This is a short fanfic and won't continue. It just came to me, because I was a bit stuck with my 'Fifth Year' story and wanted to write something else.
He sat trembling beneath the tree. His master had used the Cruciatus curse on him again, and he could still feel it, coursing and biting through his bones. How many times had he been subjected to this torture? But he deserved it. He knew he did.
He thought of James, of James and Lily. They were dead, and he might as well have performed the fatal curse himself. They had been worth a thousand of him. He hated himself for what he had done.
And Sirius – on the run, persecuted and hated by society – all because he had been too cowardly to take the blame for the atrocity he had committed.
Then there was Remus. Remus was a different person from who he had once been. Able to cope with the crippling shape-change every full moon, losing his best friends had been too much for him. He could rarely face people now.
But was it Pettigrew's fault? Could he help it that he was weak? Surely there must be weak people, if only to give the strong a chance to stand out. He did not want to die, so he had sacrificed all that he could to save himself. He was not evil. But he had aided evil, killed for it, betrayed and maimed for it. He had cut off his own hand to give his master a body. Maybe that meant he was strong. Or maybe it just meant he was without morals, a pathetic little coward. That was more likely.
Peter Pettigrew got up. He did not take long to recover any more. The pain of knowing that he was worse than evil was far worse than that of any curse. He went back into the house. His master would be expecting him.
Let's make it clear: I DO NOT like Peter Pettigrew. I really believe that some of the things he's done are worse than some of Voldemort's deeds. I just haven't seen anything with him as a main character and thought it would be interesting to try.