It had been a boring party near Red Lion, a hidden Muggle-wizard hybrid town. Uncle Partin seemed to be having a lovely time. Nothing more interesting, Peter reflected dully, than in discussing bloomslang taxes and centaur offices with a bunch of prats who were as empty-minded as yourself.
Peter was suddenly wondering if he could sneak upstairs. This was being held at a Ministry member's house - and they might have books. Peter felt no moral pricks at this idea; since he had been exiled from his love, he was desperate and would read anything he could get his hands on. That included Muggle literature that his mother had forbidden - The Lord of the Rings had been a perfectly fine read, if a little lengthy, and The Three Musketeers, at least the first few pages that Peter had been able to cram in while his mother visited a neighbour, had been very interesting.
He glanced around. A few years of sneaking around had made him a small expert on going about unnoticed, and no one was paying attention to him anyway. Satisfied that no one was about to come over and inquire about his mother (and probably exclaim how much like her he looked, into the raw bargain), he casually crept to the staircase.
Climbing it would be more difficult, as there was any chance Uncle Partin might see, but he finally seemed engaged in conversation with a rather stunning witch. Peter smirked to himself. Hopefully he'll have the sense to pay attention… He crept upwards and to the landing that was hidden from the view of the open floor below. It wasn't a terribly big house.
Most rooms were bedrooms and such, but finally he found the study, which was lined with books. Finding that most were a bit too technical - Peter liked fiction - he instead tried to sneak into one of the children's playrooms.
"Hullo," someone said brightly as he went in.
Peter froze. Uh-oh. Was this one of the host's children? He ran through excuses in his head frantically. "H-Hello." He turned, looking for the owner of the voice. No one seemed to be in the room.
"What're you doing in here?" the voice continued, sounding amused.
"Er, um, sorry if I intruded. I was just bored and -"
"Amen to that!" the voice laughed. "Dull as Sesame's tomb down there, isn't it? 'Oh, hello, dear, haven't seen you since last time we sat through this'."
Peter laughed, a little nervously. "That is what it sounds like a lot." He wondered if he dared ask the voice if he had read The Life of Sesame Santrax. "Erm, I hope this doesn't sound rude," he said, as politely as he could, "but where are you?"
The reply was another laugh. "Let's see. Red Lion. England. Europe. Earth. I haven't studied Astronomy yet. Universe."
Peter realised the voice was from above him and glanced upward. "Oh!" he jumped.
A boy, perhaps his age, was hanging from the chandelier by his knees. His untidy black hair was hanging upside down, thick glasses dangling from an ear. Peter was caught a little off-guard, and the boy apparently knew it.
"On the ceiling, too," his companion grinned. "I've seen you at these thick affairs before."
"I guess so. My uncle takes me. I'm Peter Pettigrew."
"Your uncle is Partin Pettigrew of the Magical Law Enforcement?"
Peter nodded. "Your father is Randolph Potter of the same department?" The hair was recognisable.
"Yeah. I'm James. Forget the whole formality thing."
Peter had to laugh. James Potter, still hanging loosely, looked about as informal as possible.
"I'm offended," James gasped, sounding truly angry. "Laughing at me?"
Peter reddened heavily. "N-no! Sorry, I didn't mean -"
James grinned. "Calm down; I was only teasing."
"Why're you up there?" The question popped out before Peter could help it, but he really was curious, and James made him feel safe. He never felt safe asking questions of Uncle Partin. Truth be told, James looked as though he wanted to be fielded questions so he could talk. And Peter wished he would get down. His neck was hurting.
"I was bored," James explained. "It's boring down there; nothing to do at all. No one fun was there. Nick Chase is home with dragonpox, he couldn't come, and Sirius Black isn't here, his dad won't bring him any more, and Sammy Orr hasn't come in a while, and Drake Edwards has a Gobstone tournament, and Eliza Farrell is down there and all she does is tell me to behave. My sisters had to stay home because Da' only wanted to bring me as the oldest son."
