Good Things About Rats

One day, Peter Pettigrew became a rat.

Before that day, a rather pleasant and sunny one in his fifth year at Hogwarts, he'd been a friend, a student, and a son. He was nearly the best in his year in Care of Magical Creatures – the best, Professor Kettleburn said, if he'd only turn in all his homework. He was bubbly Bertha Jorkins' secret admirer. He was a genius at talking his way out of detentions. He was a closet Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle fanatic.

From that day on, though, he was a rat.

His friends defined him by it. Sirius never missed an opportunity to yelp, "Oh, rats!" when Peter dropped a book or stubbed his toe. James hassled him almost nonstop about having the only non-majestic animal form of the group. Remus patted him comfortingly on the back each time he saw Mrs. Norris. All Peter's roles in the subsequent years' pranks involved squeezing into small spaces. Peter Pettigrew was, first and foremost, a rat.

So, when James told Lily the truth behind the Marauders' nicknames, and she looked at Peter with an expression appropriate for unpleasant chores, and said, "A rat?" in much the same way she might have said, "A Death Eater?" – Peter was miffed.

A couple days later, he came to Godric's Hollow to help the Potters move in, with a lovely, bulleted list titled "Good Things About Rats". Clearing his throat loudly, he brandished it over Lily's head.

"Peter, your handwriting is tiny!" she exclaimed. "How can you read that?"

Sirius, in the process of riding a levitating sofa into the room, smirked. "Rodent-size." He jumped gracefully off the couch and sent it zooming toward the wall Lily pointed at.

"Careful! You'll dent the wall!"

"Yes," he said, in mock-tragic tones, "because magic is powerless against dents." Lily tossed the candlestick she was unpacking at him. Sirius caught it.

Peter cleared his throat again. "I'm serious, guys. Don't say it, Padfoot," he added, as Sirius opened his mouth to make a bad pun. "Rats don't get enough credit." Sirius stretched out across the sofa and made a show of paying attention. Lily remained standing, but looked attentively in Peter's direction.

"Rats," he began, "are survivors. They can swim, they can climb, they can run, they can eat just about anything. They can even fit through a hole the size of a Knut. Rats have been around for ages. They can live in a city just as well as in a forest.

"Rats are friendly and clever. They make excellent pets and can easily learn complicated tricks. Rats are some of the animals who behave most like people. They are creative, social, and more intelligent than dogs." Peter stopped to smirk at Sirius Black. Sirius raised his eyebrows, but kept listening. Peter continued.

"Rats are brave and loyal," he stated, with more feeling than he'd intended. "Rats will fight to the death if they have to, even against animals ten times their size. Rats fiercely defend their pups and the pups of their friends. A rat nest is only abandoned when its very last protector is dead."

Peter realized he'd been holding the list in the air with a clenched fist. He lowered his arm, trying not to feel foolish. He waited for Lily to scoff, for Sirius to make another joke. Instead, both of them, along with James, who had entered the room sometime during the tirade, wrapped their friend in an enormous hug.

Rats are survivors. Rats are friendly and clever. Rats are brave and loyal. Brave and loyal.

Peter Pettigrew was proud to be a rat.

Nearly three years later, Peter Pettigrew, the brave and loyal rat, sat in that same sofa with his head in his hands and high, cold laughter ringing in his ears. He'd come straight to Godric's Hollow from his third meeting with Lord Voldemort. He'd narrowly escaped taking the Dark Mark, talked his way out of yet another tight spot, but he couldn't escape the gleam of red eyes and the scream of the Muggle man unlucky enough to pick the wrong forest to hike in. He couldn't forget the serpentine face of the Dark Lord or the hiss of his cloak on the ground. He couldn't forget the pictures in the rat book he'd bought to help him with his list. White rats in the coils of pet pythons, still struggling. Snakes eat rats. Eat them alive.

A few feet away, a playpen gate rattled. Peter snapped his head up, pulled his wand out – and relaxed. He'd been so caught up in his anxiety that he'd forgotten about Harry Potter.

"Woo dadadada," the infant commented. One year old, with green eyes that seemed to take up half his face, the boy had started crawling just as he developed a fascination with the family cat's tail. For the sake of the cat, Lily had bought a giant playpen enchanted to spread out through the entire house. This resulted in the rather strange-looking stretching railings, but allowed Harry to move from room to room at will.

Peter stood up, strode over to the pen, and picked up Harry. "Hey, pup," he whispered. In reply, Harry reached out a tiny hand and grabbed Peter's nose. Peter smiled.

"I'll be deeding dat, pup," he wheezed. Harry let go, giggling. He laid his head against Peter's shoulder and closed his eyes. Peter sat in silence for two minutes that felt like two years. He stared at Harry's head to avoid thinking of the Prewett brothers, dead because of his information. It didn't work. Peter hadn't been brave enough to resist the Dark Lord. He hadn't been loyal to Fabian and Gideon, to the Order. He'd told Voldemort everything. If tonight's charm went as planned, it would be James' and Lily's lives in his hands. Peter didn't think he'd be any stronger for them than for the Prewetts. Than for Marlene McKinnon's parents, who would almost certainly be dead by the end of the week, now that he'd betrayed them.

He ought to do the right thing. He ought to tell Dumbledore what he'd done. He ought to kill himself. Peter knew perfectly well he didn't have the guts for either. He would become Secret-Keeper and betray his best friends and hate himself the whole time. Harry stirred in his sleep, and Peter flinched as though the baby had hit him.

Rats are brave and loyal. Rats defend their pups and the pups of their friends. Unless, by some miracle, he could avoid the Dark Lord, Peter would soon be turning over Harry and his parents, just like the Prewetts, just like the McKinnons. He felt utterly sick. Brave and loyal. James Potter burst through the sitting room door with his wand outstretched, then lowered it as he recognized Peter. Rats are brave and loyal.

"Wormtail? I didn't hear you come in and I couldn't find Harry and –" He broke off, caught his breath, and continued. "How long have you been here?" Peter didn't answer. Brave and loyal. James sat down beside him, and lowered his voice. "Are you ready, then? Secret-Keeper?" Still no answer. "You're sure you want to do this, Wormy?" James asked, taking his son from Peter's arms. The pups of their friends. Rats are brave and loyal.

Peter Pettigrew stood up jerkily. He paced back and forth across the room a few times. James watched him quietly, nervously. Harry slept on.

"I'm sure, Prongs. But – but I think it would be safer if – if I stayed with you and Lily." Peter stopped in front of the Potters, clasping and unclasping his fingers compulsively. He let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding for years. Rats are brave and loyal. "Just in case."