Title: Immortality
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Harry Potter franchise.
Summary: He wanted them to die loving Peter. A character study of Peter Pettigrew and what made him betray his friends.
Peter was a man of few interests and even fewer talents, but he was an expert at watching others. As the days of life after Hogwarts turned into weeks and months and years, he kept his eyes on James, observing the unruly hair that never changed and the hazel eyes that softened for Lily and her diamond ring and fiery hair and, eventually, bulging belly; twinkled with dark humor for Sirius and his impassioned rage and borderline insane laughter; narrowed with suspicion as Remus became thinner, made more of shadows than of flesh, who made excuse after excuse for why he couldn't be with his friends, why he was always gone. But this time, there would be no keeping track of the dates he was gone to find a pattern, no late night research in the library, no shocked whisper of "werewolf."
When James looked at Remus, he saw betrayal.
But when he looked at Peter, he saw nothing at all.
Peter couldn't help but be grateful for this small mercy from God or Merlin or the Dark Lord or whoever was watching over him. He wanted James to trust him more than anything else in the world, even as he plotted treason of his own.
Two days after the full moon in August, Remus was able to join the rest of the Marauders, plus Mrs. Prongs and the Pronglett, for dinner at Sirius' flat in London. He looked bone-weary, with three violent, red scars marring his face, but he managed to smile for everyone, and practically glowed with happiness when he saw Sirius come to greet him with little Harry in his arms. Harry reached his arms out, trying to go to his god-wolf, calling out, "Moo'y hurt! Hawwy fix!" Sirius hesitated, but when he met Remus' amber eyes, he finally handed over the young boy, who immediately began to kiss Remus' new scars.
"Rough moon, Remus?" Peter asked from the couch, where he was nursing a bottle of butterbeer. "Those scars look pretty awful. How on earth did you manage to claw your own face like that?"
Remus sighed as he rubbed circles on Harry's back while the boy continued to dribble slobber on his face and the shoulder of his sweater. "I'm not entirely sure. I haven't been able to afford the Wolfsbane Potion recently, so I can't control myself anymore. They should fade in time."
Sirius looked like he wanted to step forward, take Remus into his arms, do…something, though Peter didn't know what. But then he glanced at James, saw the suspicion in his eyes, and resisted, instead deciding to pat him on the back in a very "we're kind of friends but not that close" sort of way that Peter approved of, though he knew that if it wasn't for his whispered insinuations, Remus would never be scarred like this to begin with.
"They'll never go away entirely, though, will they?" Peter asked.
"No. I'll always have them."
Peter resisted the urge to smile. Remus' scars were just one more way that Peter would live forever.
Peter didn't know how his obsession with Remus began. He started having dreams about silver, and would wake up with phantom pains in his right hand and a paralyzing terror that Remus was all alone, with no one left to care about him. He couldn't figure out the associations with Remus and the dreams – Remus had explained in second year that a werewolf's fear of silver was nothing more than an old wives' tale, and there was nothing special about Peter's right hand – but it was a dream that reoccurred for weeks on end, and left him feeling unsteady on his feet whenever he was near the other man.
He then noticed that Remus watched Sirius as closely as Peter watched James, often with the same flash of betrayal in his amber eyes. Peter would look at him, and think about how nearly everything the Marauders did had been for the werewolf. Bonding together as close friends, becoming animagi, joining the Order…. Oftentimes the reasoning behind these choices centered on Remus; his desire for companionship, his need for someone to keep him from killing himself on full moon nights, his quiet request that they help Professor Dumbledore protect people like him and Lily, half-bloods and half-breeds who would be killed first if Voldemort came to power. Sirius was always willing, eager to help – like a puppy, wanting to please the master it adored so much – and what Sirius did James did, and what James did Peter did, and somehow he found himself turning into a rat and fighting for the Light.
He began to wonder – why Remus? Why not Peter? Though he never knew exactly what it was he was asking. He certainly didn't want Sirius' love, or everyone else's cautious fear of the dark creature in his mist. But he saw how Remus looked at Sirius, and how Sirius looked at Remus, and he knew that he wanted James to look at Peter that way, too.
