Reflection
Title: Reflection
Author: francesca_blue
Rating: PG-13, to be safe
Warnings: torture, werewolf-related horror, but nothing graphic
Word count: 4224
Prompts: 30: "A guest remembers all of his days that host who makes provisions for him kindly." - Homer, The Odyssey, Book 15, lines 68-75;
59: "Don’t the best of them bleed it out / While the rest of them peter out / Truth or consequence / Say it aloud." ‘Hero’, Foo Fighters.
Summary: Peter looks back at his old life and wonders what he's done.
Author's notes: Sorry, the summary is a bit rubbish. So is the title; if anyone can suggest a better one then please let me know. I hope you enjoy it! Comments and concrit will be much appreciated.
Reflection
Being a rat had quickly revealed itself to be extremely useful. It had been Peter who had been able to sneak into the girls’ dormitories to watch them undress; Peter who had stolen the records of their more serious misdeeds from Filch’s office; Peter who had... acquired the brain-boosting potions for their O.W.L.s. Later, he and Sirius had used their skills as Animagi to aid the Order of the Phoenix, and Peter especially had gained a good reputation for his astounding undercover work. Nobody had expected the timid little rat would betray them; they had trusted him with their most precious secrets. And now they were either dead or rotting in Azkaban for their trust, while here he was, safe and well-fed in Percy Weasley’s pocket.
Living with the Weasleys was wonderful. There was plenty of chaos and noise and excitement for Peter’s comfort, but none of the danger that had constantly threatened his life with the Marauders. Today it was even louder and more excitable than usual. Charlie was starting Hogwarts in September, so the whole family were going to Diagon Alley to get his school supplies. Peter peered out of his refuge with interest; not even life in the Gryffindor dormitory had prepared him for this.
James and Sirius’ pillow fights could be positively dangerous. They were leaping from bed to bed, swinging their favourite weapons and taking out curtains, books, photo frames, alarm clocks... anything that got in the way. Peter watched from the doorway, awed at their grace and ferocity.
“Come on, you two!” Sirius shouted when he saw them standing in the doorway. Peter immediately dashed forwards, seized his own pillow and clambered up onto the bed, waiting for the perfect opportunity to break up their stand-off.
With a yell, he leapt across to the other bed, but he hadn’t timed it as well as he’d thought. Sirius’ flailing pillow smacked him under the chin, knocking him off balance and toppling him off the bed to land heavily on the floor. James ooohed sympathetically, defending himself expertly from another swipe.
“Are you alright?” Remus asked Peter, crouching over him. Peter nodded, accepting the hand up and picking up his pillow again. Roaring, the two leapt at Sirius, just as James’ pillow burst, surrounding them with a snowstorm of feathers.
“Fred, George, no!” Molly Weasley bellowed over the heads of her clamouring children. Peter looked around to see what mischief they were up to this time. One of them had, somehow unnoticed, climbed onto the kitchen counter and begun experimenting with the various ingredients that littered the tabletop. Peter guessed that it wasn’t until the second twin had joined him that Molly had recognised the danger, but by then it was too late; whatever they had created was already smoking around the edges. Peter quickly withdrew his head and held his breath in anticipation.
The world outside exploded. There were crackles and bangs, clatters and crashes, shrieks, whoops, scoldings, smashes. Peter chuckled to himself. The chaotic sounds caused by mischief were music to his ears. Curling up, he allowed the familiar sounds to lull him into a comfortable doze.
***
Peter remembered his first wand. It had originally belonged to his grandfather, who had died in the Grindelwald war. Peter hadn’t liked it very much; it had never been particularly reliable, and he had been almost glad when James broke it during their second year.
“Hurry up, Peter!”
“I’m trying! Alohomora! Alohomora!”
The potions storeroom remained firmly locked. Sirius jostled him under the Invisibility Cloak.
“Oh, move over! Alohomora!”
The door opened easily for him, and they hurried inside. Peter moved out from under the Cloak as soon as possible; he hated small spaces.
“Be quick, we wasted so much time outside.”
“What do we need?”
“Boomslang skin, Acromantula venom, sopophorous beans, unicorn horn-“
“Someone’s coming!”
“Quick! Back under the Cloak!”
James had already disappeared, taking the light from his wand with him. Peter stretched his arms out and felt the air, but all he found were shelves. As he turned away, flailing around, his elbow caught a jar of beetle legs; he jumped at the deafening crash it made.
“There you are!” Suddenly there was light again, as Filch wrenched the door open, leering inside. Peter cried out in shock; so did Filch, as a jet of red light shot from Peter’s wand, apparently acting on its own accord, and knocked the caretaker to the ground.
James wasted no time. He grabbed Peter’s arm and they all ran past Filch and towards the stairs at full speed. Sirius led the way, with the others close behind, through a tapestry, down a secret passageway, towards the common room. James was pushing Peter ahead of him, but he tripped on the edge of the Cloak and they both fell, rolling back down the stairs. There was an incredibly loud craack! and they lay very still at the sound. Then James heaved himself up and rolled away from where he had been lying on top of the two splintered halves of Peter’s grandfather’s wand.
Mr. Ollivander had stared at him accusingly when he was taken to buy a new one. It was as if he thought him unworthy, and Peter was glad that he would never have to be subject to that pale stare again. The Weasley family had split up for the shopping trip: Bill had been trusted to do his own shopping, and had gone to meet his friends; Ron and Ginny had gone with their mother and Charlie; and Arthur had taken Percy and the twins.
