On chilly nights at the beginning of winter in Britain, a young man settled near a fireplace. His breath released puffs of smoke due to the temperature difference from the outside in his lungs. But none of that mattered; well, what was relevant was that this man was writing a letter on an antiquated, slightly yellowed, and aged paper.
He set the black inked quill aside, lifted the sheet, and began to read aloud.
"To my master, Lord Voldemort,
Through this, I come to inform you of recent events confided to me: The mission to track and capture Narcissa Malfoy has proven challenging, with the dispatched patrols being lethally subdued. The lady in question has shown herself cunning, employing guerrilla tactics and ambush traps. Moreover, it's evident she is receiving assistance, though we've failed to trace the source. Most of the inner circles she has access to are under our influence, with the only clue being that she is always accompanied by a magical creature strange to her, a kind of raven. This bird has proven skilled in combat, responsible for a considerable number of casualties among our members.
Furthermore, a specific issue has become problematic: the tracking methods the Blacks had on their members are no longer functioning. These means monitor their quality of life and even their approximate location, with sporadic updates. However, currently, while confirming her status as alive, her location cannot be traced. I come to inform you that I will be undertaking an expedition to Azkaban to retrieve Lucius Malfoy. This, possibly, will contribute to resolving the issues related to the mystery at Malfoy Manor.
Sincerely, Severus Snape."
After shaking his head a bit, he said to himself, "Well, that's enough." Finally, folding it delicately and sealing it, he walked to an owl perch near the window, which, though closed, still displayed the harshness of the cold, with details like the glass slightly fogged and small cracked appendages standing out in relief.
He then reached the owl, of the devil owl species Asio stygius, with a black color and dotted white spots, and iconic feathers jumping from its brows upward diagonally, resembling a silhouette of horns. Severus approached with a stiff hand, giving a bit of dry caresses to the owl, which showed discontent with irritated hoots, as until then, it was enjoying dried meat delicacies prepared with potions to make them tender and succulent; Ebony seemed to like it a lot.
After the small event of caresses on the owl, he finally tied the letter to its leg and gave commands for it to reach Voldemort, his master.
Finally sitting again in front of the fireplace, looking at the fire dancing over the coal and reminiscing about his life. His black eyes shone with nostalgia and bitterness, muttering to himself, "I have to get results; he wouldn't accept otherwise.
Moving away from Severus' desolate little cabin, high in his thoughts, Ebony, the owl clearly dissatisfied, heroically ventured through the cold weather, a considerable challenge for any owl. The cold climate and low visibility would make such a journey impossible for an ordinary owl, but she was not one of those; she was a magical one, from a proud and loyal lineage, the pedigree of owl breeds.
After what would be a few hours, she finally swooped down smoothly from the heights, following a magical thread that instinctively guided her to that place where her sender was.
It was a handful of tall structures, with appendages and towers, which to her sounded like a good temporary pole or a quick snack for some unsuspecting aerial prey. Her intelligent eyes located the magical aura and hurriedly entered through a strategic opening placed in the palace. She quickly found a perch with other owls, wished for a moment to land there, but it wasn't time for that, at least not yet. She ventured through the corridors, filled with moving faces, until finally finding in one of the rooms two of her master's species, wizards. She delicately gave a few hoots to announce her arrival and landed on a wooden structure a few meters from him.
On the other hand, somewhat surprised by the unexpected interruption, Voldemort didn't mind much, paying more attention to the present guest.
"Mister Pettigrew, I see you've come to me without fail. Well, Lady Constance Pettigrew has complained about your presence," he said with an educated, calm, and melodious voice.
Peter, in turn, shuddered at the mention of his mother, but before expressing any emotion in his eyes, he diverted them downwards.
"My Lord, I would like permission to take her from your generous hospitality. I have been helpful to your cause, providing what you asked of me," he said in a pitiful manner, demonstrating fear in an attempt to gain any sympathy from the man in front of him, although he knew it was impossible.
His mother was kidnapped at some point early in the war; this was the beginning of his tragedy, becoming a spy, poetically, if you think in his animagus form. He was a man who would do anything for the survival of himself and his mother, but he couldn't deny that it hurt. The times he decided the death of someone who was his friend, who fought and defended him in the war, yes, his heart broke with each person who died indirectly because of him. But he had to go on. Although if it were Sirius, maybe...
The man's red eyes looked at Peter, coldly and without showing any appreciation, dislike, or emotion; it was as if he was looking at a tool.
"You know, Peter, you have assisted our cause splendidly, but the protection of Lady Pettigrew is of great priority, keep her here and safe is the least I can do for a great contributor to the cause."
Voldemort stopped for a moment and said, "But recently, I received peculiar information, and I believe you can help me. Who knows, we might be safe after this, thus allowing sweet Constance to return to her normal activities."
Pettigrew made an involuntary grimace, but remembering the power and ability of the man in front of him, he sighed resignedly.
"It would be an honor, my Lord."
"Great, someone from the Order was expecting a child born at the end of July?"
Peter thought for a moment, feeling a chill when involuntarily he looked into the red eyes.
"My Lord, why would that be relevant? They are just newborns."
Voldemort smiled and spoke provocatively, "It's not important to you, although your mother might be disappointed with your dangerous curiosity!"
Pettigrew felt a deep chill in his soul, involuntarily displaying a frightened face. He responded, "I apologize, my Lord." He breathed heavily as he thought, and finally answered, "The only births that fit the specification were the children of the Longbottoms and the Potters."
"Excellent. As I am really pleased with you, I will give you an opportunity. Would you like to join my inner circle and receive my mark?"
Peter thought for a while; here, it was clearly a requirement and not an opportunity. He couldn't refuse.
"Yes, my Lord."
Voldemort summoned to his right hand a sinister wand, white as bones, while Peter offered his hand. The wand spread will and magical power, drawing on the immaculate white skin a black stain that acted as if alive, forming the figure of a snake coming out of a skull; the symbol of Morsmordre was complete. Peter passed his hand over it, feeling uncomfortable with the new tattoo, but strangely, it became invisible on his wrist after a short moment.
"It's done; you can go find your mother; she was eager to see you," said Voldemort, satisfied. He then summoned his house-elf, ordering, "Zhp, please take this man to Lady Pettigrew!"
Finally, when he resolved the situation of his guest, alone in the room of his office, he turned his attention to Severus Snape's owl.
"What do you have for me?"
The owl gave some hoots and approached the man, lifting one of the claws that was tied to the envelope.
"Thank you. You can rest on the perch with the other owls, for now."
With the permission, the owl took flight again, leaving.
....
In a distant place, Vincent opened his eyes, showing a certain concern.
"Destiny, no matter what you change, it still follows you. Maybe not... I managed to change many things."
Putting the spy mark on Pettigrew proved useful.