I do not own anything related to Harry Potter.
It was one hour until midnight.
Peter Pettigrew drew his eyes away from clock upon which he had been staring for the past several seemingly-endless minutes of silent night. The clock ticked steadily onward, but Peter's eyes relaxed, no longer forced on the glowing green numbers and hands on the black dial. He blinked once to assuage the soreness, but his eyes came rapidly back open again; he was not tired.
His gaze shifted to the window. There was only one window in the tiny Gryffindor tower room, the only link to the outside. Yet it was as if the entire outside had disappeared. The stone walls of Hogwarts were so thick that no noise was allowed into the sanctity of the tower room: no hooting of owls, no rustle of wind through the trees of the Forbidden Forest, not even the spontaneous splash of the giant squid preying upon an unsuspecting fish near the surface of the lake. From Peter's recumbent position, he couldn't even see the Forbidden Forest or the grounds, only the moon. It was nearly full and probably Harvest, as it cast an eerie yellow glow that spread light across the cloudless black-blue sky. The rays fell in sheered squares through the window across the predominantly red bedspreads of the inhabitants of the tower room: Gryffindor red and gold.
The squares of light fell across the face of Remus Lupin. He seemed to sense them, and the moonlight clearly played havoc with his dreams. It was irony that the moon chose to land on his face. He was always a restless sleeper, particularly in the nights most approaching full moon, and his face was stricken with a stressed line between his eyebrows and a wary frown. It was the same doubtful, unsure expression he had worn every time his absences at school were mentioned until James and Sirius had figured out his secret, the same countenance he had worn when watching his friends bully Severus Snape. It was a faint outside appearance of discomfort, an understatement to the turmoil and doubt within.
He shifted in his bed and Peter, entranced at observing him, shifted involuntarily as well. He was buried in several blankets and bedspreads as if he were freezing and had them pulled tightly around himself as if they provided some great protection. Still, his face was exposed, and he could not avoid the moonlight. One hand rose up from within the covers piled upon him and scratched feebly at his face, as if trying to tear the rays of light away. It did nothing but pull at the sandy-colored stubble that grew on his chin during the night, the inevitable hairiness that plagued Remus always, a reminder of his lycanthropy. He would charm it off every morning, but the spell was as temporary as Muggle shaving methods, and by midnight it was always back.
He shifted again, tossing and turning around the immovable moonlight. He was such a calm, unruffled person during the day, rational, serious, intelligent, even unemotional. Yet at night heavy-handed emotions plagued him, and, much as he tried to keep them stifled beneath the surface, he could not do so under the revealing blanket of sleep.
Peter's eyes glimpsed back to the clock on James's bedside table. The hands had moved slightly along the dial. Forty-five minutes until midnight.
A snort from James made Peter jump. He stared hard at the boy, who had now commenced snoring. He was an untroubled sleeper. He lay flat on his back, his blankets just as he had set them at the beginning of night, covering him to his middle, his arms flat out at his sides. His dark hair was as messy as ever, and a grin played at his lips. A slight edge of the light was touching his bed, illuminating his hands. James was quite the opposite of Remus; he held everything in at night, and could not be woken. On his bedstead, beside his clock, lay his glasses and his wand, both of which were indispensable to him in day but completely unnecessary at night. He was off in some great lullaby-land, unbound, uninhibited. His loud snores were proof of his lack of connection to reality; in fact, it often struck Peter as rude that he could go on snoring, unabashed, while Remus struggled to remain asleep and Peter himself could not find it at all.
At least he was not violent in his sleep. Opposite the room from Remus, next to James, in the darkest corner of the room, lay Sirius, sprawled across his bed, soaked with sweat, his covers tousled angrily, half tossed to the floor. His long bangs fell across his face, sticking to his wet skin, forming little black spears of wet hair. He did not toss and turn perpetually as Remus did; instead, he moved in violent jerks and then had to recover, panting, chest throbbing, for the few minutes between punctuated disruption. His face wore some expression of tenseness, but it was less worry and more pure anger. Remus clearly dreamed of the moon and he let it be known, and James's dreams were happy and he bragged of some (thought not all) of the thoughts he had of Lily or marauding days, but Sirius didn't like to discuss what he dreamed about. Peter had suspicions; they could have been nightmares or memories, both of which were apt to send Sirius into nightly spasms.
