"I pray you heal from things no one ever apologized for." - Nakeia Homer
A pleasant trickling sound filled the kitchen as Charlotte Riggs' fixed herself another cup of tea with her favorite teal mug. She smile ever so softly at the mug Remus had given her; "To match your nails," he had said, referring to her favorite shade of nail polish. Charlie did her best to find happiness in the simplest of things these days with the war raging on the way that it was.
Her hand twitched slightly as her tattoo prickled hot against her skin. It wasn't uncommon these days; ever since she left school and joined the order, most days it tended to burn at least a little bit. When wasn't she in danger?
Danger. They were all in danger. All of the time. She had put up all of the protections she could possibly think of over her little cottage, and she had done loads of research to find more– there were books strewn throughout her house proving just that. She was about as protected as she could possibly get, but still, most days she was more anxiety ridden than not. Especially after Marlene died.
It had almost been two months to the day since Marlene had died. The day that had changed them all. July 27th.
The ceramic mug slid from Charlie's fingertips, crashing against the hardwood flooring. Tea rushed across the wood, seeping into its pores and crevices. Peter turned his head to the side looking at the woman, wondering what could have made her drop it.
"Oh my god," she whispered to no one in particular.
Peter squinted, not quite sure what words had left her lips. "Charlie, is everything alright?"
Her eyes had a faraway look to them, and Peter's words never quite reached her ears; she was tumbling within the depths of her own mind, a cold feeling settling within the pit of her stomach.
"Oh my god."
Peter got to his feet, leaving his own cup of tea on the side table beside her couch. He approached her cautiously, reaching to place a hand on her arm. His watery blue eyes searched her ocean ones, but it was as if she couldn't see him. She looked haunted.
"Charlie, what's wrong?"
She blinked, and her trance was gone. "Pete," she said slowly. "I know why that date sounded so familiar."
Peter's eyebrows came together, and he took a step back. "What date?"
"July 27, 1981."
His face drained of all color. "The day Marlene died."
"I've seen it before, Wormy," she said placing each of her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes danced with madness. Her words didn't make sense, but the wheels were already turning within the thoughts of her mind.
"Yes," he said slowly, as she turned her back to him. "You see the date every year. Well, except February 29th, I suppose, but still, that's how dates work, Charlie. I'm not following."
She was already exiting her living room as he finished his thought. Peter knew something was wrong when she made no comment about him being a smart ass.
"Charlie?"
He followed after her with a small huff with her lack of explanation and found her in her bedroom. She was digging through her leather bag that looked beaten to hell. She pulled out hair ties and old chocolate frog rappers before letting out a sound of frustration.
"The bloody hell are you looking for?"
She ignored his comment and proceeded to dump the contents of her bag onto the floor with her thick journal topping the pile. Charlie let out a sound of victory as she made a grab for the notebook.
"That's one way to do it," Peter mumbled under his breath, saying something about 'Accio' being more simple.
Charlie got to her feet, flicking frantically through the hundreds of pages. Her back was still to Peter, who was slowly losing his mind.
"Charlie!" He finally exploded. "For the love of all that is sweet and holy, will you please, for the love of Merlin, tell me what the fuck is going on?"
She turned to face him, still flipping through the pages, never lifting her eyes from her journal's contents. "Do you remember how Marlene said her family had roots in divination?"
"Yeah," he said slowly, drawing out the syllables.
"There was a day in sixth or seventh year, I can't remember which," her words flew from her lips so quickly they almost sounded like a buzzing in the afternoon air. "She was writing with her eyes closed as some old divination thing or trick or something, and she ended up writing all of our names and a list of dates next to them."
"Okay?"
"We dismissed it because they were all in the future, but I had a weird feeling about it, so I kept the parchment with the list."
"Charlie, what are you gett-?"
"Oh my god," she whispered again, cutting off whatever he was prepared to say.
Peter began to get an uneasy feeling swirling in his gut; heat was rising along his cheeks, and cold prickled along his neck. "Charlie?"
She glanced down at the list. Marlene McKinnon lined up with July 27, 1981, but it didn't give Charlie the since satisfaction that she thought it might. She had hoped she was wrong or mad, even. Because now, she knew that she held in her hand the dates that all of her friends would die, and she couldn't look away.
