There it is. Bet you thought this story was dead, didn't you? In all fairness, it almost was. After what? Close to a year and a half now? I finally had enough and tackled the chapter that had me scratching my head for months. It took me an evening and everything was said and done. Goes to say that sometimes all you have to do to finish something is to really get annoyed with yourself.

I won't hide you the truth.

It was a painful process. It was messy and frustrating. There was a lot of screams and cries and rewrites.

Big thanks to a very good friend of mine that graciously accepted to proofread this chapter. She's the best!

I've been working on a collaboration the past few months. It isn't fanfiction but if you like my style, you might like that piece as well. It is a long run project though. The first two chapters are out. Search the Divided by siriusfreakingblack on fictionpress if you're interested.

Anyway, enough about me. On with the story! Hope the wait was worth it.

Here goes.

-10-

Bad Karma

It was a lazy afternoon.

Few witches and wizards ventured out in Diagon Alley. Some took a leisurely stroll down the street, stopping here and there to gaze at shop displays. Others sat under the parasols over at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, enjoying a hot fudge sundae trifle.

Most did not pay attention to the little toy shop whose front held promises of fun and games, all written in all caps golden letters. The Daily Prophet's head office as well as the apothecary stood sentry on each side of the tiny boutique. The latter remained overlooked by most and forgotten by many.

Warm light poured through the front windows and the air glistened with the specks of dust caught by the sunrays drifting lazily down onto the ground.

The bell that announced the arrival of customers had yet to disturb the peaceful silence that had settled in the shop. However, such tranquility rarely remained intact for long.

Gunshots rang, effectively ruining the quietude.

Pang! Pang! Pew! Pew! went the guns.

Yet, no damage was done, and the shelves stayed undisturbed.

Suddenly, a boy, whose head could barely be seen above the high tables and counters that crowded the entire room, rounded the corner. His mouth was wide open as he let out a ferocious war cry. It was a sound meant to shake the bravest men to the core, a noise foreshadowing an epic battle for the sake of one's honor.

The effect was sadly lost.

Unfortunately for the little warrior, his few missing teeth and the way his blond hair fell onto his eyes were sure to mellow any woman's heart.

However, the boy was too engrossed by his made up adventure to actually be bothered by the fact that ladies found him adorable.

Did it matter whether or not people were terrified by his mere presence? The best pilot of the entire British army was currently under attack, and the nazis were desperate to take down his aircraft!

The plane, clutched into the child's tiny fist, was bobbing up and down as if stuck in a vicious thunderstorm. Or, in this case, trying to avoid enemy fire.

"Lieutenant Pettigrew! The wings have been hit! I can see fire! We won't be able to keep the plane up for much longer. What are we gonna do?" screamed the boy in a panicky tone.

Then talking as low as his nine years old vocal cords would allow him to, he shot back: "The letter the colonel has ordered us to deliver to Churchill is of the upmost importance, Private Johnson. We are to reach London no matter what happens!"

As the famous pilot proceeded to save the day thanks to a series of impressive manoeuvres of the most unrealistic nature, the tingling of the bell as well as the swinging of the entrance door remained unnoticed by the young lad.

"Why is it not flying?"

The voice however, startled Peter. Jumping nearly a foot in the air, the boy swirled around. His eyes widened comically in surprise.

The stranger could not have been be very much older than him and yet, whereas Peter was small and slightly pudgy, the other boy was already tall and slander. The way his long black hair was neatly tied back at the nape of his neck, and how the young man seemed to be sweating abundance and prosperity from every pore of his being led Peter to think that this was not the usual type of customers his uncle's shop attracted. Peter had seen that sort before, ladies and men with rich velvet robes and sparkling jewelry. They never stayed long. They usually entered the shop as if they had stumbled in by accident, took a look around, wrinkled their nose a bit and got right out.

"Why is it not flying?" repeated the newcomer, pointing at the plane hanging limply by Peter's side. "It is what it's supposed to do, right? So what's wrong with it? Is something wonky with the hovering charm?"

Before Peter could attempt to formulate any kind of answer, he was cut off by the black haired lad who began to speak once more.

