A Drink In The Memory of Sirius Black
Disclaimer: All characters in the Harry Potter books belong to J. K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: A quick one-shot written after inspiration of a plot – bunny posted on glass stood in front of him on the table, filled to the brink. It's contence blank like water with white swirls playing around the edges. The swirls were the only thing that gave away that this was no ordinary glass of water.
The man sitting in the armchair beside the table was nothing much to look at, a fact he was painfully aware of. He had never been one to catch people's attention. Everything about him was...ordinary. Too ordinary. Even his name was ordinary, and not the catchy, special one so many of his fellow wizards had been graced with. He could just as well have been a muggle.
Peter Pettigrew.
How he, Peter Pettigrew, had managed to end up with three of Hogwarts most popular boys as friends he did not know. Merlin only knows why they had selected him to be a part of their group.
They could have chosen anyone, but they chose him. He suspected that it had something to do with some sort of protective need. What else could it have been? At that time he hadn't cared much why, he had just been thrilled that he had friends. Because for the first time in his life he had friends, good friends. Friends that would have done anything for him. They had been true friends to him. He was the one who was not worth their company. But he didn't know that back then, in their schooldays. He didn't find out until years later.
He remembered them all, Sirius, James, and Remus, so vividly as if they had been together yesterday. The mischievous look in Sirius eyes when they were about to break school rules. James and his way of being, a way that made almost every girl in school fall head over heels for him. Almost every girl... except Lily, the girl James had set his eyes on.
Remus, and the way he always raised one eyebrow when he heard James' and Sirius' latest plan.
Then there was him, Peter. No more than a sidekick to the real Marauders.
He threw a sideways glance at the glass on the table beside him. He remembered the words so clear as it had been yesterday.
"Then you should have died! Died, rather than betraying your friends, the way they would have done for you."
He swallowed hard. Those words had hurt him more than anyone could ever imagine. Those words, words of hate from one of the few Peter Pettigrew had ever counted as a friend. Words of truth.
Sirius had no idea how right he had been, that night two years ago. He should have died. Peter Pettigrew should have died then, at the hands of the Dark Lord, instead of betraying his friends.
It had taken him years to understand it. Years of service to the Dark Lord, years of slavery. It had taken him so long to realise death would have been better. It had taken him years to realise that his devoted service would come to nothing, that the Dark Lord would never keep his promise of a reward greater than his wildest imagination. No reward would ever come to him. His sacrifices would go unnoticed. That realisation didn't hurt nearly as much as the words from Sirius.
His sacrifices had been great. No one would ever believe him, but never the less it was true. He had sacrificed the friendship of three great men. Three great men who had given him their friendship, and he had thrown it away for fair promises from the greatest Dark wizard in ages. Fair promises that would never be more than promises, empty promises.
A single tear ran down his face. His conscience threatened to rip his soul in a thousand pieces. He had kept it at bay for so long, but now he was unable to hold it back any longer. He had deserved to die a much worse death than he now would.
Sirius Black was dead. The true leader of the Marauders had met his end. It was an end that suited him. He had died fighting, in the Department of Mysteries. Fighting for what he believed in, for the people he loved. That was more than Peter Pettigrew had ever done, and he knew it.
Once, long ago, he had loved Sirius like a dear friend. It had hurt him immensely to frame his former best friend for murder, although he could not show it, not then, not now.
In death, Sirius Black had taught Peter Pettigrew more than years of service to the Dark Lord had ever done. The lesson of true friendship, learned long ago, but not fully understood until now. The least he could do, thought Peter Pettigrew, was to take the last advice his friend had given him. The best advise he had had in fifteen years.
"I do not deserve such a good death..." Peter Pettigrew said loudly to himself.
"...but it will be my death never the less. Forgive me, Sirius. I should have understood this long ago."
He took the glass from the table, and shot one last glance at it before he raised it.
"For my true friend. One of the few friends I have ever known. In your honour. For Sirius Black"
Peter Pettigrew drained his glass in one, and sat back in his chair, a shadow of a smile not seen in years now on his lips.
The sound of a glass falling to the floor, breaking, was not audible out in the dark night.