Hello hello lovelies!

This is the second chapter I am posting today, so if you haven't read the last one, STOP, go and read the other one ahaha. This chapter may be a bit controversial, so please read it with a grain of salt. It made sense to me based on how this character was developed throughout this story. Also, this chapter is pretty depressing, so please take care as you proceed.

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.

"Monsters are real, ghosts are real too.
They live inside us, and sometimes, they win."

- Stephen King

Peter Pettigrew's life no longer held any vibrant colour. The colour in his world had been wrung out, and bled from his life; what little remained was washed out or muted. Peter existed in an impregnable bubble of dark greys occasionally sprinkled with meagre colour.

After his parents died, there was a leaden darkness that weighed on his heart, and burdened his soul. Even when he was surrounded by people, he rarely felt joy and he was almost always lonely.

The Marauders. They were meant to be a brotherhood, a quartet. They were family in every way that counted, yet they hadn't noticed him drowning. He was screaming underwater, looking up at the light skittering across the water's surface, but no matter how hard he thrashed and clawed, he only sank further.

At some point they figured out that not only had his Mother died, but as had his Father. Peter wasn't sure if they knew the truth about how his Father had withered away into a broken husk of a man. How he'd tainted the land at Pettigrew Corner until pure darkness lorded over the area. The land would be unable to bear any type of crop for years to come. Nothing would grow, nor thrive, it would wither and die.

Peter was a Marauder, and he was family, but he wasn't pack. Something that had bothered him significantly at first, but he'd eventually come to terms with it. However, it was only one example of how the division in the Marauders ranks had grown.

Peter understood his place in their ranks, and how he rated in terms of priority, but throughout it all he'd trusted them. They were his family, and he trusted them. Then, James failed him, and he hadn't protected Mary. The person who always put him first. She used to paint broad strokes of colour into his world.

Towards the end of the second week of June 1980, James and Lily moved into their new home in Godric's Hollow and they asked Peter to become their Secret Keeper. There was an irreparable, unspoken crevice between him and the other Marauders, which is why he was surprised they'd asked him. Why they'd trusted him with their lives.

Peter quickly found out that Sirius had refused, saying it was too dangerous considering his profession, and Remus's life was perpetually in peril as he spent months spying on the werewolf packs. Which left Peter, the last resort, the only option the Potters had left. (That of course wasn't true. Peter was one of the people they trusted most in the world, even if he didn't see it that way.)

As the summer faded away and melted into brisker days, Peter was perplexed by the idea that there might be gaps in his memories. However, he could never focus on that notion for long, and whenever he did there was an itchy sensation behind his right ear.

Peter and Sirius cohabited Sirius's apartment in Diagon Alley. The other wizard had been living alone at the cottage Peter used to share with Marlene and Mary, but one morning he woke up and decided it was odd that he was living alone in the middle of the countryside. So, Sirius moved back in. Peter and Sirius rarely interacted despite sharing a living space as Sirius kept odd hours between his job and going to Godric's Hollow whenever he could spare time.

Peter often found himself boarded up in his room for days at a time, listlessly staring at the ceiling, the blinds closed, darkness consuming the space. Treacherous thoughts festered in the darkness. He was unwanted, unloved, always the last option, always the least important one in the group.

Peter's life continued along the same lines, he was breathing, and existing, but he was hardly living.

Peter was on an Order mission with two blokes he didn't know. He hadn't even learned their names before Dumbledore sent them off on their merry way. It was peculiar, they were being sent out to a remote location in Sussex. They were somewhere along the coastline, on a beach with a solitary house.

Peter's feet sank into the sand, and his nose scrunched up as he tried to gather his bearings and scout out their surroundings. He barely got a grasp of what was around him when, "Avada Kedavra!" was bellowed over the waves, and Peter turned around just in time to see the taller, pale-haired wizard fall limply into the sand in front of him.

Peter's eyes widened as he realised that Bellatrix was strolling across the sand towards him. The disillusionment charm wore off, and the solitary, humble structure morphed into a building that sprawled out across the grass field on the edge of the sandy shore.

A blunt object smashed across the back of his head, and Peter staggered forward, scrambling for his wand when he fell to his knees in his disoriented state. Black spots danced in front of his vision, and he grimaced as he thought that the last thing he saw would be Bellatrix Lestrange's maniacal grin.

When Peter woke, the grainy texture of the sand was beneath his fingertips, and he wrenched his eyes open. He was staring at a lightening sky, the sun was about to rise. "He's awake, Macnair."

"Why'd we keep this one alive again?"

"Because you bloody fool. This one was friends with Potter in school. He must know where he is!"

Peter dully stared at the sky, wondering what good his friendship with the other Marauders had truly ever given him. It seemed as if associating with them only brought him pain. He wondered if Bellatrix was the type to play with her prey and rid herself of them when they bored her.

Bellatrix crouched on the sand beside him, her wand clasped delicately in her hands, her crazy, dark curls twisted into a messy updo, the shorter curls framed her face. She may be bloody mental, but she isn't a bad-looking woman, Peter thought. Her emerald green travelling cloak had a diamond serpent on the clasp, and as she moved, he caught a glimpse of the black velvet robes she wore underneath.

