i know the end

Lily raised an eyebrow to Peter’s ‘we’re alright’ statement. “Don’t be modest.” she chided, grinning. “Oh for Merlin’s sake Pete.” Lily fully laughed now, rolling her eyes. “Mary doesn’t give a fig about your curtains or… what tie you’re picking out.” she reached over and flicked his ear. “You’re perfect as a couple already. I insist.”

She meant it too, seeing how happy Peter made Mary gave Lily so much joy as satisfaction. It felt almost too idyllic, that her best friend would end up with her fiancee’s best friend- but she wouldn’t complain.

 Lily’s smile brightened as her finger tugged gently at the box’s wrapping, pulling loose the ribbon. “Alright, if you insist!” she said, opening up the present.

“She might present as innocent, Lil..” Peter chuckled, leaning back in the armchair. “But when we were moving into the flat - the bird almost chucked me out for choosing October Mist over Duck Egg Blue for our living room.”  His tone light, making it evident that it was nothing more than harmless banter. 

 “I love her...” Peter stated with ease.  Mary made him happy.  A feeling that Peter only experienced in fleeting bursts throughout his entire life.  Usually there was always something waiting to disrupt his harmony. But somehow, the pair had seemed to go from strength to strength. 

Watching as Lily began to open the box.  Peter grinned. Muggle traditions tended to be forgotten in Wizarding Culture.  People were so busy focusing on the self-knitting cardigans and the flying spoons that they forgot about the basics.  Holly Pettigrew had always told him of how special it was - receiving the something old, something blue and something new from her muggle Pettigrew in laws.  So Peter found it fitting to purchase Lily her something blue.  A gift that might have slipped their other friends minds.  

James?

It felt like all of Lily’s blood was rushing to her head. Just to hear his name spoken aloud, made real, caused her heart to race. James sent me. James was alright then, Regulus had been right. Lily looked into Peter’s eyes, her own wide and overbright. “A-and you came… even though you could be killed.” Lily said under her breath, looking up at him with guilt, sorrow, appreciation, and love.

Lily finished standing up, holding onto Peter lightly as he helped her, she found more energy and strength by Peter’s presence, his intention, at invoking James’ name. She listened to him carefully, knowing that her mind was foggy and wanting to overcompensate as best she could.

She nodded along to Peter, and when his voice shook Lily squeezed his side, knowing there was little comfort she could offer, but wanting to try nevertheless. “Why don’t you…” Lily started, frowning in thought. She held out her free hand before him. “Give me your wand, I can do it.”

“And you came..” Lily’s words cut through him like a knife. It was the sound of hope in her voice at the prospect of him being there on James’ behalf.  A hope that despite after everything, she still believed Peter to be someone who could help.  He wasn’t sure if that flicker of hope made him feel better or worse.  Peter Pettigrew wasn’t a good person.  At least not anymore.  He was simply owing a favour. 

“We aren’t out..yet.” Peter clarified, a tough tone in his throat. “Do not allow yourself to hope. I don’t know what sort of charms they have on this place.  And my plan isn’t exactly fool-proof.”  He spoke, it had been a long time since he done something to this standard.  Peter seemed to have been benched from both organisations since the Battle of Birmingham.  He wasn’t quite sure what his agenda was. But Peter was sure of one thing - there wasn’t going to be a fourteenth name added to his list. 

His arms out to act as a way to steady Lily.  Peter passed his wand in Lily’s direction.  Peter was good at charms but his expertise was not in healing.  Ironically, Peter had a better knack for blowing things apart.  And he faired that Lily would do a better job even in her current state.  “I got a hair...off of another Death Eater.  Edwina Avery to be precise. She’s an older lady - so if you can’t walk great. It shouldn’t draw too much attention towards you.” 

-

Sirius couldn’t help but roll his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ah, Pettigrew, forgive me for my audacity. I shall remember to address you by your esteemed family name from now on. Wouldn’t want to sully the memory of the great Wormtail, now would we?” He searched in his pocket for the sickles, dropping them into Peter’s outstretched hand.

