Peter scurries down the crowded street, darting between people's feet before ducking through a hole and into the failing Muggle hotel he's been staying at for the past few weeks. It's rare for them to have three bookings a night, let alone ever be full, so it was easy enough to cast a Confundus Charm on the receptionist to make her conveniently forget to ever let this room out to guests. Still, he makes sure never to enter in human form and to set up Muggle Repellent Wards around his door as an extra precaution.
As soon as he is safely inside the hotel room, he shifts back, feeling his body contort and lengthen as it turns from rat to human. Sighing, he settles down on the bed. It's lumpy and uncomfortable, and he has no doubt that that's part of the reason for the hotel's struggles, but it's better than the streets.
I can't keep doing this, he thinks.
He can't show his face in public again – even outside of Wizarding Britain, the risk of running into someone who recognises him is too high – and he doesn't have the connections or resources to acquire Polyjuice Potions. His only options are to try to assimilate fully into Muggle society, which is as confusing and inaccessible to him as ever, or to live as a rat until he can think of another option.
Neither possibility appeals to him, but the latter is slightly less distasteful.
The next time he goes out, he'll start looking for a family to take him in. That or take his chances at Magical Menagerie; it has a decent enough reputation, although he doesn't relish the element of chance that comes with it.
His hand drifts towards the small box of photographs and letters that he managed to sneak back home to collect, but he stops himself before he lifts the lid. All that will come of it is torture and guilt.
Peter regrets his decision every day. He knows he doesn't have the right to mourn his friends' deaths – Sirius would probably defy all the odds and break out of Azkaban to kill him at the thought of him having the gall to do so – but that doesn't change the fact that he wishes everything were different.
He loveshis friends – still, even now. Their time together at Hogwarts was, and will probably always remain, the best days of his life. When he first joined the Death Eaters, he wasn't trying to pit himself against them. He wasn't even thinking about it; he didn't have the time. He was just acting on instincts.
Now, all he has is time to think.
And to regret.
A/N: For the Build a Zoo Challenge with the prompt 'Peter Pettigrew'