Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Chapter 9: Unloved

In the following days the twins taunted the boy relentlessly about the 'Boogeyman.' Peter was delighted with this turn of events. The twins clearly making the 'fear' worse. With all the distraction the Boogeyman's visit had caused, they'd all but forgotten about the rat who was not pleased to be thrown in the air or tied to the back of play broomsticks.

"From the darkness underneath…" Fred crowed.

"From beneath the bed I shall reap!" George finished, circling around the little redhead.

Peter chuckled to himself at the sight. He sat upon one of the higher kitchen shelves, watching the scene unfold. Little Ronnie looked at his two older brothers with deep hurt shining in his eyes, but children aren't so good at emotions. They don't understand when they've gone too far. When something isn't funny.

They understood when Ron stopped shouting at them though. When he started going to his room after breakfast every morning, quietly closing the door instead. It amused Peter to see the twin menaces lost for words. Shamefaced.

Eventually it died down and even Ron himself stopped mentioning the event or nightmare (as all the Weasley's insisted on telling Ron). Peter found himself content for quite some time, stretching out until a full year had passed, until suddenly he felt a need to talk to a human again. Not just stretch his limbs, but to have a conversation with them.

He'd prefer to have a conversation with the boy who gave him treats or perhaps the sweet little girl, but he knew neither would turn out well. It would be the Boogeyman incident all over again, but while the parents might be able to ignore one child having a nightmare about a man coming out from under the bed, two would be far too suspicious.

Ronald was the most reasonable choice. The parents would just assume it was another nightmare, and as long as he took a wand beforehand, there would be no need to be quite so… traumatizing.

One night, in the middle of December, Bill's wand found its way into his hands once more. Entering the room, he sealed the door and cast a silencing charm upon the room. He quickly sent an awakening charm upon the child before transforming into a rat to dive beneath the bed. The boy stirred, turning over on the bed and snuggling into his pillow further. Peter squeaked happily to himself as his plan came to fruition. Finally, for the first time in years, he'd be able to talk to someone.

He transformed, moving out from under the bed at the same time, allowing the grotesque features of mid transformation be seen by the child who let out a scream. Oh, that was so much fun. He let the transformation linger, his elongated jaw featuring sharp teeth. Then they receded, slowly, his jaw snapping with a crack. Years of transforming fluidly had allowed him a control he doubted few had.

He turned, seeing the boy backed into the corner of his bed, staring at him with wide, horrified eyes. Unlike his six-year-old self, who shook and cried, Ronald's seven-year-old self threw himself off the bed and towards the door. He watched, amused as small hands twisted the doorknob… to no effect. The boy tried again and again and again. Yanking and banging and tugging until tears wrenched themselves from his eyes to slide down cheeks in panic.

"Mummy!" The boy screamed.

"Mummy can't hear you," he informed him. "It's just you and me."

Ron's body stilled, head turning slightly to glance back at him, before his fists banged even more desperately on the door.

"Daddy! Bill! Charlie!"

He supposed he should stick a bit to his part. Make it all seem more along the lines of the first.

"Your skin and bones are mine, but I have plenty of time. Let us talk, you'll be fine, no need to fight," Peter reassured, grinning as the boy fell to his knees against the door, hand still trying to turn the doorknob. The redhead turned, sitting, but not moving any closer.

"Talk?" Ron asked.

He noticed that the boy was shaking.

"Talk," he repeated. Children were so easy to manipulate. "About anything you like. I don't mind. There's not much where I live, so sometimes I like to wander."

Ron frowned, refusing to look at him.

"Daddy says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," the boy protested weakly.

Peter snickered.

"That's alright, that's alright, were not strangers, you see. I've been watching you for a long time. I know you."

"What?" Ron squeaked, glancing at him, before determinedly staring at the wall beside him.

"You screamed for your parents and for Bill and Charlie, but there not here often, are they? They're always too busy to play, right? Your father has work and your mum likes your sister better than you."

"No, she doesn't!" Ron snapped.

Ah, wasn't that a sore spot?

"I've seen her, the way she prefers your sister," he pointed out. Oh, if only Sirius could see him now. The dog shape shifter had claimed Peter wouldn't be able to pull off a prank by himself if his life depended on it. Well hah! His life did depend on how he played this out and he was doing marvelously! "She takes little Ginny on all sorts of shopping trips to Diagon alley while you stay here. She always let's Ginny have the last cookie and she always sides with her when you two get into arguments… no?"

