#marymacxx

Peter slipped on the mask he’d sworn to himself so long ago that he would never touch. The design was... well, fairly rubbish, but Peter couldn’t be picky. Not when the mask gave him the protection he needed. And if his new Lord was to be believed, it’d protect Mary as well. 

One name. 

It’d been all he’d been given. There were too many people he’d wanted to protect, but one had tumbled out of his mind faster than he could speak something more reasonable. He ought to have said James, or Remus, even Lily would have been acceptable. 

Mary had made the Dark Lord laugh at Peter’s weakness, but his wish had been heard despite his reluctance. If he accomplished his missions properly, Mary would be spared. Her wand may be taken, she may be shamed out of the wizarding world, but her heart would continue to beat. And that was the most Peter could hope for. 

“Come, we’re going,” one of the other masked males barked out, shoving Peter like the weakling he was. 

It was time to prove his loyalty. Someone on the Dark Lords wanted list was likely to be out tonight, and Peter himself had confirmed it earlier, careful to make sure no one else had heard him ask about where he’d be later. In doing so, he’d locked down the mans death. 

Following after the head of the mission, he forced himself not to duck his head, even as lightening brightened the midnight sky. His bones seemed to shudder as the thunder boomed, a low building sound that could be felt on the stones beneath his feet. 

It reminded him of his Hogwarts days, when his mates would make fun of him for running to their dorm when it started to thunder, and in particular the times that Mary herself had gone up to the room, supposedly after having a word with his mates, and comforted him as he trembled with fear. 

Peter no longer trembled nor cried from the storm raging on above him, for it was nothing compared to the war he’d been forced into. No one had asked if he wanted to take part of it. The Marauders were part of it, and he was part of the Marauders. Automatically signing him up for his death. 

No one considered whether the weak hearted boy had the spine for this sort of thing. No one thought to ask whether he wanted to go on missions. He’d become a faceless soldier that no one cared whether he lived or died so long as the mission was done. He’d come to accept that slowly over the past year. 

As another crash of thunder rolled over them, Peter felt the urge to be sick, his feet growing heavier with each step. He wasn’t allowed to kill yet, something he was grateful for, but knowing he’d been part of this, and having to be forced to watch it... he didn’t know if he could do it. But he had to. 

It was the only way to make it out of this alive. Only way for Mary to make it out alive. 

Everyone else could keep themselves safe... he hoped. 

“Keep to the back, Tail,” the Death Eater sneered, making Peter slow his steps as they walked inside. Instantly, the joyous night in the pub turned to utter chaos. Screaming everywhere as spells were shot off. Peter himself had to shoot off a few stunners, forcing people to lie there unconscious and be stepped on and over by heavy boots of men who cared not whether they lived.

In the end, only one person was left unstunned, and soon enough their heart stopped entirely. But not until their life had been screamed out of them. 

The next morning, as the storm slowly began to wane, Peter found himself in Mary’s home, drenched and trembling head to toe, tears pouring out of his eyes faster than he could comprehend, his body wracked with sobs. 

“Are you alright?” Mary gasped, utterly concerned for him as she pulled him into a tight hug, not the least bit worried about getting herself soaked. “It’s alright, it’s alright, the storms nearly over. Did you get caught in it?” she asked, brows tugged together sympathetically. 

Peter nodded, unable to make his arms move to hug her. “Th-there was, there was another attack,” he mumbled. He’d wanted to come to her the moment it’d been over, but he couldn’t face her. Instead, he’d ran in rat form all night, trying to tire himself out, to lose himself in his animal, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t escape the horror of being part of the group. And it was too late, he couldn’t back out now. 

“Come on in, I’ll get the kettle going. Hang on--” she paused, grabbing her wand and drying him instantly. It didn’t stop the shivering, making her frown. “Grab the big blanket and curl up. I’ll join you in a minute, alright?” she promised with a sad smile, reaching up to kiss his cheek. 

Peter nodded again and began to walk towards the couch when her voice made him pause again. 

“Was it-- was it anyone we know?” she asked quietly. 

Robert practically growled through his tears. He’d left Natalie alone for not even a moment. Only long enough to send out a message for help, and when he’d returned... the unthinkable was found. The one and only comfort was that it’d been silent. She hadn’t been in pain. It’d been so quick. 

But he couldn’t let this go. 

He’d lost too many people now. Marlene. Dorcas. Benjy. Dawn (for no matter how alive she was physically, it didn’t take an idiot to see she was dead inside). Too many others to count. James and Lily had been the last straw. It didn’t matter that Voldemort was gone. No one seemed to understand his followers were still out there, still demented as fuck, still determined to kill. 

He needed his sister as far away from this fucking place as possible -- and yet he’d been too late. 

“Avada--” 

A spell knocked him to the ground before he got the words out, a cruel tinkle of a laugh followed. “You Order members are really losing your minds, aren’t you? Oh yes, we know. We know who all of you are,” she laughed, sending further chills down Robert’s spine as he stood, shooting off curse after curse, all of which she deflected, save for the last. 

It started a fight unlike any other Robert had ever fought. He’d lost too much. It didn’t matter that Caradoc was still alive. He’d lost everything else, too many fractions of his life to keep sane. Each glimpse of Natalie’s lifeless body spurred him on until finally, the Death Eater managed to get his wand from him, leaving him defenseless, bruised, sweating, sobbing, and broken, on his knees. 

“It would be too much of a mercy to kill your worthless mudblood body,” she decided, snapping his wand over her knees and tossing the pieces to the side. “Weep over her, if you must. Spend the rest of your days on the brink of insanity. Know that he will come back. And when he does, we will reign supreme once again. Until then... beware of the shadows, for they will strike when you least expect it.” 

Peter nuzzled closer to the warmth beside him, inhaling deeply the welcoming scents that relaxed his muscles further. That is, until, the warm object began to fidget in his arms. Thin arms pressed against his chest, soft whimpers of fear pulling him further from the depths of the sleep he so desperately needed. 

But he couldn’t let Mary suffer like this. 

Blinking slowly, he began to rub her back in slow circles. “Mary, Mary c’mon you’re okay,” he whispered, holding her to him even though she tried to push him away. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last that this had happened. 

Ever since James and Lily had gotten married, he’d been staying with Mary more often, neither of them feeling particularly safe alone. Peter was sure his mum would be fine enough, but Mary? Mary had seen the results of the war. Had nightmares that only Peter knew how to calm down. 

“Mary, it’s Peter, wake up, wake up. He’s not here. He can’t get you,” Peter whispered more firmly as Mary’s cries worsened. “You’re safe, you’re safe. No one can get you. I won’t let them,” he promised whole-heartedly. 

Bit by bit, Mary began to calm in his arms, teary eyes blinking opened. “Peter?” 

He let out a soft breath of relief, kissing her forehead. “You’re okay, you’re okay.” 

Mary gripped his shirt, curling into his chest as she cried softly, and though Peter cringed at the wetness forming, he held her anyway. “D-don’t tell Lily, please, s-she doesn’t need to worry.” 

Peter nodded, even though he worried that maybe Mary needed some sort of sleeping potion. She’d been able to manage it for so long, but with each day the war darkened, fear grew in everyone, and Peter didn’t know how to make her feel any safer than he did now. He couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t die the moment she walked out the door to go to work, or see a friend. Couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t be imperiused to kill her himself.