"What is it anyway? I've never seen anything like it before? Is it custom-made? I know all my toys are," said the boy.

All his toys were custom-made.

Although the kid's words might have sounded pompous, Peter did not get the impression that the young man had been meaning to boast. However, since Peter did not know how to respond to such a claim, he stayed silent.

There had been no need for further evidences to demonstrate that the two boys came from fundamentally opposed backgrounds: the simple fact that the stranger could imagine that it was the norm to own personally designed toys betrayed how well born the child really was.

After receiving no answer once more, the other boy seemed to realize how one-sided the conversation had been so far. "Oh, I'm sorry. It seems I've forgotten my manners."

Suddenly, his posture changed as well as his tone. Overall, in a matter of a few seconds, the child's demeanor became a lot more posh and much less natural. His next words seemed practiced, learnt, as if the boy had spent considerable time standing in front of the mirror, repeating them over and over again, until he could wrap his mouth around them properly.

"I shall introduce myself: Sirius Orion Black, oldest heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

Nonplussed and a bit baffled by the fact the stranger hadn't choked on that mouthful of words that made little to no sense, Peter stared mutely. It wasn't until the self-proclaimed heir began to show some uncertainty at his lack of response that Peter realized he was being rude.

"Er... Well.. Hum. I'm Peter. Peter Pettigrew that is," he stuttered lamely. "My uncle owns the shop," added the boy after a second of hesitation.

Maybe Sirius was bummed his curtsy hadn't been returned, as Peter had simply stood there blankly, or maybe he was somewhat disappointed his name and title hadn't gotten him the habitual level of acknowledgment, but the boy seemed a lot less eager to engage Peter in a conversation.

"Pettigrew, eh? Never heard that surname before," noted Sirius with air of disdain that Peter instantly decided did not look good on his face.

Now, Peter did not know much about how wizards interacted with each other. He was vaguely aware some people were perceived as better than others somehow, and that it had to do with who their parents were, as well as who the parents of their parents were.

However, from the way his uncle had eluded the subject when asked about it, Peter had came to the conclusion that these were the kind of worries he did not need in his life. Moreover, it was an awful lot of parents to mind about and, since Peter didn't even know his own dad, he figured it had nothing to do with him anyway.

Peter didn't like the way the interaction was headed, and he certainly did not like to be look down upon.

"Time for a change of subject," he thought.

There was a pregnant pause as Peter awkwardly swung his arms about, silently searching for something to say. Having forgotten the little plane which he held in his grip, he looked down in confusion when the toy hit his thigh. Suddenly remembering the interest Sirius had previously shown when presented to the unfamiliar object, Peter grinned.

"This is a plane by the way," said Peter, waving the toy in the young noble's direction. A slight frown appeared on his face before excitement promptly took its place. "Well, this one is merely a model. The real ones are much bigger."

Peter's interest in planes was born the day he met Wesley Princetone, his best friend. Wes and he had met at the muggle school where Peter's uncle had convinced Mrs Pettigrew to send her son to.

Edna Pettigrew had been reluctant at first. She couldn't deny the fact that her brother and she had their hands full with the shop and were much too busy to be able to adequately homeschool Peter as many other magical families chose to do, but.. A non-magical school, really?

She was aware that her brother was an eccentric man vastly impressed by all things muggle. He had dragged little Peter enough times out in muggle London, and she knew for a fact that the do's and don'ts in presence of non magical folks had been drilled into her son's brain at a very young age. However, the idea of letting her only son venture out into a world so strange to her was petrifying. In the end, she agreed and was rewarded by the enormous grin Peter had sent her way upon his return on his first day from kindergarten.

Peter and Wes had hit it off right away and had developed that kind of easy friendship that only children can attain without putting much thought into it. With Wesley's dad being a pilot, both boys soon entertained the idea of becoming one themselves, and more often than not their games had them flying their own imaginary planes.

What boy, magical or not, could possibly not be intrigued by a piece of heavy metal spiralling through the clouds?