The first place the boys went was Quality Quidditch Supplies. Peter had fond memories of this shop; he had visited it every day one summer, when they had all gone to stay with the Potters for a week. James had inherited his enthusiasm for the sport from his father, and Peter could have spent hours listening to them talk about optimum tail length and the speed of the new Nimbus 1500, and when James would be getting one. The Weasleys, unlike the Potters, would probably never be able to afford the broomstick currently on display, but that didn’t dampen their enthusiasm. Even Percy enjoyed Quidditch, though he wasn’t very good at it at all.
“Look!” he said excitedly. “State-of-the-art Breaking and Balancing Charms!”
“You’d need them, wouldn’t you, Perce,” said one of the twins.
Peter sniggered. He, too, remembered the hilarious incident where Percy’s broom had crashed into a tree and rolled over, throwing him off thirty feet above the ground. He had broken his arm in the fall; only Molly’s precautionary Cushioning Charms had prevented more serious damage.
Peter’s laugh suddenly froze in his throat as he remembered his own terrifying fall, as he had been flying over the English Channel on a mission for the Order. If Sirius hadn’t been there...
“I’ve got you!” Peter felt Sirius’ leatherclad arm wrap around his waist and heave him onto the back of his own broom. “Stop yelling, you’re safe now!”
“I hate flying,” Peter moaned, clinging on tightly. “I’m never doing it again.”
“How can you hate this? The wind in your hair ... complete freedom. I was actually thinking of charming my bike, so I can fly more often.”
“You’re mad. That’s illegal, as well as dangerous.”
“So?” Sirius threw back his head and laughed maniacally. “I probably am mad, but that’s alright; you’d be bored of me if I were any different. And dead.”
Sirius’ expression that day had not been dissimilar to the one he had worn just after he had cornered Peter.
Suddenly, he felt sick. How had that happened? How could he have turned one of the bravest men he had ever known into the half-crazed prisoner in Azkaban? How could he have chewed the newspaper article announcing to the world the crimes ‘Sirius’ had committed, and not cared that he had destroyed one of his best friends?
Percy’s hand suddenly wrapped around his body and pulled him out of his pocket.
“Dad, I think something’s wrong with Scabbers. He’s shaking.”
Arthur gently took him from his son’s hands and held him up.
“Alright. Let’s go to the Magical Menagerie.”
***
The witch who now owned the Magical Menagerie was different to the one Peter remembered. She peered at him through her heavy spectacles and gave Percy a bottle of Rat Tonic, dismissing his apparent illness with a rather insulting, “Just old, I expect.” Peter breathed a sigh of relief as they left the shop; that visit had been far less traumatic than his last one.
“I haven’t got Lily a Christmas present yet,” James explained as they walked into the shop. “And I thought I might get her a cat or something. Apparently her sister’s allergic, so she’s never had one before, but I thought she might like it if I got her one.” Meaning: “She might like me more if I got her one.” Though if the rumours were true, Evans more than liked James now.
“Sweet,” Sirius said, looking around, bored.
“Does it have to be a cat?” Peter asked, anxiously. “I don’t like cats.”
“You don’t like cats!” Sirius exclaimed in mock shock. “Wormtail how could you? Look-” He swept up a tiny black and white kitten and thrust it in Peter’s face. “-what about this one? You must like this one, Wormtail!”
The kitchen swiped at Peter’s face with a paw; he took a step back. “Well, cats don’t like me either. They never have. It was a cat that gave me this one.” He pointed to the scar on his right thumb.
“What?” Sirius put the cat down and squinted at Peter’s hand. “There’s nothing there, Wormtail. Stop being such a baby. They’re just cats.”
“May I help you?” A witch had come out of the back room. She wore a purple blouse, and her hair stuck out in all directions.
“I need a cat for my ... friend, for Christmas,” James began.
“A pet is for life, not just for Christmas,” the witch interrupted briskly. “You are sure that your friend will take good care of a cat?”
“What care does a cat need?” Sirius scoffed. “Aren’t they basically self-sufficient?”
The witch turned a baleful glare on him, but Remus, who took Care of Magical Creatures with Evans, quickly stepped in. “Lily is excellent with animals. She’ll love having a cat of her own.”
The witch relaxed a little and turned back to James. Sirius turned back to the black and white kitten and began stroking it. Peter sidled up to him and tentatively held his hand out to the kitten to sniff.
“See,” said Sirius, grinning. “It’s not that bad.”
The kitten raised a paw and batted at Peter’s hand; he flinched, and Sirius laughed. Peter frowned, and moved his hand closer to stroke the cat. It wrapped it’s paws around his knuckles and bit his hand.
“Ow!” Peter exclaimed. He shook his hand vigourously, and the kitten fell off. Stepping back, he nursed his bleeding hand. Sirius was roaring with laughter.
“Don’t worry, Peter, that’s just what cats do. They’re playful.”
“It hurt! Look, I’m bleeding.”
“Oh, stop being such a baby. You’re not bleeding that much.” Sirius picked up the kitten and began stroking it. To Peter’s annoyance it settled down in his hands and began to purr, though it stared at Peter rather unsettlingly.
“We have Kneazles in the back room,” the witch told James. “Much more intelligent than regular cats. Would you like to see them?” Already she was leading him behind the counter.
The moment the witch was out of the room, Sirius’ kitten launched itself at Peter, who yelled. Landing on his head, it sank its claws into his scalp and held on for dear life.
“Aarrgh!” Peter screamed. Sirius and Remus crowded round him, trying to help, but they were just getting in the way. His arms flailed; he tugged and clawed at the animal, but it just clung on tighter. James and the witch rushed back into the room and joined the fray. Immediately, the kitten released its grip on Peter’s head, and he flung it off. It flew across the room and landed on its feet on the counter, where it curled up and started to purr. Peter glared at it, panting, and clutched his head.
