A/N: I drafted the majority of this for a challenge back in May, so it's so exciting to finally finish and post it.

Boarding school was positively horrid. His father had insisted that he go. At first, it had been a contingency plan in case he didn't get his letter to Hogwarts. When it became obvious that he had in fact inherited his mother's magical ability, the reason became that there wouldn't be anyone at home to look after him during the day. Peter understood why he had to go – laws and practicalities and other things – but he loathed every day he spent within its flimsy excuse for a boundary fence. Sentences didn't make sense to him; he could understand things when his teachers explained them to the class, but the little squiggles on paper and in books seemed more like a child's idle doodling than an attempt at meaningful communication. The teachers, however, always viewed it as his fault; they said that he was the problem, not the writing, and that he just needed to actually try for once. It was always frustrating when somebody insisted that you 'actually try' at something that you'd spent your whole life genuinely struggling to do.

His classmates didn't like him, either. Most of them ignored him, and those that did deign to speak to him usually just wanted to sneer at his attempts at conversation or mock his low grades. When his birthday rolled around and the teacher tried to lead them through a group rendition of Happy Birthday, the other boys all kept their mouths firmly shut until Mr White threatened them all with detention if they kept being rude.

Sometimes, he was merely forgotten. Mr White would mark the roll only to realise that he had accidentally skipped Peter's name. Peter's grandmother would ask about all of his cousins before contritely tacking him on as an afterthought. Shopkeepers would attend to all of their other customers before noticing the quiet, mousy little boy who had been trying to find someone who could help him reach the top shelf for a good half an hour.

Peter honestly wasn't sure which he preferred. Being ignored was certainly more peaceful, but it often felt even more insulting than the alternative. His classmates belittled and humiliated him and made school hellish, but at least they were aware of his presence. At least their sly glances as they devised their next plan to torment him meant that he was on their minds enough to warrant being bothered. It meant that his existence mattered one way or another.

Peter Pettigrew wanted to matter and he wanted, more than anything, to be noticed.

-x-x-x-

Standing under the charmed, starry ceiling of the Great Hall for the first time was the most exhilarating moment of his life. Dozens of other new first years surrounded him, their excitement and nerves evident as they bit their lips and fidgeted. Yet the two boys at the front of the line looked starkly different from the rest. They appeared to be chatting animatedly, their hands waving about to illustrate their words. They looked utterly self-absorbed and confident, and Peter wanted what they had. He envied their natural ease. For all his excitement about leaving his Muggle boarding school behind, he secretly feared that he would soon find himself in the same position here as he had been there. It would be infinitely worse if he did. Throughout his time there, he had held onto the hope that it might one day be better, that he might leave for Hogwarts and be accepted rather than despised; if he got here only to find that it was the same here, he would have no fortifying hope to cling to. But if he were more like them, then he wouldn't have to worry about anything. They seemed like the type of people who could fit in anywhere without even trying. If the way people kept shooting glances at them was anything to go by, they were the sort of people who could get noticed anywhere without even trying.

He was determined to befriend them. It didn't matter what he had to do; he would lower himself to flattery and desperate errand-running if he had to, as long as it meant that they would take him in and teach him how to be more like them. His parents had always insisted that he be himself and that he not let the bullies get to him. If he had learnt one thing from his time at the Muggle boarding school, however, it was that he didn't want to be himself; not if that meant being the forgotten little boy he had always been.

There was a strange to-do as the first boy – Sirius Black – was sorted into Gryffindor, the house of lions and bravery. Unfortunately, Peter's name was called before the other boy's. Then again, he supposed it made it simpler; chances were that the pair would go to the same house, but, if they didn't, it would just make his own Sorting harder. As he sat on stool and felt the hat's consciousness enter his mind, he focused his entire being on his desire to go to Gryffindor.

