I decided to try writing from Peter's perspective, as a sort of challenge, since he's certainly not a character that's easy to identify with. It's pretty fun. Just a quick one-shot.
I am not J. K. Rowling. If I was, I wouldn't be writing fanfics.
I was never wanted, never admired, always pitied or despised. The others never understood that. Sirius and James were their parent's firstborn sons, their handsome beloved heirs. They were always talented. Things came easily to them. Nothing ever came easily to me. I was always the fat kid, the practically a squib kid, who would never measure up to my great parents. Perhaps Remus might have understood. His parents certainly didn't want a werewolf. But I guess I'll never know, because now it's too late. Now he hates me as much as everyone else.
One of the proudest moments of my life was when I completed my Animagus transformation, an extraordinarily difficult spell that most adult wizards couldn't achieve, let alone a struggling fifth year. Yet even that accomplishment was tainted with shame, because I needed James and Sirius to help me for almost everything. I was always in their shadow; I would never be as good.
To this day, I don't know why I was sorted to Gryffindor. I am a coward to my very core. I always took the easy way out, because that was all anyone ever expected of me. No one ever thought I might do well, not even my friends. I couldn't even stand up to the weakest bully without their help.
You can't know what it was like until you realize what it was like to be friends with Sirius Black and James Potter. Confident, brave, charismatic, handsome, brilliant, they were everything that I was not. Sirius was a rebel, James was an athlete. They were universally admired and looked up to. And me? I was the charity case, the fat little boy who tagged along, hiding behind his friends.
I never went on a single date. I was never invited to parties. I was never in a club or on a team. I was pitiable, the poor Pettigrew boy.
I know I should have told them everything. I should have gone straight to them when Voldemort's supporters came after me. But I had lived all my life in their shadow. I thought, this was one thing I could handle on my own.
I was wrong, of course. When it came down to it, I valued my own life more than theirs. I was overwhelmed by terror. I couldn't think. I like to think I had no choice. But there is always a choice. I was just too afraid to see it.
I begged them not to make me the Secret-Keeper. I can't do it, I said. I'm not strong like you. They reassured me the Death Eaters would go after Sirius. I almost told them then. I almost confessed it all. But instead I said nothing. I took the easy way out.
They never understood why I chose a rat as my Animagus. They wanted to stand out, to be unique. They didn't realize that sometimes it's better to just blend in. A rat is never given a second glance, and that's the way I liked it.
And in the end, that's all I am. A rat. I used to be afraid all the time. Afraid of my new master, Voldemort; afraid of the Death Eaters; afraid of the Ministry. But now I know... there's no point in being afraid. In the end, fear won't help me. No one cares about a rat.