching for the tea, which he manages to get into a cup, despite the vast majority ending up on the table and in the saucer. "B—but I'm pretty sure he didn't see me. He was obsessed with — w-with getting the Potter kid."

—-

Septima retrieves her wand and flicks it once, clearing away all the spilt tea before pouring her own. "Well…it shan't do you any good to scurry about like a little dirty rat, hiding from the Dark Lord. He shall be able to find you eventually. Remember what happened to Regulus Black?" She asks, though she dare not think he need reminding. "If mistakes that have been made are not told to our Dark Lord…well, you'll have more than just one finger missing." She says, eyeing the man across from her. "Why did you decide upon my home as opposed to the others, like Malfoy? Are you afraid of him, perhaps?"

—-

"I… Was out of the loop for awhile…" he admits, and his mind isn't exactly as sharp as a tack. Retaining information on which Death Eaters have died isn't really easy for him. As soon as he hears that someone is dead, his mind automatically wonders if he'll be next, and he pretty much shuts everything out after that. He whimpers when Septima brings up the fact that mistakes need to be told. Dammit all, she's right, and he'll need to go face that eventually. He will need to face it because he is brave, just like the Gryffindor that he is and always will be! "B—because I remembered where yours was?" he hazards, teacup and hands hiding most of his face. He peers over them, watery eyes focused on Septima. Plus, yeah, she wasn't as likely to, you know, murder him.

—-

Septima takes a long sip of tea as she considers everything. "So, you know the location of the Dark Lord, do you?" She finally asks. It's not something that has been exactly clear, not to her anyway. The Dark Mark has been getting more and more dark and pronounced. "I would like to go with you to see him. Pay my homage to him and his soon to be return to power."

—-

Does he? Does he!? Of course he does! He's Voldemort's most loyal! All he can do is nod, though, wide-eyed as he sips at his tea. He doesn't know if company would be particularly appreciated, but the more Death Eaters there are, the better. Or that's what Peter thinks, anyway. "I… I'll take you to him myself…" Peter says, though he's not entirely sure he can make good on that promise. "I'll need to tell him that you'd like to see him first, of course…"

—-

Septima smiles at Peter, though it looks more like one of Bellatrix's menacing smiles more than anything. "My dear, sneaky sneaky Peter, that would be most appreciated. I have waited ever so long to see the Dark Lord once more. It has pained me, the life I am forced to live while I pretend to be something that I am not. I am glad that you have lived and have been able to make your way to him once more, so that we might all be reunited some day soon."

—-

Oh god, are all the women in this world insane!? "Dha-ha— " he comments nervously, as he continues to cringe in the chair, broken fingernails scratching against the pattern in his teacup. "Y— You don't have it too bad. This looks like— Like a nice h-h-h-house…" Peter says, looking around. He would have loved to have this life. Instead, he spent a good portion of it as a rat, on the run. And while the Weasleys were a good family, he was still a rat and living in poverty. Not becoming of a Death Eater at all.

—-

Septima smiles sweetly. "Why so nervous? I hope I am not doing that! Please don't think poorly of me." She places her cup down. "Oh yes, I've got a lovely place to live. Regardless, I would very much like to be able to see the Dark Lord. How else might I be of service to you? Would you like that potion to east the pain from your legs? Do you require a place to stay?"

—-

It's because Peter is a nervous person, essentially, and no amount of care is going to change that. Hell, if you double crossed all the people who trusted you, which resulted in the deaths of two of them, and you work for a mass-murderer and genius of the Dark Arts, you'd be nervous all the time, too! Except many people have handled it in the past.

Honestly, if Peter were never a friend of James and Lily, he never would have been a target for Voldemort. He would have gone on living his life - a normal life - and maybe would have come into his own. Things just didn't work out that way, though.

"I'd l-love something for the pain," he says hopefully, even smiling a little. "And… And a place to stay? Here?"

—-

Though she does work for the same mass-murderer and genius in the Dark Arts, she hasn't quite had a chance to betray quite that many people who trusted her. Septima has just gone about everything as it were normal. She isn't nervous about following Voldemort. But that's neither here nor there. At present, she calls for Trinket, her house-elf, and orders her to bring the potion. As they wait, she gazes at Peter. "Why of course! I can't have an old…chum, just living anywhere, can I?"

—-

Despite not being the smartest person ever, Peter's no Hufflepuff. He's not entlessly trusting and loyal, and he's seen things that would just scare a Hufflepuff into silence forever. At first, he does smile. Oh, she's being so nice! But then he remembers. Slytherin. "Y--You want something. You want— Besides the audience with the Dark Lord, I mean. You want something from me. What is it?"

—-

Septima shakes her head, golden blond locks of hair bouncing from side to side. "No, what could I want from you, Pettigrew?" She enquires, just as Trinket brings in the potion and leaves it on the table in front of Peter, leaving quickly. And…resume. "What could you possibly offer me that I would want from you, my dear?"

—-

"I… Don't know?" he says, more a question than a statement. He reaches for the potion, but his fingers pause in the air before he grabs it. James, Sirius, and Remus taught him to be suspicious, to question the motives of those around him. No one offers something for nothing, and Peter's been used so much - in his opinion - that it's all anyone wants him for anymore. A tool, a toy, something to be thrown away when he's no longer needed. "I… I can find somewhere else to stay."

—-

Septima smiles widely. "Then it is settled. You shall stay here." There's no motive! Honest! "We shall tell my husband and son, who is not quite Hogwarts age, that you are an old friend of mine that I have not seen in a couple years…that you've had some hard luck and need help getting back on your feet. They'll see it as my charity just kicking in like it has in the past decade."

—-

"But I— Okay," he says meekly. And, just like he always did in the past with the other Marauders, simply rolls over and does as he's told. He hates himself for it, and winces when he realises that he won't decline the offer. A place to stay? Clean clothes? A warm bed that isn't a damp and muddy hole in the ground somewhere? He finds himself missing Perpetua. At least she took care of him. But it all got to be too much…! His hands close around the potion, and in one swift movement, much like a pack rat, he sets the teacup in the saucer, and raises the potion to his lips. It's gone quickly.

—-

Septima bows her head. "There we have it then. I shall make sure the guest room is ready for you and we shall need to dispose of your current clothes, get you new ones, and get you well cleaned up and respectable looking." She says, considering the man.

—-

And the pain drains away as the wounds are healed further. Respectable-looking. Maybe he can go out in public again, even. Very few people know him! Oh, to wear proper robes. Maybe specially tailored just for him! This is sounding better and better. Hey, charity isn't so bad. He'll just have to keep a close eye on Septima. Make sure he knows what he's getting into. And then he can take her to see the Dark Lord. Not that he's looking forward to that, but it's the least he can do. "I'll— I… Thank you. Thank you."

—-

Septima nods firmly. "Of course, of course. It is the least I can do for such a person as yourself! After all, you were the one who discovered the Dark Lord once more! That is enough to warrant gratitude!" She smiles softly. "Now, let us get you to your room."

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