A/N: Holy smokes you guys! I was so surprised by how well-received the last chapter was. Not sure if I should start panicking because now you expect so much from this monstrous story or what… :O I'm not even on the good parts yet!

So, I did say I'll update at least once a week but things had been difficult for the past few days, and fanfiction's really my only escape. Besides, my Beta sent the edited version really early anyway so what the heck. Special thanks to lozipozivanillabean for correcting all my grammatical errors.

Enjoy!

ii.

our universe was brought to life – part ii

(Sun by Sleeping at Last)

January 30, 1971

"Really, Hermione? Reading again?"

She lifted her blue eyes from her book and glanced at her brother. Ten-year-old Peter leant against her doorframe with an amused smile on his face. Tucked underneath his armpit was his worn, but clearly beloved skateboard. It still amused Hermione immensely when she discovered Peter Pettigrew loved to play with his skateboard during his youth; she never really imagined the rat as being fond of it, much less brilliant at it. She always knew his accidental magic was at play, but it didn't ease their poor mother's heart when she saw some of the weird stunts her son would pull on the road.

"I like to read," she said, finally realising she hadn't retorted anything in return. Her brother slinked inside her room and plopped down on her bed, laying the skateboard beside him.

"It's the weekend," Peter claimed as if it was reason enough to question Hermione's hobbies. "Why don't you play with other children or something?"

"We're freaks in this neighbourhood, remember?" she quipped, closing her copy of Charlotte's Web and placing it on her desk. She glanced over at her brother and saw the small smile on his face.

"Of course," he sighed, a tad melodramatically, but Hermione knew he wasn't offended anymore. People had spoken about how eccentric the Pettigrew siblings were. Anya had tried to enrol her children in a Muggle primary school before they received their letter for Hogwarts, just to let them learn the basics math and science which they wouldn't otherwise learn. But, with Peter's disdain and Hermione's blatant disinterest in studying, coupled with the strange happenings that followed them wherever they went, Anya gave up and pulled them from school and taught them instead.

Since then, parents in their neighbourhood warned their children to keep away from the Pettigrew children because they were bound to get hurt. Although Hermione didn't mind it at all, since she wasn't interested in making friends anyway, it had deeply hurt Peter. The boy just wanted to belong in a small group of friends; Hermione now understood why his adult counterpart desperately hero-worshipped Sirius Black and James Potter before joining Voldemort's minions.

She tried her hardest to let him know that being at home, with her and their mother, was enough to keep him happy. Anya had been a blessing, keeping her children busy from the sorrow of their isolation, and Hermione wondered what had happened to Peter Pettigrew that made him the evil man he was when he had a mother like Anya Pettigrew.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione then asked, slipping away from her small desk to approach her brother. She sat at the foot of her bed and quizzically stared at him.

"Mum's making me wash the dishes," Peter explained, a meaningful glance thrown her way.

Hermione had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "And?" she urged.

"Come on, 'Mione," he insisted, sitting up from her bed. "I hate washing dishes. And you're brilliant at it. You did say you enjoy washing the dishes."

"You can't always get away from your chores, Petey," she sighed, prompting him to sheepishly smile.

He then rummaged inside his pocket to pull out several toffees she loved dearly. "Peace offering?" he innocently asked.

Hermione snorted. "Bribery seems more fitting," she said but grabbed the delectable sweets nonetheless. "Just this once, Peter."

"You're the best sister ever," Peter said with a brilliant grin, pulling her close to give her a warm hug. In spite of herself, Hermione's lips quirked into a small smile. It really wasn't hard to become fond of this boy when he'd been kind and warm to her since she was young.

Peter then jumped down from her bed and clutched his skateboard once more. "I'll be playing outside if Mum asks for me," he said.

"Be careful."

He waved his hand in goodbye and strode out from her room.

Hermione sighed and collected her bushy hair to attempt a ponytail. She glanced at her reflection and made a face, knowing her hair would rebel soon and spring out from her elastic band. Funnily enough, even in this lifetime, her stubborn hair had followed her with fierce determination.

Sighing once more, Hermione slid down from her bed and walked out of her bedroom. She halted midway when she saw that Peter was still there. "Why are you—"

He turned around, grave-faced, and pressed a finger against his lips. Hermione clammed up and peered over his shoulders, flinching when she heard an unmistakable slap. She swallowed down a gasp when Timothy roared another thunderous tirade and glanced down her feet to block whatever was going to happen next. At the same time, she noticed Peter's tightly clenched fists. She wouldn't be surprised if half-moon marks had appeared on his palm.

