~o~
He wanted to be like them, and for a while, he pretended to be. They were his idols from the second he saw them on the Hogwarts Express.
James stood out as a shining star. Rich, handsome, and humorous, he was the most popular boy in their year. His athleticism was natural. Eventually, he even outgrew the harsh black and white views of his youth, settling swiftly into maturity and marriage.
Yet it was his loping ease that Peter admired and envied above everything else.
Sirius had the same qualities as James, but he knew that he had them. He exploited every good facet of his personality (and though he denied it, he could have easily been sorted into the Hogwarts House of his ancestors for that alone). His humour had a vicious edge. There was a danger to him, although as long as Peter had been on Sirius's side he had never been the target of his wrath. More than that, he had stood up for his personal ideals against his family.
His convictions never wavered, and Peter wished for that strength.
Remus, studious and soft-spoken, accepted people as they were. He was more afraid of himself than others, though he faced introspection head-on. Every day he lived was a risk, but he still woke up in the morning and got on with his day.
That sort of quiet bravery was the hardest for Peter to emulate.
He had failed at becoming like his friends. Worshipping them had seemed enough at one time. Foolishly, he had grasped for more. He couldn't reach those heights, just as he could not become a great wizard, or even an average one.
Being placed in Gryffindor seemed a mockery as he grew older. If fate wasn't having a go at him, why surround him with ideals he could never meet? In another House, he might have succeeded. In Hufflepuff, he would have had friends and equals. Ravenclaw would have been hopeless - he hadn't the brains for the place - but Slytherin ... if only he had started there instead. Things would have gone differently for him. He could never measure up in Gryffindor and there would be repayment for that.
He paused at the sound of Apparition across the graveyard. The time had come. Fear ran over him like a chill. No, he would not run.
There was no turning back, not now.
Those three friends had been gods to him for half his life. They had no right to abandon him now that they were adults. Didn't they see that he couldn't stand on his own? He would have died for them, had they truly cared. Had he mattered. If they had paid attention, if they had visited, if they had not let him become so alone, this wouldn't have happened. It was their fault he had been weak.
But he had changed. How they would see it ... How they would cower! Peter Pettigrew was worth something.
He was finally strong.
Dropping to one knee, he looked toward the sound of ever-closer footfalls. He held aloft a parchment; the address upon it was in large, clear letters. The wizard raised his head, and smiled up at the distorted face of a dark god.
His master's mouth split into a cruel echo.