31st October 1981

Peter Pettigrew was feeling guilty.

He stood on the platform of the London underground in his muggle clothing of a raincoat, jeans and runners. His wand was tucked neatly into the back pocket of his jeans and he was holding a locket and a photograph in his hand.

His small eyes shot around the room rapidly, making sure that no one was following him. A shifty man in the corner was eyeing him. He nervously bounced back and forth on his feet.

A woman standing at the edge of the platform was staring miserably at the tracks. She was in her fifties and didn't seem have much to live for. Another older man had his arms outstretched as if to catch her if she jumped.

The train could be heard from a distance. Peter sighed with relief, soon he would be out of here. He waited for the train to stop as the small number of people crowded to the doors. They opened and two people stepped out. The five of them got on and stood in the overcrowded compartments. The train took off.

The train shook as it trundled along. He rubbed his thumb over the locket over and over again. He could feel the intricate gold design, it was a birthday present from his friends. Their relationship had become strained in the past few years. They'd all had to grow up in the past three years. The war had seperated families and friends like themselves. Tensions grew when the Order suspected a spy in their ranks. They all became suspiscious of each other.

Peter held onto the overhead railing and stared at the photograph. It had been taken earlier that year in June of 1981. The Order was full of people who constantly overlooked him. He was the chubby, untalented wizard who followed his patronising but oh-so-wonderful friends. But they had all underestimated him. Nobody thought that he was capable of selling them out.

He was the spy. And a brilliant one at that.

Peter reflected on his life. As a former Gryffindor he should be loyal and brave but he was the exact opposite. He no longer cared about loyalty and he knew that the Order would not win. A smart person supports the winning side. Right?

But he couldn't shake the feeling of numbness. He was shocked that he was actually capable of that. He was shocked that he had gotten away with it. Peter Pettigrew had finally succeeded at something.

The Dark Lord would be forever thankful for his help. He would be his master's new favourite and that was all Peter wanted, he wanted recognition of his loyalty because they never did. The Dark Lord had shown him what they are truly like, weak, ungrateful beings that should be scourged from this earth.

Tonight Peter Pettigrew murdered Lily and James Potter, framed Sirius Black for a lifetime of imprisonment, destroyed Remus Lupin's life and left a young boy, the real target, an orphan.

Peter Pettigrew was feeling guilty. And he had a good reason to.