"Are you sure?" the Hat asked him. "You're as ambitious and crafty as a Slytherin, and your desire for social acceptance would hold you in good stead for Hufflepuff. You have some Gryffindor tendencies, to be sure, but I would have pegged you for – "

Put me in Gryffindor. I have to be in Gryffindor.

"But you really would be better suited to – "

Gryffindor. I don't care what I'm better suited to; I want to be in Gryffindor.

"Well, if you're certain – GRYFFINDOR!"

Pleased, Peter hurried over to the cheering table and sat as close to Sirius Black as he could. To his relief, the other boy – James Potter – was almost immediately sorted into his new house, and chose to sit nearby as well.

My new family, he thought, remembering Professor McGonagall's words. These people are my family now. They're outspoken and showy and will teach me how to get noticed like they do.

-x-x-x-

He had the fortune of being assigned to the same dormitory as the other boys. They, and a sandy-haired boy named Remus Lupin, quickly become his first true friends. They were kind to him and helped him to interpret and word his homework, and, although they seemed rather fond of teasing him, they didn't let anyone bully him. One of the things he most liked about them was that they didn't pity him. He knew that they saw him as mentally slow and socially awkward, and that Remus frequently tried to get Peter to stick up for himself rather than doing whatever James and Sirius, who were quickly becoming their ringleaders, wanted, but they didn't treat him like a little kid. Their attempts at verbal sparring often fell flat when his turn came, but they never stopped giving him the chance to parry their quick barbs.

At least, that was how he chose to see it.

Rapid exchanges of wit might be beyond him and reading might still occasionally challenge him, but he was smarter than they gave him credit for. He was nowhere near their level of brilliance or studiousness, but he was – in large part due to Remus' patience in teaching him to refine his meagre reading and writing skills – still above average. They compared the ease with which they achieved Outstandings to the struggle it took for him to have his work deemed worthy of an Acceptable or an Exceeds Expectations, but he often came up with prank ideas that they then altered for use. While he knew they underestimated him, he didn't mind; they noticed him, and that alone meant that others noticed him too, and that was enough.

-x-x-x-

The hex hit him in the back of the leg, sending pain shooting through the limb like wildfire that had caught hold. Shocked by the suddenness of it, he squealed as he toppled to the ground, extending his arms in his attempt to break his fall. A sickening crack sounded as he was hit by another onslaught of pain, this time in his wrists, and he screamed as he pulled them into his body.

"Oi!" Sirius' voice demanded. "What'd you do that for?"

Someone dropped down to the ground beside Peter, and he heard Remus' concerned voice say, "Peter, let me see them."

Peter shook his head, gritting his teeth to keep himself from making any more noise as he held his hands against his chest.

"Please," Remus insisted, but Peter merely shook his head again.

"You know what," someone else – Peter assumed she was the person who'd cast the hex – replied. "I owed you one. You jinx my little brother again and next time will be a thousand times worse."

"Which one's your brother?" James asked.

"First year Ravenclaw. Jimmy Brown."

"We'll be sure to keep an eye out for him," Sirius promised, his voice cocky and unperturbed. "Don't you worry about that, love."

"I mean it. Leave him alone."

Footsteps rang out, slowly receding, and James and Sirius crouched down beside Peter.

"Come on, mate; let's get you to Madam Pomfrey."

They hauled Peter to his feet and, with their support, he hobbled off towards the hospital wing.

"We need to tell Professor McGonagall what happened," Remus said. "I can go g – "

"No," Sirius said. "What'll she do? Detention and docked points? We'll take care of this." Peter groaned; that would just serve to incite more payback. Apparently mistaking the cause of his discontentment, Sirius nudged him jovially as he asked, "Do you want to be the one who gets the kid next time?"

Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Besides, he'd been noticed by the vengeful witch – even if it was just as a convenient tool – and his friends had noted his pain. A stoic expression on his face, Peter nodded. "Yeah. I do."

-x-x-x-

Peter looked between the three other Marauders in confusion. They had finally finalised the plans for their fourth year end-of-year prank, but Sirius' run-through of what each person was going to be doing hadn't included him. "What am I going to be doing?"

