Challenge: Peter Pettigrew/Fleur Delaceur
Challenger: Puppy of Hades
Due Date: Sept. 1
Notes: First: I tried to make it longer, I really did. Second: I feel dirty
Out of Reach
In the darkness of early evening a small man hid beneath the concealing leaves of a decorative shrub. He tried to keep himself still, but every now and then he would shiver with anticipation, rustling the leaves above him. He watched as three girls, not *quite* women, entered the cheerily lit stable. He had followed them as best he could while they rode through the grounds of the castle, but men, even small, sneaky men like Peter Pettigrew, were not meant to keep up with horses. Eventually he had given up and come here, to the stable, where he knew they would end up. A light breeze stirred the warm air, and he sniffed deeply, hoping for a scent; perfume, sweat, anything. It wasn't that he had a particularly good sense of smell, but years spent as a rat will ingrain certain habits into one's subconscious.
As he waited for the girls to finish settling their animals, Peter readied himself. He gripped his wand tightly and went over the spells he would use in his head. He was quivering almost constantly now, and a nervous giggle threatened to escape him. He had been waiting so long� Ever since that first time he had seen Her picture in the Daily Prophet, he had been waiting for this moment.
A laugh heralded the girls' exit from the building. It was Hers, like silver bells tinkling in the breeze. They made their way down the path below the shrubbery, unaware of Peter's presence. Once they had past him, he leaped from his hiding place, speaking the words of the spell he had been practicing. All three girls fell to the ground, deeply asleep before they could turn to their attacker. Gently, he separated the bodies. The two others, pretty, but not nearly as beautiful as Her, Peter arranged on the path. He laid the out, side by side, with their hands clasped in front of their breasts. He stood over them for a moment, admiring the effect, then quickly dispatched them. He felt the rush of power as their lives were extinguished. It was a sensation he had felt few times in his pathetic life, mostly from muggles. These though, these were young witches, nearly at their prime, full of life and power. Taking one would have been enough, but two in quick succession was overwhelming. He fell to his knees, reveling in the afterglow of Avada Kedavra.
When it had passed, he turned to the third girl, to Her. Gently, he moved her golden hair from where it had fallen into her face. He caressed her face, letting his hands wander over the contours he had admired for so long. She stirred slightly, and he pulled away. He had to hurry if he was going to get her back before she awoke. Pointing his wand into the air above the two bodies, Peter muttered a few more words, and a glowing skull appeared in the air, complete with snake. He then gathered the blonde witch in his arms a carefully as he could, and disapparated.
Far from the stable and the two dead girls, a loud bang announced the arrival of Peter and his precious load. He had apparated to an upper bedroom of the Riddle house, a place that he could almost call his own. He gently laid Fleur on the bed, arranging her limbs to a comfortable position. She stirred again as he moved her legs, but he merely continued his work. Once he was satisfied, Peter sat in a chair beside the bed, the only other furniture in the small room. There he waited for his beauty to wake.
After what seemed an eternity, her eyes fluttered. "Qu'est-ce que-" she began, but Peter hushed he with a finger to her lips.
"It is all right, my flower, I am not going to hurt you," he purred.
She drew back, confusion and fear in her eyes. She was about to speak again, to ask about her friends no doubt, when he silenced her again.
"Your friends are dead, I'm afraid, there was nothing I could do. I am sorry. I could only save you, my flower." His heart twinged as tears filled bluer-than-blue eyes. He reached out for her, to comfort her in her grief. She collapsed in his arms, sobbing and crying out their names as he rocked them back and forth, petting her hair.
Eventually she calmed and lifted her exquisite face from his shoulder. He wiped a tear from her cheek, as one would from a child's. She did not speak; she merely searched his face for answers. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he leaned forward, bringing his lips to meet hers, trembling as they were. She closed her eyes as they touched.
Peter awoke with a start. He was alone, in the dark little room which Voldemort allowed him. He nearly screamed at the injustice of it. Even in his dreams he could never have her. Someday, though, someday.
A burning in his arm summoned him to his Master's side. He scampered out of bed and into the audience chamber, not even bothering to dress first. Delaying even that long would be unthinkable. As he approached, Peter bowed deeply and awaited the command to rise. He licked his lips. They were still tingling from his dream. He had come so close this time. So very close.
"Rise, Wormtail" came the dry rasp of what had once been Tom Riddle "I see you were asleep when I called. Tell me, what does a worm dream of?"
Peter rose, suppressing a shudder at the sight of the thing he had helped to resurrect. "You know my dreams, Dark Lord," he muttered bitterly, "they have not changed."
Voldemort laughed a dry sound akin to that of a snake shedding its skin. "Ah yes, your pretty flower. You shall have her soon enough, my worm, then you will have no more need for dreams that are never long enough."
Wormtail bowed again "Yes, Dark Lord, thank you."
"But not yet, first you must serve me-
Peter sighed under his breath as Lord Voldemort gave him his latest instructions. Always, he was promised his desires, but always it was not yet, even in his dreams, she was always out of reach.
End.
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