James looked a little put out. "It's very unfair that Annie and Chrissie don't get to come, just because they're girls. Annie always wants to come with me and Chrissie wants to come with Da' and a lot of times they have to stay home. How come so many times it's 'polite' to only bring one child, and then only the oldest boy in the family? And how come only for Ministry families? And how come when we do come, there's no use for us here but to answer stupid questions?"
Peter wondered for just an instant if too much blood had run into James's head. That's just the way things always were. "So you hung from a chandelier?"
James grinned again, his anger at the injustice gone. "Because I was bored and I wanted to scare someone. Sorry you happened to be my victim. I have a bit of a problem, though."
"What?"
"I can't get down."
James spoke very matter-of-factly, and Peter had to smile. It sounded ridiculous.
"Well, it's really nothing to laugh about!" James protested, although he was laughing himself as he spoke. "I really can't. If I drop on the floor everyone below'll hear and Dad'll kill me. Not unless I swing onto the bed or something. And I don't want to bother anyone. The people who're actually having fun - let them. Besides, they'll tell Dad anyway, and there I am again."
"Can't you swing onto the bed?"
"Just trying to think if there's a better way. I might break their chandelier. Why're you here?"
"I'm bored too. I wanted to read something."
James lit up. "Did you find anything?"
Peter felt excited; perhaps this was someone who understood his love of books, finally. "There were these long boring nonfiction things in the library -"
"Really, really heavy? Sorry for interrupting," James added quickly. "But big?"
"Um - yes."
Peter soon found himself scampering down the hall again and again, carrying as many books over as possible. Following James's competent directions, soon a sort of large platform with makeshift steps had been constructed. He would tumble off onto the high, firm stack of books, and then carefully step off the edges with the miniature levels Peter had made.
"I'm off to break my bones; I'm off to break my bones…" James sang carelessly.
"Ready?" Peter asked worriedly.
James actually hesitated one moment. Then, without warning, he released his knees from the chandelier and landed on his side. Peter cried out in horror as the books slid, sending James rolling off what would have been several feet downward.
By some amazing miracle, James rolled of the books to the bed. It hadn't looked possible and he hadn't tried to do it.
But James's life had always seemed a bit charmed.
Peter rushed over to him, hopping over the toppled novels. James was sprawled on the bed, ridiculously large, black eyeglasses askew. He raised his head experimentally.
"I'm a little light-headed," he confessed with a grin, "but that was some trip, wasn't it?" Not quite the word Peter would've used, but… "Come on, we better hurry and put those books back if we don't want to get caught!"
Right on cue, a man's voice called from halfway up the stairs: "James? Is that you?"
James sort of winced, still smiling happily. "My da'," he mouthed to Peter. Quickly straightening his robes, he walked to the stairwell, and Peter followed hesitantly, keeping out of Mr. Potter's sight. "Yes, Da', I'm right here."
"What're you doing now?" Mr. Potter's voice was a resigned amusement.
"I tripped over the fringe of one of these rugs; sorry if I disturbed anyone." Peter could practically hear James's charming smile.
"Well," (and now Peter could practically hear the rolled eyes), "try to trip a little more quietly, all right? Keep out of the bedrooms and such."
"Sure thing, Da'."
Peter had a sudden wondering of what it would be like to have a father you could beat around the bush with like that. For a moment, a terribly green envy of James Potter filled him deeply. Then he shook himself, partly because James had turned back and was looking at him curiously.
"Peter? Can you hear me?"
"Yes, sorry."
"Not at all. Ready to rebuild the Leaning Tower of Pisa?"
Peter was. And he heard a lot; of James's two sisters (Chrissie sounded a bit annoying to Peter, and Annie sounded a little too excitable), of the Stag Fair in Red Lion (Peter had never attended the Stag Fair since Uncle Partin came to live with them), of the Potter estate, Sandy Echoes (Peter wondered if Mum was ever going to name their house), of many of the other Ministry children who often attended the gatherings (Peter had met some of them briefly, but apparently James knew the innermost life secrets of them all. Peter didn't find it hard to believe people would confide in him so easily). James did like to talk, but he also liked to ask questions, many of which Peter sidestepped.
