A peaceful night

Author's note: In the previous chapter, Voldemort returns to Malfoy Manor and announces to Narcissa and Draco that he has just killed Lucius. Then he forces Narcissa to have sexual relations with him by threatening to harm Draco if she refuses. What interests Voldemort is not the sexual act (on the contrary, touching another human being disgusts him), but the act of dominating/humiliating/punishing the Malfoys. In response, Draco vows to avenge his mother.

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It was past midnight when Peter finally managed to enter the tent bristling with high-level protection spells and flanked by no less than four guards located at the center of the camp that the rescue team had improvised on the outskirts of the stadium. The calm that reigned inside the tent struck Peter, who had just emerged from the frenetic bustle that animated the outside despite the late hour. Inside, one could barely hear the regular rustling of some mysterious silver devices. Wand raised, Peter advanced with a falsely confident step towards the bed in the center of the room. There was no source of light, but as he approached the phoenix perched above the bed with a sad look, it seemed to him as if he could see as in broad daylight. As a result, he could not miss his target. In the center of the room, his back supported by a dozen cushions, was Dumbledore:

Cough! Cough! If you have other messages from Voldemort, I ... Huff! Cough! Cough! ... I'm afraid you are slightly too late. Huff! Cough! Cough! Cough!

Peter remains paralyzed with terror. Listening to the rumors within the camp, he had expected to find him diminished. But nothing could have prepared him for the pitiful state in which he found Dumbledore. His long, characteristic beard had disappeared along with his hair, and in some places, his skin seemed to tear off in patches. But what really frightened Peter would have gone unnoticed by any mediwizard. For the first time, Dumbledore's gaze conveyed nothing particular. No mischief, no impression that his soul had been x-rayed or that a phenomenal power was about to crush you. Just a sick man on the verge of leaving. It couldn't be Dumbledore. There had been a mistake somewhere.

On the other hand, if you came to kill me, you arrive just in time. Managed to add Dumbledore when his cough gave him a bit of respite.

The calm tone of certainty with which he had pronounced this sentence awakened Peter. He no longer had any doubt about the identity of the sick person. He did not know many men capable of uttering such a terrible phrase without the slightest trace of fear in their voice.

Don't say things like that. You're going to make it. I heard the mediwizards say they found a cure for the curse. Peter lied nervously as he began to fluff the pillows to hide the trembling of his hands and brought to the forefront of his mind his memory of the argument between two mediwizards about iodine that he had witnessed every time he met Dumbledore's gaze. But he quickly lost hope of feeling a mind challenge his occlumency barriers. Instead, between two fits of coughing, Dumbledore began to cry, murmuring in a small pleading voice:

No, mercy, I can't take it anymore. I want to stop. I want to leave.

Don't say that. You're not going to let a little curse bring you down. You are the greatest wizard of all time. We need you.

I can't anymore. I tried. I'm too old. I miss them so much.

Peter wanted to reply again, but his protests died in his mouth when Dumbledore took his hand. Despite his weakness, he put all the energy he had left into maintaining this simple contact. Peter squeezed it and seemed to relax.

You want me to call someone. Peter searched for the name of a close acquaintance of Dumbledore. But he realized he didn't know any. In desperation, he blurted out:

McGonagall maybe.

No, please stay. I don't want to be alone. Pleaded the old man between two coughing fits.

Peter held his hand in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Watching him become weaker and weaker as the night gave way to the pale rays of dawn. It was at this moment that the silver devices arranged around his bed chose to start beeping frantically. Peter quickly withdrew his hand. This racket would soon attract the guards or the mediwizards, and it was imperative that no one found him here.

But Dumbledore used his last strength to beckon him closer. Nervously, Peter pressed his ear against his face and listened to him murmur:

You must not make the same mistakes as me. I beg you, you must try to save Harry. The power that the Dark Lord ignores is love. That is the solution. Please save him and tell him that I am sorry.

You decided to trust me after all? Why?

Because of... Cough! Cough! Information f... Cough! Cough! Because of Nott. Why did you betray the Death Eaters?

Because of Nott?

On this last cryptic exchange, Dumbledore smiled one last time, then he slumped completely against the pillows, at peace for the first time in decades. Fawkes began to sing and the volume generated by the devices quintupled. Peter transformed back just before a horde of mediwizards entered the tent. He fled while the oldest of the mediwizards asked the nurse assisting him for the time of death.

As he ran at full speed through the camp, Peter's sadness turned into anger.

The key is love. And why not the key is chocolate frogs? Damn selfish old nutcase. What does he want me to do all alone against the most powerful dark wizard of all time?

With bitterness, Peter told himself that he might try to serve him. After all, every time he chose to help one of the camps, he inadvertently led to its downfall. Clearly, he was the worst traitor in the history of humanity. Not even capable of betraying correctly.