“Not that one,” he told James. “Any cat but that one. Please.”
“But I like this one,” James said, picking up the little kitten and cuddling it to his chest. “It’s cute. It reminds me of Lily.”
Peter stared at him. He had never encountered anything less like Lily in his entire life.
Sirius began to laugh uncontrollably at Peter’s horrified expression as James reached into his pocket for his Galleons.
...
He had gone back to Godric’s Hollow, before Sirius had caught up with him, to see what was left. Was the Dark Lord really dead? Why did he have to die now, of all times?
People were crowding around the gate, being held back by Aurors. Moody was there, picking through the rubble for evidence, his face somehow more craggy and grim than Peter remembered. Even though there was no way he was in danger in this form, Peter still shrank back into the shadows.
Slipping through a hole in the wall into the living room, Peter scurried around the edge of the room and made for the stairs, where he would be able to begin his investigation.
Pain suddenly shot through his paw. He looked down and saw that he had trodden on the splintered glass of a picture frame. Looking down at the blood spilling onto the photograph, Peter saw his own face gazing up at him from between Lily and James. It was a photo of the Order of the Phoenix, the one that had been taken just before Peter had... turned. Staring at the familiar picture, Peter felt guilt and bile well up in his stomach. He had sold these people out. He had watched the Dark Lord kill Dorcas Meadowes; he had been one of many to point his wand at Benjy Fenwick until there was literally nothing left - and there he was again, waving up at him. Sirius was grinning, and Peter thought he saw insanity in his laugh. Lily and James were smiling, their arms were around him, but Peter now imagined their eyes were glassy and staring in death...
What had he done?
A hiss brought Peter back to the present. Looking up, he felt suddenly cold all over: a large, overfed black and white cat was prowling towards him. Peter stared, transfixed, then turned and bolted for the hole in the wall. He made it just in time, dropping into the hedge on the other side of the wall as the cat scratched and batted ineffectually on the other side. Peter’s heart was pounding. He scurried away through the grass, desperate to get far away as fast as possible.
Peter choked on the Rat Tonic. It tasted dreadful, but it did not make the sick lump in his stomach go away. Percy relentlessly tipped another spoonful down his throat. Gasping, Peter resolved to stop feeling guilty for James and Sirius. They had deserved it, after all.
“You really are thick, aren’t you, Wormtail?”
“How could you miss that goal? It was wide open!”
“Don’t be stupid Wormtail, you do it like this.”
“Peter, if you can’t say anything intelligent, don’t say anything at all.”
“You idiot! We’re all in detention because of you!”
“Leave this to the real men, Wormtail.”
“Why would she want to go out with you?”
“You jeopardized the whole mission, Wormtail! You could have got us all killed!”
“You’re useless.”
Yes, they had definitely deserved it.
Happy again, Peter sat up and looked around. Arthur had bought his sons some butterbeer while they waited for the others, and even the twins were sitting still, determined not to abuse the privilege. The Leaky Cauldron had always boasted a peculiarly mixed clientele. With one sweep of his eyes, Peter saw Mundungus Fletcher the thief, Hippocrates Brown the healer, and...
Remus?
“I have bad news,” Sirius announced, throwing himself down on his bed. “Remus is a werewolf.” He tossed the book he was carrying at James.
Peter stared at him, then let out a strangled laugh. It was a joke, of course.
“I know,” James said, holding up the book he was reading, entitled Werewolves and their Habits. Peter choked on his own laughter.
All three boys stared at Remus’ empty bed for a long time.
“It doesn’t matter,” James said eventually. “He’s still our friend. We’re going to help him. There must be something we can do.”
“Yeah!” Sirius said forcefully. “Yes. He’ll always be our friend.”
James grinned. “Definitely. Right, Peter?”
“Right,” Peter said.
But he didn’t get any sleep that night.
...
The werewolf was a raging beast, howling and scratching at its surroundings. It stopped when it caught sight of him, snarled, and then turned away, clawing and tearing at its own flesh. Peter, Padfoot and Prongs watched in silent horror. It was Padfoot who broke the spell; with an angry bark he bounded forwards and launched itself at the werewolf, stopping it from hurting itself anymore. The werewolf turned and growled at Padfoot, who was snarling, then turned back and broke the bedpost in two.
That night had been the most frightening of Peter’s life, but the morning after was even worse. Watching Remus change back from beast to boy had made both Peter and Prongs physically sick. Afterwards, Remus had lain on the floor, naked and trembling, blood streaming from his wounds. He had been conscious, but he had not cried from the pain, though his eyes remained screwed shut for a long time. Peter had never seen anything more at odds with the creature they had witnessed minutes before.
...
“Where’s Remus been going lately?” Peter asked.
“Dunno,” Sirius replied. “Not really our business, is it?”
“Isn’t it?”
“’Course not. He probably has a girlfriend or something. Maybe you should take a leaf out of his book, eh, Wormtail.”
“You don’t think- It’s just...”
“What?”
“Just I’d heard rumours about werewolves. They’re gathering together, someone said they support V-V- You-Know-Who.”
“Just say it, would you? It’s only a name.” Sirius tossed an Every Flavour Bean in the air and caught it in its mouth. “You don’t actually think Remus would join them, do you? He’s one of us.”
“Well ... he might. You remember how bitter he was about that last job. The wizarding world doesn’t really have anything to offer him ... he might turn to them. They are his kind, after all.”
“Don’t say that. You know he’s nothing like them.” But Sirius’ face was troubled. He stuffed a handful of beans in his mouth thoughtfully. “I think we’d better talk to James.”
Peter smiled in satisfaction.
...