"And what sort of mischief were you causing all that time you disappeared?" Uncle Partin demanded as they left several hours later.
"Just catalouging their library," Peter replied automatically, earning himself a long lecture on Respectfulness To Adults and Respectfulness To The Host's Belongings. He and James never had to "catalougue" any more collections, but they did meet several other times before both turned eleven and received their letters to Hogwarts, many a time doing something that was taboo in polite society. But had it not been for James's charm, it's likely his days in polite society would have been numbered anyway!
*
Suddenly Peter was jerked from memory by a none-too-quiet opening of the door downstairs. He knew this wasn't good instinctively, few living could enter the Protection Spells without breaking them completely, and those who could enter were either bent on killing him or "bringing him to justice" - a complete oxymoron in Peter's book, but probably not in Dumbledore's.
A small crackle alerted Peter to the fact that someone had lit up the ground floor. No one spoke, but Peter, with his remarkable powers of observation and conclusion, could tell it was two people. Three guesses and the first four don't count…
Something indistinct was muttered, and the bottom stair creaked. Trapped…
Peter ran to the window and found it shut tightly with several charms. Cursing, he turned to the door - the footsteps were right outside.
Peter transformed within a blink into Wormtail. He scurried quickly around a pair of familiar feet as quietly as possible into Sammy's room. It boasted a window. As usual little Peter was left with the last picklings, he reflected, irrationally forgetting that he had offered in the first place.
"Is he here?"
"Hold on." There was a short pause in which Peter stopped abruptly, not even daring to breathe. "He's here."
Damn werewolf senses. Wormtail knew how to outwit Moony, however, and only hoped it worked on Remus. Quickly he scuttled around two pairs of feet in silent circles, around a few times, trying not to get dizzy. Satisfied from the sounds of it that the two were sufficiently confused, Peter dove for Sammy's room. Transforming, he hopped from the window, which was able to open. I was set up, they had been here beforehand, he realized in disgust, but like the night Baddock had visited him, there was no time to think or worry. Just keep that adrenaline running.
He had been dizzier than he thought. He had entered Lily's room, and jumped from her window, and Lily's window was the one right above the barn. Peter fell through the roof with a sickening, splintering crash. Luckily (A/N: Not) he hit a bale of hay and bounced off it to the floor, still with a thud, but with a considerably less painful one.
Two pops - Remus and Sirius had Apparated. Oh boy, Peter thought dazedly, head still spinning, I've got it now. Two very familiar shadowed silhouettes faced him.
There was an instant where no one seemed able to react. Peter, on the floor, glanced up at Sirius and Remus, who stared down at him with cold fury.
It occurred to him how very much taller they were.
Peter hopped up and turned to a glass window. He punched through it immediately, ignoring the cuts in his hands from it, and vaulted out.
"Stupefy!" The spell missed, but that meant very little, as Sirius had no inclination to bother with magic. He had stormed over to the window and grabbed Peter's foot as he was nearly out of the window.
Peter squirmed madly, trying to pull away as Sirius yanked him back again and again. Splinters and glass shards ripped at his chest. Sirius was about to break his foot into two. Oh, fun.
Peter kicked as strongly as he could. There were considerable advantages to having a foe that had been living off mice. Sirius was very weak. Then Peter could've hit himself -
Why not transform, you idiot?!
Peter followed his own advice and did so, slipping out of Sirius's hands. It meant that the space from the window to the ground was much farther, but that meant little or nothing, seeing as he was at least out of Sirius's grip.
Peter could run more swiftly than Wormtail, but Wormtail could hide easier than Peter.
Wormtail had never run faster.
Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one trying to move quickly. He had to think. He wasn't going to outrun Sirius, who had become Padfoot, or even Remus, who was far stronger than he looked.
Several times he could sense Padfoot far too close for comfort, trailing him. A dog, of all things, Peter thought irrationally. A dog. With four paws and a tracking nose and teeth and the whole bit.
He tried to reason more clearly. He wasn't going to outrun Padfoot. He was going to have to outwit him. And Peter be damned if he couldn't outwit a man who had spent over a decade in Azkaban.