He leaned back nonchalantly, continuing, “Certain things cannot be reshaped, you say? I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken. It takes effort, yes, but many things can be rebuilt, healed, and transformed. But you wouldn’t know much about that, would you?" 

The bitter edge in Sirius’ voice betrayed the hurt he still carried. "As for selfishness, well, I think we both know who the true master of that art is. You were the one who chose to abandon everything we stood for, Peter. We didn’t push you away." 

A cold smile flickered across his lips as he replied to Peter’s snide remark about the family Christmas card list. "Your happiness for us is truly heartwarming, Pettigrew. As for the family Christmas card list, don’t you worry, we’ll make sure to send you one with our warmest regards.”

Peter gritted his teeth,  Pettigrew had never been an esteemed name.  Pettigrew was a muggle surname, but his mother, Holly had been from an esteemed Wizarding family.  A family who warned Holly that becoming involved with her father would be to her own detriment. 

 Although Peter did not agree with his maternal family’s values on blood,  the calibre of his father’s character was low.  Clearly a trait that had been passed down to their only son.  His mother would have been better avoiding his father’s advances.  She would have been happier. 

“There is nothing that I want to rebuild..” He clarified.  Eyes glazing over as he looked at Sirius.  That was entirely true..but Peter was sure that Sirius was clever enough to piece that puzzle together. 

Sirius’s eyes blazed with a volatile mix of anger, fear, and heartbreak as he stared at the man he once called his brother. The weight of the betrayal crushed him, and his voice trembled as he spoke, unable to contain the storm of emotions raging inside him.

“You traitorous rat!” Sirius shouted, his words cutting through the air like a knife. “How could you do this to us, Peter? To everyone who trusted you? We were brothers, Wormtail! We would have gone to hell and back for you, and this is how you repay us?!”

Tears of rage and pain streamed down his face as he fought to control the overwhelming emotions surging through him. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to make Peter understand just how much his betrayal had devastated them all.

“We loved you like a brother, Peter. We would have done anything for you, stood by you through thick and thin. And now… now, you’ve destroyed everything we had, everything we believed in. We fought for a better world, and you spat in the face of it all! Is this what you wanted, Peter? To send a message to Dumbledore, to prove your own twisted point?!”

His voice cracked, the raw intensity of his emotions threatening to consume him. “You’ve ripped our hearts out, Wormtail. How can you stand there and tell us that you were abandoned, that you had no choice? We were always there for you, Peter. Always.”

In a fit of blind rage, Sirius lunged toward Peter, fists clenched, desperate to make him understand the depths of his pain and betrayal. He couldn’t think rationally; he couldn’t see the consequences of his actions. All he knew was the burning fury that coursed through his veins, and the crushing weight of everything he had lost.

Peter didn’t take on the full weight of Padfoot’s words.  Adrenaline coursed through his veins, diluted only with anger, hurt and betrayal.  Sirius Black stood, calling Peter ‘a brother.’ Yet Peter could not recall the last time they had all been together.  

Hogwarts seemed to be the glue to hold them together.  At least in Peter’s eyes. Perhaps that had been the weakness that Dumbledore picked up on.  That the young man felt slightly out of touch - abandoned.  That without the shelter of Hogwarts and the constant surrounds of his mates, Peter Pettigrew would fray at the seams. 

All that Peter felt was anger.  Anger that nobody seemed to notice the distance he had created in the past few weeks.  That nobody noticed how quiet he had become.  So far from his previous self.  If somebody had of just asked, Peter would have unravelled like putty in their hands.  

“Always?” Peter retorted, dismayed at this admission.  “The only person there for me was Mary...” He spoke clearly, despite the tears also brimmed to his own eyes.  Peter was tired - his bones ached with exhaustion. 

