It's over! *bursts into tears of ectasy... all right, maybe a little sadness too, just a little*

This work has been, well, *work*. In fact, if I had gotten my way, I'd've put it aside and concentrate on something else. (But, of course, you guys all just had to say you HAD to read the rest... brats. :-) To those whose support (praise and flattery and ego-imflation, baby, yeah!) and constructive criticism helped me finish, I wish to thank everyone specifically: the longtime supporter Voltora, the incredibly ego-inflamating Okatu-hime, the wonderful (T.J., no other word for it :-) Lavander Ice, that sharp-cookie Sorensen, the ever encouraging Le Chat Qui Garde La Lune (and I can spell it by heart now), the oh-my-gosh-did-I-just-receive-a-review-from-HER?-Iniga, the spot-on Moonrose (yes, I am my own worst critic, but someone's gotta be), the Litte Rascal... erm, Emily K. Lupin *wink*, and the fellow-sufferer of Outcastism 22 ermioneH. I also want to extend a huge thank-you in advance to anyone else who reviews. As Stephen King put it: "Writers are needy."

This chapter was no day in the park, but I think my writing improved, which is half the battle. As for the other half... I'll shut up now, shall I?

"As for my friends, [they] pick me up when I'm feelin' blue, now how 'bout you?
Does your conscience bother you, now tell me true."
(Lynyrd Skynyrd, "Sweet Home Alabama")

Chapter 3 - Peter's Return


How did it all start?

The door of Serendipity closed loudly. Peter Pettigrew's hand withdrew from the knob sharply, as if it burned him, and he turned around almost frantically, eyes scanning about in quick darts. He was panting in great, swift breaths, his entire appearance disheveled, and even in pause his posture was in that uncertain state of nonmotion, as if his limbs were wildly anxious to move, but his mind needed a minute to catch up. He was a hurricane of nervous, panicked, alarmed energy.

I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead.

He tried to calm enough to listen. Please, please, please, don't let them be here. Please, please, please…

No sound greeted him. He exhaled ever so slightly in relief. Sanctuary.

But how long would that last?

The barriers still admitted me. They haven't gotten here yet.

Peter was short and slight, and it helped him in this case as he moved almost scurry-like through the living room. One of the oddities of Serendipity. You opened the door, and one short step down was the welcoming living room.

Is it just me, or doesn't it look welcoming? No, no, Peter, you're not thinking clearly. Too many years as Wormtail. Houses don't have feelings. Maybe the idealist James liked to think that, but they don't. They don't! Houses don't have emotions; they're just there! Serendipity won't hurt you, it doesn't want to, and it can't.

Sirius and Remus, on the other hand…

Sirius and Remus, on the other hand, definitely had emotions, they wanted to hurt him, and it was absolutely within their capabilities to do so.

But still, Peter could have sworn the empty hearth, the casual armchairs and loveseats, the matter-of-fact end tables, were glaring at him. They were saying: "Rat. Rat. Rat."

The kitchen was, too… no, no, no. It wasn't. But if you squinted, it seemed to do so. Peter's cloak swished as he turned sharply at the slightest sound of noise.

He was tired - so tired. He wanted to do nothing more than sleep. Shaking, he glanced around the kitchen. Surreal, it all was… the past fifteen years had been like… like a dream. As Linda might have said: "Like a wildfire out of control"… some Muggle song.

Don't think about Linda. Linda never, never liked you. So true. From the moment they met at Hogwarts, as they were Sorted into the same House, Linda had been suspicious and wary of him. Why? Peter wondered. So one else was. He was Peter, the Gryffindor class clown. The one who would make smart-alec remarks in class, and describe Zambia in all sorts of uncomplimentary but amusing manners. He was the one who could brew potions, if do little else. He was friends with that blasted group of troublemakers from Gryffindor. He wasn't the genius, but he was the sweet, funny, amusing one. A little odd… but so were the rest of the "Marauders". There was Sirius Black, who was the son of that Arisuis Black, who was nothing like the rest of his family… better or worse, depending how you looked at it. There was Remus Lupin, who managed to miss more class than everyone else put together, who always seemed to act a little more mature than his classmates. There was James Potter, who, even for a Potter, was so optimistic and charming that he left most people breathless, and into the bargain he looked the part of a clown, with hilariously untidy dark hair and ridiculous big glasses.