Things had gone from bad to worse. They were supposed to be borrowing James’ Invisibility Cloak, but apparently Sirius and Dorcas needed it more, so Peter and Remus had had to make do without. Peter had changed form, but Remus had to sneak from tree to tree; they were painfully aware of just how visible he would be to the Death Eaters who were surely nearby.
Slowly, carefully, they slunk through the frosty silence. Peter’s nerves were beginning to fray - it was just too quiet.
And then suddenly it wasn’t quiet anymore. Four cracks! and the sudden blast of spells, deafening in the silence, announced the half-expected arrival of Antonin Dolohov, Evan Rosier and the Carrows. Remus dived behind a tree, a streak of green light just missing his shoulder. Peering out, he managed to jinx Amycus Carrow before the Death Eaters’ spells blasted a chunk out of the bark beside his head.
Peter had to act fast. Already the Death Eaters were spreading out, and Remus had his back to Dolohov. Scuttling through the undergrowth, he changed form behind their line and pointed his wand at Rosier.
“Stupefy!”
Unfortunately, his spell went wide. Surprised, Rosier and the Carrows turned to face Peter. Seizing the advantage, Remus stunned Alecto Carrow, then turned towards Dolohov just in time. Roaring, Amycus turned back round and rushed at his sister’s attacker.
“Tarantallegra!” Peter shouted, and this time his spell struck Amycus square in the middle of his back.
“Brat!” Amycus howled, his legs jerking uncontrollably.
But Peter ignored him. He was too busy dancing himself, dodging the curses Rosier directed at his feet. Desperately, Peter dove behind a tree and changed back into a rat. If he hadn’t been so scared he would have roared with laughter at the confused expression on Rosier’s face. Instead, he scurried around the tree and changed again beside Alecto’s prone body, reasoning that they would not attack him with any great ferocity for fear of hitting her instead. But he had thought wrong: Amycus, who had regained control of his feet, tackled Peter and they both fell heavily across Alecto, who was beginning to come round.
Things began happening very quickly then. Rosier seized Peter’s shoulder and broke his leg with a curse; he screamed. The next thing Peter knew, he, Rosier, Amycus and Alecto were outside a heavy iron gate, looking up at the monstrous-looking mansion of the Lestranges. Peter was crying from the pain of his leg. They had apparated, leaving Remus and Dolohov behind.
Remus Lupin was sitting at the bar, head bowed over a glass of Firewhiskey. Peter was amazed. Remus wasn’t much of a drinker anyway, and it was still the middle of the day. What was he doing here?
From where he sat Peter had a clear view of the man Remus had become, and he was shocked by what he saw. Usually Remus remained clean-shaven, but now three-day-old stubble covered his jaw. He had always been proud, even though his clothes were shabby and he always looked ill; now he was slumped over his drink, defeated. There were shadows under his eyes, and face was heavily lined. He looked old; how could that be?
Peter knew exactly how that could be. Remus had no one now. His friends were all either dead or locked away. And Peter had done it. James and Sirius deserved it, certainly, but Remus hadn’t.
“How do we get into the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?” Bellatrix demanded, eyes blazing, her wand held high over Peter’s head.
“It’s under Fidelius Charm,” Peter gasped. “Dumbledore’s secret keeper. Please- No!”
He screamed again as Bellatrix turned her wand on him.
The door flew open and he came in. He raised his hand, and Bellatrix lowered her wand. The terrible, scarlet eyes fell on Peter, and his screams were stifled as if a hand had clamped around his throat.
“I have a few words for the boy.” Bellatrix raised her wand eagerly. “That won’t be necessary Bella. He is weak. He will do as I ask. Won’t you, Peter?” His wand was held loosely in one hand, but it was pointed directly at Peter.
Shivering uncontrollably, Peter stammered, “Y-y-y-y-yes, my lord.”
Bellatrix began to laugh, but the Dark Lord raised his hand to stop her. He stepped forwards and leaned in very close to Peter, so that the scarlet eyes filled his vision. The words hissed against his face.
“You will spy on the Order of the Phoenix for me. I want to know everything.”
“I w-w-will, my lord. E-e-everything.”
Gleaming, those dreadful eyes drew back, and then Peter was alone. His breath came in racking gasps that became sobs that became howls.
“Peter!”
He looked up, trying to stifle his tears.
“Peter!” the low voice came again.
“Yes?”
The lock on the door clicked, and a head peered cautiously into the room.
Remus’ brow was bloody, a testament to his recent duel with Dolohov. His clothes were torn and singed, and he was limping a little, but he seemed alright. He hurried to Peter’s side, and the chains mercifully fell away.
“Remus?” Peter’s voice cracked. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m getting you out. Where are you hurt? We have to hurry, I’m not sure how long my diversion will work. I’m so sorry, Peter! I was so busy with Dolohov I didn’t realise you were outnumbered until you were gone. I should have helped you; you helped me. And then I had to try and find you, but I went to the Malfoys’ first, I didn’t think they’d bring you straight to Voldemort - they don’t know you like they know Sirius and James.”
“Oh, don’t say his name,” Peter said, slumping forwards. “He’s here, Remus! He’s upstairs.”
“I know. It’s alright, Peter, I’m going to get you out.” Remus put Peter’s arm around his shoulders and heaved him up, his wand gripped in his fist.
“I’m sorry, Remus,” Peter muttered, tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright, Peter,” Remus said again. “I’m going to get you out. You’re going to be fine.”
Why hadn’t he thought about Remus? How could he have completely forgotten about his best friend. James and Sirius had been arrogant and uncaring, but Remus had always been kind.
Peter barely noticed Percy spooning more Rat Tonic into his mouth. He was still staring at Remus’ defeated form.
