This is a very short (and rather depressing, and not actually my best work but worth posting nonetheless) monologue from the POV of one Peter Pettigrew, who we all know and hate. Still, he's a fascinating character, in my opinion. This takes place, as you might guess, during the very beginning of Goblet of Fire. By the way, I'd just finished George Orwell's "Nineteen Eighty-Four" when I started writing this. For those of you who have read it, you'll understand the type of mood I was in. The grammar isn't all correct, but as we're looking inside his head, that doesn't really matter, does it? If there are any typos, please let me know. I wrote this in a really weird font that I can't always read, for the simple reason that I hate people looking over my shoulder when I'm writing. Reviews would be wonderful, as always. Read the new chapter of "Ad Infinitum" while you're at it.
The Waiting Game
A sleepless night is nothing uncommon. That, I've become accustomed too. It's better, in some ways, than the dreams that sometimes come; at least when I'm awake, I can drive the memories playing over and over like a broken record to some little-used corner of my mind. Broken record--how long has it been since I last heard that phrase? Nobody uses record players anymore, not even Muggles. Still, the expression is used. That's funny. I never thought about that.
That's the sort of thing I think about. Mindless, empty rambling, most of it...but it takes up space that could be filled by other things. Ah, now I'm coming back to the broken record. It never quite goes away, does it?
They were wrong. All of them. Dumbledore in particular--but he's been wrong about so many things before. Like the werewolf. What on earth was he thinking, putting a monster like that in a school full of his precious students? Dumbledore never thought of me like the rest of them, though, even if he was wrong. He always thought I might amount to something, and he was right about that, wasn't he? Or so he always said. But he didn't get it all right.
Lily and James got it right, eventually. But it was too late for them by that time, and too late for me, I thought. Even after Sirius was stupid enough just to come running at me like that. I could have done better. Even me, fat little Peter Pettigrew who everybody thought was so stupid. I could have done better than Sirius Black, for all that. If he's gone to Remus right away, he could have convinced him of what actually happened before he found out from Dumbledore and the Ministry. Remus was never too hard to convince of anything, then. He believed me when I told him he didn't frighten me. I told him that over and over, like James and Sirius did, whenever he was in one of his pathetically miserable, self-abhorring moods--generally right after the full moon. We'd tell him it wasn't his fault and that it nobody cared. I only did it to make him stop acting like the spineless weakling he was. They meant it then, both of them. I never did. Sirius didn't, later on. He told me about it. He confided in me a lot, after he became convinced that Remus was spying on us...that was another of the more idiotic things he did, spilling everything out to me. He wouldn't tell James how much Remus actually frightened him. I don't know exactly what happened, but he said he'd been with him once during a transformation, in dog form of course--and it wasn't like it had always been at Hogwarts. He never really explained that to me, he would just shudder slightly and get this really odd look on his face, like he was reliving a nightmare. I didn't need him to tell me Remus was a monster. I knew that well enough. I had always known that, just as I'd realized how arrogant, naive, and foolish Sirius and James were, not brave and spirited like everyone always said.
But sometimes, it's like I remember it differently from that. Like a recurring dream. That's what it feels like. Like even if I was afraid of Remus, I still meant it when I said it didn't matter, and even if I was jealous of James, I didn't hold it against him, and even if Sirius was cocky and showed off constantly, I knew he didn't mean in that way, and that he never meant to act like he was so much better at everything than I was. Like I cared about Lily, too, and Harry, and I actually felt guilty after I betrayed them.
But I know that's not true. I didn't betray them, they betrayed me. It took me awhile to accept that, but he finally opened my eyes. He's done that much for me, even if he is repulsive and the only thing I want now is to be rid of him, use all the curses he taught me on that slimy, foul, rank, disgusting corpse.
But that would be even more foolish than Sirius was. I can't get away with that now, now that Dumbledore knows the truth, and Remus, and they'll have told Fudge. He won't believe it, but if I come back alive, he'll have to.
No, I need to play the waiting game for now. I'll see, first, if his plan works, and if he keeps his promise. Then I'll stay with him, once he's wiped Harry Potter off the face of the globe once and for all, and Sirius and Remus and Dumbledore with him. Only then. He's promised me that. And he's promised to reward me for what I've done. It'll be worth it then, if he really means it, and if that Jorkins woman was right about Crouch, and about Moody and the tournament, then...then it'll be worth it.
But now I'm trapped here, in, of all places, his childhood home, with him and his snake, and he's weak, but still powerful enough that I can't do anything to him, or he'll take care of me like he took care of Jorkins and that Muggle. I know that as well as he does. And so instead, I play the waiting game.