The bored attitude Sirius had adopted a few minutes ago quickly dissolved. Eyeing the small toy Peter held, he tried to picture how such a banal object, looking nothing like a broom, could defy gravity. "How much bigger?"

"I don't know," admitted Peter, a thoughtful expression on his small face. "Pretty big I'd say. Enough to carry forty people at once. Have you never seen one in the sky before?"

Sirius' eyes darkened and his lips began to form a slight pout. "No, I can't say I have. That's something I'd recall, I think." The realization that Peter had seen and experienced something he hadn't seemed to bother him.

"Have you never been in muggle London before?" asked Peter in astonishment. "The sky's full of them there."

"Muggle London. Goodness, no," Sirius answered looking at Peter as if he'd just say something extremely laughable. "My parents care too much about me to let me venture out of Wizard London."

"Why, though?" asked Peter perplexed. "You're missing out, I tell you."

Granted, the muggle world was a big and scary place at first, but that was part of the fun, wasn't it? With a pinch in the heart, Peter thought about how his uncle had no trouble with him spending most of his days out of the confines of magical London. Surely, there was no true danger for him there, or else his uncle would not let him go either.

Sirius obviously thought otherwise. "Well, for obvious reasons! It's full of mudbloods, for one."

The black haired boy had mischief written all over his face. The sort of malicious joy that kids got by repeating among themselves the swearwords that they overheard at home.

An uneasy feeling overcame Peter. "Mudblood? What's that?" The words fell unwillingly out of his lips.

No matter where this conversation was headed, Peter was under the impression that he was going to regret it.

"Them. You know, the non-magical ones." Sirius said, leaning towards Peter avidly. The boy was visibly relieved to know something Peter didn't, rejoicing in the idea of teaching the other child. "I hear they're vile and they stink. My mother once told me that she had to travel by train to France to visit relatives and had the misfortune of having one of their kind sit beside her. Apparently, the poor thing could barely string two words together. Awful experience it was for her, it really was. She says the stench coming out of him is still engrained in her brain to this day."

Faces of people Peter frequented on a daily basis flashed through the boy's mind as the young Black painted his deplorable picture of creatures that had little to do with actual muggles.

Wesley and all the rest of Peter's gang of friends; Annie, the girl on whom Peter had had a crush on since year 2; Miss Appleby, his teacher; none of them resembled the chimera Sirius' mother has supposedly encountered. Maybe such people existed. The streets of London certainly were the stage of more than enough human tragedies but, that was just the way things sadly were. Peter doubted it had something to do with being a wizard or not. Magic did not protect unlucky ones from infortune.

By the way the young noble appeared to be waiting for him to feel the same hilarity, Peter was not the first whom Sirius had entertained with this story. However, the last thing Peter felt like doing was laughing.

The idea that someone could pretend to know a population's ugliest traits without having met any of its people was infuriating beyond words. Unable to contain himself, Peter burst out. "That's not true! Muggles are not all like that."

Sirius's pale cheeks colored in a matter a second, and his eyes flashed in anger. "Are you calling my mother a liar?" he spat.

Being a momma's boy himself, Peter knew he had struck a nerve. He felt a surge of guilt and bit his lower lip, thinking of the outrage such an affront to his mother would induce in him. The sentiment disappeared as quickly as it had come however, and all Peter was left with was a burning rage in the pit of his stomach.

Could a woman really call herself a mother if she fed outright lies to her children? Moms didn't do that kind of things. Peter's trail of thoughts stopped there and, his qualms having been appeased by his reasoning, the boy fell victim to his anger.

"Well, I'm not calling her a truther!" he practically yelled back.

"Alright then" said Sirius with haughtiness, "if you're so clever, tell me what muggles are like. Go on!"

Peter loathed confrontations. They made him anxious and gave him palpitations. They made his hands shake and his palms sweat. However, there were times when Peter's ire felt so justified that the boy lost his senses and tended to disregard some details.

Details such as the whooping he would get if his mother learnt he punched a prat in the face.

More importantly, he failed to consider the fact that said prat would most certainly be hitting back.

