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I added crap from the earlier posting because I was afraid it didn't explain enough. I hope it does at least. I hope its good but enjoy it anyway.
A Traitor's Penance
He was their Judas, their own personal betrayer. A Memoir of Peter Pettigrew
He was a quiet boy growing up. One of those boys who kept their mouths closed and eyes wide in order to make sure every event, even the smallest and most inconsequential, would not be missed. He was a precocious boy, understanding a grown up world from a young age, trying to keep his innocence intact and realizing that it was an impossibility. He was a sad boy, a sad boy who wished only for happiness and satisfaction knowing that just what he needed was, and would always be, just out of reach.
He lived a hard childhood. He was a gift for his mother and father when he was first born. The son they had dreamed of. The son to parade in front of friends and to carry on their wildest hopes and dreams. His mother loved him when she first saw him. Felt overwhelmed with affection because of his puny size and reliance on herself for survival. Loved him devotedly until the day sickness took over her brain and she could no longer realize he was the boy she had always hoped for. No longer recognize his golden hair and watery, blue eyes for the child she once fervently loved. His father loved him when he first saw him. Loved the baby's strong, manly grip. Loved the loud wailing coming from his mouth. Loved the future this boy will have, the legacy that would live on in the Pettigrew name. Then, swiftly after the birth, his father forgot.
He never knew what made his father turn to the drink. Never knew what created that deep hatred he felt for his family as he took shot after shot ranting to his wife that she was utter trash. That his biggest mistake was taking her, her from a half-blood wizarding line, into wedlock with him, a pureblood whose family line went back centuries. It bothered him when he thought about it. He was a boy who never missed anything. A boy that listened to conversations in crevices and watched from shadowy corners because he just had to know, know anything. And he never figured it out. Never figured out what made his strong, successful father into the sniveling drunk he became.
He didn't cry when his father died. He was young, only nine years old, but he didn't shed a tear as he looked inside the coffin, didn't wince when he lightly touched his father's cold hand. All he could think of as the funeral progressed was himself just a week before hiding under his bed as he heard powerful footsteps climbing up the stairs. All he could think of was himself as a young child being hit for the first time and watching his mother cry of desperation. He looked at his father, dead from a freak accident in Diagon Alley, and could only remember the pain he caused him and his mother.
As time went on he was able to forget the image of a menacing father. It was still there in the back of his mind making him fear powerful steps, making him fear screams he hears in the dark. But at the age of ten he remembered a handsome blond man who would hold his arms open wide. A handsome strong man who he would run to when he came home from work and hug because he missed him so throughout the day. The father who married his mother for love. The father who always smiled. The father whom he had loved. Memories of a crying mother, of a malicious father, just seemed to melt away.
He was eleven when he came to Hogwarts for the first time. He was nervous as his grandmother dropped him off at the platform, as he saw the other first years and became self-conscious about his height for the first time. He was nervous as he boarded the train and realized he was going to have to sit alone for his first ride to Hogwarts and was scared that he wouldn't make any friends.
He recognized a few names at the sorting, recognized a few faces from their familiar characteristics. Sirius Black was called, and he knew that another Slytherin was supposed to be made, that their fathers worked together in the ministry and were close friends before his dad died. He saw messy hair in the crowd and knew him for a Potter, knew it from his father's rants about the self-righteous Potters. Those Potters with the annoyingly messy hair and complete arrogance. He recognized the name Lupin and decided he should distance himself from the sad looking boy whose family had lived in poverty since the turn of the century.
He had never wanted to befriend those boys, never wished to be in the house of Gryffindor because Slytherin just seemed to be his calling. He heard his father's proud stories about life in the Slytherin house, a menacing whisper in his ear that he is nothing more than Gryffindor scum.
He befriended Sirius first. They both felt out of place in the house of the brave, felt more cunning than righteous. He befriended Potter a few months later. Befriended the boy he grew to be in awe of. The boy with abundant magical talent and charisma. The outspoken boy with the mischievous glint to his eyes whom he would follow around just to know what he was planning. And Lupin just happened, happened one day when James and Sirius were out wreaking havoc out by the lake and Remus sat by the fire looking too pathetic to ignore.
He thinks of those longs days of Hogwarts. The adventures that would fill his heart with bliss, the three boys who made his life feel as if it was worth living. He didn't care that he wasn't like them, didn't care that he was shy and quiet instead of outgoing and loud. Because they chose him to be their friend, chose him from a whole school of people who are more worthy and more qualified to have the title of Marauder.
He's sure that's when it began, the destructive path his life took. That first year was when his life became sealed. He has nightmares sometimes. Hears a frantic woman screaming in his ear for the life of her child. Hears her brave husband stand up to the Dark Lord and give his life trying to save his wonderful wife and perfect son. He wakes up panting sometimes. Transforms into a human as his nightmares consume him and wakes up in a cold sweat on his young master Percy's bedroom floor. He'll never forget that night, can't forget the look of shock he knows was on their faces and the lifeless bodies crushed in the debris of their beautiful home. He heard no one was allowed to look at the bodies after they died. That they were too mutilated from the murder to be seen by anyone.