He doubled back sharply, befuddling Sirius's trail. Yet for an instant he slowed… over a decade in Azkaban.
Peter suddenly saw a laughing thirteen-year-old Sirius, as clear as a photograph, in front of him.
Sirius vanished - that one, at least. But the Padfoot so near him seemed to have merge into him. Peter thought of the week before, how quickly Sirius and Remus had forgiven each other.
"Forgive me, Remus."
"Not at all, Padfoot, old friend. And will you, in turn, forgive me for thinking you were the spy?"
"Of course…"
How nice it would've been to ask for the same. Forgiveness. Forgiveness no one was going to offer him. How come those words stood out more clearly in his mind than anything else that night?
"… shall we kill him together?"
"Yes, I think so."
Funny, the things one thought of in moments like these -
When Remus was making an absolute honest dive at you, hand inches from his tail!
Cursing himself into the next six lives after this one for letting his mind wander - forgiveness, indeed, as if he needed to be forgiven! - Peter squeaked in alarm. He just missed being captured. Side skirting quickly, he found Padfoot practically nose-to-nose with him. Peter backed again. Padfoot pounced.
There was a sudden fury of "hair, teeth, and eyeballs", which was a favourite expression of James's that Peter had never quite been able to forget (it was the only word to describe the Weasley house at times, particularly the twins' room). Peter squirmed madly as Padfoot's claws reached frantically for him, swiping again and again. He heard a loud cry from Remus. Only then did he realise that Padfoot was attacking Remus just as much as himself; probably more so, since at least he, Peter, was avoiding it. Peter tasted blood.
Peter squirmed from the mess as Padfoot stopped just a minute. He gave a small whine of concern for his friend.
"Where's Peter?" Remus responded breathlessly.
Peter was the most grateful little rat that ever lived. He had bought precious seconds to run. Rustling was audible behind him, Sirius hardly living up to his pick-pocketing (not that he did it often) skills. He'd deranged, utterly deranged -
Suddenly, the sound faded. Peter kept running, so near the village, where there would be more places to hide, too tired and relived to wonder what had halted Sirius and Remus's hunt for him.
Just run.
*
Peter was suddenly wondering if he could sneak upstairs. This was being held at a Ministry member's house - and they might have books. Peter felt no moral pricks at this idea; since he had been exiled from his love, he was desperate and would read anything he could get his hands on. That included Muggle literature that his mother had forbidden - The Lord of the Rings had been a perfectly fine read, if a little lengthy, and The Three Musketeers, at least the first few pages that Peter had been able to cram in while his mother visited a neighbour, had been very interesting.
He glanced around. A few years of sneaking around had made him a small expert on going about unnoticed, and no one was paying attention to him anyway. Satisfied that no one was about to come over and inquire about his mother (and probably exclaim how much like her he looked, into the raw bargain), he casually crept to the staircase.
Climbing it would be more difficult, as there was any chance Uncle Partin might see, but he finally seemed engaged in conversation with a rather stunning witch. Peter smirked to himself. Hopefully he'll have the sense to pay attention… He crept upwards and to the landing that was hidden from the view of the open floor below. It wasn't a terribly big house.
Most rooms were bedrooms and such, but finally he found the study, which was lined with books. Finding that most were a bit too technical - Peter liked fiction - he instead tried to sneak into one of the children's playrooms.
"Hullo," someone said brightly as he went in.
Peter froze. Uh-oh. Was this one of the host's children? He ran through excuses in his head frantically. "H-Hello." He turned, looking for the owner of the voice. No one seemed to be in the room.
"What're you doing in here?" the voice continued, sounding amused.
"Er, um, sorry if I intruded. I was just bored and -"
"Amen to that!" the voice laughed. "Dull as Sesame's tomb down there, isn't it? 'Oh, hello, dear, haven't seen you since last time we sat through this'."
Peter laughed, a little nervously. "That is what it sounds like a lot." He wondered if he dared ask the voice if he had read The Life of Sesame Santrax. "Erm, I hope this doesn't sound rude," he said, as politely as he could, "but where are you?"
