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Peter Pettigrew's Greatest Secrets

Of all his friends, even after he learned their stories, he felt that he was cursed with the worst childhood, the worst home. It didn't matter to him that Remus was a werewolf with no future of that Sirius's family hated the ground he walked on and would gladly have seen him dead. He, Peter always felt, he was alone in his misery. His father was a muggle, a traveling merchant with a wife and two sons somewhere far away. Every year, when his father came to their village, he stayed with his mother, treating her like his wife. When his mother got pregnant with him, his father stayed away, in a hotel. When his mother told him that she was a witch, he stopped visiting, but still came to the village to see her and his son. He remembered his father, the man as tall as an oak with nothing but cruelty and hatred in his eyes as he loomed over him, blaming him for every little thing. And when Peter performed his first act of magic, he was beaten, hard. That year, his father stopped coming, and they never saw him again.

Immediately after his father left, his mother fell ill. And no matter what he did, she never got better. She just lay in bed, every day, trying to muster up the energy to stand and take care of her young child. They would have starved if his grandmother hadn't come to take care of them. When she died, he was only eight and he was responsible for their lives. He'd heard rumors that his no good muggle father had destroyed her by giving her a rare disease and then abandoning her. It didn't help that word came that him and his family had all died less than three months after Peter's grandmother. Finally, as always, it came down to Peter. It came down to a small eight year old half-blood with no apparent talents or intelligence to take care of himself and his sick mother. And a small eight year old half-blood was forced to grow up much too fast.

When he left for Hogwarts, he thought that he would find the home he'd never had. He thought he'd find a place where he was finally accepted, where he was safe and comfortable and clean. But all he found there was a feeling of complete incompetence and helplessness. He didn't fit, and for the longest time wondered how he managed to become a Gryffindor. He wasn't loyal, or brave, or chivalrous, or honest or decent. He was just…….him. And he was hopeless, even some of the teachers said so. He was mostly squib. His magical talents were so small that he shouldn't have even come to Hogwarts. And all Peter could think of was that his father had cursed him with this. His father had driven his talent, his potential, his power from him. He was an outcast6, a loner, and a small part of him felt that he deserved it. Because he had driven away his own father.

But, for the first time in his life, he had friends, best friends, friends who stood up for him and helped him and would die for him. He always knew that he didn't deserve their trust, but they trusted him anyway. He knew that it wouldn't last, that the quidditch hero, the ladies' man, and the genius would all see him for who he really was, a sniveling rat who, more than anything, wanted power, the power that he never had and always wanted, the power over life and death, over love and hate, and over every governable force in the universe. But they never turned away, never abandoned him, and all of them, especially James welcomed him into their circle willingly and trusted him. They would never betray him. But a small part of him knew that he would betray them, just to make it last, just to get the power he wanted. So he really wasn't surprised when he transformed into a rat. Because….perhaps because of his father, but Peter never learned to trust in what he had and remain faithful to the promises he made.

He was jealous of James. He always was and he supposed that he always would be. James was everything he wasn't. James was tall and lean and handsome while he was short and squat with too many pimples. James was a hero on the quidditch pitch, someone whom everybody liked and admired. He was invisible or disliked and had no athletic ability. James was loving and generous and smart. He was petty, vindictive, and stupid. He knew what was being said behind his back about his brains. He knew….and he swore that one day, he would rise above them all and see them all dead at his feet while James….James told him to ignore them and to go about his life. So he hated James. James was his friend, the first one to welcome him into their circle, the only person who trusted him completely. And he hated him for it. Because James started the cycle of lies and deceit. James and his god damn honesty and integrity had started that system of deception and hate. And he hated the only person who had ever given him any consideration.

He was in his seventh year when he was approached by Death Eaters to join them. Bellatrix Black had pulled him into a corner in Hogsmead and had told him that either he joins or they kill him and leave the body somewhere for his friends to find. And he agreed, willingly, gleefully as he imagined how powerful he must be for them to want him over his friends. It was Bella who told him….that the only reason they were asking him was because they knew he would betray them. They knew he would break. They knew that he would come with them, just for the power. Your friends were wrong to trust you, Bella had said. And now they will know why. We only got you because we needed an inside man and they were too brave to say yes. He pulled himself out of her grasp and ran after than, fleeing from everything, anything, running straight in to Lily as she walked towards the owlery to post a package. Lily….he thought as he walked away, mumbling apologies. Lily would be the perfect victim. Lily, who was bright and merry…Lily, who came from a similar background but had power beyond all others….Lily, whom James loved above all others. She would be his first victim and he would laugh as he killed her. But when he saw her walk up to James, slipping her arm around his waist, he felt a twinge of guilt, a twinge of shame, and the feeling he knew too well was back.

After he left Hogwarts, he wanted to run, run far and fast, away, anywhere. But he couldn't. So he joined the Order instead, doing what he could to report back to the Death Eaters, fighting to discover who he truly was. And once again, he was jealous of James. James had everything and he….was left with nothing. So he went with them when they went to Potter mansion. He was a part of that group of Death Eaters that set off to find James's father, that killed both James's parents at they fought against their bonds that held them fast to the pillars of their grand house. He was there, and he was the last person to see Mr. and Mrs. Potter alive before Bellatrix cast the spell that killed them. And he was the one to tell James that his parents were dead. He was the first one to see the shock, disbelief, and then pain in his friend's eyes as he ran. And it was all he could do to contain his glee. Because he'd gotten power at last.

But he lost it, lost it all. He was the highest in the group of Death Eaters, the most valuable because he, Peter Pettigrew, the rat, was the Potters' secret keeper. He knew where every member of their circle, the Black, the Werewolf, and the Potters were. He was their most trusted friend, their inside man. And the Death Eaters couldn't function without him. He laughed when he told Voldemort where they were, laughed as his lord told him that he had done well, laughed when he found out that Lily and James were dead. And then……then he realized what he'd done. He realized that he had killed the two people in the world who trusted him. He'd betrayed them and had turned them over to the one man who wanted to see them dead. He'd betrayed them. He'd killed them. And now, he would live with their blood on his hands. So….when he saw Sirius run towards him, his eyes drifting into madness, grief etched on every line of his face, he knew that it was over and he might as well take his own life. His power had forced him to betray them and he deserved to die. But he couldn't, he just couldn't. He didn't have the courage, or the honor to kill himself. So he betrayed another friend, another marauder, as he transformed into a rat, killing thirteen people to cover up his escape. And he ran…as fast and far as he could.

His life with the Weasleys was good, was comfortable, was noisy and exciting. It was everything he'd always wanted. They took care of him, made sure he was alright. And he could finally forget, living out the rest of his life as a rat, waiting, just waiting to be forgiven. But until then, he was safe. He was away from anything that reminded him of his past. He was happy and content. But then……at the train station, he saw Harry Potter for the first time. And he knew that he couldn't escape his past forever.

The second war…..the second war killed him. Every day he was reminded of his betrayal, every day he was reminded that he was too much of a coward to take his own life, to do what was right and to face his final judgment. But he was too afraid of that judgment, to afraid to see their faces again and to know that his past had finally come, demanding payment for the debt that he owed them. So, when he met Harry in the basement of the Malfoys' house, he knew that his time had come, especially when he heard the son of his best friend, his worst enemy, and his greatest supporter tell him that he owed him. That he was in his debt and that a life was for a life. And the moment Peter's conscience emerged, his hand turned on him, and Peter Pettigrew's final judgment day had come.

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