A/N: Writing challenge -- I'm contradicting the summary. Hope you like!
Peter Pettigrew is lonely.
In the evenings, he remembers, Sirius and James would talk about pranks and girls and hexes, and Remus and Peter would talk about life. Peter would get everything wrong and confuse himself, and Remus would correct him, without laughing, because Remus only laughed at people if they were arrogant enough to bear it. Every so often Peter would get something right – he would say something which nobody else would ever think of, and Remus would look up, surprised, and smile at him. Peter liked that smile. He liked it even more because Remus never seemed to smile at James or Sirius in the same way. It was special. When Peter said clever things, Remus would open up a bit more, start talking properly. Peter learned a lot of things that way. Remus was the only person who he could really ask about anything he didn't understand, which was a lot, because Remus never smirked or patronised him; simply explained. Peter sometimes wondered why Remus bothered to talk to him, because Remus was obviously a lot cleverer than he was, but it didn't matter because Remus was one of his best friends and he loved him. And when Sirius and James decided to involve Peter and Remus in their conversation, and Remus stopped smiling and talking about himself, Peter always thought that it was a shame.
There is a newspaper by his bed. He places a hand on it; picks it up, carefully. Drops it on his lap. But he doesn't read it, not yet.
In Transfiguration, James always passed notes to Peter. After a while, Sirius started to join in, too, and Peter was often bombarded with 'Minnie looks incredibly sexy today, doesn't she?'s from Sirius, and 'Is Lily looking at me?'s from James. They played paper games across the desk, which Peter never failed to lose, and James grinned whenever Peter talked to or looked at Lily, who happened to sit next to him. That smile was different from Remus'. It wasn't pride in Peter, more... well, James' glee in being able to finally find out all Lily's habits, which obviously meant that they'd be married within the year. Peter didn't mind. Being told to look at Lily by James meant that he had an excuse to stare at her, and James liked him for it instead of hating him. After Transfiguration, in the corridor, James would usually thank him, and Sirius would roll his eyes: "Pete, you're such a pushover. And Prongs is a prick for taking advantage of it."
Peter would shrug. (He never wanted, even for a moment, to tell him. It wasn't that he thought Sirius would stop being friends with him because of it, because Peter didn't think that the Marauders would ever stop being friends. It was just... a secret. His. Private. It was surprising, the capacity Peter had for secrets. It would become more and more useful as time went on, and he had more substantial things to keep from the others.) He doesn't think that he ever got jealous of James. It was never really like that; never about getting together with her. He didn't want that. He just wanted to stay around her and smell her flowery perfume and watch her as she talked, and to maybe hear her say his name in her lovely soft voice.
He opens the paper. The picture leaps out at him in the way that it always does; him, Remus, Sirius, James. Smiling at the camera. He thinks that they're in Hogsmeade. And then the headline, below: THEIR BLACKENED FATE. He ignores it, concentrates on the picture. Sirius waves, cheerfully, and he throws the newspaper away from him.
When there were definite plans, they would find an empty classroom and go there for a 'briefing', which was just James' way of sounding clever. Sirius would slouch on a desk, managing to slide into the perfect position; James would lean back against the wall; Remus would perch on a chair, neatly but awkwardly, with a perfectly straight back; and Peter would drop to the ground and sit there. Sirius had the loudest voice, but James was always interrupting him, or – more often – just talking over him, without particularly meaning for Sirius to stop. Remus would try to interject whenever he was given the opportunity: "yes, well–" or "maybe we should–". They usually stopped to listen to Remus, because he had the best ideas, but they never let him talk for long. Peter hardly ever spoke at all, just soaked up all the information and nodded a lot. Occasionally, he would suggest something himself; it was almost always an incredibly crap idea. In his defence, it was often something which nobody else would have thought of. In fact, it was usually so surprising that there would be a few minutes' silence after he'd spoken, followed by James bursting out laughing and, more often than not, some kind of declaration of love from Sirius.
There are more newspapers, in a pile by his bed. The top one has a front page dedicated to the story: and a photograph of Sirius above. Perversely, he is smiling widely. He looks about twenty. But Peter looks down at the story, scans it. The fourth paragraph. He reads a quote, the same one which he always reads. He doesn't know who it's from; it's signed as anonymous. It's a description of Sirius, but the Sirius which Peter doesn't know and doesn't want to. The Sirius who's been locked away in Azkaban for too long, who isn't Sirius at all.
Peter begins to twist his fingers in his lap, nervously.
In the mornings, they'd wake him up even if Peter resisted, even if they had to shake him and yell in his ears and pour water on him before he moved. (Well, Remus usually just prodded him, but that was just Remus. He didn't count.) Peter always wondered why they bothered.
But they wanted him. They wanted him at breakfast, and they wanted him as a friend.
Peter begins to shake.