Marlene McKinonn - July 27, 1981
Charlotte Riggs - September 23, 1981
James Potter - October 31, 1981
Lily Evans - October 31, 1981
Sirius Black - June 18, 1996
Peter Pettigrew - March 29, 1998
Remus Lupin - May 2, 1998
These names and dates left a cold feeling settled in her bones, but it was the name after Marlene's that made her feel like vomiting. Charlotte Riggs - September 23, 1981. That's today, she thought.
"Charlie?" Peter prodded, adrenaline beginning to fill his veins. Something is off; something is really, really off, he thought.
"I'm going to die today," she muttered.
"What?" He demanded taking a step towards her. "Don't be ridiculous."
Something wasn't sitting right with Charlie, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. So, she did what she always did when she needed to work something out– she began to think allowed.
"How in the hell will Lily and James be dead next month?"
Peter froze where he stood. His heart began to pound, and he didn't know whether to feel revulsion or pride at knowing he would succeed.
"Sirius would never betray them," she said bringing her fingers to her lips, as she began to pace the width of the room.
I don't like where this is headed, Peter thought. His lunch began to make a rise back up his digestive tract. "Charlie," he said. "You're not making any sense. Nobody else has died."
"But they will," she spoke with urgency as she stepped across the floor. Her eyes were still solid in their madness. "It's not me, and I know that it isn't Remus, obviously. I mean I suppose that the spy could be among anybody in the Order, but they need to be close to Lily and James. Of course, it can't be Lily or James. Sirius would never betray them, besides Voldemort's side is responsible for Marlene's death, he wouldn't. So, that would mean..."
By the time all of the pieces of the puzzle fell into place and she turned to face her friend, he had already drawn his wand. Tears were flooding his eyes, and his chin trembled as he stared at his old friend.
Her tattoo burned like a branding against her skin.
"Why, Peter?"
"You don't understand," he said through soft sobs. "You don't understand what he is like."
"I understand betrayal."
"Shut up!" Peter's hand trembled as he held the wand pointed at Charlotte. "Just. shut. Up." Each word was emphasized with a hearty point of his wand.
"You going to kill me, Peter?" She asked. Her words were oddly calm as she discussed her own death. Maybe, she thought, it hasn't hit me yet that it's Peter that is the betrayer.
"You know I can out-duel you with my eyes closed."
Peter clenched his jaw at the comment. "And, you know that you left your wand in the kitchen."
Charlie's stomach did a flip; she knew exactly where it was– next to the tea kettle. She had used a warming spell to heat up a second cup of tea for herself. How could she have known she would need her wand to defend herself from her friend?
"Peter," she whispered. "Don't do this."
He let out a sob. "I can't let you go. You'll tell everyone."
"People will be angry," she admitted. "But, you haven't betrayed them yet; they aren't dead yet. Peter."
His chin trembled thinking about what he was about to do. "Obliviating you won't be enough."
Her heart sank. I will not beg for my life to Peter Pettigrew, she thought, lifting her chin in defiance. As the shock faded away, anger began to surge through her veins.
"You don't have the balls to kill me, Peter," she spit. "I know it, and so do you."
His wand shook viscously in his hand. "You don't know what I'm capable of!"
She forced a laugh out of her throat. "Not this. Not the Peter that I know."
"Let me see that list, Charlie," he said carefully, eyeing the journal in her hands.
She glanced down at Marlene's scrawling writing. Peter was second to last according to Marlene, and she had a feeling that this list was correct. What the hell is going to happen at the end of the century that Peter, Remus, and Sirius are dead within two years of each other? she wondered in horror. She did the math in her head and an incredible feeling of sorrow overcame her as she realized none of them would live to make it out of their 30's. She did, however, feel a small shred of peace knowing that Remus still had many years left ahead of him.
Charlie thought about the power that this list had the potential to give Peter. How if he knew he was gong to die, he may try to prevent it. He deserves death, she thought acidly. Even if it created some sort of paradox effect of trying to prevent one's own death if you know the date– Charlotte wasn't risking it.