Hermione reached forward and brushed her fingers along his knuckles until the tension escaped his hands and he started to relax.

When another resounding slap rang in their home, Hermione's eyes prickled with tears and she really tried her hardest to steel herself in place. She wanted to help her mother, even after all these years, but all her attempts only made Timothy hurt her mother more. Hermione's temper always flared up when she saw another bruise on her mother, and Peter had to calm her down so that she wouldn't interfere and make everything worse.

At times like these, Hermione longed for a wand just so she could hex Timothy raw for hurting the woman who did nothing but love and understand him.

A piercing scream echoed in their home and Hermione's blood ran cold. Paling in horror, she glanced towards her parents once more and gasped at the pool of blood dripping down from Anya's arm after Timothy slashed a shard of beer glass against her.

Everything stilled by then. Even Hermione didn't dare breathe, too afraid of disturbing the deathly silence.

And then, Peter was suddenly in front of his mother, hands spread apart in a mighty attempt to protect her. His blue eyes were dark and tumultuous like a raging storm and Hermione stared. She hadn't seen that expression on his face before. Peter was always quiet and kind and didn't really stand up too much against his bullies. But the Peter in front of her was almost like a giant, ready to do whatever it took to protect their mother from the despicable monster.

"Stop hurting her," were his mere words, but his voice was steady and commanding. Hermione felt the hairs on her arms prickle at his ferocity.

Timothy's eyes, black and dark like how his soul had always been, grew thunderous. He lifted his hand and smacked Peter across his face with so much force that her brother toppled on the ground. Anya screamed and begged to spare her son, to hit me, hit me instead, hit me please, and Hermione still stood frozen on the spot.

Then, blinding rage bloomed in her heart as she watched the two people she loved the most get harassed by this man she had never seen as her father. 'No, no, no,' she chanted repeatedly in her head.

Nobody hurts the people she loved. Nobody.

Her vision swam with the tears she didn't realise were already steadily streaming down her face. And before she could come to their rescue, Peter was back on his feet and growling darkly at Timothy. The air pulsed with raging magic and horror briefly flitted across Timothy's face. Hermione almost gagged at how suffocating the raw magic was and before she knew it, Peter's accidental magic concentrated at one point before it shot straight into Timothy's chest. Their father flew in the air and he smashed against the small shelf behind him. A sickening crack was heard and Anya screamed, immediately standing up and running towards the unconscious man.

This also snapped Hermione out of her stupor and she ran towards her brother. The accidental magic Peter released had exhausted him so much. He swayed on his feet and landed on his knees. If it weren't for Hermione, he would have collapsed on the ground into a messy heap.

"Peter, Peter, are you all right?" she worriedly asked, noting how pale and clammy he'd become. Her question didn't seem to register, as his blue eyes, now coloured with terror, stared at the scene behind Hermione.

Upon hearing Anya's choked sob, Hermione craned her neck and looked over her shoulder. Her heart almost stuttered at the sight of blood, so much blood, pooling behind Timothy's head.

Peter started to shake in her arms and Hermione tried to shield him from the scene he had caused.

February 3, 1971

The funeral was brief and cold. Timothy Pettigrew was a hateful man, after all.

Hermione very much didn't want to attend his funeral, because he'd caused enough turmoil in her new family, but Anya helped her get dressed into the stuffiest black dress she had ever had to wear. Hermione wanted to complain, but the look in Anya's eyes made her bite her tongue. There were still bruises hidden behind her black robe and Hermione very much wanted to use a healing spell on her mother's wounds. But of course, without the aid of her wand, she couldn't do so.

After the accident, Anya had called for an ambulance. Timothy was already declared dead even before he arrived at the hospital, his skull cracked wide open, his brain slipping down from its usual place. Anya stiffly explained that everything was an accident, that her husband came home drunk and slipped on their wet floor, hitting his head against the shelf and consequently killing him.

Hermione could see that the doctors were doubting her words, and she tightly held onto Peter's hand, afraid that they'd discover that his accidental magic had caused all of this. But she also saw how the doctors glanced at Anya's wounds, obvious signs of abuse, and hadn't said anything about the strange death of Timothy Pettigrew.