Ron's lower lip was trembling, his hands wrapping around legs that the boy had brought up to his chest.

"You screamed for them and none of them came…" he began softly "…because none of them cared enough to. But if it had been Ginny, well, what do you think they would have done if they heard her screaming?"

Ron didn't answer.

"They would have rushed to her aide," Wormtail told him firmly. "They love her."

"Mummy and daddy love me!" Ron roared, eyes glaring furiously at him, before hurriedly looking away.

"Then where are they?" he asked softly.

Ron covered his ears, closing his eyes tightly, burying his face into his knees.

"Not real, not real, not real, you're not real!" the kid bellowed.

Annoyed, he stood, walking over to the kid and kneeling down before him, he forced the boy's chin up to look at him. Blue eyes stared, bright with fear and hurt.

"I'm very real," Peter told him, anger tinting his words. It was too reminiscent of the insults he got at Hogwarts. Four Marauders? No, no there's only three, right? Peter? Seriously? That guy? No way. He doesn't count.

"Please go away," Ron begged.

'You're such a groupie, Peter!'

'Following them around like a dog.'

'Can't you do anything on your own?'

'Peter's the perfect person for this, no one will think it's him!'

'Pete just… go away.'

"I. WILL. NOT!" he snarled, his hand curled around the red mop of hair, shaking the boy with each word. "I. AM. THE. BOOGEYMAN!" He felt his lips turn up into a twisted smile as the boy coward beneath him. His voice lowered as he leaned further down. "And I haunt the unwanted and unloved."

He cast a spell for forced sleep after that. He didn't bother to pull the covers over or be careful like the first time. There was no damage and he was too upset to care. He undid his spells and returned the wand. His transformation back into a rat was far more bitter than he'd thought it would be. He hadn't expected such awful memories to turn up.

It hadn't been fun at all.

A few minutes passed before the boy woke up from Peter's spell. The little redhead practically threw himself out of bed and at the door. Panicked fingers turning the knob and voice breaking into a half sob as it turned and opened for him. He heard the boy slam his door, it banged against the wall with such force, he was sure the boy had thought it wouldn't come open again. The house stirred. The seven-year-old ran passed him, hidden in the shadows, down the stairs.

Molly and Arthurs door opened and the rat watched as a tearful Ron begged them if he could sleep with them. They consented, Molly picking her boy up in her warm arms. He watched as she and Arthur exchanged worried looks before the door closed behind them.

A few days later Peter felt much better about the whole thing. He realized that he'd over reacted and that the child was not one of his classmates, but a little kid he was purposefully scaring. Of course, the kid would tell him to go away. He was the one being ridiculous. If he wanted to have their talks then he'd have to stop being so sensitive. It helped to forgive the boy for his words while witnessing the boy being tormented by the twins.

"Uh oh, George, the Boogeyman's coming! We gotta get into mummy and daddy's bed!" Fred called.

"Stop it," Ron muttered, swirling his oats around in the bowl.

"He's right Fred, you should stop it, otherwise the Boogeyman will come for you next!" George called.

"You're not funny," Ron snapped, angrily thunking the spoon into the bowl.

"Why so angry Ronniekins?" George crowed.

"You two needs to grow up!" Ginny announced, fiercely glaring at them.

He watched as the twins looked at each other before guffawing, dramatically throwing themselves onto the ground.

"Oh! Oh, I've got to keep that image in my head," Fred cried out, wiping fake tears from his eyes.

"I know, I know!" George rolled onto his stomach, putting his elbows onto the floor. "You two's needs to grow up!" George cried out in a small squeaky voice.

Fred laughed harder, arms wrapped around his sides. The boy stood from his chair abruptly, glaring at them, and leaving the oatmeal to become cold. Ginny threw them a withering glare, but didn't move from the table.

"Hey, Freddie, you thinking what I'm thinking?" George whispered.

"I. Will. Tell. Mummy," Ginny snapped.

"Tattletale," Fred sniped.

"Gits," Ginny said back, glaring fiercely at them.

Peter curled up and went to sleep. It seemed the twins would be ensuring that his visits continued to be seen only as nightmares of an easily frightened child. The thought made him feel warm inside.

When next he made the venture he found, to his delight and irritation, the boy wasn't panicking. He sat, refusing to look at him, on the bed. He didn't scream or run, just sat.

"So… why would you want to talk to me?" Ron asked, eyes boring into the desk beside his bed.

"I told you before, didn't I?" Peter told him excitedly. "I only visit the unwanted and unloved."

