Previously in the Darklyverse: The Order captured several Death Eaters and imprisoned them in the attic. Reg asked Peter to break a tie vote about whether to allow Hogwarts students into the Order.

xx

December 3rd, 1982: Peter Pettigrew

There's somebody else in the attic.

Peter has known this for a few days now. He doesn't know exactly how long ago he first heard their voices—time blurs together when he's trapped in a room with nothing to do and basically no one for company day in and day out—but he's heard them, and they're angry. He's sure that people in the Order argue, but if they do, they do it downstairs where Peter can't hear a thing. For most of the time that he's been at Grimmauld Place, the only sounds he's been able to make out have been when people troop up to the attic to give him his meals. Now, he can hear constant shouting; it may be faint, but if it were on a different story of the house, he doubts he'd be able to hear it at all.

The only thing that makes sense is that the Order is holding several someones prisoner here. It makes Peter feel on edge, like he's bursting out of his skin, terrified that they'll hear his voice when he says hello to whoever's delivering his food or that the floorboards will creak underneath him when he walks. Whenever he uses the toilet, he crosses the room gingerly; he even cuts out the time he usually takes every day to walk in circles around the room, though he starts to regret that after a couple of days with nowhere to put his pent-up energy.

He can't really imagine what the Death Eaters think of him after he bailed on them to turn himself in. It was dumb luck—or, the opposite, bad luck—that Death Eaters were running the Ministry by the time Peter turned himself in as a spy, that they could use his information to arrest the entire Order. They must know that he never meant to hurt the Order, and they can't be happy with him for intending to cut them off from their source of information, even if the accidental consequence—that he got nearly the whole Order locked up for four months—wound up benefitting the Death Eaters.

He doesn't think anybody but Carrow and Voldemort knew his identity before—if they had, Snape surely would have known Peter was a spy and ratted on him the second he switched sides—but they obviously know now. He shudders to think what will happen to him if they figure it out.

He gets his chance to find out the next time Reg comes up to give him his lunch. Like usual, Reg plops down on the wooden floor and leans back against the closed door as Peter starts to tear into his sandwich. "Please tell me what's going on," Peter near-whispers after swallowing his first bite. "I know there's somebody else up here, and then you and Sirius show up asking me for my input about whether to bring Hogwarts kids into the Order, and I don't know what's going on. I'm going crazy not knowing anything."

Reg bites his lip. "I shouldn't say. You know that, Peter."

"But if there Death Eaters up here, and they know that I'm here—"

"They don't know you're here, and they don't have their wands. Carrow won't do anything to hurt you," says Reg slowly.

Peter's jaw drops, exposing a mouthful of bread, lettuce, and turkey. He'd been able to gather that one of the voices was female, and it's not like there are many woman Death Eaters that any of them know of, but—"Carrow is here? Alecto Carrow?"

"I know you two… have a history… but you're safe. I promise. All of us are under Fidelius Charms, including you—they won't be able to see or hear you as long as you stay in the house."

Peter breathes a sigh of relief at this piece of information. "What the hell happened? Does this mean the Order is fighting again?"

"It's… up in the air. There's been disagreement about what we should be doing."

"But James and Sirius and Sturgis got the orb working again?" The look on Reg's face tells Peter that he's missing something—something big. "What is it?"

"I forgot," Reg breathes. "You've been up here without information, and of course no one told you—"

"Told me what?"

Reg hesitates.

"Tell me. No one told me what?"

"That… um… Potter is dead, Peter. He died months ago, days after you turned yourself in. We think You-Know-Who killed him when he was trying to find the last couple of Horcruxes."

Peter freezes mid-bite; his mouthful of turkey sandwich suddenly tastes like cardboard. Not James. First Emmeline (and Mary), and now—

Saving James (and Lily) was the whole reason Peter confessed his crimes to Sirius and went into hiding from the Order of the Phoenix in the first place. It was bad enough that Marlene probably died because of Peter—he still has nightmares imagining what she'd say to him if she could face him—but when it was James's life on the line, when Sirius was dangling the post of Secret-Keeper right in front of Peter and putting the Potters' futures in his hands, that was where Peter drew the line: that was what was too much. Peter went through all this to save James, and for what? For James to get himself killed on some suicide mission to stop You-Know-Who?

He forces himself to chew and swallow. "What are Horcruxes?" he asks carefully.

"Peter, we can't just not talk about thi—"

"Yes, we can. What are Horcruxes? What do they have to do with fighting the Death Eaters?"

Reg deliberates with himself for a moment. "Short version? They were pieces of You-Know-Who's soul that he put inside of objects for safekeeping after tearing his soul apart by murdering people. They're all gone now—Lily got the last of them before she killed him."

