Chromaticity

"Everyone is a color, you know, every single person. It's a scientific fact." Character sketch collection.

Disclaimer: JKR owns it all. Except Ron. He's mine.

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Here it is. The very last installment. This one is inspired by a scene at the end of the film Gattaca, an amazing movie; if you haven't seen it, check it out.

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He watches the blood dripdripdripping from his fingers to the ground and feels a twinge of guilt for the first time in years. The hand is covered in sticky warm blood, newly spilt and sickly-sweet, flowing from an innocent heart. But the hand is not his hand, not really; it is merely a replacement until he regains the original—the Dark Lord has promised it to him. The substitute used to be enough for the time being, but no longer.

The hand used to be beautiful. It was shiny and caught the light, and everyone admired it. But the last year has been a year of bloodshed, and now it is covered and caked with blood like rust, crusting around the edges till he is not sure if he could remove it again.

He used to be satisfied with silver. His whole life has been silver. Second son, half-blood. Second best in school—always tagging along, never talented like James or popular like Sirius or everyone's friend like Remus. He couldn't play Quidditch or shine academically, and he had never found it easy to talk to girls. He had always been more of Slytherin at heart than a Gryffindor—he was silver, never gold.

He wanted gold. He sold his soul in an attempt to gain it. He wanted to stand out, to gleam, to be first for once. He wanted gold. And it was worth any price.

Even now, he is still in second place. The Dark Lord keeps him close at hand—the irony is not lost on him—but he does not trust him with matters of importance as he did Lucius or still trusts Bellatrix. In the Dark Lord's service, he will never be anything but a minion.

He knows now why the Master gave him the silver hand and not the gold he asked for. Gold is too much to aspire to. Gold is for the best, for the worthy, and Peter Pettigrew will never be worthy.

Except…

One stormy night while a battle rages in a remote field, he realizes what his lust for gold has cost him and the people who trusted him.

Perhaps silver is enough.

So he turns on the towering figure with the snake eyes and the wand spouting death. It is futile, but he was a Gryffindor, and never lived up to that name. Perhaps now he can. He shouts the words of the Unforgivable Curse, his voice small and squeaky while the tumult and din of death swirls around him. Of course he is too slow, and the return curse is flying at him almost before he even completes the words; he was never very good at duels.

But as the killing light bears down on him, the sickly green is overthrown by a great gold light, a light overtaking everything: his distraction bought the right moment in time. And he imagines for a moment that the light stains his hand gold as the rising sun might. And he thinks, perhaps, that only by accepting the silver could he be worthy of the gold.

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I'm very unsure about this one (big surprise); I really hope that the end wasn't too heavy-handed or sentimental.

And thanks so much to each one of you for taking this journey with me. I appreciate each and every review; y'all are the best readers ever!