Disclaimer: I know it's disappointing but I still don't own Harry Potter.
Notes at the end.
"Remus Lupin," she said softly, smiling benignly, and a little uncertainly, at him, "as I live and breathe. It's been a while since I've seen you, dear."
"Yes," Remus murmured, scuffing the heel of the already well-worn shoes into the paving stone, "well…"
Mrs Pettigrew seemed to understand, as she had always done. A mediocre Witch herself, born from a Muggle father and a Half-blood mother, out of all the Marauders' parents, Mrs Pettigrew had perhaps been one of the gentlest and most understanding.
She had worked in both the Muggle and Wizarding world before marring Peter's father, a Pure-Blood who worked at the Ministry of Magic. Whether he had up and left or died, Mrs Pettigrew had never said, but alas, Peter had been brought up by his mother's grace alone.
She took his arm gently, tugging him off her porch and into the hallway. The door closed with a soft click behind him with a clean swish of her wand.
Remus trailed after her short figure silently as she scampered to the kitchen. As he stepped into the small, airy space, he took note of the empty walls where photo frames used to sit. On the wooden table was a scattering of papers, dating from months back to yesterday's addition of the Evening Prophet.
Dumbledore Speaks the Truth, read one. You-Know-Who Returns!
Another one, which was dog-eared, rumbled and ink-stained from being handled one to many times was titled: Sirius Black, Innocent? Actual Traitor Revealed! Beneath the large, blocky headline was a faded photograph that took up at least half the page.
With a pang, Remus realised it was a photo from the Christmas before James and Lily's deaths. He and Peter had been cut out of clipping; only Lily, James and Sirius remained. Lily was perched on the sofa in the Potter's living room, a small bump showing beneath a long dress. Behind her stood Sirius, nonchalantly handsome with short hair and a tired but full face, grinning charmingly at James as James stared, love-struck and doe-eyed, at Lily's head.
Mrs Pettigrew coughed. Remus looked up, into her sad, weary eyes.
"We should talk," she said. "I guessing that's what you came here for."
He nodded. "Yeah– I– yes."
She ushered him into the living room, carrying a rattling tray of tea and custard creams, the same ones she had always brought the Marauders when they had inhabited her house over the summer holidays.
You four always manage to wreak havoc where ever you go, she told them once, but fondly, always fondly.
Remus wondered if she even realised they were the same.
They settled in the two large armchairs, Remus by the warded fireplace, Mrs Pettigrew in the pink one by the window. They were low, squashy and old. As he settled his aching bones into the pillows he felt himself sink into their comfort as they attempted to swallow him whole.
She handed him a cup of tea, taking one for herself.
"The Ministry came the other day. They took away Pe-" she looked at her tea and rectified her words, "His Order of Merlin. I couldn't tell whether they were angry or pitying." Mrs Pettigrew let out a shrill laugh. "I almost asked if they wanted to dig up his finger seen as he's not dead. It's a little silly to have a grave for a person who's not even dead."
Remus said nothing but listened as she gave a small hiccup from the other side of the room, cupping her hands, wrinkled with rope lines, around the steaming mug. "I don't want to believe it," she said quietly, half closing her eyes as her head fell back against a large, beaded cushion. "I still find it hard to believe… I – he was my son – my little boy-" Mrs Pettigrew broke off with another loud swallow. "And he actually became one of those monsters…"
"Sirius-" Remus paused, and waited for a vocal reaction at the name. None was forthcoming, but Mrs Pettigrew's face fell the tiniest bit. Whether out of pity on behalf of Sirius, shame on behalf of Peter, or something else entirely, Remus was unsure.
He continued, his tone softer than before: "Sirius said once that Peter – our Peter – died the night that James and Lily did. Probably before then, actually, since the spy had been passing information for over a year before… Well, you know."
Mrs Pettigrew looked close to tears. "Before Halloween," she whispered, eyes cast to the floor.
"Yeah, Halloween."
A silence fell about the room. It was not awkward, but neither was it comfortable. It was the sort of silent between two people who understood each other completely, who understood the same grief you received after someone you love has betrayed you in the worst possible way.