"Well they're kind for one. And funny!" Peter's thought turned to Wesley's mom, and the warm apple pies she would greet the children with whenever the boy came over to his friend's house. "They have beautiful smiles and they laugh a lot."

Peter was becoming flustered and his thoughts were getting muddled. He struggled to find the right words, although he had been rendered blind by his indignation. "And they're intelligent!"

His tirade was met by a roll of eyes and a scoff which only served to fuel Peter's anger.

"You can laugh! You can't change the fact they invented the airplane."

Sirius's gaze darted to the side and landed on the model for a second before meeting Peter's stare. The boy almost missed the hesitation in the noble's eyes before it was replaced by stubbornness. "Non-sense," argued Sirius obstinately. "Muggles are nothing short of primates. They couldn't possibly have…"

Exasperation got the better of Peter, and he cut the other boy short. "They built rocket ships!" stressed the small blond unable to hide his exacerbation. "They went to the bloody moon for Merlin's sake!"

The shell-shocked expression on the young aristocrat's face had Peter thinking he had made his point for a few seconds. However, surprise soon made place to disbelief, and a smirk appeared on Sirius face. "Now that's impossible. You're just being stupid," said the dark-haired child with condescendence. "If someone had gone to the moon, Mother would.."

Peter's cheeks burned red. "Your mother knows nothing!" he cried in outrage, having finally had enough.

Mockery left Sirius' features instantly, instead a murderous look entered his eyes. "My.." started the boy.

Peter wasn't done though and, even though his instinct was telling him he was about to get his ass handed to him, he added insult to injury. "And she's stupid! She's speaking ill of people I bet she knows nothing about. Just like you are!"

This is the moment, as both boys stood inches apart, shooting daggers with their eyes, that Peter's uncle decided to return from his trip to the post office down the street.

Edgar Pettigrew had previously been confronted to much more incongruous and dramatic situations than two young lads getting ready to throw tiny fists in each other's equally small faces.

This being said, it was nonetheless an unusual spectacle to come home to and therefore, one can excuse the sadly unwitty way he handled said crisis.

His voice rang in the resentful silence that had settled around the children.

"What fresh hell is this?"

As if struck by lightning, the two boys jumped in the air and quickly sprang apart. The arrival of an adult figure seemed to intimidate Sirius slightly and, feeling suddenly outnumbered, the boy made to leave.

"You know what?" he huffed haughtily "I will not be subjected to such disrespect any longer. This is below me."

Without another word, Sirius went past Edgar, with his chin high up and his cheeks tinted red, nudging the man out of the way and leading this embryo of a fight to its anticlimactic end.

As soon as the door closed on the young noble, Peter knew he was neck deep in trouble. Of course, what followed was a hour-long monologue about knowing when to shut his mouth, and most especially, how not to insult one's mother when trying to prove a point. Although the scolding was well-deserved, Peter's actions remained relatively unpunished for Edgar did not share the sad story of his nephew's unfortunate incident with his sister.

Truth be told, Edgar was quite proud of Peter for defending his muggle friends, and even though he could not tell the boy so, the man did not feel the child's lack of diplomacy was worth Edna's legendary wrath.

Therefore, Peter quickly forgot about the unpleasant encounter and life carried on, one summer day after another.

It wasn't before a few weeks later that he fully understood the extent of the consequences of the words he had spoken out of anger had unfolded.

Once again, Peter was giving his undivided attention to the small plane that his uncle had made him, and once again, the fact that he had been charged with the responsibility of greeting customers upon their arrival had completely gone out of his head.

Consequently, it was not very surprising that the faint ring of the bell, whose sole purpose was to warn him of the presence of visitors, went unnoticed. It wasn't before he heard a somewhat familiar voice that the boy finally raised his head.

"So, is it true then?" asked Sirius, with uncertainty. "Did they really send a man on the moon?"

The last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare.

Peter was seriously contemplating the idea that he must have insulted one terrible and forgotten god upstairs, because having such bad karma simply wasn't humanly possible.

Having to worry about his uncle and finding a hysterical girl whose entire family had been obliterated had been a pretty trying experience in itself.