Right. Peter already knew Voldemort was dead; Reg told him as much weeks or maybe months ago. If what killed James was trying to destroy Voldemort, at least it worked—but it raises the question that's been on Peter's mind ever since he found out that Voldemort is gone: why the hell are they still in the middle of a war?

The Death Eaters must be self-organizing, he realizes. The Order all assumed that killing Voldemort would force the Death Eaters to splinter, but if they've clung to power somehow—

James died trying to kill Voldemort. Even if Lily finished what James couldn't, it didn't stop the war—the Death Eaters somehow managed to keep the entire Order in Azkaban until Reg busted them out. James died, and the war moved on.

Peter thinks he's going to be sick.

"Did you give him a funeral?" he blurts.

Reg frowns. "What?"

"James. I know there was nobody to give him one on the outside, but in here, after you busted us all out, did the Order give him a memorial service or anything?"

"We… not exactly. Sirius, Lily, Remus, and Alice took a few hours one night to drink Firewhiskey and tell stories—" Peter ignores the flush that runs up his spine "—but the larger organization just… never really got around to it. It was a madhouse at first, what with trying to get some of the people from Azkaban functional again, and then we just… got distracted with everything that's been going on."

"You should," says Peter resolutely. "And—if you let me, I'd go to it. I wouldn't try and steal a wand or bust out or anything, I swear. I just… he deserves to be remembered."

Reg considers this. "If I vouch for you, I'll still almost certainly get overruled. The only reason you made it out of Azkaban is because I refused to help if they didn't make a Portkey for you, but I don't have that kind of sway here in the house where anybody could tie you up and Banish you back here if I try to bring you down."

"Reg, you know me. You know my intentions are good."

"Are they? Because—I don't think anybody deserves Azkaban, but people died because of you, Peter. If they want to keep you locked away—"

Peter feels like he's been dunked into boiling water. It's not like he thought he was Reg's best friend or anything, but Reg has been so kind to him—caring for him while he was in Azkaban, breaking him out of there, sitting with him during his meals, talking to him like a human being—that he just… assumed he had an ally in this house. He even allowed himself to believe that Reg would have preferred that Peter not be locked up at all. But now—

"I never wanted anybody to die. It started out as blackmail, and I was trying to stop them from doing something worse to hurt my friends, and I got in over my head. I thought you, of all people—"

But the accusation dies in his throat when Peter remembers the last time he framed his situation like it was somebody else's fault. That was with Emmeline, and the next thing he did was steal her wand and Disapparate with it; the next he heard of her, she was dead.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Peter continues, quieter now. "I just—I want to honor my friend. I know he must not have thought of me as a friend by the time he died, and I know nobody down there believes I gave a shit, but I did. Please, Reg."

A very long few seconds pass before Reg concedes, "All right. I'll ask, but I can't guarantee everyone will be on board, and if they're not, I'm not going against their wishes. We've had enough of people ignoring the majority consensus in the last week," he adds, sounding a little disgruntled.

"What do you mean? What's everyone fighting about, anyway? I mean, what—?"

"I can't," says Reg firmly, and Peter understands that he's not getting any more information out of Reg today.

xx

The hope that Peter might finally get out of his room buoys him through the next couple of days. Now that he knows the Death Eaters at the other end of the attic can't hear him, he resumes pacing back and forth around the tiny room for what feels like hours at a time, keeping himself occupied counting his steps, trying to make out the words Carrow and the others are shouting, and imagining what he's going to say and do if he's allowed to go downstairs for James's memorial. The absolute worst part of being locked up here has been the boredom, and carefully choosing what words to share in honor of James gives Peter something to do, even if everybody he's going to say those words to is going to hate him—isn't going to believe that he's being sincere.

He does feel torn up about James's death—of course he does—but the prospect of something to do with himself lifts him up almost as much as his grief is yanking him down. This is what Peter has been reduced to: the prospect of getting out of his nine square meters of hell has a lot more of an effect on his everyday life than does the discovery that one of his best friends has been dead for months. It's not just that Peter cares more about his potential sliver of freedom than he does about his friend's life: it's that James's death isn't tangible the way getting out of this room would be.

Besides, he doesn't like thinking about James being dead. Ironically, focusing on how he's going to eulogize James downstairs is a perfect distraction from—well—from facing the fact that James is really gone.

Sturgis is the one to bring Peter dinner several hours later, with what sounds like Frank on the other side of the door to control the barrier spell so that Peter can't escape. "Did you talk to Reg?" Peter bursts when Sturgis kicks a plate full of steak-and-kidney pie over to him. "Are you having the memorial? Can I come?"