In fact, for those reasons and others, Peter was considered the most "normal" of them at school. Everyone liked Peter; it was hard to dislike him. So why had Linda? Lily had once said hesitantly: "Well, you sort of act like Lin's uncle, and you know she doesn't like him…"

"Peter? Mr. Fairchild?" James burst out laughing. "Yeah, right! There're as different as day and night!"

It suddenly hit Peter like a bucket of ice-cold water.

Not anymore. Peter and Mr. Fairchild were exactly alike.

No. No, we're not. Fairchild was a pig-faced git of a weakling. I'm… I'm Wormtail. I outwitted the brightest of the bright. I made it this far. I gave the Dark Lord what no one else could. I'm not… Fairchild. I'm better!

Peter was shaking.

How did it start? How? How?

The past fifteen years, apart from being a wildfire out of control, had been… not quite a dream, not even a nightmare. More like a daze. It had started out so little… Death Eaters whispering to him… Peter wondering what it was all about…

And WHAM!

The Death Eater initiation rite… the killings… the torture… inflicting it and receiving it… Lily and James dead… the Dark Lord, gone… Peter, shocking Sirius and framing him… becoming a pet rat… handed around a wild, energetic wizarding family… waking up one day and seeing James. But it hadn't been James. It had been Harry. That had been quite a shock… he'd felt… no, not guilty, he had nothing to be guilty for… Peter fell asleep again, into blissful unconsciousness… not having to think, to work our answers… "M-Molly… it's Black, Sirius Black, he escaped from Azkaban" - "You can't be serious!" - "No, no joke, Molly, listen"… (Thank you for your kindness, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but I might be endangering you here…)

*

Wormtail shifted uneasily. He wished Ron would find a seat so the constant movement would stop.

Soon it would be the least of his worries.

For one, there was that blasted Kneazle… it's mere presence was making him highly uncomfortable. But for now the little beast was strapped in a basket, and he wouldn't have to worry until at least… at least until that Hermione-girl let him out. She reminds me of Morwin so much. And look where all her cleverness got her! A cat, of all things… Peter tried to force his mind from anything but the decade-old memories swarming in until he could fall asleep and not have to worry.

"Go away, Ginny," Ron ordered… sounding like Sammy Orr: "Go away, Kenny. Now, I want to talk with Lily and Peter." Not even realizing they were being mean to their younger siblings.

"Oh, that's nice," Ginny grumbled, walking off… probably to find that Hufflepuff boy she hung out with.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked worriedly.

Harry. Harry. For heavens' sakes, why did he have to be the pet of the Boy Who Lived's best friend? Ron couldn't've picked anyone else, could he? Just when Peter felt like he could think easily, Harry was dragged in.

"We need to talk - alone," Harry replied. Wormtail guessed he was nodding his head toward a group of rowdy students having a raucous get-together… A lot like us lot… Peter, shut up.

"Okay, we'll find a compartment," Hermione said in her matter-of-fact, question-and-answer tone.

Wormtail only hoped they would find it soon. Luckily, Wormtail felt himself drifting off. Being kept up all night of fright of that orange furball had its purposes…

"Here's one."

"The whole of Ravenclaw is in there, Ron!"

"You'll fit in, won't you?"

"Come on," Harry interjected. Peacemaker, as always. He sounded a lot like Peter did when Sirius and Remus were arguing… as they were prone to do…

Don't think of them. Wormtail squirmed uneasily. But Sirius wouldn't get into Hogwarts, would he? If Dumbledore could stop You-Know-Who - and Peter had seen those defeats first-hand - then he could stop Sirius Black.

"Last one… I think this is good…"

"Wait."

There was an abrupt pause.

"Well, go on, doesn't look like he'll wake up anytime soon. Harry?"

Harry hesitated. How like Lily. "I guess. I'm not supposed to know this, but, anyway…" Now he's being James. Always knowing what he shouldn't.

"Who d'you reckon he is?" Ron steadied; he had sat down. Finally.

"Professor R.J. Lupin."

Wormtail felt himself freeze. Oh. No. Please let there be another R.J. Lupin in this world… I'm jumping to conclusions. This might be that brother of his, Ritchie…He ignored the fact that Ritchie's middle name was Donnelley.