The funeral had long ended and Anya was thanking the visitors for attending. Nobody had shed a tear for Timothy, which was saddening really, but then again, he was a hateful man.

Anya never spoke about the incident after his death. When they went home from the hospital that night, she gathered both her children in her arms and earnestly cried.

Hermione knew it wasn't of sorrow.

Hermione knew it was of relief.

And Hermione hated herself for feeling relieved, too, because despite how he'd treated their mother all these years, he didn't deserve to die.

"Come on," Hermione murmured to her silent brother when Anya waved them over.

When Peter didn't budge, Hermione frowned and peered up at him. Peter's blue eyes were swimming with tears, utter remorse almost too unnatural to be seen in a young boy like him.

"I killed him, Hermione."

She stilled. Peter hadn't spoken after that incident, and although she was worried sick over her brother, she knew he needed some space to think about his actions. Anya clearly didn't blame him; although she never said it aloud, her actions were understandable enough to know that she never held her son accountable for what had happened to their father.

"It was an accident, Peter," Hermione insisted, holding onto his hand to make him understand. "Don't beat yourself over this."

A tear slipped down from his eyes and he blinked them away. "You've seen what I was capable of," he hissed. "Maybe… maybe I was destined to become like him after all. Maybe I am evil too."

Cold fear gripped her heart very tightly. "No, no, you are not like him," she exclaimed with such vehemence. "You're not evil, Peter."

"But you've seen—"

"Any witch or wizard placed under duress would have released similarly mighty accidental magic, too," she reasoned out. "Especially us children who haven't been taught how to control it yet."

She thought of her Harry, how he had random bouts of accidental magic when his feelings were roaring and palpable.

"I didn't mean…" He started to cry, huge tears rolling down from his eyes. "I didn't mean to kill him. I promise. I promise."

"I know," she croaked, her eyes also filling with tears at the raw guilt on her brother's face. "Mum knows, too, Peter. Nobody blames you."

He bowed his head, his shoulders shaking, and Hermione reached forward to give him a comforting hug. "Nobody blames you, Peter," she whispered. "Stop blaming yourself too."

They stood there clinging to each other until Anya approached them. Upon seeing the tears in their eyes, Anya questioningly looked at Hermione. The young witch merely shook her head and tightened her arms around Peter.

"Oh, my sweetheart," Anya whispered, tears slipping down from her eyes. "My sweet, sweet boy."

Peter broke away from Hermione and launched into their mother's warm arms. Anya cradled Peter like he was a new-born once more, dropping soothing kisses and whispering words of love that only made him cry louder.

Hermione shook and knew that this boy would never grow up to become the man she had once known. She never really knew what had changed, but perhaps it was because of her presence that kept Peter from spiralling down that evil, selfish path he would embark on in the future.

So before they left home, Hermione defiantly glared down at her father's grave through her tears, vowing to all the stars and the moon and everything that could hear her, that she would never let Peter Pettigrew stray away from the right path.

August 15, 1971

Hermione knew she was rudely staring, but she couldn't bring herself to look away from Albus Dumbledore. After all, the last time she'd seen him was when he was staring lifelessly heavenward.

A few days before the Headmaster's visit, the Pettigrew household had been flooded with Hogwarts letters from different kinds of Owls. Peter had resolutely refused to open any of them, reasoning out that he didn't deserve to go to Hogwarts, and no amount of insistence from both his mother and sister made him relent.

Peter had changed ever since their father's death. He still steadfastly blamed himself for the accidental murder he'd done and was convinced he was evil forevermore. Anya was getting distressed over Peter's change of attitude, and even her warmth and hug couldn't pull him away from the sudden darkness Peter surrounded himself with.

Knowing there was no other choice, Hermione sneaked inside her mother's room and penned a letter addressed to the Headmaster, saying that her brother didn't want to go to Hogwarts and begged him to convince him otherwise. Hermione didn't really expect a response too soon, seeing that the new school term was about to begin. So, it had surprised her greatly when the Headmaster himself came knocking on their door the very next day, claiming that one Hermione Pettigrew had written to him.

Peter looked betrayed, but Hermione reasoned out he needed to go to Hogwarts to control his magic. He hadn't budged ever since, petulantly sitting across from Dumbledore with his arms crossed against his chest.

"How do you like your tea, Headmaster?" her mother kindly asked.

