"You're going to kill me? After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!"
Peter stood there, his mouth opening and closing, trying to find the right words to say as his eyes darted nervously back and forth between the two boys. He never expected his past to catch up with him. His sins, his misdemeanors, even his moral triumphs were a thing of the past and he thought that he had shoved them away for good, tucked away in the same ruddy bag in which he kept all of his boyhood memories. Now the bag was bursting at the seams, and his memories were spilling forth, dancing around in his conscience, mocking him. All his actions, all the consequences were starting to come to light. He wanted them to go away. It was much easier to be bad when you were never reminded of the good, but his memories were twisting in spiral shapes around his head, silver bursts of air that transformed into the true ghosts of his past. His sins.
The boy looked so much like James. It was terrifying, even more so than the Dark Lord, who held the keys to Pettigrew's life and death in the palm of his crooked hand. Peter feared, more than anything else, James's return. He did not know how he would be able to explain his actions to his former friend. There was no way to justify it, and Peter knew it. It would be easy to say that he only wanted power from his master, because every witch and wizard craves power the moment they send their first sparks whirling into the air. Peter understood that he was not after Power, not then, not now, not ever. If he had wanted power, he would have tried to overthrow James and Sirius's seven year rule at Hogwarts. If he had wanted power, he would take the normal route and try for a Ministry position. Peter's only motive was fear. It latched onto his heart like a leech onto blood. Peter knew what was coming. He knew that the Dark Lord would kill to get to James and his family. He figured that going willingly would save his life.
James would never forgive him, Peter realized. Never. Peter told Harry, a few years ago, that James would forgive, but that was all a lie. James would not forgive. He wasn't exactly the forgiving type. He was never as virtuous as people made him seem. He was a bully, and a rotten one at that, always sticking his nose where it wasn't meant to be. James would murder him for making his only son an orphan. Regret washed over him. It was a refreshing feeling, calm and light, not at all like the intense blood thirst Peter had when he was near his lord. He felt sorry for the first time since he had become a traitor. He wanted to change it. He didn't want this life, because going to his master never erased his fear; it only increased it. He was under the Dark Lord's every whim. He could die if his master wanted him to. If he died, who would remember him? James and Lily were famous, and Sirius had a spot in the boy's heart. Peter never had a best friend, he never even kissed a girl, and suddenly he was craving affection. He saw it in the boy's kind green eyes, and he realized that the boy was different than his father, much more forgiving.
He dropped his wand. It was only a slight movement, but it was enough. Peter's eyes widened in horror as his silver arm began to move towards him. It was in slow motion. Peter gasped and all the oxygen in the room rushed inside of him in one noisy breath. No, it couldn't be. It wasn't possible. His lord gave him that arm, made it himself; it was a gift for being such a willing sacrifice, for helping restore him to his former glory. His mind tried to stop it from moving towards him. His mind was always with his master's, but it couldn't comprehend this. The little wheels in his head were spinning out of control and the body's latest betrayal. Peter's heartbeat was echoing in his ears, loud and angry, and he could feel his master's rage shrieking inside the warmth of his veins. His body wasn't his own anymore, it was someone else's entirely, and no matter how hard his other arm fought, the silver moved closer and closer to the bulging flesh of his throat. The two boys joined in, and Peter felt a hole tear through his chest. They were trying to save him after everything, and he didn't deserve it. He knew that he deserved this death but he couldn't accept it, because he was Peter Pettigrew, and he was a Death Eater! He was one of them, not some do good pansy!
They say that the last few minutes of your life stretch into a terrible eternity. In your last moments on earth, you cannot control where your mind is going, because your body has already given up. The silver memories that had escaped earlier were growing restless and angry and they began to eat him up, attacking him with the same ferocity that his own hand was attacking his throat. The boy, Harry, was in front of him, saying something, pulling at his hand, his eyes shining with determination. Peter realized that he would like to have a son of his own, a son that would cry after him when he was gone. James had that, and so did Sirius, even if they weren't blood-related. What did he have besides the shabby clothes on his back?
Peter closed his eyes, just for a split second, just to relieve himself for one moment. The instant his eyelids fluttered shut; the memories began to overcome the darkness. He couldn't have had his eyes closed for more than three seconds, but when you're on the brink of death, you remember everything in the time in which it occurred. Peter had no choice but to surrender himself as his past soaked him in powerful, raw emotion. He was done fighting.
"Oy! You there!"
Peter looked up, startled. He was eleven years old and was waiting to be sorted. From inside the hall, he could hear the booming voice of the Sorting Hat and the thunderous applause, and it terrified him beyond belief. He wasn't expecting such a public sorting, and suddenly he felt much smaller than he actually was. With each round of applause his soul caved in a little more and he hunched over, trying to protect the fragility of his feelings with his bony shoulders. When he heard people calling out for him, he was nervous. Perhaps it was his turn? Perhaps they would tell him that he was a Squib? Perhaps they were scolding him for his slouching? It could be any of those things, and the possibilities pinched at Peter's thoughts with a fierce determination. He was a nervous kid, even when he was a baby he wailed into the night whenever he left his mother's arms. When he grew up, he was afraid of his shadow on the sidewalk and sucked his thumb until he was seven. Now, he was eleven and people were talking to him, and socialization paralyzed him to the point where his emotions rendered his legs unmovable.