"Didn't I say that? You're going to be waiting in the Great Hall so you can enjoy the show."

Peter took note of their expressions. Remus stared at his worn shoes, unwilling to meet his gaze. James looked excited and anxious, no doubt impatient to start their plan. Sirius just beamed at him as if he had given him a gift rather than taking one away.

"Aren't I helping?"

"You already have," James pointed out. "You helped us work out how to do it, didn't you?"

"But – "

"Look, Pete," Sirius cut back in, "it's not that we don't want you there; we do. But you've got to know you'd put things in jeopardy. Professors can't use proper Legilimency on students, but that doesn't mean they can't use it to detect surface-level thoughts. James and I were taught Occlumency as kids, and Remus' mind can't be read – "

" – because of his furry little problem," James interrupted, grinning, and Remus looked up briefly to ineffectually glare at him.

" – and the professors always trust him when he's alone, anyway. But your mind is unprotected. This is a really complicated prank, Peter. If just a single one of us is caught out, it'll be a flop."

"And we don't want that to happen," Sirius said. "Do we?"

All three boys were silent, waiting for Peter to respond. For a brief, fleeting moment, he got the feeling that he was on the other end of one of their pranks, as if they were ganging up on him to get him to do what they wanted. "No," he finally said, when he realised that no one else was going to speak for him. "No, we don't."

"So you're fine with sitting this one out, Pete?"

"Yeah. I'll, er, I'll just wait in the Great Hall. Might wait near McGonagall so she knows I wasn't involved."

"See? And you won't even risk getting detention!" James exclaimed, even though Peter had frequently heard him boast about the number of detentions he'd gotten over the years.

"We all know what we're doing? Let's go, then. Remus, you go first. And you're heading…?"

"To the library," Remus replied, his tone reluctant, "where I'll slip the floaty things into people's robes under the pretence of helping them study."

"Good man. Off you trot, then."

"Sorry, mate," Remus whispered to Peter as he passed him. "I'll try to convince them it's unnecessary before the next one."

Peter shrugged carelessly, but, as James and then Sirius happily bounded off and unthinkingly left him alone in the common room with his supposedly unprotected bitter thoughts, he knew that nothing would change. The boys would remain adamant that he should not participate in their pranks, and Remus – consumed with relief that they accepted him – would never truly challenge their decision. The werewolf might bring it up, but he would be powerless against his friends' determination to exclude Peter.

They would continue playing their pranks and having a good old time in the resulting detentions while Peter was left on the periphery. He would still be involved in the planning stages, sure, but that would mean nothing when compared to the bond the other three would form with one another. Planning wasn't the same as doing; he would become nothing more than an accessory to their fun. They might not realise it, but the decision would single-handedly alienate him from the group.

He refused to revert to his lonely, unnoticed state. He refused to be abandoned.

It looked like it was time for him to learn Occlumency.

-x-x-x-

They took to letting him join in on pranks that nobody would foresee or expect – a concession for Remus more than for him – but they continued to cut him out of the more high-risk ones. Every time he was left out, the disappointment hit him afresh, and he spent that time studying Occlumency while they did their thing.

It used to be his thing, too.

One of the worst parts was that James and Sirius weren't always there to defend him from attacks anymore. He was fine most of the time; he really was a decent dueller, and he knew some rather nasty spells. Still, it stung with all the force of a betrayal. They had always been there for him, and then they suddenly weren't, and it wasn't fair. He had done what they asked without question, hero-worshipped them freely and genuinely, and was still ready to spend time with them at a moment's notice. How could they throw all of that away? Why couldn't they upkeep their end of the unspoken bargain?

Perhaps it wasn't being noticed that he was after. Perhaps it was being protected and taken care of.

