AN: I can't even...I don't know why I...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the whole like...first 4/5 of this. I make no apologies for the last 1/5 though. That...that I'm okay with.
Six Feet from Hindsight
He stood in the living room, wand gripped hard in hand, weight balanced on his toes as he stared at the door, waiting for his world to end. He could hear Lily upstairs, hushing Harry, who cried out at the top of his tiny lungs.
He only had a moment, really, half a breath between one second and the next to process, to know. They, all three of them, were going to die. He'd placed all of his trust in a boyhood friendship, and for that, his entire family was going to pay the price.
The door exploded inward, and in the vacuum of nothingness that was the next half of a second, he knew. In his mind, Lily and Harry were a beautiful package, separated out of his life and would soon be whisked away to another existence, one where he would not be meeting them.
James Potter had loved the Marauders since their inception, had stalwartly defended each and every one of them through their Hogwarts years. As time passed and their interests parted, even back in school, he'd paid less and less attention to his friends. After graduation, he rarely saw Peter, so very rarely saw his secret keeper that he could hardly call him a friend and yet...
James had trusted him because of those early years, when they'd been as blood. He hated himself in that moment, as the door splintered against the far wall. He laid the life of his family on an age old trust that had simply flittered away into nothingness. There was a spy in the Order, and it was so much easier to blame the people who were trying, just fucking trying so hard to keep him safe that it was nauseating.
Remus had been secretive, disappearing off onto missions only whispered about to Albus. He returned each time more gaunt, more haunted, and less and less the boy they all knew.
Sirius had been volatile, so angry and unsteady that on occasion James, and he was willing to die for this sin alone, James thought it was Sirius, pushed at last beyond some mental barrier in his mind that kept him from being just like every other Black. Even when Sirius had come to him begging the secret keeper be changed to Peter, James had suspected. He'd thought, for the briefest of moments, that the dog animagus had wanted to get rid of one more of their old friends when he betrayed them to Voldemort.
The hauntingly pale figure stepped across the threshold, wand out in front of him. At least, James thought in his last moments, at least Voldemort had come for him personally. At least he could look at the face of Peter Pettigrew as he cowered behind a dark master and know.
As the killing curse sang through his veins, James's body crumpled. His soul shattered. His world faded out to black, and the last thing his ears heard was the silence of his son.
-RP: Six Feet from Hindsight-
He was alive! Blood sang in his veins, propelling him onward. His brother at his back and a Malfoy in front of him, dueling seemlessly as they always did, Sirius Black was well and truly himself again for the first time since...
A well placed expelliarmus flew over his shoulder, knocking the wand away from the hand of Lucius Malfoy's father. It skittered away into the darkness, too far to see any longer. Pride swelled in his stomach. He'd been the one to teach James that when they were still small, hiding in their house dorm and practicing in secret for wizarding duels.
"Nice one, James." The words came unbidden, and in the next moment, he was hexing Abraxas into that same shadowy darkness. He turned toward James, that childlike glee lighting his lips into a smile. They flickered over the other man quickly, searching out Remus, making sure he was safe as well.
Through the dark, he could make out a man he thought could be the werewolf, though far older and with far too heavy a look upon his face. For just a splintered moment, Remus Lupin met the eyes of Sirius Black, and just like that, those dark eyes were whipping back around to James...to Harry.
The boy had heard him, surely enough, knew that he loved him as he loved his father, not like he should love his godson. He didn't have time to be angry with himself. The killing curse registered faintly in his ear and in the next moment, he was stumbling backward, trying to force out the right name, the proper name.
His eyes slid over to Remus, beautiful, wonderful, trustworthy Remus who was already running toward Harry, toward Sirius's godson, ready to keep him safe and protect him where Sirius had failed. He felt the Veil before he died, knew that it would pull him in. As his ghost flickered on the other side, he panicked.
James was running toward him, toward the Veil, toward everything that was dangerous and...He'd done it again, and he only remembered a moment before he knew no more. Even then, he only remembered because Remus, the scarred, tormented, lonely Remus had gripped James—Harry!—hard around the middle and drug him away, tears in both of their eyes.