"I'm talking to you!" the kid said, and in two quick strides, he was in front of Peter and poked his hunched shoulder, hard. The kid had messy, un-kept hair, a nose that jutted out slightly and a smile. Peter couldn't tell if it was good or bad. He was flanked to his right by another boy who was a head taller and already handsome at age eleven with dark hair and a crooked, wise smile. Peter turned his back to them in a second. He was not there to make friends. He was there to learn. He was there to learn. His parents had told him that after he had protested going to Hogwarts, because he was afraid of people. In Peter's eleven years of living he only talked to strangers when he had to, and it was usually in times of dire need when he couldn't find the bathroom or his mother. Peter hoped the boys wouldn't take it personally, but they did, and a hand clamped down on his shoulder and spun him around.
"We're talking to you," the taller boy said. "You know, it's really quite rude to stare." He smiled and laughed, and so did the other boy, so Peter joined in, hesitantly. He didn't know what laughter was, he lived under the rule of his parents, two caring people, but in the end, they were quite grim faced. The three boys laughed together, and for the first time in his life, Peter felt a sense of belonging. He was laughing with people his age and conversing, however forced his laugh was. He began to let go and he eased his tight face up into a relaxed smile. The shorter boy, the one with the messy hair, stuck out a hand, which Peter was surprised to find he shook instantly. "I'm James," the boy said. He nodded to the other one. "And this is Sirius. What house do you want to be in?" he leaned in close to Peter's ear, and Peter felt his heart beat fast at the opportunity to be included. "That ugly bloke says he'd rather be in Slytherin. What a joke!"
Peter looked in the direction of James's gaze and saw a pale, slim boy with a large nose and greasy black hair. He did look like a joke, but Peter felt sorry for him. Though he was never directly made fun of (he wasn't around people enough for that) Peter knew that being on the outside was more of a curse than a blessing. Still, when the two boys burst out into cruel laughter and pointed at the boy, Peter did too. He felt horrible at first, especially when the boy looked over at them. You could see the hatred in his face, if that's what you chose to see, but the sadness was clear as day. He was hurt. He wanted to be accepted. Peter felt for him, but he was not willing to sacrifice himself at the weaker boy's expense.
Sirius left, as his name started with a 'b' and Peter and James talked. Peter introduced himself and he found out that James's last name was Potter. He learned that James only knew how to close a door with magic, but James confided in him that his magic was rather out of control and he couldn't always do it properly. It made Peter flush with pleasure to know that James was opening himself up to Peter. It was one thing for someone to talk to you, it was another for someone to open their soul up to you. Peter learned that friendship could happen easily. "I wonder if there are any good looking girls here," James had asked. "Know any? Let's look." Peter turned and scanned the crowd with James, and he felt so wonderful and so lost at the same time. Being eleven, he was still not accustomed with his hormones quite like James was. Peter searched with James until he pointed a finger at a red head with freckles dotting constellations across her face. "She's the one!" James said excitedly, and when the girl looked over with a frown, James burst into a shade of cherry red that made Peter laugh until his insides were sore.
Peter opened his eyes to find Harry's green ones. How long had it been? It was only a second or two, because everything was exactly as it was, but Peter felt like he had been swimming in eternity. He wanted it to end quickly and painlessly, but his body refused, and he found himself gasping for as much air as possible while the cold metal proceeded to grip his throat. He sought Harry's face out again and marveled at the boy's resemblance to his father. He had never seen it before, but that was back then, when he had no problem in betraying James to the most evil being known to the entire wizarding world. He had no problem in letting his friend die, only to save his own sorry skin. He knew the truth now, that what he had done was most certainly unforgivable. He knew that James was most likely sitting on his throne in heaven, cursing him, willing him to die at the mercy of his own body. Peter had once told the boy that his father would want him to spare his life. Peter only did that to save his own skin. He felt dread sink into his flesh when he realized how he had manipulated the boy's affections for his father, and he wished that he could have died then. He didn't want to die this way, with James's son trying to save him once again. He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve Harry's mercy again, and he certainly didn't deserve James.
James. What did James see in him? Peter was ordinary. There was nothing special about him. He had no outgoing personality like James, no handsome figure and smooth charm like Sirius, no gentle voice or brains like Remus. He added nothing to the group but a touch of normalcy. The only interesting thing about Peter was something that no one would ever realize or give him credit for. He was intelligent, not in a book way, but in a common sense way. It was that intelligence that whispered sin into his ear, which told him that James would forgive him for his treason. Peter's eyes burned with tears, and he was surprised that one of them slipped out. He betrayed the one person who had given him a chance. He betrayed the only person that looked past his ordinary appearance and seemingly ordinary brains. James took Peter under his wing and asked for nothing in exchange, but Peter did give him something, something grander than anything James could have known to ask for. Peter gave him death. Peter closed his eyes again, more willingly than he had before, and he surrendered himself to it all.