-x-x-x-

Learning Occlumency was taking longer than he'd expected. All of the time spent with Remus had taught him to read fairly well, but it was an extremely specialised and complicated branch of magic that was better suited to practical rather than theoretical study. He thought he was going rather well, but it would be impossible to know for certain until he found someone who would be willing to test him. That would be difficult in and of itself; he didn't want to alert the other Marauders to his progress until he was sure their scrutiny wouldn't find him wanting, and he didn't want it to be anyone whom he would have to see again in case they saw some of his more personal memories.

He had originally been worried about keeping his activities secret until the time came to reveal them. As it turned out, however, his concerns were unfounded; at first, James and Sirius had been too preoccupied with trying to become Animagi to worry about what Peter might be doing in his spare time, and then they were too busy trying to help him become one to let him have any spare time. Apparently, even they could see that keeping him out of that would be going too far.

"Come on, Peter," James encouraged him. "Try to focus on the thing that defines you as a person. That's what it works from, really, so it kind of helps it along if you meditate on that. It can take a while to get the right thought going, though. I got the technique right first and then tried a bunch of different things. Pretty much as soon as I thought about strength and pride, the whole thing started getting somewhere." He waggled his eyebrows as if they were supposed to be impressed, as if they hadn't heard the story at least a dozen times already. "Strength and pride, that's me."

"Arrogance and hubris, more like," Sirius remarked with a smirk, earning himself an elbow to his ribs and a conceited grin. "Well, I was thinking about how much I hate my family and how I would do anything for you lot. Apparently that got close enough to, like, loyalty or something."

What defines me? Peter wondered. Personally, he would have pegged James as headstrong and Sirius as deviant; the traits they chose fit, but would they have gotten different animal forms if they'd picked something else? Or did they have to select that exact 'right' thing in order to get there? Then again, he didn't suppose it mattered. His problem was the opposite; he didn't have enough possible words to describe himself. He knew how to give a physical description, but he didn't have the right vocabulary to get down into the core of whomever he was as a person. I want to be protected, he suddenly thought. I want to be safe. That's what I want most. That's what defines me.

He held that thought close to him in every practice session after that until, one day, he felt a change coming over him. Startled, he let go of the spell.

"No! You were getting it! I saw some fur."

"Nah, Pete just forgot to shave again, didn't you?"

Ignoring the banter, Peter squeezed his eyes shut and tried again. I want to be safe. I want to be protected. I want to be safe. I want to be protected.

This time, he went with the stirrings, letting the transformation catch him within its pull. He was shrinking, and fur was appearing all over him, and his teeth were sharpening and shifting. It was peculiar, uncomfortable, and more than a little painful, but he forced himself to disregard that in favour for his mantra. I want to be safe. I want to be protected. This is me.

Finally, it was done. James and Sirius stood above him, flabbergasted expressions on their faces as they stared down at him. Peter wiggled his nose. Oh, look; I have whiskers.

The motion appeared to break some spell, for both of his friends instantly cracked up at the sight. "This is priceless," Sirius choked out between guffaws. "James – mirror – he needs to see – "

James, who was slightly more composed and so slightly more capable of performing magic at that point in time, quickly transfigured an old lolly wrapper into a mirror. "Got it. You want to do the honours?"

"'Course I do." Sirius grabbed it off him before presenting it to Peter with a flourish.

A rat. He was a rat.

The boys burst out laughing again.

They had almost gotten back in control of themselves when James said, "Stay away from McGonagall and Mrs Filch," which just set them off again.

Once they calmed down, they helped him change back and reassured him that it was nothing to be assumed of. "After all," Sirius said, "there are lots of things rats can represent. Sneakiness; that can be a good thing for pranks, yeah?"

"Yeah," Peter replied, but he wasn't able to shake off the insult of their initial, unchecked reaction. That was what they really thought about the development; that it was amusing and insulting and quite possibly emasculating. In comparison to their forms – the noble stag and the loyal dog and the fierce wolf – what else could it be?