"How did he die?" She asked quietly, putting her tea down on the table with a sharp clang. "Sirius, I mean. The Prophet didn't say how, only that he had died. Besides, it only publishes rubbish these days."
In his mind's eye, the memory of Sirius, old and wasted and tired but grinning all the same, falling through the ghostly veil flashed past, stalked by the hollow, goading words: Come on, you can do better than that!
He swallowed and said, "Bellatrix Lestrange, his cousin."
Mrs Pettigrew made a hollow sound. "They never deserved him, the Blacks. Such a horrible family…"
Remus heard a little sniffle and looked up to see Mrs Pettigrew with her small, round face pressed into a floral handkerchief, little hands shaking.
He sat, mute, simply watching her as she struggled to regain composure.
It occurred to him that he should help her somehow, but his body was stiff, bones weighing him down so that he felt they had weathered a hundred years rather than for thirty-seven.
"Sorry," she said, breathless. "Sorry… I just…"
"I get it," Remus said.
Mrs Pettigrew wiped her face one last time and peered up, looking haggard.
"Sorry," she repeated. "It's just horrible. All of it is just awful.
"First James and Lily. And then little Harry – left all alone," she said, lip wobbling again. But at her harmless words, Remus was reminded once again of his absence from Harry's childhood.
It had been so hard to abandon the green-eyed, happy child who had dubbed him Uncl' Mooey, and such a terrible shock to see a grown up Harry Potter all thirteen years old, with James' face and Lily's eyes on the Hogwarts Express almost three years ago.
He had abandoned Harry because of Dumbledore's assurance that Petunia Dursley, despite her hatred of Lily's magic, would set aside her prejudices for the sake of her nephew. But seeing Harry's indifference to the Dursley's throughout the past years had questioned his faith in the Headmaster's knowing words.
Yet Remus had done nothing.
Another of his countless failings, Remus thought.
In truth he know nobody had come to Harry's aid before he turned thirteen. But he was sure, had Sirius been freed and still alive, his friend would have tried.
But Sirius was dead. Like James. Like Lily. Like his mother, and the countless others who had left him alone on the earth to flounder lost between their memories.
"Now S-Sirius. And my Peter-"
She went quiet again, staring at nothing with unseeing eyes. Her shoulders were painfully tense, her face tight in a way that made Remus' skin crawl. The tears on her cheeks glinted silver, like memories.
After a long, silent moment, Remus pulled himself together and laced his hand through Mrs Pettigrew's older one. He knew first hand sharing grief was better than attempting to hold it within you like some retained secret.
Hearts were dangerous things, and Mrs Pettigrew had nothing but sorrow left in hers. It showed in her eyes, and the way she held herself. She was worn, brittle along the edges and tearing at the seams.
Remus understood, he had after all felt the same after James and Lily's deaths; when he had uncovered Peter's atrocity; now again, with Sirius gone and not even a body to bury.
The last Marauder.
It was sad and, like Mrs Pettigrew had said, awful to be so alone.
Author's Notes: Very little is known about Peter's childhood or his parents, so her characterisation was mainly up to my own imagination and not canon. On .Com it states that Peter was either Pure-Blood or Half-Blood, and names only "Mrs Pettigrew" as an assured relative. Mrs Pettigrew has no name and while I considered giving her one, I thought that Remus – as we know – is mostly very polite would probably call her Mrs Pettigrew (the same way Harry calls Molly and Arthur Mr and Mrs Weasley, being the parents of his best-friend). I also have no way of knowing whether Mrs Pettigrew was alive Post-Order of the Phoenix. All I know is that she out-lived Peter's (fake) death in 1981 because she received both Peter's Order of Merlin and his finger to bury.
I based her character on what little we know of Peter. I think Mrs Pettigrew would have been quite a weak witch, like Peter, but a strong person. Here of course, she is grieving for her son – or who her son was – and angry with him as well, or at least a part of her is angry at Peter for the decisions he made and who he became.
That note got longer than I intended it to be lmao. Please tell me what you think :)