However, the day hadn't been over and it only got worse as hours went by.

Moony had been so traumatized by the whole experience that the full moon had Wormtail running for his life all night long as one of his best friends shredded their own skin to bits.

The marauders minus Remus had went back to the dormitories bruised and battered in the early morning. Exhausted as they were, they had passed out as soon as their head hit the pillows. Two hours later, they were back on their feet and had groggily proceed to make their way down to the Great Hall.

This was when things went downhill.

It started with obnoxious staring and whispers. People walked past them and then turned their head around to give them dirty looks. Being as self-conscious as he was, Peter soon noticed and sent a questioning look at James who quickly returned it.

James Potter wasn't accustomed to people staring at him with something that wasn't akin to admiration. He liked attention but not the kind that made you doubt your own integrity.

As they sat down at the Gryffindor table, James had caught a fourth year student giving him the stink eye. Frowning, James had stared at the boy in confusion until the latter finally averted his eyes. Having taken notice of the silent altercation, Sirius had then caught on with what he had been previously unaware of, and a slight unease had appeared on his face.

Peter hadn't been surprised it had taken Sirius a while to recognize the uncomfortable situation they were in. The boy had spent his earlier years at Hogwarts training himself to not to care about how disapproving people could get.

They gazed at each other for three seconds, and at that moment, Peter had known they were all thinking the same. Was the cat out of the bag?

Suddenly, very concerned for Remus, the boys rose from their seat in unison and walked towards the exit in silence. Trying to ignore the tension, Peter had pretended not to see how people stood on their feet in order to stare them down better.

It was as if the quick and unsubtle departure was exactly what it took for all hell to break loose. Unwilling to have the source of their apparent anger disappear from their sight, students had lashed out, suddenly feeling emboldened.

"Nice job, Potter!"

"You must be so proud of your father, you sell-out."

"Shame! Shame on you, Potter! That poor girl's family! It's on you!"

Peter had never seen James, or anyone for that matter, so shocked. By the way the colors had drained from his cheeks, and how his jaws had clenched forcefully, Peter had immediately known they had to get out of there fast.

It seemed like Sirius had had the same idea for he started pushing people out of the way and barking insults at anyone blocking their way.

The commotion had begun to attract the attention of the teachers, seated at the other end of the Hall when the three wizards exited the room.

Then, just as Peter had thought they were out of the woods, he saw the welcoming party they had stumbled into. Avery and his clique of wannabe Death Eaters was going up the stairs leading to the dungeons and, as might have been expected, the whole group had frozen and smirked like sharks sensing a prey's blood.

Then it came, the coup de grace.

"Oh hey, Potter. Fancy seeing you there. Thank your Pops for us, yeah?"

"Yes, I would have sent him flowers myself, but I expect he'll be pretty busy dealing with the press today."

"Eh, how about you tell him to send his men even later next time? Clearing out vermin is pretty exhausting, ten minutes after the deed is cutting it a bit short, don't you say?"

The next instants had been a blur. There had been a lot of swearing, spells flying left and right as well as fists colliding with various faces.

The fighters had quickly been separated though and, for second time in a month, McGonagall handed out many detentions. Again.

Somehow the population of Hogwarts had gotten into their heads that the murder of the family of Mary O'Donnell was on Charlus Potter's hands. Whether true or not, students had got wind of a deplorable delay in the Aurors intervention, and many accused the Head of Department for the evitable deaths of four muggleborns wizards and witches.

It hadn't taken Peter very long before he realized that James needed some time alone with Sirius.

The rumors and the accusations were taking a toll on James. The adoration James felt in regards to his father was no secret, and having his Dad dragged down into the mud as so was really trying for the teen. In such dark times, Sirius and James understood each other like no one else could. It had been that way ever since the boys had met and even though it mystified Peter, he respected that. He knew when to leave people space, and therefore he did.

Even though Peter wasn't jealous nor resentful of the complicity between his best friends, there was no denying he felt a bit left out. With Moony being stuck in his designated bed in the hospital wing, and the others hiding Merlin knew where, Peter was left all alone.