“I haven’t spoke to any of you in weeks - and nobody...nobody has graced my doorway.  Or even sent an OWL to check in.  I may have destroyed everything... but I certainly haven’t done it fucking alone...” 

“They’re good people; they’ll always be understanding.” Mary didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t be so obvious - acting as if they didn’t know the very people they were talking about. As if Mary and Lily hadn’t spent almost seven years being dorm-mates and best friends, braving the sudden onslaught of muggleborn hatred together, and that despite Mary’s absence in Lily’s life - she still loved her, but that still didn’t stop the creeping doubt and guilt trying to disrupt her mindset. “I just - I made promises to her. And I didn’t keep fucking any of them.” Frustration edged along her tone, fingers running through her hair absentmindedly as a distraction; eyes falling on Peter with sadness. Knowing that if Mary was sober, she would try her best with words to help alleviate his pain and sadness - but the depths of her own sorrow was as deep as the punch bowl she polished off earlier in the evening, and she was trying not to drown in her own sadness. “Well, you must have lived for a reason, Peter-” it hurt to still say his name, “have you ever thought about that? That the universe perhaps, still wants something from you?”

She had once believed that her and Peter’s love was enough to get through anything - she loved him effortlessly, she knew if it came down to it, they would fight for each other - both being members of the Order had left Mary getting used to seeing her friends with wounds that were quickly healed by her, sometimes from Peter, other times Marlene. How naive she had been, to think their love could have lasted through a war. Mary’s jaw clenched at the thought. No amount of her wishing their situation was different, or that Peter had come out with his innocence, proving the world wrong could fix his particular predicament. He was a mass murderer - a serial killer, molded and shaped by their former headmaster. Her love for him had barely protected him from the clutches of Dumbledore; her love for him hadn’t been enough to save either of them from the war that had taunted them for so many years. “I play with potions all day and make meaningless conversations with customers - some life I’ve made for myself, I’m sure.” Her words twinged with regret; though knowing she would never return to her life as a Healer - that Mary had disappeared the moment she stepped foot in Birmingham - how foolish of her to think she could return to that life unscathed. She gave him a smile as if her heart wasn’t breaking at the weight of Peter’s words.

With a roll of her eyes, Mary let out a snort of mild humor, her mind once going back to Tiberius. “- I know you wouldn’t,” she finished his sentence without a second thought. “I swear I’d die for that cat - I just want to squish his little paws, and his cute chubby cheeks -”

She often wondered where he was staying, what he did in his spare time - it was a strange, unsettling feeling not know anything about someone she used to know everything about. And - Mary hated apparation, and her inebriated state would make things worse, but Mary agreed with a nod, wordlessly taking his hand, trying to ignore the electric sensation running through her body the moment her hand touched his. Tried to ignore how her heart thudded against her chest with nerves. “Scouts honor I won’t judge your humble abode - unless your wallpaper is painted duck egg blue - and I will withhold any and all hurtful comments that might come to mind.”

Peter quirked an eyebrow, ignoring the slight feeling of shame that encapsulated him.  Peter was no longer a good person, every good moment of his life had been shrouded with a dark covering. Becoming an animagi for Remus? Gone. All his accolades of being a beater on the Gryffindor Team? Gone. The younger version of himself who was so headstrong on avoiding his father's qualities? Gone. Peter Pettigrew was worse than his father. His father was insecure. As was Peter. At least his father's insecurity didn't have a body count. "In certain situations, broken promises can be excused. I think your situation is justified." Peter began to play with the rings on his fingers - as though the jewellery on his bones would make any difference. No amount of dressing up or embellishment would mask the rotten core that he had become. But it was more of a nervous action, a distraction. Now that his cigarette packet was empty, Peter had nothing else to focus on. Nothing else to focus on other than Mary and all the damage he had caused.  