"I can't help you. You might as well kill me," Peter mumbled, his tongue heavy, and his head was pounding.

"Peculiar," Bellatrix said. The mad, raving woman was gone, replaced with a sharp eye, and an eerie sense of sanity. Perhaps the most terrifying part was Bellatrix knew better, but she made a conscious choice to carry out heinous acts anyways. "Legilimens."

Peter was never much good with Occlumency, and he figured she would tear through any feeble defenses he threw up, so he simply opened the gates and let her roam free. He didn't care about anything anymore, he simply wanted to fade away into nonexistence.

Having Bellatrix in his head was a chilling experience. She brought all his negative feelings to the forefront, and she waded through the memories with the greatest emotional attachment to them. She was annoyed when there were sections of his mind cemented away out of reach, but even after she prodded at them extensively, they remained firmly in place.

Bellatrix decided to break him—they were connected whilst she was in his head—and he sensed her intentions through that thin bridge. She gleefully pointed out all the times he'd been alone, she merrily poked fun at all the people he'd lost. She sneered at his pitiful Father, and shook her head at his ill Mother. She wrought havoc on his mind, whispering lies and tortuous things, twisting moments in his mind until he wasn't certain what was real anymore.

Peter was screaming, covering his ears, but he could still hear her.

She'd been in his head for days, but in reality the sun was now coming up, and he continued to scream. Bellatrix straightened out and stared at him like he was a failed experiment she was disappointed at having created.

"Well? Find out anything?"

"The Potters are being hidden under a Fidelius Charm, and he's the Secret Keeper. Unfortunately, he has to willingly tell us the location."

"We could just kill him, and the spell breaks."

"If we did that, then the Potters would simply flee and disappear again, and we would have to begin this delightful process from scratch. We lucked out that the three of them even came to this base."

"If we can't torture him, or kill him, what exactly are we supposed to do with him?"

"Let him go."

"Sorry? Perhaps you truly 'ave gone mad, witch."

Bellatrix laughed, and Peter vaguely registered the sound. Her voice was still swirling around his head, cackling at his tragedy and reminding him of how alone he was. "He may be one of my dear cousin's friends, but he isn't like the rest of them. There is true darkness in his soul. I think we should leave him be, and see how this all unfolds."

"The Dark Lord won't be pleased that we let an opportunity like this slip away."

"Which is why we won't tell him about it, Macnair." Bellatrix snarled. She grasped the front of the man's shirt and yanked him down to her level. The man swallowed audibly, and nodded slowly. "I trust I won't have to obliviate you?"

Macnair shook his head hastily. Bellatrix grinned, and released the man. "Good. I wouldn't want to hollow your skull out."

They left him on the sand, the grains crunching under his skin, and his skull was splitting open. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was on a backburner in his mind, as were any other noises. Bellatrix's voice was at the forefront, a dominating presence that wasn't faded like it should.

At first, nothing really changed. A few days later, Bellatrix's voice was mostly gone, but it would occasionally pipe up and nag him. However, his darkest fears and insecurities were released freely to wreak havoc on his mind, and they continued to mount inside of him to an unbearable point. There was so much death and pain around Peter, and he simply wanted it to stop.

The negativity festered inside of him like months, it was like a wound that kept scabbing over, only to be ripped open abruptly and painfully. It won't stop.

Peter knew the war wouldn't stop. He knew their side was losing. He didn't even realise what was happening before he found himself at the edges of Nott Manor's wards. Peter didn't know why he was there, and the cruel voices in his mind were shouting, fighting each other for dominance.

Dully—his chest hollowed out and numb—he thinks, perhaps he came so they could end his suffering, end it all. Peter hastily realised he'd made a mistake as Bellatrix gleefully greeted him at the front gate. Peter saw how powerful Voldemort was, and in the moment of great weakness, he willingly entered the red-eyed snake's lair.

Peter was brought before Voldemort, and fell to his knees in fear. There was a greater emptiness inside of him. There was no affection, no tenderness, no love. There was only misguided ambition and power. Peter didn't resist as the Dark Lord probed his mind. He asked, "where is the boy?" thrice before Peter mentally told him James and Lily's location.

It wasn't until the next day that Peter woke with a start from his stupor. Horror was slick inside him as he realised what he'd done. Peter raced to Godric's Hollow in the dead of the night, and he found a mess. It was partially collapsed and broken. He knew it was too late. He hoped they were still alive, but in his heart, he knew, they weren't.

Another realisation smashed against him. The silver string connected the Marauders together—wrapped around their magical cores—had snapped. It snapped, and its absence was a sharp, cruel sting on his soul. Peter Pettigrew had never felt such acute loss before. He had done an egregious thing, an unforgivable one. The blood on his hands was thick and putrid, and he would never wash its smear from him.

Peter couldn't bring himself to enter the house, to see his friends dead, to see Harry dead. Listlessly, he wandered down the lane, unsure of where he was intending on going.