"A dash of milk and one cube of sugar, Anastasia," the less wrinkly wizard claimed.

Her eyes gleamed in amusement. "It's been a long time since I've been addressed as such," she said with a laugh.

"It is your name, isn't it?" Dumbledore asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes, of course," Anya replied, "but after being disinherited by my family, I think we should drop the pretentious name, yes?"

"Anastasia is a beautiful name, Mum," Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself.

Both the older witch and wizard glanced down at the young brunette. "Thank you, love, that's very sweet," Anya said, placing a few more marshmallows on top of her warm cocoa to show her gratitude.

Hermione blushed and glanced down at her hands, uncomfortable at the scrutinising gaze of the Headmaster. It was still disconcerting seeing him very much alive, with an untainted hand and fewer wrinkles on his face. His hair was still wiry and white, but there were hints of auburn hair at the roots.

"Now, I believe I have some convincing to do?" Dumbledore said, kindly smiling at the petulant boy. "Tell me, Peter, aren't you excited to go to Hogwarts?"

Hermione glanced over her brother and watched as he stiffened at Dumbledore's question. Peter had been gushing over going to Hogwarts for years; excited seemed a terrible understatement.

"I don't think I will belong there, Headmaster, sir," Peter then quietly answered, his face turning splotchy red at Dumbledore's questioning gaze.

"It isn't a matter of belonging, young man," he insisted. "I asked if you are excited to go."

Even his words commanded respect. If Hermione or Anya had asked him that very same question, Peter would have surely thrown a tantrum. But nobody dared throw a tantrum in front of Dumbledore – well, maybe Harry Potter was the delightful exception.

"I-I…" Peter's cheeks darkened as he miserably glanced at his hands. "I really want to go to Hogwarts."

Anya expelled a deep sigh and slid lower beside Hermione on their couch. "Then, you should really go, Peter," she urged.

His eyes turned steely as he stubbornly refused to look at the other three. "I can hurt other people there, too," he pointed out.

"And why do you say that?" Dumbledore calmly asked despite the sudden drop of temperature in the room.

"I can do things that hurt people!" Peter exclaimed, suddenly angry himself. Tears were threatening to pour out from his eyes and Hermione was tempted to reach over and comfort her brother. But she kept herself in place and held her mother's hand instead.

The old wizard kindly smiled at the distressed boy. "And you can also do things to help them," he gently answered. He waited as Peter deflated and slumped down on his seat. "Accidental magic is common in young children like your age. I am sure your sister here has had numerous bouts of using accidental magic before."

Hermione vigorously nodded her head, if only to appease Peter's troubled heart.

"If you come to Hogwarts, Peter," Dumbledore continued, "we can teach you how to use magic to protect those you love very much."

Peter hesitantly glanced over at his mother and sister. "But I can hurt them too," he softly replied.

"Then, you simply do your very best to learn more protective spells," the Headmaster continued. "I have taught a lot of boys like you before, Peter. I've taught children who had unwillingly hurt their loved ones because of some accidental magic. But I've seen how they steadfastly learned all the spells and turned to be good people – great people in fact. Magic isn't good or evil, per se. It is but a tool and it is up to the user how he or she would wield it."

Peter's eyes had widened at these words and Hermione had to bite back a sigh of relief, knowing that Dumbledore's words were starting to sway him.

"If you want to protect your mother and sister, Hogwarts can teach you more spells on how to do that."

The young boy clasped his hands together and grew sombre. The tears were long dispelled as he mulled over what he was being told.

Then, with considerable conviction, he stared the greatest wizard of the age right into his very eyes, and said, "Okay."

"Okay?" Dumbledore asked with an indulgent smile.

Peter resolutely nodded his head. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I'll go to Hogwarts."

September 2, 1971

It was terribly lonely now that Peter had gone to Hogwarts, but Hermione was glad he decided to go in the end.

The house was quieter now that Timothy wasn't there to wreak havoc. Anya was obviously saddened with Peter's new journey in life but tried her very hardest to hide it. Hermione had resolutely held her mother's hand after they went home from King's Cross and only let go when Anya pulled away from her hand first.

Without their father, Anya was forced to look for a job to sustain them both. Dumbledore was generous enough to put Peter on scholarship for the first year and would continue doing so until Anya found a stable job. Her mother was now working as a secretary for their small town's mayor. Hermione was therefore left to her own devices for the rest of the day, after reassuring Anya that she could very much take care of herself.