"How d'you know that?" Yeah… that's right, know-it-all, just how d'you know that? Not nice to get me worked up over nothing…

"It's on his case." Oh. Not good, not good. Wormtail barley heard the ensuring conversation, extremely worked up. Remus was here, within two yards of him. Sirius, who knew what he had done, was fast coming. And if Sirius convinced Remus he was innocent?

"… Defence Against the Dark Arts." Defence? Where's Zambia?

Wormtail had to marvel at himself. At a time like this, the innate instinct of Be Wary Of Grace Zambia still held firm.

"Well, I hope he's up to it. He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn't he? Anyway, what were you going to tell us?"

"It was the other night, when I went to get Scabbers's rat tonic - "

You could have saved the trouble. That stuff is awful. Wormtail tried to keep still. What if Ron took him out of his pocket - like, right now? If Remus saw him, he had a lot of explaining to do.

It was Sirius, tell him. I escaped Sirius but… but was afraid he'd come after me. That' s right… I was scared of Sirius coming after me. Right now, that's the truth.

"Sirius Black escaped to come after you?" I only hope Remus'll say the same thing… "Oh, Harry, that's bad…"

Wait… they think he's after Harry. But… of course. That's right. Well, rather they'd think that than… something else.

"I don't go looking for trouble," Harry was retorting. "Trouble usually finds me." Very, very Lily. Very, very James. Fall asleep, Scabbers, like a good rat.

*

That hadn't been a pleasant day, either.

And now… what he had been worrying about since July… it was here. Oh, was he ever in trouble. He might have preferred being in the hands of Death Eaters. He scrunched his face. If… if Sirius and Remus managed to convince some Death Eaters… no, that wouldn't happen. They wouldn't talk and the Death Eaters wouldn't listen. Hopefully.

And I never meant to do it! He truthfully never woke up one day and said: "I'm going to go kill some people and betray my best friends." No, never. It just sort of lead to that.

When did it start? he asked himself as he rummaged the cupboards. He was hungry and the thought of eating actual food, not rat feed and stray scraps was welcoming. I didn't just become a murderer. No, I've never been a murderer. Remember what Baddock said. You were… performing a service.

Had it been when… no, before the Death Eaters contacted him. What had led him to do even accept that? When Lily and James got engaged? He could remember such feelings of jealousy… he loved Lily like a sister, and now she would be loved like a lover. James had everything, why Lily, too? But… but that hadn't lasted long. He had gotten used to the idea, had tolerated it. And Lily was so wonderfully happy.

Had it been when Maria Todile of Slytherin invited him as her guest to the Leaving Ball, their last dance at Hogwarts? Perhaps. That's certainly when his name got around… interesting… circles. But why did he accept? The Peter just two years before would have died before going to a ball with a Slytherin… except Kathleen Douglas, but that was a different story. Everyone liked Kathie.

When James and Sirius and Remus started having some big secret in their sixth year they hadn't let him in on? Peter had been wildly confused and a little upset at not being let in on anything that night. He had waited by the Great Hall for James and Sirius to come… it had been a full moon night. He could remember anxiously glancing at the moon through the enchanted ceiling, fidgeting, wondering if he should just go without the other two. Had they already gone to the Shack? But then, why hadn't they waited for him… they needed him, didn't they? Suddenly James entered.

"Prongs!" Peter called, trying to keep his voice low. "What's going on?"

James looked serious. "Well, I can't get into it now. Come on."

Peter thought James would head to the Whomping Willow, but instead he found himself following him to their own dormitory. James removed his glasses, looking drained.

"James? What happened? Is it about Rem? Is he okay?"

"Sort of. He'll be all right though, I think. Get some sleep; I'm beat."

James never, ever brushed him off like this. Of course, James was rarely ever tired - he had constant energy, unless he was worried, which in case he would become withdrawn and moody if he didn't instead release it in the form of noise and laughter.

This continued the next morning. Sirius was as vague as James, with an odd glint of well-I-did-it in his eyes, almost defying James to start telling him off.

Confused, Peter tried to visit Remus in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey didn't allow him to enter until that evening.

"Not feeling well?" Peter asked tentatively after several awkward minutes.

"Tired," Remus mumbled.

"Er… about last night…"

Remus glanced up as sharply as someone half-asleep could. "What about it?"

"I - I d-don't know. What h-happened?" Peter cursed himself; his old habit of stuttering had come back.

