Peter's thoughts when he learned of Sirius death in the Department of Mysteries.
"At least it wasn't a total waist-"
"Honestly Lucius, Bellatrix was the only one who even killed a member of that damn Order," Rookwood's voice cut him off in disgust.
"Not like it was anyone important," Dolohov scoffed, "anyone could have taken down Black, useless as he is. Spent how long now shut up somewhere in his mum's basement after all," he finished with a high cackle.
Peter froze on the other side of the door, his heart stilling his chest though his eyes didn't leave the parchment he was supposed to be analyzing. His master had thankfully opted to leave him out of the raid against the Department of Mysteries, and Peter had been grateful, he'd told himself. Who needed to deal with that brat falling into a trap, he was likely just going to get his stupid head blown off anyways...
And he didn't care of course! About any of it! Sirius had made that clear, he hadn't wanted to hear him out in that stupid shack where they'd spent so many years together! All he'd done was blame everyone around him, just like he always did, couldn't see for himself all Peter had been trying to do was live through it.
It was all well and good for those two, they didn't mind dying, obviously as Sirius had probably kicked the bucket doing something foolhardy. He could almost imagine it, the idiot laughing and taunting, the wrong spell catching him...
Peter wanted to laugh. He tried for it now, but his hand was shaking too hard, and he couldn't see anything past that for a moment. Then he realized he was getting ink all over his work, and he prodded the parchment quickly to clean that away.
It's not like he cared, he told his hand, the still human, flesh colored one that had once nearly been torn off itself when it had been caught too close to Moony's mouth. Padfoot had jumped in and caught him out of the way in his own mouth though, while Prongs fielded him and got the blow instead, deadly teeth flashing across antlers and snapping one clean off.
There was a knock on the door, and he gave a guilty little jump, stuffing both hands out of sight and calling out for whomever it was to enter.
One of the Carrows, they were both so ugly Peter had a hard time telling them apart, told him there was a meeting, the Dark Lord wanted all of them to hear of what had happened at the Ministry.
Peter eagerly went to follow, but instead was subjected to a lengthy retelling of their fight with the Order. He laughed along at those stupid children's naive attempts to escape them, he hissed in frustration upon Voldemort's lose, and he triumphed with those that the Order had the prophesy no more than them.
Black was dead, Potter was wounded, and the Dark Lord would continue to plan anew.
Except when he tried to picture it now, it was still the burning ashes of Godric's Hollow.