They were dead anyway. Really, it didn't matter if it happened now or if it happened a year from now-the end result was going to be the same. They would continue to fight despite their dwindling numbers as the other side gained in strength and power. He'd find them all, eventually. He'd find them and none of it would have mattered.
In the end, they were all doomed, whether they knew it now or not.
So why, when given an opportunity to save himself-to maybe get respite from the fate he was facing-would Peter Pettigrew not take it?
Almost all of the Bones were gone, the McKinnons had been obliterated, the Prewett twins hadn't been under the ground more than a week yet; it wasn't stopping or even slowing down, and it could only get worse. As far as he was concerned, Remus and Sirius and James and Lily were already dead. But he, Peter, the smallest and weakest and most inconsequential of them, didn't have to be. He finally had a chance to make a difference, to be important, to experience real and complete safety.
All he had to do was answer a couple of questions, give away a couple of locations-it wasn't hard. For the first time in his life, Peter felt truly courageous: he was taking control of his own life, making decisions for himself, instead of riding on the backs of bigger men. It wasn't cowardice, it was courage.
This was his chance. This was his opportunity. And Peter Pettigrew would be damned if he wouldn't take it. He was determined to accept the safety that his foolhardy friends so vehemently refused. He knew he was losing relationships he'd spent years building; he knew he was quite possibly letting his friends die. But did it even matter?
Because really, they were already dead anyway.