Well, alone with around a hundred fellow students that wanted nothing more than to bully him and indirectly James. No way he was going to class now.

Desperate to escape the crowd and his own excruciating anxiety, Peter had withdrawn to the only place in Hogwarts where he knew no one would find him: the muggle section of the school library.

Or so he thought.

He had been seated for almost an hour, flipping through Airplane Flying manual, when he heard a voice that made him regret he had even set a foot out of his bed that morning.

Bellatrix fucking Lestrange.

Of course. Why the hell not after all? Life really seemed to want to fuck him over these the days.

Fully intending to hide discreetly in his corner until the coast was clear, Peter prepared himself for a few minutes of silence spent in pure angst.

He was successful at pretending he didn't exist for a while, until his ears picked up something he could simply not ignore. Suddenly on high alert, he focused all of his attention on the two figures whose silhouettes were partially visible in between the bookshelves.

"You've never been able to appreciate the big picture. I don't even understand why I even bother arguing with you, my decision's already taken." snarled Bellatrix.

"All I'm saying is that we don't need him for this. We're perfectly capable of.."

The second voice, which Peter recognized as belonging to Walden MacNair, was abruptly silenced by Bellatrix. "Of course we don't! That's not the point, you blockhead."

MacNair didn't say anything for a while, and Peter had the impression the young wizard was choosing his words carefully. "Is there something I am unaware of? Instructions I have not been given?" asked MacNair in a low tone.

Peter's heart nearly came to a halt. What mess had he fell into now?

"That's for me to know. All you have to do is follow my lead," responded Bellatrix harshly. She paused before continuing more calmly. "Look, I know he doesn't look like much and, quite frankly, I'd rather have nothing to do with the boy, but.. Some think he could become a great asset. We'd be fool not to take advantage. He's vulnerable now."

Peter was becoming quite faint and he close his eyes in hopes of regaining his poise. He had no more doubts; they were talking about Regulus.

Sirius had been right. Bellatrix had not waited long before she made an attempt at recruiting him.

Peter could feel the bubble of panic rising in his chest but, before he had the time to calm himself and stop hyperventilating, the conversation continued.

"How can we trust him though? He had a pretty close relationship with.." started MacNair.

"That why we are to follow my plan. Once he's gotten himself implicated, there's no going back. It will be as if…"

Then, in the relative quietude of the library, the sound of an explosion followed by the racket of glass shards bouncing off the floor and the walls echoed in the room.

Of all the times for his magic to burst out of him. Why couldn't he have panic attacks like everyone else?

Peter cringed and then waited.

"What was that?"

There it was.

There was no way to escape. Morphing into Wormtail was out of the question. Peter was standing literally a foot away from Bellatrix and her crony. All they had to do was go around the bookshelf and Peter would be exposed. Were they to witness the animagus' transformation, Peter would not see the end of it. Not only Bellatrix would have perfect blackmail material, but Remus' secret would be one step away from being unveiled.

"Well." thought Peter with resignation. "Time to do what I do best."

"I think it came from over there." whispered MacNair.

"Time to play dumb." sighed Peter.

Damn karma.

Some people probably think that Peter seems a bit OOC. After all, Wormtail always seemed like the odd one out, right? Not quite as smart, pretty or talented as the other three. At some point when reading the books, we kind of wonder why the hell the marauders had accepted someone as mediocre as Peter in the group.

I, for once, think Peter wasn't as useless as he seemed. It's just hard to stand out when your friends are geniuses.

As for courage, I think Peter was brave. However, there is a huge difference between standing up for your friends and fighting in a war in which people die left and right. We are not all cut out to be war heroes.

The idea that Peter had been brought up to know that muggles were normal human beings came to me a long time ago. When we first see Sirius and James talking in the train in the books, we get the impression that Sirius already wants to dissociate himself from his family. He's disillusioned. It means something happened before that scene that changed his mind about his parents and possibly their beliefs.

Having Peter be the person that confronts Sirius and makes him realize muggles are not a danger is an idea that I cherish.

Not only it deepens Peter's character, but it makes his betrayal even more heartbreaking for Sirius.