What had he done?
Author: francesca_blue
Rating: PG-13, to be safe
Warnings: torture, werewolf-related horror, but nothing graphic
Word count: 4224
Prompts: 30: "A guest remembers all of his days that host who makes provisions for him kindly." - Homer, The Odyssey, Book 15, lines 68-75;
59: "Don’t the best of them bleed it out / While the rest of them peter out / Truth or consequence / Say it aloud." ‘Hero’, Foo Fighters.
Summary: Peter looks back at his old life and wonders what he's done.
Author's notes: Sorry, the summary is a bit rubbish. So is the title; if anyone can suggest a better one then please let me know. I hope you enjoy it! Comments and concrit will be much appreciated.
Reflection
Being a rat had quickly revealed itself to be extremely useful. It had been Peter who had been able to sneak into the girls’ dormitories to watch them undress; Peter who had stolen the records of their more serious misdeeds from Filch’s office; Peter who had... acquired the brain-boosting potions for their O.W.L.s. Later, he and Sirius had used their skills as Animagi to aid the Order of the Phoenix, and Peter especially had gained a good reputation for his astounding undercover work. Nobody had expected the timid little rat would betray them; they had trusted him with their most precious secrets. And now they were either dead or rotting in Azkaban for their trust, while here he was, safe and well-fed in Percy Weasley’s pocket.
Living with the Weasleys was wonderful. There was plenty of chaos and noise and excitement for Peter’s comfort, but none of the danger that had constantly threatened his life with the Marauders. Today it was even louder and more excitable than usual. Charlie was starting Hogwarts in September, so the whole family were going to Diagon Alley to get his school supplies. Peter peered out of his refuge with interest; not even life in the Gryffindor dormitory had prepared him for this.
James and Sirius’ pillow fights could be positively dangerous. They were leaping from bed to bed, swinging their favourite weapons and taking out curtains, books, photo frames, alarm clocks... anything that got in the way. Peter watched from the doorway, awed at their grace and ferocity.
“Come on, you two!” Sirius shouted when he saw them standing in the doorway. Peter immediately dashed forwards, seized his own pillow and clambered up onto the bed, waiting for the perfect opportunity to break up their stand-off.
With a yell, he leapt across to the other bed, but he hadn’t timed it as well as he’d thought. Sirius’ flailing pillow smacked him under the chin, knocking him off balance and toppling him off the bed to land heavily on the floor. James ooohed sympathetically, defending himself expertly from another swipe.
“Are you alright?” Remus asked Peter, crouching over him. Peter nodded, accepting the hand up and picking up his pillow again. Roaring, the two leapt at Sirius, just as James’ pillow burst, surrounding them with a snowstorm of feathers.
“Fred, George, no!” Molly Weasley bellowed over the heads of her clamouring children. Peter looked around to see what mischief they were up to this time. One of them had, somehow unnoticed, climbed onto the kitchen counter and begun experimenting with the various ingredients that littered the tabletop. Peter guessed that it wasn’t until the second twin had joined him that Molly had recognised the danger, but by then it was too late; whatever they had created was already smoking around the edges. Peter quickly withdrew his head and held his breath in anticipation.
The world outside exploded. There were crackles and bangs, clatters and crashes, shrieks, whoops, scoldings, smashes. Peter chuckled to himself. The chaotic sounds caused by mischief were music to his ears. Curling up, he allowed the familiar sounds to lull him into a comfortable doze.
***
Peter remembered his first wand. It had originally belonged to his grandfather, who had died in the Grindelwald war. Peter hadn’t liked it very much; it had never been particularly reliable, and he had been almost glad when James broke it during their second year.
“Hurry up, Peter!”
“I’m trying! Alohomora! Alohomora!”
The potions storeroom remained firmly locked. Sirius jostled him under the Invisibility Cloak.
“Oh, move over! Alohomora!”
The door opened easily for him, and they hurried inside. Peter moved out from under the Cloak as soon as possible; he hated small spaces.
“Be quick, we wasted so much time outside.”
“What do we need?”
“Boomslang skin, Acromantula venom, sopophorous beans, unicorn horn-“
“Someone’s coming!”
“Quick! Back under the Cloak!”
James had already disappeared, taking the light from his wand with him. Peter stretched his arms out and felt the air, but all he found were shelves. As he turned away, flailing around, his elbow caught a jar of beetle legs; he jumped at the deafening crash it made.
“There you are!” Suddenly there was light again, as Filch wrenched the door open, leering inside. Peter cried out in shock; so did Filch, as a jet of red light shot from Peter’s wand, apparently acting on its own accord, and knocked the caretaker to the ground.
James wasted no time. He grabbed Peter’s arm and they all ran past Filch and towards the stairs at full speed. Sirius led the way, with the others close behind, through a tapestry, down a secret passageway, towards the common room. James was pushing Peter ahead of him, but he tripped on the edge of the Cloak and they both fell, rolling back down the stairs. There was an incredibly loud craack! and they lay very still at the sound. Then James heaved himself up and rolled away from where he had been lying on top of the two splintered halves of Peter’s grandfather’s wand.
Mr. Ollivander had stared at him accusingly when he was taken to buy a new one. It was as if he thought him unworthy, and Peter was glad that he would never have to be subject to that pale stare again. The Weasley family had split up for the shopping trip: Bill had been trusted to do his own shopping, and had gone to meet his friends; Ron and Ginny had gone with their mother and Charlie; and Arthur had taken Percy and the twins.
