FicWad

Thank God You’re Here: Sirius and Peter

by Big D

Disclaimer: Not Mine. No Profit. No Shit.

AN: This collection of fics is based off of challenges that I responded to on the “Thank God You’re Here” thread over at Dark Lord Potter, which is basically a jam session for sociopathic fanfic writers. If you’re reading this on FFN, then I’d suggest looking up my accounts on Ficwad(dot)com or PatronusCharm(dot)net, as the collection on FFN does not include the NC-17 submissions. Or you can cut out the middle man and just go look for the original thread on DarkLordPotter(dot)net.

This challenge involves Sirius tracking Peter to the Riddle House during Goblet of Fire with the intention of getting his revenge.

Enjoy!

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Lighting flashed wildly across the landscape, illuminating a vast, but crumbling manor house that overlooked the small village of Little Hangleton like some ancient, decrepit bird of prey, hardly strong enough to take flight anymore. A few hundred yards away stood a small, silent cottage, in far better repair, but ominously dark and silent.

‘All it needs as a ratty motel at the bottom of the hill’ Sirius thought irritably to himself, shaking his head a bit to clear the rain from his eyes and wondering if Peter would even understand the reference.

Lighting flashed again, throwing trees and buildings into stark relief, but hardly touching the large, dark form that slunk out from the edge of the forest, taking care to keep low as it prowled stealthily towards the Riddle House. An observer might have found it odd to see a massive, coal black dog moving with such seeming intelligence, but no sane person would be out on a night like this anyway.

Sirius circled wide ‘round the manor house, making sure to keep the cottage between himself and the high windows there. It hardly mattered, really. The rain was coming down so thick and heavy that it was almost like a weight pressing down on his back, and he doubted that anyone in the house would be able to spot him at this distance, even if they were looking.

He instinctively sniffed the ground as he moved, but caught nothing but the scent of water and mud. Luckily, Peter’s nose would be just as useless in this downpour. He stopped as he reached the edge of the grounds, bending down to examine an odd trail that had filled with water; like a shallow ditch with a wavy, undulating edge. He sniffed again and his nose caught a whiff of something foul and unclean, like a rancid sewer, but he didn’t recognize either the smell or the tracks. Something being dragged along the ground, perhaps? There was no scent of human, but that could have been washed away by now.

He snooped around the cottage briefly, satisfying himself that it was empty, then poked his head around the side and eyed the wide-open expanse of sodden earth that separated him from the main house. He would have to run for it, and this close, even the rain wouldn’t hide him. There was nothing for it but try and hope for the best, because turning back simply wasn’t an option.

No matter what it took, Peter Pettigrew would die tonight.

He bent low and gathered himself, preparing to make a dash for the house, when suddenly the same foul scent from earlier drifted across his nose. The fur on the back of his neck rose and he instinctively flung himself to the side, barely avoiding the lunge of a massive snake that had somehow crept up behind him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the flash of bone-white fangs, each of them as long as his human middle fingers, and felt the snake’s head brush against his haunches as he twisted his body away and let out a deep, challenging growl.

The monster must have been twenty feet long, and moved with an unnatural speed that belied its immense size. With unbelievable quickness and purpose, it twisted itself up into a ball and struck out at him again, bracing itself against its own coils to power the lunge. Sirius dropped to his belly, the strike whistling past his ear, and felt the snake actually land partially on his back. He dug into the mud with his paws and shook the huge thing off of him, rolling to the side just in time to avoid a third strike, this time with the snake actually coming back across its own body and landing with a splash in the muck next to him.

Sirius bounded on top of it, biting into the back of its neck, his canines punching through the heavy scales and deep into the flesh behind the head. He shook his muzzle violently, foul-tasting black blood flooding into his mouth, making him want to retch, but he stubbornly cinched his teeth in a little deeper and held on for everything he was worth.

The beast underneath him hissed ferociously, writhing and coiling, struggling to escape, but he refused to let go. It twisted again, horribly strong, and forced him over onto his side. Sirius felt it stop fighting to free itself, and for a moment thought that it was giving up. He was proved wrong when it wrenched its body again, rolling them both over, its coils wrapping around his middle and tightening into a death grip.

It was a race now, one that Sirius had no intention of losing. He growled again, shaking the creature, trying to snap its neck, and at the same time, felt one of his own ribs give way under the tremendous pressure of the snake’s constriction. He forced down a whine, not willing to waste the breath, and briefly considered transforming back into his human form. He discarded the idea immediately. In human form he would have lost the advantage of his sharp teeth, and likely wouldn’t have been able to reach his wand anyway, given that it would have appeared underneath where the snake was wrapped around him.