Peter almost tripped over a stone, and he halted in his tracks. The weight of his sins brought him to his knees. He wallowed in his loss, he wallowed in his unforgivable mistake, he wallowed in what he had done. Peter's hands fisted in his hair, and he rocked lightly as if the motion would comfort him.

The last piece of Peter's humanity withered away in those moments. It wasn't real. Peter didn't know how long he stayed there, but he found himself unable to move.

"PETTIGREW!"

Sirius was going to kill him, it was as simple as that. Peter almost accepted that fate, it would just for what he'd done. But, he didn't want to die. The Black madness had taken control, Peter knew it as soon as he met his former friend's eyes.

Peter didn't know what provoked it, but he cut off his own finger. Perhaps he thought it was a way of repenting for his sins, however the pain made him feel again. Peter wanted it to be all over, he wanted Sirius to kill him. He wished to join his parents, Mary, James, Lily and Harry. Although, he didn't deserve to go where they had. Magic built up inside of him, it was all too much.

"I'm sorry," Peter mouthed.

A blurry image of Sirius raising his wand was the last thing Peter remembered.

Peter was a rat. He'd shifted at some point, and it took him several days to realise that. He didn't know where he was, or where he was unintentionally going, but it was freezing and snow was everywhere. He didn't stop, he kept going. He kept going until he mistakenly ended up in a backyard with three redheaded children staring down at him.

Peter regretted everything that'd led him to this point, but he was too far gone to be saved, and he was too far gone to choose a different path. How could he do the right thing, when he'd done so many wrong things in the past?

It was his fault Voldemort was alive and walking around once again. It was his fault James and Lily were dead. It was his fault Sirius had spent twelve years in Azkaban because of a crime he'd committed.

Peter wasn't living anymore, he was going through the motions, and doing whatever seemed easiest. Often, that meant acts of cruelty that Mary would have recoiled in horror and disgust at. He should have died when she did, honourably, fighting for the right things, but he hadn't, and he'd become the very thing they were fighting against.

The first time emotion bloomed in Peter's chest again, it's when he was staring into the eyes of Hermione Granger at Malfoy Manor. He thought it would be when he saw Harry, even if the boy regarded him with hatred, but it wasn't. She was screaming as Bellatrix tortured her, and it was the first time he'd wanted to intervene, to stop Bella in her madness.

Another girl had taken her place, a girl with raven hair and hazel green eyes. A girl that would stroke his hair when he had a nightmare at the age of eleven. The one who always complimented him on how good his hot chocolate was. A girl who believed in him, who had protected him on countless occasions. The girl who comforted him when he was sad.

"You really should come stay at Potter Manor with the rest of us."

And he remembered.

Peter saw Hermione Potter, and he glanced to the side, where Draco Malofy was standing, looking pained as he witnessed the girl getting tortured. Peter saw Draco clearly for who he was, or perhaps who he would become.

It was overwhelming, but a dam in his head broke. A dam that should have remained in place for all intents and purposes. The memories were flooding back without an ounce of finesse, they crashed against his mind's walls in a clamant fashion.

Peter had been wrong, horribly wrong. They were always there for him; the Marauders. Sirius, Remus, James, Hermione and Draco. They were his family, and he'd betrayed them.

Peter didn't know how long this clarity would last before they were wiped clean from his mind again, but he held the memories of them close to his chest. He had a massive migraine, but he pushed through it as it cleared the numb fog that had hung over him for almost two decades. Peter decided to be brave where he had failed before, to be courageous and do what he should have done all those years ago.

He had to be careful, and he had to be smart. It wouldn't do any of them any good if he acted rashly.

Peter was going to fight, even if it helped only a little. Peter mulled over his options, and it occurred to him that he owed Harry a life debt for stopping Remus and Sirius from killing him a few years ago. Peter glanced down at the silver hand, Voldemort had given him, and wondered how he'd fallen so far.

Peter was going to help save Harry, whose wonderful parents he'd ripped away. Peter was going to save Ronald, the boy who had always treated his rat with the utmost care. Most importantly, Peter was going to save Hermione, his friend. He wasn't sure why she looked the way she did, or why she was going by the name Hermione Granger, but he was going to save her regardless.

Peter bided his time, and waited for his moment. He was heading down to the Dungeon, when he bumped into the prisoners already escaping. Hope surged in his chest, and Peter raised his wand with no intention of using it. Harry easily disarmed him.

"Go," Peter told the boy, and befuddlement snapped across Harry's face.

The simple act of letting them go was a betrayal to the Dark Lord, and Peter had suspected as much, but it was confirmed as his silver hand unwittingly moved of its own accord. It wrapped around his throat.

"I'm sorry," Peter rasped as he collapsed to the ground, the hand was choking the life out of him. I'm sorry. He accepted his fate without argument. After everything terrible he'd done, this was what he deserved.

The darkness was encroaching around the edges of his vision, and Peter saw Hermione and Draco Potter strolling towards him, smiling, holding their hands out in his direction. "You can go now, Peter. It's okay. Just let go." And he did, and it all faded to nothingness.