The suggestion that Peter had lived for a reason brought an uneasy feeling of nausea to the man's throat. Metallic taste crept into his mouth. A taste that resembled the night at the battle of Birmingham. How the smell of blood rang thick on the air - entangled with smoke and fire. What a mess it had all become. A mess of his making. Peter didn't want to cry. He didn't have the right to cry. Nor did he want to cry in front of Mary. He had caused his. His father's words crept into the back of the young man's head. "No use in crying over spilled milk, Peter." It was a muggle expression but it had never resonated so much. There was no undoing. There was only consequences. "I- I don't quite think that's quite the case." Peter spoke, tackling an unsteady breath to calm his stomach. "This is punishment." Peter spoke. "It would have been easier, if I had of died." His next statement could have been a debatable topic for Mary, but Peter doubted it. "For everyone.." Peter Pettigrew was only twenty-two. Merlin knew how many years he had left, but Peter couldn't for all of them to be over. It was empty space - no place for love or happiness. Just guilt and suffering. "It's a lot easier to move on when the problem is dead and buried." That is what Peter Pettigrew was. The problem.

“That cat always hated me..” Peter chuckled, “good judge of character, I reckon.” 

As Mary’s hand slipped into Peter’s. He tried his best to ignore the warmth that filled him. His thoughts drifting back to the time when Mary first held his hand. And how bashful Peter had been to tell the Marauders.  He swore back then that he would hold Mary’s hand for the rest of his life.  An idiotic innocence.  Peter’s fate was already set.  “There’s no duck egg blue.” He assured, the paint was basically peeling off his walls.  He tried his best to keep it clean. But there was only so much Peter could do with the bones of his apartment.  It was a cheap place - with bad piping and stuffy structure. It was two rooms. With a kitchen set up in the corner, a small sofa at one side and his bed and bedside cabinet in the corner.  The bathroom was a small separate room.   Peter barely slept - with bottles and newspaper clippings scattered across the table and floors. His bed was neatly kept along with his bedside table.  A drawer that was barely ever touched.  

Tightening his grip on Mary’s hand. Making the most of the opportunity while he had the chance.  Peter apparated with a snap.  Opening the door for Mary to pass through.  Embarrassed at the state of his living arrangements.  Regretting that he hadn’t collected the newspapers - ones that were pinned to the wall or scattered on the floor.  A clear indication of his not great state of mind -  “Don’t - Don’t touch anything.  Please...some of this is confidential.”  Peter moved to one side of the room, lifting a hoard of newspapers and chucking them on the ground.  Kicking them under the table with his foot.  Making a seat for his ex-girlfriend. “I think- I think my old key is somewhere around here. It won’t take me long...” Ignoring that the front of the newspapers kicked under the table, had the photographs of the Birmingham perished. 

Being in Peter’s arms gave a blanket of security and love around her, and Mary could only smile as his presence started to distract her from important life decision making - like the color of the walls of their apartment. For a moment she just rested her weight against his chest, swatting him teasingly. “Other way around - stunning boyfriend first, always.” She replied with a slight smirk on her lips, turning around to face him momentarily, pressing her lips to his cheek once again.

Building a life with Peter was something that Mary often daydreamed about while on shift at St. Mungos - sometimes, when tending to young children, it gave Mary the wonder to what their possible children could look like someday - a wildly dangerous thought for a blossoming relationship, and yet Mary knew in her heart that there wouldn’t be anyone else. She couldn’t fathom the idea of coming across someone who was more than the man she was moving in with - that was absurd. Peter Pettigrew, in Mary’s eyes, simply deserved the world’s kindness.

“Mmhmm, that’s what I thought, Mr. Decorator and Designer,” she playfully rolled her eyes at him and stuck her tongue out in triumph, putting the October Mist paint sample aside and quickly bending down to pick up Tiberius, who had protested with a loud meow. “We can think of it like camping in the wilderness, right Tibs?” Pouting slightly as her cat wriggled out of her grasp and escaped to the next room, turning back to Peter. “I don’t think he wants to join.”

