A/N: Hey, another one about 'The Betrayal'. When I get around to it, I'll write one with Sirius in it. Then, who knows?
Rat on the Run
He ran, squeaking something terrible, through the bushes and shrubs. His tiny heart was beating so fast it could burst at any moment. He ran as quickly as his little legs would carry him. The rat was on the run.
He stopped suddenly, and allowed his heart to slow down. There was a faint *pop* and the rat disappeared. In it's place was a man, or at least, half a man.
His name was Peter Pettigrew and he was running from the vengeance of two men who used to be his best friends. But that was before he turned to the Dark side and became a murderer and a traitor, the scum of the earth.
He continued to make his way through the forest, at a slower pace. He stumbled over protruding roots, tripped in hidden holes, fell when he was hit by branches. But he didn't dare stop, his life was at stake. His heart beat echoed in his ears, his hands shook, and he jumped at small noises.
The forest was filled with disturbing sounds, from the wind rustling in the trees to the howl of a werewolf in the distance. Peter quivered and cursed the names Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Damn them for revealing his secret and trying to kill him. But he had escaped. Peter puffed out his chest. He had out witted the Great Black and Lupin for the second time! Then he frowned. Granted, if Remus hadn't transformed causing a distraction, he would have been handed over to the Dementors.
At the thought of the hooded Azkaban guards, Peter shuddered. How had Sirius stood it all those years? Peter assumed he had gone crazy like everyone else in Azkaban. Damn him for escaping and ruining all of Peter's plans. Oh well, he'd just have to form new plans, better plans.
The wolf howled again. Peter was suddenly struck by a terrible idea. What if Remus, in werewolf form, was hunting him down at that very moment? With his enhanced wolf senses, Remus could sense him from a great distance. And animals could smell fear.
He started trembling again and took off deeper into the forest at a stumbling run. But he wasn't concentrating on what he was doing, he was thinking of what his former friends said to him back at the shack. He was thinking of Harry, of how he looked just like James, with Lily's haunting green eyes. Harry was a reincarnation of the ghosts of the dead Potters come to torture him.
At the time, betraying Lily and James had seemed like a good idea. The two of them never liked Peter much anyway, so what was it to him if they died? And Sirius had orchestrated it all! If he hadn't made Peter the Potters' Secret Keeper, they'd be alive. Well, at least have lived a little longer. His master would have found them eventually. Peter knew the guilt threatened to kill Sirius. Well, good, it should. Sirius should have known better than to place the lives of the Potters in Peter's hands. But how could he? After all, it was poor, stupid Peter. Poor, pathetic Peter.
Peter came to a screeching halt. It was too dark to go any farther. Even in rat–form he couldn't see past his whiskers. And with his luck he'd run straight into Remus. So he sniffed out a little cave, checked for inhabitants, and stuffed himself inside.
With nothing better to do, Peter thought back to the day when he had been forced into rat form for what seemed like forever. He never felt any remorse for the deaths of the Potters or placing the blame on Sirius. Why should he? It was better Sirius go to prison than he. No one understood, not even Remus, who was supposed to be the reasonable one. Peter had no choice. It was join Voldemort or die, and Peter would choose Voldemort over death any day. And if he could get something out of it for himself, so much the better. He was not selfish, he was simply devoted to self–preservation. It was himself first. Always. No one else would look out for him, he had to do it himself.
Once or twice over the years, particularly in the past three when he, as Scabbers, had finally met Harry Potter, Peter felt just a twinge of guilt. It was his fault the boy was an orphan. But he didn't seem to be doing so terribly, after all, he was rich, famous, and popular. So he had no family, big deal. Peter hadn't had any family either, and he had been poor and unpopular.
Why should he feel bad for Potter? Although, he had let Peter live. Sirius and Remus were all set to kill him when Harry interfered. He saved Peter's life. Because his father wouldn't have wanted Peter dead, he said. Or something to that effect.
Peter scowled. Why did Potter have to save his life? It would make it that much harder to kill him.
It was raining. The ground was muddy and reflected Peter's life. Up until a few hours ago he had been safe, biding his time, well cared for, and secure. Now all of that was ripped from him and he was running for his life. But he had outsmarted Sirius twice, he could do it again. He fell asleep.
When he woke up, the rain had stopped, leaving a muddy and damp forest. Peter ventured outside; his scent would be lost in the rain now. He was safe again.
He started to laugh. His laughter echoed through the trees. He laughed and laughed, giggling madly. He had done it. He had escaped. So much for the Great Sirius Black.
Now, to find Voldemort.
And he disappeared into the forest. He was still a rat on the run.