A Peter Drabble for Lola
I own no rights to any characters in this drabble
There had always been four Marauders, there had to be, the brawns, the brain, the beauty, and, well, the sneak. He'd always been the one that just knew things. They had never bothered to find out why, and how, Peter just knew. He knew the secret passages ways, he found the room of Requirement for them, he always was able to worm his way out of things. He had always been a major key to their success, their fame. They just never knew it. And he would be the key to the downfall, the death of James and Lily.
Peter had always known he had been lucky to be part of the group, though he had always been the least important. He was the insignificant one, the butt of Sirius and James' teasing. They were friends yes, but he had never been as close to them, as they were together. He was the merely there out of convenience, despite the fact he wished it was otherwise. He spent his days following them, wishing he could be as close as they were, and they did include him, but Peter knew, he could tell there was an invisible wall separating him from them.
One day, just after Lily and James' wedding, he had startled them, with an exclamation, "I'm right."
They had looked on, slightly confused, chorusing an "About what, Wormtail?"
"I'm right, s'all." Peter said simply, "Just you watch, I'm right."
They had left it at that, claiming it must have been all the stress. For all Sirius and James had ever known, it must have been that. Remus had been thoughtful enough to investigate his friend's claim.
He had appeared at Peter's London flat, cornering him, "Peter, what is it you're right about?" His face had creased in a mixture of confusion and concern as Peter eyed him warily, plopping down on a chair.
His eyes found Remus', and he shook his head sadly, "I can't tell you." His voice was soft, despairing, "You matter to them, and I don't. They care about you."
Remus sighed, advancing slightly towards the boy, barely an adult, like the rest of them, flung into the world of war. The war was aging them all terribly, not giving them time to really be young. The weight of the wizarding world, bleak as it sounds, rested on their shoulder. Remus could see all this on the drawn face of his childhood friend, and placed a gentle hand on Peter's shoulder. "They do care about you," He said soothingly, not surprised to hear a resounding, "They don't."
"I do," Remus' voice was a mere whisper, afraid to raise his voice and disturb the odd sense of calm that had fallen thickly around the two friends.