During her alone times, Hermione would roam around her house, discovering different nooks and crannies she hadn't seen before. She sometimes looked through the different pictures Anya had taken of their family through the years, smiling at the funny faces she and Peter pulled. It still felt quite surreal to be born as Peter Pettigrew's sister in this different universe, but Hermione would be lying if she'd said this wasn't home.

Sometimes, she would read her books in her room and daydream about being whisked away into another reality. One thing she understood about this world was it wasn't that different from the world she belonged to before. Ever since Timothy had died, her mother started subscribing to the Daily Prophet. Hermione would read through the news, remembering all the history lessons Professor Binns droned on and on about in their History of Magic Class and was surprised by how very little things had changed.

Hermione tried to theorise countless times what the real effect of the potion she had taken had done to her. She arrived at six conclusions:

1. She was still in the same world, with the same set of people and events.
2. Her identity was the only curious thing that had changed.
3. The potion's sole purpose was to give only the drinker a different life.
4. She was Avada'd at the same time she drank the potion.
5. Hermione was dead in that timeline and should not attempt to return.
6. She didn't know if Hermione Granger will still be born now that she exists.

She didn't have any useful books at her disposal to research more, but that was basically what she understood. Since she was technically born in this time, it meant that she belonged. Hermione had no idea if whatever she'd done would change the course of events that had happened in her past life. Peter Pettigrew now had a sister after all, and she'd be damned if she allowed him to stray away from the right path and betray his best friends in the future.

These conclusions had weighed heavily on Hermione's shoulders. With complete knowledge of a different future, Hermione knew she could change the course of events if she wanted to.

"Live a happy life, Hermione," were Harry's last words to her before everything had changed. She had kept his words close to her heart. The real reason why they had wanted to use the potion in the first place, was to escape their tiring life, after all. If she were to live a brilliant, happy life, Hermione knew she had no other choice but to keep her head down and watch from the side-lines. She vowed to only meddle if it felt right, but besides that, she would do whatever she could so that she wouldn't be placed under Voldemort's radar.

Her thoughts were halted when a soft tapping from her bedroom window rang in her room. She smiled at Toffee, the family's beautiful tawny owl, with Peter's letter tied on one of her legs. Hermione had jokingly named her as such when Peter asked for suggestions, and it had just stuck. Now, the owl wouldn't respond to any name other than 'Toffee'.

"Hello," she cooed when Toffee landed on her desk and stuck out her leg. Hermione untied the letter from her leg and absentmindedly fed her with treats as she unrolled Peter's letter.

Her eyes skimmed through the letter, eyes widening a bit when she read that Peter had been placed in Gryffindor, although he had almost become a Slytherin. In the end, he was Sorted into Gryffindor of course, and had been ecstatic about it ever since. He swore to her the Sorting was fun, but they were forbidden to tell how it would happen to those who still hadn't attended Hogwarts. He then spoke about his excitement at starting to use his wand in class and voiced out his fear that he might lag behind because everybody was brilliant.

Her heart froze when she read the names of his newfound friends. He spoke of Remus Lupin – the cleverest of them all, with weird scars on his face and who always weirdly smelled of chocolate. He spoke of Sirius Black – the boisterous Black heir of a prestigious Pureblood family, and how he had loudly celebrated at being Sorted in Gryffindor rather than Slytherin. And he spoke of James Potter – another equally boisterous Pureblood heir of the Potter family, and how he envied how confident he was.

Peter spoke about how he felt almost left out of their small band of friends since he wasn't really good at anything, but the other boys seemed intent to keep him involved anyway.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears as she brushed over the names of the people she once knew. She remembered how Harry's tear-filled eyes grieved over the death of his godfather. She remembered how Teddy Lupin wailed like there was no tomorrow, newly orphaned after the conclusion of the Battle at Hogwarts.

And when she glanced over at James Potter's name, Hermione remembered her Harry – her brave but tired Harry – and how he was robbed from a beautiful childhood that should have been filled with love and warmth.

As she collapsed on her bed, Peter's letter now limp in her hand, Hermione wondered how she could just watch from the side-lines when she knew she could prevent their deaths.

A/N: So, this concludes the brief story background of the Pettigrews. The next chapter introduces the Marauders!

Drop a review, if you fancy :)

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