On the other side, he knew no more. His vision fled him. His hearing faded to nothingness. The fractured mind of his that couldn't separate best friend from godson mended itself. Guilt and self-loathing for turning away from Remus all those years ago was no longer the heavy chain of responsibility around his neck.
Sirius Black was dead.
-RP: Six Feet from Hindsight-
The boy had to die.
He simply had to, there was no other way around it, not if Peter wanted to live, not if he wanted to win. Because he had to win. Other options had fled him so very long ago, when he'd made decisions that darkened his soul far more than the death of any mere boy.
The silver hand squeezed down, choking life from the soon-to-be-made corse. The other fought with him weakly, all of the inexperience of youth clear in his actions, panic in his eyes. Peter had known that panic once, when he was so very—
He forced himself to concentrate on the silver hand, the one that was not flesh and blood, the one that could take the life of James Potter's son easily, without question or hesitation.
Lily's too, Peter was harshly reminded as those green eyes stared up at him.
Lily Potter who has kind to him even when he was a coward and didn't defend her to a group of Slytherins that pushed her down half a flight of stairs, cursing her blood and her very life.
He looked away from those eyes, away from what he had to do. He'd made this bed all those years ago, when he'd first taken the mark, when he'd been alone and without his friends, too weak to stand up for himself. Where had James Potter been then?
James Potter who had done nothing for him but teach him how to hide, how to let someone else fight his battles. Loathing welled in him for a fraction of a moment before it was erased. James Potter who protected him and called him friend even when he was a pudgy little nothing who didn't even know how to hold his wand properly.
Hold his wand properly. He looked down at the silver hand, his right hand, his wand hand, the one that he'd given to Voldemort. The hand that James had steadied so many times in duels, when it had shakingly held a wand in front of him.
A new ire rose in the pit of his stomach, flooding him with self-hatred so strong he failed to notice the silver hand still.
Beneath him was the last remnant of James and Lily Potter. Here was the godson of Sirius, who teased him mercilessly but defended him to blood and detention when anyone else dared look at him funny. The last tie that Remus—kind and gentle Remus who took the time to explain Arithmacy and call to check in on him long after Peter had stopped calling back because he was answering a darker call—had to his past, his family.
The hand had been choking the life from him for a pair of long minutes before he realized that he'd released the boy, that the weapon had turned on it's master. His mind was lost in those minutes to a different path, a different possibility, a world where Peter Pettigrew learned James Potter's courage, Sirius Black's loyalty, Lily Evan's love, and Remus Lupin's kind heart.
Instead, he died with Petter Pettegrew's unfailing ability to switch sides. He supposed, in the moment life was snuffed from him, that in this instance, it wasn't such a bad trait to have.
-RP: Six Feet from Hindsight-
Remus was a shadow. That was all he could consider himself on the field of battle. Too weak from months of transformations, fighting constantly, casting charms and spells to protect Tonks and Teddy, Remus was a wraith of his former ability.
He'd never been the best duelist growing up, never the most keen to know what would disable and cause pain. He'd learned though, through the years, he'd become a great proficient. First the distrust, the suspicion, the missions that Albus sent him on that no one was to speak about, the missions that meant piss all in the end because Sirius hadn't trusted him, James had died, and all the while, Remus had morned Peter Pettigrew, the man that started all of this to turning.
If anything, over the years, Remus had learned to stifle the youthful idealism that had once been so strong in him. Killing curses fell from his lips, ones both meant to kill immediately, painlessly, and those meant to kill screaming.
This was the monster that he feared more now than even the wolf, this man that had been molded from the body of a good boy and tempered with the death of his friends, core shaking betrayal and the chill of the world.
No, he mused as he sent another curse at a turned deatheater, it was not the wolf that made him flee from Tonks and Teddy. It was the man, a man that so desperately wanted to make the world right.
There would be no such world. Not now, not after everything. James and Lily were gone; their son would follow not long now if they didn't succeed. Sirius had been brought back to him a broken man, but Remus had held onto those jagged pieces until his fingers bled, hot and slick, letting those bits of the man just slide away into the nothingness of the Veil, through Remus's fingers and away from him again. Albus, the last man to truly show him kindness and trust, was gone.