The reply was another laugh. "Let's see. Red Lion. England. Europe. Earth. I haven't studied Astronomy yet. Universe."
Peter realised the voice was from above him and glanced upward. "Oh!" he jumped.
A boy, perhaps his age, was hanging from the chandelier by his knees. His untidy black hair was hanging upside down, thick glasses dangling from an ear. Peter was caught a little off-guard, and the boy apparently knew it.
"On the ceiling, too," his companion grinned. "I've seen you at these thick affairs before."
"I guess so. My uncle takes me. I'm Peter Pettigrew."
"Your uncle is Partin Pettigrew of the Magical Law Enforcement?"
Peter nodded. "Your father is Randolph Potter of the same department?" The hair was recognisable.
"Yeah. I'm James. Forget the whole formality thing."
Peter had to laugh. James Potter, still hanging loosely, looked about as informal as possible.
"I'm offended," James gasped, sounding truly angry. "Laughing at me?"
Peter reddened heavily. "N-no! Sorry, I didn't mean -"
James grinned. "Calm down; I was only teasing."
"Why're you up there?" The question popped out before Peter could help it, but he really was curious, and James made him feel safe. He never felt safe asking questions of Uncle Partin. Truth be told, James looked as though he wanted to be fielded questions so he could talk. And Peter wished he would get down. His neck was hurting.
"I was bored," James explained. "It's boring down there; nothing to do at all. No one fun was there. Nick Chase is home with dragonpox, he couldn't come, and Sirius Black isn't here, his dad won't bring him any more, and Sammy Orr hasn't come in a while, and Drake Edwards has a Gobstone tournament, and Eliza Farrell is down there and all she does is tell me to behave. My sisters had to stay home because Da' only wanted to bring me as the oldest son."
James looked a little put out. "It's very unfair that Annie and Chrissie don't get to come, just because they're girls. Annie always wants to come with me and Chrissie wants to come with Da' and a lot of times they have to stay home. How come so many times it's 'polite' to only bring one child, and then only the oldest boy in the family? And how come only for Ministry families? And how come when we do come, there's no use for us here but to answer stupid questions?"
Peter wondered for just an instant if too much blood had run into James's head. That's just the way things always were. "So you hung from a chandelier?"
James grinned again, his anger at the injustice gone. "Because I was bored and I wanted to scare someone. Sorry you happened to be my victim. I have a bit of a problem, though."
"What?"
"I can't get down."
James spoke very matter-of-factly, and Peter had to smile. It sounded ridiculous.
"Well, it's really nothing to laugh about!" James protested, although he was laughing himself as he spoke. "I really can't. If I drop on the floor everyone below'll hear and Dad'll kill me. Not unless I swing onto the bed or something. And I don't want to bother anyone. The people who're actually having fun - let them. Besides, they'll tell Dad anyway, and there I am again."
"Can't you swing onto the bed?"
"Just trying to think if there's a better way. I might break their chandelier. Why're you here?"
"I'm bored too. I wanted to read something."
James lit up. "Did you find anything?"
Peter felt excited; perhaps this was someone who understood his love of books, finally. "There were these long boring nonfiction things in the library -"
"Really, really heavy? Sorry for interrupting," James added quickly. "But big?"
"Um - yes."
Peter soon found himself scampering down the hall again and again, carrying as many books over as possible. Following James's competent directions, soon a sort of large platform with makeshift steps had been constructed. He would tumble off onto the high, firm stack of books, and then carefully step off the edges with the miniature levels Peter had made.
"I'm off to break my bones; I'm off to break my bones…" James sang carelessly.
"Ready?" Peter asked worriedly.
James actually hesitated one moment. Then, without warning, he released his knees from the chandelier and landed on his side. Peter cried out in horror as the books slid, sending James rolling off what would have been several feet downward.
By some amazing miracle, James rolled of the books to the bed. It hadn't looked possible and he hadn't tried to do it.
But James's life had always seemed a bit charmed.
