The pitfalls of being a rat
He scurried along the mattress, watchful of the sleeping redhead.
For some reason, the idiot liked to sleep with his 'pet' rat. Unfortunately, that meant that poor Scabbers had to endure anywhere from ten minutes to multiple hours tucked under the moron's arm.
Ron was a very active child, and he disliked bathing to boot; that left the rat trapped in a foul smelling prison until the cretin turned in his sleep and released him from the stench.
Remus once spoke of a muggle product called 'deodorant', perhaps a anonymous Christmas gift would be a good idea?
No, the moron would think that it was stupid and throw it away.
Curses!
As he scampered away, he kept a watchful eye on his sleeping companion. A sudden roll in his sleep -- which the boy was prone to do -- and he would be stuck. Again. Perhaps in an even viler smelling area?
If he doesn't wash under his arms, how bad would it smell trapped under his crotch?!
Thankfully, he made it unscathed to a small crack in the wall.
Why take the stairs where one could easily be stepped on, when one could go through the walls. He was speaking from experience of course.
He leisurely walked through the walls, climbing down a few ducts as he went.
His mind drifted to the many years of suffering at the burrow, and then the suffering with his second stint at Hogwarts.
Lots of cats at Hogwarts.
Lots.
Lots and lots and lots.
So many in fact, that whenever his 'master' put him down – away from his protection -- he was in a constant fight for his life.
Why were cats so damn popular!?
The cats were bad, but so too were the owls. Any day, at any time, a crazy owl could swoop down and try to take a bite.
At Hogwarts, or at home.
Then there are the classes.
History of magic was dull the first time around, but as bad as history was, it had nothing compared to transfiguration.
For some strange reason, that bitch McGonagall thought it was a great idea for the students to try animate to inanimate transfiguration on their pets!
Peter had no idea if it was the fact that he was an animagus, or perhaps that all animals felt the same when transfigured, but every time Percy tried to turn him into a teacup, he desperately wished he could return to the tender mercies of his true master. The Cruciatus curse had nothing on a failed transfiguration.
Percy wasn't a born genius either. No, he prescribed to the 'practice makes perfect' philosophy.
Needless to say, by the time he did the spell in class, he had already attempted it dozens of times in his dorm room.
Soon too, the moron would be doing the same spells in class, but sadly, Ron was no Percy. Scabbers had no illusions of how painful that spell would be with him casting it.
He kept rushing down, the kitchen being his target.
He needed some real food. Human food.
The food pellets were terrible; they had no redeeming features whatsoever.
Kind of like eating raw oats and freshly cut grass mixed together.
Come to think of it, that's probably the flavor right there.
As he came to another corner, he stopped dead in his tracks.
NO!
NOT AGAIN!!!
That horny rat with the crazy gleam in her eyes was right there, not five feet away!
He tried to run, but no dice. He was an old rat. She was young.
And vigorous.
Her sexual appetite was insatiable; sometimes five, perhaps six times a day she would find him.
It was rape, but whom could he tell?
For some reason, that insane rapist of a rat had decided on him for a suitable mate. Given that they were of different species, she could try thousands of times and never get pregnant.
It hadn't been a thousand times yet, but she was getting close.
As she left, she squeaked saucily as if to say, "See you later stud."
Perhaps she was attractive for a rat, perhaps not, but as he shakily got up on all four feet, he couldn't help but feel extremely violated.
Feeling tremendously low on himself, he resumed his trek to the kitchen.
Perhaps a good meal would make him feel better about himself.
He made it into the kitchen and made a quick circuit of the room.
Seeing and hearing no one, he transformed back into his human form and made his way to the counter.
A pie! Yes!
It might be for tomorrow night's dinner, but Molly's pies are just so damn good!
He took a slice, and sat down at the kitchen table.
A few bites in he felt sleepy.
A few bites more and he fell flat on his face into the pie.
The next morning Molly made her way downstairs. She was so excited to see if her little plan worked.
You see, over the years she had been tasked with feeding a good number of people; two adults, and seven children was nothing to scoff at. With Harry staying part of the summer, she was forced to cook more food, and without enough time, she cooked at odd times. This led her to an interesting discovery.
Food she made at night and left out for the next day always seemed to have some missing come morning.
She asked the family at dinner once, but no one admitted to any midnight snacks.
So, as a little trap, she laced a pie with a sleeping potion the previous night, and hoped to catch the little thief red handed.
As she suspected, Ron had been sneaking down every night and having a snack.
He was laying on the floor with a half-eaten slice of pie splattered next to him.
After a light scolding, she sent him to his room to change, and then come back and clean up his mess.
Can't leave a slice of pie sitting on the floor can we?
She chuckled as she went in search of cleaning products in another room.
Boy was she surprised to find a grown man asleep on her table.
He could have lived as a muggle, he could have lived in any other English-speaking country as a wizard, but he wanted to be in England, waiting for his master's return.
But then again, wizards are stupid.
AN: I felt a need to write a lighthearted fic after the downers the last couple have been. Wormtail seemed like a good target.
Thanks to DemonicNargles for Betaing and pointing out how many times I used the word 'moron' in this fic ;)
-Lineape
