Walton Macnair clearly had a plan.
He skilfully avoided all surveillance spells and patrol routes, using his familiarity with the Ministry of Magic's labyrinthine layout to weave through its corridors. In the end, he dragged Peter into a storeroom that reeked of disinfectant and animal entrails.
This was the back end of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, stacked with discarded cages and processing tools, one of the most neglected corners of the Ministry of Magic.
He grabbed a long string of animal entrails, then roughly slung Peter over his shoulder like an animal bound for slaughter, before leaving the Ministry of Magic through the fireplace.
No sooner had Macnair departed than he Apparated straight back to his secret hideout.
Bang!
Peter was hurled violently onto the cold concrete floor, stars bursting in his vision from the impact.
It was a stone chamber steeped in the stench of blood.
The walls were lined with grotesquely shaped knives, hooks, and chains, and the air was thick with despair.
This was Macnair's private "workroom," a place that would make even the most vicious magical creatures shudder.
Macnair lit his wand, its pale glow illuminating his grim face.
He looked down at the trembling Peter on the floor, his gaze that of a man appraising livestock.
"Pettigrew," Macnair said coldly. "Or should I call you the 'valiant' recipient of the Order of Merlin?"
A mocking smile twisted his lips. "The fools at the Ministry of Magic were completely taken in by you, but I haven't forgotten. Tell me, Wormtail, where is the Master… where is he?"
Peter shuddered, terror instantly clutching his heart.
"I… I don't know… The Master… he… he was defeated…"
He tried to play dumb, his voice shaking uncontrollably.
"Liar!"
Macnair kicked Peter brutally in the abdomen. The searing pain made Peter curl into a ball, twitching like a shrimp thrown onto dry land.
Macnair bent down, his heavy, rancid breath washing over Peter's face.
He picked up a nearby branding iron, still red-hot, its head shaped like a coiled snake.
"Not talking? I have plenty of ways to deal with disobedient creatures. I'll peel your skin off bit by bit and let you taste pain more real than a Dementor's."
Faced with the branding iron radiating terrifying heat, the last fragment of Peter's will collapsed.
Sagres had already drained his power, and now Macnair was about to destroy the only thing he had left: his body.
"Waaah… please, let me go, I really don't know…" Peter wailed.
Macnair casually tossed the branding iron aside and drew his wand.
"Crucio!"
A flash of red light struck Peter instantly. The agony made his body convulse uncontrollably as muffled screams tore from his throat.
"Don't play games with me, you parasite who only clings to the strong! You hid for twelve years after the Master fell, and you even survived Black and Dumbledore. You definitely know something. Speak! Where is the Master?!"
The tip of his wand pressed against Peter's throat, the red light at its end flickering dangerously once more.
The icy touch of the wand, combined with the torture of the Cruciatus Curse, shattered Peter's last shred of hope.
He was too weak now, without even the strength to struggle.
No one understood the methods of the Death Eaters better than he did, especially when they believed they had caught a "traitor."
"Al… Albania!"
Peter broke down completely, crying out as tears and snot streamed down his face. "He's in the Black Forest in Albania! He's very weak… waiting there… waiting for an opportunity, and for the help of loyal servants…"
A flash of fanatic light crossed Macnair's eyes, quickly replaced by deeper suspicion. "Albania? The Black Forest? Are you certain? If you dare lie to me…"
"I swear! I swear… on my life!"
Peter raised his trembling hand, a futile attempt to lend his words some credibility. "He needs help…"
Macnair stared at him for several seconds, clearly weighing the truth of his words.
At last, he snorted coldly and withdrew his wand.
"A smart choice, Wormtail."
He turned and walked toward a cage in the corner, shrouded in a thick black cloth that radiated a chilling aura.
"Since you know where the Master is, and you know what the Master needs…"
Macnair yanked the black cloth aside.
Inside the cage, an enormous viper lay coiled, its scales glinting with a sinister sheen in the dim light.
Nagini. Lord Voldemort's most trusted companion.
Peter watched in horror as the massive serpent fixed him with its cold, vertical pupils.
Macnair flung the string of entrails toward the snake. Before they even hit the ground, the huge python struck, its thick body instantly coiling around its prey.
"Nagini…"
There was a strange reverence in Macnair's voice. "The Master's most loyal companion. I have kept her hidden, waiting for the right moment."
He turned to the ashen-faced Peter, a cruel smile spreading across his lips. "Now, Wormtail, your task has arrived. Take her. Go at once to the Black Forest in Albania and find the Master. Nagini will make sure you don't try any tricks."
Peter stared at the enormous snake in terror. It could easily crush and devour him.
"No… I can't… I have no magic left… I…"
"You don't need magic!" Macnair cut him off roughly. "Nagini will guide you, and she will watch you. If you dare to try to escape…"
He sneered, patting the cage that held Nagini. "She'll make you experience something worse than death before you ever reach the Master. From now on, you are her porter and her guide. Do you understand?"
Macnair shoved the heavy cage roughly in front of Peter. "Go! Leave Britain by the most discreet route you know. If I find out you tried to run halfway, or that you failed to find the Master…"
He leaned close to Peter's ear, his voice dripping with malice. "Nagini will swallow you whole. Not even your bones will be left."
Peter stared at the terrifying cage, then at Macnair's unyielding face. The sheer terror nearly robbed him of control of his bladder.
He did not want to go.
The Black Forest in Albania was a notorious lair of dark creatures, riddled with danger.
He certainly did not want to face a weakened yet violent Master.
But he understood even more clearly what the consequences of refusing Macnair and Nagini would be. They would be a thousand times more painful than a Dementor's Kiss.
Faced with absolute power and the threat of death, Peter's pitiful resolve collapsed in an instant.
In the end, he was still afraid of death.
Macnair pulled out a wide black robe and threw it at Peter.
"Put it on."
With trembling hands, Peter picked up the wizard's robe Macnair had tossed to him and hurriedly pulled it on.
Nagini, having finished devouring the entrails, lifted her head. She glided forward with an elegance that was no less dangerous, her massive body leaving a sinuous trail across the floor.
She slid straight toward Peter. Her cold, forked tongue almost brushed the face that had gone deathly pale with fear, before she slowly slipped into the folds of his wide robe.
The snake's cold, heavy body pressed against Peter's spine, drawing a creak from his back and nearly preventing him from standing upright.
He could clearly feel the enormous presence coiling around him, the slick rasp of scales against his skin like death whispering in his ear.
"Go."
Macnair opened a concealed back door that led into a disused rubbish-transport tunnel.
Peter cast one last look at Macnair's cruel face, then felt Nagini tighten around his body. He had no choice.
Dragging his heavy feet, he stumbled into the darkness of London's late night, setting out on a desperate journey toward Albania.
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