A/N: This is an odd one I'll say that. Cover by HerrMagermilch.
Peter Pettigrew often wonders how he went from the sneakiest marauder to a largely irrelevant death eater.
It had been over a year since he helped bring the Dark Lord back. It had been exactly a year since he had been in the Dark Lord's presence. Being with the Dark Lord often was a sign of power and it was today that Peter realised the Dark Lord would offer him none.
He was in a dingy house spelled more times than the Ministry itself keeping the place as a safe haven for convicted Death Eaters. Once Peter had been a marauder and he was skilled at remaining unseen, and unnoticed. It was these powers that allowed him to supply the house and it's occupants with food and other essentials.
They all called him Wormtail and it made him sick to hear the name his friends had given him used by people who held him in disdain. Almost all the Death Eaters saw Peter as a useful bit of slime.
He could deal with that he supposed. It was a significant step down from being considered a brother and an equal but it would have to do. He had made sure of that himself and besides, he would probably be dead otherwise.
But knowing this didn't necessarily make it easier to accept, didn't stop the wistfulness that overtook him sometimes, didn't stop him wishing he had done things differently.
He wished he had been a better Gryffindor. He wished he had been a better friend.
He had been called weak, pathetic, power hungry and any number of unattractive names by people who held the marauders in jealousy or disdain and his current allies both. His friends - or the people who had been his friends - had snorted at these things and responded by calling him witty, loyal, clever, brave and creative.
Perhaps as a marauder he had been those things. Perhaps his friends had made him stronger, helped him transcend the bad things he had learned he certainly was. Perhaps seeing the rift between Sirius and Remus that had appeared in fifth year grow had made him think their friendship was in danger.
That friendship was all that kept him fighting what he knew was wrong. Without their friendship he would have kept his head down and not fought. He would have been safe; weak and pathetic but safe.
And just as the dark side seemed to be winning that friendship began to slip through his fingers. Perhaps that is why he betrayed them.
He did it because he was not ready to die and scared of pain, this he is sure of.
Some nights he wishes he had just died when Bellatrix Lestrange invaded his living room because he didn't know that living on her side meant no more fun, no more joy, no more respect.
Perhaps he didn't entirely realise that it was his friends who brought him those things.
So at night, laying in his bed while the occupants of his safe house sleep he wishes for his friends. He wishes for the time before things got too dark when the Order seemed all powerful and the light sure to win. He wishes for long summer evenings in Mrs Potter's rose garden with Sirius making stupid jokes and James making calf eyes at Lily and Remus observing quietly to him that their friends are mad. He wishes for freezing winter nights spent beside the fire in Lily's kitchen sipping on the hot chocolates that only she can make so well. He wishes he had agreed to move in with Sirius despite how messy his friend was and how loud his string of girlfriends could be. He wishes he had found a good excuse not to be the secret keeper. He wonders if death would be preferable, he wonders if he could have gone to Dumbledore after telling Bellatrix he would rather fight for the winning side, for the Dark Lord. He wonders if it would have hurt that much to die. He wonders if James could ever forgive him. He wonders what he could do to show he's sorry and that his life has turned into one great regret. But then his self preservation kicks in and he wonders if it's that instinct to live that is how he ended up here. But he stops wondering how to make amends, so he stays where he is, never happy, never fulfilled but alive.