The first place the boys went was Quality Quidditch Supplies. Peter had fond memories of this shop; he had visited it every day one summer, when they had all gone to stay with the Potters for a week. James had inherited his enthusiasm for the sport from his father, and Peter could have spent hours listening to them talk about optimum tail length and the speed of the new Nimbus 1500, and when James would be getting one. The Weasleys, unlike the Potters, would probably never be able to afford the broomstick currently on display, but that didn’t dampen their enthusiasm. Even Percy enjoyed Quidditch, though he wasn’t very good at it at all.
“Look!” he said excitedly. “State-of-the-art Breaking and Balancing Charms!”
“You’d need them, wouldn’t you, Perce,” said one of the twins.
Peter sniggered. He, too, remembered the hilarious incident where Percy’s broom had crashed into a tree and rolled over, throwing him off thirty feet above the ground. He had broken his arm in the fall; only Molly’s precautionary Cushioning Charms had prevented more serious damage.
Peter’s laugh suddenly froze in his throat as he remembered his own terrifying fall, as he had been flying over the English Channel on a mission for the Order. If Sirius hadn’t been there...
“I’ve got you!” Peter felt Sirius’ leatherclad arm wrap around his waist and heave him onto the back of his own broom. “Stop yelling, you’re safe now!”
“I hate flying,” Peter moaned, clinging on tightly. “I’m never doing it again.”
“How can you hate this? The wind in your hair ... complete freedom. I was actually thinking of charming my bike, so I can fly more often.”
“You’re mad. That’s illegal, as well as dangerous.”
“So?” Sirius threw back his head and laughed maniacally. “I probably am mad, but that’s alright; you’d be bored of me if I were any different. And dead.”
Sirius’ expression that day had not been dissimilar to the one he had worn just after he had cornered Peter.
Suddenly, he felt sick. How had that happened? How could he have turned one of the bravest men he had ever known into the half-crazed prisoner in Azkaban? How could he have chewed the newspaper article announcing to the world the crimes ‘Sirius’ had committed, and not cared that he had destroyed one of his best friends?
Percy’s hand suddenly wrapped around his body and pulled him out of his pocket.
“Dad, I think something’s wrong with Scabbers. He’s shaking.”
Arthur gently took him from his son’s hands and held him up.
“Alright. Let’s go to the Magical Menagerie.”
***
The witch who now owned the Magical Menagerie was different to the one Peter remembered. She peered at him through her heavy spectacles and gave Percy a bottle of Rat Tonic, dismissing his apparent illness with a rather insulting, “Just old, I expect.” Peter breathed a sigh of relief as they left the shop; that visit had been far less traumatic than his last one.
“I haven’t got Lily a Christmas present yet,” James explained as they walked into the shop. “And I thought I might get her a cat or something. Apparently her sister’s allergic, so she’s never had one before, but I thought she might like it if I got her one.” Meaning: “She might like me more if I got her one.” Though if the rumours were true, Evans more than liked James now.
“Sweet,” Sirius said, looking around, bored.
“Does it have to be a cat?” Peter asked, anxiously. “I don’t like cats.”
“You don’t like cats!” Sirius exclaimed in mock shock. “Wormtail how could you? Look-” He swept up a tiny black and white kitten and thrust it in Peter’s face. “-what about this one? You must like this one, Wormtail!”
The kitchen swiped at Peter’s face with a paw; he took a step back. “Well, cats don’t like me either. They never have. It was a cat that gave me this one.” He pointed to the scar on his right thumb.
“What?” Sirius put the cat down and squinted at Peter’s hand. “There’s nothing there, Wormtail. Stop being such a baby. They’re just cats.”
“May I help you?” A witch had come out of the back room. She wore a purple blouse, and her hair stuck out in all directions.
“I need a cat for my ... friend, for Christmas,” James began.
“A pet is for life, not just for Christmas,” the witch interrupted briskly. “You are sure that your friend will take good care of a cat?”
“What care does a cat need?” Sirius scoffed. “Aren’t they basically self-sufficient?”
The witch turned a baleful glare on him, but Remus, who took Care of Magical Creatures with Evans, quickly stepped in. “Lily is excellent with animals. She’ll love having a cat of her own.”
The witch relaxed a little and turned back to James. Sirius turned back to the black and white kitten and began stroking it. Peter sidled up to him and tentatively held his hand out to the kitten to sniff.
“See,” said Sirius, grinning. “It’s not that bad.”
The kitten raised a paw and batted at Peter’s hand; he flinched, and Sirius laughed. Peter frowned, and moved his hand closer to stroke the cat. It wrapped it’s paws around his knuckles and bit his hand.
“Ow!” Peter exclaimed. He shook his hand vigourously, and the kitten fell off. Stepping back, he nursed his bleeding hand. Sirius was roaring with laughter.
“Don’t worry, Peter, that’s just what cats do. They’re playful.”
“It hurt! Look, I’m bleeding.”
“Oh, stop being such a baby. You’re not bleeding that much.” Sirius picked up the kitten and began stroking it. To Peter’s annoyance it settled down in his hands and began to purr, though it stared at Peter rather unsettlingly.
“We have Kneazles in the back room,” the witch told James. “Much more intelligent than regular cats. Would you like to see them?” Already she was leading him behind the counter.
The moment the witch was out of the room, Sirius’ kitten launched itself at Peter, who yelled. Landing on his head, it sank its claws into his scalp and held on for dear life.
“Aarrgh!” Peter screamed. Sirius and Remus crowded round him, trying to help, but they were just getting in the way. His arms flailed; he tugged and clawed at the animal, but it just clung on tighter. James and the witch rushed back into the room and joined the fray. Immediately, the kitten released its grip on Peter’s head, and he flung it off. It flew across the room and landed on its feet on the counter, where it curled up and started to purr. Peter glared at it, panting, and clutched his head.