He felt another rib break and realized that his bones were giving way faster than the snake was losing blood. It was time to take a chance, maybe his last one. He pushed himself up with his back legs, so that the beast’s face was pressed into the thick mud, trapping it, then let go of its neck. The thing gripped him tighter, sensing victory, but Sirius quickly took hold of it again, this time biting down into its skull. He squeezed with everything he was worth, and felt the delicate bones of the snake’s head warp and splinter beneath his jaws. There was a sudden spurt of something lumpy and revolting across the inside of his mouth, and abruptly the monster gave a final twitch and went still.

Somehow he managed to unwrap himself from the dead snake’s coils and flopped onto the ground, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as the rain washed over him, too exhausted to do anything except lay there and whine softly.

On another day, in another place, he might have given up, walked away. Admitted defeat and lived to fight the good fight some other time. But instead, Sirius Black, convicted murderer and innocent man, dragged himself determinedly to his feet, spat out the last of the dead snake’s brains, and trotted painfully towards the Riddle House, driven by one all-encompassing thought.

Kill Peter Pettigrew.

He transformed as he reached the house, bracing himself with his hands against the broad steps that led to the main door and trying to block out the pain from his chest. He wheezed out a cough, then growled softly when he spotted tiny flecks of blood on the ground in front of him. Damned snake must have punctured a lung.

Pulling out his wand, he cast a simple bandage spell around his chest. No time for anything fancier. If he lived through this, Madam Pomfrey could berate and mother him all she wanted. Taking a final moment to brace himself, he opened the door and stepped through.

The entrance hall was as rundown as the outside looked, thick with dust and littered with cobwebs. Sirius peered around carefully, then shifted into dog form and tasted the air. It was so choked with mold and age that he barely fought down a sneeze. Somewhere in the background, he caught a whiff of several distinct scents.

One was the rancid smell of the snake from the grounds, heavy and close, like it spent a great deal of time slithering about the house... a guard, then. The second was similar, but smaller and even more repulsive somehow. A third was human, but so faint that he could barely sense it. Someone who had entered, but never left, if the hint of death that accompanied it was any indication. The owner of the cottage, perhaps? There was another human smell, but it was distant with age and he didn’t recognize it. And the last...

Peter.

Sirius swallowed a murderous growl. Silently, he stalked up the stairs, following the scent of his one-time friend, and soon found himself in an upstairs hallway, near an open pair of wide double doors that led to what appeared to be an old library. He could hear a pair of voices from inside, and made extra efforts to soften his steps as he approached.

“Perhaps Nagini simply lost herself in the storm, Master. Or found herself something alive and wriggling to prey upon,” Peter’s cringing voice drifted from the open door.

“I think you underestimate my familiar, Wormtail,” a cold, hissing, but somehow tiny voice replied. “She knows her duties far better than you do, and would not have been gone this long without a good reason. She knows that it is time for her to be milked.”

Sirius felt his face twist into a confused expression. Milked? He had thought that they were talking about the snake he had killed outside, but the bit about milking confused him. It didn’t matter. Peter was finally within his grasp, and this time he wouldn’t escape. He shifted into human form, then felt his heart stop when the cold voice from inside began screeching.

“What was that!!! What was that!!! I sense magic!!! Wormtail, we have an int–!!!”

Sirius didn’t let him finish his warning. He swept into the library, wand at the ready, and immediately spotted Peter rushing towards a heavy leather chair that sat with its back to the door. Wormtail’s wand was in his hand and he fired off a wild curse that slammed into the doorframe next to Sirius, exploding it in a shower of knife-like wooden shrapnel.

He held up an arm to shield himself from the debris and whipped his wand towards the traitor. “Seco Iuguolo,” he spat viciously.

An angry purple hex erupted from his wand and took Peter in the dead center of his chest, blowing a hole in it the size of a Quaffle. Blood and tiny bits of shredded flesh splattered across the room behind him, fragments of bone making little thunking noises wherever they struck something solid. Sirius felt his lips turn up in a ferocious snarl. Wormtail stood still for a split second, almost in surprise, then dropped to his knees. His eyes met Sirius’ momentarily, and something that passed very close to a look of apology and regret crossed his face, before he fell forward with a thump and went limp.

