Authors Note: Not my usual story but I had the idea and wanted to get it down. Enjoy.
Description: He was disgusting. He was a coward. And he was Wormtail.
His stomach twisted in a sickening wrench. He knew he was going to be sick and he deserved it. Tears filled his eyes and poured down his cheeks. Every punishment in the world could never make things right, but he warranted every one of them and more.
He disgusted himself. He revolted the ones he loved. And to keep his life he would have to betray another friend. He was repulsive and worse than a coward.
He didn't want to do it, he wanted to take it back, but he was too far in now. He thought that their friendship would see him through anything, but everything didn't include Voldemort.
His power was unbelievable and even when he knew in his heart that he wouldn't let him win, he coward in front of him. He was ready to die for his friends, and then, when he lifted his wand at him his mind went blank. He stuttered and quivered like a child and his resistance fell.
He promised the Dark Lord anything to spare his life. And even when the words formed and left his mouth he regretted them and felt the metallic taste of shame. The heavy lead of disgrace laid on his chest, but he still couldn't help them from escaping his lips. And once they were spoken, more and more words, words that were not his own, kept pouring out.
He heard himself betray his friends with words that were not his own. He wanted to believe that he was under some sort of spell. The imperius curse. He prayed for it, but he knew that it was him, his cowardly spine shriveled even more until it was over.
He had done it. He had turned his back on the people that meant the most. The ones that were his friends through thick and thin, the ones that had been his friends when he thought he never would have any. They best times in his life were spent with them in the fond memory of the Hogwarts halls. The friends that would have died for him were now going to die because of him.
When his insides seemed to melt into each other and the molten grief rang through his every pore he knew he had to end this. He didn't deserve to live, so he would make sure that he didn't.
But when he looked up at the creature that would kill his friends, he knew he couldn't. Again, he quivered at his own spinelessness, but he knew that he would do whatever the Dark Lord told him to do, and it killed the rest of him. What was left of Peter Petigrew shriveled up and died. He could never return to the safety of The Order, he was lost.
So this was what he was going to have to do, and though it made his eyes pulse in his head and images of old plagued his thoughts he pushed them aside. The once proud Wormtail was gone and now only a shell of him remained.
He would do what he was told. And eventually he would tell himself he did it for the best. The Dark Lord was the supreme ruler and he was always right. He was his faithful subject. But right now he squirmed in his skin, knowing it wasn't over and that this sick twisted version of hell was only beginning and he was too weak to stop it.