Peter rushed over to him, hopping over the toppled novels. James was sprawled on the bed, ridiculously large, black eyeglasses askew. He raised his head experimentally.
"I'm a little light-headed," he confessed with a grin, "but that was some trip, wasn't it?" Not quite the word Peter would've used, but… "Come on, we better hurry and put those books back if we don't want to get caught!"
Right on cue, a man's voice called from halfway up the stairs: "James? Is that you?"
James sort of winced, still smiling happily. "My da'," he mouthed to Peter. Quickly straightening his robes, he walked to the stairwell, and Peter followed hesitantly, keeping out of Mr. Potter's sight. "Yes, Da', I'm right here."
"What're you doing now?" Mr. Potter's voice was a resigned amusement.
"I tripped over the fringe of one of these rugs; sorry if I disturbed anyone." Peter could practically hear James's charming smile.
"Well," (and now Peter could practically hear the rolled eyes), "try to trip a little more quietly, all right? Keep out of the bedrooms and such."
"Sure thing, Da'."
Peter had a sudden wondering of what it would be like to have a father you could beat around the bush with like that. For a moment, a terribly green envy of James Potter filled him deeply. Then he shook himself, partly because James had turned back and was looking at him curiously.
"Peter? Can you hear me?"
"Yes, sorry."
"Not at all. Ready to rebuild the Leaning Tower of Pisa?"
Peter was. And he heard a lot; of James's two sisters (Chrissie sounded a bit annoying to Peter, and Annie sounded a little too excitable), of the Stag Fair in Red Lion (Peter had never attended the Stag Fair since Uncle Partin came to live with them), of the Potter estate, Sandy Echoes (Peter wondered if Mum was ever going to name their house), of many of the other Ministry children who often attended the gatherings (Peter had met some of them briefly, but apparently James knew the innermost life secrets of them all. Peter didn't find it hard to believe people would confide in him so easily). James did like to talk, but he also liked to ask questions, many of which Peter sidestepped.
"And what sort of mischief were you causing all that time you disappeared?" Uncle Partin demanded as they left several hours later.
"Just catalouging their library," Peter replied automatically, earning himself a long lecture on Respectfulness To Adults and Respectfulness To The Host's Belongings. He and James never had to "catalougue" any more collections, but they did meet several other times before both turned eleven and received their letters to Hogwarts, many a time doing something that was taboo in polite society. But had it not been for James's charm, it's likely his days in polite society would have been numbered anyway!
*
Suddenly Peter was jerked from memory by a none-too-quiet opening of the door downstairs. He knew this wasn't good instinctively, few living could enter the Protection Spells without breaking them completely, and those who could enter were either bent on killing him or "bringing him to justice" - a complete oxymoron in Peter's book, but probably not in Dumbledore's.
A small crackle alerted Peter to the fact that someone had lit up the ground floor. No one spoke, but Peter, with his remarkable powers of observation and conclusion, could tell it was two people. Three guesses and the first four don't count…
Something indistinct was muttered, and the bottom stair creaked. Trapped…
Peter ran to the window and found it shut tightly with several charms. Cursing, he turned to the door - the footsteps were right outside.
Peter transformed within a blink into Wormtail. He scurried quickly around a pair of familiar feet as quietly as possible into Sammy's room. It boasted a window. As usual little Peter was left with the last picklings, he reflected, irrationally forgetting that he had offered in the first place.
"Is he here?"
"Hold on." There was a short pause in which Peter stopped abruptly, not even daring to breathe. "He's here."
Damn werewolf senses. Wormtail knew how to outwit Moony, however, and only hoped it worked on Remus. Quickly he scuttled around two pairs of feet in silent circles, around a few times, trying not to get dizzy. Satisfied from the sounds of it that the two were sufficiently confused, Peter dove for Sammy's room. Transforming, he hopped from the window, which was able to open. I was set up, they had been here beforehand, he realized in disgust, but like the night Baddock had visited him, there was no time to think or worry. Just keep that adrenaline running.
