Afflicted
Lub-dub, lub-dub.
Thus is the sound of a beating heart.
Lub-dub, lub-dub.
The heart of the living.
Lub-dub, lub-dub.
The heart of the significant.
Society claims we all play an important part in this world. We're encouraged to never give up, and to always reach for the stars.
Society is a hypocrite.
It speaks of justice and equality; yet, there are always some that go unnoticed, some that fall between the lines of consequence. They are disregarded, disrespected, and disillusioned in who they are.
These are the outcasts.
This is Peter Pettigrew.
* * *
His day started like any other. Potter, Black and Lupin had long ago readied themselves for the weekend, leaving the still sleeping Peter to his own means. They would expect him to catch up in time, never promising the same.
It wasn't the first time he was left behind, and it wouldn't be the last.
Peter sighed, hating the familiar feeling of abandonment. But he couldn't complain. It was enough simply to be a Marauder, to be on the "in" with James and Sirius. It was enough to befriend a Werewolf and become an anamagus.
A rat.
Sometimes he wished he'd never become an anamagus at all.
Rolling to the edge of his bed, the sixth-year swung his short legs over the side and let them dangle inches above the hardwood floor. He could hear the voice of James teasing him for his stature. Always joking. Always serious.
"Another day," he said to no one in particular. The room was empty, save for Peter himself, yet he allowed an expectant silence to descend. When a minute had passed with no response the Gryffindor conceded, hardly missing a beat as he rose to his feet to prepare for the day.
Today was a Hogsmeade day. Of course, if Peter had it his way, everyday would be a Hogsmeade day. To him, there was no finer place in the world. You could wander wherever and with whomever you wished. Nothing was expected of you, and everyone was out for a good time.
This was his perception anyway.
Stepping outside Peter felt a cool breeze ruffle his wispy, brown hair. Fall was well along and winter fast approaching. This was his favorite time of year.
Another cool breeze.
"Today will be a good day." The words barely escaped his lips before dissipating into a cloud of mist. There seemed to be no reason to the contrary. He would soon be in Hogsmeade where he would undoubtedly find his friends drinking butter bear at The Three Broomsticks. He hoped they'd stay long enough for him to partake.
Nervous at the prospect of missing out, Peter hastened his pace, gathering up his robes and anxiously trotting forward. His endurance was lacking, however, and he soon slowed to an erratic stagger, short breaths accenting his steps. He paused a moment, staring toward his distant destination.
Maybe today wasn't a Hogsmeade day after all.
Doubt.
"Hey, Pettigrew!"
Peter turned in response to his name. For one happy moment he thought that it may Sirius calling out to say they'd waited for him to go to Hogsmeade after all.
His hope was misplaced.
The owner of the voice was a Slytherin by the name of Rodolphus Lestrange. He was accompanied by his brother, Rabastan, as well as Bellatrix Black. This was not the trio Peter had been hoping to see.
"Pettigrew! Where are your cheeky little mates? Off to Hogsmeade without you?"
"Again?" Bellatrix added this last bit perhaps a little too quickly, a devious gleam flashing in her eyes.
Peter could feel his knees buckling, but this time not from exertion. He knew their intentions, and he was out numbered.
"What's wrong Peter? You look so pale. Paler than normal that is, which I'm sure can't be good for your heath." Rodolphus offered a toothy grin, confirming Peter's fears. "Maybe you should have stayed in today."
"I-I-I, w-well, I w-wanted to—" but Peter trailed off as the three Slytherins slowly surrounded him. This was it.
A slight nod was all it took to trigger three vicious curses, all hurtled at the defenseless Wormtail. He could feel each one strike his flesh, and for a brief moment pure power and energy surged through him. Time itself seemed to slow, but this only delayed the inevitable.
The effects hit hard.
Peter produced an injured yell, the shock of the spells slightly tardy but not lacking in fervor. He could feel his legs lock underneath him as his body surrendered to gravity and crumpled to the ground. He tried to call out for James, Sirius, Remus, anyone, but only gibberish ensued. Alarmed, he tried again, but could not focus and soon found he could no longer remember where he was, or why three Slytherins were laughing above him. He tried to question them, but again he could not find words. Then, they were gone and he was alone.
Lub-dub, lub-dub.
He could hear the beating of his own heart.
Lub-dub, lub-dub.
The heart of the living.
Lub-dub, lub-dub.
The heart of the afflicted.