"Nothing's decided yet. You can eat that in a minute—Frank's going to Stupefy you so we can bring our wands in here and clean out your toilet and washtub."

"Can you do me a favor?"

Sturgis raises his eyebrows. "What kind of favor?"

"Can you keep me knocked out until it's time to go downstairs? I don't want… I can't stand…"

"And miss dinner?"

Peter shrugs. "I'll survive without it." He gets himself as comfortable as he can on the ground before calling to Frank to go ahead and aim a Stunner at him.

Peter's never been Stupefied for this many hours at a time before, and when he comes to, he's almost surprised to find that it feels like no time at all has passed. He struggles into a sitting position—his limbs are screaming at him—and wrenches his neck past the crick in it so he can look up when Arthur comes in carrying a tray full of food. "How long was I out for?"

"About half a day. It's Saturday morning."

"What's today's date?"

"December fourth."

"It's still 1982, right? We weren't in Azkaban—and I haven't been up here—longer than that, right?"

"Right," agrees Arthur, sounding subdued.

"So what's the plan?" says Peter eagerly as he starts tearing into his sausage. "Are they doing it now? I asked Sturgis not to wake me until it was time."

"No, it's not until tonight." Peter only has a second to wonder whether Arthur's soft tone is stemming from guilt before Arthur answers that question for him. "We're… you're not coming, Peter. We voted no."

For the second time in two days, Peter feels like he's gotten the wind knocked out of him. "And you? Did you vote no?"

Something in Arthur's eyes hardens. "You were in my house, Pettigrew. You were a Death Eater spy, and you posed as my son's pet."

But Peter can barely register the words Arthur is saying. He'd built himself up so high, convinced himself that he was getting out of here, if only for a night—but of course the Order voted to keep him locked in the attic. He doesn't have a single friend downstairs, not even Reg and certainly not Arthur.

His evening off is gone. His chance to stretch his legs, get a change of scenery, have some conversation, mourn James—all gone.

Peter isn't sure how long he lasts after Arthur leaves, since he hasn't got a watch or a clock to tell time by, but he guesses that it's been a few hours of darkness clouding his mind. It's almost as bad as it was in Azkaban with the dementors controlling his every thought, but it seems Peter doesn't even need dementors to feel like all the happiness has been sucked out of the world. He tries to escape into his memories, to pretend like he's living five years ago before any of the shit with Carrow went down, but even that just reminds Peter of how much he regrets—how much of his current circumstances are all his fault.

He wishes Em were here. And then he realizes—maybe there's a way he can be with her again.

Sirius, Lily, and Reg magically reinforced the window before they took Peter up here, so he can't break the glass—but that doesn't mean the glass can't break him. When he smashes his head against it as hard as he can, he feels like he's been smacked in the forehead with a bat. He does it again.

And again.

He's not hitting it hard enough, he realizes after about fifteen attempts at this. His stupid sense of self-preservation is protecting him even when he doesn't want it to. But he sucked it up when he turned himself in to the Ministry, knowing he was going to land himself in Azkaban by doing so, didn't he? Why can't he overcome his instinct to protect himself again now?

"AARGH!"

The next time he bashes his head on the glass, it hurts worse. A trickle of blood seeps down into his eye.

And then—

"PETER!"

It's Sirius.

It's Sirius.

Well, Sirius and Remus—Peter guesses that Remus had meant to wait outside and lock Sirius in with him so that Peter couldn't try to escape, but given what they've just walked in on after taking down the barrier blocking him from view, they're both at his side in an instant. Remus is dragging him away from the window, pinning him to the ground, shaking him by the shoulders so that the back of his head rattles dully against the floorboards in a pale imitation of what Peter had just been doing with his forehead. Sirius smacks him across the cheek and snarls, "What are you doing, trying to get yourself killed? You think we're going to let you get off that easy?"

"I—"

"We're not done with you yet, Peter! You haven't paid. You realize that, right? You haven't paid for Marlene or Eddie or Benjy or the Prewetts or—you don't get to bail on us just because you're miserable. You're supposed to be miserable. I need it, okay? I need to punish you until—until it's fair. Until we're even. Do you understand me? We're not even yet. I need us to be good, and we're not good yet."

"Sirius," says Remus softly, releasing Peter just so he can drag Sirius by the shoulders away from where Peter is lying prone on the floor. Peter tries to sit up a little, but his head is throbbing, and he gives up the attempt after a second.

All he can think is—Sirius gives a shit. Sirius cares.

He doesn't know how long it's been since he's had a day this good.

xx

A/N: For security reasons, I may not update for a while or have to take down all my fics, at least temporarily. For the moment, I've turned on moderation for anonymous reviews.