“Not that one,” he told James. “Any cat but that one. Please.”
“But I like this one,” James said, picking up the little kitten and cuddling it to his chest. “It’s cute. It reminds me of Lily.”
Peter stared at him. He had never encountered anything less like Lily in his entire life.
Sirius began to laugh uncontrollably at Peter’s horrified expression as James reached into his pocket for his Galleons.
...
He had gone back to Godric’s Hollow, before Sirius had caught up with him, to see what was left. Was the Dark Lord really dead? Why did he have to die now, of all times?
People were crowding around the gate, being held back by Aurors. Moody was there, picking through the rubble for evidence, his face somehow more craggy and grim than Peter remembered. Even though there was no way he was in danger in this form, Peter still shrank back into the shadows.
Slipping through a hole in the wall into the living room, Peter scurried around the edge of the room and made for the stairs, where he would be able to begin his investigation.
Pain suddenly shot through his paw. He looked down and saw that he had trodden on the splintered glass of a picture frame. Looking down at the blood spilling onto the photograph, Peter saw his own face gazing up at him from between Lily and James. It was a photo of the Order of the Phoenix, the one that had been taken just before Peter had... turned. Staring at the familiar picture, Peter felt guilt and bile well up in his stomach. He had sold these people out. He had watched the Dark Lord kill Dorcas Meadowes; he had been one of many to point his wand at Benjy Fenwick until there was literally nothing left - and there he was again, waving up at him. Sirius was grinning, and Peter thought he saw insanity in his laugh. Lily and James were smiling, their arms were around him, but Peter now imagined their eyes were glassy and staring in death...
What had he done?
A hiss brought Peter back to the present. Looking up, he felt suddenly cold all over: a large, overfed black and white cat was prowling towards him. Peter stared, transfixed, then turned and bolted for the hole in the wall. He made it just in time, dropping into the hedge on the other side of the wall as the cat scratched and batted ineffectually on the other side. Peter’s heart was pounding. He scurried away through the grass, desperate to get far away as fast as possible.
Peter choked on the Rat Tonic. It tasted dreadful, but it did not make the sick lump in his stomach go away. Percy relentlessly tipped another spoonful down his throat. Gasping, Peter resolved to stop feeling guilty for James and Sirius. They had deserved it, after all.
“You really are thick, aren’t you, Wormtail?”
“How could you miss that goal? It was wide open!”
“Don’t be stupid Wormtail, you do it like this.”
“Peter, if you can’t say anything intelligent, don’t say anything at all.”
“You idiot! We’re all in detention because of you!”
“Leave this to the real men, Wormtail.”
“Why would she want to go out with you?”
“You jeopardized the whole mission, Wormtail! You could have got us all killed!”
“You’re useless.”
Yes, they had definitely deserved it.
Happy again, Peter sat up and looked around. Arthur had bought his sons some butterbeer while they waited for the others, and even the twins were sitting still, determined not to abuse the privilege. The Leaky Cauldron had always boasted a peculiarly mixed clientele. With one sweep of his eyes, Peter saw Mundungus Fletcher the thief, Hippocrates Brown the healer, and...
Remus?
“I have bad news,” Sirius announced, throwing himself down on his bed. “Remus is a werewolf.” He tossed the book he was carrying at James.
Peter stared at him, then let out a strangled laugh. It was a joke, of course.
“I know,” James said, holding up the book he was reading, entitled Werewolves and their Habits. Peter choked on his own laughter.
All three boys stared at Remus’ empty bed for a long time.
“It doesn’t matter,” James said eventually. “He’s still our friend. We’re going to help him. There must be something we can do.”
“Yeah!” Sirius said forcefully. “Yes. He’ll always be our friend.”
James grinned. “Definitely. Right, Peter?”
“Right,” Peter said.
But he didn’t get any sleep that night.
...
The werewolf was a raging beast, howling and scratching at its surroundings. It stopped when it caught sight of him, snarled, and then turned away, clawing and tearing at its own flesh. Peter, Padfoot and Prongs watched in silent horror. It was Padfoot who broke the spell; with an angry bark he bounded forwards and launched itself at the werewolf, stopping it from hurting itself anymore. The werewolf turned and growled at Padfoot, who was snarling, then turned back and broke the bedpost in two.
That night had been the most frightening of Peter’s life, but the morning after was even worse. Watching Remus change back from beast to boy had made both Peter and Prongs physically sick. Afterwards, Remus had lain on the floor, naked and trembling, blood streaming from his wounds. He had been conscious, but he had not cried from the pain, though his eyes remained screwed shut for a long time. Peter had never seen anything more at odds with the creature they had witnessed minutes before.
...
“Where’s Remus been going lately?” Peter asked.
“Dunno,” Sirius replied. “Not really our business, is it?”
“Isn’t it?”
“’Course not. He probably has a girlfriend or something. Maybe you should take a leaf out of his book, eh, Wormtail.”
“You don’t think- It’s just...”
“What?”
“Just I’d heard rumours about werewolves. They’re gathering together, someone said they support V-V- You-Know-Who.”
“Just say it, would you? It’s only a name.” Sirius tossed an Every Flavour Bean in the air and caught it in its mouth. “You don’t actually think Remus would join them, do you? He’s one of us.”
“Well ... he might. You remember how bitter he was about that last job. The wizarding world doesn’t really have anything to offer him ... he might turn to them. They are his kind, after all.”
“Don’t say that. You know he’s nothing like them.” But Sirius’ face was troubled. He stuffed a handful of beans in his mouth thoughtfully. “I think we’d better talk to James.”
Peter smiled in satisfaction.
...