"I'm not sure, either," Remus replied shortly. Peter didn't get much more information that night. He felt completely left in the dark and a little upset. None of the others brought it up to him. No one mentioned it after that in front of him; no one explained why Remus and Sirius refused to speak to each other; no one explained why Snape kept leering at them in the corridors even more often than was usual.

At one point Remus and Snape both disappeared on a Saturday. Coming back that evening, Snape looked bitterly disappointed and Remus almost blank.

"What happened?" Peter overheard James asked him quietly.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Oh. Well…" Then both spotted him and clammed up.

It cleared up somewhat. The next month Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs had their usual romp; Sirius and Remus soon seemed to have patched things up, although their interaction was still strained and forced. They didn't have little arguments a zillion times a week anymore; instead of bringing it up Remus would merely glance sideways at Sirius, eyes darkened, and not say a thing. Somehow that was most disturbing of all. The two of them having differences of opinion and acting upon it was so normal to Peter that having it gone was like the sky suddenly turning purple. It took a while to get used to.

Peter tried to sulk a while, to get them to notice that he was angry that no one felt the need to trust him with what had happened, but it hadn't lasted long. It was impossible to stay angry with them, but Peter was hurt.

Now he understood perfectly… but it's a little late now.

Scowling, Peter found the cupboards empty. So what had led up to the fact that his three closest "friends" hadn't trusted him with that matter?

Maybe, an annoying little voice in his head nagged, it's because you had stopped trusting them.

Shut up, Peter ordered the Voice. Sulkily, some part of him registered that the Voice had a - no, it didn't have a point. The Voice was just trying to annoy him. Morgana, but did the Voice ever enjoy annoying him. Morgana, but didn't he prefer his rat form at times. His body didn't, but his mind did. It was so much simpler to shut things out.

He remembered Remus, not returning from Christmas holiday in their second year until March and refusing to elaborate why. He remembered Sirius, getting odd letters in their fifth year and ignoring his questions of why. He remembered James, growing silent for long periods of time after Sammy's death, not talking to anyone but Lily, and certainly not Peter.

Peter couldn't trust them anymore. And so he didn't. He could remember frantically wondering what to do about his Arthimancy essay, having forgotten about it, the night before it was due in his fourth year. He could remember eying about the dormitory wildly, his eyes landing on Remus's essay, and glancing at the full moon out the window. He'll never know… he'll think he forgot to do it, or lost it. And so Peter merely took his friend's… and had been right. Peter had not been caught. And even when, a few months later…

*

"What're you looking for?" Sirius finally asked in exasperation.

"Mum said boys our age all catch the 'look-abouts' around now," James supplied.

Peter fidgeted, knowing the answer…

"I can't find my Ancient Runes translation," Remus replied worriedly.

"Don't look at me. I don't even take it," Sirius said. "I don't know why you let Peter talk you into it."

"You make it sound like I dragged him kicking and screaming into the classroom," Peter said, trying to sound hurt and offended.

"That's what it sounded like," James nodded solemnly, with his trademark innocent and serious expression.

"Sorry," Peter said quietly, not intending anyone to hear him.

Remus did hear him but mistook the meaning. "Don't worry about it. I don't mind. I just need to find that translation; it took me four hours."

"You've been forgetting a lot of homework around your transformations lately," Peter said carefully, trying carefully to not sound accusing.

"I know I have," Remus sighed. "Keyes is going to kill me if I forgot one more Potions assignment. But I swear, I did this one. I remember finishing it before Thursday so that tonight I'd have time to do the essay for Zambia on Climatics and Unforgivables for tomorrow. Which is nearly today."

Peter tried not to look guilty. It was uncomfortably easy to do. "Well, I look for the Runes one, shall I? Get to work on the Defence essay."

"Thanks. But wait - I just want to try a Summoning Charm."

Now Peter panicked. Just as Remus said: "Accio" he saw the essay - with his name, but still vaguely resembling Remus writing and style - fly from his schoolbag. He caught it mid-air and pretended to look at the name on it. "No… this is mine."

Remus sighed. "All right."

Peter still felt guilty, incredibly so, as Remus, who still looked exhausted, spent the rest of the night scribbling away at the two assignments. Several times Peter was on the edge of revealing what he had done, but managed not to. In fact, he even managed to get some sleep, finding that while asleep he didn't feel guilty a bit. He didn't have to think of what he had done. He could never have guessed how this knowledge and skill would serve him in later life.

