Peter Pettigrew hates Halloween.
It's the jack o' lanterns, the masks, the flickering candles that hide behind the hollowed-out eyes of the suits of armour and Peter-that-pumpkin-it's-watching-you, run! He scurries down the corridors with his shoulders bent and his eyes on the cracks in the pavement, Sirius' laughter ringing in his ears.
The Marauders, they call it paranoia and plan an elaborate scheme to hypnotise him into believing something else. Five detentions and a slime-covered dormitory later, Peter's still shuddering from his irrational fear.
--
He twitches and wriggles and finds a way to leave early from every Halloween feast, the fear in his eyes mirrored by the shining plates and the suits of armour and, Peter, you're being watched again.
James and Sirius and Remus and Lily, they laugh and laugh, their giggles tangling up until all Peter hears is one giant roar. They slap their thighs and bounce up and down; they don't mean it Peter, he tells himself, they-don't-mean-it.
Whether they do or not, after that year, he hates Halloween even more.
--
Black cats in the alley near his flat aside, the worst thing about his luck: the Marauders love Halloween. The month of October becomes a montage of making costumes (a grumpy Lily bitches like crazy about how sewing is slow even with magic) and buying lollies and carving jack o' lanterns. If they notice Peter shaking and stuttering as he sees those eyes they don't say anything, just line them all up and ask him for a final opinion.
He never actually gives them one, because his mouth opens and shuts wildly and oh the pain in his ribs and as soon as he sees the candles flickering in the cavernous hollow of the pumpkins' eyes, he really can't breathe.
Once again, they laugh. Peter can taste their breaths in the air as he gulps in mouthful and mouthful. It burns his throat, and he tiptoes past the jack o' lanterns without making another sound.
What hurts the most is that they still wear masks on Halloween and chuckle like this is all a big joke.
--
He supposes that's what inspires him to owl Lucius Malfoy.
I know, he writes, I know where the Potters will be this Halloween.
--
Only, it's not this Halloween, but the next, and with those words, Peter falls into a state of hazy disrepair.
That night, he's running from something much more bloodcurdling than the jack o' lanterns that haunt him. He's running from the friends he grew to love like family, from his choices, from the mask of deceit he's worn etched into his skin for all these years. The mask is like a leaden weight, the pain bearing down on him as some ironic punishment for his sins.
Peter spins around, the street lights blinding him, and:
They're-still-watching-you.
Lily and James are dead, and their faces are scarier than any mask ever was.
This was written for the Halloween project at the Reviews Lounge. :) I haven't had a lot of time to write lately, but I was determined to just sit down and write, and this is the result. Far from my best work, but hopefully, you still like it. Whether you did or you didn't, I'd love a review - any comments are very appreciated.
Cuba xx