Sirius wanted to howl in triumph, but something about the look that Peter had given him robbed him of any real sense of vengeance. It was the kind of look that one old friend gave another after doing him a great service, despite knowing that he didn’t deserve it. Sirius suddenly realized that the best favor he could have done for Wormtail was to put him out of his misery.

A final gift, one Marauder to another.

He was brought back to the present by the sight of a thin, decrepit arm reaching from the leather chair, towards a long wand laying on the end table next to him. Sirius fired off a banisher, sending the table and wand flying into the far wall, then warily circled around the chair, careful to keep his distance and ready for anything.

What greeted his eyes was a vision out of a nightmare. It almost looked like a human child, but twisted and horribly deformed. Its back and shoulders were stunted and broken, its face mutilated, more snake-like than human. The creature’s skin was mottled and grotesque, muscles and veins clearly visible where it wasn’t covered with tiny, dull scales. Sirius thought he might vomit. It peered up at him through red, slitted eyes that held too much intelligence for comfort, and spoke.

“Sirius Black, I presume,” the thing hissed, totally confident for all that it was unarmed and helpless. “It is unfortunate that we have never met before, but allow me to introduce myself... I am Lord Voldemort.”

“I thought you’d be taller,” Sirius quipped, instinctively hiding his revulsion with humor.

Voldemort actually smiled at him, showing blunted fangs in an otherwise nearly toothless mouth. “I’ll admit, I’ve seen better days,” he said wryly. “But so have you... and you can see them again, standing by my side.”

Sirius snarled wordlessly and stalked over, kicking the chair onto its side. Voldemort tumbled from his perch and sprawled face first onto the dusty wooden floor. The weakened Dark Lord of Magic angrily tried to pick himself up, but his malformed limbs refused to support him.

‘Oh, dear,” Sirius deadpanned. “It looks like you’ve fallen and you can’t get up. You know, the muggles have a service for that now. I saw it on the telly.”

“I’ll kill you,” Voldemort hissed in a rage. “I’ll kill the boy and everyone else you care for, and bathe in their blood! I’ll keep you alive and listen your screams for a lullaby! I’ll...”

Sirius cut him off by calmly stepping on his outstretched hand, crushing the soft, unformed bones there into pulp. The Dark Lord growled painfully, but stubbornly refused to scream.

Sirius squatted down near Voldemort’s head and glared at him. “That’s an interesting proposal there, short stuff. Tell you what... here’s my counteroffer. I’m going to keep you alive, and turn you over to the Ministry. Normally, I’d just kill you–Merlin knows you deserve it–except you have that nasty habit of not staying dead, and you seem pretty harmless for the moment. With any luck, Dumbledore will figure out a way to put an end to you once and for all, and I can piss on your grave nice and proper, once your in it... now how’s that sound to you?”

Voldemort smiled, and Sirius felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, just as it had in his dog form. “It sounds like you should spend less time making witty repartee, and more time acting,” he smirked.

Sirius ducked as a jet of green light streaked through the spot where his back had just been. The curse struck the wall nearest him, instantly setting it aflame. He rolled away and blindly fired off several curses over his shoulder, coming to rest behind a massive oaken table in the middle of the room. He glanced out warily and spotted a wizard dressed all in black streaking across the room, leaping over Peter’s corpse as he headed towards Voldemort.

Sirius tried to fire off a hex at the newcomer, but the man was too fast for him, hitting the table with a banisher that sent it tumbling over on top of him, pinning him to the ground and aggravating his broken ribs. He heard himself scream in pain, then raised his wand again at the man, who had picked the Dark Lord up in his arms.

“Avada Kedavra,” he roared, but not quick enough, as the man activated a portkey and disappeared with Voldemort a split second before the jet of green light struck him. The curse continued on, slamming into another wall and setting it on fire as well.

The aged wood and dusty books that filled the room were going up like kindling, and it was just seconds before the acrid smell of smoke filled Sirius’ nose. He cast a levitation spell on the table on top of him and struggled to his feet, applying a Bubblehead Charm to his face as he did. He probably could have quenched the fire, but he was too tired and angry to bother. If this was Voldemort’s house, then it could burn for all he cared. He stumbled towards Peter’s body and transfigured it into a small child’s toy–a rubber rat–which he stuffed into his pocket before spinning on his heel and Apparating away.

With proof of Peter’s death, perhaps something could be salvaged from this after all.

(End)