He let another curse spring from his tongue, silencing yet another battle cry in the confusion. In his mind, he was remembering the way Sirius had dueled before his death, so free and natural, just like when he was a younger man, before everything.
James had been the best duelest among them back then, and as he slew yet another wizard, Remus couldn't help but wonder what might have changed had James Potter been there that day, in the Department of Mysteries.
Sirius Black might have lived.
The three of them might have stood on this field, as they were always meant to, as brothers, bathed in blood be it their own, each others, or their enemies, united as completely as they had been so long ago.
The war would have ended differently, he supposed. He would have surely ended different—
Remus Lupin did not get to think of himself in a world where James Potter lived. Dolohov's curse did him one last favor as his knees hit the ground. It snuffed out the wolf. It snuffed out the man. His family would be safe.
-RP: Six Feet from Hindsight-
James was alone for a long time, Lily a stalwart presence beside him, staring down into the ether that showed them the world of the living. She did not speak though, her heart gone from her and down with their son, too focused on what they'd left behind.
So, he'd stood alone in the darkness, watching. He was waiting too, though for what he did not know. He was younger than when he'd died, that much he'd figured out in the years he watched. He'd say he was no older than eighteen. Lily, beautiful Lily, was as she was the day she'd died.
He spent a lot of time wondering about that simply because he had nothing else to think about in those quiet times on the ground when Harry slept or studied.
After Sirius's death, it took the man a long time to join him, fresh faced and no older than James, blinking owlishly before a wide smile split his lips into an almost dangerous grin. James loved that smile. It was the smile of Padfoot, and as they spoke quietly, he realized that Sirius Black, the Prisoner of Azkaban, was still dead and gone.
James would never be more grateful for anything in his after-life. Except for, perhaps, the peace on Remus's aged face when he appeared among them, not so long after, a mere one or two conversations with Sirius and it seemed Remus was there, older, but a brother never the less.
They watched for a very long time. First, Lily started slipping away, walking away into the darkness. Not long after, Tonks followed, the woman having showed up less than a breath after Remus.
In the darkness, movement was simple, but the three men stood rooted to their spot, unsure of what called them the other way, away from the peace that awaited them. It came a long while later, in the form of a boy, no more than six with his right arm severed below the elbow.
He spoke shyly, hesitantly, but with a weight to his words that did not match his age. It was Remus who figured it out. He had always been the smart one, their Moony.
"Peter," he said simply one day, as the four of them sat around, watching the world below them. The boy tensed, staring resolutely down at his marred stump. There were not words among them for several years in the real world. It was Sirius, loyal to a fault Sirius, who broke their silence.
"Why this form?" he demanded, those big, knowing eyes challenging the boy. It was hard to hate a child for the sins he would commit in the future, but the three of them had done their best to try.
"I was innocent then," the boy finally said, looking up at them over pudgy cheeks. "I didn't need to hide behind any of you yet. I didn't even know any of you yet. This was before—"
"Then why the arm?" James asked, cutting off the boy's tumbling words. They'd long ago come to understand that the form one took in the otherworld was symbolic, it meant a great deal more than what they'd all originally thought.
"I lost it," Peter said quietly, staring down at the missing hand. The muscles in his shoulder tensed and jumped, as if he was telling his missing limb to do something it simply could not any longer. "When I didn't...when I couldn't..."
"Kill Harry," Sirius spat.
"It was important," Peter reasoned.
"Your bloody arm wasn't nearly as important as my son!" James said, raging. He was so incensed, pacing back and forth, that he nearly missed the next words.
"It was important that I remembered the last bit of strength I had turned that arm on me," he said. In the silence that followed, none of them counted minutes or hours or days or years on the living world.
Slowly, and as one, the Marauders left the darkness of the otherworld behind.
AN: Alright, I hate Peter, but I set out to write this as a challenge to myself to write something that was sort of, almost Pro-Pettigrew, which was really difficult, and I failed miserably and painfully, but here it is, and I don't hate it.