Nevertheless, Mary was excited about the prospect of spending the first night in their apartment together,  at making new memories with the man she loved, her heart growing warm. The apartment already felt warmer than her childhood home did - the sunlight filtered through the kitchen window but carried out into the living room as well, a hard contrast from the Victorian-style heavy curtains that were always drawn closed, warding out the light and any view of the muggle world outside in her parents house. “Are there any more boxes that need your attention or do I finally have you all to myself?” Pulling Peter closer until her arms were around his neck, giving him a cheeky smile, not waiting for an answer.

A content sigh fell from Peter’s mouth.  While their apartment was nothing but a few empty rooms and a few paint swatches on the wall. It belonged to them, nobody else.  It was a world they had built with their own money and love - when put into that perspective, the colours on the walls didn’t really matter to Peter.  As long as Mary was happy - Peter could go to the end of the line with just a box full of belongings. “Please - I am punching well above my weight class.  Although I do provide the comedic relief which gives me a few points.”  

His hands moving to rest on the small of her back as Mary placed a kiss on his cheek.  A sheepish smile on his face.  Sometimes Peter felt as though he was on a trapeze, attempting to maintain his balance on a swinging rope.  He had almost never felt security - unless it was with the Marauders or Mary.  Mary- more than anyone else. With her - it felt like Peter could finally breathe - to allow himself to fall without the fear of doing it alone. 

With a wink. Peter shrugged. Beginning to sway the pair slightly. “What can I say- my decorated eye is incredible. I have a knack for choosing the most beautiful jewels.” He spoke softly.  His lips curling into a small smile as Mary lifted Tiberius.  The cat hated him regardless of how much Mary tried to deny it, any scratches were aimed at Peter. Although Peter couldn’t blame the cat, his animagi form was a rat.  “Tib would love to have me sleeping in the wilderness.” Peter laughed his eyes following the cat as it escaped into the next room. 

“Mary - we live together now.” Peter hummed, placing a kiss to her temple.  Peppering kisses down her cheek until finally stopping at the corner of her mouth. Pulling back with a small grin. “I am at your disposal for the rest of my life.” 

James didn’t mind getting lost in muggle London, he was sure that if they needed to get directions he might ask them later, but at the moment he was just happy to be with his friend just enjoying the day and trying to calm his nerves about his insecurities of the upcoming proposal. 

“Are you bloody mental? She ain’t going to say no, she loves you to much.” he patted his friend on the arm for reassurance. Even if Peter didn’t have a ring, Mary would love to spend the rest of her life with the other man, from what James knew Mary was as smitten as Peter was.

Hearing Peter so nervous made James feel a bit bad for his friend. “Mate, there is nothing you can do that would make her say no, she thinks you are an adorable idiot, why do you think she would like a refund for you?” he knew that these were nerves, but better to address them now than later in the relationship. 

He stopped and looked at his friend, “Wormtail, before we go in there, and you think every ring you pick is going to be hideous, I need to to talk to me, why all of the sudden you think shit about yourself and what Marry likes?”

Navigating the streets of London - Peter was relieved to find an escape from his nerves by avoiding the hustle and bustle. Deep down, he knew that Mary wouldn’t say no. But something had him worried - that it wouldn’t perfect. And Peter knew that Mary deserved nothing less than perfect. 

“And I love her-” Peter clarified, the speed of his walk easing slightly as they got closer to Covent Garden. “I know that she won’t say no - I just - this has to be perfect. The ring, the proposal, everything. Mary deserves perfect.”  He certainly wasn’t perfect. So that meant that everything about the proposal had to be. 

The last few hours- days- had felt less and less real. Time was impossible for Lily to track as her world spun between total isolation and pain. At first, she’d done her best to be vigilant, to seem distant from her circumstance, but as she was pushed, Lily just had began to feel distant from herself.

