Disclaimer/AN: Credit to J.K.R.; this is the shortest thing I've written in ages.
Wormtail
Friends.
That's the first thing that comes to mind when Peter Pettigrew hears the word "Wormtail". He remembers the first time he conquered his Animagus transformation, the first time a messy-haired Quidditch player looked over at his rugged, rebellious best mate and, together, they uttered the sobriquet.
But it's been a long time since Peter Pettigrew had any friends.
Now, he has a Master, and is a servant of sorts for Severus Snape. He wonders bitterly how his seventeen-year-old self would react if given that particular information.
It's almost torture, every time he hears somebody call him "Wormtail". It's as though they're trying to make him remember what he lost, remember the crime he committed: remember how he killed his best friends. It's as though they're trying to replace the cavity left by the deaths he caused, as if they're trying to make him feel as though he does have friends.
Whatever their reason, Peter Pettigrew feels sick to his stomach.
James and Lily are dead—long gone, by this point; mere figments of memory. Sirius is gone, through the veil in the Department of Mysteries. Severus Snape took relish in sharing this news.
The last remaining member of the Marauders is Remus, and there is no way Remus would come back to him now. He is just as gone as the rest.
Peter Pettigrew has lost everything he ever cared for, and is simultaneously forced to remember his mistake with every lingering breath, each utterance of address.
No friends.
Never those again.
No friends.
Just "Wormtail".