-x-x-x-

For a brief time, everything was good. Remus' reaction when they suddenly all transformed in front of him was priceless; panic quickly turned to concern and before slowly morphing into heartfelt gratitude. The sight of Sirius joyfully tackling their sandy-haired friend to the ground and, tail wagging manically, licking his face would stick with Peter for years to come.

That led into the best few years of his life. The Marauders spent every full moon together, first in the Shrieking Shack and then, later, roaming the school grounds as if they were kings. And he felt like a king. It was too dangerous for anyone to return to human form during their escapades, so he was the only one who was small and agile enough to hit the knot at the base of the Whomping Willow to let them all out. Without him, the others would be trapped in the shack for the night. He might not have been able to grapple with the werewolf or keep up with the group in a footrace, and Sirius still occasionally shot him amused glances when he thought the younger boy wasn't looking, but Peter gradually reconciled himself to being a rat. He didn't need to do things on his own; all he needed to do was to have something unique and indispensable to bring to a team. What he brought to the table might not be as grandiose as what the others had to offer, but they still couldn't do without it. So, for the first time in his life, he felt needed.

His good mood didn't just extend to the nights of the full moon, either. The knowledge that they had done something so delightfully illegal for their friend filled them all with pride and gave them a sense of constant excitement and entitlement. No one else at the school had managed the Animagus transformation at fifteen, let alone managed it without adult supervision. It was hard to feel inferior when you had that kind of knowledge up your sleeve. Instead, he was fortified by it, and he lashed out at anyone who had ever made him feel lesser.

And his newfound confidence got him noticed, as well. The others might be charming and brilliant, but he was finally being seen as someone worthy of avoiding lest he turn his wand on those around him. Oh, the others still outshone him in every way. It was just that he finally respected himself enough to command respect from others as well.

The only thing that soured his ongoing high was the fact that he was still left out of pranks. Instead of getting better, it was only getting worse. It was more important than ever for him to stay out of trouble, they said, because now his mind contained something truly worth hiding. Before, the worst that could have happened was that a prank would have been spoiled before it could take place. Now, it might send them all – or, given James' and Sirius' families, Remus and Peter – to Azkaban for such a blatant show of disregarding the law.

He was noticed, and he was finally powerful, but he was still an outsider among the close-knit group of friends.

-x-x-x-

Although they ruled the castle, life outside its bounds grew ever darker. Rumours sprung up with increasing frequency about a group of renegades who wanted wizarding Britain to return to the old ways. Stories of family members threatened into compliance made their rounds of the school. Tales of the resurgence of the Knights of Walpurgis started sounding less and less farfetched.

Then, one day, the first report of a murdered family hit the papers. The wave of terror that had been steadily building outside Hogwarts' walls crashed over them, sucking them into its depths. Dumbledore's presence offered them protection from the worst of its fury, but they had loved ones who lived outside of his sphere of existence – and the seventh years knew that they too would be leaving that secure bubble at the end of the school year.

It was as if everything were crumbling apart around him. Knowing that they were living in the shadows of a coming war, James had decided to take his responsibilities as Head Boy and Quidditch Captain seriously, leaving him with little time to mess around with the other Marauders. Remus had thrown himself into his studies in the hopes that it would prepare him for life after graduation. And Sirius, having somehow caught wind of a secret resistance group that would take only the truest and most extraordinary of graduates, had decided to rein in the worst of his behaviour so as to prove that he could follow orders if needed.

Peter had no choice but to go along with it. What he had learned, more than anything, through his friendship with them was that he wasn't born to lead. The fact that they had so cavalierly moved on without him smarted, but there was nothing he could do about it. So he studied with Remus and talked about grown up things like honour and duty with James and proved himself adaptable with Sirius. And he pretended that nothing was wrong.

But it terrified him. He had gotten through school alongside his friends; their little kingdom was protected by Dumbledore and, within it, he was protected by them. In a matter of months, they would all be cast out into the great, big, scary world and told to fend for themselves. And he didn't even know if his friends would be around to have his back anymore.