Now, it had been hard to remember much- if she’d eaten, if she’d slept, when the last time she’d spoken with someone was, when the last time she saw daylight was. For the most part, Lily laid on the floor of her room and dreamed- or thought- of James, Euphemia, and Harry. Of Sirius and Remus. Mary, Regulus, Priya, Petunia… but she had never thought of Peter until he was suddenly in front of her. Lily felt her body want to start, to jump at him suddenly existing beside her but she felt too heavy. Maybe it had been a while since she’d slept. Maybe she should sleep? Lily’s eyes flickered up towards Peter she fought against closing her eyes.

“Pete…” Lily said, almost slurring the words. She reached up at touched his hand, her fingers clumsily wrapping around his thumb. “Mo-ve? Yha… yah, comin’-” Lily said, closing her eyes with a sigh. 

“It was nice of them to send me you.” Lily said, tongue still thick and slow. Rolling to her stomach, Lily pushed herself onto her knees, her legs and arms trembling violently. “Maybe not for you… I’m sorry-”

His eyes scanned the dark-damp and utterly horrific quarters that was typically used for all the unsavoury activity. It sent a shiver down his spine to even be standing there.  

He was reminiscent of a time where it was him standing here - wand pointed at an innocent party.  Watching as the green light enveloped there body - how Peter had ruined somebody’s life just to receive a pat on the shoulder before returning home.  Returning to bed beside Mary - having to shake the screams, the vision of a man writhing on the floor from his vision. Sleep was rare for Peter Pettigrew nowadays. 

It hurt - to see Lily like this. To think about what the Death Eaters - the group he was associated with - had been doing to her over the course of time.  While his relationship with his former friends was fractured - or completely blasted to smithereens.  Peter didn’t enjoy seeing this.  Nor did he enjoy the feeling in his heart as Lily spoke as though the Death Eaters had sent him to do more damage.  A notion that he couldn’t argue against - a few years back - Peter would have obliged. 

“James sent me.” Peter clarified.  Kneeling down to help Lily - her arms and legs were shaking. Lily could barely hold herself up. How was this supposed to work? His mind began to race - his heart matching the pace.  With such extensive injuries - the first method of escape seemed unlikely.  To escape with a  small vial of polyjuice potion and a hair from Jesminda Avery in his back pocket- one he had collected at the bar.  With that method - they could simply walk out - Peter had already disarmed the Surgito enchantment on each and every exit. 

Euphemia looked at Peter and it broke her heart, this boy had just lost his mother and his father didn’t seem like the supportive type, it seemed that all the boys in her life preferred to get all the feelings out in fits more than in words. And she had to admit that sometimes she wanted to do that as well, but that wouldn’t help Peter at the moment. 

“You need to stop that or your nose would get worse.” she offered, taking his chin to get a better look at his nose, cleaning it softly with her handkerchief, getting a better sense of whatever was the mess that was on his face. James returned with the emergency bag, Euphemia took it and ordered to go make Peter’s room available for staying in.

Euphemia turned to her son and grabbed a few bottles from the bag, one she dabbed in a burgundy potion, putting the cotton swap to stop the blood in Peter’s nose before giving him the other one. “Bottoms up, this will help with the teeth and the headache.” she explained to the young man.

Her son moved to the room and Euphemia looked at Peter, “Don’t worry dear, ‘bastard’ is a mild word.” she chuckled and looked at the young boy, “We all express grief in different ways, love, maybe he is a bloody bastard, but I’m not interested in him, I’m interested in you,” she squeezed his arm softly, “and I’m sure your mother would like someone to take care of you.”

As Peter sat on a chair in the Potter’s kitchen, and while he had been there plenty of times before. It felt like everything had changed. Everything had changed, Peter supposed, his mother had died. The one happy memory of his childhood was gone, just a fleeting memory of the brief moments of joy. Grief had a funny way of playing tricks on people, a way of making them feel out of place or out of focus.

Peter tried to avoid Euphemia’s gaze, despite his chin being tilted up towards her. If any questions were asked, his tears could easily be blamed on the blunt impact of the punch on his nose. A ripple effect, rather than admit the feeling of loneliness that had overtaken him since his mothers passing. In reality, Peter wasn’t lonely. He had friends - but the idea of home was displaced. No longer would he have anybody to go home to at Christmas.

