It was a bitterly cold December's day. Too cold for Christmas, I thought bitterly. Here I am, alone and cold, celebrating Christmas without friends for the first time in over ten years, and to top it off, I'm in a graveyard. Slowly, wearily, I trod the path to the top of the hill, leaving tracks in the snow that were quickly swallowed up by the elements. Also fitting. No one cared about me, care whether I lived or died, now.
The biting wind threw the snow and cold into my face with all its might, but I didn't care. I was already ice cold inside, and I could have found the place without any sort of guide, though I had only been here once before.
Finally I reached the gravestone, that soft stone marker never giving tribute to what was truly lost. I stood there looking at it for a long, long time." James Wesley and Lily Evans Potter . Gone but not forgotten." read the simple inscription. James wouldn't have wanted some fancy, fake-sounding message on his grave for future generations to wonder over and misquote.
I felt a burning in the back of my throat, and was surprised to discover that I was crying; hot, silent tears of anger and helplessness running down my cheeks. It was all Sirius's fault. Why? Why did he have to do that? Sirius got what he deserved, rotting away in Azkaban, I told myself bitterly, but all I could think of was that happy, carefree boy who had taken me under his wing and been my friend for so long.
"I'm sorry, James, and Lily. It's all my fault, and I know it. How could I have been so stupid, so weak?" I whispered hoarsely to the ones who would never hear me again. Angrily I kicked the snow. Here I was, all alone. The worst part was that little voice that kept whispering that this was my fault, that there was a reason they were all gone.
The snowfall thickened, but I barely noticed, subconsciously shivering, though not from cold. I pulled my cloak around me as tightly as I could, as though the now worn fabric would be enough to protect me from the bad memories lurking somewhere in the back of my mind, threatening to engulf me. But I didn't, couldn't walk away just yet.
There was one more place I had to see, just once, before I went.
A few rows of graves on, it came into sight. This headstone was fairly simple as well. "Peter J. Pettigrew," it read, "Order of Merlin, first class, for valor in the face of danger. Dear Friend."
I knew that there was no body in here, just a single finger in a small box. All they could find. All they would ever find. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a single white lily. They had been Peter's favorite flower. I laid it gently on the grave, then stepped back.
Stop it, I thought, Peter's dead. As dead as Prongs. So just move on. So, for the last time, I said goodbye to Peter Pettigrew and transformed into Wormtail.