Prowl of the Marauders, Chapter 2

Peter Pettigrew was the happiest he had ever been in his life. It was a beautiful winter evening, and the Dursleys had been "persuaded" to take an early holiday, so he and Harry had the whole place to themselves, and Harry was jubilant. They'd made Christmas cookies shaped like lilies and reindeer (Peter hadn't wanted to make the latter, but Harry deserved to be able to remember his father in a good way) and glazed them with food safe magical frosting that changed colors and sparkled, listening some old Christmas records that Peter had found somewhere at a rummage sale. Now, however, they were sitting by the Dursleys' electric fireplace, practicing easy spells on Harry's marshmallow-filled chocolate and talking about inconsequential things.

"Uncle Peter?"

Peter looked up from his own cup of hot chocolate. "Yes Harry?" Oh, Merlin, it was so wonderful to be here, to be accepted so unconditionally. However much Peter knew he didn't deserve it, staying here with Harry beat a cell in Azkaban, even if Harry would hate him when he learned the truth.

"How did my parents die?"

Peter froze, and the mug of hot chocolate which he had been levitating for Harry's delight crashed unceremoniously to the table.

"Uncle Peter, are you ok?"

Oh, Merlin, those simple, innocently-asked questions nearly undid Peter. 'Are you ok?' When had he ever been? He was nothing but a rat, after all, with all the characteristics of him. He had spied, he had killed, he had led Lily and her prat of a husband to their deaths. He was the reason Harry was an orphan, the reason that he had been sent away like a parcel to his worst family members. And now he would have to tell his ten year old adopted godson that he had been the one to get his parents killed. "I...I'm fine, Harry," he managed, cleaning up the spilled hot chocolate with one swipe of his wand. How could he phrase this so as not to sound like a complete and total monster without lying? "I...well...I suppose I'd have to start with the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord?"

"Not all witches and wizards are good, Harry, and he was one of the ones who was evil. He wanted to rule Britain and kill everyone who disagreed or who he didn't like. And he marked his followers on the arm with a tattoo of a skull and a snake." Peter hesitated. Better get it done quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. And he drew up his sleeve, revealing the faint mark left there. Harry's eyes widened.

"You were one of his followers?"

"Yes," Peter replied, lowering his head in shame. "I didn't know how bad he was until he already branded me as one of his followers." He could tell that Harry had something to say about that, but he went on quickly, wanting to postpone Harry's anger as long as possible. "Then...then it was too late." He paused, thinking.

"Oh!" was Harry's soft response. "So this guy k-killed my parents? Did you- did you do anything?" Harry asked insecurely.

Peter closed his eyes. "Y-yes. It's not as simple as just that he killed them; he killed a lot of people, Harry, magical and not. But one night a Death Eater- those were his followers-"

Harry screwed up his face, even while still listening raptly.

"Brought him news of a prophecy having to do with a baby born at the end of July."

Harry's eyes widened, figuring it out. "Me?"

"Yes Harry," Peter said softly. "There were some others it could mean, but the Dark Lord went after you in particular." This next part was the part that was making Peter feel sick to relate. "Now, your parents knew about this, of course- a man named Severus Snape had turned spy when he heard that your mum and you were in trouble- and so they did all sorts of things to protect themselves, updating the wards and such. There's a very old and powerful spell called the Fidelius that makes anyone who's ever heard of something forget it at once, except for one person called the "Secret Keeper", and so James- your dad- cast it over your house, so that only the person who was the Secret Keeper would know where it was. He picked me as Secret Keeper. I-I t-told him to pick Sirius- heck Sirius told him to pick Sirius- but he made it me. I don't know why. He didn't know that I...was a Death Eater, of course, but Sirius would have been a better option anyway, since I can't fight that well."

Harry was listening to all of this, watching him with wide, nervous green eyes. "You told him where my parents were?"

Peter shuddered. "Y-yes. The Dark Lord...has ways of making you do what he wants, and they're...rather painful." Understatement of the century. Calling a cruciatus "rather painful" was like calling Mcgonagall "a little firm sometimes". Still, he was not going to tell a child about torture in detail; no one needed to know about that. "I ended up telling him, and so he-" his breath hitched; he'd never ever shared this with anyone, since he consorted primarily with muggles, and the occasional wizard (under glamors). "-So he came to your house. He killed your parents, but for some reason, when he cast the killing curse on you, it just...bounced off. Then it hit him and he died, serve him right." Peter stared at the table. "You were supposed to go to Sirius, but Dumbledore sent you here, Merlin only knows why. I...came along with. I'd met Petunia, and she was always spiteful, so I didn't want her to h-hurt you."

There was a long silence.

"I'm s-sorry," Peter said at last, waiting for the blow. If only he had had just a few more years, he'd- he'd what, have converted to boy to such an extent that he wouldn't care that Peter had gotten his parents killed? Maybe lying to the boy for a few more years would soften the blow? Merlin, he was disgusting. He was a rat, after all.

"It's ok, Uncle Peter."

Peter's head snapped up so fast that he might have gotten whiplash. "What?"

"It's ok. I...I'm sad, but I don't remember them. You're here, though aren't you? And you made sure that the Dursleys were nice."

Peter didn't know what to say to that, not in the slightest. He settled for pulling the boy in for a hug and pretended that his eyes were not stinging suspiciously. He didn't deserve this, not in the slightest. But he would take it. Oh, Merlin, he would take it. Did that make him more of a monster? Probably, but he was too weak to do anything but take it, wanting to stay as long as Harry needed him, as long as he let them. And, deep inside, he swore never to let Harry down again.