"I don't believe you," Ron announced. "Ginny defended me. Mummy and Daddy let me stay with them. Bill took me out the other day to go flying!"

Peter nodded, a wide, toothy grin of yellow teeth flashing towards him.

"Ginny's quite the boisterous little girl isn't she? She'd do anything to act like one of the boys, even defend you. And your parents may have let you stay, but they didn't believe you, did they? Would they have if the other boys had come to them about it?" He let the silence stretch out a bit, letting the thought reach its claws into the boy.

"And I was there, I saw, I heard!" Peter added after a moment. "You were bothering your mother. All she wanted was to bake with her little girl, but you had to intrude. You wanted to be involved. So she asked Bill to get you out of the way."

"Liar," Ron hissed.

"Why would I? I have no reason to. Why come to you, out of all your siblings, out of all the households nearby? You're nothing special."

"What are you?" Ron demanded, trying to sound brave and in control, but the voice came out like a squeak.

"I'm the Boogeyman," Peter chuckled.

"Monsters don't talk," Ron pointed out.

"They only rhyme and growl, is that it?" Peter asked, delighted. Oh, how much fun this was turning out to be. He crawled over to the bed, letting his too long, too greasy hair stray in front of him. "Only the best of monsters talk."

Any ordinary monster could hurt a person physically, but it took a whole new level of terror to take someone apart with just their words. The dark lord had been particularly pleased when he could enter a person's mind and destroy them rather than simply cursing them into the grave. How much better is it then, for someone who doesn't need to use magic at all? Simple words twisting the truth until it is unrecognizable.

"Are you a special kind of ghost?" Ron pushed. "Ghost's usually have a reason for staying," the seven-year-old said quietly. "Maybe I can help you."

"I'm very much alive," Peter told him.

"Are you sure?" Ron asked, glancing at him. "Because… I mean… even dementors and giants wear clothes and… I don't know… I'd be pretty mad to die naked."

Peter threw back his head and laughed. He looked down at his naked body, having barely noticed the lack of clothes until that point. How uncomfortable the boy must be. And, now that he thought about it, was probably why the boy refused to look at him. He'd not wanted for clothes in his rat form and after such a long time without transforming back into his human form, he just didn't feel the need to hide after they'd worn away.

"Do you not like what you see?" Peter asked, more teasing than serious.

Ron shook his head vehemently, scooting back when Peter put his hands on the bed and leaned towards him.

"I can get you clothes," Ron offered, shakily, "You could fit Daddy's clothes. Maybe, he's tall, but you'd still fit because your…"

'Fat,' Peter thought in annoyance. His hand absentmindedly traced the wet girth of his stomach. Too much laying about and a tendency to eat out of boredom.

"I don't want 'daddy's clothes,'" Peter mocked. He sat on the bed, snickering as the boy practically slammed into the wall behind him. Ron pulled his pillow between them, scooting to the edge of the bed. "I want to talk. And when you can't talk anymore then I'll take your skin and bones."

"Why… why would you… want that?" Ron croaked, nearing the end of his brave front.

"Mine don't last that long," he lied happily. "They're from the last little boy and quite frankly he was far too small to fit right. I had to stretch his skin quite a bit, I'm afraid."

With that last comment Ron practically fell out of the bed and raced across the room. Terror over riding his brave front. Rather than go towards the door they both knew was locked, he went for the window. Ron took one of his toys without so much as pausing and slammed it against the window. It cracked.

'Smart little brat,' Peter admitted grudgingly.

While the boy was distracted, he reached for the wand he'd stashed under the desk while the boys back was turned to him. With a flick of his wrist the glass became impenetrable, at least to a seven year old.

Crucio.

The none verbal spell hit Ron square between his shoulders. The toy slipped to the floor as Ron fell screaming and convulsing to the ground. He let it do its work for a few seconds, sitting back on the bed in contentment, he'd not been able to be involved much in this part of the war. Only as a spy.

When he finally let it go the boy was sobbing and flinching beneath him. This was how it should be. How everyone should be to him. He was not some weakling that needed others. He was a powerful wizard who could handle more than anyone ever gave him credit for. Peter crouched, making sure the wand was hidden from view.

"Naughty, naughty child, you'll make me do something more vile. Don't ever run from me, don't you see? We can have a nice chat, but if you want to be a brat, then I'll have to be the rat," he announced in a sing song voice.

He pulled the sobbing mess up by his hair, smiling as a foot kicked out at him. He reached out, gripping the trembling chin in his fingers.