And it was him that did that, that had his friends' fate in his hands and sold them out because of fear. It was him who whispered their secrets in the devil's ear and waited frantically one night until he knew the deed was done, that his only true friends were dead. It was him. He was their Judas, their own personal betrayer.
He tries not to think of the past. He tries not to remember his mother's smiling face. Tries not to remember how his father's hair took a golden hue in the sunlight. He tries not to remember Hogwarts. To remember Lily and the abundant kindness she showed him over the years. Beautiful Lily, whose only wish was to be his friend and make a broken boy whole again. And James, perfect James who took him under his wing and joked with him from adolescence. James, his awe inspiring friend whom he looked up to from the age of eleven when he would be his shadow in order to absorb some of James' bright light. He tries not to remember the past, tries not to remember the decent boy he once was knowing he is now no better than a common murderer terrorizing the streets.
It's hard to live. Hard to live with the guilt of having innocent blood on his hands. He sometimes sits behind the Weasley's house in the large woods out back. He sits by a small brook staring at his face, distorted by evil where it once shined brightly with childish innocence. He sees it on his hands, the blood of his friends, the mark of wrongful death he can't seem to wipe clean. He screams into the night sometimes. Howls in pain because the guilt of his betrayal tortures him with every breath he takes. And he prays, prays long and hard for relief from this anguish he is constantly feeling knowing that none will come because this is his penance, his only way to redemption.
He sometimes feels like a prisoner. He feels as if he can't escape, can't leave this world because this is it, this is his punishment for aiding in the murder of two people who trusted him with everything. His punishment which is worse then death because with death he would receive the blissfulness of a forgotten life instead of this existence where he remembers every detail, every moment he was alive. And he cries as he sees James' smiling face in his mind, cries as he hears Lily's sweet voice in his ear. I'm sorry, he says to nothing more than the wind, the air.
He remembers the good times the most. Remembers Hogsmeade days spent in Zonkos and remembers pranking the Slytherins with his friends. He remembers sitting out by the lake and remembers the one dance when he had a date. He remembers the good times the most. His mother's arms holding him tight, her beautiful voice singing quietly in his ear before sickness distorted her mind. He remembers and then falls to the floor in the quietness of the Wealey's woods out back and prays to God to just kill him, to just end the agony that he calls life.
He prays for freedom from his remorse, to be able to explain what happened to his friends. He wishes to tell Lily and James he didn't mean to betray them, that it was all a mistake, a wrong crowd he got mixed up in. He wishes he could go to Remus and explain to him that he loved the Potters. Explain to him this pain he can't stop feeling, the hatred he harbors for ending his friends' lives. He wishes he could go to Sirius, to tell him that he's sorry, that… that… that he is nothing more than a coward who can only be sorry for his sins and not be recognized by them.
He sometimes wishes he never went to Hogwarts, never met the Marauders, never heard of the name Malfoy. He fears that is where it started, sixth year when he overheard Slytherins talking about Malfoy and the escapades him and the Lord would take them on. Wishes he never saw Bellatrix Black's wild bright face and Lestrange's queer smile as they see an exciting future and adventure waiting for them. He wishes he never had a fancy for excitement, wishes he never dreamt of going on crusades and being a wild, valiant knight when he was a young boy.
They offered him something the Marauder's never did, something every heart yearns for in quiet placidity. They offered him a chance of power, of being worth something. They offered him a chance to be more than a child of a broken family, more than the shadow of his brilliant friends. And he accepted, accepted Bellatrix's friendship and Lestrange's companionship because for the first time in his life he thought he could be something more than pathetic, be more than broken.
By the time he graduated Hogwarts he was in too deep to break free. By the time he was graduated from Hogwarts the Dark Lord saw his usefulness as a spy, someone who could stand in a crowded room and not be noticed, not be seen. For months he loved his job, loved speaking to his friends knowing they didn't have the slightest idea about who he was and what he was becoming. Loved whispering in the Lord's ear and being rewarded generously for a job well done. And slowly the love of power the Lord promised him seeped into his heart as he went on more missions, betrayed more people who once held him in confidence.
He tried to break free. When the Lord asked him to spy on Lily and James he refused, refused because he knew what their end would be and he didn't want to be their murderer. He didn't want to have Lily and James' blood on his hands as he had so many others. He remember Lily's tears after Meadow's life was taken, after the Prewetts' died from their malicious torture. He had enough innocent blood on his conscious. He didn't need to add theirs as well.
He was tortured into submission. Tortured for hours until his resolve finally broke down and he agreed to the signing of his best friends' death warrants. Tortured almost to death until he realized that the only way out of the Death Eaters is death and he didn't want to follow in the path of disgrace others had taken.
He can't change the past, can't change the path he allowed his life to take because he was in too deep for rescuing. This is it, this is the life he chose, the destiny that fell upon him. He killed them, killed his very best friends and nothing, no amount of wishing or praying, will change that. He knows that now he has one chance of survival. He must be here when the dark rises again, must adhere to the side he gave up his life for, to the fallen Lord because once he's discovered alive by his old friends he knows, knows he won't live to see another day. That once his life is brought to light, there won't be another day when Remus and Sirius won't be out for his blood. Then he thinks about it, thinks about the vengeful glint in Remus and Sirius' eyes, sees a threatening wand being held to his throat, and smiles slightly at the thought. Death can set him free.
END
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