Things had gone from bad to worse. They were supposed to be borrowing James’ Invisibility Cloak, but apparently Sirius and Dorcas needed it more, so Peter and Remus had had to make do without. Peter had changed form, but Remus had to sneak from tree to tree; they were painfully aware of just how visible he would be to the Death Eaters who were surely nearby.
Slowly, carefully, they slunk through the frosty silence. Peter’s nerves were beginning to fray - it was just too quiet.
And then suddenly it wasn’t quiet anymore. Four cracks! and the sudden blast of spells, deafening in the silence, announced the half-expected arrival of Antonin Dolohov, Evan Rosier and the Carrows. Remus dived behind a tree, a streak of green light just missing his shoulder. Peering out, he managed to jinx Amycus Carrow before the Death Eaters’ spells blasted a chunk out of the bark beside his head.
Peter had to act fast. Already the Death Eaters were spreading out, and Remus had his back to Dolohov. Scuttling through the undergrowth, he changed form behind their line and pointed his wand at Rosier.
“Stupefy!”
Unfortunately, his spell went wide. Surprised, Rosier and the Carrows turned to face Peter. Seizing the advantage, Remus stunned Alecto Carrow, then turned towards Dolohov just in time. Roaring, Amycus turned back round and rushed at his sister’s attacker.
“Tarantallegra!” Peter shouted, and this time his spell struck Amycus square in the middle of his back.
“Brat!” Amycus howled, his legs jerking uncontrollably.
But Peter ignored him. He was too busy dancing himself, dodging the curses Rosier directed at his feet. Desperately, Peter dove behind a tree and changed back into a rat. If he hadn’t been so scared he would have roared with laughter at the confused expression on Rosier’s face. Instead, he scurried around the tree and changed again beside Alecto’s prone body, reasoning that they would not attack him with any great ferocity for fear of hitting her instead. But he had thought wrong: Amycus, who had regained control of his feet, tackled Peter and they both fell heavily across Alecto, who was beginning to come round.
Things began happening very quickly then. Rosier seized Peter’s shoulder and broke his leg with a curse; he screamed. The next thing Peter knew, he, Rosier, Amycus and Alecto were outside a heavy iron gate, looking up at the monstrous-looking mansion of the Lestranges. Peter was crying from the pain of his leg. They had apparated, leaving Remus and Dolohov behind.
Remus Lupin was sitting at the bar, head bowed over a glass of Firewhiskey. Peter was amazed. Remus wasn’t much of a drinker anyway, and it was still the middle of the day. What was he doing here?
From where he sat Peter had a clear view of the man Remus had become, and he was shocked by what he saw. Usually Remus remained clean-shaven, but now three-day-old stubble covered his jaw. He had always been proud, even though his clothes were shabby and he always looked ill; now he was slumped over his drink, defeated. There were shadows under his eyes, and face was heavily lined. He looked old; how could that be?
Peter knew exactly how that could be. Remus had no one now. His friends were all either dead or locked away. And Peter had done it. James and Sirius deserved it, certainly, but Remus hadn’t.
“How do we get into the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?” Bellatrix demanded, eyes blazing, her wand held high over Peter’s head.
“It’s under Fidelius Charm,” Peter gasped. “Dumbledore’s secret keeper. Please- No!”
He screamed again as Bellatrix turned her wand on him.
The door flew open and he came in. He raised his hand, and Bellatrix lowered her wand. The terrible, scarlet eyes fell on Peter, and his screams were stifled as if a hand had clamped around his throat.
“I have a few words for the boy.” Bellatrix raised her wand eagerly. “That won’t be necessary Bella. He is weak. He will do as I ask. Won’t you, Peter?” His wand was held loosely in one hand, but it was pointed directly at Peter.
Shivering uncontrollably, Peter stammered, “Y-y-y-y-yes, my lord.”
Bellatrix began to laugh, but the Dark Lord raised his hand to stop her. He stepped forwards and leaned in very close to Peter, so that the scarlet eyes filled his vision. The words hissed against his face.
“You will spy on the Order of the Phoenix for me. I want to know everything.”
“I w-w-will, my lord. E-e-everything.”
Gleaming, those dreadful eyes drew back, and then Peter was alone. His breath came in racking gasps that became sobs that became howls.
“Peter!”
He looked up, trying to stifle his tears.
“Peter!” the low voice came again.
“Yes?”
The lock on the door clicked, and a head peered cautiously into the room.
Remus’ brow was bloody, a testament to his recent duel with Dolohov. His clothes were torn and singed, and he was limping a little, but he seemed alright. He hurried to Peter’s side, and the chains mercifully fell away.
“Remus?” Peter’s voice cracked. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m getting you out. Where are you hurt? We have to hurry, I’m not sure how long my diversion will work. I’m so sorry, Peter! I was so busy with Dolohov I didn’t realise you were outnumbered until you were gone. I should have helped you; you helped me. And then I had to try and find you, but I went to the Malfoys’ first, I didn’t think they’d bring you straight to Voldemort - they don’t know you like they know Sirius and James.”
“Oh, don’t say his name,” Peter said, slumping forwards. “He’s here, Remus! He’s upstairs.”
“I know. It’s alright, Peter, I’m going to get you out.” Remus put Peter’s arm around his shoulders and heaved him up, his wand gripped in his fist.
“I’m sorry, Remus,” Peter muttered, tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright, Peter,” Remus said again. “I’m going to get you out. You’re going to be fine.”
Why hadn’t he thought about Remus? How could he have completely forgotten about his best friend. James and Sirius had been arrogant and uncaring, but Remus had always been kind.
Peter barely noticed Percy spooning more Rat Tonic into his mouth. He was still staring at Remus’ defeated form.
What had he done?