He had been dizzier than he thought. He had entered Lily's room, and jumped from her window, and Lily's window was the one right above the barn. Peter fell through the roof with a sickening, splintering crash. Luckily (A/N: Not) he hit a bale of hay and bounced off it to the floor, still with a thud, but with a considerably less painful one.
Two pops - Remus and Sirius had Apparated. Oh boy, Peter thought dazedly, head still spinning, I've got it now. Two very familiar shadowed silhouettes faced him.
There was an instant where no one seemed able to react. Peter, on the floor, glanced up at Sirius and Remus, who stared down at him with cold fury.
It occurred to him how very much taller they were.
Peter hopped up and turned to a glass window. He punched through it immediately, ignoring the cuts in his hands from it, and vaulted out.
"Stupefy!" The spell missed, but that meant very little, as Sirius had no inclination to bother with magic. He had stormed over to the window and grabbed Peter's foot as he was nearly out of the window.
Peter squirmed madly, trying to pull away as Sirius yanked him back again and again. Splinters and glass shards ripped at his chest. Sirius was about to break his foot into two. Oh, fun.
Peter kicked as strongly as he could. There were considerable advantages to having a foe that had been living off mice. Sirius was very weak. Then Peter could've hit himself -
Why not transform, you idiot?!
Peter followed his own advice and did so, slipping out of Sirius's hands. It meant that the space from the window to the ground was much farther, but that meant little or nothing, seeing as he was at least out of Sirius's grip.
Peter could run more swiftly than Wormtail, but Wormtail could hide easier than Peter.
Wormtail had never run faster.
Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one trying to move quickly. He had to think. He wasn't going to outrun Sirius, who had become Padfoot, or even Remus, who was far stronger than he looked.
Several times he could sense Padfoot far too close for comfort, trailing him. A dog, of all things, Peter thought irrationally. A dog. With four paws and a tracking nose and teeth and the whole bit.
He tried to reason more clearly. He wasn't going to outrun Padfoot. He was going to have to outwit him. And Peter be damned if he couldn't outwit a man who had spent over a decade in Azkaban.
He doubled back sharply, befuddling Sirius's trail. Yet for an instant he slowed… over a decade in Azkaban.
Peter suddenly saw a laughing thirteen-year-old Sirius, as clear as a photograph, in front of him.
Sirius vanished - that one, at least. But the Padfoot so near him seemed to have merge into him. Peter thought of the week before, how quickly Sirius and Remus had forgiven each other.
"Forgive me, Remus."
"Not at all, Padfoot, old friend. And will you, in turn, forgive me for thinking you were the spy?"
"Of course…"
How nice it would've been to ask for the same. Forgiveness. Forgiveness no one was going to offer him. How come those words stood out more clearly in his mind than anything else that night?
"… shall we kill him together?"
"Yes, I think so."
Funny, the things one thought of in moments like these -
When Remus was making an absolute honest dive at you, hand inches from his tail!
Cursing himself into the next six lives after this one for letting his mind wander - forgiveness, indeed, as if he needed to be forgiven! - Peter squeaked in alarm. He just missed being captured. Side skirting quickly, he found Padfoot practically nose-to-nose with him. Peter backed again. Padfoot pounced.
There was a sudden fury of "hair, teeth, and eyeballs", which was a favourite expression of James's that Peter had never quite been able to forget (it was the only word to describe the Weasley house at times, particularly the twins' room). Peter squirmed madly as Padfoot's claws reached frantically for him, swiping again and again. He heard a loud cry from Remus. Only then did he realise that Padfoot was attacking Remus just as much as himself; probably more so, since at least he, Peter, was avoiding it. Peter tasted blood.
Peter squirmed from the mess as Padfoot stopped just a minute. He gave a small whine of concern for his friend.
"Where's Peter?" Remus responded breathlessly.
Peter was the most grateful little rat that ever lived. He had bought precious seconds to run. Rustling was audible behind him, Sirius hardly living up to his pick-pocketing (not that he did it often) skills. He'd deranged, utterly deranged -
Suddenly, the sound faded. Peter kept running, so near the village, where there would be more places to hide, too tired and relived to wonder what had halted Sirius and Remus's hunt for him.
Just run.
*