"Do we understand one another?" He asked in a sickly, sweet voice.

The boy ignored him, trying to pry his hands free, even while he continued to sob and gasp for breath. He shook the boy hard.

"Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?!" He hissed, more for show than actual anger. The boy opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't manage to get any words out, so he forced himself to nod his head. Peter smiled in satisfaction, letting the boy drop. Before the redhead even managed to lift himself off the ground, he'd grabbed the wand and sent the boy to sleep. It wasn't as if they would be able to talk after he'd tortured him with crucio.

One of the central benefits of crucio, the reason it was known as a tool for torture and war, was the lack of evidence in its use. It had been created and designed for the sole purpose of leaving no physical trace. It could not be found in a diagnostics spell because it did no actual damage. It attacked the mind, not the body.

Peter stroked Ron's cheek as he put the boy back into bed. He was becoming rather… fond of him. Percy had always been his favorite among the Weasleys, but the more time he spent with the youngest boy, the more he found himself admiring him. There was something special about Ronald Weasley. Something that he couldn't put his finger on.

It was a new kind of humor to see the family reacting to his power; to what he'd done. The boy hadn't been able to say a word since waking up. He just trembled and cried and sat still on the couch where his mum had taken him in an effort to keep a worried eye on him. Not even the little miscreants taunted the boy about 'nightmares' today. That morning he'd watched as Molly discovered her little boy on his bed, staring blankly ahead, refusing to move.

She'd done everything; talked, rocked, hugged, murmured, used spells to check for illness. All of that got nothing from the boy. The kid refused to eat anything for breakfast and hadn't wanted food at lunch either.

"I don't understand," he heard the woman mutter.

The twins had even gone so far as to sit next to Ron on the couch for an hour. Ron had cuddled up to one of them, hiccupping, all cried out, but still upset.

"Hey, it's okay, it was just a nightmare," one of the twins told the boy.

"Why's he so... I don't get it," the other one muttered, angrily.

"You wanna play chess Ronnie?" George spoke up again. He was starting to finally recognize who each twin was. More in the way they carried themselves and spoke. Though it was frustratingly difficult and Peter felt he had to start over in trying to distinguish them each time they left the room.

Ron shook his head against the older boy's chest. Hands wrapping tighter around George's waist. Peter watched the two exchange worried looks. He probably wouldn't be able to get away with another visit for a long while. And besides… it wouldn't do to thoroughly break the kid, then who would he talk to?

It took several days to get Ron talking again. The boy slept in his parent's bedroom for two full weeks before they managed to convince him to sleep in his own room again. He'd woken up with nightmares, actual nightmares, for several weeks after that. Each night making his way into someone's bed; the twins, Percy's, Ginny's. No one protested much. Nor did they say anything to Ron leaving his door open and insisting that a light be kept on in the hall.

He thought it terribly funny how the little girl reacted though; the way she began to pull her brother along behind her after one of his real nightmares and made him sit while she made 'tea.' She treated him like one of her dolls, talking to him and pretending he talked back when the boy sat motionless in the chair across from her.

Eventually though, things did go back to normal. The boy's parents got close one day, far too close, to the point he'd been frightened he'd pushed things too far. They'd asked about what the nightmares were about. And this time… Ron answered.

"The Boogeyman did something that really, really hurt," Ron had finally relented.

"What did he do?" Arthur asked.

"He was rhyming and saying he was going to wear my skin. He didn't touch me or anything. He just… said things."

"He… insulted you?" Molly questioned, bewildered by the extreme reaction.

Ron shook his head and it was as Peter listened that he wondered if he hadn't been quite so careful, if he'd perhaps mumbled the crucio spell under his breath.

"No, he said something, and then everything hurt," Ron explained.

"Well, what did he say?" Arthur asked, too tired to explain to Ron, again, that there was no Boogeyman.

"I… I don't remember," Ron told them quietly. "But it hurt!"

Thank merlin they didn't understand. They hadn't made the connection. Hadn't associated the word with a spell. They didn't understand that they're child had experienced torture and had simply left it at that. They hadn't thought to question if the word had been a spell because how could Ron have a nightmare about something he didn't know about? The Weasley's made sure that their children knew next to nothing about the dark arts, that they weren't aware of curses and therefore could not accidentally perform one.

They weren't ready.

But when a child doesn't know how to explain things then they lose the ability to reach out as well. It was the double edged sword of parenthood.

Peter was safe.