|Scene Title||The Servant Returns|
|Synopsis||Peter returns to Voldemort with news about Sirius Black. But seems as though Voldemort has other plans.|
|Location||Riddle House, Little Hangleton|
|Date||Nov 08, 1994|
|Watch For||The cowering.|
|Logger||His Royal Evilness|
The rat needs no door to get into the old Riddle house. No one will see anyone approaching, and no one will hear the old portal creak open and shut again. Once inside, however, the rat becomes a man.
Heavy footfalls, as if made by one unused to walking on two feet, echo through the house, the floor creaking and protesting with every step. From him comes the sound of sniffing. Sure, Pettigrew's sense of smell isn't nearly as good as it was a few seconds ago, but years of picking up the various scents of everything from splendid food to garbage has made him more able to recognise things in his proper form.
He pauses at an internal doorway, one hand coming to rest on it. Calloused fingers scrape against the aged wood. Peter hesitates, drawing courage from whatever bottomless pit he keeps it in, before he speaks. "My lord, your servant brings you news."
He can't help a whimper, albeit a quiet one, following his words.
Inside the room, a fire crackles in the fireplace where a single chair sits in front of it. The flames cast eerie shadows around the room, but nothing more eerie than the shrivel hand that beckons from the side of the chair.
"Come, Wormtail." the raspy voice utters slowly. The fingers of the hand curl and extend repeatedly in a beckoning motion. "What is the news your bring?"
There are two things that go through Peter's mind. First, that the Dark Lord hasn't killed him yet, and that is good news, and second, that he now has to go stand in front of Voldemort and deliver said promised news. Hands flexing and unflexing at chest level, he hurries toward the chair, standing in front of it, head bowed and eyes averted.
"My lord, I apologise for — for the wait," he begins. "I wanted to make sure that I… That I had my facts right, before I — " He chances a look upward, and immediately looks away again. "Before I presented them to you. My lord, I bring news on Sirius Black."
Voldemort has no reason to kill his 'servant'. At least not yet. And that fact is what has saved Peter's skin so far. "Wisssseee." the raspy voice hisses, falling silent as Wormtail continues. "Black is of no concern to me." If Peter comes around the chair, Voldemort's shriveled form comes into full view covered by what could almost be considered childrens robes. "Unless he leads me to Harry Potter."
Disturbing. And yet, Peter doesn't run away screaming. See, there's a reason he was a Gryffindor.
The news that Black doesn't concern Voldemort almost stops his heart, though. There must be a way to spin this so that there is concern, though, and so this trip isn't a wasted one, and so the Dark Lord's time isn't taken up by trivial things. "N-no, Lord, of course not. He is unimportant. But there is an American woman trying to win his freedom for him, from the Ministry of Magic." A note of terror, hidden to some degree, creeps into Peter's voice. "Perhaps… Perhaps you could find some use in that."
"So they've brought in a foreigner." Voldemort says, attempting to smile even though as a shriveled body it's hard. The slight hint of terror is noted, but not addressed for the moment. "What an interesting twist. But I sense you are still holding out on me, Wormtail. Or did you not think I would find out about the regime change at the Ministry?" It's that event alone that holds more interest for him. More potential. The American might make headlines briefly, if killed, but the change in leadership at the Ministry is an opportunity he must exploit.
So intent was he on delivering the news of his old friend, that he quite forgot about the ousting of Fudge from his position as Minister for Magic. Abruptly, there's a deeper bow to Peter's posture, and he brings his hands up, arms crossed in front of his face. "I, of course, intended to tell you— I was simply— Telling you what I knew in order, my lord. F— forgive my error." Please, dear Merlin, forgive his error. "I will collect more information about Umbridge, if it pleases you— At the trial of Sirius Black…" He keeps going back to that. He keeps going back to that, because the idea of Sirius Black being free and unfettered is terrifying, though not quite as terrifying as Voldemort. Arguably, Black would kill him in much more creative ways. "…She will be there, my lord. Presiding."
Voldemort watches Peter cower in fear of being punished. However, he has other plans for the rat-man. Yes, it's rather amusing at time to watch, but there are bigger things to do at this moment in time. "What would please me, Wormtail, is if you would deliver a message to Minister Umbridge." He pauses, waiting to see how the man reacts as he didn't specify how to deliver the message. Does he really expect Peter to go waltzing into the Ministry? Probably not. "A letter. Sealed."
"B—but!" he starts quietly, though he has enough presense of mind not to argue with the Dark Lord before he knows the specifics of the plan. Even then, it's not such a great idea, but Peter very much values his own life.
So relieved is he that the letter is to be sealed and delivered without him having to appear before the Ministry and give away his secrets, that he is all to ready to comply. "May I pen the letter for you, Lord? Certainly… Certainly it's been long enough that no one would recognise my writing. And— And then I can personally deliver it to her office." The rats will know how to get into it. The rats know everything. "What shall it say?"
"It has already been done." Voldemort hisses lowly, motioning towards a nearby table where a sealed aged ivory envelope lays. "All you have to do is see that it is delivered to her office. A task I trust you can carry out without any mistake, yes?" The grey orbs that are his eyes currently narrow and gaze at Peter. If he manages this successfully, maybe Voldemort will let him do more.
GAME: Save complete.
To be trusted with any task is truly humbling. A great honour, even if it's something as simple as sneaking about through the Ministry of Magic to deliver a letter to a horrible toad of a woman. Somewhat disappointed that he won't know what's in the letter, he still offers a low, snivelling bow. "Of course. Of course. You can consider it done. It will be there for her when she walks into her office in the morning." Okay, maybe not that quickly. And there might very well be adventures involved. Nothing is ever easy for a rat, to be fair, because so many people dislike them. Essentially, it might not be done right at 8am, but when she walks out, and then walks back in sometime around 11:59ish, it will certainly be waiting for her. Maybe. Probably. "I will not disappoint you. I— I will always remain your faithful servant, Lord."