Professor Dalton didn't bat an eye at Remus's translation, which was untidy, crumpled, not quite complete, and all in all a mess. He didn't have that sort of luck in Defence Against the Dark Arts, however. Despite the fact that Remus had skipped breakfast and wrote all during The Study of Ancient Runes (come to think of it, Peter recalled, Remus didn't pay much attention in that class in the best of times) he hadn't been able to find six feet for his essay, and Zambia spent a good quarter of an hour giving him one of her infamous ranting monologues.

Peter, however, discovered that he cold block out Zambia's hollering by focusing on the clock. He stared at the second hand and counted the movements. In fact, by the time they left, he couldn't even feel empathy for him. Just how thick could one person be, anyway? If Remus was going to be a blind idiot, then he should expect that sort of thing.

And it led Peter to bigger things.

*

… Peter remembered it with no guilt whatsoever. In fact, it just led to more and more. If he could do that much, what was to prevent him from getting Bella's Herbology homework as his own? What was to prevent him from framing Hannah Mockingham of Hufflepuff so his own offence - wandering around the castle in the dead of night - would go unchecked? What was to prevent him from borrowing James's Invisibility Cloak - without permission - to spy on Kathie Douglas, so he knew of her interests and would therefore have a topic for conversation? Why not bewitch the Slytherin broomsticks to ensure Gryffindor would win the match, and Peter his bet with Justice Rhoades? The list went on and on, getting worse and worse as the years went by. Although he had no clue how Maria Todile had taken him to the Leaving Ball. That one was beyond him. But then, Maria was a Slytherin. Not quite as pretty as Kathie, but good-looking enough.

And he had found himself enjoying her company. That was what was almost scary. Now, he blushed slightly, remembering some times post-Hogwarts when he had, well, really enjoyed her company. And the fact that his friends had glanced at her askance, even James, who would accept nearly anyone, seemed to only add to her charm.

For a while. Peter started becoming more and more aware that Maria was getting to be her old domineering, disagreeable self. And that she was starting to get a little meaner. And more distant.

Next thing he knew, one night, he had Death Eaters knocking at his door.

*

It had been a busy day. Peter had been driven half to insanity, Barty Crouch was on the rampage, and as his secretary, it got passed on to himself. To tell the truth, Peter couldn't help but be a little frightened of Crouch, with the frantic gleam of his eyes when he campaigned against the Dark Side, the cruel set of his face when he saw people kill; the lack of any empathy when someone cried or struggled with emotion.

"Buck up, Pettigrew," Alaham Lestrange jeered at the sensitive novice still struggling for credibility. At least, intimidation was the motive behind the taunting Peter believed at the time.

Alastor Moody had happened to overhear one of these needlings. He had been glowering at Lestrange for several weeks detestfully and probably could have used any excuse to contradict him. "Don't know but if Pettigrew's right at time. Now don't glare at me in that tone of voice, Crouch, for me speaking my mind. I want to make our world as safe as possible - and there are some good liars out there, mightily good liars. And then there are some completely innocent, being condemned to a private hell as they're prodded for information when they have none, or accused while innocent. A person can only take so much before -" He made a movement with his forefinger across his neck.

"Very poetical," Crouch retorted coldly. "Sounds like something Millry would say."

Peter could have sworn to overheard Moody mutter: "And Patty has thrice the sense you do." Aloud, he continued: "And you expect people hanging in the balance to remain loyal to you and your cause if they're mistreated?" Moody had glanced sideways at Peter, who believed Moody was referring to the case of the Turpins and the Dolohovs.

In all, it was a tiring day, and Peter was happy to go to his home in Godric Hollow that night, considering visiting Serendipity but discarding that idea. He was turning over many thoughts Moody, Crouch, and Lestrange had instilled in his head that day and didn't want to have to explain to any of his friends there why he was so quiet. Instead he turned the radio on softly and cooked a quick dinner, planning to use the evening to organize some more correspondence that Crouch was on his back to do.

Peter had set up rolls of parchment on the table and was wetting his quill when he heard a knock on the door. He turned his radio up one notch, feeling a bit lazy to answer it. If it were any of his friends, they'd know just to come in. Sirius, especially, rarely bothered with such formalities as knocking.

There was another knock, and Peter sighed, screwing the inkstand again. He really didn't feel like entertaining. Perhaps it was just Linda on her supreme dignity.