So he threw himself into Occlumency. He got permission to go home every second weekend to visit his mother, claiming that he was worried about her health. James, as part of his reformation, was more than willing to lend him the gold needed to provide for her, and he used that time and that money to visit a master of the craft. Under her tutelage, he finally got the hang of the difficult skill. Practicing with someone rather than alone did wonders for his progress, and her hard-won wisdom guided him through the challenging parts. Soon, he was proficient enough that she deemed him able to block or misdirect most of Hogwarts' professors. He wasn't yet at the same level as his friends, given that two of them had been taught the skill since birth and the third's mind was literally impenetrable, but he knew more than enough to get him through.

But he decided not to tell them. They spent so little time together as a group that there wasn't really a need for it, and part of him was thrilled to have something all to himself. James had responsibility and Remus had NEWTs and Sirius had the resistance and he had Occlumency.

Besides, the world outside was getting scarier by the week. Getting by unnoticed seemed to be the only way to even start to guarantee safety. While he knew his friends could keep his newly developed skill a secret, it didn't make sense to tell them about it when he didn't have to.

-x-x-x-

The street stretched out before him like a runway. Judging from the cloaked figures waiting at the end of it, the landing would be a rough one. His eyes darted about, looking for some means of escape, but nothing presented itself to him. There was nowhere to hide, and there were just enough people to ensure that he couldn't change into his rat form without revealing his secret.

He was tempted to do so anyway. The chance that the Death Eaters would let the street's inhabitants leave alive was slim, and even the risk of going to Azkaban was better than the certainty of falling into their clutches. But –

But.

They were there for a reason, and he knew it. They must have put the pieces together and realised that he was working for the Order of the Phoenix. In all likelihood, they were there in an attempt to get information from him. And, if that were true, he could use that to his advantage.

Sticking his neck out for other people didn't come easily to him. He had almost fallen into the Order of the Phoenix by accident, really – all of his friends had joined up, and they had convinced Dumbledore to ask him too – and it wasn't suited to his nature. Ever since the war broke out, his instincts had been screaming for him to bunker down and hide until it all went away. But a foolish promise had trapped him in a life of dangerous missions and metaphorical targets and constant espionage. If he could turn back time, his first priority would have been to tell his old self to choose Obliviation over recruitment.

But he couldn't go back. All could do was go forward. And, from the looks of things, the future lay with the Death Eaters. Not in any moral sense; while he would always save his own skin first, he didn't much care about things like blood status. He, plainly and simply, thought that You Know Who had the power and determination and political network to win. He was the future, whether wizarding Britain liked it or not, so any wizard or witch who defied him was, in essence, asking him to leave them in the past.

Peter was smarter than that. His friends, lions all, would still have roared out a challenge to the cloaked figures, boldly refusing to ever surrender. It wouldn't have mattered to them that they had no hope of winning in a direct fight against older and so much more experienced foes; they would have fought anyway. But Peter, as much as he craved brute strength, had never been one for running headfirst at a problem in the hopes that it would go away. He knew better. He saw the truth. And the truth was that too much had happened for him to ever again avoid notice. He would always be James and Sirius' pathetic friend or a former school bully or a member of the Order of the Phoenix; he would always be a target. And he wouldn't be able to survive that way on his own. He needed a protective bubble and a strong team in order to truly be himself. And that meant that his only chance of making it through the war alive was to align himself with people who had the power to get him to the other side. Hogwarts and the Marauders no longer sufficed; he had left the former behind, and the latter had left him behind. So, in the absence of a better offer, post-war Britain and the Death Eaters would have to do.

As the Death Eaters took their time making their way down the sparsely populated street, he could have changed into a rat and scurried away, returning to the temporary safety of the Order's headquarters and hiding there until the next mission arose. He could have escaped. But he didn't.

He didn't want to.