Guilty Conscience
He died not knowing. Never, never would James suspect, accuse...not his friends. But he was always the loyal one.
Peter imagined how it must have happened: the Dark Lord, victorious, storming through the door. Lily, protecting the baby in her arms. And James, Prongs, standing up to fight. Protective and tall against Fate and Betrayal. Could I have done that? He wonders, curling up in a ball. For my family, for my friends- could I have fought?
He knew the answer.
For the past ten years this condemned rat had tried to play the hero. If not for him, the Dark Lord would not have fallen, the world would still fear...but it never worked. There was always that image of Sirius- burned into his memory- blameless yet guilty, punishing himself for a crime he did not commit.
Sirius. He was still that boy from the Sorting, struggling to fight his name and fiercely loyal to anyone willing to see past it. Had they really once been friends? Shared a dorm, classes, and endless adventures? Peter could imagine the hate in his eyes now- knowing why James was dead. Did Remus know? Did he imagine?
The tousle-haired pet had grown accustomed to this life. Rechristened Scabbers; spending his days resting from absolutely nothing. Why was I ever born human? Born to betray, born to destroy...much better as a rat, passed on from brother to brother- not a worry in the world.
But there he was- Harry- sitting just across the aisle. (How he looked like James!) Could it be? His downfall, his victim, his best friend's son? Of course- no denying it- The hair, the scar, and those brilliant green eyes...Lily's eyes.
He was haunted by Lily. Always. She was there in the background of his mind. You could never forget Lily. He had loved her, once. Before James caught her.
And here was the result. Sitting across from him, ignorant of his watchful eye. Could he know?
A stronger man would have hated the boy. Anger may have consumed and destroyed that boy- that unknown curse. But he looked so much like James. So much like the James he once knew. Could I do it again? Could I betray my old friend a second time- destroy his hope and his image?
No. The response was strong and forceful. Of course not. Not again. But Peter was safe now- comfortable. Would his answer be the same tomorrow? Or the next day? Was Harry really safe in the presence of a traitor? That boy- sitting there, unsure and anxious, so much like his father- could he imagine?