Heat felt spread across his face - probably the inflammation and mix of blood. “The pain isn’t that bad,” The pain in his chest fair outweighed the physical. Taking the vial out of Euphemia’s hand and swigging it quickly. A throbbing pain spreading throughout his entire sinuses. The vial provided a relief in his mouth- the slight *click* of his teeth reorganising quickly into place.

-

“Too late!?” Sirius echoed, voice loud in confusion, the beginning of a shattering of Peter confirming his treachery rather than rebuke it, loud as the world crumbling around them. A performance of war they shouldn’t have to listen to. What had happened to them? Where where the lads that had stayed up late after curfew giggling stitches into their sides, that huddled under James’ invisibility cloak to roam the castle, that helped themselves to a world they wanted, ruled. 

They used to be boys. They used to be young. They used to be best friends. How naïve they had been, thinking the comradely would manage in a world outside of a shared dorm and safe walls. Sirius had believed they had succeeded. He still lived with the same people he had called his family for years. Peter and Mary and their hosting - Sirius loved to live up to the theme of their night. 

Peter.

Wormtail. 

Sirius swallowed, deep hurt and confusion sketched roughly across his face. “Dumbledore?” He stumbled, the anger of not understanding, of not wanting to believe, barking the name. “Dumbledore, fight?” He added with a snort, as if he was just talking to a best mate, loosely plotting strategies. Not cornering a best mate - former best mate - traitor? - that seemingly was the root cause for their failure, for the pain, for the loss of members, innocents. 

Sirius laughed tiredly, rubbed the corner of one eye. He glanced back at the chaos behind them before turning his attention back to Peter. He wanted to feel angry - he was - but he just felt defeated, injured, tired, lost, longing for the past. “Peter, Wormtail, what have you done…!? James is out there, Mary! I don’t understand!” Sirius said, who hated to reveal when he didn’t understood something. “I don’t understand – what, why? Why, Wormtail?”

His throat felt tight.  Panic rising from his longs and spilling out into every fibre of his being.  A faint moment of realisation of his actions washing over him. A brief glimpse of Wormtail peeking through.  The Wormtail who considered the man in front of him family. Rather than the Peter Pettigrew who had been convinced that these people were the enemy.  

Peter who had listened as Dumbledore referred to him as the weakest link.  A wound that had been nursed by the reassuring whispers from the Death Eaters. That nobody loved him. Nobody cared for him. Nobody would forgive him. His hands slipped around his wand.  A moment of lost control of the situation. “Nobody- Nobody will understand...” Peter spoke, the panic and anger making his words disjointed. 

Peter Pettigrew had watched Dumbledore as threw a stone into the glass house of Peter’s reality. And left the young man alone to mourn the realisation on his own.

The realisation that nobody asked. 

Nobody needed him. Not The Marauders. Not The Order. 

Nobody cared. 

“I have been fucking abandoned.” Peter’s voice shook. His tone raising at Sirius. “Nobody has asked how this has been for me- I was given a mission.  A mission to go into that viper pit. Asked to do things that I never...” Tone filled with disgust. “Things that I never - wanted to do.  And I was expected to come out squeaky fucking clean?” His once panicked stance turning into a firm one.  Arms beginning to shake with rage. “Why me? Why was my life so fucking disposable to that old fucker?” 

“Why isn’t he fucking here?” Why can’t I try and kill him?  

Tears springing to his eyes as he spoke.  The tattoo on his left arm, throbbing.  More Death Eaters were on their way.  Peter - had a small idea that his former friends would get caught up in this mess.  In that moment - it didn’t matter to him.  If he had of applied thought - and looked rationally.  This was a fight between Peter and Dumbledore.  Now it seemed more like a message to the old git.  A recognition of ‘I asked you to pull me out - you refused. Look at the wreck you caused.’ 