One night, Peter was sitting at home, reading a Muggle novel in front of his small fireplace. The only sound in the flat was the turning of pages as he soaked in the words of Tolkien, imagining himself to be Frodo, perhaps, carrying a heavy burden but never yielding, or perhaps Aragorn, tall and strapping and the heir of a glorious history. But he knew in the part of his mind that he was really Wormtongue, hissing accusations in the ear of the king while pretending to be his most loyal companion. James would be Aragorn, handsome and bold, leading his people to battle and victory, while beautiful Lily would be Arwen, giving up everything – her life and her people - to be with the man she loved. He could imagine Sirius in any number of roles – sometimes he was Legolas, silent and unerring, deadly accurate with all of his weapons, while other times he was even the dwarf Gimli, with his bravado and loud rages, and once in a while, when he and James were together, he saw glimpses of Merry and Pippin, rambunctious and brave, best friends forever.
But Remus would undoubtedly be Frodo, with his lycanthropy hanging around his neck, weighing him down, making him weak and fragile on the outside, but with a will of steel within. Or perhaps it was the suspicious eyes of James that were his Ring, the fact that Sirius never touched him anymore, that no one would ever leave him alone with Harry. And Wormtail, or Wormtongue, would continue to spread lies, growing like weeds, draining the life out of all their vibrant friendships, choking them with the thick air of betrayal.
He noticed that the fire was dying, but before he could finish his Incendio spell, Sirius banged into his flat, all wet black hair and mad grey eyes, before grabbing Peter's arm and dragging him outside.
"Wh-where are we going?" Peter gasped, still clinging to his copy of The Two Towers as if it could somehow save him. He noticed that it was raining, and let go of his last hope before being forced out of his apartment, listening as the book flopped spinelessly to the ground.
"Out," Sirius all but growled, his long fingers digging into Peter's flesh and his aristocratic features transformed into an insane anger. On anyone else, it would have been hideous, but Sirius wore his madness and rage like a second skin, and Peter was frightened but still transfixed by his timeless beauty.
"But where?"
"Anywhere but here!" And as soon as Sirius felt the shiver that meant he had crossed the anti-apparition field, he disappeared with a crack, taking Peter with him.
They reappeared on a long, abandoned street, surrounded by chain link fences and old factories that had once been grand, but were now empty as bodies after a Dementor's Kiss. Sirius whirled around to face Peter as soon as they materialized, and to Peter's right an empty trashcan exploded with the force of Sirius' wandless, accidental magic. Peter yelped, but before he could properly react Sirius was screaming at him.
"Remus could have died!" he shouted out, grabbing Peter by the front of his robes and shaking him. "I went to see him after last moon, the next day, and he had a huge, gaping open would in his stomach. He almost died! He couldn't even get up to call for help. He had been lying there, for hours, praying that someone would come and help him!" A full recycling can that had been rusting for years exploded this time. The newspapers caught fire while melted plastic and shards of glass rained down on the street.
Peter wanted to reach inside him and find the Gryffindor courage he had to have somewhere, rip Sirius off of him and throw him to the ground, tell him that if he wasn't so bloody arrogant then he wouldn't believe anything Peter said – that he would know that Peter was the traitor, that Remus could never harm anyone, that Remus was Frodo and his burden was too heavy to betray his friends, and Sirius was supposed to be brave and intelligent, and Remus was supposed to be trusted, not Wormtail, whose name was so similar to Wormtongue it made him want to cry.
If James and Sirius would just think, they would know it was Peter. But Peter! The boy who fawned over them in school, who still hero-worshipped them now, who loved them and feared them with equal abandon! He couldn't possibly be the traitor; how would he have the spine to do it? Remus was always good at lying, Remus never feared them, Remus was the one to be feared. He was the only one who could be the traitor, even if it was tearing Sirius up inside to think about it.
