Peter Pettigrew hates wearing long sleeves. The cuffs scratch at his wrists more than if he were wearing a short-sleeved shirt with a jumper. He doesn't know why. But now, of course, he has to wear long sleeves all the time, because of his Dark Mark. There is no way that he is letting anyone see that. Firstly, he will definitely be chucked straight into Azkaban, but secondly, and perhaps more importantly, his friends would never, never understand. He can just imagine the coldly furious look on Sirius's face, how this frostiness would all too soon burn up into a rage that would be irrational and a little childish. James- well, James would just start loud, and get louder, flailing his limbs about and swearing. Remus would withdraw, white-faced, pressing his fingers into fists so tight that his knuckles would be on the verge of tearing through his skin. Peter just knows how Sirius and James wouldn't even stop to listen to his side of the story; how they wouldn't think of how difficult it has been for him, always the least liked, and how he feels now that he has realized that his one desperate bid for importance, for power, has been one huge mistake. Remus would at least try to understand, but the truth is, all three of the other Marauders are so much braver than Peter, and he knows that they wouldn't have given in and gone over to the other side. That's why he needs to wear long sleeves; that's why they can never see his Dark Mark; that's why they can never know.
Having to wear long sleeves isn't really his only complaint. Nothing the Death Eaters do has ever sat right with him. It's like eating bad seafood, he reckons. Eating something that looks delicious at first, too good to be true, and finding out later that it wasn't what it seemed and you're vomiting up your intestines. At that point, though, it's far too late to send back your scallops and prawns and ask for a salad. You just have to ride it out.
The problem is, though, Peter doubts that he will ever ride this one out. He's in way too deep. Being in at all is too deep, to be honest. The Dark Lord doesn't take kindly to deserters.
And Peter is scared. He's seen the wrath of Lord Voldemort, and he knows what happens to those that defy it. He has nothing to do but pull down his long shirt sleeves and ask for a double order of his scallops and prawns.
Peter thinks he must be in the stage of food poisoning where your stomach is cramping, and it's getting worse, and there isn't anything you can do about it. Sooner or later, he'll get hit hard and everything will be a disaster. He'll regurgitate it all and then regret every single bite.