"Yes, who's there?" he asked, hand on the lock of the door.

"Oh… some visitors," a measured voice replied.

Somehow, Peter felt a little spooked, but retorted calmly (it was probably only James or Sirius trying to pull something or another): "That I know. Anything more specific?"

"Open up, Peter Pettigrew," another, lower, more raspy voice ordered, drawing out the name mockingly. Peter had never much liked it himself. Snape and Avery and Wilkes - particularly the latter - had never, ever missed an opportunity to cast it up to him, and it got annoyingly tiresome.

This was during the reign of the Dark Lord, and Peter was no idiot. "If I cannot get a name, I shall owl the Office of Harassment. Good night, sirs," he called through the keyhole. Warily, he pulled his wand out and placed a few Protection Charms on the door.

"Aw, Petey's putting extra spells on the door… is the little Gwyffiedor scared?" yet another voice sneered. Peter wondered uneasily how many were there.

"Quit it," the first voice told him. It was a cultured and dangerous voice. "Peter is our esteemed acquaintance, isn't he?"

"No, Peter is not," Peter retorted blandly. He had always been blunt. "Or at least to my knowledge."

"And Mr. Pettigrew," the first voice continued "would never think of adding one more Protection Spell to the door, turning, and using the Floo Network to one of his friend's houses, leaving us out here cold, would he? No, I don't believe the polite, easygoing Peter would ever be quite so rude."

The polite, easygoing Peter could and would. Adjusting one bolt discreetly, he turned and began to twirl his wand to Apparate. He wouldn't go to any of his friends' residences; if he were traced, as some Dark Wizards were rumoured to be able to do, then he'd only endanger his friends, and Peter would never want that. He did know of a deserted plain that few others knew of from childhood travels, however, and was planning to go straight there.

Suddenly, there was a smooth creaking and clicking behind him. The word "Apperio" died in Peter's throat as his carefully charmed door slid deftly off it's hinges, moved forward, still upright, into the house, and then leveled to it's side as it flew higher than Peter's head to the back wall, where it hit the paint with a soft thud.

They are going to attack me; I am in such big trouble… I knew working for Crouch wasn't a good idea!… I am so badly dead…

Peter stared for a moment at the dark-clad figures behind the door, who now carelessly stepped into his house. Peter, Lily, and Remus had once went on a little "errand" for Dumbledore shortly after graduation, the first of many, and that one had been the closest Peter had gotten so far to losing his life and the circle of Death Eaters - and so he recognized the black uniform and concealing masks. Oh, yes. Quite dead.

Amazing how dry wit refused to fail one at a moment like this.

There were four of them, in a one-two-one format. The one in front, closest to a very frightened Peter, was obviously the leader, and, he suspected, the one with the smooth, clever voice. One of the ones behind him was the tallest and most intimidating by look, but Peter had a shrewd suspicion he hadn't said a word outside the door. The one next to him had a swarthy sort of stockiness to him. The last was shorter than the tallest but taller than the leader and quite thin, still, he seemed to be last in pickling order.

"Oh, dear," the leader said with a click of the tongue. "Mr. Pettigrew proved me wrong, I'm afraid. Ah, well, likely it'll be the last time."

That death omen is much clearer than anyone Trelawney ever pointed out, somehow… I've just got my life in order and escaped my father… I don't want to die right now, of all times! "I'll disappoint you again and again; I don't care what you threaten me with!" Peter told him with trademark Gryffindor bravado, perfected over years of being bullied.

"Threaten?" the leader of the Death Eater quartet said with apparent surprise. "I plan to do nothing of the sort, Peter. I merely have a proposition to make."

"And I know exactly what the price of refusing is. I'll take it now," Peter snapped recklessly - fear had impacted all common sense. Lily had noted once that both Peter and Sirius were prone to blocking out fear by living on instinct. But the ever loyal James had replied: "But, Lil dear, isn't that the same for us all?"

"Goodness gracious," the leader remarked innocently, and Peter noted the irony of the phrase coming from a Death Eater's mouth. "I thought you had more sense, Mr. Pettigrew, Ministry sense applies here. Don't refuse until you listen…"

"I won't do anything evil," Peter stated clearly and firmly, wondering where he had gotten his sudden bravery. He didn't muse on it - if he was going to die refusing to join their side, he needed lots of adrenaline to block out all fear. Don't give in!