At Hogwarts Peter and his friends had grand plans for 'The Future'. Like most teenagers, many of these plans were unrealistic and, in some cases, downright ridiculous.
These boys, self named the Marauders, often spoke of these grand plans, detailing and refining.
Once a year, they had a farewell of sorts, to the castle, each other and another year done. They would sit on the astronomy tower, lie back and stare at the stars. They would drink butterbeer, eat snacks smuggled out of the kitchens, and talk until the sun came up.
As they got older, these visits would be more about 'The Future' and less about what they were going to do over the summer.
It was no great surprise to any of the boys that they ended up atop that tower on their last night at Hogwarts. As young men of age, they drank firewhiskey now, instead of the butterbeers they used to sneak in.
And they spoke of fighting for their world, of girlfriends and fiancées, of families and worries. Peter had an internship of sorts with the Prophet, that while only an internship, was looking promising.
Peters head was filled with thoughts of moving up through the ranks and having his own office. James and Sirius and Remus were joining the order, and that was all the job they needed.
Now, however, the future they spoke of was here, and it wasn't the same as anyone thought. James had gotten half his wish, Lily had married him, and they were starting their family, war be damned.
Sirius had his bike that he'd dreamed of.
Remus had even reached his dream of having a steady job, that didn't mind that he was a werewolf.
Peter had an okay job, his friends close and his mother well. All was well in his world. This was what he wanted from life. Maybe a girl to share it with one day, but this was enough for now.
Yes the war was still raging, and yes their lives were in danger every single moment of everyday. But Peter didn't care, as long as they all made it out of this dangerous world together.
Today though, Peter was contemplating his Future, and what life would bring with it. He was running messages from the reporters to the editor of the Daily Prophet, where he worked, and while he went back and forth and to his desk in between, he thought about his life.
Peter didn't want to fight in this war, yes, he wanted to come out on top, but he didn't particularly want to fight. He would rather leave the fighting to the aurors, let him and his friends come out of this on the other side.
Let the others fight, those trained to fight and let the marauders come out, whole and hale and together. That's all Peter wanted.
He wanted them all to have boring lives, to have jobs they complained about, wives and girlfriends to share their lives with, broods of children to bring up.
Instead, Peter was the only one with a boring job to complain about.
"Pettigrew!" His boss barked suddenly, making him jump in his seat
"Did you get that photo from Jenkins yet" his boss wasn't asking so much as making a statement, but he terrified Peter all the same.
"Ah, erm no Sir, he said-"
"I don't care, just get it" his boss slammed his office door the way only editors knew how and left Peter to his thoughts once again.
He couldn't talk to James about this, or Sirius. Both of them had inheritances that meant they didn't have to work. And Remus couldn't work, so Peter didn't think they would understand about this. Having a manager to complain about, or co-workers that seemed useless, none of the lads would understand.
The rest of Peters week was boring. The usual things that he had to deal with, his boss yelling, reporters getting uppity about whose story was going where in the newspaper, and photographers making sure their pictures were front and centre. He ran about in between them all, making tea and supplying biscuits, fetching prints and taking notes where he was told. It wasn't nearly as glamorous as he had imagined. He wasn't getting his own office anytime soon, nor would he have anyone to order about, but it was interesting work and he was learning a lot.
He was nearly the last to leave on Friday afternoon, getting everything ready for the morning, when the weekend prophet came out, when a note appeared on his desk.
Being a wizard, things appearing without warning is not exactly strange, so he picked up the note with no thought.
'I can help you reach your dreams' was all the small piece of parchment said. It wasn't signed. Peter felt a shiver go down his spine, he didn't need to know who wrote it.
He had heard the rumours, and talked to people in the order. This was how Voldemort was recruiting, he scrunched the parchment up, and burned it with his wand.
He didn't want nor need Voldemorts help. He and his friends would fight through this war, regardless of any crazed murderer, or what he wanted for their world.