Her eyes flickered to him. Without looking away, she tossed the book into the fireplace in the corner of her room. She thanked her lucky stars that she had woken up a little chilly this morning and decided to make a fire, even if it was only September.
"No!"
"Just tell me why, Peter," she whispered. She had to know. If she was going to die right now, she had to know why one of her best friends had betrayed all of them.
"He's going to win," he said quietly.
Charlie clinched her jaw. "He will not."
Peter rolled his eyes agitatedly. "I was always the outsider. Following you lot around, while magic came to all of you with ease. I was the pathetic little fat kid that everyone knew didn't belong."
Charlie shook her head. "I can't help that you feel that way," she said. "We never made you feel that way. You listened to other people. We were, we are, your best friends, Peter. We were always there for you, and besides, I am the queen of outsiders."
"Oh, please," Peter objected with disgust. "You may have cut yourself off in the beginning, but everything has always come so easy to you."
"You don't have to do this! Nothing has happened yet!"
Peter cast his eyes away. "Marlene," was all he said.
"Did you kill her?" Charlie demanded with a step forward, a sick feeling encasing her stomach.
A tear fell from his left eye. "No," he swallowed. "But, I gave up her parents' address."
"How could you?" Charlie felt numb. She felt as if a giant hole had opened in the earth and swallowed her up. She was falling, falling, falling.
"She wasn't supposed to be there. I'm sorry."
Charlie's world spun. Nothing made sense anymore. She felt strangely detached from the situation and found herself craving a hit of nicotine. She glanced at the carton of cigarettes at her feet, thrown out from the mess of her bag.
"Care if I have a cigarette, Peter?"
"I–what?"
She shrugged, finding herself unable to care. She had accepted her death between her lack of wand and Marlene's list, it seemed unavoidable. She was strangely okay with it; her only regret being leaving Remus behind.
Charlie reached for the cigarettes on the floor along with the lighter that she always kept on her incase she ever found herself craving nicotine while she were surrounded by muggles. She lit one and took a good, long drag from the stick.
Her silence and nonchalant attitude was setting Peter on edge. He watched as she blew out a puff of smoke and looked at him as if he were something on the bottom of her shoe.
"You know, Peter," she said, her voice thick from the cigarette and her new tears of grievance for Marlene. "If you do this, it isn't because you're better or stronger than me. It isn't because you chose the right side. It's because you were our friend, and you betrayed us. You are a back stabbing rat. You are a coward, Peter Pettigrew."
Charlie's world turned green.
Peter stood over his fallen friend's body for an amount of time unknown to himself. His tears fell silently onto his cheeks. I am going to succeed, he thought. His stomach turned, knowing that he had to clean up his mess.
Peter had been given careful instructions if a situation like this ever presented itself. Nobody could know it was him, and he would surely be murdered if he was found out. Until the Potters were dead, nobody could know what side he was truly on.
He walked with deliberation to the kitchen, knowing that is where Charlie left her wand. He became very mechanical in carrying out his tasks, not wanting to dwell too long on the thought of Charlie's lifeless body upstairs.
"Stupefy!" He cried, aiming Charlie's wand randomly at the wall. The red spell encased the wall but accomplished nothing as a wall was already still. He pushed over some objects, broke a few more things, disheveled her house. It looked as if a fight had occurred. Perfect.
He walked back upstairs, slowly, not wanting to go back into her room. He stared at her body upon arriving before placing her wand beside her hand so it would look as if she had fought her way until the very end, and if the Ministry of Magic workers checked, a defense spell would be the last incantation of her wand.
Peter noticed the edge of her tattoo peeking out from the sleeve of her shirt. It sent his stomach into a twist knowing it was on his right arm, opposite the dark mark on his other arm. It was a constant reminder for what he was doing. He tugged the edge of her long sleeve to cover the black ink.
He backed out of her room, tears rolling slowly down his face. "Goodbye, Charlie," he whispered.
Their group of seven had just become five.
He swallowed thickly as he stood in the landing of her stairway. He pointed his own wand in the air and cried, "Morsmordre!"
Peter Pettigrew apparated on the spot. Charlotte Riggs was left lying in her room, never to move again, with the dark mark hovering ominously over her house.