The Marauders: Year Three | #Wattys2016

The Empty Kitchen

The Empty Kitchen

"Something terrible's happened," Remus said thickly.

"What do you mean something terrible's happened?" Sirius demanded, looking around, "Where's Peter gone?"

Remus drew a deep breath. "His mum's dead."

Sirius felt sick.

"His mum?" asked James.

Remus nodded, tears coming to his eyes, "McGonagall came and collected him, took him away to bring him home. He - he fell apart, he - I've never heard anyone cry like that." Except myself, that is,, Remus thought. He could still feel the gutting cries he'd shed when he'd emerged from his woflish form the day he found out that Hope had died. He stared at the spot on the carpet where Peter Pettigrew had collapsed, knees gone from beneath him.

"What happened?" breathed James as Sirius stared numbly ahead.

"Murdered," Remus said, "In Diagon Alley. Whoever's done it left her body in one of the alleys. Peter's sister Maggie found her... it wasn't good... Maggie's been sent to Mungo's." Remus's voice faded off.

"Bloody hell," James whispered. "Why?"

Remus shook his head, "Dunno the details beyond that. Only that Peter's gone home."

Sirius turned away, his eyes hot with tears that threatened to fall.

Peter Pettigrew sat in the kitchen of his home. For the first time in his entire life, the house didn't smell like something cooking. His knuckles were white as he clasped onto the handles of the kitchen chair, staring at the wood surface of the table top. Down the hallway, he could hear his father bidding goodbye to the aurors that had returned Maggie home from St. Mungo's, where they'd thoroughly checked and rechecked her to be sure she was okay. She still hadn't spoken a word, and she sat across from him at the table, looking just as numb as he felt inside.

Bad joke, he thought, It's a bad joke and mum's going to pop out any moment and make up some roast pork sandwiches and chips. Mum's going to laugh when we tell her what we thought, and she'll tell us we ought have known better... Ought have known it was a bad joke...

When the aurors were gone, Cecil Pettigrew walked into the kitchen, his face was still pale, his eyes still damp, his gait heavy. He stood in the doorway, looking at the two children at the empty table, at the cold stove and the still pans, hanging from the rafters along with bushes of basil and lavender. He walked slowly to the table and sat, too, only one seat left vacant. All three of them looked at the chair at the end of the table.

"Merlin help us," Cecil whispered and he covered his eyes, his shoulders shaking as he began to sob.

Maggie's lips were the thinnest line possible.

"Da, it's alright," Peter said weakly. He looked at Maggie, but she was no help, and he thought of what Sirius Black might've done if he were faced with someone he loved crying the way his Dad was and Peter got up and went over and hugged Cecil 'round the shoulders, pressing his face against his blonde hair.

"We didn't join the resistance," sobbed Cecil, "For this very purpose, we stayed out. We didn't fight him so that he wouldn't fight us."

Peter closed his eyes and he recalled the words that Voldemort said said in the forest less than a month ago. He'd been seeking him, Peter, because of something somebody called the Blind Seer had said. And Peter shivered as the sound of Voldemort's voice echoed through his mind. He squeezed his father all the harder, and felt a sickening twist deep within his belly. It was his fault his mum was dead - if he'd just let Voldemort have him then, that night, then she'd still be alive. Of course he, Peter, would be dead in her place... He shook that thought out of his mind.