But Peter remembered the pain he felt when the Mark had first been carved into his flesh, and said instead, "Why didn't Remus use the Wolfsbane Potion that Alice Longbottom made for him?"
Sirius froze, his grey eyes flashing dangerously, his pupils bloodshot red – though that might have been the burning cans and trash behind Peter, reflecting there. "What?" the dark-haired man hissed. "What are you talking about?"
"Al-Alice. She's good at Potions, so she offered to make some for Remus," Peter responded, trying to sound like he was only scared of Sirius' fury, and not of what would happen if Sirius knew that Alice asked Peter to give Remus the potion, and instead he had poured it down his kitchen sink.
"But…I didn't know…" Sirius whispered, and all of the rage vanished from his eyes. His shoulders slumped, and for the first time in his life Peter felt like he was taller than Sirius, more imposing and confident.
"How were you to know? Remus didn't tell you; he didn't tell anyone. He just said he couldn't afford it. Maybe he didn't want Alice's charity?" Peter tried to smile at Sirius, let out a nervous laugh. He began to rub at his right hand nervously.
"Don't laugh!" Sirius snapped, but Peter no longer had any fear in him. "I'm serious!"
Of course you're Sirius. You always are, Peter thought to himself, but that was Remus' joke, delivered dryly in the Great Hall while he flipped through a textbook, or in the Common Room while he deliberated a move in chess against Kingsley, his amber eyes glistening with secret laughter while everyone else smacked their foreheads in frustration at the horrible joke. Sometimes James used it too, but it never fell from his lips quite right, as if it was foul food that he was trying to spit out as quickly as possible.
Peter never used the joke out loud. He didn't dare.
"We can't trust him like we used to, Padfoot. You know that," Peter whispered, gently and slowly putting his hand on Sirius' shoulder. "Who knows why he's always gone, why he won't take the potion? He isn't our Moony anymore."
Sirius let out a muffled sob. "But how do you know Remus is the traitor?"
Peter kept a straight face as he delivered the final blow to Sirius' trust in Remus. "Who else could it possibly be?"
Sometimes, when James and Lily invited Peter over for lunch, he amused baby Harry by turning into his animagus form. Harry was always surprisingly gentle with Wormtail, even though he tore apart all his other toys, demanding that his father or mother set them to rights with "maaaa'ic." He was too young to master the "g" sound, or to understand that Wormtail was the same thing as Peter, but he loved the little rat, and stroked it calmly, oftentimes making soft cooing sounds and wet laughs.
Wormtail smelled the love that came off of Harry in waves. Everyone who saw him adored him, gasped over how much he looked like James, and sighed in pleasure when he blinked Lily's green eyes up at them. It made him want to gag, made him want to turn back into a human and confess to everything, say how he was trying to subtly wheedle Sirius into distrusting Remus and giving Peter the position of Secret Keeper, sob as he told them that he was a Death Eater, that he was trying to get James and Lily to do more than like him. He wanted them to love him and trust him and adore him the way he adored them. He wanted them to die loving Peter.
Most of all, he wanted to be remembered.
But Peter never understood why the Sorting Hat had chosen to put him in Gryffindor. He was nothing but a coward who gasped in pain whenever his Mark flared with a summons and wanted to avoid all other punishments at the feet of his master, at whatever cost. James would have died before he took the Mark, going out as a hero, taking out as many Death Eaters as he could before he fell. Sirius would have laughed in the Dark Lord's face, spit at his feet, and scream when he was Crucio'd, but he would never beg for the pain to stop like Peter did. Remus would probably be silent, never even screaming at the torture. His transformations were more than scarring enough to teach him how to handle pain.
When Harry lifted up Wormtail to look at his whiskers and his beady, watery eyes, Wormtail mentally asked him, Do you know what I am going to do to you? Do you understand why I can't say no? Will you even remember me? Will you ever be able to forgive me?
Harry laughed at Wormtail's squeaks and ran his baby-fat fingers over Wormtail's glossy coat, and Peter took forgiveness wherever he could get it.