Lily could already see it, the second the vows were set, she could perfectly imagine she and James being completely at their mercy. The thought gripped her heart like a vice and Lily couldn’t help but smile brightly. “I think that is all I could get away with hoping for.” Lily chuckled, accepting the box from him curiously.

“Oh Merlin-” Lily winced, looking up at Peter as her smile turned anxious. “Please don’t let me get too far gone, we don’t want the Potters to regret this.” Lily begged, looking down at the box. “I’ll be tossed out before I say I Do if we’re not careful.”

Lily ran her hands over the gift wrapping, it was so like Peter- this kind of old fashioned sweetness. She’s always loved that about him. It was one of the many qualities that made her so confident and supportive of his and Mary’s relationship. “If it can’t be me, it has to be you, Peter. You’re perfect together.”

Looking up from the gift, Lily glanced towards him with an air of mischievous joy. “Should we wait for James… or?” 

Peter had never attended a wedding before.  His mother’s family had disowned her for marrying a muggle - and his father had never been the romantic type.  His childhood had been very isolated.  Being an only child - and ignored by a majority of children on the Chudley Muggle School playground.  So it would be nice - to witness a wedding - and to have it be the wedding of two of his best friends. 

“Please, Euphemia will have you locked down.” Peter grinned. “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere.”  Euphemia had always been a kind woman, far too kind to Peter. Especially when his mother passed,  Mrs Potter had taken Peter under her wing and to this day, hadn’t yet allowed the young man go too long without checking in. 

“We’re alright.” Peter remarked, although unable to keep the beam off his face when referring to his and Mary’s relationship.  In recent months, they had been in a wonderful place. And Peter hoped - that one day - they would be planning their own upcoming nuptials.  “I think I might have to get a bit better at interior design - and have a better fashion sense - before Mary considers us perfect.” 

“Oh, just give me a pint,” Sirius said, the drink not really the thing that held his interest at the moment. He shifted, leaning against Peter’s bar with that causal elegance, watching his former best friend with eyes that held more perception and wit than Sirius oft let on. 

Sirius snorted. “That’s the thing, though, Pete, it doesn’t have an expiration date, it doesn’t crumble if you maintain your foundation. Cracks can mended. Friendships and dreams can be reshaped. You let yours fall apart. It didn’t just happen to you, mate.” And Sirius suffered for it. The ringing in his ears, the trauma haunting him, dead voices and broken trusts shrill in his head. The loss of friends. Failure. 

“You seem quite deadset on not giving us time for that, Wormtail. Just cuz you’ve given up, you don’t have to pull everyone with you. Quite selfish, is it not? Drag everyone with you in your downfall.” Sirius bit down, jaws clenching at the dig. “On the contrary, Petey, lad. Both friendships and family’s going swell. Think our whole world revolved around you? That it all bloody crumbled and fell apart by your absence? We’re doing good, Peter. We’re strong. We’re tight. We’re all still family, me, James, Remus. We’re all still friends. Whilst yours and Mary’s dinner parties are missed, well – the show goes on. You didn’t matter that much, it seems, after all.”

His wand tapped at one of the glasses behind the bar - a pint filling and foaming perfectly at the top.  Peter longed to flick it across the bar - spill the contents right over Sirius.  But ultimately, there was no reason to do that.  Sirius hadn’t done anything wrong other than being an arsehole. A completely justified reaction given their last interaction. “4 sickles.” Peter spoke. Holding out his hand. 

The tone of arrogance frustrated him. It seemed to be a common theme amongst his former friends. A certain tone that suggested, ‘If I had of been you - I would have done better. I would have been stronger.’  Peter supposed in one aspect - Sirius was the only one to justify that fact. Given his upbringing and his subsequent ability to break free from those clutches. “Certain things cannot be reshaped. You should know that better than anyone.” Peter shrugged, it was true.  Broken Bones can always set back into place - but undoubtedly there will always be a weakness.  A sore point which can be hit and - crack.