James seemed to be the only one who got a good night's sleep every night; Remus awoke with bags beneath his eyes and Sirius took several minutes of pummeling from James to even become conscious enough to rise from the bed and move to the bathrooms. Back when the four of them woke in the middle of the night to sneak to the kitchens, or even sneak out to the Whomping Willow for the monthly Shrieking Shack visit, Sirius simply stayed awake until it was time to leave. He didn't mind missing hours of sleep; the ways things looked, he seemed almost to fear it.
Sirius's heavy, choked breathing mingled with James's rough snores and the rustling of Remus's covers. The entire cacophony was muffled by the soft red carpeting of the floors of the dormitory and the numerous hanging curtains and fluffy quilts on beds. The room was hot, too, Peter could tell, with the mingling of their breath. Everything was insulated, isolated, muffled, in this haven blocked from the outside world, aware of only itself. It was pure safety. Nothing came in, nothing left.
Peter's eyes settled on the smouldering numbers of the bedside clock. Thirty minutes until midnight.
The Gryffindor dormitory had always been a safe haven for all four of the boys, and not just from the physical Forbidden Forest or night air. It was within the dormitory when all the darkest, deepest things came out. It was in the dormitory 1st year when James had them swear to always be best friends. It was in the dormitory 2nd year when James and Sirius had confronted Remus as he attempted to walk out of the tower to "visit his mother" without so much as an overnight bag, when and they seized him and sat him down, accosting him with a calendar, demanding he tell them why he consistently was absent every month, already suspecting the truth. It was in the dormitory 3rd year when Sirius revealed what exactly went on at home between him and his parents, and when James suggested he run away and stay with him, an offer Sirius considered and finally took the summer after 5th year. It was in the dormitory 4th year when James broke down after first asking Lily out and being denied vehemently. It was in the dormitory 5th year when the four of them worked diligently every night to prepare the Animagus potion, Remus reading from the book as James, Sirius, and Peter stewed carefully the stolen ingredients and hid them under Sirius's bed during the day. It was in the dormitory later that 5th year when James, Sirius, and Peter took the potion finally, feeling the mad sensation of becoming an animal for the first time, James practically tearing holes in the ceiling with his tall prongs, Sirius erupting in to a barking fit that almost got them discovered, and Peter nearly getting stomped in all of the chaos that ensued. It was in the dormitory 6th year when they completed the Marauder's Map, signing it with their nicknames. It was in the dormitory 6th year when James and Sirius had their first fight, James shouting that he wished Sirius would grow up and stop playing stupid pranks on people after Sirius came in boasting about how he had just sent Snape after Remus in the Shrieking Shack, since James had just attempted to swear off tormenting the boy in hopes Lily would find him worthy. It was in the dormitory 7th year when James had finally come in and announced he and Lily were going out, that the battle was won.
It was still in the dormitory 7th year now.
The memories that seemed to have been swirling around Peter's head faded back down into the darkened room, the noises condensing into the same symphony of breath and clock ticking. What had happened to all of their adventures? What had happened to the Marauders, to Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs? There were less and less midnight adventures now, only those on full moon, and even those were often confined to just the grounds again, as if they had reverted to 5th year. James was often absent with his newfound love, he did not go by Prongs around Lily. Remus studied late for NEWTs and had finally found the guts to say he didn't want to play nasty pranks on people. Sirius was too respectful of their growing up to bother them about it, and, though Peter could sense he was restless for excitement, he wasn't willing to do something alone with Peter to satisfy it.