It was a lovely outdoor ceremony at dusk. The sun had started to set, painting the sky in broad strokes of red and purple and orange. The wind danced through the trees, causing them to sway and drop fall's leaves on the guests, who were paying rapt attention to the three people in front. The priest was droning on in his usual monotone style, but the couple that stood with their hands clasped together was absolutely radiant. James stood in a black tuxedo, his hair matted down with a combination of water and gel. He grinned openly at his bride, a pale flush settling upon his raised cheeks. Lily was a vision in her white dress. It was simple and elegant and not at all up to the witch standards of the time, but Lily could make anything look beautiful. One arm was bare, while the other was veiled in a transparent fabric. She was not as joyous as James, who could be read like an open book, but she was equally excited. You could see it in the sparkle of her green eyes and the tiny upturned corners of her mouth.
Peter made sure no one was looking before he scratched the back of his leg with his other foot. The ceremony was taking forever, and while he was happy for his friend, he was also a bit jealous. Peter never really had a crush on any girl, mostly because he was afraid of what others, particularly James and Sirius, would think. The only girl he ever talked to was Lily, and that was only because she was James's girl. It's not that he fancied Lily, it was just that he envied their closeness. He hated the moments when Lily would ask him where James was, mostly because he knew no one was looking out for him. He had little faith in his friends by the time he graduated from Hogwarts, and while he appreciated them, he knew that they would not care if he left. Peter was truly and utterly alone. He wanted Lily to want him, not James, only because he wanted to be wanted.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of cheers. He looked up from the ground and saw that everyone was rising to their feet as James skillfully dipped Lily back. She shrieked, but he silenced her with a long, deep kiss that she was eager to return. The happy couple stood up, flushed, and walked down the aisle, Lily waving her bouqet in the air like a trophy. Peter clapped, though he was not altogether happy. He, Sirius, and Remus followed the couple out along with the rest of the wedding party. The reception was going to start immediately after, and James and Lily had forced them all to promise to do a special dance. Dancing wasn't exactly Peter's forte, but he did it because James wanted him to. Refusing would be nothing short of treason. So when the music started and the groom's men started to latch onto bridesmaids, Peter looked around for a partner and realized that there was a bridesmaid missing. Maybe she was sick, or maybe she had skipped, but Peter's face flushed with angry color when he realized that he was alone. He tried to signal this to James, who was paying no attention to anyone other than Lily, who looked a little embarrassed by his affections. Peter stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked outside. It would be better if someone was watching, if people started to point and whisper and question him on his identity, but no one noticed, as usual. Peter was forever unnoticeable.
Peter's eyes opened with a jolt, and he felt something stir in his chest. He realized that it was pain, and that in the second that his eyes had closed, the last bit of life had started to slip away. He cast his eyes downwards and saw the shiny gleam of the hand, the doomed gift, the part of his body that would bring him to his doom. He saw Harry's face and the resolute expression of realization. The boy knew he was going to die. Peter wanted to say something then to him. This was his chance. He had to correct himself. He knew that he was lonely, that he was heartbroken, that he was weak. Peter knew that he had spent all of his life calculating how to come out on top, how to live the longest, how to somehow triumph over the clever James Potter. Peter realized that life was not about winning or losing, it was about who would miss you, and that empty, burning loneliness inside of him was tearing away at his chest. He was moments from death now, and when he left, all he would leave behind would be a rotting carcass. No one would mourn Peter Pettigrew, who hadn't accomplished anything. Even the Dark Lord would be remembered by his most devout followers, but Peter? Peter had cast away the only people who were willing to give him a chance for his own safety.
I should have died, Peter thought. My life didn't have any value. They had a baby. They had him. Peter flicked his eyes upward towards Harry's, who just looked remorseful. What a good child he was. Even though Peter was responsible for the death of the two most important people in his life, there was still room in his heart to grieve. Peter wondered if he had ever really grieved for Lily and James. If he hadn't, he was doing it now. Tears streamed down his face. Maybe they were from the lack of oxygen, but Peter could feel their truth pouring down his fleshed out cheeks. He could feel the throbbing of remorse in his heart, the regrets, the sins, they were all there. He wished that they had come earlier. If they had, maybe he could die fighting the Dark Lord. Maybe he could die knowing that this boy had forgiven him for his sins, and therefore, pay back the debt that was long due.
Would the boy grieve for him? He wanted him to. Peter never felt close to people. Even when he was a child, spoiled by the love of eager parents, he had never felt the closeness that was so apparent between Lily and James. But he felt it now. It wasn't a romantic love, but it was a yearning, a love that constituted the need to be needed. Peter knew then what he had been missing all along. It was the lost part of his soul, but now he was whole again, and he was ready for death, as long as he could do one thing first. He turned to Harry with beseeching eyes and struggled to say the words, but there was little oxygen left. Instead, he took his free arm and reached towards Harry. If he could touch the boy, just touch him, he knew that Harry would understand. Peter stretched, but something seized hold of him, and it was both fiery and cold at once. Death. His arm dropped, followed by the rest of his body, and then Peter Pettigrew became nothing more.
I'm so sorry.