House: Slytherin
Category: Theme
Prompt: Hogsmeade [setting]
Word Count (excluding A/N): 727
A/N: Thank you to Carol, Ra, and Emma for beta-ing! :)
oO0Oo
The moon was rising, painting the world with its faint off-white glow as the setting sun slowly disappeared over the horizon. The shadows lengthened, and the trees rustled in the cold, biting wind; the world was slowly falling into dusk's tender embrace as Peter scurried through the tall, yellow grasses to the Whomping Willow.
He easily pressed the knot on the trunk, then slipped into the secret passage, where his four little feet made soft pit pats against the dark, damp earth. Before long, he was surfacing in the Shrieking Shack. Ignoring the ravaged walls, Peter slid through a crack in the floorboards, and then he was in Hogsmeade. His nose twitched at the sweet smell of fresh air after nearly an hour spent underground.
It smelled of freedom. After twelve long years spent as the Weasley's pet rat, he'd finally made up his mind. The Dark Lord was dead, vanquished by Harry, and Peter was wasting his time pretending to be something he wasn't. He wasn't a rat. He was a man.
It was time to live his life.
For the first time in decades, Peter concentrated on his human form. He'd always hated its weak chin, its watery eyes, and its short stature; however, he wasn't meant to live his life a pet to a bunch of blood traitors. Screwing his eyes shut, he pictured every detail of his human body, and then he transformed.
Peter shot upwards, suddenly on two feet, not four, and staggering to regain his balance. When he did, he stretched his arms high above his head, marvelling at the dexterity of his fingers and how tall he suddenly was; why, he towered over his other form. Peter flexed his fingers, then took a deep breath.
He had been reborn. He was a man now, not a pet rat, and he was going to make a new life for himself, far from his troubled past.
He turned and began to stride purposely towards Hog's Head, knowing Aberforth would be hard-pressed to recognise him. The Marauders had rarely visited his bar, and his long captivity spent eating kibble had certainly fattened him up. The Prophet's picture of him, run the day of his 'murder', was hopelessly out of date. Confident he wouldn't be recognised, Peter stepped forward for a bracing drink.
His hand was on the handle of the door when the back of his neck prickled. Acting on that instinct which had saved his life countless times during the war, Peter immediately transformed into his rat Animagus. He was being watched. He turned slowly, certain to stay as low to the ground as he could, and he saw in the shadows a bony black dog whose eyes glinted disconcertingly in the growing darkness.
It was Sirius. It was the Grim. Without a doubt, the two were one and the same in Peter's mind — both promised a swift and merciless death.
Heart racing, Peter slunk as discreetly as he could towards the Shrieking Shack. He had to escape before Sirius noticed him.
And it seemed luck was on his side: Peter escaped unscathed, for which he was extremely grateful. He'd seen the saliva pooling on the ground, the yellowed teeth pulled back in a wordless snarl, and the feral gleam in Sirius eye. His prior friend was fantasizing about killing him. Murdering him, in fact. And Peter was certain Sirius would enjoy every second of it.
He shuddered as he slipped back underground. The dank, heavy air seemed to suffocate him as he crept back into Hogwarts; he'd found the light after years spent in darkness, and now he had to relinquish it. Although being the Weasley's pet rat was not a terrible fate, Peter had come to hope for more — and now those dreams were cruelly dashed. With Sirius lurking, just waiting to murder him, Hogwarts was undoubtedly the safest place to be. Hogwarts, surrounded by its Dementors, Aurors, and Order members.
He'd survive there. But that's all he did these days. He only survived. He didn't live.
Peter trudged back to Hogwarts, his little footsteps echoing in the empty passageway, his freedom vanishing with every step. His rat form, which had once felt like an escape from the Order, from Azkaban, and most importantly, from his past, was now a prison. One from which he'd never escape it.