The Marauders were growing up. In a few months, they would be graduating from Hogwarts forever. James was already a licensed wizard, and he had arranged a date to take the Auror examination as soon as school got out. Even closer-pressing in his mind was the proposal he was planning to Lily. Remus was studying for his Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, and Care of Magical Creatures NEWTs and looking up what careers did not discriminate against werewolves, trying to find a position that would not only accept him but possibly even give him the power and influence to change the laws to help his own kind. Sirius, having inherited a sum of money from a similarly disowned uncle, so large that it was as if he had never left aristocracy at all, had already found a place he planned to start renting in the summer, and was reading up on flying motorbikes, knowing he had enough money to get one as soon as he had a place to put it. Yet there was Peter, without a single thought about the future, his only worry his trouble sleeping.
Peter's eyes scanned the clock again. Fifteen minutes until midnight.
The four of them were getting older, preparing for their inevitable separation. It was natural. Yet Peter could help but notice that as their interests moved from childhood pranks, Quidditch, and bullying Snape on to careers and future family, there was something intimate being lost. After all, the four of them had seen everything between one another. They had seen Remus's painful transformations, Sirius's scars from fights with parents, James's Quidditch wounds, and Peter's failed attempts at dueling. They had seen Remus cry with shame when he thought his friends were abandoning him because of his lycanthropy, cry with desperation when he voluntarily broke up with a brief lover for fear of telling her the truth, and cry with joy when his friends' transformations were successful. They had seen James cry numerous times over Lily, and Peter tear up over everything from failing grades to his inability to get a single girl for any dance. Even Sirius had been caught sobbing, though he shoved away Peter if he tried to show any compassion. In fact, he had demanded Peter leave while he told the other two.
Peter still burned with anger at the memory. He wondered if perhaps there wasn't really any intimacy being lost between the four of them- just him. Perhaps there hadn't even been intimacy at all. "Put that thing away, before Wormtail wets himself." "How thick are you, Wormtail? You only run 'round with a werewolf once a month." Perhaps Peter had been in illusion all along. He was just the tagalong, the flunky, the minion, the rat that pressed the knot on the trunk of the Shrieking Shack, the only one of their foursome small enough to squeeze under doors and unlock Honeydukes for their nighttime raids. He was there for their dirty work.
Peter pulled himself from the covers. The minutes hand and the hour hand had aligned on James's clock, pointing straight up towards the rays of the moon. He slipped his bare legs from the warm covers and stood, his Gryffindor nightshirt falling around his chubby form. He was still short and boyish, his mouse-brown hair and matching freckles nothing exciting. Still, he took his wand from his own bedside table and started towards the door, his feet padding silently in the soft, thick carpet. He turned back and surveyed his sleeping friends one last time.
"Thanks for the name, Marauders," he whispered , knowing they couldn't hear. "And thanks for the ability. The two things of value you ever gave me."
He tucked his wand into his chest pocket and transformed down into a rat. His clothes and his wand would remain on him when he changed back. His small, furry form scuttled along the thick folds of plush carpet. He squeezed under the door, and was gone.
Through the pipes of the school, he journeyed, undetected by portrait or ghost or cat. Finally, he came to the opening he wanted, the only crevice that was lit in the entire school at this hour.
He slipped out into the light, and rose back up into his human form, completing the circle of Slytherins that stood around the fireplace in their own common room.
"Pity you had to come dressed as a Gryffindor," said Lucius Malfoy.
"You decided to join us rather than those 'friends' of yours?" sneered Severus Snape.
"Hush," Bellatrix Black commanded. "The fire . . . "
The fire was glowing green, black, and silver. Peter could tell that it was enchanted.
"The Dark Lord cannot meet us here in person," whispered Rudolphus Lestrange.
"Thanks be that Slytherin House may harbor Dark Arts without detection," threw in Evan Rosier.
"Yet Dumbledore is meddlesome," added Rabastan Lestrange.
"Still, he does not suspect," grinned Bartemius Crouch, Jr.
"Not tonight," chorused Mulciber, Travers, Wilkes, Avery, Nott, and Moon.
"We keep vigil with him as the rest sleep on unawares," laughed Regulus Black.
A high, cruel, cold laugh rose up from within the flames. "Peter Pettigrew," it rung, "Wormtail. The only wizard who went bad that wasn't in Slytherin. Welcome."